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“And—you’re sure he wants to?”
Ilya saw his own eyes roll in the gilded mirrors lining the elevator. “Yes, I am sure. We have talked about it. He thinks it will be hot.”
Hunter shifted back on his heels. It was funny to think that Scott Hunter was more nervous than either Ilya or Shane. Hopefully he was not too old and anxious to get it up. That would disappoint Shane. “Maybe you do not want to do this.”
“Are you kidding?” Hunter asked incredulously, turning toward him. “I just didn’t think you two did this sort of thing.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors to Ilya and Shane’s penthouse suite slid open. It was one of those ultra-modern places, everything clean and monochromatic, gleaming surfaces and cantilever chairs. Shane was waiting on the couch, looking up from the wine glasses he’d been fiddling with. Probably psyching himself out.
“Yes, yes, you are very lucky,” Ilya said. “Now come on.”
“Hi, Scott. Can I get you some—?”
“Yeah, sure. Thank you.”
Christ. It was like neither of them had ever had sex before. They both sat stiffly down across from each other. Ilya threw himself into a chair and poured his own wine; Shane was really too stingy with it.
“I just wanted to apologize,” Shane was saying, “for that one time. When I, uh…”
“Said I was forty-five years old?”
Shane blushed.
“Yes, that was not a good fight,” Ilya said. “Very embarrassing for both of you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ilya,” Shane said.
Hunter cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I was trying to get a rise out of you, anyway. And I shouldn’t have used whatever was going on between you two to do it.”
Which was interesting—Shane had never actually told him what Hunter had said. But there were more important things. “Maybe he should make it up to you,” Ilya said to Hunter. “What do you think?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Shane was staring at him, wide-eyed. Maybe Shane thought you could have a threesome without actually having sex. Unclear. Someone had to get the show on the road. “Go sit on Hunter’s lap.”
Then Shane was staring at Hunter, like Hunter was going to say no. Un-fucking-likely.
“Is that okay?”
Ilya rolled his eyes, but Hunter was nodding, and Shane stepped carefully around the coffee table to stand awkwardly in front of him. Hunter looked past Shane at Ilya; Ilya mimed tapping his watch, and then Hunter finally grew a spine. He grabbed Shane and pulled him down to straddle his lap, got a handful of his ass, and kissed him soundly.
Very pretty. Ilya sipped his wine. Shane would never admit it, but he loved being watched. Shane loved a lot of things he would never admit to. Which was fine. “Pull his hair,” Ilya said.
Either Hunter did not mind taking orders in the bedroom, or he was smart enough to understand that Ilya knew what he was doing when it came to Shane. Hunter threaded his fingers through Shane’s dark hair and tugged, first soft, and then, when Shane moaned, harder. Shane’s head tilted back, the long line of his neck exposed, mouth slick and red and open. Because of Scott Hunter. Jealousy would not be rational, especially when Shane was such a treat to watch, but Ilya had never been entirely rational when it came to Shane.
Hunter’s hand was still tight in Shane’s hair, pulling, setting Shane off. He squirmed on Hunter’s lap, and Hunter’s eyes went heavy. Ilya had sometimes wondered if Hunter got away with being out because he was so handsome. Like some kind of sexy grandpa. If so, Ilya was optimistic: he and Shane were much more handsome. They would be just fine.
“He likes that,” Hunter said, looking at Ilya over Shane’s shoulder. His eyes flicked back and forth between them. “He’s very sweet.”
Shane shivered under Hunter’s hands.
Ilya snorted. “He is being good now. Sometimes, not so much.” It was too much to ask, that he keep from touching Shane: he finished his wine, got up, and crowded against Shane’s back. Feeling Shane melt back against him was an extra treat. “But you are going to be good for Mr. Hunter tonight, yes?”
Shane didn’t answer, which was probably because Hunter had dropped his hand down to pinch at Shane’s nipples. Hunter clearly had good taste. Ilya grabbed Shane by the jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks, and tilted his head back. Sometimes seeing Shane flushed and wide-eyed and hungry made Ilya go sweet on him, gentle. Sometimes not. He brought his other hand up to Shane’s neck. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Shane gasped.
Ilya guided Shane’s face towards Hunter, who was starting to get the picture. It turned out Ilya liked watching Shane kiss another man better when he could feel it under his own hands, the way Shane’s jaw moved; the tiny wet sounds of his mouth. When he could lean down and tell Shane to suck on Hunter’s tongue, could nibble on Shane’s ear. Could whisper, “I think Hunter wants to fuck you, Shane. Is he hard?”
Shane reached down, and Hunter sucked in a breath. “Yeah,” Shane said.
“Get his pants off.”
Hunter leaned back against the couch, arms out wide, dick tenting out his slacks where he sat between Shane’s splayed legs. If pressed, Ilya would admit it looked like a nice dick. Not as big as his own, but respectable. Probably Shane would like it. Probably Ilya would like watching Shane like it. He kept his hands busy rubbing Shane’s shoulders and chest and unbuttoning Shane’s shirt. Between them, Shane went for Hunter’s belt and the button fly of his slacks, long graceful fingers brushing against the line of Hunter’s dick.
“Wow, are those silk?” Shane asked, looking down at Hunter’s boxers. Which were, Ilya saw, printed with tiny bananas.
Ilya had to bury his face in Shane’s hair to muffle his laughter. It turned out that Hunter blushed almost as pink as Shane. Less pretty, though.
“Kip picked them out,” Hunter said, defensively. “He said they wouldn’t ruin the lines of my—why are you laughing?”
“No, no, it’s nothing,” Ilya managed. “Very fancy—” Shane had started laughing, too— “Shane, you are being rude. You should apologize to Mr. Hunter.”
Ilya stepped back, just a bit; Shane was already sliding off Hunter’s lap to kneel between his legs. Hunter spread his thighs a little more, making room, breathing heavier. He kept his hands still.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hunter,” Shane said. His hands went to the placket of Hunter’s stupid banana-print silk boxers and slipped inside, drawing out Hunter’s dick.
It was fine. Thick. Acceptable, Ilya supposed. “He likes sucking dick,” Ilya said. “He is very good at it.”
Hunter sucked in a breath, staring down at Shane. “You want to?”
Shane’s hair was soft beneath Ilya’s hands. He stuck his fingers in Shane’s mouth to show Hunter how bad Shane wanted to: Shane loved sucking dick, loved being good at it. He’d been good the first time, even, all raw enthusiasm and want. Gagging himself because he didn’t know how to open up and was too eager to wait. He was better now, tongue twisting around Ilya’s fingers, licking between them. Shane moaned low in his throat.
“Goddamn,” Hunter muttered.
Ilya patted the side of Shane’s face with his spit-damp hand and shoved him down, towards Hunter’s dick. Shane did want to, of course. Shane probably wanted to suck Hunter’s dick almost as bad as he wanted to suck Ilya’s. The almost was what let them do this at all. And it was nice, watching. Touching Shane’s lips where they stretched wide around the head of Hunter’s dick. Feeling his throat work when he took Hunter deeper. Even Hunter was nice. Unfortunately.
“He is good.” Hunter looked up at Ilya, pupils blown. He bit his lip. “Well-trained.”
Shane let out a moan: shocked, it sounded like. Wanting. Ilya wanted to get a hand on Shane’s dick or maybe his ass. His tits. Anything. But also—“Very well-trained,” Ilya said, and leaned over Shane to get his tongue in Hunter’s mouth. Hunter gave as good as he got, all teeth and soft gasps from whatever it was Shane was doing between them. Ilya put his hand back down to find out, brushing past Hunter’s wet dick to find Shane sucking on Hunter’s balls.
No one could be expected to resist that. Ilya fumbled his belt off and undid the hook-and-eye closure of his pants one-handed before pulling Shane back by the hair. “My turn.”
He pushed his own dick into Shane’s mouth, between his swollen red lips. Red from where Shane had already had a dick in his mouth, God. Already so wet. Hunter was sitting, watching, jerking off idly. Close enough to Shane’s face, to Ilya’s dick, that he could feel Hunter’s hand moving.
Hunter, who apparently was not boring or stupid at all, rubbed the slick head of his dick across Shane’s cheek, around his lips.
“Fuck,” Ilya groaned.
Shane’s eyes had gone glassy, face hot. Shane’s mouth opened wider around Ilya's dick, and he stuck his tongue out enough that—fuck, Christ—both Ilya and Hunter could rub on it. Shane licked at them both, sloppy with it, tonguing at Ilya’s foreskin and the scar on Hunter’s dick in turn.
Hunter took his own dick in his hand and tapped it on Shane’s face, filthy. “He always like this?”
“For me, he is.”
It was absurd to be getting annoyed about Hunter degrading Shane. Degrading Shane was the whole point. Degraded was how Shane wanted to be. Shane wanted to be good, get fucked, get used. Hunter was a tool to achieve that. Hunter was a tool, period, but a useful one, for now. Ilya grabbed Shane’s beautiful sweaty face with one hand and squeezed until Shane’s mouth fell open, plush and soft. Then Hunter slid the tip of his dick into Shane’s mouth, where Ilya was fucking holding it open for him, where Ilya could see Shane trying to suck at it, to lick it, where Ilya could watch Shane sucking another man’s dick and still looking up at him with stars in his eyes—
Okay, fine. Hunter was not so bad. “Bed,” Ilya said. “Now, now, come the fuck on.” He pulled Shane up and hustled them both towards the bedroom. The city lights shone through the hotel windows and highlighted Hunter’s flexing muscles. He was walking ahead of them, kicking off his pants and underwear and shrugging off his shirt, his French cuffs, his shoulders drawing back. Not bad for an old man. Ilya wouldn’t mind fucking Hunter, if Shane wanted that. Wouldn’t mind at all. Maybe another time.
“Show him off for me,” Hunter said, settling back on the bed.
Ilya squashed the urge to be contrary. They were, sort of, kind of, on the same team. Hunter could be alternate captain, he supposed. He stood at the end of the bed with a wobbly Shane pressed to his front. For a second he lost himself, too busy grinding his dick into Shane’s ass. Feeling Shane arch against him, drop his head back against Ilya’s shoulder, gasp and groan.
He got back with the program. Shane’s shirt came off, then his pants and underwear. Ilya gave Shane’s dick a couple strokes, just to be nice, then rolled his balls in one hand. Show him off. Okay. Hunter would see that Shane was the most beautiful, most needy thing in the universe. Ilya brought both hands up to Shane’s pecs, massaging, grabbing, pinching. Shane made beautiful sounds when his nipples hurt. And when Ilya kissed his neck. In front of them, stroking himself off, Hunter watched.
“You two make a pretty picture.”
“You’re—ah—not so bad yourself,” Shane said.
Ilya tucked his smile against Shane’s neck and brought his hand down Shane’s front. “He used to be so boring,” he said to Hunter. “Would not let me fuck him because you were next door.”
Shane groaned. “You’re such an asshole—that was a long time ago,” he said. “I was trying to be discreet.”
“Yes, and now look at you,” Ilya said. “Go suck Hunter’s dick.”
He gave Shane a little shove, but mostly he didn’t need to: Shane was eagerly crawling across the bed to bury his face in between Hunter’s legs. The view was something else, even though he couldn’t see exactly what Shane was doing. It was enough to look at his ass up in the air, his strong, lean thighs, his dick hard and heavy, to listen to Shane gag himself on a dick.
Well. Almost enough. Ilya got undressed and climbed up behind Shane, kissing across his shoulders and spine. “Pass me the lube. Right there,” he said to Hunter. Then he got his fingers in Shane, slick, twisting around inside, Shane’s groans muffled because of the dick in his throat. Tight, always tight.
Hunter held Shane by the hair. Enjoying him, it looked like. Hopefully he would not come too soon. No way Hunter could get it up again. Then he showed himself capable of good judgment, again, and shifted sideways around Shane, reaching. Hunter’s hand rubbed down Shane’s sweaty strong back until he reached Ilya’s fingers, tracing around, and—Christ—slipping one in. Slipping a finger in, up against Ilya’s, up inside Shane’s body. Shane made a sound like he’d been punched. Clearly he’d lost the ability to suck, head pressed to Hunter’s thigh, but that made sense; Ilya could barely even think. Three fingers in Shane, not all of them his. Someone else stretching Shane out. Someone else with Ilya, inside Shane. Ilya’s dick was so hard it hurt. “Fuck, Hunter—”
“How do you even get your dick in there, Rozanov?”
Ilya grinned. “It’s big, yes? I’ll show you.” He pulled his fingers out to get himself ready, focusing through the urge to stop and watch Hunter getting his dick back in Shane’s mouth. He couldn’t entirely help it: he had to lean over Shane, pull him off, kiss him. Slack hot mouth, sweet, always giving. Ilya wiped Shane’s wet cheeks with his clean hand. “Still good?”
Shane didn’t answer, just moaned. Not surprising, in that state. Ilya slapped him and waited for his eyes to clear.
“Fuck you, yes, I’m good,” Shane said, finally with it. “Leave me alone.”
Ilya looked at Hunter. “See? He has an attitude. You want to fuck his face?”
“Absolutely,” Hunter said, smiling. Probably ignoring Shane’s eye-roll. Ilya certainly was. Hunter took another handful of Shane’s hair and put him back to work. Ilya would be happy just watching Shane struggle to take it for the rest of the night, but Shane wouldn’t. And it had been Shane’s idea, after all.
Shane lost it when Ilya finally knelt between his legs and pressed inside. He rolled his head against Hunter’s stomach, whimpering. Not Shane’s best performance. Well, it was very pretty, but that was all. “Hollander,” Ilya snapped, and slapped Shane’s ass hard. “Focus.”
That got Shane back on track. Probably Shane wouldn’t have to do much more than keep his mouth open; Hunter didn’t look like he was likely to last much longer, sweat standing out on his chest and stomach, thighs tense, hands flexing in Shane’s hair. And Shane, with his back bowed down and broad shoulders, the dip above his ass, his ass, Ilya’s hands digging into his hips. If only he could take a picture. Ilya had to look at the ceiling, then squeeze his eyes shut and try to ignore the sounds. He wasn’t going to come before stupid Scott Hunter. Hopefully.
It was not going to be easy. Every time Hunter pushed his dick deep in Shane’s mouth Shane would tense up, tight around Ilya, and Shane was—Shane was so loud, loud like he only got when Ilya had been working him over for hours, when he had come once already and Ilya kept fucking him until he was hard again, and Ilya was grabbing maybe a little too rough, and—
He opened his eyes when Shane’s groans got clearer, in time to watch Hunter hold Shane’s face still so he could come all over it.
“Oh, fuck, fuck,” Hunter was gritting out, and Shane was moaning, and it was too much to bear; Shane too beautiful, too wanting. Ilya yanked him up and held him flush on his lap, grinding in while Shane squirmed, going too deep. He couldn’t stand it, Hunter’s come on Shane’s lips, Shane’s dick so hard and so wet he was dripping. Ilya kissed Shane and fucked him until suddenly he started writhing, and it turned out that Hunter was flat across the bed and sucking Shane’s dick, and Shane went tight around him with a high, choked noise, and finally, finally, Ilya could let himself come.
It was very nice, Ilya reflected, to be able to keep Shane sweet and warm in his bed and kick Hunter out at the same time. Two kinds of pleasure.
“That was so hot, Scott,” Shane said. “Thank you for, you know, trying it with us.”
“Hey, of course, my pleasure,” Hunter said. “I’d say anytime, but I’m not sure Rozanov is gonna invite me back.”
“He’ll get over it. He thinks you’re hot. He’s just a bit of a caveman,” Shane said, laughing.
Enough of that. “Okay, goodbye. Hunter, we are glad your dick still works. I will walk you out.”
Ilya could still hear Shane’s laughter from the bedroom, light, happy. He let Hunter finish getting dressed and didn’t even glare.
In the foyer, waiting for the elevator, Hunter looked at him. “We’re cool, right?”
Ilya fought the urge to scoff. As if it was a problem to have help ruining Shane, to get to watch as he fell to pieces. Ilya would jerk off over it for years. “Yes. It was fun.”
“Because you think I’m hot,” Hunter said, amused.
It was hard to be truly annoyed with his body still so warm and relaxed, with Shane’s sweat all over him, Shane’s taste on his lips. Ilya shrugged. “Fine, yes, you are hot. Third hottest in the league, maybe. Not the third best skater. You will retire soon, yes?”
“Jesus. Is this afterglow for you?”
“Goodbye, Hunter.”
“You’ve had my come in your mouth, man. I think you can call me Scott.”
Which, Ilya supposed, was true. And after all, Scott Hunter was very tall and handsome, and Shane had had so much fun. “Goodbye, Scott,” Ilya said, and kissed him on the cheek.
“See you around,” Scott said, stepping into the elevator.
Ilya waited until the doors closed, because he really wasn’t that much of an asshole, until he could crawl into bed with Shane, and curl up on his chest, and press his lips to Shane’s chest, and Shane was his, all his.
“Love you,” Shane murmured, sleepy and content.
And fine, whatever, it had been good. Scott was not so boring. Ilya breathed in the warmth of Shane’s skin. “I love you, too.”