Work Text:
September 2015
This was a headache. It was always a headache when schedules were changed, but to be shifted so last minute was a logistical nightmare. It was three days before Montreal was set to play against Pittsburgh, and the stadium had a major plumbing issue: no working bathrooms, no showers, and the ice wouldn’t stay frozen for some reason. Normally, the game would be cancelled or rescheduled but since this was pre-season, the league decided they would play in Detroit instead. Still neutral territory, but a pain in the ass either way. Hayden told him he thought some hands had been greased, because there was no way the league would make such an out of the blue decision otherwise.
It was a moot point either way. They all knew they were going to fuck Pittsburgh up, location be damned. New hotels booked and plane tickets purchased, Shane and the team landed in Detroit Sunday afternoon, giving everyone some downtime before the game the next day.
Travel days were always an annoying break in Shane’s routine, and a sudden and unexpected travel day that included an international flight (short as that flight may be)… well, he was on edge. He needed to blow off some steam. Unfortunately, as the concierge had informed him, the hotel’s gym was currently under renovation and unavailable for use.
So, Shane found himself at the nearest park to the hotel. Headphones in and brain quiet, he was about a third of the way through his second 10km run of the day. His breathing had started to pick up a bit- not much, he still had a lot of workout to go, but enough that he could hear his breath mix with the music in his headphones. Running gave him a chance to get lost in his own head: to get away from the world around him and just exist. Whether to run through plays and strategy, think about his next sponsorship deal, process the newest hockey biography he was reading, or just listen to his own breathing, it was always a time just for him.
…Which is why he wasn’t really watching where he was going and smacked face first into another runner.
Instinctually, he reached out to steady the person he ran into with one hand, while his other came up to his nose to check for blood.
“Oh fuck, I am so sorry, are you oka-” Shane cut himself off as he looked up at the person he had run into-- he saw familiar gold flecked green eyes and golden curls staring back at him, and watched as a crooked smile started to form. Ilya Rozanov was steadying himself with the help of Shane’s hand on his arm, which Shane quickly pulled back when he processed who was in front of him. “Rozanov? What are you doing here?”
“Apparently, being run over by a stupid Canadian in a park, Hollander. You are finally trying to kill me?” Ilya’s voice was playful, if not a tiny bit strained with pain as he reached up to check his chin was alright after Shane’s assault.
Shane shook his head at the attempted assassination accusation. “Not yet.” He looked around to see there was no one around them on the pathway before lowering his voice to ask, “Again, what the hell are you doing here?”
Ilya rolled his eyes, Shane was always too concerned about his precious optics. “We played Detroit yesterday. Flight home was delayed to later tonight, so I went for a run. Am not stalking you, Hollander.” He took a second to glance over Shane, drinking in the sight of him just a bit. “What the fuck are you doing here though? Shouldn’t you be in Quebec?”
“There was an issue with the plumbing at the stadium. No ice. So they moved us down here, still on neutral ground.” Shane agreed with Hayden; it wasn’t unheard of, but definitely weird for a venue to be changed so suddenly and so drastically. Money had to be changing hands somewhere. Or maybe Detroit was just the nearest neutral place with an empty rink on a Monday afternoon. He doubted it.
They were still standing in the pathway that was still empty despite it being the middle of the day, but maybe the gathering clouds and humidity could account for that. Maybe it’s going to rain tonight, Shane thought to himself. He stepped to the side of the path, and Ilya followed him, clearing the way in case anyone else did come by. Neither was really sure what to say, not sure how they worked off the ice or outside hotel rooms.
Shane reached up to his nose again, and sure as shit, pulled his hand away with blood on it. He started looking around to see if there was anywhere nearby he could get napkins once it started in earnest. He pinched his nose and Ilya quirked his eyebrows up.
“You good there?” Ilya asked.
Shane shook his head slightly, still looking for something or someone he could get napkins from. “No, you gave me a bloody nose.”
Ilya threw his hands up, “Hey you ran into me, Mr. Outer Space,” there was a beat, then “There is a stand back up the trail, I’ll get you tissue. Stay.” He ordered, then turned on his heel and was jogging away before Shane could argue.
Mr. Outer Space? Shane almost laughed, the corners of his lips pulling up for just a second.
He stood in the trail holding his nose like an idiot and watched Ilya disappear up the path. What the fuck had just happend? Shane was thrown off by the appearance of his rival, he couldn’t really argue with that. But why was it such a big deal? Why was his heart beating so damn hard in his chest? He decided to put it down to the running. Yeah, that had to be it. Nothing else.
Ilya jogged up the path to the food stand he had seen on his run not too far from where he’d run into Shane. Why didn’t he mention that they moved his game? Ilya thought to himself, before dismissing it. That was ridiculous, they didn’t keep each other apprised of literally every part of their day. Obviously Hollander didn’t have the entire Boston schedule memorized, so why should he tell Ilya when Montreal’s changed? Stupid. Ilya refused to think about how tight that made his chest.
He reached the stand and asked the vendor for some napkins. The kid manning the stand seemed a bit starstruck, and just pointed to the dispenser. Ilya took a handful and nodded his thanks, already starting to jog back to Shane.
Not long after he left, Rozanov jogged back into Shane’s field of view carrying a handful of brown paper napkins. He was grateful; he didn’t want to get blood on his work out gear, and he didn’t want to walk through downtown Detroit holding his nose. He was trying (and failing) not to focus on Rozanov’s thighs in the tight shorts as he ran towards him, muscles flexing and shifting.
Ilya was focused as he came to Shane and held the napkins out wordlessly. Shane nodded, mumbling a quick thanks as he grabbed them, and their fingers only touched a little bit longer than necessary. Shane tipped his head back ever so slightly as he cleaned the blood off his hands, and Ilya couldn’t help but watch the way his neck tensed. They hadn’t seen each other since the beginning of the summer, and weren’t scheduled to play each other for another few weeks. It was good to see him outside his phone screen, covered in sweat, shirt starting to cling to his chest, his stomach…
“Nothing broken, yes?” Ilya cut his thoughts short before they could go further south. Shane shook his head, nose bleed almost completely taken care of.
“No, thank god. I think Hayden would kill you if I told him that you broke my nose off the ice,” Shane smiled and Ilya felt something in his stomach.
“Mm, he could try,” Ilya shrugged, “And again, you ran into me, so you would have broken your own nose. Using my face. I am blameless.”
Shane shook his head again and looked around. They were still alone. The clouds were getting thicker overhead despite the heat, and it really seemed like it would rain now. He didn’t know what else to say, but found he didn’t really want to stop talking to Rozanov.
“What time did you say your flight is?” Shane asked, expecting the words to stick in his throat. He was honestly surprised they came out as clear as they did.
Ilya raised an eyebrow, “Late, I think 10 tonight.”
This is such a stupid idea, Shane thought. That hadn’t stopped either of them before, though. “Maybe I should let Lily know where I’m staying. Just so she knows.” He really hoped Ilya would pick up his meaning. Evidently he did. Ilya shifted almost imperceptibly closer to Shane, eyes trained on his except for when they dipped down quickly to his lips.
“Maybe you should.”
Shane knew this was dangerous: the way he was looking at Rozanov on a public path where anyone could see them. He cleared his throat, took a step back, and nodded at Ilya. “I, um, yeah. I’ll do that. Thank you for the tissues.” His nose had stopped bleeding entirely, any excuse for talking to his rival drying up with the blood. “Um, I will see you around, then.”
Ilya smirked at Shane, taking no small pleasure in his flustered stammering. There was a small blush both crawling up his neck to his ears and spreading down under his shirt. Fuck, Ilya wanted to follow that blush all the way down his chest. “See you around, Hollander.”
Ilya gave him a sly wink and started jogging down the path, continuing where he left off when he was so rudely bowled down by Hollander and his stupid freckles and his dumb blush.
Shane stood there for another couple of seconds before pulling himself together and continuing up the running path. He tried desperately to reroute his path so he didn’t have to run the full 10km. He pulled his phone out and sent a quick text to Lily: 1617, 1 hour along with the hotel name. He was grateful, suddenly, that the quick venue change meant that he had booked his own room rather than sharing with Hayden like usual.
—
Shane moaned into Ilya’s mouth as he was pushed up against the wall in his hotel room.
Ilya had shown up five minutes late with his duffle bag. Shane was trying to think of some chirp to throw at him when Ilya strode across the entrance to the small hotel room, dropping his bag and cupping his face to kiss him. Shane grabbed his waist and pulled them in, crashing their bodies together so he could feel Ilya hardening through his jeans. He had obviously gone back to his hotel to change in the short time since the park. Shane had too, out of sweaty work out clothes into comfortable lounge pants and a Voyageurs shirt.
Fuck, he had missed this. As nice as a break from the constant travelling might be, summer was too fucking long. Too lonely, too empty. Sure, he kept busy with brand deals and training and media and anything else his mom scheduled him to do, but he was always on his own, craving the banter and chirping that always came so easy between him and Rozanov. And the sex, of course: the release from control, from responsibilities, from the stress and anxiety that laced through his daily life.
He didn’t have time to be anxious and in his head now as Ilya pulled back from the kiss, slipping two fingers in Shane’s mouth. He sucked without hesitation, bobbing his head like he was sucking his dick. Shane really wanted to suck his dick right now.
“God, Hollander, you take my fingers so well.” Ilya had tilted Shane’s head so he could kiss and nip at that beautiful throat he couldn’t keep his eyes off of earlier. He had flings while he was in Russia, sure, but somehow nothing compared to these quick fucks they got. And especially now, getting to see Shane weeks before he expected to, he needed him more than he could express in English. He told himself that the feeling in his stomach when Shane pulled them against each other was just him being horny, needing to get off. He ignored it, just like the tightness in his chest earlier.
Ilya pulled his fingers out of Shane’s mouth and maneuvered them both to the bed with his hands on Hollander’s hips. He pushed him down onto it and stood back to take his shirt off, dropping it casually on the floor. He relished the expression on Hollander’s face, his blown pupils and red lips showing he was just as kiss drunk as Ilya felt.
Shane was staring. He had seen Rozanov naked plenty of times; this was nothing new, but he could never get used to just how perfect his body was. Every line of him was carved from marble, and every curve was perfectly measured to drive Shane fucking wild. He snapped out of it after a moment, rushing to pull off his own shirt and folding it somewhat haphazardly before dropping it on the floor. He spared a small thought about how he would need to pick that up later, and tried not to let it bother him. Rozanov leaned down over him in the bed, caging him in on all sides and listing down to kiss him. It was softer than Shane had expected.
Ilya pulled away from his lips and nudged his head to the side, kissing at his ear, his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Slowly (fuck, too slowly), making his way down Shane's body. He stopped at his right nipple, pressing his tongue to it before biting down. His hand came up to squeeze the left one simultaneously. Shane's gasp quickly melted into a moan. Ilya alternated between them, sucking and biting at one while his fingers rolled the other, pinching and pulling in ways that made Shane's hips raise off the bed. It could have lasted for ten minutes or for two hours; Shane couldn't say. By the time Ilya's hands and lips started moving lower, he was leaking against his pants.
The way Shane's hips bucked as he moved his kisses down his abdomen never stopped exciting Ilya. He moved irritatingly slowly, drawing this out as long as he himself could bear. He made sure to brush a lingering kiss against the patch of freckles at the bottom of his ribs, paying it special attention. He loved all of Shane's freckles, but these ones always felt like they were just for him. The only part of Shane that was his.
"You need it so bad don't you, Hollander? Need me so bad?"
Shane groaned low in his chest and rolled his hips up again. He nodded and Ilya's face split into a mischievous smile before he dipped back down to kiss his hips through his thin pants.
"Beg me for it."
"Fuck, Rozanov, please suck my dick. Please, I need to feel you around me," Shane panted as his voice pitched up and he whined at the man now pinning his legs down with his body. "I need you to make me come.”
Ilya considered for a moment, letting the pretty pleading settle in his head. "Mm, I will make you deal. I will suck you off, and you get to decide: I stop before you come five times, then you get your orgasm. Or I keep going after you come, and I decide when I stop. How does this sound?"
The last question was genuine; he wanted to make sure Shane had the choice to back out. It's not like they had never done anything “out there” before. He couldn't count how many times he made Shane Hollander cum with just his tongue in his ass, or made him hump his leg to get off, or roughed him up on the ice in front of thousands of people just to make him rougher in bed afterwards. They weren't vanilla, but this was pushing the envelope for what they were used to.
Shane thought about it for a minute, then nodded his head. "Do you want me to pick now, or…?" Ilya cut him off with a head shake.
"No. Tell me when you are close, and I will stop and you make your decision then. But you don't get to change it after."
"Yeah, I got that part. I like it." He rolled his eyes, "Please suck my dick now, please."
Ilya's head dipped back down to kiss Shane's hips again, just above the top of his pants, and fuck, that made him jump: that area was so sensitive. "Impatient," he muttered. He started to work the pants and boxers off his ass, freeing Shane's cock to bounce up on full display.
Ilya took his time working Shane over. He continued his small kisses all over his pelvis and inner thighs, taking in every noise as motivation to go further. Shane was already leaking by the time Ilya kissed up his shaft and took just his head into his mouth. And the noise he made… Ilya could get off on that noise for the rest of his life. It was a sharp gasp that cut itself into the most lurid moan he'd ever heard from any lover, and it just kept going, drawn out as Ilya took Shane further into his mouth. The long summer had driven them both crazy, and training camp along with the first couple games of the pre-season had wound them both tight as springs.
Taking Shane down to the root wasn't difficult for Ilya. He had done it plenty of times and was always happy to have a chance to take him apart beneath him. He set a casual pace, not rushing but not teasing too horribly either. He knew Hollander wouldn't last long, and he was eager to see which option he picked: how their night would go.
Shane was getting close, and he was getting close quickly. He remembered that he had been given an assignment and he needed to make a choice soon. He tried to weigh the options in his mind, which was difficult when he looked down and saw Rozanov's eyes looking up to him through low eyelashes and out of place curls. Either edge five times then come, or come over and over until Rozanov decided he was done. He wasn't sure which one sounded worse (or better.) He would for sure be tortured either way. He knew Rozanov had quite some time before he had to leave for his flight- could he handle being edged for that long? Probably not. But could he handle coming for that long? He thought back to the first time he had sexted him before a game- How many times can you come in one hour? -and he wanted to put it to the test.
"God, fuck, Rozanov- I'm close, please."
Ilya pulled off Shane for just a minute, stroking him while he spoke, "So you want me to keep going?"
"Yes, please keep going, please don't stop. Please, fuck, Rozanov I'm-"
Ilya cut off Shane's babbling by lowering his head back down and easily taking him all the way. He bobbed his head faster now, sucking his cheeks in while he moved one hand to cup Shane's balls and pressed his tongue to the underside of his dick. Shane came, sudden and strong down his throat, and he worked him through it, not slowing down as he milked Shane's orgasm from him.
Shane moaned loud and long, curling in on himself and holding onto his blonde curls like they were his only anchor in this plane. That didn't slow him down any, and Ilya kept going.
—
Ilya managed to pull six orgasms out of Shane in two hours before he finally tapped out. It was honestly a couple more than he had expected, and he felt a sense of pride in giving him that much pleasure. He climbed up the bed to Shane's exhausted face and kissed his beautiful lips sweetly. Then, he pulled back and went to the bathroom to get a warm rag to clean him up, including a small bit of dried blood Shane had missed under his nose earlier. He hadn't gotten off, but honestly didn't care- on top of the fact that he now had enough jerk off material to last him at least a few months, he was very satisfied by the overwhelmed and sleepy look on Hollander's face when he came back and cleaned him up.
Ilya pulled the blanket up over them and Shane close to his chest, lacing his fingers through his dark hair softly. They laid in silence for a while, Ilya stroking Shane's hair, and Shane trailing his fingers up and down Ilya's side absently. Neither wanted to be the one to break, well, whatever this was.
Not much of their time is spent just existing in each others' space like this. Ever since the awards show in Vegas, they had both wordlessly agreed that this was just sex- nothing more. It can't be anything more than that.
But in times like this, Ilya let himself pretend it could be.
He could picture waking up with Shane every morning: the slow, sleepy sex they would have, pulling him back to bed every time he tried to get up. He could imagine coming home from practice together, arguing about the legality of a move or the best way to approach a play. He could see himself dragging Shane towards him on the couch just to cuddle while they watch whatever boring documentary Shane had put on, or simply existing near each other while they worked separately, or fucking him on every surface in their shared home. Ilya could envision a thousand lifetimes with Shane, but he knew he could never live them.
Shane felt the change in Ilya's breath before he heard it. When the strong chest under him stuttered from the steady rhythm he had been matching his breathing to, he looked up and was met with the sight of Rozanov's eyes locked on his, full of something Shane couldn't place. Lust? Hatred? Affection? He didn't have much time to figure it out though, as Ilya quickly shifted his gaze to something across the room. Caught red handed. Shane sat up, adjusting his position so they were face to face, and raised his hand to cup Ilya's cheek. He brought him in for a firm kiss that he hoped didn't betray everything he felt in that moment: how full his chest felt, how much he wanted this to last forever, how these quick hookups were one of the few times in his day to day life that he felt he could breathe...
The kiss didn't last long, but it lingered in the air far past the time their lips parted.
It was getting late, and Ilya knew he had to leave soon if he wanted to make it to the airport on time. He didn't care much, he decided. He just wanted to live in this moment a bit longer.
"So you're going to New York next right? Where to after that?"
"Mm, yeah, we're in Boston tomorrow, then against Old Man Hunter in New York, then down to DC. Not too far, just far enough to be annoying. And the people are the worst." Ilya rolled his head back and looked up at the ceiling as though it were the most interesting thing in the world as he spoke.
"We're all over Canada for the next few weeks. Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto." Then Boston.
"All the boring places. Centaurs suck, Toronto is not much better. You'll be fine."
"Yeah, I'm not really worried. It'll be nice to be home though. My parents are coming to Montreal then following us back to Ottawa."
They chatted more about nothing at all, their voices steady and calm. Eventually, after both had gone quiet, Ilya's alarm went off. Fuck, he needed to leave now or he would definitely miss his flight. He fought back the thought that it could be a good thing, and pushed himself up in bed. He swung his legs over the edge and looked around for his shirt. He found and pulled it on quickly, turning around to see Shane looking at him with the most beautiful soft smile he had ever seen, and it knocked the wind from his lungs.
Ilya leaned back over and kissed Shane gently, hoping that he could communicate everything he felt in that one kiss. Their lips lingered against one another far longer than they had to, and far longer than Ilya had time for. He did really need to make this flight or his coach would kill him, and he couldn't kiss those lovely lips if he was dead. He pulled back and went back to getting dressed, pulling his things together. He was thankful he brought his bag and checked out of his room already so he could spend a few extra minutes here.
He hesitated at the door, hand hovering over the handle. He had done this a million times before, so why was it so difficult this time? He pushed it down. It wasn’t harder this time, he told himself. Just leave.
Ilya couldn’t stop himself from turning around and looking at Shane laying in the bed: the picture of radiance- a statue carved in God’s own image. Fuck. “Two weeks, then?”
Shane smiled lightly, “Two weeks.”
“Good luck tomorrow, Hollander.” Ilya left the room.