“Oh fuck,” Shane whimpered. Ilya was an expert when it came to Shane’s balls. He knew exactly how to roll them in his mouth, how to press his tongue along the seam of Shane’s sac, and how to use his fingers on the sensitive area just below. He’d made Shane come just from this, many times, but Shane didn’t think that was the plan tonight. He hoped not. “Fuck, Ilya. So good.”
Ilya hummed, which sent sparks shooting up to the tip of Shane’s dick. He released Shane slowly, letting the delicate orb slip out between his glistening lips. He stood and went to his suitcase in the corner of the room. A moment later he returned with a bottle of lube.
“Thank fuck,” Shane sighed.
Ilya smiled. “Turn over.”
Shane didn’t hesitate for a second. He went up on his knees and forearms and waited. He was expecting the welcome pressure of a slick finger, so he nearly yelped when he felt the warm, wet brush of Ilya’s tongue.
“Holy—yes. Fuck yes,” Shane panted.
Ilya was so fucking good with his tongue. He switched between long, confident strokes and soft flutters against Shane’s hole while he gripped Shane’s ass cheeks in his strong hands, pulling them apart to get deeper. Shane dropped his head to the pillow, mouth slack. He couldn’t focus his eyes on anything.
“You were so fucking beautiful today,” Ilya said, then kissed Shane’s right ass cheek. “When you were skating, with your hair.”
“You too,” Shane slurred. “Love watching you skate.”
He heard the click of the lube bottle, then felt the gentle press of Ilya’s finger against his entrance. “Can I tell you a secret?” Ilya asked.
Shane tensed, his stomach flipping in anticipation. “Yes.”
Ilya slid his finger inside. “You are a better hockey player than me.”
Shane gasped, both from the intrusion and the admission. “I’m just—just on a better team.”
“No,” Ilya said calmly. “You have always been better. Always.”
God, why was Ilya saying this? Did he really think so? Did it matter?
“It’s,” Shane gritted out as Ilya stroked his prostate, “a tie.”
Ilya chuckled. “Yes. Okay.”
Shane relaxed into the pillow and against Ilya’s fingers. He felt absolutely perfect, loose and happy and safe, not focused on anything except opening for Ilya. And even that wasn’t a chore because Ilya knew exactly how to get him there. His strong fingers sank inside him, twisted, curled, gently stretched apart while Shane breathed and sighed and sank deeper into the sensations.
Loud knocking jolted Shane out of the moment. The knocking was followed by the voice of Cliff Marlow. “Rozanov! You in there?”
All good feelings left, abruptly replaced by pure panic. Shane craned his neck to peer at Ilya over his shoulder. Ilya winked at him, gave Shane’s prostate another stroke, and called out, “Yes.”
Shane mouthed what the fuck? at him, but Ilya only grinned and continued to finger fuck him.
“We’re going out,” Cliff said. “I need my wingman, let’s go.” He sounded more than a little drunk.
“Where?” Ilya asked, and added a second finger.
“I don’t know. Some club. Can you open the fucking door?”
Shane wanted to die. But he also was oddly turned on by this weird situation. Which also made him want to die.
Of course Ilya decided this was the perfect time to finally touch Shane’s dick. He wrapped his hand around the shaft and Shane’s whole body jerked. Unfortunately, Shane also let out a loud moan.
“Shh,” Ilya scolded, as if any of this were Shane’s fault. Then, to Cliff he said, “I can’t right now. Sorry.”
There was silence, and then Cliff jumped to a slightly wrong conclusion. “Shit. You’ve got a girl in there with you, right? Sorry, man.”
“Maybe,” Ilya said.
Shane rolled his eyes.
Cliff laughed. “Probably two or three. Have a good night, you fucking legend.”
Shane bit his own forearm to keep himself from saying anything.
When Cliff was finally gone, Shane said, “Two or three, huh?”
Ilya huffed. “Cliff cannot even count to two or three.”
“I can’t believe you fucking chatted with him while you were fingering me,” Shane hissed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Wrong with me? I am not the one who fucking loved it.”
“I did not.”
Ilya rubbed his thumb over the head of Shane’s leaking cock, making Shane suck in a breath. “Your cock loved it.”
“My cock loves being touched, not whatever weird shit you’re into. Could you please fuck me now?”
Ilya released him and slid his fingers out of Shane’s ass. Shane flipped onto his back so he could watch him finish undressing. In less than a minute, Ilya was naked and slicking his own cock with lube, so maybe he was in more of a hurry than he’d been letting on.
Shane thought Ilya would haul him to the end of the bed so he could stand while fucking him. Shane loved it that way, with Ilya able to use all of his power and strength and Shane able to watch him and touch him and stroke himself for him.
But instead, Ilya left Shane where he was—relaxed against the pillows—and lowered himself carefully over his body. He kissed him in a slow, adoring way that absolutely annihilated Shane’s brain every time. Then, when Shane was fully reduced to a quivering mass of pure need, Ilya finally entered him.
Shane watched Ilya’s face as he pushed inside. His eyes were wide like the sensation still surprised him, after all these years. Like he hadn’t been expecting Shane to welcome him inside so easily. Like he somehow didn’t know he belonged there.
“I love you so much,” Shane whispered.
Ilya could only nod, his teeth biting hard into his bottom lip to keep himself quiet.
When he started moving, he used slow, deliberate strokes that weren’t enough, but were also too much. Every nerve in Shane’s body was buzzing. Ilya peppered Shane’s face with gentle kisses, his breath dancing across Shane’s skin in ragged puffs. Shane wrapped his legs around Ilya’s back, urging him to go deeper, and faster.
There was more noise from the hallway—more NHL players being drunk and rowdy—and Shane tried to ignore them. Or at least tried not to let their proximity turn him on even more. Because Ilya hadn’t been wrong; there was something hot about doing this surrounded by their peers.
Ilya finally sped up. He grinned at Shane, as if he knew what he’d been thinking about. “What if they could see?” Ilya’s voice was low and quiet and his words made Shane’s cock twitch. “If that wall was a window.”
Shane squeezed his eyes shut, which only helped him to imagine it. “Fuck,” he said.
“They could see how well you take it. How much you love it.”
“Stop,” Shane said weakly, not meaning it at all.
“They would be so jealous of me. Getting to have you like this.”
Shane opened his eyes. “They’d be jealous of me. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“Stroke yourself,” Ilya commanded, then began thrusting harder, snapping his hips and tipping his head back.