dom ilya rozanov x sub male reader
sum. you seem to have a problem articulating your words, and he doesn’t have time for your bullshitting.
authors note: hi guys, i know- i’m back. not permanently, but back nonetheless. life has been lifing, unfortunately. and if you can’t tell, i have indeed watched heated rivalry. it was great, btdubs.
warnings implied nsfw content (blowjob), sense of urgency, reader is implied to be slightly new, implied rivalry/dislike, sneaking around
“what was your game plan to score the win against montreal?” the reporter asks with a voice full of faux sugar, microphone held up to her mouth before she tilts it towards the russian.
“i just went in and did it.” he answers cut and dry, his accent wrapping around each and every syllable as he looks at the camera for a split second before flitting his eyes back to the reporter. the lady frowns at the quick and impatient sounding answer, but quickly schools her expression to ask the next question.
“how do you feel about montreal’s newest player checking you on the ice? do you think he’s imposing any competition to the league so far?”
“he is not great. montreal’s fourteenth best, just above pike.” he flashes a side grin before offering a wink to the camera.
“what the fuck? fourteenth best?” you yell at your tv from the comfort of your hotel bed, furious at his words. you quickly switch the channel, but not before rolling your eyes. for his information, you were playing a damn good season-
“don’t listen to him. he’s a dick, dude.” pike would comment as he stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up fresh, white linen. “he only says that shit to agitate you. plus, you’re playing a good season. don’t let him get under your skin.” damn right you are, but rozanov still manages to irritate the living hell out of you. pike was right- it was agitating. you don’t know how pike manages to keep his mouth shut or his head down. actually, he doesn’t do either- but you don’t hear him freaking out about rozanov everyday, unlike you.
“blow off some steam. get laid while im gone or something.” he walks over to your bed before patting you on the shoulder. “how do i look?” he asks, fixing his sleeves for what seems like the umpteenth time. just some normal slacks and a button up. simple but effective. you give him a small nod, tell him he looks good- and just as quickly, he’s out the door.
left with the silence of just your thoughts and the background noise of your tv, the only thing that runs through your mind is rozanov. before you can think, you’re picking up your phone.
fucking seriously, rozanov?
you are not good, rookie. i did not lie.
goddamn him and his arrogance. it’ll come back to get him one day, you think.
i’m playing a good season.
why do you text me at this hour?
actually, you don’t know why. do you just enjoy the thrill of texting a rival? i mean, you’d chalk it up to that if hayden’s words weren’t ringing through your ears.
‘blow off some steam. get laid while i’m gone or something.”
okay, a bit forward. maybe too forward.
who taught you how to use emojis?
you didn’t answer question.
oh, what the fuck? as soon as you send the text, he hearts it and you feel something similar to regret. why did he have so much power on you indirectly? god, you were so easy. you try not to overthink it as you get up from the bed and head to the bathroom.
before you know it, a loud knock rings through your hotel room, stopping your pacing in its tracks. you practically swing the door open, ilya slowly walks in with that confident swagger that you know all too well, moving to close the door behind him. “nice hotel,” he observes, giving a quick glance over of the room. “are you rooming with pike?”
“yeah, but he’s gone. out with his wife.” you assure, backing up as rozanov steps towards you, your back hitting against a wall.
“we have to be quick then, da? he is one pump chump.” that gets a laugh out of you, and he falls down to his knees just as quickly.
“how would you know?” you raise a brow in mock concern as he shimmied down your sweats in one go, already hard cock springing free from the confines of the fabric.
“were you hard thinking about this? how long?” he doesn’t make a move to do anything yet, just stare up at you with those eyes.
“shut up, asshole. do it already.”
“do what?” okay, now he’s being a dick.
“…you know what.” your cheeks redden at being questioned like this. he knows what you want, but he refuses to give it to you. it’s like he enjoys watching you suffer.
“tell me what you want me to do to you?”
“say it, say it, say it…”
“what do you want? i need you to say.” his hand slides up and down your thigh as he looks up at you with those pouty lips, fingers occasionally dipping into your inner thigh to tease.
“okay! suck my dick, rozanov. are you happy?”
“that’s not nice. what is magic word?”
whatever dignity that you had left is completely lost as the words leave your lips. “please?”
a/n: this is so not proofread because it was made in a day i’m sawry :( happy birthday connie baby
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