A/N! thank you to everyone who read the last part, and the anon who requested a part two! i didn’t even really know if anyone would read it tbh 😭 but i’m very happy that it was, and i’m glad you enjoyed it! i’m still new to writing again, so if you have any advice feel free to comment, message me, or send something in the ask page!
content warning: male!original character x ilya rozanov, graphic/explicit content, choking (affectionate), penetration
summary — three weeks after jesse’s encounter with ilya, boston comes head to head with philadelphia yet again, on jesse’s turf. but now the two captains have history. history neither of them can forget. after ilya finally took a crack at jesse’s formerly impenetrable shell, he can’t help but want more.
ilya rozanov didn’t do morning-afters.
when the heat between the two captains had finally simmered to a stagnant hum of the hotel room’s inner electricity, ilya didn’t linger. he never did. this wasn’t serious, and no hookup ever has been with him. especially not with the captain of an opposing team that had just embarrassed them on home ice. but jesse didn’t seem to mind. the american lay there with an arm slung over his face, the muscles of his chest shifting with each heavy breath still lingering from the earlier events. jesse didn’t try to stop him. why would he? this was just a one time thing. right?
ilya’s own bulky figure ripples beneath the shine of the dim lamp stood at the bedside table as he pulls his clothing back on, skin still so deliciously hot and flushed. he was efficient, but careless. like he’d done this hundreds of times before him. and maybe he had, jesse wouldn’t ask or care. he just stays in that spot, placed like a statue of a fallen king who’d just lost everything holding him in place: his control. jesse’s arm doesn’t lift and eyes don’t open until he heard the last zip of ilya’s jacket and the way he shifted to look back at the opposite man, that shit-eating grin on his face like he’d won the world.
“see you next time, captain.” ilya murmurs, his voice annoyingly low and teasing.
jesse doesn’t answer. he only watches as the russian slips out of the room like nothing happened. like the scent of sex wasn’t still lingering in the air. the last sound ilya made was the soft click of the hotel door.
“what the fuck did i just do?”
the drive from the hotel to his home in boston was a triumphant one for ilya. the entire time, he was on an enormous ego high. he did it. he dented, no, shattered the armor that no one else in the league has been capable to crack —the golden boy that drove him crazy with that stoic determination and annoying withdrawn professionalism he usually sported. but not tonight. not while ilya had just fucked him hard into the mattress like jesse had been begging for it. ilya was in complete control, and it was exhilarating. but by week two, ilya quickly began to learn that control was just an illusion he’d casted over his own consciousness. he was growing restless by the separation. he couldn’t think of anything else but the way jesse pushed back against his cock so desperately, as if something inside him was aching for ilya to be inside him. more, more, more. and fuck, those pretty sounds be made. they echoed in ilya’s skull, rattled his brain like nothing else. he was.. bored. he needed that high that came with having complete and utter domination over the man who’d fought so hard to keep himself from being under anyone’s control but his own. he thought this whole thing was supposed to be simple.
by week three — they were finally back in the same city. head to head yet again. though it had been such a considerably short amount of time, it felt like an eternity with jesse infiltrating his mind like this.
now the raiders were in philadelphia, the wells fargo roaring with a sea of black and orange in the stands. jesse was finally back on home ice. the two teams were on different sides of the ice doing warmups, the red line separating them. ilya lazily lapped around his side of fhe ice, his eyes locked on the opposing team beside them. or more specifically, the captain of said team. jesse was there, executing his annoyingly strict routine with unmatched focus. he didn’t seem too affected by the thought of that night. ilya wondered if he’d even thought about it at all. jesse was always so unbothered, so mechanical. such a fucking robot. he was back to being untouchable.
with each pass, ilya skated dangerously close to the red line dividing the teams more and more. he was sure jesse wouldn’t look his way — possibly not even until the game officially started. but he was proven wrong on his last lap before heading toward the tunnel, jesse passes him with perfect timing for them to nearly brush each other. jesse’s stick comes out to tap the ice twice when passing the russian, a signal. i see you. when rozanov looked back, his eyes finally met the other’s. albeit, briefly. but it wasn’t nothing. the contact made ilya smirk, confirming that jesse definitely hadn’t forgotten about their little encounter just weeks ago. the thought alone made him half-hard under his gear.
even from the drop of the puck, the game was a fucking bloodbath. it always was when jesse was on home ice — harder hits, skating with urgency, barking orders at fellow teammates like his whole career rested on this game. the commentators had seen him act like this before, but it was never this brutal. he played like a man possessed, like a man who was trying to prove something. to himself? to ilya? he didn’t even know. but ilya had an inkling. even then, the opposing russian captain ensured he couldn’t escape. ilya was going to make sure he was weaseled in that american’s mind like some kind of parasite. he was like a shadow. everywhere jesse went, ilya wasn’t far. but he didn’t use those annoying little chirps and teases jesse liked to think he despised so much, all he used was his body; throwing elbows and full-on body checks against the boards. jesse’s solid focus held through the first two periods, but the last is when the cracks started to show. the armor ilya shattered hadn’t recovered since their night together — and he noticed. boston was up 3-2, and the time was getting dangerously close. with one last body check to the plexiglass, ilya stole the puck from jesse with a thud that earned gasps from the crowd. as ilya spun away with an all-too-proud smirk, jesse finally snapped. apparently that had been the final straw. the american captain abandoned that planned play entirely and threw a hard shove to the small of rozanov’s back, sending him crashing to the ice below. the referee immediately blew his whistle, signaling a penalty against graham. jesse’s stick came crashing down to the ice in frustration — he had just taken a stupid, emotional penalty at the worst time, and it was all because of ilya.
the commentators were having a field day with this game. jesse’s eyes never left ilya, even as he skated to the penalty box. he’d never wanted to punch in someone’s teeth more than he did right now. ilya was so goddamn smug. so proud. jesse’s jaw was set so tight he was sure his teeth might break by the end of the game. the wells fargo center erupted in a roar of boos as the final horn blows, ensuring philadelphia’s loss 4-2. by the time ilya’s eyes looked back at the penalty box, jesse was gone.
an hour after the final horn, ilya’s phone buzzed just as he’d settled into his hotel suite. an unknown number was messaging him. the text was straightforward: 1308. ilya simply blinked at the message for a moment in confusion. they were in philly. this is where jesse lived. why the hell would he be getting a hotel number in jesse’s hometown? either way, he couldn’t deny the way his cock stirred in anticipation of whatever jesse had planned. he had half a mind to think maybe jesse would finally let all that anger out on him he displayed on the ice during the last period. but he came either way, standing outside the suite door momentarily until he raised his hand to land a single hard knock to the wood. it was nearly instant that the door swung in, and rozanov was pulled into the room only to be pushed back against the door. there jesse stood: hair still damp from a post-game shower, sweatpants hung low on his hips. just as ilya was about to spew a smart comment, jesse interrupted.
“you’re late, rozanov.” jesse growled, his grip tight on the other’s shirt collar.
ilya didn't flinch. he just leaned his weight forward, deliberately testing the strength of jesse’s own grip, a lazy smirk spreading across his face. "what was that penalty, captain? had to wait for the media to finish asking your coach why his golden boy lost his mind on national television."
jesse’s jaw clenches, his knuckles turning white where they were bunched into ilya’s shirt. "no hockey talk. you’re in my city now."
"make me leave," ilya challenged, his voice dropping to a low, daring murmur. "or do something about it." he pauses.
before ilya could even begin, jesse’s lips were on his. hard, hungry. like he put all his anger in the force of his lips against ilya’s, immediately licking into his mouth like he’d been starved. the russian wasn’t easily surprised, let alone by a stupid american. but right now? he was blindsided in the best way possible. ilya immediately returns to kiss with fervor, growling into his mouth and lifting his hands to cup the base of his neck. he could already feel jesse’s arousal against him. ilya then smirks into the kiss with a hum of approval. the two captains practically clawed at each other trying to pull the other’s shirt off without breaking the kiss for longer than a second, their lips meeting each other again like magnets. their chest were heaving, hands wandering. god, if either team could see them now.
“book a hotel for me?” ilya murmurs against jesse’s lips, russian accent thick on his tongue.
“shut up.” jesse answers breathlessly, now working on ilya’s belt now that his kisses begin to trail to the harsh line of the captain’s jaw.
ilya chuckles lowly out of pure amusement and unspoken flattery, his own hands caressing jesse’s arms in encouragement of the belt removal. he wanted to fuck jesse so badly. so much it nearly hurt. one of ilya’s large hands shift to cup jesse’s right pec, squeezing appreciatively. he was clearly enjoying the sight in front of him — and neither of them were even naked yet.
their impatience ached between them. jesse abandoned the belt for a second, his hands hooking into the hem of ilya’s heavy leather jacket, shoving it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. ilya whispered a soft curse as his sleeves tangled, but he didn't waste a second — he grabbed the collar of jesse’s gray tank and yanked it up. jesse had to lift his arms, blindly letting ilya strip the fabric over his head and toss it somewhere into the dim suite.
without all those layers, the heat radiating off jesse’s skin was unbearable. ilya’s palms flattened against jesse’s bare chest, feeling the frantic, rapid thump of his heart. jesse didn't give him time to admire it; he gripped ilya’s wrists, shoved him back against the wall next to the bed, and kissed him until the russian’s head spun.
graham allows the other to push him toward the bed once ilya’s belt and accompanying jeans were discarded. now it was ilya’s turn to strip the man, and he didn’t waste time, pulling off both his boxers and sweats in one quick pull. he needed this too. he’d been fantasizing about taking control again since the minute he left. though when ilya pushed open jesse’s legs, he couldn’t help but utter, “always fucking prepared.”
ilya’s hand outstretched, his middle and ring finger brush the already stretched and prepped hole presented to him. jesse lies there with his legs spread and back pressed to the mattress — and he couldn’t help but let out an almost amused huff in response to ilya’s words. this is the second time they’re hooking up and jesse already knew the drill. he wanted, no, needed to be fucked by that breathtaking russian cock that made him lose all inhibitions. for a moment they just stare at each other’s bodies with appreciation and arousal, until ilya leans down to crash his lips back onto jesse’s. but now their tongues seem to fight for dominance against each other — no more blind submission from the other.
ilya deliberately slowed his movements, his fingers pressing in just deep enough to make jesse’s hips twitch off the mattress, a low, demanding sound catching in the back of the american captain’s throat. ilya smirked down at him, his thumb slipping against the inside of jesse’s thigh. "you like that, yes? perfect captain, waiting for me in a dark room."
"i’m not waiting anymore," jesse ground out, his blue eyes flashing with a sudden, dangerous spark.
before ilya could blink, their positions were flipped and jesse was ripping open a condom with his teeth breathlessly. his head nods toward the headboard of the bed. “back.”
the russian captain seems to find amusement and excitement in the sudden command, a grin on his face as his lip catches between his teeth and his back finds the cool stained wood of the bed. graham rolled the condom onto the other’s length as soon as he was in the desired position. the rise and fall of the russian’s chest only intensified once jesse began to shift and hover above his cock standing at attention for him, both hands lifting to grab the other’s hips. ilya mutters a soft curse in his mother tongue once jesse finally sinks down and seats himself on his cock at an agonizingly slow pace. fuck, was it a sight to see. ilya didn’t know if he could ever get enough of seeing that line forming between jesse’s eyebrows in complete pleasure with each inch of his cock sinking into that tight ring of muscle. the pace remains the same for a while, their breaths matching each other with every lift and lowering of jesse’s hips, the muscles of his legs flexing with each movement as the pace starts to pick up. ilya’s eyes rove over the built body exposed just for him without shame, his jaw going slack when jesse begins to pick up the pace. “fuck, jess— ahh..”
“that good?” jesse huffs out in response, their skin beginning to clap against each other, sending echoes through the suite. ilya’s never seen the other as smug as he is right now. and it only turned him on further, made him want more. graham didn’t let ilya take all the control now. this time he knew exactly what he wanted. after three weeks, he could finally act on what he had previously been too prideful and desperate to do. when ilya grunts in response, jesse decides to take ahold of one hand gripping his waist, sucking two of the russian’s fingers into his mouth as he fucks himself on ilya’s cock, which in turn earns yet another groan from rozanov. the sight alone nearly made him cum on the spot. “fucking perfect.” ilya gasps.
jesse’s hand is still wrapped around ilya’s wrist as he sucks then releases the two now glistening fingers to brush them along his chin, lowering them until they pause at his throat. ilya’s eyes flit up from the sight of his fingers to meet jesse’s gaze. with a nod, ilya took the opportunity to take ahold of his throat properly, gently applying pressure to the sides of his neck as the american captain continues his movements atop his lap. “say something.” jesse mutters, his hips rocking further in pursuit of release. “say something in russian.”
his request caught in the air between them, heavy and unexpected. ilya’s hand tightened slightly on jesse’s throat — not enough to hurt, but just enough to cement him. jesse paused his movements for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving, his blue eyes wide and completely exposed as he looked down at ilya, waiting. he looked entirely undone, stripped of every corporate barrier he usually built around himself. the silence nearly made him take the request back, until ilya took action.
the request makes ilya’s own breath hitch, his head falling forward to press their foreheads together. “ты такая красивая в таком виде..” those soft russian words just roll right off the tongue, his voice just barely above a whisper. it felt so intimate. so special. jesse let a deep groan rumble from his chest in response and his forehead slips from ilya’s, only to press against the crook of his neck breathlessly. “fuck. need you..” now jesse’s hands begin to wander mindlessly, his breath stuttering as ilya gave his neck a gentle squeeze before thrusting up into him — he needed this too. he needed it more than anything right now. all that was behind that mop of golden curls was jesse, jesse, jesse. and he didn’t care even a little. one angled thrust made the other cry out and curse softly, encouraging ilya to do it again and again, just to coax more sounds from him. his hand moves to lift jesse’s face from his neck just to see that pretty face wrecked with sinful pleasure, until he just couldn’t help but kiss him yet again. their tongues tangle just like their limbs, the friction between them was total chaos now—sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin, the heavy scent of sex filling the quiet room, and the steady, punishing rhythm of ilya’s hips drilling upward to meet jesse’s brutal downward descents.. “please, oh god.. please. don’t stop.”
he could hear the grunts and hisses coming from the russian and it absolutely drove him insane. rozanov lived for this: the sight of the big, straight-faced american captain losing all sense of dominance on his cock. this was all so wrong. both of them knew they shouldn’t be doing this, they shouldn’t be fucking each other in secret. but nothing felt more right in this moment. just two men humping and kissing like it was their last time they ever would. jesse’s mouth falls open against ilya’s at the feeling of a particularly hard and angled thrust hitting his prostate directly, his release coming out in thick ropes between them before he could even warn the other. ilya fucks him through his peak yet again, pinning jesse’s hips down and driving in deep, desperate strokes until he himself pumped his load into condom wrapped around his thick cock. but this time — they didn’t move immediately. didn’t pull off each other, didn’t pull on their clothes, nothing. they just.. stayed. the fierce and angry energy from the ice had finally burned itself out, leaving behind a raw, naked stillness that terrified them both inside. jesse’s heart was hammering like a trapped bird against ilya’s ribs, a physical reminder of just how thoroughly the hard-shelled captain had been flipped onto his back. slowly, the heavy weight of the reality began to settle in. the two were still wrapped around each other, slick with sweat, in a room that cost more than most people's rent, in a city where they were supposed to be each other’s enemies.
ilya’s large hands stayed locked around jesse’s waist, his fingers lazily tracing the tense muscle of his hip, trapping the american, making him unable to move away just yet.
jesse pants into ilya’s mouth, their foreheads meeting yet again as their eyes fall closed. “okay. we are finished,” ilya says once their breathing has slowed, but bodies haven’t peeled off of each other just yet. “now you tell me. how did you get my number? and why did you get a room? you are homeless?”
jesse let out a soft huff that almost resembled a laugh, a faint quirk of his mouth showing his amusement as their eyes find their way back to each other. “i’m not letting you in my house, rozanov. i don’t trust you with that information.” jesse begins, lifting his head to look at him fully. ilya scoffs, though the smirk on his face widened. "what, you think i am going to steal your silverware, captain?"
"i think you'd leak my address to the fans just to watch a mob show up on my lawn," jesse muttered, though there was no real heat in it. he shifts slightly, the friction of their skin warm in the quiet space. "this is neutral ground."
"neutral ground," ilya repeated, his accent rolling over the words. "okay. but it still does not explain the phone. my agent does not give my personal number to just any desperate american."
jesse continues. “well, the number.. we have the same agency. different agents, same umbrella. i sent an email to the marketing department about some off-season charity shit in europe before i got to the arena today. asked for your point of contact.”
ilya stared into the opposing man’s eyes for a good few seconds before a surprised laugh shook out of him, his head thrown back against the headboard. he was absolutely fucking delighted. “you used a fake charity to fuck me? you are a terrible, terrible person, jesse. hilarious.” ilya’s chest still heaved slightly from the remnants of his laughter, his large hands lifting to stroke jesse’s bare shoulders now. “what cause did you tell them? raising money to help poor hockey players orgasm?”
jesse rolled his eyes at the other, though it was purely playful in reaction to his teasing. “i told them it was something about a youth development project. kept it vague.”
“unbelievable.” ilya mutters, scoffing yet again in disbelief as his head shakes against the wood of the headboard. “they think you’re a saint. they should see you now.. still sitting on my dick.”
jesse just shakes his head, pressing one last lingering kiss to ilya’s lips before pulling back from his warm mouth. “it worked, didn’t it?”
