used to be @/treat-winchesterswith-kindness, hollanovaas on threads
✰ welcome to my blog! you’ve reached the home of unrecognized talent™️ there’ll be mostly heated rivalry, spn, and stranger things, mayhaps some criminal minds here. 18+ only!!!
✰ Em. i’m 24 years old. she/her. i’ve been on tumblr since 2016. i’m ship-positive (you’ll see hollanov and hollanovaas, destiel/cockles, and saileen here, also harringrove and steddie, fair warning, but please, don’t bring the w*ncest here) and also wife-positive. i’m a jensen/dean-coded dean girl, but i literally adore cas and sam— there will be zero character hate (or any hate at all, actually. this is a safe place— no racism, homophobia, sexism, etc.) here.
✰ i write, mostly fics and poetry. you can join my tag list here!! tracking #makeadealwithdean, so feel free to tag things or tag me in stuff— i think it’s more fun to interact with people :)
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i’m more happy to have you here than dean is in this pic ❤️
“So, you fight now? You are fighter, da?” Ilya’s fingers tighten around Luca’s jaw when he tries to shake his head. “Big, strong hockey player,” he taunts. “Too tough to fight back by scoring goals, has to fight back with fists.”
“N-no, Ilya, I’m-”
“Try again, rookie.” Ilya presses closer to Luca, causing him to have to crane his neck up to meet Ilya’s hard stare and arch his back further against Shane’s torso. There’s a challenge in Ilya’s stare; mixed with the anger and worry and a much harder to read, other thing.
Luca swallows, eyelashes fluttering shut as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Captain,” he whispers on an exhale. His hands come up to grasp at the wrist of the hand Ilya has wrapped around Luca’s jaw- not pulling it away- just holding, squeezing. “M’not a fighter, I didn’t mean to-”
Ilya tsks, cutting Luca off as he shakes his head disapprovingly. “But you did, didn’t you, rookie?”
Ok let me clarify. Troy and Harris are like if Four Letter Word for Intercourse got a screen adaptation with the serial numbers filed off and then someone wrote fanfic where the Dean-character was a hockey player and the Cas-character was a social media manager
Ilya standing in front of Shane at the edge of the bed, Shane looking up at him through his lashes. He wasn’t trying to be cute, Ilya didn’t think Shane had ever in his life tried to be cute. But he was adorable. Brown eyes so warm and wanting, freckled cheeks and his lips - pouty, perfectly plump and wet. He couldn’t stop licking his lips as he watched Ilya.
Ilya was still dressed, in contrast to the naked body in front of him. He had undone his fly and pulled his pants down just enough to to pull out his cock and stroke it slowly, close enough to Shane’s mouth for him to spit on it but far enough he couldn’t take him into his mouth.
He was not allowed to touch tonight.
Ilya wanted to tease him, play with him. Well, Shane had wanted him to. He might not have asked directly, but Ilya had come to understand his desires and how to read what Shane couldn’t say.
“I like when you are in control, and I have to listen to you…”
“You want me to tell you what to do?”
“Yes…”
“Do you want me to be nice to you?”
“…No…”
And so, Shane was completely nude, hands under his thighs, sitting on the edge of the bed watching Ilya playfully lift his shirt up, exposing his abs and the sculpted divot leading from his waist to his cock. Shane felt like drooling, watching him stroke himself slowly, dragging his finger over the head of his length and coating it with the spit he had donated earlier. He wanted it in his mouth, he wanted to taste him. He wanted to be full of him.
Ilya paused his stroking to remove his shirt and pants, and grabbed himself again, this time pressing the tip of his penis onto Shane’s lips. So perfect and soft, so inviting.
“Keep your mouth closed.”
Shane nodded, kissing gently but not devouring the way he wanted. He looked up at Ilya with so much adoration he felt sick. Ilya was beautiful, his cock was beautiful, the salty taste was so familiar and it drove Shane crazy that this was all his. That he could suck this dick. Get fucked by this man. He couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling back a little, dizzy at the thought of everything he wanted Ilya to do to him, and his tongue slipped out between his lips,
just one lick.
Ilya hissed and pulled back. Used his free hand to grab Shane’s jaw and squeeze tight so his lips were scrunched up and so, so adorable. So -
“Greedy.” Ilya tried his best to bite his cheek and keep a stern face. Shane was supposed to be listening.
“I’m going to give you what you want. You just have to be good and listen. Ok?”
Shane’s eyes were welling up now, a little embarrassed but so turned on, his own dick twitching as he nodded in agreement.
“Ah?”
“Yes. Okay. I will listen.”
“Good. Lie back. And keep your hands under you.”
Ilya freed his hand from Shane’s jaw and allowed him to scooch back on the bed, tucking his hands obediently beneath his back. Fully exposed.
“So pretty for me.”
Ilya grabbed Shane’s legs and pushed them up to his chest. Sank to his knees and licked a long stripe against Shane’s hole, pleased with the pulsation against his tongue.
“So sweet.”
Shane bit his lip in an effort to mute the moan escaping his throat.
Ilya ran his hands down Shane’s thighs, massaging and squeezing the muscle as he playfully pressed his tongue in and out. When Shane’s stomach began to shudder from anticipation, and the fabric on the bed was being pulled enough to scrunch up underneath him, Ilya finally swirled his tongue around Shane’s entrance, kissing and sucking and prodding in and -
Shane’s hand flew to Ilya’s hair and grabbed hard. He couldn’t help himself.
Ilya shot his hand up to Shane’s wrist, which fell limp immediately in the realization of his mistake.
He pulled his mouth off and looked at Shane, tutting his teeth.
“Not supposed to touch.”
Shane squirmed under his gaze.
“Mmm’I know…I’m sorry.”
He was beginning to pant in anxiety. Ilya stood, hand still gripping Shane’s wrist, and kneeled into the bed, knees touching the outside of Shane’s hips. His cock was just grazing Shane’s own, joining a string of precum between them. Shane twitched against him, tried to pull his hand back, but Ilya held firm.
He leaned down, bringing his mouth to Shane’s, and licked long and slow from the corner of his mouth to his ear.
“You didn’t listen.”
He shifted his hips back a little, guiding his cock to line up with Shane’s hole.
“Mmmsorry…”
Shane’s eyes were pinched closed, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth.
Ilya pressed in, ever so lightly.
“You think you even deserve my cock?”
Shane shook his head no.
“No. You don’t. You’re lucky you are so pretty. I want to fuck you anyways. Even if you are a greedy little brat. That’s what you are right?”
Ilya tugged rough at Shane’s earlobe, licked the skin under it and sank his teeth in.
Shane’s whimper sounded like he was about to cry. His dick was twitching so much against Ilya’s stomach, making a leaky mess.
“Tell me.”
Ilya pushed in more, felt Shane trying to relax around the head of his cock.
“Tell me how much of a bad boy you are.”
Shane uttered a shaky breath,
“I’m so - so bad.”
“Not good enough.”
Ilya pulled away, hovering just outside of Shane.
“Fuck. I’m such a bad boy. Please Ilya.”
Pleased, Ilya laid a quick peck on Shane’s temple,
“Ok.”
He raised Shane’s arm above his head, and took his other arm from beneath him to meet it, pinning them into the mattress.
Shane was staring into Ilya’s eyes, and he held his stare the entire time that Ilya eased into him. Even as his jaw fell slack and the breath in his throat hitched, he looked right at Ilya.
“Fuck Shane.”
Ilya was all the way inside of him, dick encompassed by the tight hot muscle squeezing and clenching. They had done some foreplay with a plug beforehand, so he was just able to slide in, but he could feel it was a stretch for Shane.
“So fucking tight.”
He began to move his hips in and out.
“So fucking good for my dick.”
Shane’s legs wrapped around Ilya, digging his heels into his back, keep him close so his own cock could rub against Ilya’s skin. He was melting into a blubbering mess of whines and quick breaths, wrists flexing under Ilya’s grip.
“Fuck Shane. Fuck.”
Ilya moved his lips to Shane’s, dragging him into a sloppy kiss of lips, spit, teeth, and tongue. Tasting everything he could, stealing the moans and whimpers from Shane for himself. They were ricocheting around his head, travelling down his throat into the pit of his stomach.
Shane kissed back with an equal voracity, trying to claim any touch from Ilya he could. He wanted so badly to grab his curls, scratch his back, knead or maybe even smack his ass, but he was pinned, at the mercy of the man inside of him.
Their kissing became simply breathing into each others mouths, quick pants and grunts that accelerated once Ilya found Shane’s prostate and began ramming into it. Shane’s legs were shaking, sweat forming on his forehead, so close. Ilya just knew.
“Come for me. You wanted to be greedy? Take it. Come on my dick - now.
Ilya kissed Shane again, humming as he pounded his hips into Shane, emboldened by the squeeze enveloping his entire body, and pulled back just in time to watch Shane cry out and scrunch his brows together as he came on his stomach.
He let go of his hands, and leaned into his elbows on either side of Shane’s head, keeping his rhythm and driving into Shane in search of his own climax.
Tears were sliding down Shane’s cheeks as he moved his hands into Ilya’s hair, resting them in the soft curls he had been dying to touch all night.
And that did it for Ilya. Being held, being needed, being touched so tenderly by sweet, desperate Shane, Ilya shook as he pumped his orgasm into Shane and collapsed on to him.
They stayed silent for a few beats, just moving with each others breaths.
“You ok?”
Shane’s voice was quiet, cooing as his fingered Ilya’s curls.
“Mmmm.”
Ilya took a deep inhale of the fresh musk of Shane’s neck.
“You don’t listen.”
Shane chuckled and lifted Ilya’s Chin to face him with one hand.
“Sorry,” He said with a huge cocky grin. “Next time you’ll have to tie me up better.”
harris comes up with a really funny prank idea where the centaurs would go up to shane during practice and tell him some outrageous thing his husband did, and basically gauge his reaction. this allows for domestic hollanov™ content and shane hollander being #strict.
what they didn’t expect, however, was shane inventing new levels of downbadisms and basically defends his husband and/or justifying his actions every time. he basically “yeah but” his way to ilya being a perfect angel who can do no wrong
ilya was waiting (giddily) for a stern talking to from his husband and instead melts into a puddle
it will forever be a little insane to me how ilya rozanov, born and raised in russian, total jock/party bro, father-is-police-brother-is-police guy, somehow has never had an ounce of internalized homophobia in his body. canonically just saw being bi as an extra opportunity for hot sex. started experimenting with guys at 16 and simply never questioned it. and like yeah he’s a top but it’s also so clear that he does not see being a bottom as a demeaning or less masculine thing in the slightest. this man goes on to wear leopard shirts and booty shorts and flicks his hands gayfully and makes gay jokes at his jock colleagues and being tender with other men is like second nature to him and He’s actually the one to makes the ‘oh are you scared of being gay?’ ‘cuz I thought you might be gay when you were sucking my dick’ jokes.
this man this mannnn i want to pick his brain apart with a tweezer
At some point the cens realise Luca always says roZAnov instead of ROzanov like the rest of them and when they ask him about it he's just like "? Thats how its pronounced?" And they all send looks to roz who just nods.
"So we've just all been saying it wrong?"
"Yes. But so does every other north American. always have, I dont care."
And suddenly everyone is trying to convince him that he's allowed to insist that people pronounce it correctly and he's trying to convince them that he truly does not care because he just considers it a translation into the accent and it flows easier within english sentences.
Shane is having a little crisis in the corner mumbling rozanov to himself over and over trying to figure out if he says it right.
From then on, the whole team makes the effort to change it, and Ilya (as much as he insists it isnt necessary) is secretly touched.
No, but imagine you are Luca Haas, born and raised in Switzerland on hockey and cheese, and working towards the dream of being drafted into the biggest hockey league in the world.
Enter Ilya Rozanov, second-best hockey player in the league, and he very quickly becomes your role model growing up. You have posters of him on your walls, and you've watched all of his games, and you train hard because one day you want to be just like him.
But then you turn 13, 14, 15, and suddenly, Ilya is no longer just a role model, but you kind of start having a crush on him, too, but you try to push that away, because surely you're just admiring him, and that's the end of that.
So, you work hard, and you make it to the drafts, and you are excited, because this has always been your dream. And you don't even care where you get drafted to, but a boy can dream, right? And wouldn't it be great if you got drafted to Boston? But you don't, and that's okay, you're going to keep training, and then you are going to play for Ottawa, and that's fine!
But surprise! Not even four weeks after your draft, the headlines are flooded with the news of Ilya Rozanov signing with Ottawa for the upcoming season! And you can't believe it, because what do you mean, you're going to play with your idol one day? But you have to push that thought away, because it will be a while before that's going to happen, and it's best you get over your silly little crush until then.
Only, you don't. You meet Ilya in 2020, and as it turns out, that crush has not gotten any smaller, and now you have to find a way to hide it, because Ilya is kind of intimidating (but you admire that), but he is also so kind and sweet to you (that's worse, help), and you really gotta get it together already.
And then it's 2021, and holy shit, what do you mean, Shane Hollander, best hockey player of the league and Ilya Rozanov, second-best hockey player of the league, are actually TOGETHER? You did not see that coming, and for a split second, you think there might have been a chance, but then you think there has never been a chance, not even with Ilya being queer. Again, you try to bury your feelings, this time for good, because you are not going to mess with that.
To add insult to injury, Shane also signs with the Centaurs in 2021, and oh great, now he sees them together all of the time, and that should help with his crush, right? WRONG. Because you see the love they have for each other, see the way Ilya looks at Shane with so much love and adoration, and it's almost too much, almost too private, and oh no, you also fall for Shane through Ilya's eyes, and fuck, you are so royally fucked, fucking fuck fuck. What's worse than having a crush on one player in the league? Right, having a crush on two of them. And of course they are on YOUR team, and of course they are TOGETHER, and you might as well move back to Switzerland and change your name and never play hockey again, goodbye.
But oh. Oh. Of course, Ilya notices. He always does. He sees the way you look at them. The way you watch when they kiss. Not only that, but he also notices the way Shane notices you, and he gives Shane time, a lot of it, before gently, so very gently, bringing it up, unbeknownst to you. And they talk, for a very, very long time, because this is important, this matters, and they better have it all figured out before making any moves.
The rest is a fever dream. You are sure you are dying, or maybe you are already dead. Goodbye, life, it was nice while it lasted. Because suddenly there's Ilya, and suddenly there's Shane, and having both of their attention on you is entirely too much, and absolutely not are they currently trying to tell you that they are interested in YOU, of all people. What kind of alternate universe is this? Ilya notices you drifting, and brings you back, gently, tells you this is real, they are serious, and good, thank you, because you were beginning to believe this was some elaborate prank, but they're both looking so earnest, so the best you can do is nod, and is Ilya Rozanov praising you? Fuck, you might not make it to that first invitation if they keep this up.
You do make it to that first invitation, thank god, and it's a lot nicer, a lot sweeter than anticipated, and yes, they are really, really serious about their interest in you, and what a relief, what a fucking relief. And it's still overwhelming, but in a good, albeit slightly surreal, way, but they are so understanding, so kind, so gentle about it all, and you don't know what you did to deserve it, but you say yes, to all of it, and you're only looking back to see how far you've come.
Imagine you are Luca Haas, 21 years old, and everything about your life feels like a fever dream, but if it is, it's one you never want to wake up from again, because you somehow managed to get not one but both top hockey players as your boyfriends, and the posters of Ilya Rozanov are still hanging on the walls of your childhood bedroom and they tell the tale of how somtimes, sometimes even the wildest dreams do come true, after all.
18+ only, pwp, but with feelings, shane's pov, dom bottom!shane, needy sub top!ilya, sex, oral, all the good stuff, shane hollander walks ilya rozanov like a dog, set during book 2: heated rivalry, sequel to "angel in a raiders t-shirt"
summary: ilya gets revenge on shane by texting him a picture in which he's wearing a metros t-shirt, right before their game
Montreal played Boston again a couple months later. Shane was always excited for games, no matter how many he played, but he would be a big, fat liar if he said that this game felt like the others. He hadn’t seen Rozanov since that night.
The night he’d worn Rozanov’s name across his shoulders and probably, he thought, broken his brain.
Rozanov had certainly broken Shane’s, but he liked to think he was at least dignified about it. He wasn’t sure he remembered everything, and that was probably a good thing, honestly. Because what that most likely meant is that he hadn’t kept as much of his dignity as he’d hoped.
Oh well. It had been worth it to see Rozanov’s reaction. Privately, Shane thought that Rozanov, acting like that in particular, was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. And he’d rather get his dick cut off than admit that to anyone.
Shane was in the elevator, on his way down so he could head to the arena. He liked to get there earlier than most, which gave him time to get his mind prepped and focused before everyone else got there. His phone buzzed in his hand. A message from Lily.
Lily: Attachment: 1 image
The elevator doors dinged open, but Shane didn’t walk out immediately. He couldn’t. On his screen was the worst piece of revenge he’d ever been on the receiving end of, which wasn’t a long list, but still.
Rozanov, with his tongue out for God’s sake, in a blue Metros t-shirt, not unlike the Raiders shirt Shane had ordered for himself a few months prior.
Lily: Guess what’s on the back 😉
Shane groaned, inwardly he hoped, but it was entirely plausible that it had been out loud. Fucking Rozanov.
He pissed Shane the fuck off. He was pissed that Rozanov would dare pull a signature Shane Hollander move on Shane Hollander himself. He was pissed that he liked it. He was pissed that his mind was not even close to centered.
And he was especially pissed that Rozanov was making him wait to see the back. He knew what was on it. But he wanted to see for himself his own name and number right under those pretty curls.
Ugh. Shane looked around, and seeing no one, adjusted himself quickly in his pants, furiously beginning to type.
Shane: Are you fucking kidding me? Before the game??
Lily: Learned from the best 😈
Shane: I hate you
Lily: You can show me how much later
Insufferable. He was completely insufferable. The worst. This was about to be the longest game of Shane’s life.
—
Shane was correct. This was the longest hockey game of all time. It felt even longer since Shane was playing like actual ass. He’d been, um, uncomfortable since the elevator, and every time Rozanov slammed him into the boards, wearing that god-awful smirk that Shane hated that he loved, it only got worse.
The Metros lost that one. Shane would’ve loved to say it wasn’t his fault…and you know what? It really wasn’t. It was fucking Rozanov’s fault.
Shane couldn’t really explain that to his teammates though, so after he fulfilled all his post-loss captainly duties, he finally allowed himself to head towards Ilya’s place. He was frustrated at the loss, and hockey might have been a team sport, but his obsession with seeing Ilya wear the 24 certainly didn’t contribute positively. It was all he could think about, even as he stomped up the steps to Ilya’s front door.
Shane rang the doorbell, twice just to be annoying, and waited. He swore he could hear Ilya’s footsteps padding up to the door. A shadow crossed the glass pane on the outside of the frame right before the door swung open.
Ilya stood in the doorway, shit-eating grin curled across his face, Metros blue stretched across his chest. Shane shoved him backwards as he pushed inside, ignoring Rozanov’s sound of surprise. He shut the door carelessly behind him and kicked off his shoes, “Fuck you, Rozanov. Fuck. You.”
Rozanov laughed in that smug way of his, but his expression faltered a bit when Shane grabbed him by his shirt collar and hauled him close. Shane could hear the hitch in Rozanov’s breath, the swallow, even as he teased, “Hello to you too, Hollander.”
“Texting me with that before the game…” Shane hissed.
“Oh, you mean like you did to me last time?” Rozanov’s eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. Shane seethed.
It wasn’t like he could argue with that. He had, in fact, done first what Rozanov had just done to him. But he was still pissed about it, logic be damned. The hand that wasn’t currently wrinkling the Metros shirt collar flew to the back of Rozanov’s head, tangled in his curls, and yanked him forward to close the gap between their mouths.
“Mmmf!” Rozanov once again couldn’t hide his surprise. Shane guessed he was probably surprised at their whole current dynamic, but Shane was too irritated to roll over at any command right now. He pushed his tongue into Ilya’s mouth, claiming him, the way Ilya usually did to him. The kiss wasn’t gentle, but Rozanov moaned into his mouth, opening up for him with an ease that seemed contrary to the Ilya that Shane was most familiar with.
Shane walked him backwards, mouths still joined, until Rozanov’s back was against the wall right there in the foyer. Stepping back, he watched as the Metros logo rose and fell as Rozanov’s chest heaved. Shane smirked at the sight. He looked dazed, lips already red and swollen where Shane had bitten them. His head tilted back against the wall, eyes heavily lidded but still tracking Shane’s every movement, “Hollander—”
“Well?” Shane cut him off, looking at him expectantly.
“Well, what?” Ilya’s tone still held some of his usual sass, but his voice was soft.
“Let’s see it,” Shane demanded, drawing a circle in the air. “Turn.”
Rozanov didn’t even try to argue. He simply rotated, revealing, yes, a big white 24 and across the shoulders: “HOLLANDER”.
Shane walked forward, because oh my god, he had to touch him right fucking now. His palms slid across Ilya’s back, first over the number, and then over the name. Shane’s hands lingered there for a bit, on Rozanov’s shoulders, when a thought occurred to him.
“My name looks good on you,” he said low into Ilya’s ear. Shane’s breath tickled the curls tucked there, but his hands began to move. Ilya made a noise that sounded, at least for him, very close to a whine and shivered as the words sank in. Shane’s hands crept down Rozanov’s arms and only stopped to encircle his wrists.
“Put your hands on the wall, Rozanov,” Shane said, even as he himself guided Ilya’s palms up to press flat against the smooth surface. Rozanov’s head dropped, his forehead resting there too. The position forced him to bend at the waist, his back arched slightly, and his boxer briefs stretched tight across his ass.
Shane couldn’t resist grinding against him, once, twice, even as he pulled away, trusting Ilya would keep his hands where he’d put them. Yanking his shirt off, and yes, of course folding it too, he stepped back. He wanted Ilya to feel the space he was putting in between them, even as he realized this was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen the man.
Shane was still worked up, but his heart clenched when he thought about the way Ilya must feel with him to allow himself to be put in such a position. He couldn’t think of another time, in any of their hook-ups, where Rozanov hadn’t been the one taking the lead.
And Shane liked it that way 99.99% of the time. That 0.01% that was left, well, Rozanov had forced his hand. His emotions ran high, and in his fight to control them, somehow he supposed he’d found himself in control here too. That wasn’t necessarily the shocking part— Shane was constantly fighting to control every aspect of his life that he could. It felt better that way, safer.
No, the shocking part, the part that had Shane a little awestruck if he was honest, was that Rozanov was letting him take the reins. Standing quietly, just where Shane had placed him— he was being… good.
As if he could sense Shane’s thoughts, Rozanov looked over his shoulder. His feet shifted with pent-up energy, and his eyes, though glassy, darted around from Shane’s face to his body to the floor, like he wasn’t quite sure where to look.
The lack of confidence looked foreign on Ilya, and though Shane loved his usual cocky demeanor, he couldn’t ignore the reaction his dick was having to this uneasy version standing in front of him.
Rozanov’s eyes finally bounced to Shane’s face again, and he took the opportunity to reassure him, “You’re alright. Just wanna look at you, okay?”
Rozanov relaxed a little, “Okay.”
“Forehead back on the wall for me. Please.”
Ilya’s lip quirked up a little at the request, and it was more of a request than the other demands had been. Shane thought about how often Ilya checked in on him, always making sure he felt safe and that nothing hurt. If Shane was really going to go through with this (this being taking charge), he was going to take notes from the best.
“All good?”
“Yes,” Ilya exhaled slowly, nodding, and Shane watched as more tension seemed to melt away from his shoulders. He turned back, resting his forehead once more against the wall. Just… waiting.
Shane came closer again, deciding quickly that both of them had waited long enough. He trailed his hands up Rozanov’s spine, tracing the cool matte of his own number. “I know you probably did this to be an asshole. And you cost me the fucking game. But you look so fucking good in this blue that I can’t force myself to stay mad at you.”
“Da, now you know how I feel,” Ilya said in that smartass tone, nodding and craning his neck to look back at Shane again. So much for him being good, Shane’s brain chirped helpfully. Knew that wouldn’t last long.
Shane put a hand on the back of his head, turning him back to face the wall, “Do you want me to touch you or not?”
Ilya groaned, and Shane could practically hear the eyeroll, “Da, please, do that.”
“Are you going to stop being an asshole?”
“I will do whatever you want if it will make you touch my dick right now.” Well, at least he’s comfortable with this, the dickhead.
“Then I want you to lose the attitude, Rozanov,” Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya and dipped his hands underneath the hem of the Metros shirt. His fingers traced patterns as he pressed his lips to Ilya’s neck, letting himself breathe in the comforting scent. His hands travelled lower and lower until they slid underneath the waistband of Ilya’s underwear. Ilya groaned his approval, and his hips bucked when Shane’s fingers brushed against his already hard cock.
“Please, Hollander,” Ilya full-on whined this time. “Please, just–”
“You like that, hm? You like when I tease your cock?”
“Fuck, yes. Has been too long. Need more, please.”
He sounded wrecked, and how he could go from full-of-sass, asshole-extraordinaire to borderline begging in all of a minute was beyond Shane, but shit, he didn’t care. His mouth found Ilya’s earlobe– Shane knew he was weak for that– and he wrapped his hand around Rozanov’s cock, grinding his own against the cleft of Ilya’s ass.
The effect was immediate. Rozanov hissed something in Russian and tried to move his hips in time with Shane’s, but Shane stopped him with a firm hand on his hip. “No, you’ll take what I give you this time.”
Ilya huffed, but his hips stopped moving. “That’s it,” Shane murmured. “Should I let you fuck me tonight?”
“Fuck, Hollander, why are you even asking that?” He was panting now as Shane stroked him, and he didn’t sound quite as cocky anymore.
“Because I want you to beg me,” Shane lifted his hand under Ilya’s chin. “Spit.”
Rozanov groaned like the words pained him, but he did as Shane asked. Shane continued working his cock, the glide easier now as he spread the wetness around Ilya’s shaft.
Ilya shuddered as the pleasure coursed through him, and Shane rutted against him, letting himself get lost in his own pleasure for just a moment. He wondered what it would feel like to have that ass squeeze his cock. Ilya did have a really fucking good ass, and Shane was confident that Ilya was aware of that. Maybe one day they could switch, just as a one-off. Both of them were more than happy with their usual dynamic, but… the thought lingered in Shane’s mind every time he saw it bounce.
Now though, even as he stroked Ilya, felt the heady weight of him in his hand, he only wanted one thing. Well, okay, two things. But one thing immediately.
“Rozanov.”
“Hollander,” Ilya groaned in response. Shane couldn’t see his whole face from behind where he was standing, but he saw Ilya had his eyes closed still, only occasionally opening them to watch where Shane’s hand gripped him.
Shane’s other hand crept up Rozanov’s shirt, cupping his pec briefly before pinching his nipple. He rolled it lightly in between his fingers as Ilya whined.
“Don’t you sound pretty like this? I almost hate to stop but—” Shane stopped. Both hands fell away from Ilya’s body, and Ilya made an indignant noise of protest. Shane ignored him and stepped back, creating space for his next order.
“But you’re going to suck me. And if you do a good job, Rozanov, maybe— just maybe, I’ll forgive you for the stunt you pulled and let you fuck me, hm?”
Rozanov was already turning and sinking to his knees before he even answered. His eyes held that glassy look again, and his voice was breathy when he forced out, “Yes, Shane. Or, fuck—Hollander.”
Shane’s heart stuttered for a beat when Ilya said his first name. He’d used it before, and Shane was pretty sure he’d called Rozanov “Ilya” last time first. But it wasn’t often that it happened, still rare enough that Shane could see some of the glassiness fade in Ilya’s eyes, giving way to something akin to panic.
He didn’t want that. He wanted Ilya calm and pliant and not panicking. Even though his own mind buzzed a bit, faint alarms— too much— pulsing somewhere far off, unable to fully cut through the fog of lust, and something else maybe, that surrounded Shane’s thoughts. Shane stepped forward again, crowding into Ilya’s space, his nose to Shane’s groin.
“Shhh. Yes, Shane,” he said, threading his fingers through Ilya’s curls. “It’s okay.”
Shane was relieved when Ilya leaned into him and nodded silently, pressing his face further into Shane’ crotch and inhaling deeply.
“Do you want it?” Shane asked him, fingers pulling at the waistband of his own sweats.
Ilya looked up at him, pupils blown wide, “Yes. Shane.”
Shane smiled softly, “Good boy.”
Ilya blinked at the praise, like he wasn’t used to hearing he was “good,” and Shane silently resolved to tell him more often. Even if it was just behind closed doors and always in this context. This way, sexually, secretly, was the only way Shane could have him, after all. But everyone deserves to be praised sometimes, Shane thought.
A bit of the hazy look had returned to Ilya’s eyes, so Shane snapped the elastic of his waistband, drawing his attention back down. Ilya’s gaze locked to where Shane was aching and hard, but he was clearly hesitant to touch, waiting for instructions. Fuck, that was hot.
“Pull ‘em down. Underwear too.”
Ilya dragged Shane’s sweats down his legs, boxer briefs followed, and then Ilya was on him. His mouth was wonderful and warm as it closed over Shane’s head. He wrapped one hand around the base, the other gripping Shane’s thigh, rubbing up and down as if Ilya were mapping Shane’s skin by touch.
Shane sighed, low and drawn out, “Ilya, fuck. That’s it.”
Ilya came even closer on his knees, until he was as fully pressed to Shane’s leg as the angle would allow for. Shane didn’t miss the fact that Ilya was attempting to grind against him, but fuck, if the neediness didn’t look good on him.
Ilya groaned when he heard his name from Shane’s lips. The vibrations in his throat had Shane putting one hand on the wall behind Ilya to steady himself.
The hand still tangled in Ilya’s hair tightened around the strands as Ilya upped his efforts. He pulled off briefly, only to spit on the shaft, spreading it with his hand and twisting, just how Shane liked it.
“Shit,” Shane gritted out as Ilya flicked his tongue over his frenulum. To make matters worse (achingly better), when he leaned forward and looked down, he saw the block letters of his own last name across Ilya’s shoulders. “God, Ilya. That fucking shirt —” Ilya moaned around him and pulled him in deeper by the backs of his thighs and “— shit —” another glance down, the 24 bobbing along with Ilya’s ministrations “— nope, off. You gotta get off, right now, Rozanov.”
He wrenched Ilya off by his hair when it became clear he wasn’t going to stop on his own, yanking his head back and forcing him to look up at Shane. Ilya had a huge shit-eating grin on his face. Of course.
“You—” Shane panted, trying to look stern, “you are such an asshole.” He huffed a laugh, caving as a smile forced its way through. “C’mon. Bedroom. Now.”
Shane dragged Ilya to his feet, refusing to let go of his hair until Ilya was already moving, falling into step behind him like an obedient puppy.
When they reached the bedroom, Shane yanked Ilya forward, kissing him hard. His hands crept down to palm Ilya’s ass, and he smacked it once, twice, just because he could. Ilya groaned into Shane’s open mouth and tangled his fingers in Shane’s hair.
Shane wondered if Ilya was itching to pull hard on his hair, bare Shane’s neck, and bite him there, like he usually did. If he was, he managed to restrain himself, allowing Shane to do exactly that to Ilya this time. Ilya whimpered, and Shane took the opportunity to walk him backwards.
Their knees hit the bed, and they fell in a tangle of limbs that left Shane on top. He had one leg in between Ilya’s, and through the one thin layer of fabric that separated them, Shane felt how hard he was.
Ilya bucked against his thigh and whined, reminding Shane once again of a puppy. Big, bad, terror on the ice, Russia’s-Greatest-Rage-Machine Ilya Rozanov was whining and whimpering and humping Shane’s leg like a fucking puppy.
He couldn’t help but smirk at the desperation. He knew it was mean, that Ilya hadn’t been touched by himself or Shane since he’d stroked him by the wall, but god. After the text he’d sent before the game, the way he kept pushing, even after Shane made it fucking clear that he was in charge tonight, the way he’d almost purposefully made Shane come before he’d wanted to— well, he was fucking begging for Shane to be a little mean.
“Aw, baby,” he grabbed Ilya’s chin, forcing him to make eye contact, just to make him squirm. “You’re so desperate. Is that for me, hm? Is that really why you bought that shirt?” Shane leaned down, his voice low as he growled into Ilya’s ear, “because it makes you feel like mine.”
Ilya threw his head back with a pained noise halfway between a groan and a sob, “Please, Shane, please— fuck— I need you.”
“Need me like this?” Shane asked, his hand snaking between them to yank Ilya’s briefs down enough to take him in his hand.
“Y-no,” Ilya’s aborted head nod turned to a shake, probably realizing Shane wasn’t going any further than this without prompting. “No, no, is not enough, Shane. It’s not.”
“Tell me what you need then, Rozanov. I said, I want you to beg for it,” Shane hissed as he nipped at Ilya’s ear lobe.
“I– I want to fuck you, please,” Ilya’s eyes were wet, and Shane knew he was probably mortified inside. Though apparently, desperate horniness wins out over mortification sometimes. Shane rewarded him for it, kissing the outer corner of his eye where a tear pooled and threatened to fall.
Then, Shane made it worse.
“Fuck, baby. Already crying for my ass and you’re not even inside me yet– is it really that good?”
And Ilya, as expected, threw an arm over his face. He didn’t say anything, only shaking his head and hiding from Shane’s gaze.
Shane huffed a laugh and yanked Ilya’s briefs the rest of the way down and off. Snatching the bottle of lube conveniently set on the bedside table, he moved to straddle Ilya’s thighs. He flicked the cap of the lube open and drizzled some on one hand.
“I’m gonna open myself up for you, Ilya, since you’re apparently too overwhelmed to help me take care of you.” He leaned forward, bracing himself on the Metro’s logo covering Ilya’s pecs. “And then I’m gonna ride you until the only name you remember is the one on the back of that shirt.”
Ilya gasped as Shane sunk a finger into himself, “God, yes, Shane. Faster, please. Need to be inside you.”
“Don’t rush me, Rozanov,” Shane panted, as if he also wasn’t rushing himself. He was just as desperate for Ilya’s cock as Ilya was for him, but holy fuck, he’d never seen Rozanov like this before. Was this what Shane normally looked like to Ilya? With that thought lingering in his mind, Shane was determined to keep up the persona for as long as possible. He wanted to give Ilya as much as he could, and he knew Ilya enjoyed the usual role he took on. But as good as it felt for Shane to let go, he imagined it was an even more rare and precious feeling for Ilya. He could give him that— he was sure of it.
As pissed off as he’d been about the shirt— well, he wasn’t pissed about the shirt. God, he wasn’t pissed about the shirt. He was fucking turned on, and he was pissed he’d let it affect the game. But the shirt itself? On the Boston Raider’s star center Ilya Rozanov himself? It was something he’d keep in his mind’s vault forever. Surely he could reward Ilya for that.
“You don’t want to hurt me, do you? Hm?” Shane prompted. Ilya’s arm fell from his face, and he shook his head, eyes big and watery.
“N-no, not ever going to hurt you, ever,” he gasped.
“Sh-sh, I know,” Shane pushed Ilya’s hair back, soothing him and smiling softly. “I know you’d never hurt me. But you’re so big, and you know I’m always so tight when I squeeze your dick. Just a minute, baby, and I’ll give you what you need.”
Ilya nodded and settled, though his hips still bucked, seemingly involuntarily, as though even his body was searching for Shane’s.
Finally, finally, Shane worked himself up to three fingers and deemed himself ready to take Ilya’s cock. He rolled the condom he’d grabbed from the bedside table onto Ilya and slicked him up quickly, not lingering too long. His cock had been long ready, and Shane could tell just from lining him up at his entrance.
Shane felt just the tip pressed against his hole, and his hands landed on Ilya’s torso, bracing for the stretch and then absolute bliss he’d already deprived himself of for too long.
“You ready, baby?”
“Yes, yes, fuck, please. I can’t wait anymore, Shane, I can’t.”
Shane sank down, throwing his head back as Ilya stretched him, until just the tip was past that ring of muscle. A groan punched out of him, and Ilya moaned as Shane squeezed the head of his cock. He dropped down further, slowly, just an inch at a time, until he was fully seated.
Shane panted, hovering over Ilya, whose open mouth matched his own. Ilya looked up at Shane like he’d hung the fucking moon— like he’d never seen anything like him in his life, even though they’d been here together many times before. His eyes sparkled, maybe from unshed tears, maybe from the stars that lived there. The ones Shane was convinced could never be permanently dimmed.
“You look so pretty, Hollander.”
And Shane’s heart ached. Ilya swallowed, and his throat bobbed nervously, like he wasn’t sure if what he said was okay. Like he was expecting Shane to run.
As if Shane could or would run anywhere while impaled on Ilya’s monster cock.
“You look pretty too, Rozanov.” He couldn’t call him Ilya here. “My blue brings out your eyes.”
Ilya’s lips twitched in the corners, probably hiding a smile. Shane couldn’t dwell on it long, though. Ilya shifted his hips upwards, not enough to be considered a thrust, but enough to remind Shane how badly he needed to be moving right now.
“I know, I know. Put your hands on me.”
Ilya obeyed, his hands flying to Shane’s waist, thumbs caressing the expanse of skin they sat on. Shane pushed up on his knees, the slow slide achingly delicious. Ilya must’ve thought so too because his head dropped back, and his grip on Shane tightened as he let out a moan, “Fuckkkk.”
Shane dropped back down, and the sudden movement had Ilya crying out. It was a desperate, aching sound. One that he’d never heard Ilya make before, one he’d never even considered possible from him.
Shane wanted to hear it again.
He pushed up and dropped back down again hard.
Ilya keened. The little tear in the corner of his eye that had been threatening to spill over for the past few minutes finally did so, setting something off in Shane’s chest. He kissed the tear away, tasting the saltiness on his lips as he set a pace that was quick and punishing. Shane couldn’t bear to deprive Ilya anymore, or himself for that matter.
All Ilya could do was chant “ShaneShaneShane” and hold on tightly as Shane slammed onto him over and over again. His eyes were screwed shut, and Shane thought privately that Ilya had never looked prettier than he did right now.
Ilya always looked good. Better than good. He looked strong and sexy and powerful always. But here, just for Shane, he looked pretty.
Or at least, Shane let himself believe, just for this moment, that it was just for him. He knew it probably wasn’t. Sometimes, like now, his…whatever it was with Ilya didn’t feel casual. But Ilya was the expert on casual hookups. Shane only had this one. So.
This was probably typical of a casual hookup.
But just for now, Shane allowed himself to pretend that he was the only one who got to see Ilya like this. It was striking— the contrast between Raiders #81 Ilya Rozanov and the man who, lying under him right now, begging for him, was just Ilya.
Shane leaned down again, pressing his forehead to Ilya’s. The angle shift made Ilya’s jaw drop open, and Shane shared the sentiment.
“Oh fuck, baby. Right there, that’s so good,” Shane gasped into Ilya’s open mouth as Ilya’s cock nailed his prostate over and over again. Shane’s cock twitched, and he could feel his balls drawing up. He took himself in his hand, squeezing around the base to try and stave off the orgasm that had crept up from out of nowhere. “Fuck. Ilya, you’re gonna make me come.”
“Do it, please. I want to make you come,” Ilya begged, strands of hair clinging to his sweaty forehead.
“You first,” Shane grunted and doubled his efforts.
“But—” Ilya made a valiant effort at protesting, but caved quickly, giving way to the pleasure Shane was forcing on him. “Shit. Fuck. I-I’m—”
“You gonna come for me, Rozanov?”
“Uh-huh, I’m about to— Shane,” Ilya came hard with a shout, filling the condom. It seemed to go on longer than normal, and Shane fucked him through it, keeping his rhythm steady until Ilya was scrambling, his hands grasping at skin, and whimpering for Shane to stop.
Shane felt like he was about to explode, and it almost killed him to take Ilya out, to have his hole clench around nothing. But he remembered how Ilya had finished when Shane had worn his Raiders shirt, how unbelievably fucking hot that must’ve been for Ilya to see, and he wanted that for himself. He climbed off of Ilya and knelt next to him.
“On your stomach,” he growled in Ilya’s ear, but it was more of a warning than a request. Shane grabbed Ilya’s hips and flipped him. Ilya let out a yelp of surprise, and Shane couldn’t help the huffed laugh that snuck out of him.
Sometimes Ilya forgot Shane was also a 200 lb hockey player.
Ilya’s hands were up by his head, pushing up so Ilya could watch Shane over his shoulder. Shane pushed Ilya back down as he straddled his ass again, but he let him watch out of his periphery as Shane yanked the blue fabric tight.
The white matte HOLLANDER 24 stretched like a blank canvas, and Shane was about to become the next Jackson fucking Pollack.
Spitting in his hand, Shane worked himself, hand twisting over the tip with just the right amount of pressure, and fuck, this wouldn’t take long.
Ilya’s curls, and fuck, Shane’s name. His number. Ilya watching him, waiting for— fuck.
Shane was coming. Fucking bliss. He watched as the first shot hit the 2, the next on the second ‘L’. The rest followed, and he swore loudly, not even sure he was speaking English, as it went on and on.
When he’d wrung himself dry, he pushed up the shirt, folding it in on himself as best he could, before collapsing onto Ilya’s back. Shane laid his head on Ilya’s shoulder and let his eyes close for a minute, basking in the warmth of the skin to skin contact.
“That was…” Ilya started.
“Good for you?” Shane asked, trying not to worry that Ilya hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he had.
“Fuck, Hollander. Who taught you to act like that? And say those words?”
“Umm,” Shane tried to think of a less embarrassing answer than ‘you did,’ but honesty and exhaustion won out. “S’not like I was taking notes, but you’re a pretty good teacher.”
Ilya shifted underneath him, and Shane took the hint, rolling off to lay beside him. He couldn’t force himself to make eye contact, and Ilya’s lack of response wasn’t lost on him. Ilya flipped to his back, pulling the condom off his rapidly softening dick. He tied it off and threw it in the general direction of the trash can. Shane made a face. The Metros shirt followed to the floor, falling closer to the dirty clothes hamper.
Shane felt Ilya look at him, so he dragged his eyes to Ilya’s face. He was pleased to see the lasting effects still lingered. Ilya’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were clearer now, still a bit glassy, but dryer than they had been.
“You are good student,” Ilya murmured, something soft in his expression that Shane couldn’t quite put his finger on. He must be tired, Shane thought.
“Thanks,” Shane almost whispered, drawing out the ‘s’ sound like he did when he wasn’t sure what to say. “Shower now?”
Ilya blinked like Shane had interrupted some deep thoughts, but he nodded, pressing a kiss to Shane’s lips before rolling off the bed.
Shane followed him, placing a hand on his lower back as if to guide him. As if this wasn’t Ilya’s house. But the simple touch made him feel like he was helping in a way.
Ilya seemed to need it less than Shane did after Ilya had railed him into the next season, but Shane wasn’t about to let him feel abandoned, or like Shane didn’t care.
Because he did care, like a normal amount for a casual hookup. The same way Ilya cared for him post-sex. Casual. Safe.
He sat Ilya down on the closed lid of the toilet, running a hand through his hair, and turned the shower on. Ilya leaned on his hip and let himself be petted while they waited for the shower to heat. His face was more guarded than usual, probably because he was used to caring for Shane, not the other way around.
That was okay. Shane was just glad Ilya was letting him at all. Some kind of feeling crept over him, some kind of wistful something that didn’t have a name.
Ignoring it, he checked the shower and found it hot. He pulled Ilya up by his elbows and guided him in first. Ilya went willingly.
“You are coming in too?” Ilya asked when Shane didn’t move immediately.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Shane shook his head as he realized he’d just been standing outside the shower watching the water soak Ilya’s hair. “Sorry, just—”
The word “thinking” went unsaid as he trailed off.
Shane stepped into the shower and followed Ilya under the spray.
“I really did like that shirt on you,” Shane said as Ilya moved to let him under the water.
“What, it did not make you mad?” Ilya snorted.
“No, I mean it did, but I wasn’t mad at that. I just—” Shane huffed, frustrated that the words weren’t coming easily. “I was upset that I kept getting distracted. It was…” Ilya was never going to let him live this down, “affecting my game.”
Ilya’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise, and he smirked, “Really?”
“Fuck off, you were distracted too!”
“Mm, yes. Is true. But I didn’t play that bad.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it. Months ago, when Shane had sent the picture that had started this whole thing, Ilya had played terribly, and Shane thought it was good that maybe now they were even. He wasn’t going to debate him though.
“Asshole,” Shane said, trying and failing to keep a smile from spreading across his face. But then another thought occurred to him. “What if someone sees that you have that?”
“What, the Metros shirt?”
Shane gave him a ‘duh’ look.
“Is fine. No one will see.”
Shane wasn’t convinced. “But what if they do?”
“Then I will tell them an old hookup left it here. Very kinky girl. Into roleplay,” Ilya waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s only half lie.”
“Go fuck yourself, Rozanov.”
“Ah, but you already did,” Ilya grinned, pulling him in.
Shane rolled his eyes, but accepted the kiss with a smile.
support means the world to me! a comment or reblog is always appreciated! thank you for reading!
New fic by @makeadealwithdean out now!! It’s a sequel to angel in a raider’s t-shirt, which always makes me think of this gorgeous work by @artseamoni.
