[ficlet: show me, or that time shane hollander made luca haas ride a dildo in the locker room]
“You want to fuck my husband.”
Luca’s gaze darts around the locker room, as if Shane could be talking to anyone else. Praying he’s talking to anyone else. But it’s just the two of them, and Luca is a cornered rabbit, scrubbed rosy from the shower and pinned under Shane’s unflinching stare.
“Wh—what?” Luca asks, digging in his duffel for a clean t-shirt. He needs something to do with his hands or the shake in his fingers will give him away.
But Shane is lightning-fast, those hockey reflexes put to sudden good use as his fingers circle Luca’s wrist in a crushing hold. Then Shane smirks—he fucking smirks—and that hold might be the only thing keeping Luca upright.
“You want to fuck Ilya,” Shane repeats, softly, slowly, like Luca is a little bit dumb, and maybe he is. A noise escapes his lips, somewhere between a gasp and a whine. God, what must Shane think of him. Lusting after his husband like some obvious, cheap whore.
“It’s okay, Haasy,” Shane says, his thumb rubbing a gentle circle on the underside of Luca’s wrist, where the skin is thinnest and the heat of him threatens to burn right through. He’s never heard Shane like this—simpering and a little bit mean. “I’ve thought about letting you do it, you know that?”
Letting him? Letting him—what? Surely not.
“I’m sure no one else sees how pathetically obvious you are,” Shane continues, leaning in so that his breath is hot on Luca’s ear. “How you pant after him like a horny little puppy. But I can see how bad you need my husband’s cock.”
“Oh,” Luca chokes out. Shane’s thigh is suddenly wedged between his legs and Luca is aware that he’s at a half-chub. If Shane moves even a centimeter, he’ll be aware of it, too.
“Yes, Haasy,” Shane coos into his ear, like he knows what Luca’s thinking. His thick thigh moves between Luca’s legs in a way that could be an innocent shift or a deliberate grind. Luca’s dick can’t tell the difference. It just wants. “If I tell Ilya to fuck you, he’ll fuck you. Would you want that?”
Heat knifes through Luca’s belly and his knees almost give out, bending just enough so that Shane’s thigh is wedged firmly against his cock.
This can’t be happening. This is definitely happening.
God help him, he nods.
Shane makes a little hum of approval low in his throat, the bass of it shaking a spasm from Luca’s hips. “I’m just concerned for your safety, Haas. I don’t know if you could take him. If he would fit in that tight…virgin…ass,” Shane says, every word expelling a hot puff of air against Luca’s ear.
“I could take it—I know I could,” Luca babbles, the words finally spilling out in a rush. His cheeks are hot because somehow Shane has clocked him as a virgin and he’s about to overshare but he can’t stop. “I practice at home. On a dildo. I could take him if you let me. I could.”
He doesn’t know why he feels like crying.
Shane finally lets go of Luca’s wrist. He’s still smarting at the loss of contact, marveling at the faint red marks left behind, when he realizes that Shane is digging in his own duffel. For his phone, maybe? To call Ilya so his captain can yell at him for his unprofessional behavior, or so they can laugh at him together, at his pathetic hard-on in his flimsy shorts. But then Shane says—
“Show me.”
And Luca’s heart stops.
Because Shane is holding a dildo.
It’s a sleek black thing, eight inches or more and thick enough to split him wide, with a suction cup at its base.
Luca’s brain struggles to process it. Does Shane just—carry it around with him? Do Shane and Ilya fuck here in the locker room? Maybe Ilya uses it on him in the shower. Maybe he sticks it to the wall and makes Shane bend over and fuck himself onto it as the water courses over their naked bodies.
Luca is lost in his thoughts, his cock growing still harder against his thigh, when Shane presses the dildo down onto the wooden bench between them. Thanks to its suction cup base, it bobs obscenely for a moment before going still.
“If you can take this, you can take Ilya,” Shane says simply. Like it’s just a matter of physics and not his marriage. Like this dildo isn’t blowing up Luca’s whole world.
Shane pops the cap on a small bottle of lube he must’ve had stashed in his bag and drizzles it over the dildo. Fat globs of slick catch on the thick head before dripping down the sides in a slow ooze. Luca’s cock twitches miserably in the confines of his shorts.
Shane just smirks. “Show me you can take it, and I’ll let you fuck him.”
“You’re serious,” Luca says slowly. He’s looking around for the hidden camera, for the punchline, but Shane is nodding.
“Take your shorts off, Haasy. Let me see the little cock that’s been drooling for my husband.”
Luca swallows. It’s not—he’s not little. But something sick in him likes Shane saying so, flares hot at the words, and he has no choice but to obey.
He tugs his shorts down over his hips, pulling his briefs with them, until they’re bunched around his ankles. With a soft thwap, his hard cock slaps against his belly. And sure enough, it is drooling. For Ilya. For Shane. For… whatever this is.
“Aww,” Shane says, lifting his hand to cover his mouth. “That’s cute.”
Luca’s cheeks burn. “Shut up,” he says, but a traitorous bead of precome pools in his slit.
Shane pats the bench in front of him. “Now. You’ve been staring at my husband like a desperate whore for months. Let’s see if you can ride like one.”
Luca looks down at the dildo. It’s not so thick that he needs to finger himself first. He grabs the lube off the bench and pours some onto his fingers, then uses it to slick his entrance. He straddles the bench and squats over it. He feels like—like an animal. Low and base and exposed.
“That’s a good boy, Haasy. Pretend it’s Ilya’s cock. Show me how you want to fuck him.”
That makes something snap inside him.
Luca sinks down onto the dildo with a cry. He can’t take more than an inch or two at first, and his quads shake as he holds himself above in a squat, his chest heaving with deep, shuddering breaths.
He closes his eyes and begins to move just like he does when he pleasures himself at home. When he fucks himself on his dildo and imagines being split open by his captain.
“C-captain,” Luca whimpers, before he can stop himself. His hips are moving in slow circles, teasing the head of dildo just inside him. Then he lets himself sink lower, his whole body trembling with the effort not to slam himself down onto the toy, to split himself open before he’s ready. God, he wants it to hurt. “Ilya.”
“Good boy,” Shane says, and Luca’s toes curl against the dirty locker room floor.
He loses himself in the sensation of fullness. He imagines the cold, hard dildo is hot and throbbing and real, a real cock attached to Ilya Rozanov, and then Luca can’t help it—he’s bouncing on it. Bouncing so hard his own cock is slapping against his stomach. He’s a slave to the pathetic need thrumming in his veins, the yearning he’s felt since before he really knew what it meant when his most intimate parts grew warm and tingly in his twin bed at night, Ilya’s poster on his wall.
“Ilya, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me, Captain.”
He’s distantly aware that Shane is talking. On the phone, maybe? But the dildo feels so good and his cock is leaking and he’s fucking himself on it faster now, slamming down onto it with a high, keening cry that echoes off the locker room walls.
“Yeah, babe, you can come in now,” Shane is saying, Luca thinks, but he’s not really processing it. “Sure, bring Barrett. And—yeah, him too. There’s something I think they’ll want to see.”
