Work Text:
———
Hollander is squirming up against him like an eager puppy, making small breathless noises as they kiss and grind together. And he’s wearing nothing but his socks. Just like last time. Like a little weirdo. His socked toe brushes Ilya’s ankle shyly. He hums as he accepts Ilya’s hand gripping his jaw while he deepens the kiss. God, he wants to fuck him. So badly. But not tonight. Because of stupid Scott Hunter who is probably already fast asleep in his hotel room because he is old and almost as boring as Hollander.
It’s okay. Ilya will fuck Hollander next time. And tonight he will have his sweet, pretty mouth again.
When he pulls back, Hollander looks dazed and soft, mouth red and cheeks flushed. His freckles are darker, like he’s been spending time outside. Ilya wants to bite his cheek. Make him squeak or something. He moves his hand up from his jaw, thumb brushing Hollander’s damp mouth, teasing him. Waiting. Waiting to see if he’ll do it.
Hollander doesn’t waste a second because he’s a good little boy and he wants it as much as Ilya does. He leans forward, taking Ilya’s thumb in his mouth and sucking blissfully. God, yes. Hollander’s eyes flutter closed as he sucks, his straight lashes are dark against the vulnerable skin under his eyes. Ilya pushes further in, feeling the warm softness of his mouth, his clumsy tongue. He looks like he’s enjoying this. Like he’s taking pleasure from just having Ilya’s thumb in his mouth. Safe inside his nice mouth. Hollander makes a small noise when he pulls his hand away.
“You will suck my cock now,” Ilya says, watching Hollander’s eyes open, absorbing his hazy expression, the slight nod in response to his words.
Hollander’s hands are warm, his skin soft on Ilya’s body as he pushes gently at his shoulder. Silently asking him to move onto his back. Hollander, we could do it like this. I could crawl up your body and fuck your face. But he’s not going to do that. Not yet. Hollander isn’t ready. This will make him feel better, doing it like they did it last time.
So Ilya rolls onto his back, sitting up a little against the stiff hotel pillows, watching as he crawls between his legs. Ilya looks hungrily at Hollander’s cock, at how hard he is just from some kissing and sucking Ilya’s thumb. When he gets his mouth around his dick, it's sloppy with spit, slicking Ilya’s cock as he bobs his head with little finesse but a lot of enthusiasm. Fucking Christ. He’s so pretty. Moaning softly as he slides up and down, gagging a little when he goes too far. But pushing down again because Hollander loves a challenge.
Which is so fucking hot.
Hockey. Sucking Ilya’s dick. He wants to be good at it. Wants to get his little medals and have people smile and praise his skills and then blush and say something sweet and humble–
Ilya has to touch him. He reaches down, hand in Hollander’s silky hair, combing his dumb bangs back from his forehead, watching his lips wrapped around his cock, his hand stroking the rest that doesn’t fit in his mouth. Yet. Ilya knows Hollander will be able to deep throat him eventually. But even if he doesn’t, it feels so fucking good just like this. His soft, warm mouth, the little slick sounds, his breathy noises. Ilya bites back a groan.
“Good Hollander,” Ilya says, voice a little strained. But who can fucking blame him? “It’s so good.”
And Hollander whimpers, eyes flicking up to look helplessly at Ilya. Fuck. Jesus Christ. He likes that.
“You are sucking me so good,” Ilya says, fingers tightening in his hair, pushing down a little, pleased when Hollander goes easily, letting Ilya control the pace.
He hitches his hips slightly. Not too much. He’s not that much of an asshole. Hollander’s jaw loosens, his breath coming loud and bullish out of his nose as Ilya fucks gently into his mouth. Just feeding him a little bit at a time. Giving him what he wants. What they both want. Spit is escaping his stretched mouth, his eyes watery and pretty. Jesus Christ.
Ilya manages to last a few more minutes and then he’s tugging him off, biting his lip viciously as he cums into his own hand, eyes on Hollander’s still slack mouth. He groans, pulling Hollander’s hair until he moves up the bed, flopping down, watching as Ilya rolls to grab a handful of tissues before scrambling back to Hollander’s warm body, pressing a hard kiss against his well fucked mouth. They kiss messily, mouths sliding against each other, wet and frantic.
Ilya pulls away with a gasp.
“What do you want?” He asks, hand rising reflexively to hold Hollander’s jaw, thumb brushing against his flushed skin. Hollander looks a little out of it, brows furrowing like he’s remembering how to think. That’s okay. Ilya can think for him.
Ilya’s hand trails down his damp chest, fingers wrapping around his rigid cock. Hollander jerks a little at the contact, a small gasp escaping his mouth.
“You are wet like a girl,” Ilya says, thumbing his leaking tip. Because Hollander was so turned on by sucking his cock. Fuck. That’s hot. He’s so wet and beautiful.
“Fuck you,” Hollander says, but there’s no heat behind the words.
“Yes okay,” Ilya says, starting to stroke, watching the pained little expression that passes over Hollander’s face.
He presses forward, wanting to kiss his neck but landing somewhere around his cheek instead. That’s okay. He presses another kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then he noses his face over so he can lick at the skin of his neck. He tastes nice: a little salty, but also clean and sort of wholesome. Which doesn’t make sense.
Hollander is moaning softly, squirming under Ilya like a bug on the sidewalk. He turns his head like he’s looking for something. Because he is. Ilya knows what he needs, because he needs it too. He speeds up his hand on Hollander’s leaking cock, moving to press his mouth back against his begging lips.
Hollander cums like that, moaning into Ilya’s mouth, his hands gripping tightly at his shoulders, one socked foot scrambling up his leg.
Their breaths mingle when Ilya pulls away, fumbling for the used tissue, wiping more cum on it and then tossing it onto the nightstand. Hollander bumps up against him, lips parted and waiting. Ilya obliges, slumping back down over him, kissing him again, their lips losing their urgency, their movements soft and lazy now.
But their sweat is starting to cool and their dicks are soft now. So Ilya pulls back slightly.
“I will shower,” he mumbles.
“Okay,” Hollander breathes, kissing him one more time before Ilya rolls away.
His hair is a mess, sticking up comically against the mussed sheets. Hollander doesn’t make a move to leave the bed. Like he hadn’t caught the hint of dismissal in Ilya’s statement. That’s okay. For now. He can rest. He looks tired. And well fucked. It’s a good look.
Ilya goes to the hotel mini fridge, pulling a water bottle out and twisting off the top. He takes a swig, glancing briefly over at Hollander who looks like he doesn’t know he’s smiling. He shouldn’t just go around smiling like that. Ilya tosses the bottle onto the bed.
“Drink water,” he says. Because Hollander is probably thirsty.
Immediately, Hollander pushes up into a seated position, uncapping the water, bringing it up to his lips, socked feet on top of the sheets. Ilya turns away, moving towards the bathroom. He smells like Hollander. He turns on the shower.
That was good. Hollander is getting better at sucking cock. And next time he will fuck his ass. In two weeks. Good.
Ilya steps into the shower. The water isn’t hot yet. He sticks his head under the spray anyway.
———