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Six months.
Six months of excruciating impatience. No calls, no texts, no cocky flirting. Silence.
And now, they stand face to face in a small, poorly lit bathroom backstage. Alone.
“What the fuck do you want, Rozanov?”
His heart feels like it could beat out of his chest at any second. Shane’s suit suddenly feels ten times tighter, pulling at his collar as he stares at the floor.
That stupid smile on Ilya’s face, reading Shane like a book. He knew Hollander would pretend not to care about his absence. Act like he hasn’t been craving Ilya’s affection for God knows how long. Pretend that he can stand up for himself off the ice rink. But, Ilya knows. He always knows.
Still, Rozanov stays silent. Staring so intensely it could burn a hole through Shane.
“I want you to suck my dick.”
Shane scoffs, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket.
“Oh fuck you, you are unbelievable! You suck my dick.”
He can’t take himself to even look in Ilya's direction, chewing on his lip as he paces.
Ilya takes two long strides towards him, grabbing his chin. Hollander feels small… melting under his gentle touch. He couldn’t control it. Shane leans in, his body pulling in like a magnet.
Shane could smell the mix of Rozanov's cologne and musk he’s all too familiar with. Blood rushed below his belt, his dress pants quickly tightening.
He can’t come to make eye contact with his rival, his touch making him forget why he was so upset in the first place…
The tension is so thick you can see it in the air, slowly circling the two men.
“Maybe ask nicely, hm?” Rozanov's grip on his chin firms, Shane finally locking eyes with him. His head is foggy, his legs feeling weak. He had no power when it came to Rozanov, there was no need to state it for it to be true.
“Please.” His voice is monotone, but shame and uncontrollable lust shoots through him as he submits to Ilya's command. His eyes glossed over, soft lips pouting out from the grasp on his face. He needed Ilya, and he needed him now.
Rozanov clicks his tongue, a primal look in his eyes that only came out around Hollander.
“If you want me to get on my knees on this filthy bathroom floor and suck your dick, you will have to ask nicer than that.”
Those words go straight to Shane's cock, his bulge now straining against the cloth. He can’t say no to him, they both know that.
Shane leans into Ilya's touch as he lets go of his chin, waiting patiently to hear those sweet words come from Hollander's mouth.
This time, Hollander makes eye contact without hesitation. He's too needy to feel ashamed.
“Please get on your knees on this filthy bathroom floor and suck my dick… please.”
Shane feels like he could break at any moment. He would get on his hands and knees to beg for anything Ilya wanted. He couldn’t deny it any longer.
Ilya hums in satisfaction, pulling Shane close enough to be right next to his ear. “I didn’t know you were this easy for me, captain.”
A strong hand runs down Shane's back, him instinctively arching into the touch. His breathing is hard, his hands balling into fists. “God, Rozanov.” His voice cracks, quiet and desperate. Ilya's lips have moved to Shane's neck, pressing gentle kisses to the sensitive skin.
He needs more, it’s not enough. He needs Ilya's rough hands all over him. His teeth biting into him, his hands, his mouth. Oh God, he needs his mouth.
Rozanov’s hands explore the desperate captain. Down his back, back up over his shoulders, across his chest and strong arms. But never below the waist. He wants to see how far he can go before he has Shane begging.
“Rozy…” Shane whispers.
Ilya hums, acting oblivious to the torture he’s putting Shane through.
He huffs, grabbing at Ilya's arms and shoulders. He tries to move Ilya’s hands further down, groaning loudly when he suddenly pulls away.
“No, no, no, no, no.” He whines. He’d never felt so pathetic, so vulnerable.
Ilya’s eyes darken, suddenly palming Hollander’s hard on. Shane’s eyes widen, biting back a moan. “
Dirty…” His grip tightens, Shane's nails digging crescent moons into his own palms.
“Please… please please please…” A tear escapes from Shane's eye, looking down at Ilya's hand. His whole body feels hot, he’s so hard it hurts.
His hand moves from Shane's cock, firmly tapping his face a couple times.
“So pathetic, I almost feel bad for you.” Ilya slowly lets his knees hit the floor, and Shane can’t control the smile of excitement that comes across his face.
He looks so pretty like this, bright blue eyes and perfectly defined curls reflecting from the harsh bathroom light.
Shane doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He keeps them in fists as Ilya moves in, pressing kisses to his clothed cock.
Shane’s head throws back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows back moans.
He quickly looks back down at Ilya, not wanting to miss a second of his favorite show.
Ilya finally starts to undo the desperate boy’s belt. Unbuttoning his pants and slowly pulling the zipper down with his teeth.
“Fuck, Rozanov…” Shane mutters, a shiver making his whole body twitch.
Ilya pulls down his pants just enough for his cock to spring out, precum already smothered over his tip. His veins more prominent than ever, and his cock red from sexual frustration.
Shane’s whole body jolts when Ilya's rough, calloused hand wraps around his dick. Putting his hand on the bathroom sink to keep himself from passing out then and there from the overwhelming pleasure.
“This what you wanted, hm?” Ilya asks, his voice so low Shane can almost feel the vibration.
Shane nods enthusiastically before Ilya can even finish his sentence, his hips bucking into the touch of his rival.
Rozanov runs his thumb over Shane's tip, immediately putting his hand over his mouth to muffle the sob that escapes his throat.
“Relax Hollander…” Shane rolls his eyes at the comment, muttering for him to hurry up under his breath.
Before Hollander can complain again, Ilya is taking him in his mouth.
“Fuck!” Shane cries as Ilya doesn’t waste any time, bobbing his head up and down and holding Shane's legs in place.
Hollander can barely even talk, let alone think. All the times he jerked off or fucked himself thinking about his rival using him could never equate to the pleasure he, himself (Roz) so easily gives him.
Shane's hands find the way to the back of Ilya's head, grabbing handfuls of blonde curls as he pushes Ilyas’s head down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck– please Rozanov– Oh my God…” Hollander didn’t even know what he was begging for, but he needed it. He needed more, he needed all of it. All of Rozanov.
Ilya finally pulls back from Shane's cock, breathing heavily with spit falling from the side of his mouth. He jerks off Shane as he catches his breath. Watching intensely as his rival throws his head back, trying to be as silent as he possibly can.
Hollander's not even worried that the bathroom door has no lock. That people are running around backstage constantly back and forth in front of the door. In complete honesty, the thrill of being caught just gives him more excitement.
“Fuck Rozanov, I missed your mouth– so much…” Ilya hums in response, spitting on Shane's aching cock. The wet sounds of precum and drool filled strokes echoes off the small walls, heavy panting starting to fog the sink mirror.
Shane is getting impatient, bucking his hips towards Ilya's mouth and grabbing at his curls to guide him back down. Ilya pinches his thigh, Shane yelping in surprise.
“Do that again and I’ll leave you here to finish for yourself.” Shane quickly moves his hands to his side, the dominance in Ilya's voice taking over him like some spell.
“Sorry, I’m sorry— I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Hollander pleas. He couldn’t hold back his desperate, needy tears anymore. He just wanted to cum, he wanted Rozanov to make him cum. Only his touch. That’s all he needed.
Ilya smiles at how ruined he has Hollander, just for him. His hollander. Some cocky hockey captain that cries when the desperation is just too much to handle. Such a toy.
He licks the tip of his drooling cock, moving his tongue all the way down the length. He watches Hollander struggle to keep his hands to himself, grabbing so tightly at his own suit it could rip. He finally takes him in his mouth again, Shane violently shaking as Ilya's teeth graze against him.
A pit forms in Shane’s stomach, a feeling all too familiar from all the other times he’s finished from Ilya’s mouth. He wasn’t sure if he should ask for permission, or tell him he was close. Or say nothing at all. He starts to panic as the feeling grows, legs shaking as he tries to push himself off.
“Wait Roz– Rozanov, I’m gonna– Hold on-” Ilya grabs on to his waist, pulling Shane closer to him till his nose touches Hollander’s stomach.
Shane bites down on the back of his hand as he finishes down Rozanov's throat, face red from embarrassment and the heat that’s suddenly very prominent.
He came faster than he meant to, but he would’ve cried louder if he tried to stop himself.
He struggles to keep himself up when Rozanov doesn’t pull off his cock, his tongue swirling around the tip, sending an overstimulating amount of pleasure through his body.
“Stop… stop, stop, stop. Oh my God–” Shane squeezes his eyes shut, taking shaky deep breaths that aren’t helping him regulate in the slightest. His hands find their way back to the blonde curls, his back leaning against the bathroom stall. He can barely stand on his own now.
Oh God, he’s gonna cum again.
Rozanov's hands travel up Shane’s body, squeezing his chest and grabbing at his softer areas. Hollander keeps a strong hand over his own mouth, his eyebrows furrowed as beads of sweat form.
Ilya won’t stop, reading his body language that he's already getting there again. Shane’s free hand grasps tightly at Ilya's hair.
“Wait–” Shane pulls Ilya’s head back, pulling him out of his mouth and stroking himself desperately as he finishes over his rival’s face.
His whole torso rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath, sliding down the bathroom stall onto the floor after he finishes.
“Sorry…” He says, watching Ilya grab a couple paper towels to wipe off the mess.
After he's washed his hands, Rozanov helps Hollander up from the floor. He straightens Shane's collar before pulling him in by a tight grasp around his neck.
“What I would’ve done to you if you got cum on my suit.” He softly threatens, giving him a smile and a firm tap on the cheek.
Shane hums, his mind foggy and his body still recovering. Those soft, glassy eyes flutter in weakness and pleasure.
Rozanov looks into his eyes, at his lips, and back up to his eyes. They both do.
“Good luck tonight.” He pulls Hollander in for a kiss, admiring his face once more before leaving him to sit with his own thoughts.
Hollander puts himself back together quickly, wiping the tears from his face and smiling to himself in the mirror.
He got what he wanted.
All on that filthy fucking bathroom floor.