Archive of Our Own

Shane grew up strange.

Not strange, not really. That wasn’t- he didn’t mean it in a bad way, was all. He grew up different. There. That was better.

Different.

He grew up different in a lot of ways. He was talented from an early age, well rounded in as many subjects as his parents could possibly force him to study ruthlessly for. He was half decent at piano, though he had ended up begging his way out of it in high school because he couldn’t stand the older lady who taught him. Shane had gone years without telling his parents about how mean she was. Simply because…Shane was different.

Shane didn’t like upsetting people. He didn’t like upsetting his mom the most. She had spent so much time helping him, guiding him into a fruitful career. He wasn’t certain if he would have ever been able to do it on his own. Sure, he was only barely in the league. But. He was trying, you know? And doing a damn good job. The rest of it was fine, all the talking and emotional labor and-

Maybe those things weren’t fine.

Maybe he was already internalizing all of it, damning himself for never being able to have a normal, human reaction. Shane was difficult to talk to, he knew that. His mother offered a nice buffer. A gateway between worlds, so that he could focus on hockey and she could focus on business.

Shane knew that he was a hard person to love.

A child that most parents wouldn’t have spent the time on, a child that made everyone around him vaguely uncomfortable.

He knew that.

He didn’t want to make his parents feel bad, he didn’t want to disappoint them. So, even if Shane was different, he couldn’t be. You know? He couldn’t actually be different.

He had to be Shane Hollander.

—

The first time Shane noticed he had A Thing, he was barely out of high school. It wasn’t a big deal, not in comparison to all the realizations that the teens around him were having. And if anything, Shane didn’t even realize it was An Actual Thing at the time. Just that. Maybe he had….an issue. A problem. A hyperfixation, honestly.

The first person to ever point it out was a girl he’d tutored in math. She was normal and sweet, a girl named Rebecca who apparently could not pass calc without ripping her hair out. Shane couldn’t blame her, math was hard for most people.

Most.

It was a random Tuesday when she brought up the topic, her expression bored and tired as she sat at his parent’s dining room table.

“You know you chew on your pen a lot?” She asked, jaw slipping against her palm as he tried to keep herself awake. Again. Fair. “Like, a lot.”

Shane slipped the aforementioned pen out of his mouth, cheeks heating in an instant as he stared at Rebecca. Did he?

“Uh, okay? Is that- is that bad?” He asked, unsure how to form the question without sounding a little bit rude. She was unbothered by his lack of social skills, tilting her head as if she found him…

Interesting?

“Not at all, it’s kind of cute.”

Oh.

No one had ever….

No one had ever called Shane cute before. Nobody other than maybe his own mother and she had stopped doing that years ago when he decided it was too childish. In reality, Shane was terrible at accepting compliments.

“Thank you?” He asked, voice lilting in concern. “It’s not- I don’t mean to do it, I guess. It just….I guess it helps me concentrate.”

Rebecca nodded as if that made sense.

“Sure it does,” She concluded, sighing dreamily to herself. Shane had no clue why she was looking at him….like that. “It’s distracting.”

Well. Now he felt bad.

“It’s….distracting?”

Shane allowed the pen to drop softly onto the table, the quietest of noises. Somehow, it sounded like a gunshot to his ears.

“Distracting? Isn’t that, um- that’s bad? I am so sorry for distracting you with-“

“No,” Rebecca interrupted with a little laugh, the trill of a giggle. “No, like- it’s good, it’s good distracting.”

Huh.

Shane shouldn’t ask-

“What does that….what does that mean?” He asked anyway. “How can something be…that doesn’t make any sense.”

Rebecca was patient with him, both hands folding on the table as she sat up straight.

“It makes people look at your mouth.” He was sure that was not true. That couldn’t be- Shane was half scandalized at the concept of anyone staring at his mouth. What? “You have nice lips, that’s all. It draws attention to them.”

Shane was sort of….still confused.

He left the conversation as it was, just like his pen on the table. He did not want to give Rebecca any more reason to….be distracted by him.

—

Shane figured that having his habit pointed out to him would help him quail said habit. It didn’t do shit. Not at all, actually. If anything, it only made his habit worse.

Shane was just more aware of it now.

He couldn’t sit without fidgeting with something snd that thing usually ended up in his mouth. It was weird enough without realizing that other people had probably noticed. Had his parents noticed? What was wrong with him?

Shane even ended up asking his mother if he’d had a pacifier for too long as a child. Which. He had received an odd look in exchange for that question, so. That seemed fair.

Shane wasn’t going to ask his therapist. There was no need.

Until she began to notice it too. Shane wasn’t quite sure if she had just slowly noticed over time, or if he was getting worse about it. But she mentioned it during a session, her eye contact still too intense for Shane to deal with.

“How long have you chewed on your hoodie strings like that?”

Shane wasn’t quite thrown off, he just….didn’t expect her to ask. He allowed a string to fall from his mouth, throat clearing awkwardly as he rested twisting hands in his lap. He knew he would have to do these sessions more frequently with everything coming up, but. That didn’t mean he enjoyed them.

“I dunno, a few years? Most of my life? Why?”

He was being blunt again.

“Do you see it as a grounding technique?”

Shane made a face, trying to convey how much he did not understand the phrase without coming off as rude. He was thinking too much again, over analyzing his interactions. With his therapist, of all people.

“What I mean is…” She leaned forward as if she was about to divulge top secret information. “Does it help you feel more grounded? Centered? In control?”

Shane thought on this notion for a good few seconds, deciding that maybe he would like to change therapists. No, he was being rash. She wasn’t trying to offend him.

“I don’t really think about it,” Shane answered honestly. As honest as he could possibly be when provided no context. “It’s just something I do a lot, I guess. What do you mean by ‘grounding’?”

At least she had patience for him, a rarity in Shane’s life. Only his parents seemed to be able to tolerate him in large doses, when he wasn’t choosing to play the shy kid. It was a role that fit him well. No expectations, no risk. No reward.

“I mean, like…it helps you. It calms you. Do you ever do it when you’re anxious?”

Well, yeah. Duh. Of course.

“Not all the time,” Shane said, somewhat defensively. “Just….sometimes. Everyone has something, right?”

His therapist nodded sagely, almost looking proud. Shane decided that maybe she was fine, maybe he was the one who was being weird here.

“I want you to write down every time you catch yourself chewing on something, putting something in your mouth. And I want you to write down how you feel in that moment, okay?”

Shane knew how to do an assignment. He was a wonderful student. A real delight to have in the classroom.

—

Shane was pretty sure the guys were making fun of him for carrying around a notebook. He was also pretty sure they would find it even funnier if they knew what he was writing in said notebook.

2 pm, lunch. Post practice. I got bored because Scott wouldn’t stop talking.

6 pm, dinner at some local place. The music was too loud, I got bored. Had to go outside. Some guy tried to bum a smoke off me, but I don’t smoke. He rolled his eyes at me. Rude.

Tuesday

3 pm, shower. I caught myself chewing on my own thumb? Not sure what that’s about, never done that before.

7 pm, meeting. New guy on team made fun of my shoes. Started chewing on my hoodie strings and couldn’t stop.

8 pm, same meeting. Fine, maybe you’re right. He won’t stop talking about my shoes.

—

Shane chewed on a lot of things the day he met Ilya Rozanov. His hoodie, his own nails, his own lip, his fucking fingers. He bit right into the skin as soon as he shuffled into the shower, upset and unsure why he was so bothered by Rozanov’s attitude problem.

And that fucking water bottle.

Shane shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. He never wanted to have to sit in an empty room with that man again, not if he wanted to do some sort of macho stare off again. It was uncomfortable at best, and-

And maybe Shane didn’t know what to do with….all that eye contact. Most people understood once they met Shane that he was, you know. Not going to bend on certain things. Constant eye contact, constant touching. He could deal with a celebratory hug and a clap on the back. He wasn’t exactly fond of being hugged for long periods of time or being stared at in ongoing curiosity.

It didn’t help that Rozanov’s staring problem only seemed to further trigger Shane’s chewing problem.

Back and forth, back and forth.

It was just getting worse by the day. Shane found himself looking to Rozanov anytime they were on the rink together, half wishing he could hit the guy and the other half-

Shane was doing okay. He was doing absolutely great, really. His anxiety was at an all time high and he had what felt like a billion eyes on him at all times, but he was going good.

He just sort of wished someone would actually tell him how good he was doing. Every meeting with his parents felt like, well. A meeting. Even if his mother called it a lunch. It was never just lunch.

She had even started to notice that Shane was distracted, constantly fidgeting with whatever he happened to have in his hands. Unable to pay attention. It wasn’t rare for him, sure. But he was usually better at hiding his moments of distraction.

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

Yes, he was sleeping just fine.

“Are you adapting to the team?”

He was well adapted by now, thank you. Shane wasn’t sure why anyone thought he would struggle that much. Sure, he wasn’t the most social. But- okay, yeah. Maybe that was the exact reason.

“Have you been talking to your therapist?”

And see how well that had gone?

Shane couldn’t even be mad at her, she was just trying to help. By pointing out a thing he did that apparently everyone around him had noticed.

He was being rash again. It wasn’t that obvious.

Or was it?

—

Truthfully, Shane never dwelt much on his own personal details until he was in the league. It wasn’t a thought that crossed his mind much. Who was he? Who was he supposed to be? Shane existed in a small box, labels impending. He knew who to be, how to act, how to talk. He knew. It didn’t mean he never slipped up. He did.

But.

He didn’t think about it too often. Mostly because….he couldn’t be anyone else but Shane Hollander, the hockey player. The paradigm for good. The shy guy on the team. He couldn’t be, so he wasn’t going to be. He just…didn’t think about it. The all resounding It, the one that crept into his vision whenever Ilya Rozanov turned a corner and smirked at Shane like an asshole.

And then Rozanov had to say something.

It wasn’t a huge slight or anything, just a passing comment that had Shane nearly dropping his spoon, charity dinner be damned. He had no clue why they would sit him so close to Rozanov. Actually, yes. He did know. It caused drama.

“You know you do not have to eat the spoon too, yes?”

Shane wasn’t sure what Rozanov was referring to, not at first. He was just eating his bland soup, distracted by all the noise around him.

And then it occurred to Shane that he was holding his spoon in his mouth like a weirdo. He popped it out immediately and glared at Rozanov like he had greatly offended him.

“Stop looking at me.”

Okay, maybe Shane was being hostile. Rozanov raised his brows, leaning just a bit closer. He did look annoyingly sharp in a tux, better than Shane ever looked in his own monkey suit.

“Why? The view is so…” Rozanov gestured widely with his hand, leaning his chin against the other as he watched Shane too closely. The rest of their table was too absorbed in talking to notice. “Captivating.”

Shane was being made fun of, wasn’t he?

He allowed the spoon to clank back into his bowl, mouth unsticking to say something truly stupid.

“I don’t- don’t pick on me. This isn’t high school. Why are you even- don’t- you shouldn’t be looking at me at all. It’s just a spoon. Why are you- stop focusing on me and talk to someone else.”

Shane felt vaguely embarrassed by his outburst, only peaking at Rozanov once to see that he looked mildly discombobulated, as if he hadn’t expected a response at all.

“Yes, it is just a spoon,” Rozanov agreed, sounding even more confused. “Sorry, is the spoon- is it metaphor for something? You are very bothered.”

Oh my god.

Shane wanted to bury his face in his hands, his abysmal appetite already gone.

“I’m not- I’m fine.” Rozanov just kept staring, not getting the cue to look away now. “It’s not a metaphor. I just didn’t know I was doing it.”

“Doing what? Deepthroating a spoon?”

Shane knew what that meant.

Sort of. The guys liked to make gross jokes sometimes, so he got the concept. Even if he was….not that knowledgeable when it came to the subject.

Whatever.

“You can’t just say-“ Shane hissed, about ready to get up and leave. But that would be dramatic. “You can’t say things like that here.”

Wrong thing to say.

“Oh? Not here? Where else?”

Rozanov’s sarcasm felt onto deaf ears.

Shane spent the rest of the evening ignoring him.

—

Why did Rozanov have to use that specific word?

Why?

Because now Shane couldn’t stop thinking about it. That word. That word in relation to himself, in relation to, you know. Stuff. Stuff to do with mouths. His mouth. Well, not his mouth. Not really. Because Shane would never- he had never even thought about it, okay? Why would he think about something like that?

And everytime Shane thought about how he never thought about it, he kept imagining the spread of Ilya Rozanov’s thighs after he tried to egotistically challenge Shane in the gym. The muscle beneath. The stretch of fabric over his-

Shane was becoming frustrated, his annoyance leaking negatively into the game. It was obvious and obnoxious and no one liked it, least of all himself.

“God damn, Hollander. You gotta let some steam off. You gotta get laid or something.”

It was like a ringing bell, a hit to the ear drum with a side swiping fist.

It wasn’t as if Shane had never tried. He had tried. With, like. At least two girls. Three? Maybe three. He couldn’t remember. Each experience had been more humiliating than the last, so. He tried to block them out. But that had nothing to do with anything.

“Fuck off,” Shane snapped, already dragging his sweat drenched shirt over his head. He wasn’t one to snap in the locker rooms, so he should have expected the resounding chorus of awe. They were making fun of him again. Good, clean Shane. Never curses at his teammates, never causes a fuss. Until. Until he kind of…loses his cool. Shane wasn’t sure why anyone was surprised. “Maybe you need to get laid. Focus more on your stride and less on my sex life.”

More chirping and laughing.

Shane figured he was probably right.

He needed to test a theory anyway.

—

Rebecca was easy to get ahold of.

As it turned out, being part of the league had its benefits. It meant that in order to test his theory, Shane didn’t have to troll through nightclubs with the boys in order to find a girl that might be interested in him. He already knew one.

She was definitely interested in him, in town for the weekend, and she could keep a secret.

Only. Shane hadn’t considered the logistics once she was in his hotel room, naked and waiting for him to get on with it.

“I thought you said you wanted to do this,” Rebecca noted, not at all unkindly as he she leaned onto her elbows to peer down at Shane. He was just…lying there. Between her spread thighs, staring at it. Not It, oh my god. That was- that was so rude. Vagina. Her vagina. Ugh. That sounded worse, somehow. And objectively speaking, it was fine. Pretty? Maybe? He could marvel at the creation of- of something so intricate or- and see? Now he was making himself feel even weirder, trying to justify his own distaste for a literal body part, holy shit.

“You know don’t have to do it, right?”

An even more humiliating question.

Shane wanted to die, sort of. Not really. He was being dramatic, forehead falling to Rebecca’s tanned thigh with a groan. And not a sexy groan. A bad groan.

“Hollander, I think we should…stop here.”

And then they sat awkwardly in the bed, facing each other like elementary school students during a slumber party. Maybe. Shane wouldn’t know, he had never had a sleepover.

“It’s really okay-“

“It’s so not- it is not okay,” Shane interrupted, face already buried in his hands. “I invited you here and I couldn’t even- I am so sorry-“

“Don’t be!” Rebecca interrupted, looking as if she might laugh now. Not at him. Hopefully not at him, right? “Listen, it’s completely okay if you aren’t into doing….that. It’s not- it’s not even a big deal.”

Shane let his eyes close.

“I don’t even know if I’m into…how am I supposed to know if I’ve never…”

He allowed his words to trail off, all that humiliation sitting with him in the following silence.

“Well, yeah. I kind of assumed you were a virgin.”

Shane’s eyes popped open, mouth gaping just a bit. She wasn’t laughing now. The words had come out matter of fact, free of judgment.

“What? I’m not- I’m not a virgin.”

He sounded defensive again. Good.

“Are you not?” And she sounded skeptical. Jesus Christ, what had had done now? “Sorry, I just- I figured you might be. With the way you carry yourself.”

Oh.

What did that mean?

“I’ve done….things. Stuff.”

Rebecca’s brows rose high, a question on the tip of her tongue. Shane was relieved the she just asked it, not wanting to be handled like a baby tonight.

“Stuff? What, uh. What kind of stuff?” Shane responded with tense silence. “So, like. Hand stuff? Full penetration?”

God.

Shane wanted to melt into nothing.

“Hand stuff,” He mumbled, burying his face in said hands for what felt like the hundredth time. “I tried to- tried to do other stuff with this one girl, a few years ago. Didn’t work.”

“Oh? You weren’t compatible?” Rebecca asked, perhaps trying to be kind.

“No, like. I didn’t- it didn’t work, you know? It.”

He was not about to tell this girl he couldn’t get hard enough to complete the act. No. Absolutely not.

“Oh.” Not a great response. “Have you ever thought…maybe it’s not for you?”

Not for him?

Shane didn’t respond, too engrossed in self pity to really form a sentence.

“Maybe you should try other things.”

Other things.

“Like- like what?” Shane found himself asking, almost begging for an answer. He knew what she meant, intrinsically, he knew.

“You know, with guys.”

That was how Shane Hollander truly woke up. That failed night with Rebecca, a girl he barely knew from a previous life.

With guys. What a fucking concept.

—

Shane hated doing research.

No. He actually loved doing research normally. Just. Not for this. And it wasn’t like he had never….watched porn before. He had. It wasn’t common for him, that was all.

Shane felt weird watching porn, his eyes usually glazing over as he tried to focus on whatever was happening on screen. Although, after his conversation with Rebecca, he was beginning to suspect that this might be for different reasons. You know, not great reasons.

So. Research.

Gay porn was kind of…a lot.

Shane had clicked on a random video and immediately had to turn the volume down, eyes growing increasingly wide as he sat stock still on his bed. He certainly hadn’t expected it to just…start like that. With so much moaning and groaning snd bodies slapping together.

Okay. No.

Well. Not no. Not necessarily.

Maybe they just weren’t what he wanted to see. And god, what exactly did he even want to see? It would be helpful if someone could just tell him, so that maybe he would stop feeling so weirdly broken.

Shane clicked through a few videos, cringing at each of them. It was too loud, too many people, too much.

And then.

You know, the word was the biggest problem.

Because now every time Shane saw it, he would just think about Rozanov. Rozanov and his stupid smirk, in his stupid tux. Whispering to Shane like they were in elementary school again.

Deepthroating twink gets slow face fuck.

Shane felt as if he might just burst into flames by looking at the title, cheeks so hot that he had to reach up and check for a fever.

Okay.

You know, it couldn’t hurt. To see.

To look.

He had never actually watched anything….like this. He had stuck to straight porn for years, briefly delving into lesbian porn and immediately giving up. All the signs were starting to seem obnoxiously obvious.

Of course, it didn’t mean anything. It never did.

So, he could watch this video. For research.

The screen was filled with two men, one slightly smaller than the other. It wasn’t that noticeable, but the banter between the two was familiar and friendly. They were in a regular hotel room, the sheets messy behind them as they kissed.

Shane reached up to touch his own mouth, biting the side of his finger absentmindedly. He was anxious again. Just watching them made him anxious. But not in the normal way, not in the same way he usually got when confronted with public displays of affection.

Shane watched as one guy, both brunette and built like brick houses, pushed the other down onto the bed. They didn’t continue kissing. No, this time, the larger man crawled his way up the other man’s body. Further than Shane had expected, settling with his knees at his partners armpits, his cock large and proud and-

Shane wanted to close his laptop.

He was alone in his own apartment, and he very suddenly wanted to- to pretend he wasn’t enjoying this. But the evidence was there, sitting hard against his lower pelvis. Fuck.

Shane watched in awe as he pushed into the lower man’s mouth, his thrusts slow and intentional. He was in no hurry, his cock sliding in and out in tiny increments while he flexed his considerable muscles.

What was Shane supposed to do now?

Keep watching?

He had already gotten his answer.

He pushed the laptop to the side, his throat dry as he kept his gaze trained on the video. The noises were worse than the loud groaning, worse in a better way. The soft wet noise as he pushed his cock into his partners waiting, loose mouth. The sound of air being inhaled as he pulled out, gasping quietly between each push.

And worst of all, the way the man on top talked.

“There you go, there you go.”

Shane wanted to throw his laptop out of the window. Let it hit the concrete below. Whatever.

“Just a little- just a little more.”

Instructing him, gently guiding him.

Shane almost wished he would do more, get rougher maybe. The thought nearly shocked him out of his lust induced stupor. And what a thought that was. Shane had never experienced this feeling before, not this intensely.

He chewed on the end of one hoodie sleeve, fingers inching toward the very edge of his gym shorts. Pushing past the guilt and shame.

He knew how this was going to end, didn’t he?

—

Shane really needed to focus.

It was hard to play a game when he could only think about the after. The guys wanted to go to a club, whether they lost or won. They were insisting on going out. And for once, Shane actually wanted to go. Or. He was making himself go. That part.

He just…

Needed to get out, you know?

It had nothing to do with the covert app on his phone and his need for hyper vigilance.

Shane was ready to see. Ready to try.

He just had to get through this game and- and avoid Rozanov slurring nonsense at him around every single corner. They’d known each other (known of each other, really) for two years. And they still couldn’t get along. Shane was surprised Rozanov hadn’t tried to punch him yet.

He kept throwing jabs, his words not nearly as cutting. Almost intentionally so, it seemed. Shane kind of hated it more when it felt like Rozanov was….

Flirting.

No.

That wasn’t- it wasn’t like that.

Rozanov just wanted to get under his skin, bumping his helmet against Shane’s on ‘accident’ as if Shane couldn’t tell that it wasn’t an accident at all.

By the time the game was over, Shane had barely realized they’d lost. Everyone was pretty grumpy about it, shuffling their way to their hotel rooms with the attitude of a group of tired teenagers. Only, none of them were teens anymore.

Shane felt….awful, really.

As if he was the reason they had lost.

He knew he had to show up tonight, even if the idea was becoming more daunting by the second.

—

Shane never knew how to dress when going out, so he had settled for the most basic outfit possible. It didn’t matter. He had no real plans to spend his night with the other guys or trying to get a random girl to dance with him. They were likely to get trashed and he planned on slipping out as soon as they got a few shots in.

He was being sly about it, pretending to drink a vodka soda as he offered to buy a round twice now. It was fine. It would be worth it, he kept telling himself that. It would be worth it.

Shane tried to remain covert, looking at each of the exits a few too many times for a normal person. No one on his team had seemed to notice yet.

So, it was easy enough to check his phone.

He was kind of banking on….winging it.

Dumb idea, probably.

But the guy he had talked to earlier in the day had already agreed to meet him here, so. Shane didn’t want to be rude now, right?

He waited like a creep outside, twisting this way and that behind a nearby dumpster. He didn’t particularly want to bring a strange man back to his hotel room while he was sharing a room. But he also didn’t want to climb into someone else’s car. And he also didn’t want-

“Are you Shay?”

Shane turned around, his heart hammering in surprise as a reasonably attractive man walked toward him. Reasonably attractive in the dark, at least. No, he looked fine. Shane was being picky.

He darted a glance toward the back of the club he had come from, weighing the odds of being murdered by this guy. He didn’t look very strong, and Shane was pretty scrappy.

It would be okay, he decided.

“Yeah, just- just not here, okay? Let’s uh….” He trailed off and jerked his head to the side, waiting for the guy to follow. Shane kept his gaze ahead, only looking back a handful of times. Just to maintain that they weren’t being followed. Shane led him down a narrow alleyway, posing just behind another dumpster. Far from any other doors. “You’re not gonna shank me, are you?”

The guy looked shocked, mouth open and eyebrows rising. His name was Brad, Shane was pretty sure.

“No? I don’t think so?

Good enough.

Shane wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, clearing his throat far too loudly. He winced at the noise and stepped forward.

“I uh, I brought a condom, so.” God, could he sound any lamer? “But I don’t want to-“

“Yeah, I know.” Brad seemed easy to get along with, sliding his back against the brick wall behind him and waiting patiently. “Just mouth stuff, I remember.”

Right.

Shane had to move now, didn’t he?

Without any finesse, he dropped to his knees on the ground and-

Was met with a resounding laugh.

Only, the laugh did not sound like Brad. The laugh sounded too familiar to be the strange man looming above Shane’s kneeling form.

Shane spun around, catching the delighted face of the one and only Ilya Rozanov, a hand clapped over his mouth in amused shock.

Amused. Elated.

Fuck.

“Uh? Who the fuck are-“

Shane sprung right to his feet, brushing dirt off his knees with the most forceful gesture possible. Rozanov didn’t seem to care about Brad at all, all of his attention was on Shane.

“This is why you were sneaking around?” Rozanov asked, accent thick as he smirked over at Brad for a moment.

“I can just-“ Poor Brad.

“Yeah, it’s- it’s fine, you can go.”

“I had no clue he had a boyfriend,” Brad offered, as if he thought Rozanov might swing on him if he didn’t clarify. “I would have never-“

“I don’t have a boyfriend-“ Shane said defensively, overshadowed by Rozanov’s own protest.

“We are not-“

“It’s fine.” Brad even held his hands up all defensively, already backing out of the situation. “I don’t wanna be part of a marital fight.”

Not funny.

Shane watched in frozen horror as Brad left, his emotions inching fast toward pure anger as soon as he was left alone with Rozanov.

“You fucking-“

“Oh! I did not know you swear.”

Shane would not be thrown off. Rozanov was leaned up against the wall, a newly lit cigarette in one hand. As if he had been standing there for a minute and Shane hadn’t even noticed.

“Of course I swear-“ Not the point, Shane. “Did you follow me out here?”

Never mind what he had just caught Shane doing. Fuck, oh my god. This was terrible. Rozanov sucked on his cigarette, eyes discerning.

“Maybe, maybe I did.” He shrugged, looking too relaxed in his cool black jacket and dark blue jeans. He was just….so fucking annoying. “Were you planning on shining that man’s shoe?”

Shane seethed.

“You can’t- you can’t tell anyone what you just saw, okay? I promise I- I’ll blackmail you or-“

Shane was not very threatening. Rozanov smiled this time, face not nearly as intimidating when he wasn’t smirking.

“With what?” Rozanov asked, asking his cigarette. “I won’t tell. Just answer some questions?”

Why?

“I don’t really want to-“ He gave Shane a look. “Okay, fine. What? What could you have possibly not understood about what you just saw?”

“Do you always meet men in alleyways?”

Shane kept his mouth shut. Rozanov grinned.

“No? Not often? I can tell.” Not this shit again. As if they could all smell the virgin on him. Mostly virgin, he had to remind himself. “You got to your knees pretty fast, no? Is that normal too?”

Shane felt hot all over, his palms just as sweaty as before. Rozanov had an intense way about him, his eye contact like a burning sear.

“Shut up,” Shane snapped, pretty certain that- “What do you mean by that? Are you calling me a slut?”

Never mind the gay part, the far off panic only barely beginning to settle in. Rozanov did not look like he was going to go running for the hills with news of Shane’s proclivities.

He looked….

“Maybe I am.” Rozanov shrugged easily, shoulders lifting and falling as he took another drag. “Depends. How fast would you do it again?”

Shane blanked.

“Do what again?”

Rozanov gave him a pleased once over, eyes trailing hot over Shane’s body. Obvious and consuming. It was too much for Shane. He had been so ready, so prepared to do things for a different man.

“Get on your knees.”

Rozanov was only answering the question. He wasn’t even telling Shane what to do.

Shane did it anyway.

The problem was that Shane was too far away, all the way to the other wall. His back brushed the bricks on the way down and he had to shuffle forward to accommodate his feet behind him.

But he did it.

“How interesting,” Rozanov commented in that dull tone of his, as if he had never been entertained by anything in his life. Shane couldn’t look at him now, brain too foggy and heart too heavy. He shouldn’t be doing this, really. But- “You do look pretty down there, you know? But I can tell- it is not natural, not something you do. Yes?”

Shane hated himself for nodding.

Rozanov stepped forward, each boot falling against the ground. He would wear black boots, the asshole.

“Don’t call me pretty.”

Rozanov was too close. Shane looked up, eyes tracing over the shape of him through those jeans, tighter than Shane had expected them to be.

“No? But you are so….” Rozanov reached for him, a hand to Shane’s jaw as he lifted his chin and forced Shane to look up. He couldn’t see too much of Rozanov from down here, the realization somehow even headier. “So pretty. Look at you, falling to your knees in dirty alley. You never do this. You never even-“

“Please, stop making fun of me.”

Shane’s voice came out weak, his hands trembling as he placed them on his own thighs. He wanted. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, he just knew he wanted it.

“No,” Rozanov said, voice dripping faux sympathy. “No, I would never. I ruined your night, yes? Would you like me to fix it?”

Shane nodded twice, unsure why he couldn’t just-

“Ah-ah,” Rozanov made a noise of disapproval, palm lightly tapping Shane on the cheek in a patting motion. Shane let out a noise, some kind of desperate mewl in the form of a whisper. “I want to hear you say so.”

“Say what?” Shane’s mouth felt too wet, his entire focus planted on what was right in front of him. He felt this way sometimes, when he needed to get something in his mouth. When he needed to refocus his energy on anything else. But this was not the same thing, this wasn’t- this wasn’t a way to cope.

“Say you want my cock in your mouth.”

Shane licked the corner of his lips, leaning his face against Rozanov’s palm. The pain of kneeling on tiny pebbles seemed a mile away.

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

How quickly he gave up.

“How funny would it be….” Rozanov’s accent was thick as he traced a thumb over Shane’s bottom lip. Pressing against the seam, pushing into wet heat and resting against Shane’s tongue. It felt good. It felt like home. “If I just said no?”

Shane nipped at the thumb in his mouth and Rozanov laughed, deep and rich as he pulled his thumb back out. He wasn’t hasty with his zipper, hands moving steady as Shane watched.

“You are a lot brattier than I expected.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov.” Shane couldn’t even sound angry now, god. Rozanov was too distracting, his hands thick with veins as he parted the line of his jeans and palmed his hard cock through the black material of his boxers.

Shane wanted to taste. The need was instant, his mouth watering and head swimming. There was no doubt now, he knew what he liked. He knew without knowing.

“Oh? You don’t want it now?” Rozanov asked, hand delving inside and- and Shane had never seen another man’s cock up close like this. He was almost glad it was Rozanov. At least Shane knew him. “Why don’t you open your mouth and show me how much you want it?”

Shane obeyed without thought. His felt stupid, resting on his knees in a place where anyone could find them. But no, not really. It was dark enough. No one from his team would venture out here. They wouldn’t even go looking for him, he knew just as much. They probably thought he had already dipped and gone back to his hotel room.

“Good,” Rozanov uttered, stroking himself slowly. Shane watched with growing need, eyes trained on the bead of precum dripping down the head of his cock. It was thick at the tip, foreskin stretched just beneath. Shane couldn’t keep lying to himself now, could he? “Good, look at how good you are.”

How did he know?

How did he know what Shane needed to hear?

Shane tasted dick for the first time, eyes shutting in an instant as he groaned softly. It was hard not to react with reverence, his mind the foggiest of messes as Rozanov tapped the head against the palette of his tongue. Shane went to close his mouth, only to feel the head of Rozanov’s cock smear wet across his lips and over his cheek.

“Did I say to close?”

No. He hadn’t.

Shane shook his head, moaning pitifully as Rozanov rubbed his cock up toward his eye, just beneath. It shouldn’t have felt erotic or good or- but something about the action, something about the way Rozanov was treating him. Shane did not have to think about anything else, only this. Only this.

“Open.”

He allowed Rozanov to rest there on his tongue, mouth so open that he was beginning to drool. Just a wet drip, down from the corners of his mouth. Slowly trailing down his chin.

What did he look like to Rozanov? Desperate? Easy? What could he possibly be thinking?

Shane wanted to just-

He whined loudly, louder than before.

Rozanov laughed at him. A genuine laugh that had Shane throbbing in his pants.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for making you wait,” Rozanov said, voice going breathy as he finally pressed into the depth of Shane’s mouth. Just the tip, really. Big enough to pin Shane’s tongue down, his eyes leaking as he finally got what he wanted. He felt lightheaded from the daze, hands clenching into fists as he tried to lick Rozanov, tried to circle his tongue and make any kind of shape. But Rozanov only held Shane steady, a hand bolted to his hair with a sudden gentleness that proclaimed control. “You’re so tight and- and so wet.”

Oh god.

Shane had only ever heard those words in porn, usually aimed at girls spread eagle on beds with twisted sheets. Never at himself. Never at his mouth. He relaxed his jaw and tried to fight against Rozanov’s hand, mouth craving more. It felt like everytime he grew distracted and tried to gnaw on something. But this was-

So much more.

More, he wanted more. He craved the burn at the corner of his lips and the gasp of his name from Rozanov, a ‘Hollander’ hissed in a thick Russian accent.

“No, do not- do not choke yourself.”

He even pulled Shane off his cock, mouth still dripping indecently as he thumbed at his cock. Inches from Shane’s mouth, tantalizing and teasing him.

“But I want to.”

Shane hadn’t meant to say it. To whine it, guttural and needy as he pawed at Rozanov’s jeans.

“Oh?” Rozanov sounded surprised, the wind knocked from his lungs. And then he pulled the rug out from underneath Shane in an instant. “You are too…green. Too new. Another time. Open up again.”

Shane let out a broken noise, falling forward as if Rozanov had denied him something crucial. Fuck, he hadn’t even realized how much those videos had bothered him. Changed him. Whatever.

Shane rubbed his face over Rozanov’s cock, hands gripping his jeans like a desperate animal, eyes glancing up and giving an unknowing show.

“Please? Please? Can I-“

“I said no already, didn’t I? Do you want it or not?”

Yes, he still wanted it.

Shane groaned loud as Rozanov pushed his cock back inside, his hands working the shaft as he jerked off into Shane’s mouth. A little too fast, bumping uncomfortably against Shane’s stretched lips as he went.

“Mhm,” Shane whined, unsure what came over him in the last moment. He began to move with Rozanov, eyes watching his every move, as much as he could in the dark. He bobbed his head, bumping against Rozanov’s fist and not caring one bit. He wanted to taste Rozanov, wanted to know what it really felt like. He knew. Oh god, he actually knew now. What it was like to actually enjoy something, to actually feel like he was burning alive. “Mmh, mmh-“

He had never heard himself sound like this, noises dripping out poisonously, too loud for his own comfort. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shane knew this was dangerous. For a myriad of reasons, really.

He couldn’t stop.

Rozanov went a bit deeper and Shane gagged around his mouthful, throat convulsing at the feeling. He wanted to do it again, wanted to make his eyes water and sting. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Knew you’d be good at this, fuck.”

Shane didn’t want to know if Rozanov had had previous thoughts about him. Not right now.

“Like that, keep your mouth open- wide, wider. Ah, fuck, like that.”

His voice was slurred with lust, the end of every word ending in a self indulgent gasp. Shane flicked his tongue when he could, unable to move much now that Rozanov had taken the lead. That was okay. Shane liked it like this. No worries, nothing to contemplate. This was better than any self regulation technique he had ever used.

Rozanov didn’t verbally warn Shane when he came, spilling against his tongue as if he hadn’t meant to at all. He even cursed loudly, his thigh coming up and pinning Shane against the wall behind him. It was a lot to take in, his eyes shutting as his mouth filled with salty cum, a taste he had never realized he would enjoy.

“Swallow.”

Shane listened without complaint, without thought. He wasn’t sure how many moments passed before Rozanov helped him onto his feet, both hands steadier than any part of Shane’s body.

Was he hard anymore?

Shane had no clue. He might be.

“Are you okay?” Rozanov asked, a hand stroking tender t over Shane’s left cheek. It was such an unfamiliar touch, the type Shane never allowed from anyone. Certainly not Rozanov. “Here, lean against me.”

Shane did. Even if he normally would have not, he needed some stability. Just for a moment.

“Do you need…?” Rozanov gestured to Shane’s crotch, biting his own lip as Shane took the hint and straightened himself up. He looked stupid, didn’t he?

And then a cold realization hit Shane.

Or rather, a hot one.

Hot, as in temperature. In his pants.

His face went molten, his skin heating in the cool air as he backed himself against the wall behind him once again.

Play it cool.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Rozanov asked, already zipped back up. Eyeing Shane’s jeans a little too closely. No, god no. Rozanov would be insufferable if he found out- and how had Shane not even noticed? How had he been so fucking distracted?

“Yes, yeah. I’m sure,” Shane snapped, sounding far too tense. His high was effectively ruined. He wanted to go back to his hotel room and sulk now. “I have to- I have to go.”

Rozanov did not raise an eyebrow this time around. He didn’t even look surprised when Shane shouldered past him and ran out, a dog with his tail between his legs.

—

Too green. Too new.

Shane couldn’t stop thinking about what Rozanov had said. What Rozanov had allowed.

Even the thought was too much for Shane to bear at night, sneaking his hand beneath his pants anytime it managed to bubble up and consume him. He was less worried now about whether or not Rozanov had noticed that Shane had cum into his own jeans like a teenager. What did it matter? Shane had this memory to live off of, to sustain himself on. He could hold the edge of his hoodie in the clamp of his teeth and touch himself to the thought of Rozanov’s controlling voice and his stupid big dick and his hands and-

And Shane eventually could no longer sustain himself on the memory.

The problem was that Shane had never been good with change. Not as a child, not as a teenager. Certainly not as an adult. If anything, he had only gotten worse with time. So, no part of him was interested in finding a replacement for Rozanov in his downtime. Which sucked. Mostly because Shane wouldn’t see Rozanov again for a few months.

So he had memories to gnaw on now, shaped and indented like the sleeve of his favorite hoodie.

He was doing it more now, chewing on things. Putting them in his mouth. His mother had already gotten into him for chewing on ice recently. He had thought maybe he could shock the memory and the anxiety out of his system. Because, after all, why was he even anxious?

Was it the thought of Rozanov’s selling him out? The belated gay panic? Was Shane even gay? He had no clue. He had no desire to explore himself beyond the one goal he had in mind.

Rozanov had set up a post for Shane, unknowingly catapulting him right back into the competitive little bastard he had been years prior. Shane only got competitive out on the ice these days. But this. This was something to focus on, to needle at. To obsess over.

Too green.

Shane hated those words. What could Rozanov possibly mean? Was he too pinning Shane as a massive virgin? Was he implying Shane couldn’t handle him? Was he implying other things?

He had considered every option and he wasn’t a huge fan of any of them. The fact that Rozanov was thinking about Shane at all seemed like an impossibility, something that would never happen. No, Rozanov was too cool. Too busy.

Shane only had his thoughts to coast on.

And he was settled into one thing and one thing only. He would not be green by the next time Rozanov and him saw each other again.

—

Shane knew what he had to do.

Actually, objectively speaking, no. He really didn’t. But he had come up with a half assed plan that had left him both confused and aroused. Which. Was kind of rare for Shane. It was as if he had unlocked a secret part of himself that he had never known had existed.

And now Shane couldn’t stop himself from….further exploration. It was nothing too crazy, although he was sure if anyone found out they would definitely think he was insane.

He bought a dildo.

Only, like. Not for actual penetration. Not yet, anyway. Shane had to work up to that or he might actually have a mental breakdown in the process. No, the stupid thing was for other purposes.

Too green. Whatever.

Shane was already teary eyed, sitting atop his bed with a purple dildo stuffed into his mouth, nearly constantly gagging every time he tried to push it to the back of his throat.

He was frustrated and annoyed with himself and devastatingly hard.

God, if he could just-

What was he supposed to do? He had read so many articles. He had watched videos. And not just porn, either. Actual educational videos. Nothing was scratching the itch anymore, now that he knew what it was like. He wanted to get better, he wanted to see if he could do it. He wanted to know if achieving this would somehow provide him with calm and relief.

He was only half down, taking breaks every few seconds to pant and wipe at his eyes. It wasn’t- no, it wasn’t nearly the same. It didn’t smell the same or feel the same or get Shane out of his head the same.

There was an inner panic each time he went down, his brain seemingly unable to tell the difference between one airway being blocked and pure suffocation. It only made his heartbeat more intense, his palms sweaty as he tried to relax. Relax, relax, relax. He just had to relax.

Shane was becoming weirdly obsessed with this new toy. He wouldn’t admit to the amount of time that he practiced or how often he spent researching, as if he might find some hidden secret that would get rid of his gag reflex.

He had to do better. He had to prove it to himself. And, in some asinine way, he had to prove to Rozanov that he wasn’t soft. His inexperience did not mean that he was incapable.

Shane was in over his head. Probably.

—

A month later and he wasn’t doing any better.

Or- okay, yes he was. He was improving.

He wasn’t doing any better with his obsession in general. It didn’t help that Shane’s social life outside of hockey was pretty abysmal.

It was becoming an even worse habit than his usual habits. Shane craved the idea of it, stealing away to his hotel room whenever possible. It was an embarrassing enough reality to live in, but it was his new reality.

Shane knew he should stop. He knew he should talk to his therapist, maybe. But being engrossed in work meant that most of his sessions were done via a webcam, so it was hard to delve into heavier topics. Like being obsessed with stuffing things into your mouth. There was definitely something wrong with him.

He should just blame Ilya Rozanov for putting the idea into his brain.

And now Shane had to see him again. Of course. He couldn’t avoid Rozanov forever, and a part of Shane even wanted to see him. Not that he would ever admit it outside the space of his own brain.

—

Shane should not have put himself in this mindset before a charity skate.

He was basically floating, more so than ever before. Shane had taken things a little too far in his hotel room, overjoyed to have a room alone again. Bringing his toy through the airport had been a near miss of a humiliation ritual, but he was glad he’d done it. There was no need to fret now, not when he had his coping mechanism within reach.

But.

Of course, this meant that Shane’s throat hurt. Not to mention, he was out of sorts on the entire ride over, unsure if he looked good enough for-

For the charity skate.

Not for Rozanov, no.

That would be stupid.

Shane was pretty easy to order around when he was…like this, so it worked out either way. He signed autographs and took pictures, a plasticine smile plastered onto his face as he tried to get through the day. Which only made him feel worse. This was for charity, so. He needed to buckle up and focus. If he slipped in his skates, he was bound to embarrass himself online.

And in front of Rozanov, a tiny voice in his head told him. Who was already watching Shane like a hawk. His gaze was intense throughout the day, focused like he was trying to discern something about Shane.

Shane couldn’t figure him out.

He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.

—

Shane did not like when people tried to talk to him in locker room showers. It was awkward at best, and enlightening at most, though he hadn’t figured that last part out until recently.

As it turned out, Shane liked glancing at dick.

Of course, Rozanov would wait around to shower at the same time as Shane. Of course he would. His Adonis body on display, dripping with water as he kept trying to catch Shane’s eye. It was hard not to look, even harder to not remember. The shape and taste of him felt as if it still lingered in Shane’s mouth, so familiar, but so distant.

“You were weird today.”

Shane could hear him over the rush of two shower heads.

He pretended not to.

“Walking around like the world is made of clouds,” Rozanov continued, accent lilting as he faced Shane. Water trailed down between his pecks, shining and sculpted. Shane couldn’t look away now. “Why’s that? Did someone do that to you?”

Huh?

What did he…?

“I didn’t sleep much.”

Rozanov didn’t like his answer.

“That’s not why you’re acting this way.”

As if he would fucking know.

How head they gone from zero to one hundred?

“No, Rozanov. I didn’t- I didn’t fuck anybody, oh my god. Why are you even-“

See? Shane could understand context and intention. Maybe not all the time, sure. But sometimes. When he was dialed in.

Rozanov moved faster than Shane expected, pushing into the space under Shane’s shower head without much thought or preamble.

Shane met the cold wall next to his spray, free of the warm drip of water. He hissed and arched his back, only coming closer to Rozanov.

Fuck.

“Someone did something to you,” Rozanov stated, his glare serious enough to melt Shane against the wall. His bones felt like jelly, his knees shaking as Rozanov reached out to touch him, palm to wet chest. “To make you act like this. What was it? Who was it?”

Shane couldn’t look Rozanov in the eye. Not that this wasn’t normal for Shane, but.

He should be able to, right?

He felt as if he might just spill every secret of the past few months if he did.

“I promise no one-“ What exactly was he promising? Why was he promising? “No one did anything, okay? I’m fine. I’m normal.”

“Normal?”

Shane bristled at the question.

“Yea, normal. I didn’t- stop acting weird, okay? I didn’t do anything.”

The lie crept out, so obvious that it nearly hurt.

Rozanov’s hand crept up, traction from water gliding up the smooth plane of Shane’s throat, lingering against his adams apple and settling over the side of his jaw, fingertips tracing underneath the his ear with a tenderness that had Shane’s lungs aching for a new breath.

“Look at me.”

Shane did, eyes full of wonder as he tried his best to stay calm. They felt wet too, his lashes mimicking by the steam between them as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Are you lying to me?” Rozanov asked, voice calm with control, unbothered by the cold creeping in at the lack of hot water. Shane shivered, unsure what to do with his slack hands as he palmed the wall behind him.

“Yes, yeah. I’m- no, not really?” His voice was weak, trembling out of sore vocal chords. “It wasn’t- it was me, I did it. To myself.”

It felt like a metaphorical shoe drop, the silence drifting uneasily between them. Rozanov’s gaze lifted and fell right back to Shane’s mouth.

God, Shane could feel the need.

“Explain.”

A soft demand, curious in nature. Shane liked that Rozanov was so soft like this, soft enough to push him over with a single blow.

“I- I have this- I have a toy and I’ve been using it to- you said I was green, too green. You said that.” Shane sounded as if he was accusing Rozanov.

“Did I?”

It was condescending and rude to pretend like he didn’t know. Rozanov’s hand moved, fingertips trailing gentle over Shane’s closed mouth, possessive and yearning as he waited for more.

“Don’t- don’t pretend like you didn’t- you made me spiral.” Shane wasn’t even sure if he made sense anymore. All he could hear was the dull thrum of the shower and his own heartbeat. “I went too far in my hotel room because of you, because you said-“

“What do you mean? Too far?” Rozanov asked, eyebrows creasing suddenly. “Are you okay?”

His concern was evident, but Shane refused to believe it. No, Rozanov was not- he did not care about Shane, not like that.

“I use the toy- I used it to- it helps me, it helps me decompress if I just- you know. Don’t make me say it.”

Rozanov’s worry vanished, replaced by a look of comprehension and dawning awe.

Shane was embarrassed now, his insides wriggling, begging him to get out of this situation before he humiliated himself further.

“I could make you say it,” Rozanov’s clarified, voice dipping so low that Shane had to curl his toes to maintain his stance. Annoyed, irritated. Anything but weak. “You miss sucking cock so much, you decide to find a replacement?”

Shane shook his head as much as he could within the perimeters of Rozanov’s hold.

“No, not a-“ And why did he feel so floaty now? Worse than before, even. “Not a replacement. I would never.”

Rozanov smiled, lips quirking softly. Shane had said something right for once, he realized. He had no clue why Rozanov seemed pleased.

“You didn’t like my comment? Too green? Too….virginal and sweet and-“ He was listing words, trying to incite Shane again.

“I’m not- stop saying that. It’s not even- it’s not like that, okay. It’s different. For me. This is- it’s different.”

Rozanov was no longer smiling.

“Because it makes you act like this?”

Like what?

“Like you are drifting, no thoughts in your brain. Your voice is rough, your lips are swollen. I knew you had-“ Rozanov cut himself off. “Done something. But I didn’t realize it was this.”

Shane felt ashamed, vaguely humiliated by his own actions. Admitting to them was even worse.

“You can stop making fun of me now.” There it was again, that squirming sensation that only made him want to lean into the embarrassment more. Shane realized with sudden clarity that he- he liked it. He liked feeling this way. “Ha ha, Shane has a fake dick that he sucks for-“

Rozanov shut him up with a kiss, a possessive hand creeping over both sides of his jaw, anchoring Shane in place so that he could steal the breath from Shane’s lungs. Shane tried his best to kiss back, his brain taking a moment to fully respond. Not here, they shouldn’t be doing this here.

“I know what you need,” Rozanov mumbled, forehead pressed to Shane’s like a promise. “We should- come to my hotel room. I am alone tonight.”

Shane knew he shouldn’t.

—

The room was colder than Shane expected once he was let inside. Rozanov looked more relaxed now, free of his shirt but thankfully wearing pants this time. He was still wholeheartedly distracting, smiling at Shane like a wolf hunting its prey. The notion was absolutely ridiculous. Shane was not an innocent lamb, but he felt a little weak when he walked in, his hands shaking in his pockets as he tried to calm his heart rate.

“Hello.”

Shane shifted from foot to foot as the door closed behind him. No one had seen him in the elevator. There was no reason to be this nervous.

“Hey,” He managed to squeak out, clearing his throat after. “I uh, I didn’t know if I should bring anything or-“

“Could have asked you to bring your toy,” Rozanov joked, slowly backing Shane into the wall. Shane stepped back, one at a time. Foot after foot, back meeting the wall. Reminiscent of the shower, but much less wet. “What color is it? Is it big?”

Shane wasn’t going to-

“Don’t- this isn’t funny.”

Rozanov bit his own lip, chest to chest with Shane, trying to Will him into direct eye contact. It wouldn’t work.

Rozanov was going to have to demand it.

“Did I laugh? Did I say it was funny?” Rozanov asked, sighing lightly. “You are so tense. If you don’t want to do this, it is-“

“No no no,” Shane chanted immediately, pushing up against Rozanov in seconds. It was easier to be bold when he was desperate for attention. “No, I want to. Please, I want to.”

Rozanov considered his words.

“Get on your knees.”

Shane dropped fast, knees hitting the hotel carpet too hard. At least he didn’t have shorts on.

He was faced with his decision now, eyes gazing up at Rozanov as much as he could, so close to what he wanted.

“You practiced? For me?” Rozanov asked, voice going rough as his had met Shane’s jaw again, its favorite place to be. His thumb moved, edging toward Shane’s mouth, pushing against the seam of his lips until he got the hint. “Let me see.”

He pushed to the back, as far as he could get with his thumb alone. Shane didn’t gag this time, eyes rolling shut at the sensation as he sucked hard and focused on hollowing his cheeks out to make a good show.

“Fuck.”

It was like a drug, hearing Rozanov exclaim so openly because of Shane. He pulled his thumb free, hands near anxious as he began to pull his sweats down, cock springing free from the confines without any underwear to block the way.

Shane was elated, dipping forward to press his nose against the hair above Rozanov’s cock, inhaling and rubbing his nose into it before he could get caught, before Rozanov could tug at his hair, harder than ever before.

Shane let out a strangled noise, throat working to hide the embarrassment. It didn’t help. Rozanov let out a weak laugh, softened by his own arousal.

“Fuck, Hollander.” It was a sweet thing to hear, even if it was only his last name. “You have to- you have to give me a second.”

Oh.

“Why?” Shane asked, sounding more pathetic by the second. He was beginning to realize that Rozanov liked when he sounded pathetic. “Come on, I waited. I waited, give me it- I practiced and I got better and I need it, please.”

Shane was well aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was on his knees begging for cock. It was debasing in every way.

He had never felt more keyed in, more in control of his own emotions and feelings and actions.

“Open your mouth,” Rozanov instructed, fisting his cock like he wanted to keep himself from getting off. “That’s it. Missed looking at your pink tongue.”

Shane flushed at the compliment, mouth open and easy as Rozanov finally, blissfully, slid inside. His cock was just as big, the head soft and spongy as it passed over his tongue, leaning against the surface. Shane closed his eyes and-

“Keep your eyes open. I want to watch you cry when I hit the back of your throat.”

Shane let out a shuttering gasp, wet and gargling as Rozanov slid further inside, his shaft veiny as he pushed back, a hand delving into dark hair and pressing Shane into the motion. There was nowhere to go between the wall and Rozanov, nowhere to hide. Shane gazed upward, relaxing his throat just like he had learned, allowing himself to calm as Rozanov finally-

It felt so odd, so abnormal, allowing someone to slide into his throat. Something. It was better than a toy though, thick and real and full of blood. Rozanov let out a guttural noise, hips jumping forward for just a second. A little thrust that pulled the air out of Shane’s lungs, leaving him to puff out hot air from his nose. Focus, focus. Do not gag, do not close up.

“Fuck, that’s- that is good, yeah. Just like a pussy.”

Shane let out the most desperate noise now, mouth bubbling out saliva from the corners. His eyes were wet already, craving so much more.

Like a pussy.

He felt like-

Rozanov pulled out so suddenly that Shane could only gasp, mouth working on its own as he blurted out the first thing he could think of.

“Yeah, yeah. Use me. I can be- wanna be your flesh light, wanna be-“

“Hollander, you are killing me,” Rozanov groaned, a hand cradling Shane’s face, thumb swiping through the spit on his chin. “Fuck, you are so pretty. Open again.”

Shane did shut his eyes this time, throat working to swallow around Rozanov. Inch by inch, until Shane felt his nose press into hair and his throat ached from the stretch. Until Rozanov had bottomed out, gasping deep noises above Shane as if he could no longer contain them.

Yes, this was it. This was exactly what Shane had wanted. Being pinned down, being held here. Forced to take it, forced to relax his jaw and lips and entire throat. He could feel himself slipping back into that bliss, his body becoming numb to the panic from earlier in the day.

“Oh, fuck. You are- so tight, so fucking tight.”

Shane whined then, annoyed that Rozanov was pulling out. He wanted it like this, deeper than deep. But Rozanov wanted to fuck his mouth, so.

“You’re doing so good, so good for me.”

That helped.

Shane managed to sneak a hand beneath his own pants, palming at his cock as Rozanov worked his face on and off his cock. He sealed his lips now, head bobbing up and down as he sucked as much as he could. Rozanov kept the pace slow, seeming to want to prolong the feeling of Shane’s mouth around him.

Shane felt blissed out, only moving his head a bit to help Rozanov along. He didn’t have to do much, rubbing at his own cock as he let Rozanov use him.

“Hollander, fuck. You have no idea- no idea how good- you feel so-“

Shane swallowed the praise, letting it settle inside him. It felt better than any compliment he had received in the last year, maybe more. Better than anything else in his current life. He was full of pride in himself, hands coming up to wrap around the back of Rozanov’s thighs, feeding off the animalistic groan he got in return.

Shane helped guide Rozanov as much as he could, as much as he was allowed. It wasn’t much, not when Rozanov finally caught up and stopped Shane, his fist gripping and pulling at Shane’s hair.

“Hands down.” Shane whimpered, throat cut off. He listened, hands dropping again. “Behave.”

Oh.

The one word sent Shane into a completely different spiral. This was so much more than just- just obsession. This was more than just proving himself and being good at something new. This was pure, this was-

Shane felt lightheaded, hand returning to his cock as Rozanov pressed the tip of a finger to the corner of Shane’s mouth, inching in alongside his cock, stretching out the side of his lips like-

“Bet you could fit more, couldn’t you? Bet I could stretch you out, use you for days. On and off, my little cock sleeve.”

Shane was too close to back off now. The word alone had him spilling into his own fist, throat opening as he choked on Rozanov’s cock for the first time of the night. It took two seconds for Rozanov to slip off, hand working furiously at himself, a rapid movement over his cock.

Cum hit Shane’s face, dripping from underneath his eye and down his cheek, missing his lips by too much.

No, he wanted-

He used his soiled hand to desperately swipe at the cum, fingers pressing into his own mouth, to taste both himself and Rozanov on his tongue.

When he glanced back up, chest heaving dramatically, Rozanov looked as if he had seen God.

—

Shane was not known to be a cuddly person.

So, he could not explain why he would fall asleep on Ilya Rozanov’s chest, his throat sore and his eyes heavy.

He could also not explain why Ilya Rozanov would allow him to in the first place.