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Shane stared at his reflection. The suit fit him well; his mom had only recently bought it for the Juniors' awards ceremony. He squared his shoulders, his heart thudding in his chest. He felt like he had just come off the ice, not sitting in his room for hours. Images of his rival’s body, slick from the shower, swirled in his mind, making his breath catch in his chest.
He shook his head at the mirror, “What are you doing, dude?” he huffed.
He looked ridiculous. Why did he put this thing on? He turned to the discarded shirt and sweats on the bed. It was only 8:30, and he didn’t know what he would do for the next half hour. Every minute seemed to take an hour.
Would Rozanov knock? What would happen if he did? Maybe he should leave, find some teammates in the hotel bar, and pretend that this had never happened. He could make up some excuse if Rozanov asked, but he doubted he would.
This was a terrible idea. But Shane knew he wouldn’t leave. He was trapped between his curiosity and his conscience. But whatever this was, the suit needed to go. His hand came up to the knot at the base of his neck, tugging at it, when he heard a knock on the door. His hand stilled. It was too early. He had told his mom he was going to bed; could she have forgotten and come up?
He walked over to the door and squinted through the peephole. His stomach dropped. It was a blurry fish-eyed view, but those golden curls were undeniable. It was Rozanov.
His hand paused on the door handle. He couldn’t leave him out in the hallway; someone could see. The suit would have to stay on. Hopefully, Rozanov wouldn’t mention it. Shane cracked the door open, and Rozanov slipped in and leaned his back against the door. Shane stood a foot away, his face heating up under the appraising eyes of the taller man.
Shane opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t sure what.
“Did you forget?” Rozanov asked in his low lilt.
“What?” Shane replied dumbly.
“Did you forget I was coming?” Ilya said, waving his hand up and down Shane’s body. “You look like you are going out.”
Fuck. “Oh, no, I um, no,” Shane muttered, avoiding the other man's eyes, instead looking at where golden curls brushed against his neck.
“Ah…” Rozanov's face broke into a wicked grin. “Is for me then, yes?”
He walked further into Shane’s hotel room and threw his own jacket on the bed before turning back to Shane, who stood awkwardly in front of the door.
“No,” Shane immediately retorted, his hand coming to his tie, smoothing it with shaking hands.
“Do you always wear fancy clothes when you fuck someone?” Ilya asked, his voice mocking but not unkind.
Shane's hand flew up to cover his eyes, “shut up,” he stammered. He could practically feel the warmth radiating from his cheeks.
Rozanov reached out a hand slowly, grabbing the end of Shane’s blue and black tie, which hung loosely around his neck. He curled his hand around it and tugged Shane towards him. Shane followed, his mouth dropping open in surprise.
Their chests rose and fell against each other’s, every nerve in Shane’s body sang. His head buzzed as Ilya’s mouth hovered over his own.
“Is okay,” said Rozanov softly into the space between them, “I like it.”
“Oh, ok-” Shane breathed, before he was cut off by Rozanov's mouth on his. Shane froze for a second before his body reacted, pushing back up into Rozanov, his hands coming around his broad shoulders. Shane had kissed people, but not like this.
Rozanov's strong hands pulled Shane’s hips against his, flattening across his back. Shane scrabbled to pull Rozanov's jacket off, without breaking the kiss. There was a slight tang of cigarette ash on the Russian's tongue, but for the first time, Shane didn’t mind. All he wanted was more.
Rozanov pushed Shane’s jacket off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. “Wait,” said Shane, pulling away, breathless. Rozanov stilled immediately, removing his hands from Shane as if he had been burned. “No, not like that,” Shane said quickly, already missing the pressure of Ilyas's hands on his hips. “I just need to,” he bent over and picked up the jacket, “I don’t want it to get wrinkled.”
Rozanov laughed brightly. “You are very strange, Hollander,” he teased.
“It’s new,” Shane protested, and walked over to the bed, laying the jacket flat.
“Ah,” said Rozanov, following him to the bed. “I see, if you wanted me on the bed,” he motioned to it, “you should tell me.”
Shane blushed; he hadn’t meant to suggest that, though Rozanov wasn’t wrong. He genuinely had wanted to lay out the suit.
“Shut up,” Shane huffed.
“Make me.”
Shane lunged at him, his hand on the back of his strong neck, pulling him impossibly close. Shane gasped as Rozanov slipped his warm tongue into Shane's mouth. He felt the buckle of his belt loosen, and warm hands tug at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it out from his dress pants.
Shane brought his own hands up to the tie, tugging it off as Ilya opened his shirt, broad hands skittering across Shane's ribcage, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“No,” mumbled Rozanov against his mouth, “leave it.”
Shane's heart stuttered, but his hands dropped back to Ilyas's waist, pulling up the hem of his black tank top, revealing golden skin dotted with beauty marks. The backs of Rozanov's knees hit the bed as he pulled his shirt over his head, leaving his curls mussed.
Rozanov leaned back on the bed, the solitary lamp behind him making his hair glow red. Shane stood and swallowed shakily, looking down at the man on his bed. How had this happened?
“Come here,” Rozanov said, his muscled arm reaching out to grab Shane's tie once again, pulling him down over him on the bed. Their hips slotted together, and Shane gasped as his hips rolled closer instinctively. The hand on his tie tightened as Rozanov responded, rolling his hips upwards. Shane ground down onto Rozanov's muscled thigh, before Rozanov's large hands wrapped around his waist, flipping him effortlessly on his back. Shane's legs hooked around his hips as Rozanov held himself up over Shane. His eyes were golden in the light, his cheekbones flushed red, his lips bitten. Shane bit his bottom lip to stop himself from saying something he would regret. Like that, Rozanov looked like an angel but kissed like the devil. Thoughts Shane should keep inside.
Rozanov looked down at him, his chest rising quickly, his sparkling white and partially fake teeth bared at Shane in a wild smile. He looked ravenous. “What do you want?” he asked, his eyes trailing down from Shane’s mouth to his stomach.
“I… your mouth, please,” Shane stuttered.
“So polite,” Rozanov smirked, before leaning down to give him a searing kiss. Shane felt dizzy as Rozanov trailed his wet mouth down his abdomen, moving the tie to the side to leave open-mouthed kisses on warm skin.
Shane gasped when he felt Rozanov's mouth close around him. His body felt on the edge of a long drop, his toes curling around the edge of a cliff in suspense and delight. His hands tangled in soft curls, and Rozanov reached up, palming Shane’s chest roughly as his mouth worked him.
Shane could not tear his eyes away from the scene between his shaking thighs. Spots began to form in his eyes as Rozanov took him deeper, the wet heat of his throat pushing Shane over the edge.
Shane could hear Rozanov chuckling lightly over the ringing in his ears. He was sure his rival was smirking, but Shane had to admit he deserved that. He felt the bed sink next to him as Rozanov threw himself down by Shane’s side, chest heaving. Shane opened his eyes to see Rozanov tracing his hand lazily along Shane’s chest, gleaming with sweat.
Rozanov gripped the tie and pulled Shane towards him for a kiss. Shane tasted himself on his tongue. He had never wanted to kiss girls after they had gone down on him, but he didn’t have any issue now.
“Is good, yes?”
“Hmm,” Shane agreed, nodding.
“Best blowjob in the league,” said Rozanov. Shane could feel the smirk against his lips.
Shane pulled away, his hands moving down Rozanov’s chest as Shane positioned himself between his rival's hips, “not a chance.”
If there was one thing Shane could be sure of, it was that he was not letting Rozanov beat him. In anything.