When Ilya Rozanov makes Shane Hollander come three times in a row he crows obnoxiously about scoring a hat trick and it would annoy Shane a lot more if he hadn't just come three times in a row send tweet
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first post for context / see the tag 'open relationship au' for more snippets or the masterlist so kindly put together by @tafkarfanfic. we're nearing the end now! just two parts left.
July 2015
Under normal circumstances, returning to Russia feels like treading water.
Ilya keeps himself busy. He trains, he cares for his father, and on the weekends he drinks and parties and fucks his way through Moscow's best nightclubs. It's all just enough to keep him afloat.
But these aren't normal circumstances. Right now, Ilya feels like he's drowning.
He ruined everything in Vegas. Approaching Shane the way he did, pushing his feelings onto him and demanding he break up with his boyfriend. Ilya doesn't know what the right words would have been in that scenario but he does know that he picked exactly the wrong ones.
And still, he didn't appreciate at the time how badly the night went until the radio silence from Shane that followed. The night before his flight to Moscow, Ilya caved and sent a text. Shane read it almost immediately but he hasn't replied.
Ilya understands rejection when he sees it.
Worse than his own broken heart is knowing that Shane is suffering, too. Ilya doesn't know how Brian convinced Shane to stay with him but he sure as fuck knows he didn't do it by becoming a better person. Men like him don't change.
So Ilya failed. He failed himself and he failed Shane, and all he can do about it now is drown his sorrows.
Sveta helps. She follows him from club to club, drinks with him so he doesn't have to do it alone. She hits the dance floor when he insists he's fine, really, go have fun, but she's always there to drag his ass home at the end of the night.
"You'll figure it out," she tells him in the backseat of a taxi one night, her hand soft on top of his.
She doesn't even know what happened. Ilya would rather die than tell her how badly he fucked up. "I won't."
"You will," Sveta says with absolute confidence. "As soon as you're done feeling sorry for yourself."
Ilya wants to tell her it's not himself he feels most sorry for.
His hangover the next morning is thankfully mild. The emotional hangover - he's pretty sure he shed a few tears while hugging Sveta goodnight, how pathetic - is much worse.
Still, Ilya keeps the blinds drawn and the lights low as he goes through his morning routine. He eats is breakfast in a distracted daze, mind running through memories of last night (he didn't cry in front of the taxi driver, too, did he?). It takes him a few moments to notice that his phone is ringing.
He glances down and nearly drops it in surprise.
Shane is calling.
Ilya has the phone by his ear before he can even stop to think.
"Hi," Shane says again. His voice is tinny and far away and Ilya misses him so much it aches. "I, um. Sorry. I know we don't really call but it's been a weird night."
Ilya does a quick calculation in his head. "It is still night for you, Hollander."
"I guess so, yeah." Shane laughs. "I just got home, and I realized it would be morning for you and I just - I wanted to talk to you."
Ilya's heart is pounding. This has to be a good sign, right? Shane wouldn't call in the middle of the night just to tell him he never wants to see him again.
Shane clears his throat. "I wanted to apologize, first of all. About Vegas. And about not responding to your text."
Ilya is shaking his head before he realizes that Shane can't see him. "Don't. I should be apologizing. I didn't mean to push you like that."
There's a long silence.
Then, "I'm glad you did. What you said... I needed to hear it."
Ilya doesn't know how to interpret that, can't read Shane over the phone like this.
"I thought about it after you left," Shane continues. "What I really want. If I'm happy. I don't think I've done that in... fuck, maybe ever. Not since I decided I wanted to be a professional hockey player."
Ilya laughs, because God. That is so Shane.
"I think - I think we could be happy. Together." Shane's voice is quiet but steady. Ilya's hand curls, itching with the need to touch him. "I want us to try, at least."
"I want that, too," Ilya says thickly.
Shane lets out a shuddering breath. "Fuck. Okay. Good, that's - good."
"So you and Brian - ?"
"I tried breaking it off," Shane says, and Ilya is flooded with relief for a moment before his brain snags on the word 'tried'. "Last week. I invited him over to end it. I was so sure that I didn't want to be together anymore, I don't know how I let him change my mind." He laughs, a bitter sound. "Bad habit, I guess. I don't know, I had a whole speech prepared. It threw me off when he showed up with a black eye."
Ilya winces. "Ah. I'm sorry about that."
He's not, really, but it feels like the thing to say.
"Sorry about what?"
"About... punching him?"
"Ah." He hears Shane exhaling slowly. "That's not - he told me something else."
This surprises Ilya. He would have figured Brian would relish in the opportunity to make him look like a violent thug.
"He tried to punch me first," Ilya offers.
"Of course he did," Shane mutters. "That's - I'm getting off topic."
"Sorry," Ilya says, more sincerely this time.
"I met someone tonight," Shane says, and Ilya's heart seizes before he continues, "Rose. She kind of... talked sense into me. I didn't realize how bad things have been with Brian until she laid it all out."
Ilya is glad for it but also, "I told you he was an asshole many years ago."
"Can't imagine why I might have thought you'd have an ulterior motive," Shane says dryly.
This is fair.
"But you will break up with him now," Ilya says, not quite as confidently as he'd like.
"I want to," Shane says. His voice has gone tight. "I'm just scared."
Ilya feels cold. "He would hurt you?"
"I'd kick his ass if he tried." It calms Ilya's heart, how quickly and certainly Shane says it. "But I don't trust my own judgment, I guess. I don't think he could change my mind again, but I didn't think he could the first time, either."
"I'll come with you."
The offer has left Ilya's lips before he can think twice. But he means it, truly.
"You'll come with me?" Shane repeats, baffled. "To break up with my boyfriend?"
Right. Maybe this is a strange suggestion. "Or I will be close by. For moral support."
"But you're in Russia."
"I will be back in..." Ilya hesitates, calculating the shortest possible amount of time it would take him to put all his affairs in order, "four days."
"Really?"
"Really," Ilya says. He will have to look up flights as soon as he hangs up. "If this is alright?"
"Are you sure? You must have other plans."
Ilya waves his hand. "Nothing that can't wait."
"If you're sure," Shane says. His voice is shaking, a little bit.
shane and ilya would be watching a horror movie or something and the character is just getting brutalized and ilya would turn to shane and go "i'd never treat you like that" and shane would be like🥰🥰 then the next day ilya is doing a frame by frame reenactment of it on shane
shane hollander getting actual muscle strain on his neck from sucking too much dick. ilya can't even laugh at him because he gave himself a worse cramp from eating ass.
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I’m having Big Dick Ilya thoughts again…Ilya’s dick being big enough that it’s actually low key intimidating for his sexual partners. Like jaws are dropping when he whips it out. One night stands are noping out when they make it back to his place and they see him fully hard. People are struggling to get even a third of the length into their mouths when blowing him. Ilya gets used to having to gently coach his partners through penetrative sex (‘don’t worry it will fit’) because it’s scary, even to those who are experienced at such things. He learns to control himself very carefully, holding back, gets used to generally having sex where at most like only half of his dick is getting stimulation unless he’s getting a hand around himself.
And it’s like, fine. Truly, it is. And hey, penetration isn’t everything, he doesn’t mind a helping hand instead, or even getting himself off after he’s used his hands or his mouth on his partner(s). He gets off on giving other people pleasure too, so it’s not like it’s completely unsatisfying for him. All of this stuff is part of being a good Top, Ilya likes putting people at ease and he genuinely understands that his dick is Just That Big™️ that he’s never gonna have sex where he doesn’t think about these things. It probably makes him a better lover, because he has to think about logistics more than a more average sized penis haver has to.
And of course, his big dick definitely doesn’t start to become a metaphor for how he thinks of himself or anything. That would be crazy. It’s just that, you know, it’s this thing that he can’t change, that on the surface seems exciting and enticing to people, something to brag about in locker rooms, this symbol of ultimate masculinity that makes every man around him seethe in jealousy and draws people to his bed with whispers of his pornstar proportions. This thing that, in private, well it’s just another thing that’s Too Much™️ about Ilya. He’s too greedy, he’s too selfish, he’s too needy, and to top it all off his cock is too big too. No one can handle all of him, not even in a purely physical relationship where he’s suppressing all his emotional needs. And he tells himself (in a voice that’s suspiciously not his own) ‘you expect too much Ilyusha, always wanting more, aren’t you? Never satisfied by what others can give you.’ and tries to content himself with the fact he always have to hold himself back.
And then enters Shane ‘bottom of all time’ Hollander. Who can take him all. Who tries his best to choke him down from their very first hook up, who won’t give up until he can deepthroat him with ease, who comes hands free his first time on Ilya’s cock, who pushes himself back to take more, more, more, who tries out other dicks and yet always dreams of taking only Ilya’s, Ilya’s, Ilya’s…
Shane Hollander who sees the mask that Ilya presents to the world and decides that no, that isn’t enough, actually, he wants to see behind it to the real man underneath. Who sees behind and says, I love you, I choose you, you are never too much for me, I love taking all of you inside of me.
Recentering this actually, but from Shane’s point of view.
Yes your dick is big, yes it’s intimidating, yes it’s challenging to take, but I like my body being challenged by you. Yes you can be difficult and prickly and an asshole, yes you can be Too Much to others, but not to me, not if it’s you. I like that you can be difficult to love, because it means I can prove myself worthy by loving you anyway.
She's nice and objectively very beautiful, but that's where it ends. His last failed date was at least into baseball - something they could pass the time with after realizing they weren't gonna be A Thing. But tonight...Christ.
They also won’t be A Thing, only it’s obvious in less of a 'haha oh well - anyway did you catch that save in the fifth inning' way and more of a '...........' way, on account of the fact that Shane's blasted through all his prepared talking points, and now has nothing to do but notice all the other elements of the evening that continue to taunt him.
The soup is a weird consistency. The little candle at their table snuffed out fifteen minutes ago, sitting dead beside the clump of lettuce he somehow managed to drop between the bowl and his plate. There's a tiny bit of brussels sprout caught between his lower back molars that's driving him fucking crazy, refusing to be dislodged by each subtle poke of his tongue.
And he thinks, maybe, that he wouldn't care so much about this trainwreck of an evening if he didn’t feel like it’s being broadcast to the rest of the restaurant. Not that people are watching, really. Just one. Just the mean looking security guy who's posted up on the back wall, keeping an eye on the room with an easy, almost bored gaze that somehow keeps landing at Shane's table.
Or...well...less Shane's table, and more just Shane himself.
The restaurant is drenched in dim mood lighting, so he can't be positive it's a look of pity this guy's giving him. But realistically, he's not sure what else it could be. Shane's blowing it, after all. Hard. This whole thing has turned into some sort of lowkey humiliation ritual, each pass of the guy's attention over him causing heat to crawl up the back of his neck.
Whatever. They're about halfway done with their entrees. And he's willing to bet she won't be taking the dessert menu when it comes around, which is fine by him. They’re in the home stretch.
Shane wipes his mouth with the weirdly scratchy cloth napkin. Pokes his tongue at his lower molars as he goes for his glass of wine. Can't help but flick his attention over to the back wall, warmth settling in his belly as he takes in, not for the first time, how that black uniform shirt snugly stretches over a tight chest, sleeves clinging around big biceps. Security guy works out. Obviously. He's a fucking security guy. And he's looking right at Shane again, just close enough to catch how his eyes dip down the front of Shane's dress shirt and then back up.
It's got something fluttering in Shane's chest as he pulls his gaze away, bringing his wine glass right back up before he can set it down again. Right. Okay.
"Are you nearby?"
They’re the first words out of his date's mouth in what feels like twenty minutes, and to be quite fucking honest it throws Shane, his brow pinching in light confusion.
"Sorry?" Such a hot thing to say. He couldn't be nailing this more, could he?
"Your place..." she says again, and there's this insistence in it that finally gets the cobwebbed wheels turning, "is it close?"
Shane blinks.
Schools a quick lift of his eyebrows before they can fly up.
Oh.
She thinks-...
"Uh..." Right, right right. "Yeah, about...half hour maybe?"
So, no.
That doesn't seem to deter her. She simply nods, then goes back to eavesdropping on the date that's going much better at the table behind her.
They’re laughing it up back there. Clinking their glasses. There’s lots to laugh about here too, but it’d be in a pathetic way that he just can’t get himself to concede to yet. So, Shane tops off his date’s glass. Eats his salmon. Shakes off the little flutter of interest that skips from his chest down into his lap as he once again catches eyes with security guy, who seems to be finding this all very entertaining. Doesn’t seem mean at all, actually. The more Shane looks. The more he looks back.
More wine. They’re finishing the bottle. His date thanks him and is, to her credit, being very cool about how the metaphorical candle has clearly snuffed out between them before their meal is even done. Now they just need to get on the same page about metaphorical dessert.
Shane takes a gigantic swig, letting it sit in his mouth for a second before gulping it down - warm, warm, warm in his belly.
She thinks he’s gonna take her home and fuck her.
Maybe he should. To make it up to her.
Except Shane hasn’t been hitting any homeruns on those lately either, has he?
Fuck.
The bottom of his wine glass clatters loudly against the edge of his plate as he sets it down too rough, movements suddenly unsteady. It pulls attention from all around, because of course it does. Everyone look at the idiot who can't hold his alcohol.
What a nightmare. Security guy must be fucking loving this one.
But when he glances over, the wall is empty. No silent, teasing eyes. No intriguing presence. No muscles, thick and sturdy and big enough that Shane could really put up a-
“Be back.”
In a single blink, his date has pulled herself up from the booth and made her way towards the bathroom, already digging into her purse without looking back.
Right. Actually, a break to reset sounds better than any dessert they could offer him here. So, with a little nod to inform their server that he’ll be back too, he gathers himself and steps away from the table.
It's not until the cool October breeze washes over Shane's face that he realizes how warm he was getting.
Probably from the wine.
And the embarrassment.
And the impending doom settling in his guts, another realization not too far behind.
Whatever, he decides, using the privacy to slip a finger into his mouth and finally free his molars of the offensive feeling - thank god. Stupid brussels sprouts. They weren't even cooked right.
It's dark around the back of the restaurant. Nice and quiet too, tucked away from the busy road out front. Shane takes in the moment with a grounding tip of his head toward the moon with his eyes closed. Deep breath. Hold it. Don't think about why all his dates with women have been absolute dogshit. Aaaaand release.
Only when he breathes out, it's not alone.
He breathes out, and it's paired, horrifyingly, with a gentle huff of laughter from further down the building. The smell of fresh cigarette smoke.
Holy shit, he’s not alone.
Shane attempts to settle the startle in his heart, but it's no use when he turns to see the figure leaning up against the brick wall, those familiar eyes now watching him in the cool moonlight.
"Jesus Christ..." It slips out. Just on the end of Shane's breath. And suddenly he could really use another cool breeze for his face.
Because the security guy is as imposing as he was inside, simply trading moody burgundy for darkened brick. But his face is softer up close. Sweeter, somehow. And very, very handsome.
Shane tears his gaze away the second those lips curl into a teasing grin, shaking his head. All that red wine is really doing a number on him.
“When is big day?”
Oh god, his voice is deep.
Shane’s gotta get it together. And yet, it’s impossible to keep from being drawn right back into that grin, even as he seeks clarification. “Big day?”
“Mm, your wedding,” he says, nodding casually back inside without looking away. “Love at first sight, yes?”
It's...
Okay, so he really is an asshole. And what’s that accent? Russian?
Shane hangs his head, but can't hold back the breathy chuckle that falls from him. No use in denying it, he guesses. Especially when he kinda wants to hear this guy talk to him some more. "Really funny stuff, man..."
"Mm."
"Won’t haveta worry about a wedding gift, at least."
"Oh, no? You were doing so well."
Something weirdly giddy flips through Shane's chest as he straightens to throw the security guy a look. Because now that it's just the two of them, he's out here openly fucking with him. And Shane knows that. So why is it making his body light up from head to toe?
It's the wine probably. Sweet red historically gets him acting stupid. Or maybe it's the way the guy holds Shane so comfortably in his attention, as he draws his cigarette up to his lips to take a lazy drag.
Shane swallows. Wets his bottom lip. Pulls his heavy gaze up from the glowing tip to meet those intriguing, sparkling eyes as smoke fills the air between them.
Wow.
"I uh-... I'm usually...better..." he hears himself say. The short noise of curiosity floating on the smoke’s coattails prompts him to clarify. "I like-...you know...have game."
It's not a lie. And yet Shane has somehow never felt more stupid than he does in this moment, the need to clarify to this man that he's not actually a loser suddenly very very important to him.
Which is why his body doesn't know what the fuck to do when it's getting hit by that smile again. That tease. The sweetly shitty headnod he gets as the guy gives him a little "Mm...okay."
Oh god Shane wants... Much more than he wanted when he was sitting across from his literal date. "Alright, fuck you..."
It shouldn't be this easy. He shouldn't be smiling so big with a stranger. Playing so much.
He should go inside. Capitalize on this feeling and use it to turn his date around.
Or he could stay right here, feet planted to the asphalt, acknowledging the wanting tug of his own body.
If he moves right now, it’s not gonna be in the direction of the door.
“What is your name.”
Shane swallows, nostrils flailing with a big breath in. “Shane…?” He watches, with another one of those flutters under his rib cage, as his answer seems to satisfy. And before he can stop himself he hears it - from his own mouth - each word clung with the worst Russian accent possible. “What ees your name?”
Oh god what the fuck. He’s never touching red wine again.
Not even the genuine grin curling across those tempting lips can make up for the embarrassment - the laughter. “Wow. This is your best try?”
“No,” Shane insists over a scowl. And to be honest he doesn’t even know what he’s answering. His best accent? No. His best attempt at flirting? Also no.
Wait a minute. Is he flirting?
“I’m-… I should go back. …inside.” Never mind how something’s kicking and screaming in him at the thought. Never mind how he stays exactly where he stands.
A concept not lost on security guy. Who never did actually give him his name, by the way. “Okay, Shane.”
It’s noticeably kinder than he could be. He’s still teasing, obviously, but he says nothing about his date. No predictions on how the rest of his night will go. He just brings his cigarette up to his lips, pulling in a hit that hollows his cheeks in the dark as he keeps their eye contact.
It’s the first time Shane’s ever craved nicotine.
He needs to go inside bad.
With a huff, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Half past eight. He has no idea how long he’s been out here. Only that it’s too long when he’s got someone waiting at the table for him. So they can pay. So they can leave. So they can-…
Shane shifts uncomfortably, jaw squaring. And he’s not exactly sure how he lets it slip out, but it does all the same, the question far too genuine for the situation. “How do I tell her I’m not gonna fuck her?”
It’s the setup of a lifetime. The perfect pitch for a grand slam. And yet the man in front of him doesn’t swing.
No. Instead, he keeps Shane in his sights, eyes roaming up and down the blush hopefully hidden by the shadows back here. And then he answers. “Simple. You tell her you are fucking someone else tonight.”
Shane can feel the exact moment his stuttery little heart sinks from his chest to his dick - to his voice, quiet but undeniably curious. “Someone else…?”
Because the atmosphere rushes forward with the guy, adrenaline spiking in his core as his phone is slipped out of his hand.
Shane watches him thumb something in with breaths that won’t fill his lungs. Swallows down whatever’s trying to fight its way out of his mouth right now, before it can shatter the tension and ruin the moment.
And when his phone is being handed back to him, Shane’s heart is fucking pounding, eyes hungrily taking in what’s been left on his screen.
A phone number. And a name.
Ilya.
He shoots his attention back up, but it’s too late. Security guy is making his way to the back door, snuffing out his cigarette on the brick.
Chatter and light and clinking glasses seep into the dark, easy vibe they’ve made themselves back here as he opens the door. A break in the trance. A pop of the bubble.
Shane pulls in a breath again, lungs burning.
And then Ilya tosses him a wink, voice low, “See you soon.”
The door shuts behind him.
Everything grows dark and still again.
And…
Shane blinks, tossing glances to the right and left of him in borderline shock because what the fuck. What just happened to him? That was all real?
There’s a very good chance the brussels sprouts actually killed him and they’re trying to resuscitate his lifeless body in the booth right now, his date long gone. But…
Another gust of October breeze…
Excitement, potent and real in a way he hasn’t felt for a long time now…
A smile works its way across Shane’s lips as he double-checks the number on his screen, and then he pockets his phone, inspired to make his way back inside to-
All movement stops for a moment as he looks down at himself. Or, more specifically, the front of his pants.
Oh.
…wow.
Okay, a few more minutes and then he’ll go back inside.
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shane gangbang thoughts: I'm thinking slow burn gangbang (idk if it even counts as a gangbang but eh) so Ilya's invited a bunch of the guys over for a little party at their house. They're having drinks and playing games and generally having a good time. Meanwhile Shane is upstairs blindfolded on their bed on all fours ready for whoever next pays him a visit
OH WELL YES……..free use shane yay <3 knowing that every time the bedroom door opens he gets to play party favour with another one of ilya’s friends…..feeling so useful and blissed out and happy……and of course ilya is there the whole time because he’s generous but he’s not That generous. no one is getting any private time with His Shane. and everyone has so much funnnnn
actually I'm still thinking abt this cause @shanesmouth had it in one...... ilyas chosen friends sitting around his special poker table set up in the living room, they're drinking and playing and chirping each other, classic boys night. except shane is also there, sitting a few feet away until Ilya snaps his fingers and gestures him over, offers him to one of the boys to suck them off under the table, or ride them, or just sit there and let them jerk off on him. the game goes on and occasionally someone will make a comment like fuck he wants it so bad or you trained your slut so well Roz which obviously has Shane preening from the praise. Marlow loses a hand and gets so mad he fucks Shane right over the table, and everyone else pretends not to notice except from a brief scold of fuck, Marlow, don't mess the fucking table up
hello happy Wednesday let’s have some depraved thoughts
the Cens aren’t playing their best at the start of the season, so Ilya as captain implements a fun incentive: If Ilya scores more points in a game than Shane does, Ilya will fuck him in the middle of the locker room. If Shane scores more points in a game than Ilya does, Ilya will fuck Shane in the middle of the locker room. either way, Shane gets to get fucked, so he and Ilya are both happy and as competitive as ever.
everyone on the team gets to watch. anyone who scores a goal or has an assist of their own gets to let Shane suck their dick while Ilya is fucking him. Shane is delighted to be so full and of use to the team’s success and pleasure. Ilya is possessive in that he’s the only one who gets Shane’s hole, but he loves seeing his teammates fall apart under Shane’s mouth — his Shane is the best cocksucker in the world, and Ilya is proud and smug to show that off.
everyone else who only gets to watch isn’t allowed to touch themselves until after Shane has sucked all the eligible cocks, and Ilya has filled Shane with his load. then they’re finally able to jerk themselves off. Shane isn’t allowed to come at all until everyone else has come. after that, Ilya gets his beautiful teary trembling Shane off however Shane wishes.
they go on an unprecedented win streak immediately after this is implemented.
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Tonight I'm thinking about Shane getting anxious and overwhelmed in a social situation – not enough that it's noticable to most people, but Ilya can see that he's Freaking Out – and Ilya just slowly running his hand up the back of Shane's neck until his fingers are tangled into his hair, and tugging just hard enough that it hurts a bit, like holding a kitten by the scruff of its neck. The message is clear: even if you don't feel like you are, I'm in control and I've got you. Shane instantly relaxes.
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