hollanov

he's got an impressive indoor pool that mostly just the girls are interested in. shane came dressed for the occasion, but he's a little too on edge to be wet and soggy right now. it's why he keeps turning down drinks too. gotta keep a level head. no need for an embarrassing repeat of the last time he was in the same room as ilya and his certified best friend.

other than that, shane's having a wonderful time. there's a couple guys he ends up talking puck with as the moon climbs higher and higher beyond the wall of windows, the intensity with which he lets himself indulge quickly becoming the perfect distraction from the danger that seems to be looming on the perimeter.

maybe it's in his head. maybe he's paranoid. but probably three times now, shane has glanced up and been met with the startling image of ilya and marleau already looking at him from the far side of the echoing room, continuing their conversation as they casually lean against the wall. to say it sets him on edge is an understatement. to say it doesn't light a hint of morbid curiosity in his lap would be a lie. but then one of the guys brings up the powerplay from predators/wild game last night and shane's locked back in on what really matters.

it isn't until around midnight that he starts getting husband withdrawals. ilya looks irresponsibly hot over there in his cross and short little swim trunks, hair still perfectly styled because he too has been avoiding the pool. and now, he's sitting on that lounger all by his lonesome - can't have that. (there's literally like five girls around him but no one is actually sitting with him because that's his spot, just to be clear.) shane excuses himself from the conversation that's turned disappointingly to golf and saddles right up to ilya where he sits, nudging a hip into his shoulder with a quiet little, "hey, handsome..."

he's greeted with a hand reaching up to snake around his middle. a tug over so he can press his lips into the cut of shane's hip bone, sighing happily into the kiss he leaves there.

ilya's ready for enrichment.

"come snoop with me."

the small room off the corner is quiet and chilly, goosebumps immediately raising to shane's bare chest as they help themselves into the quiet space. it's a bar and game room of sorts. dark floors and wood paneling. big, black-felted pool table in the middle. stainless steel refrigerator built in behind a solid wood bar. mahogany maybe. it's the awards case that shane finds himself stalling at, of course.

"hm..." he hears ilya comment behind him, and he just knows that man is standing there with his hands on his hips, nodding as he looks around. "impressive."

kinda funny. but this is cliff marleau they're talking about. "no way you haven't been in here before."

"years ago yes. since he remodeled? no."

shane's ears perk up at that, his head turning. 'remodeled', he says... "did he do it himself? contract someone?"

as if he just asked to get bent over the pool table and fucked raw, ilya hums. dastardly. "mm, you are hornier than i thought, my love..."

"fuck you..." shane scoffs and goes back to the trophy case, although his grin grows with his husband's steady approach behind him, "i'm not horny at all." thank you very much.

"hm..." familiar heat at his back. lips at his ear and a hand gliding down his bare stomach, finally grabbing over his crotch in experimentation. "no...? not a little, even-"

"god damn - make yourselves at home, huh?"

shane startles at the deep, lazy voice that suddenly joins them from nowhere, his heart doing a quadruple backflip into his ass that could probably win some awards of its own, as long as he stays alive. because christ.

behind them, cliff marleau rounds the pool table without stopping. he's clearly on a mission. and shane's not sure if his nonchalance over the whole situation makes things better or indescribably worse. all he knows is he feels the sudden urge to move. to side-step from ilya's handsy clutches until he's free from him entirely.

"sorry." okay, why did he say that? he didn't need to say that.

"yes, very sorry marly," ilya piggybacks, although he doesn't sound the least bit convincing. "shane was just wondering if sexy new remodel was your doing."

shane bristles. what the fuck? "didn't call it that."

"didn't have to."

"buddy and me did it," marleau answers all the same, now making his way toward the fridge in the corner. "took a couple summers, but she's a fuckin' beaut, don't ya think?"

ilya hums, but it's not him marleau's looking at.

shane flicks his eyes away. somewhere along the pool table by the solid red three. it'd be awesome if he didn't still feel the phantom weight of ilya's hand palming over his dick. "it's great."

the room fills with the clink of bottles as the refrigerator door swings open, and he uses the opportunity to cast a look over to his husband, nodding pointedly at the door behind him. they need to leave. this is...weirdly intimate. in a way he can't quite nail down, but the ball of nerves in his belly is well-equipped to determine.

ilya observes it all. processes shane's wordless request.

and then he promptly ignores it.

"got an opener on ya?" marleau is saying from behind the bar. "i know you do, roz."

he does. it’s the same one he’s had on his keyring since they were teenagers. the same one he pulls from the pocket of his swim shorts now, keys jingling as he unclips it and then hands it to shane, of all people.

“bring this to him for me please, won’t you sweetheart?”

shane...stares at the bottle opener resting in his palm. looks up at ilya. suspiciously.

something is afoot.

but ilya’s usually devilish expression is so calm. even a little confused as he flicks his attention away and then back to shane. like he’s the one not in on the joke. and...

okay, shane’s being paranoid. it’s official.

annoyed at the sketchy path his dick is steering his common sense down, he grabs the bottle opener and turns to where marleau has stepped out from the bar to rest against the back wall.

tall motherfucker. an imposing figure, even without all the hockey gear. he’s in his trunks too, but has thrown a thin black tank top on, something shane envies as the goosebumps rise over his skin with each step closer.

it’s more than a little crazy how short he makes shane feel, towering over him even in his slump against the wall. jesus, he’s a beast. and when he takes the offered opener, the corner of marleau's mouth curves into a half-grin. "you're a doll."

right...

"he is..." ilya chimes in somewhere behind them. "so sweet."

"a real peach."

"my little-"

"okay." shane snaps it, effectively cutting off...whatever this is before the pair can really get going. he's unpleasantly aware of the heat that's climbed to his face and it's from anger, obviously. annoyance. "it's a fucking bottle opener - get a grip." and a bottle opener! it’s his own home bar, for fuck’s sake!

marleau assesses this with a casual little eyebrow raise, but pops the top off his beer all the same, tossing it toward the bartop without looking and then bringing the bottle to his lips.

in the closer space, shane's eyes are naturally drawn to the movement of it all - the beer fizzing from the sudden release of pressure - the soft glug and pour from the clear glass neck into marleau's mouth, attention drawing even further down to his bobbing adam's apple as he drinks, and then his hand as he holds the opener out for him to take back.

shane swallows, all at once aware of his eyeline.

jesus, hollander, get it together.

with a tense of his jaw, he reaches out to put an end to this weird little fever dream. but when he grabs the opener, marleau's fingers smoothly wrap around it, keeping him from taking it back.

shane frowns, frustration simmering in a way that makes his hackles rise. it’s the final straw. he’s officially sick of being messed with, and showing that means giving a sturdy tug this time to-

“easy,” ilya’s voice crops up and it’s so close behind him, suddenly. dangerously close. pressing right up into him for some reason, just like how his body slots up to frame shane’s back and-

it’s immediate warning bells.

an immediate jab to his pulse, shane’s instincts only kicking in to recognize the trap once it's already clamped down around him.

his body shifts away from the muscle memory of the touch but he’s gotta keep his cool in front of marleau. especially since it's him he's facing this time.

“ilya…” shane warns, and he wishes it was steadier. “what are you doing…”

he can feel his husband’s easy shrug. it’s just as casual as his tone when he answers, “nothing,” and then tilts his head to speak around him. “what are you doing, marly?”

a couple steps away, marleau follows suit. “nothing.” they’re still in a standoff with the bottle opener between them, a hand on each side. “what’re you doin’, hollywood?”

a flush settles over shane’s face at the name. nine times out of ten, he finds marleau calling him that so fucking annoying, but he guesses he just found the tenth time where he’s gonna let it fly. because what else can he say? ‘what are you doing, hollywood?’ he’s about to get fucking panini-ed is what he’s doing. “i don’t-…think we should-”

“don’t think we should what?” ilya steps in closer, which forces shane to stumble forward too, his grip tightening from the sheer need to hold onto something as his world narrows into the thinning space between him and marleau.

ilya's asking him questions he already has the answers to. he knows what he’s doing, even if marleau doesn’t. and shane’s brain is on the fast track to short circuiting just like it did at the club, only this time he's much more aware of the situation. another step - another inch - and he's eyeing the quickly closing exits on both sides. he can make a humiliating but precious getaway if he just pulls out of ilya’s arms and-

light catches in the beer bottle as marleau tips it to his lips for another drink, condensation trickling down the sweating glass. it’d be innocent - absolutely nothing at all - if it wasn’t for how those dark eyes stay planted on shane’s face the entire time.

oh yeah. he needs to get the fuck out of here.

“ilya…” he tries again, but it's just as the bottle opener is being lifted from his loosened grasp, effectively freeing up the space between them for another step forward and-

shane’s pulse leaps from his rib cage as his chest is forced to press into the tight, muscled heat of marleau’s - as his hands are forced upwards to catch and brace himself against the wall - framed around meaty shoulders and oh fuck. there’s the squeeze. light but undeniable.

“is okay, shane,” ilya teases from behind, and shane would glean even a little bit of comfort from it if he didn’t sound so smug. “cliff…he is very close. he knows things, yes?”

shane could laugh or cry or both. “things…”

“yes,” he nods. “things about you.” from behind, ilya’s palms plant on shane’s bare waist and start traveling upward. “things you need to feel nice in your body.”

what he’s talking about is as obvious as shane’s fight-or-flight visibly kicking in. it’s the same way the air leaves his lungs in a flustered breath as ilya sways them all together for one blissful moment, shane lighting up head to toe from the short taste of deep pressure.

it’s…

oh god…

shane’s eyes flutter closed, and he wishes it was only because he can’t take marleau’s face this close up anymore. that cool, easy stare down at him even as he sets his beer on the bar... that fucking jawline, cut sharp beneath full, jetblack stubble... another sway - this time forward, something deep in shane's muscles trying to release in recognition of delicious compression.

“feels good, mm…?” ilya’s voice tickles at the shell of his ear. lower now. “you can tell him, shane…”

he can’t. that’s the fucking problem. he can stand here and let loose every unconventional thing that makes his brain spark and body feel grounded and ilya will make him feel absolutely gorgeous for it. but then marleau will know. and eventually he’ll know it isn’t just the brain spark. he’ll know it’s more than that. when it isn’t always. which means marleau will know that he, specifically, plays a role in that and-

“i don’t-…” shane huffs, forcing his eyes open again, hands planted on the wall. “we shouldn’t.” and why does that send out a ripple of arousal all on its own? jesus, he really is fucked up. “we shouldn’t-…do this.”

the hands on his waist give him a firm squeeze. “what are we doing?” playing with his food. their food. “marly, it looks like we’re doing something?”

“looks like we’re standin’ here…” comes his answer, cool as ever. like they're not seconds away from giving shane exactly what he wants, if he just asks for it.

or-... no. shane doesn't want it. he does, really fucking badly, but he already knows he won't be able to stop when he needs to. that undefinable slip from body-affirming pressure to an aching dick - he couldn't catch it at the club, so why the hell would he be able to here? shirtless and in marleau's sexy fucking remodeled bar?

and yet...

"shane..." ilya says again in his ear, an angel and a demon all in one. "...you want...?" he knows him so well. can read him just by feeling him, without even seeing his face. he knows shane. what he needs. and...

shane swallows, eyes downcast.

and then microscopically, he nods.

there's an immediate thrill in the confirmation. a release of its own, something bubbling up dangerously in shane's chest that he writes off as anticipation. and all it does is make him want to squirm out of his skin as he waits for ilya to say it, head tilting to look at marleau past his shoulder.

"stay there. keep him still."

“you got it brother,” he hears and then ilya doesn’t make him wait. he gives it to him right away, planting shane between the two of them and kissing the back of his neck as he leans his weight into them and oh…

shane exhales shakily. his eyes immediately slam shut, nothing else getting in except for the absolutely delicious pressure driving into him and keeping him smothered.

he doesn’t mean for the tiny grunt to slip out, but it does. and they can both hear it. although it’s nothing ilya hasn’t forced out of him a thousand times.

“mhm…” his weight leans off just a bit and shane’s body rushes with displaced energy - an uncomfortable shudder working up his spine until- ah…yes…it’s back… “better, yes…?”

it is. right away.

shane wets his bottom lip and drags it between his teeth and doesn’t open his eyes. just accepts the compression. the squeeze.

ilya's hands on his waist. his breath on his neck. "we should keep going..." it isn't a question.

shane doesn't need to nod.

but he does.

a second off to decompress, and then ilya's leaning in and up, practically lifting shane off his feet with another punched out breath that huffs into a hitched groan. it squishes him so perfectly against marleau's chest that he thinks he might die. thinks he's okay with that. thinks they'll have a really interesting time wording this in his obituary. willingly panini-pressed to death between two of the hottest players in the MLH.

the thought has a delirious little smile lifting to his parted lips, and in the tight space there's no way it goes unnoticed.

"oh he's lovin' it..."

marleau's voice is so close. mere inches away if he opens his eyes. shane could really freak out, but the rest of his body is so wrapped up in catharsis that all he can do is tip his head back, ilya's lips finding his temple just like he hoped it would. "fuck..."

"is like deep tissue massage for him," he hears him explain, and it doesn't sound like it's the first time. "big hug..." another kiss to the side of his head, "but better, yes?"

shane swallows and keeps it tilted back as he wets his lips again. "you could-..." a shudder runs through his core but it's good this time, "...you can go harder..." he can take it. ilya knows he can take it. he knows he needs it rough.

the pressure releases, ilya's hands snaking up his sides and on top of his braced arms, feeling the muscles there. "marly will help...since you want him to so bad..."

and shane doesn't super understand what that means but he digs his feet in anyway. tries to fight down the squirm between their bodies, his chest and back already slick with sweat and-

the pressure comes from both sides this time - ilya's bodyweight and marleau's huge fucking arms wrapping around to bring them both in and fuuuck, fuck fuck...

shane's eyes squeeze shut like he's afraid he might pop. fingertips scratch over the wall as his hands ball into fists, endorphins and steady satisfaction flooding his muscles as the deep pressure holds. oh god it's good... it's good...

"that it...?"

ilya's answering for him and it's somehow both right up in his ear and three rooms away. "good, marly. stay. i tell you when..."

forever, hopefully. shane wants to stay like this forever, even if he can't breath so well. wants to be eternally crushed between them, no more space for his doubts to wiggle free. just this. affirming, grounding pressure. his lips moving around a 'fuck' that never sees the light of day.

"okay."

he's not sure how much time passes before ilya's calling it, but when the arms drop and his weight eases off just enough, shane's body sort of slumps over, his face falling to press into the warm, muffling cotton of marleau's chest. "oh my fucking god..."

it's not funny necessarily, so he's not sure why both of them are laughing at him but it's in a comradery sort of way. he thinks. whatever, he feels so good right now that he doesn't give a shit.

behind him, ilya brings them all into a slow little sway. it's barely anything, just a subtle shift from foot to foot. even so, shane finds himself willingly swept away in it, snug as hell with his husband fit all along his back. marleau's a fucking tower of heat and muscle to sink into so he does, breathing in a blissful lungful as they slowly drift.

wow...he smells good...

just behind, ilya murmurs something that isn't for him and he misses it anyway. wants to know. lifts his head from marleau's chest and tries to glance back at him with a nosy, "what...?"

his voice breaks. embarrassingly. or maybe not - he's kind of floating right now.

"i said you are sweet like this," comes ilya's crooning voice. "all pink and happy. very pretty for us, right marly?"

and you know what? he's maybe backtracking on that 'not being embarrassed' thing. especially when marleau hums, deep and rumbling against shane's sweaty palms. "got yourself a fuckin' doll here, roz..."

and...

when did shane drop his hands from the wall...? how long has he been grabbing up on marleau's chest like this, wishing he would take his shirt off...?

the strange dread of unfortunate reality comes creeping back into shane's body as he opens his eyes, meeting the knowing gaze of his husband a breath away.

ah. shit.

immediately, shane unwedges his hands to drop them to his sides. forces his head forward again. becomes aware of the sweat keeping him hot and bothered against ilya's bare chest.

"i uh..." his voice is as heavy as ever. like his lungs are still trying to get enough air back in them after being compressed. "we should-..." oh no...

the swaying continues, ilya's nose nudging at the sensitive spot beneath his ear. "mm...?"

it sends a giddy little shudder down his spine that melts right between his legs. and all at once, shane can feel himself freezing up, every other point in his body zeroing in where his cock pulses against marleau's lap, thick and needy.

he's-...

oh god, shane's hard.

"let's stop," he forces out and it's still so winded. "we should-...we can stop now..."

"stop...?" ilya echoes and there's a very specific layer of tease in his tone. like he couldn't possibly understand what shane's talking about, even though he damn well does. motherfucker.

pressed against his front, marleau isn't any better. “you know somethin’ we don’t know, hollywood?”

shane lets out a huff of disbelief. the asshole - there's no way he doesn't feel it, right? “fuck off…” but then ilya presses forward again and it drags a heavy breath from his mouth and across marleau's, shaky and unmistakable and oh god he's in danger.

in the thin space, marleau looks down at him with lidded eyes and lifted brows. just way too fucking close. “think he knows something we don’t know,” he confirms to ilya. “might need to hit ‘em again.”

the next logical step is an attempted retreat into his husband. shane presses back as much as he can, if only for a little space between marleau's lap and his aching dick and- "hold him for me," ilya says anyway. a traitor. "keep him still."

and then he's surging himself forward and grinding shane right up into marleau's body in the tightest, firmest hold so far and shane groans. holy fuck, he groans. just out in the fucking open.

"there it is," marleau grins. like he doesn't care that shane's completely bricked up against him. like this is all normal. the trapping and the crushing and the- "he could go tighter, i bet."

"yeah," shane hears and then realizes it's his voice. it's him who's saying it, coaxed by the surprising rush of everyone just going along with his fucked up desires. because shit, if they're gonna do it... "yeah... come on..." so many different flavors of pleasure are popping and pooling and heating inside him and ilya puts his fucking back into it, his weight crushing into shane tighter and tighter and oh-...shit, "right there..." that's fucking perfect. "right there, ilya." fuck.

the squeeze stays firm and shane's brows furrow in what he can only describe as just short of agony. beautifully so. especially as ilya pumps forward just a little more and the air punches out of his lungs in a literal wheeze, the end of it fluttering into an impossibly pleased laugh. "oh-ho-ho fuck..."

"listen to that... fuckin' loves it..."

"mm, yes..." there's labor in ilya's voice. proof of the effort he's putting in to keep shane compressed in just the way he needs. "takes it very well...like everything i give him..."

the compliment goes straight to shane's dick and gets it throbbing. his body is so centered and grounded and whole that he can't even help but rut up in the already packed space. and suddenly it's not such a problem that it happens to be on ilya's best friend.

or...maybe it's not a problem for shane.

"uh oh, rozy. looks like you were right..."

there's not enough time to translate that before ilya's weight is releasing from him with a rush of breath out, just enough space opening that he can bully an arm between shane and marleau's bodies and grab a feel right between shane's legs and- "oh fuck...jesus..."

"do not blame him, marly," he insists, "my shane is very needy. so hard to control himself sometimes..." as he speaks, he continues to rub shane's hard dick through his trunks, like he's just something to be played with. like shane's a puppy and ilya's apologizing for him peeing on the floor or something. the thought alone would be enough to make him shoot off if he wasn't so pleasantly held in his own body right now. "give him to me..."

the shift feels like a tailspin after being vacuum-sealed to marleau's front, but when he comes face to face with his husband again, all shane can do is let the fuzzy little grin slip over his face. "hi..."

he might be a little further along than he realized.

"hi," ilya humors him, handsome and sweaty and dangerously within kissing range. "take big, big breath for me."

shane swallows, eyes trailing back up from those lips as he does just that and then-

"huuuhhh," gets forced out of his mouth as ilya pushes his weight into him, effectively flattening him straight into marleau from the front this time.

shane's eyes roll shut in deep satisfaction. head hangs forward, heavy and leaning against ilya's forehead so they can share his shaky breath. jesus christ, that's it. "ilya..."

"mhm..."

delicious compression. unfamiliar hands grabbing at his deltoids just like they did at the club but this time, they smooth down his arms from behind. they hang onto his wrists, tugging them forward until shane’s holding onto ilya’s waist. yes. good. fucking perfect idea.

there's no more space to give, but shane tries to pull ilya in by the hips anyway. tries to grind himself there - right against ilya's lap - flooding himself with hot, tingly pleasure and a strangled moan. "baby..."

"god damn, rozanov," marleau says from behind and shane can't take it anymore.

he rocks forward, chasing after the pleasure as best as he can. it's got his head swimming and his muscles rejoicing and ilya's been slowly leaning off so he can force one foot forward, his thick thigh slotting between shane's legs so he can hump it and jesus, it's hot. absolutely delicious. and now he just needs to be crushed. "don't stop... guys..."

and they don't. ilya uses the new leverage to press in deep. the rest is picked up by marleau, who once again wrangles his arms around both of them and squeezes tight enough to knock the wind from their lungs and-

shane's face scrunches from the pressure, cheeks red, forehead sweaty. he ruts up against ilya's thigh and very quickly realizes that means he's grinding back on marleau's dick and it's so much. it's so fucking much. "fuck-...we should-...i'm getting close..."

he doesn't even know if he's allowed to say it out loud. because maybe this has all been a fever dream and them taking pity on him and shane actually saying it out loud is gonna burst the bubble but he can feel it, his orgasm spreading and pooling in the solid, fully recognized center of him.

marleau's breath is warm and almost wet against shane's neck, even as he taunts him. "he gonna blow?"

even as ilya locks in, pushing up into shane the extra painful inch with a labored, "mhm," and then-

shane moans, brows furrowing now. body caught and kept and his head falls forward anyway, both arms wrapping desperately around ilya's waist as he humps his leg - as he grinds back on marleau's cock. christ, if they were naked right now he'd be- "jesus-...fuck i'm gonna cum-"

"yes, shane," ilya coos in his ear, "show him, sweetheart," and it's all over. pleasure rips through shane's body and forces its way out of his mouth, his teeth biting into the meat of ilya's bare shoulder as he cums in his swim shorts.

it's a good thing he's caught between the two of them because if he wasn't, his ass would be on the floor right now, legs immediately going to jelly. "ohmygod..." holy-... "ohmy...fucking god..."

ilya allows all the little twitches against him. stays strong and steady, his hand clamping around the back of shane's neck to keep him pressed down. "good... good job..." heavy breaths...his, and shane's, and marleau's just behind. "tight still or space, my shane...?"

another shudder works through shane's core. an aftershock, from his toes to the top of his head. he has no earthly idea what he wants right now and kind of fucking loves that. "yeah..."

his answer has ilya huffing a chuckle from his nose, patting the back of shane's neck a few times in amusement. "okay..."

behind him, marleau stays this solid figure. steady. strangely trustworthy.

shane tries not to think about the shape of his hard cock pressing against his ass.

and...okay, maybe that space is as good idea.

with a grunt of satisfaction, shane insists himself forward, the brunt of his weight held up now by his husband as he seems to get with the program and takes full charge.

he loses a little time with it and maybe it's the post-nut dopamine flow. maybe it's the feeling of deep, deep fulfillment in his chronically flighty muscle mass. but an itch has been scratched and then some, his brain finally catching up to ilya and cliff's murmuring when a clap cracks between them, shattering the quickly cooling air.

what the fuck. "ilya...please don't dap him up for this..."

there's cum drying in the webbing of his swim trunks, for fuck's sake.

his husband seems more focused on formalities. "say thank you, sweetheart."

it's a bit of a strange request, all things considered. but he can't deny a job well done when he sees one. he knew cliff marleau could crack him like a glow stick, and jesus christ did he deliver.

in the flowy aftermath, shane still hasn't looked the other man in the eye. which could mean nothing. but, "thanks, marleau..."

"anytime, hollywood," comes the answer and it sounds like he means it. which could mean nothing as well.

"your guest room...we will be using it if this is okay, marly. my shane needs time to...hm..." he's looking for the word. whichever one he lands on is going to be embarrassing as hell.

but marleau seems to pick up what he's putting down with ease, the smell of his cologne wafting close as he must pass by. "knock your socks off, big dog."

it's got a flutter of something plucking up in shane's chest. sends a little jolt to his dick, far too late for an aftershock.

whatever. all shane needs right now is a shower and his husband, already looking forward to the feeling of ilya's perfect body slinking on top and staying over him when the lay down, pressing him flat into the guest bed.