“is there anything so undoing as a daughter”

"What the fuck," Brian says, and Ilya immediately decides he hates his voice too.

"I was just gonna text you," Shane blurts. His face has gone pale. "I'm sorry, I - I didn't know he'd be here."

Brian turns to him. "What the fuck," he repeats. "Why are you apologizing to him?"

"Well, we had plans," Shane says, ever reasonable. Ilya wants to kiss him.

"That's not the point. Since when have you been fucking Ilya Rozanov?"

Ah, so he at least pays enough attention to hockey to know who Ilya is. This is good news, it means he's already aware of how poorly he measures up.

"What does it matter?"

"Since last June," Ilya helpfully supplies. "MHL awards, in Vegas."

Shane shoots him a murderous glare and Ilya shrugs, unable to even pretend to be sorry.

"Since June?" Brian repeats faintly.

Shane throws up his hands. "Again, what does it matter? You told me to find someone else to fuck. Don't tell me you're pissed that I did what you asked."

"I'm not pissed," Brian says, clearly lying. "This all just caught me off guard. You can't tell me you'd be fine with it if someone I was fucking came to my place on one of our rare nights together."

"I wouldn't show up at your apartment unannounced."

"I was trying to be romantic and surprise my boyfriend!"

"For fuck's sake, Brian, we've been dating for seven years, you know I don't like surprises."

He didn't know you like getting your ass eaten either, Ilya thinks but very bravely does not say.

Brian huffs. "Apparently I don't know you as well as I thought I did."

Shane looks struck at that and for the first time since he arrived, Ilya feels a twinge of worry. As much as he wants to watch this relationship implode, he doesn't want to see Shane hurt.

"Maybe you should be paying more attention, then," Ilya suggests lightly.

"Why are you still here?" Brian shoots back, lips twisted in an ugly sneer. "Obviously your services are not required tonight."

Anger rises in Ilya's chest, a swelling wave terrifying in its intensity. His services? How dare this asshole reduce everything he's shared with Shane in the past few months down to something so cheap and disposable?

"That was fucking uncalled for," Shane says before Ilya has a chance to respond, expression tight. "Don't be such an asshole."

Brian gapes at him. It's clear how unused he is to Shane talking to him this way. It settles Ilya's anger, replacing it with pride and smug vindication.

"Whatever," Brian finally mutters. "Just get him to leave, would you?"

And Shane.

Shane hesitates.

"Are you serious," Brian says flatly.

"We only see each other when our game schedules line up," Shane says, looking guilty. "I just - I don't like it when plans change suddenly. But obviously, Rozanov's leaving."

The flicker of hope in Ilya's chest dies abruptly. And fine, it's not like he actually expected Shane to throw out his boyfriend for him. It's just that for a moment, it really seemed like he would.

"I'm walking him out," Brian decides.

Shane doesn't protest. The fight seems to have left him. Ilya can only hope it will return once he's gone, but just in case it won't...

Brian walks him to the bottom of the stairs, which Ilya is sure is meant to be some kind of power move but really suits his purposes perfectly.

"Don't get it twisted," Brian says, once they're at the door. He's standing tall again, posed on the step above Ilya, a poor attempt at intimidation. "I'm surprised, not angry. This - you, your thing with Shane, it's not worth getting angry over."

Ilya quirks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You're not Shane's type," Brian says, giving Ilya a condescending smile. "No offense, I've just heard you're kind of an asshole."

Ilya shrugs. "And I've heard you're a creep who likes picking up drunk teenagers."

Brian flushes a bright red. It takes him a long moment to compose himself enough to respond and when he does, his voice is low and heated.

"I don't know what kind of bullshit Shane has been feeding you-"

"Shane has been lying to no one but himself," Ilya cuts him off, viciously satisfied when Brian's mouth snaps shut. "He thinks you are a good person. He doesn't see how badly you have treated him, because you have had him blinded since he was too young to know better."

"That is not-"

"You are a shitty, sorry excuse of a man," Ilya says, careful and slow so Brian can feel the weight behind every word. "You don't deserve Shane, and he won't be yours for much longer."

"You think you're gonna steal him away?" Brian asks, feinting indifference.

Ilya grins. "I already have been. That first time in Vegas, I fucked him so good he came hands free. Last month, at All Stars, I had him begging for my cock for three nights straight."

Brian's jaw is clenched so tight, it must be painful.

"I would ask if he's the same with you," Ilya continues, "but I already know he's not. He would not be this desperate for me if you were keeping him satisfied."

"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," Brian hisses. He looks wound tight, ready to punch Ilya.

Ilya would love for him to try.

"The only reason he stayed with you this long is because he didn't know he could do better." Ilya reaches down, wrapping his hand around the door handle. "Now he does, and you only have yourself to blame."

He swings the door open. The chilly evening breeze blows in, and it seems to snap Brian out of his stupor.

"Shane is loyal," he bites out. "He's not gonna throw our relationship away for some asshole who's kind of a good lay."

He'd sound more convincing, Ilya thinks, if he didn't look like he was on the verge of angry tears.

"Have a nice night," Ilya says pleasantly, stepping out. "Try not to think about how soon, you will be alone and I will be fucking Shane on every surface in that apartment."

The door slams shut behind him before he has to hear Brian's reply.

+

"Games are over," Rozanov says once he's inside, door closed safely behind him. He places his hand on Shane's chest, gently backing him into the wall. "I get to fuck you tonight, yes?"

Shane swallows, cock twitching in his pants. He still isn't used to how shamelessly Rozanov wants him. It's kind of ridiculously hot, the way he keeps chasing Shane even long after he let himself be caught.

"I don't know," Shane says, like he's fooling either of them. "You almost got us caught last night."

Rozanov tilts his head. "You were the loud one."

Shane flushes at the reminder. "Yeah, well, that was your fault."

He leans in and kisses Rozanov before he can make some self-satisfied remark in response. Rozanov hums against his lips, stepping in closer so his body blankets Shane's entirely. He nudges one thigh between Shane's legs, pressing it against Shane's hardening cock. Shane pulls away, gasping.

"I'm, ah, serious," he says. "We need to be more careful tonight."

"We will," Rozanov assures him. "I will fuck you slow, okay? Stop any time you make any noise."

Shane bites back a whimper. "Fuck. Yeah, okay, sounds good."

Last night, Rozanov brought him to the edge four times before finally letting him come. This sounds like a similar type of torture and Shane wants it, badly.

Rozanov pulls him in for another kiss and they stumble towards the bed, lips locked. There's less urgency to it than usual, the edge of it tempered by the two previous nights they've spent together. Rozanov's touch is proprietary as always, hand wrapping around Shane's waist like it belongs there, but it's gentler.

They don't stop kissing, pulling apart only to remove their clothes. They've done nothing but kiss and Shane already feels dizzy, skin buzzing and tight. Rozanov's body slots perfectly on top of his, and Shane kind of wants to wrap his legs around his waist and never let him leave.

"Did he fuck you like this the first time?" Rozanov asks, voice low. "Face to face?"

It's like a bucket of cold water. Shane's stomach goes tight but for the first time, thinking of Brian while he's with Rozanov doesn't bring one ounce of guilt. Just a vague sense of wrongness.

"Don't," he says. "I don't wanna think about him right now. This is about you and me."

Rozanov looks startled. His eyes search Shane's face, lips slack in surprise. It makes him look vulnerable, younger.

"Okay," he agrees quietly. "Just you and me."

They fuck like that, face to face. Rozanov keeps to his word, going deep and slow, making Shane feel every inch as he pushes inside, swallowing down the noises Shane can't keep in. Not speeding up even as Shane wraps his legs around him, lifting his hips and urging him to go faster.

Finally, Shane gives in. It's intense, this slow rhythm, Rozanov's cock feeling even bigger inside him than usual. Sweat prickles at his forehead, pleasure rolling over his body in waves. When it finally crests and breaks, Rozanov catches those noises too, sealing his lips over Shane's and kissing him until his lungs start to burn.

Rozanov pulls out briefly and then urges Shane on his side, lying besides him chest to back. He grabs Shane's thigh and lifts it, spreading his legs and pushing back in with a punched out groan.

He's fucking Shane in quick, shallow thrusts now, the motions of it almost soothing. It doesn't take long for him to finish, muttering softly in Russian into the nape of Shane's neck.

"Fuck," he breathes out.

Shane hums in agreement. He feels content and oddly exhausted, eyelids fluttering as he fights to keep them open.

Rozanov is still inside of him, he realizes belatedly. Still inside of him and making no move to leave, arm wrapped around Shane's middle. Without thinking, Shane reaches down, placing his hand on top of Rozanov's on his stomach. Rozanov tenses for a moment, then relaxes.

He's still there when Shane's eyes slip shut, sleep finally claiming him.

He will be gone by the time he wakes up.

+

Hollander forbids him from actually fucking him, since he doesn't want to be sore for the skills competition or the games themselves, even though nobody takes them seriously.

Ilya pins him face down, pushes his thighs together and fucks his dick between them, cockhead pressing teasingly against Hollander's rim on every push. When Hollander starts whining loudly, Ilya shuts him up with three fingers shoved roughly in his mouth.

He finishes between Hollander's legs, then flips him over and swallows his cock down. Hollander comes like a shot down Ilya's throat, biting down on his own fingers to muffle the sounds.

They rest for a while and go a second round, trading lazy handjobs and kissing until their lips feel numb.

It's a good night.

Convincing Hollander to meet up the second night is even easier than the first and Ilya mentally congratulates himself on a job well done so far.

It takes them longer to sneak out unseen than the previous day but Ilya refuses to feel rushed. Once they're in his room he takes his time, stripping Hollander's clothes off one by one and kissing him slowly and languidly, laying him out on the bed like a meal to be savored.

He brings Hollander near the edge with his hand, and then his mouth. By the second thwarted orgasm Hollander is already writhing, hips thrusting uselessly into the empty air and hand grasping Ilya's shoulder so tightly, he knows it's gonna bruise.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice threaded high. "Fucking - let me come, Rozanov."

Ilya kisses his stomach. "No. Is more fun this way."

"Fun for who?" Hollander demands.

"You like it," Ilya says decisively. "You like having to earn your reward."

Hollander considers that. "What do I have to do to earn it?"

Ilya hadn't thought quite that far. He feels a little bit like a big cat, playing with his meal. All he knows is he's not ready to eat just yet.

He also wants to see just how far he can push Hollander.

"Tell me about your first time."

Hollander looks down at him, brows furrowing. "What - why?"

"I want to see if I can do it better," Ilya says, grinning.

"That's sick, Rozanov."

Ilya hums. Hollander's cock is inches away from his face, from where Ilya's been pressing kisses into his overheated skin. It's still rock hard.

"Is it? You get off on competition."

Hollander's lips twist. "It's not a competition."

"Everything can be a competition," Ilya disagrees.

"That's not - it doesn't matter. It's not a sexy story, anyway. It would kill the mood."

"It's a story about you having sex," Ilya says. "What's the problem, exactly?"

Hollander shrugs, the motion clumsy since he's currently resting on his elbows. "It was just... awkward. You remember what it was like being a teenager."

Ilya raises his eyebrows. "Oh, you assume I was having sex when I was a teenager? You think I'm a slut like you?"

Hollander's cock twitches. Interesting. "Don't even try."

"Alright," Ilya concedes. "It was awkward, but I was having sex with other awkward teenagers. You had a... ah, senior citizen? To guide you."

"Fuck off," Hollander says, so quick Ilya knows it's mostly instinct. "I'm just saying, I didn't know what the hell I was doing. It was weird."

Now Ilya is curious. "Tell me."

Hollander looks conflicted. He shifts on his elbows, abs twitching at the movement. "We were in the backseat of his car, the first time. He like... crawled on top of me? It was really cramped, so he had me pretty much pinned down."

The mental image is both enticing and repulsive. Hollander looks good pinned down, but Ilya finds that he viscerally hates the idea of another man doing the pinning.

"And then?" Ilya asks, because he's a glutton for punishment.

"He took my hand, to show me where to put it. We gave each other handjobs, and then he drove me home."

"What a way with words," Ilya says flatly. "You are sure you're a hockey player, not a poet?"

Hollander rolls his eyes. "I told you it wasn't a sexy story."

"Or maybe you are a bad storyteller."

Hollander kicks him. Ilya grabs his foot and uses the leverage to push his legs apart, grinning when Hollander easily lets him.

"Is okay," Ilya says. "I will show you how a real first time should go. This fancy hotel room is no backseat of a car, but we will make do."

Hollander rolls his eyes.

It's a pity Ilya won't be able to fuck that attitude out of him until tomorrow.

Tonight he'll have to make do with edging him until he cries.

+