Just a Fangirl in a Fandom World

“No, Shane and I will go, it’s fine. I am captain, I should go.”

Shane puts an arm on Ilya. “Exactly, you’re the captain. You need to be with the majority of the team, Ilya.”

Ilya sighs, looking to Wiebe, whose red face is starting to cool. Coach shrugs and gestures to Luca. “Okay, bud. Looks like you’re on your own tonight.”

Ilya pins Luca with an overly sinister stare. “Are you sure you can behave, party boy? Be in by curfew without me having to check?”

Luca snorts. “Yes, cap. I’ll be just fine, I promise. I’ll meet up for the bus bright and early.”

“Good. We will do something nice for you for your sacrifice. We will storm our brains,” Ilya smiles, patting him on the shoulder. 

There’s babbling commotion as everyone heads to their respective rooms to unwind. A few drinks together at a local bar, and the team calls it a night. Ilya is already handsy on their way up to their room, and Shane only protests slightly as he scans them through the door. Ilya’s lips are on Shane’s neck, hands slipping under his shirt, and Shane is laughing at the eagerness. 

“We’ll get there, tiger. Hold on a minute. I probably drank more than I should’ve.”

“Little lightweight,” Ilya chuckles into his neck, squeezing his waist before letting Shane escape across the room. He pulls open the curtains to take in the view. Not much of one. Their seventh story window looks into the next hotel over a courtyard. Most of the curtains across the way are drawn shut, but he does notice one as Ilya’s hands find him again, his mouth back on his neck. 

“Look, I think that’s Luca,” Shane mumbles as Ilya’s teeth work over his skin. 

“What is Luca?” He mutters back, sounding entirely uninterested in anything but Shane’s body in his buzzed state. 

“Look,” he says again, bumping his shoulder and pointing a finger at a man in an armchair across and one floor up from them. It’s definitely Luca, his knees up on the chair with a sketch pad and some sort of writing implement in his hand, his forehead pressed against the glass and staring out. 

“Mmm, do think he wants a show?” Ilya whispers against his ear, groping Shane’s ass as he grinds his cock against him. 

“Ilya,” Shane laughs, but tilting his head to the side for Ilya’s lips. 

“I think you want to,” Ilya says, sliding Shane’s shirt off over his head as well as his own. 

“Ilya…”

“I think you get jealous when you see Luca look at me like he does.”

“I don’t…” Shane objects, but he doesn’t move to stop him. 

“I think you want to show him who owns me. Who gets to be fucked by me at the end of the night. You wanna show him how good you are for me?” Ilya lures, kissing over his shoulder and slipping both his hands into Shane’s joggers to grip his bare ass. 

“Yes,” Shane finally admits breathlessly. His eyes flicker up to Luca’s window, and Shane freezes. 

Luca is staring right at them, one of his feet dropped to the floor. Shane glances at Ilya, and sees him looking as well, directly at the man. It’s like Luca can’t look away. 

In one swift move, Ilya jerks down Shane’s bottoms, and Shane whines against the window. “This is a bad idea.”

“And you want it so fucking bad,” Ilya growls, pulling his cock out and rocking it into the split of Shane’s ass. 

“At least turn the light off.”

Ilya exhales over his skin and nods. He flips off the main light, but lightly dims the lamp on the desk, enough for a silhouette. When Shane looks back up at Luca’s room, he’s turned off his light as well, but the moon illuminates him enough that he can see both feet on the floor, knees spread. 

“Stay there,” Ilya orders, kissing his hair. 

Shane pants against the cold window, fogging the glass, but he can see the shift of something moving up and down in Luca’s lap. Shane’s gut flips at the knowledge of what his teammate is very obviously doing, even after clear eye contact had been established. It was like Ilya had silently invited it, as if he was under Ilya’s spell like he had been since he was a kid. It should piss Shane off, it should soften his cock, but it doesn’t. Shane is rock hard and pressed against the dark window, gazing up at Luca’s moonlit fist as his cock drools against the glass. 

He feels Ilya behind him, then wet fingers at his partially stretched hole from where Ilya fucked him this morning. 

“I’ll be quick. I know you want this cock. Know you want to show him how desperate you are for me.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Shane snips at him, a mixture of the alcohol and the horniness and the anxiety of having an audience. 

“Fuck, I love when you get bitchy with me,” Ilya growls through gritted teeth, removing his fingers and pressing his tip to Shane’s ass. 

“Then you’re gonna love me if you make me wait any longer,” Shane groans, digging his fingers into Ilya’s ass and urging him forward. 

“I thought you wanted me to give you a minute,” Ilya smirks against his ear. “Pulled away from me and everything.”

Shane tilts his head back, glaring at Ilya’s lightly intoxicated, sloppy grin. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Ilya whispers in a teasing tone, nosing behind his ear and groaning into him as his cock breaches his hole. 

Shane’s head flops back bonelessly onto Ilya’s shoulder as he his mouth drops open in a moan, pressing back onto Ilya’s dick now that he’s inside. 

“Oh, you want it, huh?” Ilya coos, sinking into him inch by inch, making him wait. “You want my cock?”

“Yes, sir,” Shane relents, reverting to what he knows works when he has something he wants. 

“Mmm, you know I love that, baby. Know just how to work me, huh? Too bad Haasy can’t hear you. Maybe we should let him some time,” Ilya croons, at last bottoming out as deep as he can in their standing position with Ilya’s knees slightly bent. Shane whines, writhing on his length, feeling so full and yet so unsatisfied. 

“Ilya…”

“Beg me to fuck you,” he growls, grinding his cock agonizingly inside him. “Be a good boy for me. Tell me how bad you want it. Just for me to hear.”

“You're killing me, Ilya,” he moans. 

Hands lash out, snatching his wrists and binding them behind his back, arching him by his shoulders against Ilya’s body, pushing a gasp out of Shane’s mouth. 

“Do it,” Ilya spits. “Do it, and I’ll fuck you until you cry. Let Haasy really see what I reduce you to, yeah?”

Shane whimpers, his eyes flicking up to Luca’s window, and all he sees is a slowed movement in his lap. 

“He’s getting bored, baby. Give him some excitement, yes?”

“Please,” Shane whines, shuffling his feet to feel his cock jostle inside him. “Please fuck me, sir. Show him how you fuck me.”

Ilya hums hungrily in his ear, releasing his arms, and Shane steadies himself against the glass with both hands, leaning forward. Ilya grasps his jutted hips and begins to slam into him relentlessly from the start. Shane is loud against the glass, expanding the probability of other teammates hearing on either side of them, but it wouldn’t be the first time. They’ve been raucous in a hotel room more than once, teased endlessly by their fellow Cens, but they had hidden their love for long enough to care much. 

Ilya takes him by the hair, jerking him to look up at Luca, whose hand is now moving much faster. “Oh, he likes it, doesn’t he? Look how naughty he is, baby. Might be as naughty as you, huh?”

Shane can’t even verbalize a response, just keening and whining against the glass with distorted pleading as Ilya forces his cheek against the window. 

“You can come when he comes. Make it good for him,” Ilya instructs, thrusting into him hard and rough and purposefully avoiding direct pressure on his prostate. 

“Please, Ilya,” he moans, fiending for his own release, but then he sees it. He sees grander movement in Luca’s window, his hips moving sharply until the finally still, and his silhouette collapses into the chair. 

“Well, look at that,” Ilya sings in his ear, biting his ear and fucking into him just right. “Come for us, baby boy. All over the window.”

Shane groans, jacking his cock until he spurts all over the glass, the barrier fogged to hell and now splattered with his own spend. 

“On your knees. Now,” Ilya orders, pulling out of him and manhandling him down onto his knees, guiding him sideways for ideal viewing of his actions. “Mouth open.”

Loose and compliant, his jaw drops and his tongue falls out, tiny, needy noises escaping his throat. Ilya jerks himself off, crying out as his come hits Shane square in the face, over his tongue, his chin, his nose as he squeezes out every last drop on him. He slaps his cheek with his spent cock, dragging it through his release and accumulating it to shovel into Shane’s open mouth. His lips close around his softening length as he swallows down what he’s fed. 

“So good,” Ilya praises, smearing whatever is leftover on his skin with a proud grin. 

When Shane glances at Luca’s room again, the curtains are shut. 

—

Practice the next morning sees a lot of cajoling by their teammates, as expected, but a mysteriously silent Luca Haas. 

In between drills, Ilya bumps Luca’s shoulder with a broad, shit-eating grin. “What is the matter, Haasy? Didn’t like your late night entertainment? Looked like you had a good time from where we were standing.”

Luca blinks, shifting his eyes to Shane, and he can feel the blush on his own cheeks as sharply as he can see it on his teammate.