#hollaneau

It wasn't going to be as big of a blow up as if Shane and Ilya were ever spotted together, at least, which was the only reason Shane hadn't fled the room every time the tall Raiders player sought Shane out to talk to him. It helped that Cliff was not a career-long Boston player; Boston was actually the third team of his career, and Cliff was well-liked on his previous two teams, which meant that players across the league were friendly with him. So Shane could be too, right? Plus it was All-Stars; All-Stars was a different beast altogether. They were teammates here, not opposing forces, and everyone around them seemed to think the same way; Shane saw a Philadelphia player and a Pittsburgh player doing shots and sharing an order of fries the first night, and the hatred between those teams was just as bad if not worse than Montreal and Boston.

So it was fine. It was fine!!

What was less fine was Ilya's fucking text, haunting the back of his mind like a fucking poltergeist.

If Marley is hitting on you is because he wants to. You're hot, he likes both, easy math. He's a good lay, you should take him up on it.

Jesus. Obviously Rozanov saw other people—obviously—but Shane really had been knocked sideways by that. Not just because he was shocked that Rozanov was taking such a risk by sleeping with one of his teammates, (what if they had a falling out? What if they were discovered?) but he was encouraging Shane to sleep with Cliff too?? The man was clearly insane.

Except... except. Fuck. Hanging out with Cliff was surprisingly nice?? He was a bit of a shit the same way Ilya was, which was probably why they got along so well, and he and Shane had a surprising amount of things in common. And now they were lingering outside Shane's hotel room door on the last night of All-Stars and Shane was fucking considering it.

Then Cliff asked him what time he was leaving tomorrow, with a look at Shane's door, and...

"You wanna come in?"

He could not believe he'd just asked that, but judging by the wolfish grin tugging up the corners of Cliff's mouth—not to mention his eyes scanning up and down Shane's body, making Shane feel hot all over—that was exactly what he had been hoping to hear.

"Love to."

Shane gives a quick look up and down the hallway, then fishes the keycard out of his pocket and lets them in.

As soon as the door is closed, Cliff is caging him against the wall, hands planted on either side of Shane's head, not touching, but Shane's heart is trying to pound out of his ribcage anyway.

"I think we... we're on the same page, here, aren't we?" Shane squeaks, and Cliff gives a little laugh.

"Yeah, think so. Vegas Rules, right? What happens at All-Stars, stays at All-Stars, that sort of thing?"

Shane nods, then Cliff nods, then he's leaning down to kiss Shane, and Shane had really not thought about the height difference until this moment.

And Shane's brain is fucking whirring with possibility, a fucking roulette wheel of sexual acts, because his original plan for the weekend had been to let Rozanov shove his face into the mattress as he pounded into him from behind, but Rozanov's injury had put the kibosh on that. And now he has Cliff, but he doesn't know what Cliff's like in this situation; Rozanov had simply said he was a good lay, but did that mean that Rozanov fucked him the way he fucked Shane? Was Marleau expecting Shane to top?

Shane is abruptly stopped from spiraling by Cliff palming his cock through his jeans, then sliding his lips along Shane's jaw to his ear to huskily ask, "What do you like, Hollander?"

Shane thinks about the cocktails at dinner, and the fact that Cliff had earnestly asked the same question.

"Mouth," Shane finds the breath to answer. "Your mouth. Please."

Cliff doesn't hesitate to drop to his knees and attack the fastenings on Shane's jeans.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Shane's warning him, pulling on Cliff's hair (so different than Ilya's curls, but still so nice to hold, so soft and thick and dark). But jfc, Cliff just asks him how fast he can get it up again, if Cliff gets him off right now, and Shane's knees nearly buckle. (Twelve minutes, ends up being the correct answer.)

They also eventually make it to the bed, and manage to get their clothes off, and all it takes is Shane quietly asking Cliff to fuck him before Shane is being fingered and fondled and folded into a pretzel so Cliff Marleau's thick as fuck cock can plow him so good he has to scream into a pillow or someone is definitely going to call security.

And it's... it's all the intense, heavy physicality that Shane needs, that makes his brain go blessedly quiet and forces him into feeling every molecule in his body, but the after is what is distinctly different. Rozanov barely lingers, and Shane has always followed his lead, but Cliff damn near makes himself at home after. And before Shane knows it, they're somehow talking about guilty pleasure sitcoms, Shane laying on his back and Cliff on his side, his head propped up on one hand as the other drags his fingertips up and down Shane's thigh.

Shane ends up having to kind of... kick him out. 😅 Mostly because he's paranoid, and the risk of Cliff being seen sneaking out of Shane's room in the morning nearly makes Shane anxiety spiral. Thankfully Cliff is chill and understanding, though a little disappointed, because even though him and Ilya never share a bed overnight, they do share a room and will usually chat for a while, even after they've cleaned up and settled into their separate beds. (And they occasionally take advantage of morning wood, too, which is an added bonus that Cliff was secretly kind of hoping he could take advantage of with Hollander.)

He also gives Shane half a dozen "goodbye kisses" that temporarily make Shane forget why he was asking Cliff to leave.

Yeah... there was no way this was going to be a one-and-done, All-Stars Exclusive.