haasollanov ficlet: let me show you how to do this
Ilya has been inside Luca Haas for all of a minute when the kid starts crying on his cock.
After-dinner drinks had escalated more quickly than Shane anticipated. He’d no sooner brushed a hand across Luca’s thigh and suggested that perhaps he could mold him into the next Shane Hollander—not just on the ice, but in the bedroom—when Luca surged forward and kissed him. Please, Shane, please teach me, Luca had panted into his open mouth, high and needy, like the poor puck bunnies that used to throw themselves at him in the before.
If you want me to teach you, Shane had said, you’ll need to call me Mr. Hollander.
Luca had obliged. Ilya looked like he was going to come on the spot. They hadn’t made it to the bedroom.
Now Luca is on all fours on their living room rug and Ilya is pounding into him hard enough that his sculpted arms look like they’ll give out beneath him. He’s gone from whimpering to keening to straight-up sobbing faster than he can say fuck me, Captain—which he has been, loudly and repeatedly.
It’s a little bit like listening to a recording of himself when he was younger, and it’s got Shane leaking in his jeans, but Luca doesn’t need to know that right now.
“I thought you wanted to be like me, Haas.” Shane kneels and tangles his fingers in Luca’s cornsilk hair. When he doesn’t respond, apparently too drunk on Ilya’s cock to care (and Shane gets it, he really does), Shane tugs sharply until their eyes meet and their lips are centimeters apart.
“I do,” Luca gasps. His cheeks—still so round with baby fat in a way that makes him look unbearably vulnerable—are dripping with tears Shane wants to chase with his tongue. “I do, Mr. Hollander, please.”
Fuck, Ilya mouths.
“You think I cry like a little bitch when my husband fucks me?”
Ilya raises an eyebrow at him, which Shane chooses to ignore.
Luca shakes his head just as Ilya’s hips snap forward in another punishing thrust, filling the room with the filthy slap of skin on skin.
“N-no, Mr. Hollander.”
The kid’s body lurches forward and his face collides with Shane’s chest, leaving an unfortunate smear of sweat on his t-shirt. He peels it off with careful fingers and tosses it aside.
“Oh, fuck,” Luca moans. “Look at you.”
“Really, Haas,” Shane says, tutting even as his chest swells. It’s not like Luca hasn’t seen him in the locker room, but now the kid’s eyes are saucers, the way his own must’ve been the first time he’d seen Ilya’s pecs. He drags a thumb through the tear track on Luca’s cheek before sucking it into his mouth. It only makes Luca keen harder. “Listen to yourself. You sound pathetic. You’ll never be like me at this rate.”
Despite being balls deep in his rookie’s ass, Ilya manages to huff out a laugh that he tries to cover with a groan. Just for that, Shane vows to get cum in his eyes later tonight.
“Please teach me.” Luca’s voice cracks. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
“Oh, I know you will,” Shane says. He realizes as he says it that the situation is beyond inappropriate, but his husband looks blissed the fuck out and his own cock is dripping steadily and he can’t bring himself to care right now. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? So fucking desperate for it. No self-respect. Little slut.” He pets Luca’s hair just like he does Anya’s fur; there is something hopelessly puppyish about the boy. “If you want to improve, you have to admit where you’re falling short, yeah?”
“Yes, Mr. Hollander.” Luca can barely get the words out. Ilya’s every thrust seems to knock the air from his lungs; his mouth drops open on a long whine as Ilya fucks him mercilessly. “I’m a—I’m a little bitch. I’m pathetic and desperate and—oh, God.” Luca chokes on a moan. “I’m a slut. Your slut. Captain’s slut.”
Well, fuck. It’s a little like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?
“That’s right, Haas. Good boy.” Shane glances up at Ilya. His husband’s eyes are molten, his lower lip caught between his teeth like he’s trying to hold back a moan. “But you’re lucky. You know why?”
“Uh-uh,” Luca says, breathless.
“I said I’d be your teacher, and I meant it.” Shane cups Luca’s face, fingers digging into the fat of his cheeks. He pinches them together just hard enough to make the kid wince. “I’m going to let my husband fuck you until you learn to take his cock properly.”
Luca moans. Good. Shane is being awfully generous.
“You’ll never be as good as me, of course,” Shane says lightly, and Luca looks up at him, eyes wide and wet. His lower lip trembles. It’s pathetic in a way that makes Shane’s cock throb in his jeans. “But I’ll get you so close, Haas. Almost as good as me.”
Shane kisses him, plunging his tongue between Luca’s lips and savoring the whimper that escapes, and then Ilya does moan, long and low in a way that sends heat knifing through Shane’s belly. His relentless thrusts keep knocking their teeth together until Shane finally pulls away.
Luca gapes at him like he’s a god, and to Luca, Shane supposes, he is. He really should discourage that sort of thing—it’s not good for the team to have a hierarchy—but his dick likes it too much.
“You should thank Mr. Hollander, Haasy,” Ilya says through clenched teeth as he switches to a slow, dirty grind. “You are lucky to have such good teacher.”
“Thank you.” Luca’s response is immediate. Shane isn’t going to tell him so, but the way the kid takes orders from Ilya is, of course, all too familiar. “Fuck, thank you, Mr. Hollander—oh my God. Right there, yes, don’t stop.”
It all crystallizes for him, then. Ilya taught him everything he knows. It had been unbearably sexy, and Shane wouldn’t have changed a thing. But apparently some part of him has been waiting for his turn. To teach. To correct. To watch someone absorb his every word like it’s gospel.
“You really want to thank me, Haas?” Shane asks.
Luca nods frantically. “Uh-huh.”
“Then let’s find a better use for that mouth,” Shane says, and pulls out his cock. “Let me show you how to do this.”
---
Later, when Luca has collapsed onto his stomach and come is dripping from his ass and off his nose, Ilya breaks the silence.
“Is okay, Haasy. Shane cries like little bitch when I fuck him, too.”
“Take it back, Rozanov!” Shane lunges for him and they topple onto the couch.
From somewhere on the floor comes a small, exhausted voice.
“Oh, no.”
Shane freezes mid-tickle.
“This is so terrible,” Luca murmurs. “My dads are fighting.”
