#mollifiedficlets

ilya can’t say no. even though cliff is so not his type.

it’s weird at first. cliff is a big guy—he has like four inches on ilya—and ilya doesn’t know what to do with that. cliff does not fold neatly into his arms. he does not just take what ilya gives him.

no, cliff kisses ilya like cliff kisses girls. puck bunnies. and ilya knows that once cliff gets enthusiastic consent from a puck bunny, he goes beast mode.

cliff’s big hands come up to grip ilya’s face and suddenly he feels—small? held? and then devoured. at cliff’s mercy.

his hookup hollander’s kisses sometimes feel like a question. is this okay does this feel good do you want this can i can i. cliff’s kisses feel like a demand, a taunt, less breathless and more controlled. yeah, take it, suck on my tongue just like you know you wanna suck my big fat cock, you like that don’t you, yeah you do, you like it, fuck, take it, take it.

maybe ilya…does want to take it? cliff’s stubble is rough and his grip is unyielding and he’s making these growls ilya feels in his chest. it’s almost like—like being kissed by himself.

and damn if that thought doesn’t make him hard.

ilya throws himself into the kiss. he sucks cliff's lower lip between his teeth and bites down—cliff bites harder. he tugs at cliff's hair—cliff tugs harder. he grabs cliff by the shoulders and shoves him down toward the mattress—cliff shoves back.

and that is how ilya rozanov ends up pinned to a hotel bed, getting face-fucked by his best buddy’s monster cock.

cliff says you wanna taste me like my bunnies do, roz, you gonna be a good bunny for me and swallow my load, and cliff doesn’t know that ilya's not normally like this, not normally into this submissive bunny thing, but it’s kind of freeing, and his cock is leaking, so he tries to speak but the words come out garbled around cliff’s length.

cliff pulls out. speak, he says, tapping his cock on ilya’s lips.

gospodi, to think he’d felt bad for the guy minutes ago.

yes, ilya says. come for me, marly, I will be good bunny, just come for me.

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.

and marlow is just like oh hey roz did you wanna share man, isn’t hollander so fucking pretty, he’s taking me so good, like he’s born to suck cock, isn’t that crazy who knew

and shane won’t even look at ilya, is sucking marlow with his eyes closed and his dick bulging in his joggers, just making nasty slurping choking noises on marlow's cock which is bigger than ilya’s and it's never bothered him before but fuck it sure does now

but ilya just shrugs and says yes okay, I will use his ass while he sucks you, we will put montreal in its place 

ilya grabs shane’s hips and forces him onto all fours but shane still won’t acknowledge him, and when he yanks down shane’s joggers he sees shane’s hole is already wet and loose, fucking hell, most guys just suck dick in the winner’s room but shane fucking prepped for marlow, like he wanted this, like he planned it  

ilya wants to cry but he also wants to come so he shoves his cock inside shane’s dripping hole, but shane's pretending he's not there, and marlow’s grinning at him as he fucks shane’s face, lifts up his hand and says high five man, what a fuckin beauty huh, oh shit, I’m gonna come 

marlow pulls back and jerks himself as ilya pounds into shane, and he knows he’s being too rough, but he wants a reaction, and god, why hasn't he texted shane back

shane starts babbling — come on me, marlow, give me all the cum that big fat cock has been making for me, want it so bad, you were the better player today, you deserve this, mark me with your cum and show everyone you’re the winner, you’re the winner, marlow, yeah—

and ilya’s best friend comes all over shane’s face with a roar, that big stupid monster cock pumping out impossible, endless spurts of cum that drip from shane’s freckles 

and ilya doesn’t want to come like this, not while shane is crying for his friend's cock, but shane feels so good on his dick, his hole clenching like he’s close, and ilya just can’t help it — he comes while shane is moaning marly, marly

Letting him? Letting him—what? Surely not.

“I’m sure no one else sees how pathetically obvious you are,” Shane continues, leaning in so that his breath is hot on Luca’s ear. “How you pant after him like a horny little puppy. But I can see how bad you need my husband’s cock.”

“Oh,” Luca chokes out. Shane’s thigh is suddenly wedged between his legs and Luca is aware that he’s at a half-chub. If Shane moves even a centimeter, he’ll be aware of it, too. 

“Yes, Haasy,” Shane coos into his ear, like he knows what Luca’s thinking. His thick thigh moves between Luca’s legs in a way that could be an innocent shift or a deliberate grind. Luca’s dick can’t tell the difference. It just wants. “If I tell Ilya to fuck you, he’ll fuck you. Would you want that?” 

Heat knifes through Luca’s belly and his knees almost give out, bending just enough so that Shane’s thigh is wedged firmly against his cock. 

This can’t be happening. This is definitely happening. 

God help him, he nods.

Shane makes a little hum of approval low in his throat, the bass of it shaking a spasm from Luca’s hips. “I’m just concerned for your safety, Haas. I don’t know if you could take him. If he would fit in that tight…virgin…ass,” Shane says, every word expelling a hot puff of air against Luca’s ear.

“I could take it—I know I could,” Luca babbles, the words finally spilling out in a rush. His cheeks are hot because somehow Shane has clocked him as a virgin and he’s about to overshare but he can’t stop. “I practice at home. On a dildo. I could take him if you let me. I could.”

He doesn’t know why he feels like crying.

Shane finally lets go of Luca’s wrist. He’s still smarting at the loss of contact, marveling at the faint red marks left behind, when he realizes that Shane is digging in his own duffel. For his phone, maybe? To call Ilya so his captain can yell at him for his unprofessional behavior, or so they can laugh at him together, at his pathetic hard-on in his flimsy shorts. But then Shane says—

“Show me.”

And Luca’s heart stops.

Because Shane is holding a dildo. 

It’s a sleek black thing, eight inches or more and thick enough to split him wide, with a suction cup at its base. 

Luca’s brain struggles to process it. Does Shane just—carry it around with him? Do Shane and Ilya fuck here in the locker room? Maybe Ilya uses it on him in the shower. Maybe he sticks it to the wall and makes Shane bend over and fuck himself onto it as the water courses over their naked bodies.

Luca is lost in his thoughts, his cock growing still harder against his thigh, when Shane presses the dildo down onto the wooden bench between them. Thanks to its suction cup base, it bobs obscenely for a moment before going still. 

“If you can take this, you can take Ilya,” Shane says simply. Like it’s just a matter of physics and not his marriage. Like this dildo isn’t blowing up Luca’s whole world. 

Shane pops the cap on a small bottle of lube he must’ve had stashed in his bag and drizzles it over the dildo. Fat globs of slick catch on the thick head before dripping down the sides in a slow ooze. Luca’s cock twitches miserably in the confines of his shorts. 

Shane just smirks. “Show me you can take it, and I’ll let you fuck him.” 

“You’re serious,” Luca says slowly. He’s looking around for the hidden camera, for the punchline, but Shane is nodding.

“Take your shorts off, Haasy. Let me see the little cock that’s been drooling for my husband.” 

Luca swallows. It’s not—he’s not little. But something sick in him likes Shane saying so, flares hot at the words, and he has no choice but to obey. 

He tugs his shorts down over his hips, pulling his briefs with them, until they’re bunched around his ankles. With a soft thwap, his hard cock slaps against his belly. And sure enough, it is drooling. For Ilya. For Shane. For… whatever this is. 

“Aww,” Shane says, lifting his hand to cover his mouth. “That’s cute.” 

Luca’s cheeks burn. “Shut up,” he says, but a traitorous bead of precome pools in his slit.

Shane pats the bench in front of him. “Now. You’ve been staring at my husband like a desperate whore for months. Let’s see if you can ride like one.” 

Luca looks down at the dildo. It’s not so thick that he needs to finger himself first. He grabs the lube off the bench and pours some onto his fingers, then uses it to slick his entrance. He straddles the bench and squats over it. He feels like—like an animal. Low and base and exposed.

“That’s a good boy, Haasy. Pretend it’s Ilya’s cock. Show me how you want to fuck him.”

That makes something snap inside him. 

Luca sinks down onto the dildo with a cry. He can’t take more than an inch or two at first, and his quads shake as he holds himself above in a squat, his chest heaving with deep, shuddering breaths. 

He closes his eyes and begins to move just like he does when he pleasures himself at home. When he fucks himself on his dildo and imagines being split open by his captain.

“That’s right,” Shane coos. “Ride Ilya’s dick, Haasy.”

“C-captain,” Luca whimpers, before he can stop himself. His hips are moving in slow circles, teasing the head of dildo just inside him. Then he lets himself sink lower, his whole body trembling with the effort not to slam himself down onto the toy, to split himself open before he’s ready. God, he wants it to hurt. “Ilya.” 

“Good boy,” Shane says, and Luca’s toes curl against the dirty locker room floor.

He loses himself in the sensation of fullness. He imagines the cold, hard dildo is hot and throbbing and real, a real cock attached to Ilya Rozanov, and then Luca can’t help it—he’s bouncing on it. Bouncing so hard his own cock is slapping against his stomach. He’s a slave to the pathetic need thrumming in his veins, the yearning he’s felt since before he really knew what it meant when his most intimate parts grew warm and tingly in his twin bed at night, Ilya’s poster on his wall.

“Ilya, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me, Captain.”

He’s distantly aware that Shane is talking. On the phone, maybe? But the dildo feels so good and his cock is leaking and he’s fucking himself on it faster now, slamming down onto it with a high, keening cry that echoes off the locker room walls. 

“Yeah, babe, you can come in now,” Shane is saying, Luca thinks, but he’s not really processing it. “Sure, bring Barrett. And—yeah, him too. There’s something I think they’ll want to see.”

The Irina Foundation is having a silent auction to raise money for their camps, and Cliff is stoked to have been invited. He’s enjoyed the canapes and the booze, scrawled his name on bid sheets for a weekend at Hollander’s cottage and an Instagram photoshoot with Barrett’s boyfriend. But it’s the end of the night—everybody’s champagne glasses down to dregs, their bowties and lips loosened—and one item still has zero bids, because Roz is staring daggers at anyone who approaches the table. That item?

WIN A DATE WITH LUCA HAAS.

Fuck, it’s like getting picked last for kickball. Or worse, not getting picked at all. 

Cliff wasn’t born a 6’3” sex god. His growth spurt hit late, at thirteen. Years of bullying had left his heart tender in places, and seeing that blank page under Haas’s name aches something awful, like digging your thumb into a yellowed bruise. 

Haas has been hiding out in a corner all night, not making eye contact with anyone, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He’s offered up his heart and body (which, objectively speaking, seems… pretty fucking solid) for a good cause, and nobody wants him enough to challenge his weirdly overprotective captain. The poor kid is gonna be crushed.

So Cliff waits—until his head is swimming with champagne, Roz has mysteriously disappeared, and Hollander’s mother is collecting the bid sheets as the ballroom empties out. Before she can snatch up Luca’s sheet, Cliff darts forward and puts pen to paper.

Cliff Marlow. $50k.

Something loosens in his chest.

Mrs. Hollander smiles kindly at him as she picks up the sheet. “Enjoy your date!” 

Right. Now he’s got to go on a date. Cliff is suddenly dizzy, blinking up at the too-bright ballroom lights and adjusting his too-tight bowtie for a long minute until there’s a tap on his shoulder. He turns around.

Yeah, Marlow’s close. It’s hot, how pathetically gone he is for Luca’s mouth, but Shane can’t lose focus—he has to make Ilya come first. He hollows his cheeks and bobs his head faster, twisting his hand around Ilya’s base and moaning low in his throat so Ilya can feel the vibration. He’s rewarded with a string of curses in Russian and Ilya’s fingers tightening in his hair, tugging just enough to sting. Come for me, he thinks. Come down my throat in front of our friends and show them who you belong to. Show them I’m the best you’ve ever had.

“Roz, I—fuck,” Marlow groans, his bare thigh knocking against Ilya’s.

“Spit it out, Marly, I do not want your idiot voice in my ear when I come.”

“I need to fuck Luca so bad. Please, can we fuck them? I know it’s not the challenge, but—”

“Yes,” Ilya says, pushing Shane off his dick. It slips out of his mouth with a wet pop, and Shane can’t help but whimper at the loss. He’d been so close to tasting Ilya’s come. To winning. “Is great idea. Boys, to the bedroom. You both know where it is, mm?”

They don’t have to be told twice. Shane staggers to his feet, his legs like jelly after so long on his knees, his head swimming with wine and want. Luca’s hot, sweat-slick palm catches his and pulls him from the living room as Ilya and Marlow talk about them like they’re not there: look how sweet they are together, how eager, should we make them hold hands while we fuck them, and Shane’s heart thumps yes, yes, yes as they tumble down the hall, their breaths coming fast now, in short, needy gasps.