Chapter Four #2
Shane blushed just thinking about it. He couldn’t really want that, could he?
He had more or less decided on the second option: he would talk to Rozanov.
They would put this behind them as quickly as possible so things wouldn’t be weird when the season started.
He tidied up the room, even though it was already perfectly tidy.
He changed his shirt to a nicer one for no reason at all.
He brushed his teeth, flossed, and rinsed with mouthwash.
Because if he was going to be talking to Rozanov, it would be rude to have bad breath.
He fixed his hair a bit. He switched his phone to silent mode.
He decided to turn on the television, just so it wouldn’t look like he’d just been sitting there staring at the door.
He flipped to a baseball game and turned the sound down low. He shut off the overhead light and turned on all of the lamps. He checked himself in the mirror. Again.
The knock came at seven minutes after nine o’clock. Shane checked the peephole just to make sure Rozanov wasn’t pranking him or anything.
It was just Rozanov. Alone.
Shane turned off the television, because having it on suddenly seemed dumb. He opened the door and let Rozanov in.
Rozanov looked like he may have put a little effort into his appearance too.
He was wearing a black button-up shirt, his gold chain winking at Shane from the wide-open collar.
His hair, which was usually a mess of curls, had been tamed a bit, though one lock had already escaped and was tumbling adorably onto Rozanov’s forehead.
“Thought you might have chickened out,” Rozanov said in his infuriatingly blunt manner.
“No,” Shane said. “I mean, I just want to talk. About...you know.”
“I do know. Yes.”
“Uh, do you want to...sit? Maybe?”
Rozanov took a step toward him. “Not really.”
He was so close that Shane could feel the heat of his body. Or maybe he was imagining it.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Shane said weakly.
“What?” Rozanov said, tucking a knuckle under Shane’s chin and tilting it up. “This?”
He brought his mouth down on Shane’s, and Shane flooded with panic.
He was stiff against Rozanov, lips pressed together, eyes open.
But Rozanov persisted. Shane felt the tip of Rozanov’s tongue trace the outline of his lips, seeking entry.
Long fingers threaded into his hair, and Shane surrendered.
He parted his lips and closed his eyes, and Rozanov deepened the kiss, pushing between his lips and pressing his tongue to Shane’s.
Shane had never kissed a man, and somewhere in the back of his splintering brain he wondered if Rozanov ever had either. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing.
Shane felt like he was made of alarm bells. Like his panic was going to somehow wake up the entire hotel. If it was just that he was kissing a man, he might be able to get a grip. But kissing this man in particular was so absurd and wrong wrong wrong...
But his dick didn’t seem to think so, especially not when Rozanov wedged a knee between his legs and rubbed a thigh against Shane’s arousal. Shane whimpered and Rozanov tipped his head back farther, using his height and coming down hard on Shane’s open mouth.
Shane wasn’t sure what to do. He hesitantly slid his palms up Rozanov’s chest. He heard Rozanov give a soft moan when Shane’s fingers moved over his nipples, and that one little sound made Shane lose any remaining self-control.
He kissed Rozanov back, hard and frantic and wanting more but not knowing exactly what to ask for.
Rozanov crowded him back against a wall and started unbuttoning Shane’s shirt.
When he got the last button open, he grabbed Shane’s hand and pressed it against his crotch.
And, oh, Shane had his hand on Ilya Rozanov’s dick.
Shane could feel the solid length straining against Rozanov’s jeans, and he felt his own cock grow harder even as he struggled against freaking out.
He gripped Rozanov through the denim, and one clear idea of what he wanted popped into his head. He wanted the denim barrier to be gone. He wanted to see Rozanov’s cock and hold it and feel it pressed against him, which was weird. He shouldn’t want that. He shouldn’t want any of this.
And yet...
With a goal in mind, Shane unfastened Rozanov’s fly and worked his hand inside.
When Shane had his hand wrapped around the thick, smooth length, Rozanov inhaled sharply and stopped kissing him.
Both men looked down to watch Shane’s hand move under the cotton of Rozanov’s briefs.
Shane could see the tip of Rozanov’s cock poking out of the waistband, and he had the sudden, wild urge to kiss it.
To press his tongue to the slit and taste him.
Fuck. This was really gay.
Rozanov didn’t seem troubled, though. Instead, he was pulling his own shirt off and reaching to cradle Shane’s face with his hand. Shane turned his eyes up and Rozanov was looking down at him with dark eyes, his mouth slack and lips swollen. His face was pure desire.
Shane stood, frozen, as Rozanov dragged his thumb over Shane’s lips and then gently pushed it inside.
Shane closed his eyes and sucked it into his mouth, letting his tongue wrap around it.
He was shocked at how naturally he did this; by how much he loved the sensation.
He heard Rozanov’s breath catch, and Shane felt light-headed.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay standing.
He wondered if Rozanov would let him...if he wanted him to. ..
Shane released Rozanov’s thumb and slowly sank to his knees.
“Fuck,” he heard Rozanov murmur. Shane knew there would be no going back from this, but they’d probably already crossed that line anyway; may as well take what he wanted.
With shaking hands, he pulled Rozanov’s jeans and briefs down and lined up his mouth with his thick, rigid cock.
He took a breath and, very carefully, pressed his tongue to the head.
“Yes, Hollander...” Rozanov hissed.
It tasted like...skin. Shane slowly moved his tongue around the head, completely unsure of what to do.
He liked to be excellent at everything. His only experience with this sort of thing had been at the receiving end, so he tried to mimic what some of those girls had done.
He took Rozanov deeper into his mouth, and it felt so weird.
He just sort of stayed like that for a moment, his tongue flattened by the weight of Rozanov’s cock. He knew he must look ridiculous.
Rozanov’s expression didn’t suggest that he was watching something ridiculous. He held Shane’s face with one big hand and gazed down at him with hooded eyes. He murmured something in Russian and then said, “Look at you.”
Shane’s face flushed. An image flashed through his mind of their roles being reversed. What would Rozanov look like on his knees, taking Shane in his mouth? Would Shane ever find out?
Shane moaned involuntarily, which made Rozanov shudder.
His thumb brushed Shane’s cheekbone, and Shane closed his eyes and began to move his mouth.
He sucked and licked, letting himself get used to the sensation of having a dick in his mouth.
His mind was racing, worrying about technique and about what exactly this all meant.
But then Rozanov’s fingers were tangled in Shane’s hair, and Shane was reminded that this was fucking hot.
That he’d fantasized about exactly this, alone in his bedroom, even if he had been embarrassed afterward.
He sighed around Rozanov’s cock and bobbed his head slightly, losing himself in the slide of rigid flesh against his tongue. He was sure he was doing a terrible job, and his fears were confirmed when Rozanov suddenly yelped, “Stop! Stop. Stop.”
Shane pulled off quickly and stared up at Rozanov, who was grimacing with his eyes squeezed shut.
“Sorry,” Shane said. “I’m not... I’ve never...”
Rozanov laughed. “Is okay. Was...” He waved a hand around, as if trying to physically grab the English word he was looking for. “It was...too much.”
“Oh.” Really? Shane felt that he had barely done anything.
“Just...ah...very, um...”
Overwhelming? Intense? Wrong? Shane could think of a few words, but he didn’t want to guess at what Rozanov was feeling.
“A lot,” Rozanov finished. Then he made a frustrated sound. “No. I cannot think of word.”
Shane rose off his knees because he felt foolish staying on them if he wasn’t going to be doing anything down there. When he was standing, he looked curiously at Rozanov. “Have you been...thinking about this?”
Rozanov gave a crooked grin and shrugged. “I like trouble.”
Shane laughed. “Well, I think we’ve found it.”
“You have not done this,” Rozanov said plainly. “With a man.”
“No. Have you?”
Rozanov looked at him, and Shane knew he was deciding whether or not he could trust him, and then must have realized it was too late anyway if he didn’t. He nodded. “In Russia. My coach’s son.”
Shane sputtered. “Holy fuck. You do like trouble! Was he on the team?”
“No. Not a hockey player.”
“Did anyone...find out?”
Rozanov shook his head. “He would never tell. I would never tell. It was safe.”
“Safe,” Shane repeated. It didn’t sound at all safe.
“Just fooling around. Not serious. Was...what is it?”
“Curious?”
Rozanov smiled. “Yes. Curious. And you make me curious.”
“Oh.”
He leaned in and breathed against Shane’s ear in his heavily accented English, “Do I make you curious?”
Rozanov made Shane a lot of things: confused, infuriated, terrified, aroused, and, yes, curious.
“Obviously,” Shane said, a little irritably.
“Did you like sucking my dick?”
“Oh, those English words you know?”
Rozanov licked under Shane’s ear, and Shane gasped.
“Did you like it?” Rozanov asked again.
Shane swallowed his saliva and his pride. “Yes.”
“Would you like me to lie on the bed and let you do it some more?”
“Let me?”
Rozanov chuckled against Shane’s neck. “I’m a nice guy.”