Chapter Eleven #2
Shane glared at him, but Rozanov only crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair, comfortable as anything.
“Close your eyes,” he suggested. “Pretend you are alone. How do you start?”
Shane exhaled and closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the smirking Russian in the corner as he placed a nervous hand on his own stomach. He rubbed slow patterns over his skin, letting his nerves wake up.
He heard Rozanov shifting in his chair. Shane’s lips curled up a bit; maybe he still had some power here.
His palm flat, he rubbed his hand over the bulge in his shorts, slow and deliberate. He let out a low, shameless moan, and slid his hand lower to cup his balls.
If Rozanov wanted a show, he was going to get a fucking show.
He rubbed himself through the fabric of his briefs for a few minutes, making sure to emphasize the outline of his erection. He already found himself enjoying this; his fear was forgotten.
He opened his eyes and looked directly at Rozanov, whose gaze was locked on Shane’s crotch, his lips parted.
“Come on, Hollander,” he said in a low rumble. “Show me.”
Shane lifted his hips, hooked his thumbs into his waistband, and tugged the underwear down to his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and glistening.
“Stroke it,” Rozanov instructed. “Make yourself come for me.”
Shane wrapped his fingers around himself, but instead of stroking, just slid his thumb over his slit a couple of times.
“There is lube in the drawer,” Rozanov said. “Beside the bed.”
“Mm. Get it for me.” There. Fuck you, Rozanov.
Rozanov stood without protest and retrieved the bottle of lube. He held it out to Shane, but when Shane reached for it, Rozanov pulled it away. He laughed at Shane’s glare, and tossed the bottle onto the bed.
“Would you like to know,” Rozanov asked as he settled himself back into his chair, “how it feels?”
“How what feels?”
He leaned forward, grinning like a shark. “The Cup. Do you want to know what it feels like to hold the Stanley Cup?”
“Oh fuck you.”
Rozanov laughed. “I cannot describe it anyway. Impossible.”
“I’ll find out for myself soon enough,” Shane grumbled.
“Of course. Now, show me how you like it, Hollander.”
That request, Shane thought, was almost sweet. Considerate. He removed his briefs completely and picked up the bottle. He made a show of drizzling the lube directly on his cock.
If Rozanov thought Shane was going to be chatty during this thing, he didn’t know Shane very well. Shane would be surprised if he uttered two words.
He stroked himself with slow, lazy movements. He closed his eyes again and let pleasure light up every part of him. With his other hand he reached down and played with his balls. He arched off the bed a bit, gasping and moaning.
He wondered if Rozanov was going to start touching himself too. He cracked an eye open and it seemed that Rozanov was happy to just watch. But he was leaning forward now, and he looked a little flushed.
Shane opened both eyes. He wanted to get off the bed and crawl on his fucking knees to where Rozanov was sitting. He wanted to nuzzle his cock through his pants. He wanted to press his open mouth to that bulge he could see from here.
The thoughts made Shane’s hand speed up. He let out a broken “ah” sound and planted his feet flat on the bed, legs splayed, knees bent.
“Open yourself up,” Rozanov said. “Use your fingers.”
Oh fuck. Shane felt simultaneously mortified and excited. He reached for the lube.
“Yes. Let me see you open yourself for me.”
“You gonna fuck me?” Shane managed to get out.
“We’ll see.”
Shane got to work.
It was undeniably humiliating to be splayed out on the bed like this, Shane’s fingers two knuckles deep in his own ass while Ilya Rozanov calmly sipped his vodka and watched everything like he was going to be tested on it later.
The only thing that could make the situation more embarrassing would be...
“Please,” Shane gasped. Begged.
“Please what?”
“I—I need...”
He could tell that Rozanov was starting to lose his composure. He could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed sharply as he swallowed, the way he ran his teeth over his bottom lip.
“What do you need, Hollander?”
“You. Fuck me. Please.”
Rozanov sucked in a breath, and then he stood and placed his glass on the side table.
He slowly undid the last of his buttons and let the shirt fall to the floor behind him.
He walked to the end of the bed, and Shane crawled to him, just like he’d imagined doing.
He crawled along the mattress until his face met the bulge in Rozanov’s tuxedo pants.
He nuzzled and mouthed at it, and Rozanov buried his fingers in Shane’s hair and murmured something in Russian.
Shane didn’t know if Rozanov was saying something encouraging, or reverent.
Or maybe he was calling Shane a slut. Shane felt a little slutty, in that moment.
He felt wild. He wanted Rozanov’s cock in every part of him at once.
He wanted to come right away or not for hours.
He wanted to kiss Rozanov and maybe also punch him for being such an arrogant fucking prick.
And he hated himself for wanting any of this. But not enough to stop. Never enough to stop.
He opened Rozanov’s pants and pushed them down to his ankles, along with his underwear. He wrapped his mouth around Rozanov’s cock and moaned with relief.
“So good for me. Look at you.”
Shane let out another mortifying moan, hating himself for loving this so much.
Rozanov let him suck for a few blissful minutes before he shoved Shane down onto the bed. He twirled his hand in the air.
“Turn over,” he said.
Shane did as he was told, and raised his ass in the air far too eagerly.
He heard a rustle of a condom being opened, and then saw the empty wrapper hit the floor when Rozanov tossed it aside.
Rozanov was breathing heavily as he slicked himself with lube, and, damn, Shane loved it when Rozanov lost his ability to stay cool and collected.
Rozanov fucked him hard with one strong hand between Shane’s shoulder blades—pressing him down to the mattress.
Shane was louder than he wanted to be, begging for more even though that was probably an impossible thing to ask for.
Even though it was embarrassing to be this desperate for Ilya Rozanov.
He came so hard that he actually yelled. There was no other word for it. And, once again, he had made a mess of some hotel bedsheets.
His ears were still ringing with his own orgasm when he felt Rozanov freeze behind him and cry out. And then Rozanov’s forehead was pressed against Shane’s back as both men struggled to catch their breath.
“Jesus, Hollander,” Rozanov panted as he flopped to his back beside him. His hair had fallen out of its little ponytail and was clinging to his forehead in a damp swoop.
Shane carefully flipped to his back, leaving the wet spot on the bedsheets between them. “How about that vodka?”
Rozanov laughed. “Yes. Give me a minute.”
Shane grinned. He knew he’d be at least a little mortified and ashamed later when he thought about this night, but at that moment, he was giddy.
Rozanov did eventually leave the bed and, after cleaning himself in the bathroom, brought Shane a damp washcloth and an ice-cold glass of vodka. He brought himself a cigarette and a lighter.
He sat with his back against the headboard, one leg bent and the other outstretched. Still naked, but for his gold chain and crucifix. He lit his cigarette and Shane didn’t even have the energy to lecture him about it. Especially since he looked so goddamned sexy.
Instead, Shane sipped his vodka, which was gross. He really didn’t drink anything beyond beer very often. At least it was cold against his tongue.
“Are you heading back soon?” Shane asked, just to make conversation.
“Back?”
“To Russia. For the summer.”
Rozanov exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Yes.”
“Oh.”
They were silent a moment, then Shane couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”
Rozanov shrugged. “It is home.”
“But...do you like going there?”
Rozanov didn’t answer. He took another drag of his cigarette and closed his eyes.
“I should sleep,” he said finally.
“Oh. Yeah. I should... I need to get going, anyway.”
“Yes.”
Ah. There was that shame Shane had been expecting. He got cleaned up in the bathroom, then went to the main room to retrieve his clothes. He put on the pants and the shirt and carried the rest of the tuxedo. Rozanov didn’t leave the bedroom.
“See you,” Shane called out.
“Goodbye, Hollander,” Rozanov replied from the other room.
And Shane left. He realized, when he was back in his room, that they hadn’t even kissed. He also realized, with horror, that he regretted that.