Chapter Text
“Svetlana Vetrova. Shane Hollander. Don’t murder each other, I love you both very much, I would be sad.”
“I am not going to murder your precious boy, Ilya.” Svetlana laughed with her whole body and her head, her hair shaking like tinsel and her shoulder swaying forward and back delicately. Shane was kind of spellbound. She was stunningly beautiful. It sort of made him want to hide somewhere. “Hello, Shane Hollander,” she said, holding out her hand. She was very thin but she had toned muscle definition and Shane knew that she and Ilya worked out sometimes. Still, her hands were delicate and clearly very well taken care of. A perfect manicure, no peeling cuticles or rough callouses.
He took it, feeling a little weak in the knees. “Hi. Nice to meet you. Ilya has told me so much about you.”
Her eyes sparkled like gemstones, and her hair looked golden. “Did he tell you about his foolish plan to marry me?”
Shane’s stomach twisted.
“Sveta,” Ilya snapped. They were in public, at a fancy charity gala, so he didn’t touch Shane, but his fingers tightened on the stem of his glass. He said something quickly in Russian, and Shane, who had found a very discreet tutor willing to sign an NDA and teleconference with him a few times a month, understood the words “nice,” and, “don’t want” and “to run.”
“Hey,” he objected half-heartedly, pretty sure he had understood the gist.
Svetlana and Ilya both looked at him with identical expressions that spoke of an entire life lived side by side, left eyebrow raised, mouths pursed in amusement. It was difficult to have all that energy, undiluted Russian mirth, directed at him at once, so Shane shuffled his feet.
“So,” Svetlana drawled, and god, she really was similar to Ilya, wasn’t she? “You are the famous Jane.”
“Um, yeah, sort of. I mean. It’s Shane.”
“You say you’ve heard so much about me, but I know everything about you!” she teased, and Shane swallowed. She placed her hand over her chest. A few large bracelets, circular and golden, slid from her wrists to her mid-forearm. “Let me say, I love you so dearly. As a hockey player first and foremost, of course, because any game—or interview—with you in it is a delight, but also as Ilya’s Jane. You’ve made him very happy, you know.”
“Oh.” Shane knew he was bright red. He felt like an idiot. She was even worse than Rose, because at least Rose wasn’t so damn elegant all the time. Rose was down-to-earth, chill, easy-going. Svetlana looked like she was about to walk down a runway and spit on whoever was sitting at the end. “Thanks. Thank you. I love hearing from fans.”
He winced.
Ilya took a long sip of his champagne. “You are hopeless, Hollander. Complete lost cause.”
Shane stared at his shoes. “I know.”
Svetlana snorted and nudged Ilya. “I don’t know,” she said, smiling slyly, and it made Shane’s heart race. “I can think of a few things we could do with him.”
+++
“Do you want to fuck her? Most people do.”
Shane dropped his phone. He swore and snatched it up, quickly checking for any new scratches (he hated when his phone was scratched, he always had to change his screen protector as soon as possible). “What? No. Are you fucking crazy?”
Ilya shut the door behind them with a thunk and leaned against it. “I am not crazy,” he said. “But I would like to be fucking. Maybe both of you. At once.”
“Too bad you only have one dick then,” Shane said, incredulous. “What the fuck, Ilya?”
“And I think Sveta would enjoy also.” Ilya stalked forward, grabbing Shane’s firm waist between his enormous hands, and dipped his thumbs beneath the hem of his shirt. “We have shared partners before. Usually girls, but not always. She enjoys both, like me. You know this?”
“Um, yes, you’ve mentioned,” Shane said. He was looking down, between their bodies, at the place where Ilya’s hands were slowly exposing a strip of skin on his lower stomach.
“I always enjoyed,” Ilya said. He leaned in, kissing Shane’s cheek almost chastely, then pressed their cheeks together with his mouth less than an inch from his ear. “So many hands. Grasping. Reaching. Stroking. Very overwhelming, da? Fun.”
“Oh. Well. I guess.”
“You have never?”
“Ilya, come on.”
Ilya chuckled, pressing his thumbs firmly into Shane’s abdominals, hard and deep in a way that made Shane shudder. “I know. My innocent sweet boy, Hollander. Never had a threesome, no?”
“I could barely handle one girl at a time,” Shane confessed, his vision mostly obscured by Ilya’s halo of curls. “Much less two. Because, Rozanov, I am gay.”
Ilya caught the lobe of Shane’s ear between his teeth and pressed the point of his canine into the flesh, making a puncture mark, as if he wanted to give Shane a piercing right then and there. “You ever watch straight porn? Is a little like that, I think, for you. You can keep your eyes on the pretty man fucking the girl—or you can imagine that you are the girl, being fucked.”
“Ilya.”
“Sveta thinks you are best player in the league,” Ilya huffed. He licked Shane’s cheek, and Shane cringed, because it was gross whenever he did that, but his hips also moved forward, into Ilya’s, because it was also fucking hot. “She has—she has word for it. Her English still better than mine,” he huffed. “Kind of kink… compet… comp-”
“Competency kink,” Shane gasped, clutching Ilya’s back. His shirt scrunched beneath his fingers.
Ilya pushed the hem of Shane’s shirt higher. “You are like her, like that. And because she loves hockey players. She loves hockey players. And you are her favorite.”
“Um. Why?”
Ilya shoved his shirt up, got his fingers around his nipple, and tweaked it, hard. Shane jerked and made an outraged noise, and Ilya pulled away to smirk. “Fishing for compliments, Shane Hollander?” he teased. “He says, ‘why,’ because he wants me to say it—that he is the best.”
“One of the best, at least,” Shane admitted. “Um.” Now that they weren’t pressed together anymore, his eyes flickered down helplessly. In his exceptionally well-tailored pants, it was obvious that Ilya was already rock-hard. Of course, Shane had been able to feel his erection pressed against his own dick, but the sight of him pressing against the seam of his trousers was… something else. “Wow, uh, you’re really into the idea, huh?”
“Yes, wow,” Ilya said, stretching his mouth around the word with a sly grin. “Beautiful Shane Hollander with stunning Sveta Vetrova? Two of my favorite people in the world. Imagine them together.”
In an analytical way, Shane could. He could imagine a picture, staged like one of his modeling gigs: Shane, Svetlana, and Ilya piled onto a bed together. He huffed a laugh to himself, thinking it was like some deranged diversity promo. And maybe it was weird, but yeah, they would look good together. Svetlana and Ilya’s curls tangled together. His blue eyes standing out against Shane’s and Svetlana’s dark ones. Three athletic bodies twisted together, sweaty. Svetlana’s perfectly smooth skin against Shane’s freckles and Ilya’s moles? Yeah, they would look fucking incredible together.
But.
“I’m just…” Shane murmured, looking further down until he was staring at their feet. “I’m really fucking gay, Ilya. I can’t—I’m not like you. It was never… it wasn’t. It wasn’t good, before.”
Ilya took a small step back and slid his hands up, letting Shane’s shirt drop back down. “I know,” he said. “I know you are gay. I know you are not attracted to Svetlana, even though of course she is beautiful. I don’t expect you to be.”
Shane glanced at him, beginning to feel a little weird, a little shaky. “But… you are?” Obviously he was. Svetlana had been Ilya’s sexual partner for even longer than Shane, although they had never shared the same emotional intensity. He loved her, too, if not in the same way. Shane swallowed. “And this is something… you want? Or need?”
He was trying to ask, without saying the words, what Ilya expected Shane to say. And he was trying to ask, without actually accusing Ilya of it preemptively, if Ilya was laying down an ultimatum.
Ilya swooped back down, their bodies still far apart, but connected their mouths in an eager, heated kiss. “Never need,” he said quickly between kisses, mouth sticky with Shane’s saliva, and he swallowed his next moan. “Want, yes. I love sex, I love sex with people, lots of people, but, of course, you are the best. By far. Is crazy how good at sex you are. You are all I ever need.”
“Shut up.”
“No, not shutting up. Not shutting up at all. Because now we must have conversation.” Ilya kissed him once, twice more, each gentler than the last, then pulled away, letting go of Shane and taking two steps back. Shane immediately felt bereft. “Honest conversation,” Ilya said, spreading his hands out. Shane watched those hands, the broad palms and longer fingers. He knew from experience that one of those hands could stretch the entire breadth of his jaw, or cover his entire face as he shoved him into the pillows. “Tell me what you want. If it is nothing, then it is nothing. Easy peasy, see? We are adults. Adults sometimes talk about sex.”
“We don’t,” Shane grumbled. “We don’t have to.”
“Still, not a bad thing.”
“No,” Shane said slowly. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“Is a good thing,” Ilya pressed, “to say what you want. What you desire, what feels good. To say it out loud, or whisper it in my ear.” He smirked. “I want to be honest, because Svetlana and I have talked about you, and because I fantasize about having both of you sometimes.”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “When you’re, like, jerking off?”
“Sometimes.” Ilya nodded. “Or, sometimes, I start thinking about both of you, and then I have to jerk off. Can go either way.”
“Jesus, Ilya.”
“I am honest.”
“You’re shameless.”
“Yes, that too. I am shameless about sex, but that does not mean we do whatever I want. But it does mean I tell you what I want, and you decide if you want it too, or if maybe someday you want it, or if it is hot to talk about it or imagine it but not hot to actually do, or if you never want to talk about it again and also ask me not to talk to Svetlana about you, which I can do.” He shrugged, so easily, confident and poised and honest and open. Shane envied him so much, and he was proud of him, too, proud of how far this man had come from the boy he started to love almost ten years ago. “That’s what we do. We have conversation.”
“Okay,” Shane said, trying to mimic Ilya’s openness. He nodded, and swallowed, and asked, “What do you want? Like… what do you really want to do? What… does this look like?”
“I want sex and only sex,” Ilya said promptly. “Maybe just one time, maybe more every now and again if it is really good, but not often, because I am extremely jealous and no one should have you but me, unless it is too hot to resist. Details, I don’t care about details. I want Svetlana and Shane in the same room and I want to fuck one of them. Svetlana just wants to be in a room while we fuck.”
Shane shook his head, spluttering a little, but the chub in his pants had never gone soft and he felt his dick twitch a little at the bold words. “When did you talk about this with her?”
“Few times,” Ilya admitted. “Sometimes, years ago, she asked to join me and Jane—obviously I said no way. Most recently? Tonight, at the gala, when you were doing interview. Sveta said how pretty you were. I said you were the prettiest. She said, who, not me? I said, nope, you are second prettiest. She said that I am also second prettiest because Shane is prettiest and I said you are liar who lies, we are tied for first place. She said, I want to watch you fuck, I said, I know, she said, I fucking love Shane Hollander, I said, get back, whore, he’s mine, she said, blah blah blah, can I watch you fuck? Been years since we had a threesome. I said, I have to talk to Shane. She said, of course. No hard feelings. Tell him he is the prettiest. I said, I will.”
“Wow. You said… all of that?”
“I said most of it. Gist.”
“Right. Um… but what would we… do?”
“Up to you. Svetlana is mostly down for anything, and I am down for lots, but you, I think, should set the boundaries. What should we do, Shane?” Ilya asked. He stepped up to Shane again, hands returning to his hips, and gently pushed, encouraging Shane to walk backward until his lower-back bumped up against their dining room table. “Think about it. Take your time. Tell me. I want to hear details, Hollander.”
It was hard to follow the instruction when Ilya was now standing between his legs, his cock still hard and pressing against Shane’s. Ilya smelled mostly like cologne, not like his own sweat or musk, but Shane’s had long ago been Pavloved by the scent of that fucking cologne. It made his head swim.
Ilya leaned in slowly. He kissed the corner of his jaw, then nipped at the smooth skin. “Shane,” he intonted.
“I, I….” Shane took a deep breath. He shut his eyes because he couldn’t look at Ilya while he said this, and didn’t want to subconsciously try to read his micro-expressions for pleasure or disappointment. Ilya was right, after all. They were adults, and they would have to be able to talk about this if they were going to seriously consider it. “I don’t want her to touch me.”
“Then she won’t.”
“I… I don’t think I’d mind… it might be hot if she watched.”
“Very hot,” Ilya purred. “She would love. I would love to show you off for her. Could she touch herself?”
Shane swallowed. His throat felt sticky, almost bruised the way it got when Ilya fucked his throat. “Yeah.”
“So hot, Hollander,” Ilya groaned. “What would we do? Anything off the table for us? Just between us, what we do?”
Shane thought about it, staring at the back of his eyelids. He answered honestly, “No. Um. Just nothing we haven’t done before.”
Ilya made a low, deep sound, caught between grunt and a hum. “Fuck, Shane, it will be so fucking hot. You are into it, yes?”
And fuck, but his cock was hard, and it wasn’t just because he was pressed against Ilya. He was picturing a room—not their bedroom, but some generic room with a bed and a cuck chair. Svetlana, in his vision still dressed in the gorgeous slitted gown from earlier that night, was lounging in the armchair more like a reigning sovereign than some embarrassed cuckold. Shane and Ilya were on the bed, and they were naked. She was watching them. Ilya was watching her back. Shane was watching Ilya watch her.
He gasped, hips twitching. Then he stilled them, and looked away.
Ilya noticed right away. “Something on your mind,” he murmured. “You should say it. While we are having adult conversation.”
“Is this… I know you’re bisexual, and obviously I respect that. So I just want to ask… just so I know… is this something you think you’ll… want? In your life?” He swallowed. “Girls?”
Ilya stared at him, brows furrowed. Abruptly, he took a step back, shaking his head. “We should not do this,” he said, not aggressively, but simply, like it was obvious. “You think it is hot, sure, but you are uncomfortable. We don’t have to do this, then.”
“No, Ilya, I didn’t-”
“I am so, so satisfied,” he said, moving back in and grabbing Shane’s hips hard, pushing their groins flush together. “You are hottest fucking person on planet. Best sex I’ve ever had—and I’ve had a lot. You are beginning and end, Hollander. You know that?”
One of Shane’s hands was braced on Ilya’s shoulder, the other wrapped around the back of his neck. He pushed his fingers through his short curls. He nodded. “Yes.”
“I don’t need girls,” Ilya said, seriously, blue eyes sharp. “I have you. And you are everything. I think some things are hot, and I think having an audience while we fuck is hot. I am jealous man and I like idea of showing off your body, how it bends for me, is hot. That is it. Nothing to do with girls. I wouldn’t fuck Svetlana, even if we did.”
“Well,” Shane said, before he could stop himself.
His eyes flickered up, then down, focusing on Ilya’s necklace.
“Well?” Ilya repeated after a moment, grip slowly tightening.
“Um….”
“You want me to fuck her? Fuck a girl? While you watch?”
“I don’t—I don’t want you to do anything! I just, um, I figured that’s what you were planning, and I was, um, I was thinking about it and, and-”
“Spit it out, Hollander.”
“Usually you say the opposite.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s hot,” Shane breathed. “It sounds… hot.”
Ilya’s chest filled with a deep breath, pushing against Shane’s. “Before,” he said slowly, “or after I fuck you? Because don’t get it wrong, Hollander—I will be fucking you.”
His breath hitched. “Before.”
“Fuck.” Ilya tipped his head back and Shane took it as an invitation. He latched onto the stretch of Ilya’s neck, first with his teeth, then with his lips and tongue. He felt dizzy with arousal, mind spinning as he pictured and yet tried not to picture exactly what they were talking about. “Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned. His hands slid down, getting a handful of Shane’s ass and digging his fingers in hard enough to hurt. “You want me to fuck her and then fuck you, is that right? Slide my cock, already dripping, into you-”
“No.” Shane pulled away quickly with a glare. “No, you wear a condom with her. Then you fuck me bare.”
“Shane, fuck.” Ilya gripped his cheek and pulled him into a biting kiss. “Fine,” he growled. “Condoms. Got it.” He pushed his hips forward, grinding their cocks together and probably damaging the expensive fabric, either from the precum leaking into their boxers or the friction. A guttural moan tore out of Ilya’s throat. “I need to fuck you now,” Ilya panted into his mouth.
Shane quickly untucked Ilya’s shirt, frantically sliding an arm beneath his jacket and up his back, feeling the sharply defined laterals skidding beneath his fingers. “Fuck me,” he said, rutting his hard cock against Ilya’s.
“Everyday,” Ilya promised between kisses, grabbing Shane’s ass in an almost painfully tight grip and hoisting him onto the dining table before Shane could even process what was happening enough to jump. He gasped as he landed, sitting on Ilya’s hands, kneading his ass roughly through his suit trousers. Their noses bent with the pressure of their faces connecting, pushing together as close as they could get, like they were trying to fold into each other. “I fuck you everyday, forever.”
“I might get sore,” Shane gasped.
“You liked being sore.”
“Yeah,” Shane admitted, letting out a breathless laugh.
Ilya undressed them quickly, folding Shane’s clothes over the back of one of the chairs as Shane watched and fingered himself, sitting with his palm bent awkwardly, rocking on his own knuckles like a dildo, watching Ilya with hooded eyes and trying not to worry about how to get lube stains out of wood. Ilya watched Shane just as heatedly and his own suit ended up in a crinkled pile on the floor, but it didn’t bother Shane when they weren't his clothes, so it didn’t matter. Ilya stood, fully naked, cock hard and arching up, just slightly to the left of his belly button. Shane slipped a third finger inside of himself quickly, feeling the burn and biting his lip. Ilya picked up the bottle of lube that he had acquired from the kitchen and squirted it onto his hand, stroking his cock to spread the lube around.
“You should do this too,” Ilya said, eyes fixed on where Shane’s fingers disappeared inside himself. “Show her how you get ready to take my cock.” He stroked himself from the base to the tip, emphasizing his length.
“Yeah,” Shane panted. “Yeah, maybe. And then you fuck me?” he asked eagerly, leaning back slightly to open himself up, to show Ilya where he wanted him.
Ilya groaned and dropped his hand to the base of his cock, aiming it straight out from his body as he stepped into the space Shane created between his legs. He pushed his cock forward, butting the head against the fingers that were working quickly inside himself, scissoring and pulling as he got himself ready as fast as he could. “Yeah,” Ilya breathed. “Well—first I fuck her, then I fuck you. That’s what you asked for, yes?”
“Fuck.” Shane curled over himself, desperately riding his own fingers and feeling the hot head of Ilya’s cock pushing up against him, and the occasional brush of his knuckles as he stroked himself off. He had a sudden mental image of him and Svetlana laying side by side on the same nondescript bed from earlier, but this time, Ilya was on top of her. Fucking into her, his arms braced around her beautiful face as he worked his hips into her, and Shane lay next to her, untouched, but with Ilya's eyes on him and him alone. “Fuck,” he gasped, ripping his fingers out of his hole and throwing his head back. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Ilya, oh god.”
Ilya was quick to respond, and he was already in position. He wrapped one hand around Shane’s waist, a mimicry of their position earlier, and squeezed him tightly, bracing himself so that when he pushed in, Shane would not slide away. “Ready for me?”
“Yes.”
“Desperate for me?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said, and thrust inside.
Shane spasmed around the enormous intrusion, mouth hanging open helplessly as he shuddered in Ilya’s tight embrace as he slid in to the hilt, lights bursting behind his closed eyes. “Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moaned. “How are you so fucking tight? Such a slut for my cock but so fucking tight every time.”
“I’m your slut,” Shane panted, throwing his arms around Ilya’s neck and leaning into him, face pressed to his shoulder and one leg wrapped around his waist, the other around the backs of his thighs, bracketing him. “I’m a slut, just for you, no one else. Fuck.”
“No one else,” Ilya said, pulling out and shoving back in, punching a moan from Shane, who rode the wave of his movement. “No one fucking else. No one gets to touch. No one else gets to feel. I’ve ruined you for anyone else, but they don’t even get to try. Don’t even get to watch.” His hand slid up to Shane’s hair and gripped. He pulled his head to the side, giving him room to sink his teeth against the straining tendons in Shane’s throat as he gasped and panted and writhed. “Not unless I say so.”
“I’m yours,” Shane panted.
“All mine,” Ilya agreed, shifting his position slightly so he could slide an inch deeper, and Shane whined, feeling the stretch so deep inside his core and he knew he would be sore for hours. “I’m going to fuck you in front of her. Show her how good you take me, always so good. How I’m the only one you’ll ever need.”
“The only,” Shane gasped, unable to form thoughts of his own, just a machine echoing Ilya’s words.
“Fuck. I’ll fuck you so well for her, show her how good you have it. And Sveta will see how fucking blessed I am to have you. Is that what you want? Want to be a good boy for me? Show her how good you can be? So fucking good, so fucking good all the time, will you show her how fucking good you are?”
“I want that,” Shane nodded, the muscles in his neck feeling weak as he slumped into Ilya, feeling each thrust in his throat. A new image started to take form in his mind as Ilya spoke, slowly becoming clearer and clearer until it pushed out of his mouth. “I want to, to-”
“Tell me,” Ilya growled, speeding up.
“I want to eat her out,” Shane gasped, the confession making hot waves of humiliation curl up through his guts. “Before you fuck her. Want to get her ready for you. Please, please, please, let me-”
Ilya’s pupils were blown black, his eyes wide. He stared at Shane, shock visibly written across his face, but the speed of his thrusts increased. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck. Fuck, Shane, you want to lick her clit? Stick your tongue up inside her? Taste her, get your face sticky? Want to make her come so that she is loose and open when I fuck into her, fucking through your spit?”
“Yes,” Shane gasped, nails digging into Ilya’s shoulders as he scrambled for leverage, trying to drive Ilya’s cock even deeper into himself. “Yes, I want—I want—please, give me what I want!”
“I give you everything,” Ilya panted, thrusting hard in fast, dragging out slower, Shane’s cock head rubbing between the defined musculature on his stomach. “I give you everything you want, everything you ask for, everything you need, you get it from me.”
“Yes, yes, yes-!”
“Shane,” Ilya gasped, hips losing control as he rammed in as deep as he could. Shane’s nails drew spots of blood as he gasped, almost in pain, but drowned out by pleasure as Ilya spilled deep inside him. “Fuck,” Ilya gasped.
Shane whimpered, wriggling helplessly on the table, cock still desperately hard. “Ilya,” he said, near tears, “Ilya, please, please, please.”
Ilya pulled out and dropped to his knees. Shane whined in outrage at the unpleasant feeling of losing his cock so close to his own orgasm, but Ilya immediately thrust two fingers into him, aiming right for his prostate. Shane wobbled, then toppled onto his back when Ilya swallowed his cock to the base, free hand fondling and tugging his balls as he shunted Shane toward the finish line. Shane gasped airlessly, arching his neck and placing his ankles behind Ilya’s neck, rocking upward into the heat of Ilya’s mouth, and came down his throat when Ilya stroked his fingers hard over his swollen prostate.
“Fuck, Shane, fuck,” Ilya said, pulling back once he had swallowed all of Shane’s come and wrung every last drop from his dick. He placed his cheek on Shane’s thigh, dropping his limp legs down his back where they hung uselessly. Each puff of his breath tickled the sensitive skin of Shane’s inner thigh, and it made him shudder. “Fuck, so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Never mind. I change my mind. No one is allowed to see but me, is only for me ever. I am too possessive.”
It took Shane a minute to come back to himself enough to respond. “Really?” he asked.
Ilya glanced up at him, their eyes meeting over the angles and curves of Shane’s panting body. “No,” he said. “I want to show you off. Can I?”
Shane’s breath caught. He nodded. “Yes.”
Ilya left him on the table and Shane tried not to think about sweat stains on the wood while he cleaned them both up, and he was so boneless that he let Ilya pick him up and carry him to bed without even demanding that they shower first. Ilya draped Shane across the sheets and shimmied in himself, pulling Shane closer to him. Ilya pressed a kiss to his head. “You really want to eat her out?” he asked, checking if it had been said in the heat of the moment or if it was a fantasy.
Shane curled up on Ilya’s chest, resting a hand on his abs, and pretended like he wasn’t hiding his face from him. “I, um… it was always what I liked best with women. You know. They would give me a blowjob and I would close my eyes… and, um-”
“Imagine it was me,” Ilya filled in.
“Shut up,” Shane said automatically, squeezing his eyes shut. “Um, but yeah. And then, you know, I’d return the favor. And it wouldn’t… make me hard—it wouldn’t turn me on, but it still felt like something I could do, you know? It still felt good to make them feel good.” His face must have been bright red. He pressed further into Ilya’s chest. “And, I mean, honestly, I was terrible at topping. It was so embarrassing. So if we could just do oral, it felt better—less obvious.”
Ilya’s fingers stroked through his hair, undoing whatever remained of Shane’s attempts to style it before the gala. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. An understanding passed between them. Ilya liked women and men: Shane only liked men but he had slept with more than half a dozen women in his life, trying to convince himself otherwise. Trying to find the right girl. It embarrassed Shane but it also made him sad, for himself but also for those women, who had been so eager and who he had mostly let down.
“It was like that with Rose,” he admitted carefully, knowing that Ilya didn’t love hearing about his time with the actress. But it was only fair, given then Ilya had been hooking up with Svetlana for far longer. “The first couple of times we hooked up, it was fine, because we did that, you know. Oral. And it was good, I mean, she said I was really good at it-”
“Of course you were,” Ilya huffed. “Good boy Hollander. Five stars?”
“Shut up,” Shane muttered. “Things fell apart when she wanted to go further. I mean, she could just tell, you know? I’m sure I was obvious.”
“So good at eating pussy that she believed you were straight for a moment,” Ilya laughed, and Shane slapped his exposed thigh.
But he still admitted, “Yeah, maybe, something like that.”
“Well,” Ilya said slowly, “knowing this, I am sure Svetlana will have no objections.”
“I mean, we can do whatever,” Shane said quickly. “Obviously none of that needs to happen. That’s just the stuff I’m willing to do and the stuff that I think is the hottest—but I would totally understand if, like, she was weirded out by the thought of getting eaten out by a gay guy, like that is objectively-”
“Hollander,” Ilya cut him off, “she thinks you are hot.” He caught his hair between his fingers and pulled. “Smokeshow. Cutest in the NHL.” He huffed. “She will want it. She will think it is hot.”
“Well, you should ask her first.”
“Yes, of course,” he drawled. “As soon as I am done petting you like overgrown cat, I will call my childhood friend and arrange sexual encounter that will blow all our minds away, yes?”
Shane glanced up at him. He had a fleeting feeling of insecurity, the thought niggling at him that he wasn’t enough for Ilya, who had so many more sexual experiences and partners than Shane, or that Ilya would always want a woman from time to time and never be satisfied by Shane’s body alone. And Shane didn’t want that.
But he wanted to make Ilya happy. And, if he was honest, it did sound super fucking hot.
“Yeah,” he said. “Make the call.”