Chapter Text
Fall 2013- Montreal
It had been 1 month since Ilya had taken Shane's virginity in the bed of his Montreal apartment. Shane couldn't stop thinking about him.
He couldn't stop thinking about the way Ilya’s gentle hands guided Shane’s hips with each slow thrust, and how Rozanov's same hands shoved Shane’s head down into the pillows in front of him, making Shane’s back arch higher, furthering Ronzanov’s cock into him.
These thoughts consumed Shane as he washed his face in the morning and as he drove to practice during the day and of course that one time in the evening when he accidentally pushed his toothbrush back too far in his mouth and gagged on it over the sink.
Shane's thoughts of Rozanov didn't just appear when he was awake, they consumed him deeper when he was asleep.
Within the past month Shane had been woken up countless times, not by the ringing of his alarm but by the wet sticky feeling covering his legs and crotch.
It happened again this morning.
3:00 AM
“Fuuck” Shane groaned as he pulled his damp bedsheets off of his body uncovering his grey cum soaked sweatpants.
He had just finished another dream about Rozanov.
These dreams were ordinarily the same.
Rozanov would bend Shane over a bed, any bed and drill selfishly into his hole until he came, jerking Hollander off from under him.
Then Rozanov would say he needed a shower and would leave Shane in bed with his hole still gaping, leaking Rozanov’s remnants.
But tonight's particular dream was different…
Rozanov rolled over on to his back after emptying into Shane. The jacked man let out a long sigh.
“Going to shower with me, Hollander?” It was phrased to be a question but sounded more like a demand the way it slid off Rozanov's tongue. Shane, still on all fours, turned his head to Rozanov and slid his legs down flat on the bed so he was lying on his stomach.
“You are mess,” Rozanov continued.
“Sure” Shane responded timidly to previous demand. And before he could form another thought, Ronzanov was already headed to the bathroom.
Shane picked himself up and walked over following behind Rozanov. He stumbled a little into the enclosed glass walls as the shower floor was slick with water and his legs were left weak and slightly trembling after Rozanov had his way with him.
“You good there Hollander?” Rozanov chuckled as he steadied Shane's waist bringing him in front of the shower head with his soapy hands.
“Fuck you Rozanov.” Shane bit back.
Shane pumped some body wash into his hands and began to lather himself with Rozanov behind him.
“Ungh god I have to piss,” Rozanov mumbled from behind.
“Hm?’ Shane muttered, then turned his head to see the Russian just letting his cock spray piss right there on the shower floor and allowing some to splash the back of Shane’s heels.
“Ew what the fuck Rozanov!” Wretched Shane.
“Oh come on you've taken worse from me, haven’t you Hollander?” Teased Rozanov.
Shane just turned his head back attempting to concentrate on the shower head so Rozanov couldn't see the blush erupting from his cheeks, or worse, the thickening of his cock.
Nevertheless, this saturated fantasy was only an invention of Shane’s deluded imagination.
Shane wrestled his mind free from this delusion and then thought of just lying there in his semen not even bothering to clean himself up.
It's what he deserved after all, being such a piss slut.
And maybe it's what he really wanted deep down, to let himself be dirty and messy, feeding into his fantasy because he was so strict and neat with himself in reality.
Then he disgusted himself with these thoughts and stood up from his soiled sheets bringing them downstairs to the laundry room along with his soaked sweatpants.
He was too distracted from his arousal to realize how badly he needed to piss. Which was soon understood as Shane unhunched his body from bending over to put his sheets in the wash, shifting the weight of his abdomen.
Shane was disgusted with himself as he hurried up the stairs, disgusted at how much Rozanov's pissing aroused him and disgusted at how badly he needed the same relief as the Russian did in his dream.
Shane tugged the new fresh pair of sweatpants down under his balls as he stood over the toilet desperate to relieve his aching bladder.
But the hardness of his cock from the night's fantasies made it impossible for any relief, no matter how distressed his bladder was.
Frozen there defeated and desperate he thought about texting Ilya or as it was saved in his phone “Lily.”
He thought about telling Ilya how he couldn't stop thinking about him since that night in Montreal a month ago, and how Ilya had turned him into this pathetic piece of a man who kept getting wet dreams. - Something Shane hadn't been burdened with since he was 13.
“I feel you in my dreams, Rozanov.” Shane muttered alone, to himself.
He thought about telling Ilya how desperate he was to piss right now and how his cock wouldn't let him because it was still pulsating at the thought of Ilya releasing his golden stream behind his ass causing a little to splash on him.
But Shane didn't, instead he stood there for what felt like an eternity waiting for his dick to go limp.
He tried thinking of his disgusted teammates' faces if they ever found out he was such a piss slut or let alone gay for Rozanov.
Then his soft pathetic cock finally let his trembling bladder empty itself.
Shane sighed in relief and left the bathroom humiliated by his own doing.
He grabbed new sheets and tucked himself back into bed trying ever so hard to squeeze the thought of the Russian out of his mind, but sighed in defeat when the thought of Rozanov's steamy golden stream kept reappearing.
If only Shane knew. Rozanov was doing the same.