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Ilya had wanted Shane Hollander for three fucking years. For three long years, he’d been yearning—he’d been absolutely thirsting. Ever since he saw the sweet, Canadian boy with beautiful freckles at Summer Freshman Orientation, Ilya had wanted him. Craved him. Ilya and Shane didn’t run in the same circles per se, but Ilya and Shane knew of each other. Ilya was an athlete—on a full-ride scholarship all the way from Russian and being aggressively scouted by every hockey team from Canada to Australia. And Shane only fucked athletes. The best athletes. Shane’s dating history consisted of every extraordinary male athlete who played for their university. If they were at the top of their game, they could top Shane Hollander.
Except for Ilya.
Except for Ilya who barely appeared on Shane’s radar. Because Ilya smoked weed and used rookies’ urine to pass his drug tests. Because Ilya’s hockey success was built on blood rather than sweat. Because Ilya maintained a 3.0 GPA because it was required for his scholarship, not because he actually gave a shit. Because Ilya was the president of a fraternity founded on partying and fucking rather than academics and service work. Because Ilya was known for messy hook-ups and even messier break-ups. Because of all of those things, Shane wouldn’t let Ilya anywhere near him no matter how many trophies Ilya almost single-handedly won for the university’s hockey team.
Shane liked his athlete boyfriends clean cut with straight As, modest reputations, and boring dispositions. And Ilya possessed none of those traits.
So, despite being the greatest, Ilya couldn’t touch Shane Hollander.
***
“Coming to the party tonight?” Pooley asked Combsy, slapping him genially on the shoulder.
Ilya scoffed at the question, unlacing and prying off his skates. Of course, Combsy wasn’t coming to the party at Ilya’s frat house. Combsy had Shane Hollander in his bed at night, why would he choose to hang out at a gross college party instead of snuggling and fucking his magnificent boyfriend? Plus, Shane didn’t do parties and by extension neither did his boyfriends. For weeks or months at a time, a promising and prominent point guard, quarterback, track star, or swim captain would just disappear into the depths of Shane’s body, go completely MIA. And God, the stories they would tell when they’d resurface. Ilya couldn’t blame any one of them for being whipped. If he were ever given the honor, Ilya would be whipped too.
Combsy sighed, looking utterly disgruntled. “Yeah, actually. I am.” Then he sighed again.
Ilya sat up straight and, unable to help himself, he asked Combsy, “with your boyfriend?” Ilya's body was buzzing at the thought of seeing Shane swaying to music, drinking beer, smoking weed: hazy and free. Ilya would be right there to witness even the smallest glimpse of Shane being easy and loose instead of tight and aloof as he normally was.
Combsy curled in on himself at the mention of Shane, and sighed again—dramatically and ruefully. He shook his head and met Ilya’s eyes. Combsy looked tortured as his bright blue eyes turned watery and despondent.
Ilya started to panic. Emotions outside of anger or joy were uncommon inside the locker room. Ilya choked on what to say. He gestured uselessly, speechless.
“You okay, Combsy?” Pooley asked shakily as he pat Combsy on the back, making direct eye contact with Ilya and giving him an inquisitive, confused, frightened look.
Combsy sighed, and Ilya almost threw his skate, blade-first, in his direction. He was over the fucking sighing. Combsy's voice broke when he spoke, “Shane is…I don’t know. I think I’m losing him.”
Ilya’s heart skipped a beat before it started hammering triple time against his ribcage. Pooley tutted empathetically, sitting down on the bench beside Combsy so that the assistant captain was sandwiched between his captain (Ilya) and his best friend and goalie (Pooley).
“You’re not losing him, bud.” Pooley promised, wrapping an arm around Combsy and pulling him close, “why would you even say that? You guys are crazy about each other.”
“Can I tell you guys something?” Combsy looked nervous, totally embarrassed, blushing bright pink up to his hairline. Ilya and Pooley nodded. “I can’t…satisfy him.”
“Sexually?” Ilya meant it as a joke, but when Combsy crumpled, Ilya regretted what he’d said immediately.
“He’s…insatiable. Like, I’m not kidding. I can’t keep it up.” Combsy started tearing his fingers through his auburn hair. “I fuck him every day, and he wants more. I keep him stuffed with cock—his mouth and his ass—and it’s not enough.” Combsy started crying much to Ilya and Pooley’s horror. This was all a little too vulnerable. “I can’t please him. I try position after position, and he wants to do more. He’ll leave me! I know he will. Erick said that’s why they broke up.”
“The quarterback?” Pooley asked. “I didn’t even know you guys were friends.”
“We’re not. He’s my boyfriend’s fucking ex. But I needed help. I love Shane—”
“You have only been dating a month…” Ilya interrupted.
“I love him.” Combsy insisted. “He’s so smart and funny. And thoughtful. And beautiful and nice and—”
Ilya tuned out Combsy’s caterwauling, turning away from his teammates so that they couldn’t see the smirk overtaking his face. Now, Ilya understood why Shane’s relationships never lasted. These athletes, at almost the precipice of their talent, didn't have the stamina, the imagination, it would take to satisfy Shane Hollander.
Except for Ilya.
***
Ilya actually needed a French tutor. He was on the cusp of a D, barely holding on to the C- he’d obtained through begging, compromising, and half-assing assignments. It was just a coincidence that Shane was the French tutor who came highly recommended by professor Laurent. Setting up a tutoring session was practical. Ilya wasn’t just trying to steal his teammate's boyfriend from him—he was also improving his grade in the class bringing down his overall GPA. Obviously…
Up close, Shane was even more glorious to behold. His freckles were so breathtaking. His lips looked so plush and pillowy. His eyes were so soft and comforting. Ilya couldn’t focus on nary a word that Shane said in his gentle, clear tenor. Eventually Shane stopped talking, and Ilya only noticed because the lullabic rhythm of his voice was no longer gracing Ilya’s ears.
“You’re being quite obvious.” Shane said once Ilya’s eyes had finally dragged up to meet Shane’s, which were blown open and so unbelievably beautiful. “We can’t practice conversational French if you don’t speak.” Shane rolled those gorgeous brown eyes irately. “And you keep staring at my mouth and licking your fucking lips. It’s obnoxious really.”
Shane puffed up like an angry kitten, his face scrunching and his arms crossing in front of his chest like an affronted fair maiden. Ilya smiled. Goddamn. Shane was so pretty.
“Is this funny to you?” Shane was almost outraged. “I’m a real tutor. These are my TA hours. I know who and what you are, Ilya. You’re my boyfriend’s captain. Have some decorum.”
“What?”
“Class. Couth. Propriety. Politeness.”
“Ah.” Ilya nodded in understanding. “Well, if you know me…” Ilya licked his lips and smiled wickedly when Shane’s eyes tracked the movement, “then you know that I have no die-core-am.”
“Again.” Shane huffed, starting to pack up his notebook, laptop, pens, and highlighters into his bag with a twingy quickness. “My boyfriend is on your team. He’s your right winger—“
“And he cannot satisfy you.”
Shane stopped packing his things away and looked up at Ilya aghast, his sexy mouth hanging open in shock, “what the fuck did you just say to me?”
“He told me and Pooley that he cannot satisfy you. He cannot fuck you enough. He cannot meet your appetite.”
Shane slumped, “he told you that?” His question came out as a whisper.
“He did.” Ilya replied, nodding sagely. “You love him, yes?”
“Love is a little extre—”
“He loves you.”
“Oh, God. Does he?”
“But that does not mean you should be unsatisfied.”
Shane nodded before bringing his hands up to hide his face as he grumbled, “I’m not unsatisfied. I’m just not…satiated.”
“Okay.” Ilya replied simply.
“Our sex is just fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Ugh, why am I even talking to you?”
Ilya shrugged. “Because I know you both. Because I can offer what you want without asking for all the other shit.”
“Other shit?”
“I do not want to be your boyfriend.” Even as Ilya said it, he knew it was a lie. “But I can fuck you.”
“I’d never fuck you.”
“Are you sure? You do not want nine inches of uncut cock in your ass and mouth? You do not want to be tied up, slapped, choked, throat-fucked, held down, fucked stupid by someone who can keep up with you? Who is as kinky as you?” Shane was breathing fast and shallow, his eyes widening still. Ilya continued, feeling high under Shane’s undivided attention. “I will fuck you until you cannot walk, Shane. I will fuck you with everything I have…and I have a lot.”
Shane was vibrating in his seat. “You just want to fuck me?” He whispered the question as if afraid to ask.
So badly. “Yeah.” Ilya scratched the side of his nose, avoiding Shane’s gaze. “I hear you are cockslut. And I like cocksluts.”
“Excuse me?”
“Relax. Everyone knows. You fuck best athletes and then after a month, maybe two, you break up with them. I think is because they cannot fuck you right.”
Shane huffed, “and you can?”
“Oh, yes, Shane Hollander, I can.”
Shane was practically hyperventilating, his eyes flicking from Ilya’s stare down to the table, over to his own fidgeting hands, and then back again to meet Ilya’s intensely watchful bright eyes.
“Nine inches?”
“A little over.”
“And…and it’ll just be sex?”
Ilya’s heart shunted in his chest, but he agreed readily, “just sex. You are too boring for me to date.”
Shane rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. Ilya swooned over how cute this man was.
“And you won’t tell Tyler? We’ve only just started dating. And he’s your teammate. And it would kill him if he knew I was fucking his captain. And I don’t cheat. I never have. It’s not like me. Oh my God—“ Shane let out a high, reedy sound of distress.
“Relax.” Ilya slid his chair closer to Shane’s and placed a hand on the other man’s lower back, rubbing in soothing circles. “Is just a plan to fuck.”
Shane sniffled. “You’re not the one who’s going to be a cheater.”
“Eh.” Ilya said dismissively. “I have cheated before. If it is just sex—it means nothing.”
“Tyler probably won’t feel that way.”
“Combsy will be happy that you are happy. Is sex, Shane. Combsy can be your boyfriend while I will be, ah, fancy dildo.”
Share laughed, small and mostly through his nose, but the sound of it made Ilya feel warm and proud.
“I can’t deny. I’ve always wanted to…”
“Oh yes, Shane Hollander. And I promise you will enjoy the ride. I am very fun.”
Shane sighed dreamily, “so I’ve heard.”
Ilya grinned, predatory and all teeth, “I have heard much the same about you. We will have sex. It will be so much fun. We are made for each other in that way, I think.”
Shane was quiet for a long time until he began nodding slowly, methodically, as he worked through the pros and cons of fucking Ilya’s brains out. Finally—finally—Shane’s shoulders dropped and he let out a resigned sigh.
“God. I hope you’re as good as you’re promised to be.”
“Oh, Shane Hollander…” and Ilya slid closer, letting his tongue wrap sensually around the R in Shane’s last name. “I will be ever better.”
“Oh, fuck,” Shane breathed. “Yes. All right. Okay, Ilya. Yes. Let’s do it.”
Ilya’s smile widened. He was the luckiest man in the world.