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Shane Hollander is on his back while Ilya licks at his hole. He’s losing his goddamn mind. Not Ilya. Rozanov. (Ilya). He can hear himself begging and saying “please please please” over and over again. “Please what?” Rozanov says, low and rough. Shane thinks “please love me” in his head before he puts his hands over his mouth and whines high and hard. He absolutely cannot say that. “Baby. No hands. I want to hear you.” Ilya reaches up to move Shane’s hands away from his face. Shane grabs him by the wrist and opens up Rozanov’s hand and guides his fingers into mouth.
“Oh, my baby needs his mouth full? Okay.” Rozanov matches how he’s fucking Shane’s hole with his tongue to how he’s fucking his hand in and out of Shane’s mouth. First two fingers, then three, and Shane comes with a whine, feeling possessed. The fingers come out of his mouth and he’s babbling again before the comedown is over.
“Holy fuck. Thank you. Fuck. that was so good. Fucking hell you’re incredible. My god.” He needs to stop talking. He can tell he’s going to say something he regrets. “I only feel this way with you. Ilya you’re so good to me. Ilya. I need you. Hold me.” He turns to the side as his body shivers and holds a fist up to his mouth and bites it. Ilya (Rozanov) holds his other hand firmly and settles in behind him. Thank god he’s not looking at Shane’s face anymore; he doesn’t think he could take it.
They don’t love each other. They have sex. Shane knows that he can be anything Rozanov needs him to be. He can take it. He loves being that outlet for Rozanov, knowing that Rozanov can’t just pick up a girl in the club and hit her ass hard the way Shane can take it. Rozanov’s other hookups don’t get to feel his teeth hard on their nipples, biting hard enough to trigger genuine pain. Hollander can skate a full game and then ask for Rozanov to hit him harder, yes on the face, yes, more, please. Shane knows Rozanov needs to let that out, and he wants to be the toy that Ilya plays with. He would love nothing more than to be available to Ilya for anything at all. But Rozanov can’t know how much Shane needs it, craves it, lives for it.
Ilya knows that Hollander has an oral fixation. He sees the way Hollander holds just the corner of his mouthguard with his teeth so he can bring it in and out of his mouth. I mean, fuck, that boy loves dropping to his knees showing just how devoted he is to Ilya’s cock. Hollander has chew marks all over his water bottles. And he knows Hollander doesn’t like talking, at least to the camera. Even at All-Star Game events, when everyone is laughing, Hollander is happy to sit back and observe. (Of course, when he does talk, he’s the funniest one there without even trying.) Hollander is plenty good with his mouth; he’s just careful about what he says.
Rozanov always, always wants to hear Shane during sex. He wants to hear the moans and the whimpers, he wants to hear Shane beg for more. “Baby, baby, let me hear you. Tell me what you want.” Shane feels like he’s dying. He can barely think, let alone speak. He knows all that’s coming out is a high-pitched whine. Rozanov pulls out and taps his dick on Hollander’s balls. He tweaks one of Hollander’s nipples, making him yelp.
“What do you want Hollander. I will give to you. Tell me.”
“Please. Fuck. I can’t. I can’t.” “Love me. Stay with me. Fill me. Be mine.” Hollander’s eyes are wet. He has his arm in front of his face, and he really truly cannot form words right now. But he NEEDS.
“I can’t. Fuck. I can’t. Please. Fuck. Pleaaase. Please. Please. Fuck.” “I love you. I need you. I breathe when you breathe.” Rozanov lightly pries his arm away and pats him lightly on the face.
“Oke. This time I just give. I know what you need anyway baby, right? Sometimes you can’t talk, and that’s okay.” Ilya slides his cock deep into Hollander and brings his fingers to Shane’s mouth again. “That’s right baby, you can’t talk but you want your mouth full don’t you.” And Shane does. He nods, licking between Ilya’s fingers and trying to take as much into his mouth as physically possible. And like that, he arches and lets his orgasm take him.
“I got you surprise,” Ilya says into Hollander’s neck as he kisses him and moves him towards the bedroom. “I hate surprises.” Shane answers, but there’s not as much conviction as usual. He doesn’t feel scared or like he’s going to jump out of his skin. Usually if someone tells him there will be a surprise, that is enough for him to shut down and start planning his exit. But surprises with Rozanov have been good so far. Rozanov sits him on the edge of the bed.
“Take your clothes off. I get surprise. You will like.” And against everything in his nature, Shane believes that yes, he will like it. Rozanov comes back after Shane is undressed with his clothes folded in a neat pile with something in his hand. He opens up his hand to reveal a red ball with two straps.
“Up to you. If you want. But I think sometimes you want your mouth full.” Shane holds it in his hand. And yeah, he finds the idea of being gagged incredibly appealing. Honestly, he’s so turned on he can’t even verbalize it. He slides off the bed, sinks to his knees, opens his mouth, and hands the gag back to Rozanov.
Ilya takes it in his hands and gently caresses Shane’s face. He will never get over how easily Hollander trusts him. Hollander, who had no reason to see past the bravado and the mask, wants to be here and give himself to Ilya. He takes two fingers and gently presses them on Shane’s tongue first, and revels in the way his head tips back and his eyes close. As he inserts the gag and buckles the strap, Ilya sees Shane’s shoulders relax. Shane audibly sighs. He expected it to feel good, but goddamn it feels so fucking good. It feels so right to have Ilya make the decision for him and give him the gift of not speaking. He can finally let go and know that the gag will keep him from saying too much or being too loud. “Fank oo” he says around the ball, reveling in the way his words are muffled and hard to understand.
“Fuuuuck that’s right. You are so good for me,” Ilya purrs as he guides Hollander back onto the bed, laid out on his back. Usually, when Ilya is fucking Hollander, he at least has Hollander’s responses to help fill the room. This time though, his mouth is full, and Ilya’s mouth is running wild.
As he runs his mouth all over Shane’s torso and arms, inside the back of his knees: “Hollander. Fuuuuuck you look good like this. All stretched out for me. I’m going to mark you up. Everyone will see my marks. Fuck.”
As he’s working Shane open: “So tight but you pull me in so deep. Your body can’t help it. You want me so much. Your hole was made for me. You want this so much.” He hears a muffled “yeth, pleath, aaaaaahh” above him. Holy fuck that drives him wild, to know that Shane really truly cannot help begging for it even when he’s gagged.
And as he’s sliding his cock fully into Shane, his mouth keeps running. He knows he should stop, but he can’t. There’s nothing else, just his cock, Shane’s ass and muffled whines, and Ilya’s words. “Yesss. Take me. Fuck. I can’t live without it. Let me live here. Let me breathe you. Yes, Shane, yes.” At the sound of his name, Shane comes hard, keening into the gag and spasming around Ilya’s cock, pushing Rozanov over the edge with him.
Ilya slides up to pet Hollander’s hair and undoes the gag. “Okay?” he asks, looking into Shane’s fucked out glassy eyes. “Mmmm so good” Shane says, as he nuzzles into Ilya’s chest. He starts tangling his legs into Rozanov’s but then stops. “Wet,” he grimaces. Ilya smiles and squeezes Shane’s chest as he gets up to get washcloths. In the bathroom, he pauses. He has no idea how much Hollander was listening to him. Was he speaking English or Russian? He definitely knows he said things he shouldn’t have, things that he has tried to stop himself from thinking.
When he gets back to the bedroom, Shane is sitting up fully and has fished his phone out of his pocket from his pants neatly folded on the floor. He mumbles “thanks” before grabbing the washcloth. “So uh. Thanks. Uh, I’m gonna go.”
“Okay. If you want.” “Please stay,” he thinks. Ilya is reeling. He definitely said too much, and Hollander is definitely weirded out. “Don’t forget your surprise.” Ilya says as Shane orders a car. He holds out the gag.
“Oh. It’s just for me? To keep?” Hollander looks confused. “What, you think I use something that has been in your mouth with someone else? Or shut myself up?” That last question comes out as a mistake, a self-deprecating plea from inside his heart to hear Shane say something, anything, about his confessions.
“I don’t think this would be enough to shut you up, Rozanov. You’re an asshole.” But he pockets the gag. Rozanov relaxes a bit. Hollander’s phone buzzes. “My ride’s here.” Ilya doesn’t get up from the bed to give him another kiss. It takes everything to stay still, to not jump up and hold him.
As Shane’s driver pulls away, he types out and then deletes: “Did you mean it? All the things you said?”