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March 14th, 2015
Montreal, Canada
Age: 23
Shane was having an awful day.
He wouldn’t consider it one of the worse days of his life, because he wasn’t that dramatic.
But hell, they lost to Boston in Montreal. To Shane, that was pretty fucking bad. It was always a thing to lose to Boston, but losing to Boston at their own home arena? That was the worst outcome. Losing in your home arena was always a shitty feeling, but losing to Boston was a whole new feeling.
Especially with Ilya Rozanov on the team.
Rozanov has been a sharp pain in Shane’s ass, both figuratively and literally, for the past 5ish years. While they’re both pretty equal on how many times one has beaten the other, Rozanov still finds a way to dig under Shane’s skin and sticks there until he goes home.
And even then, hes always a reoccurring thought in Shane’s head. Just as he is now, even when Shane is getting changed in the locker room to leave.
Leave and go home to get ready for Rozanov.
Which is Shane’s next reason for this being an awful day, because he doesn’t feel good. Not in the “oh im sick, i cant do this” way, or the “oh, im mad at you because i lost so i cant have sex tonight” way either. Its more the “my head is about to start pounding any moment now and it may get ugly, and i dont want you to see that” way.
Shane knows Rozanov knows about his migraines. He’s been around for one or two, both of which were short and not as bad as they can be. Shane’s good at hiding things, anyway. He wouldn’t let Rozanov know if he was in that much pain.
Plus, Shane is pretty sure Rozanov is there for sex and sex only. Not to take care of him like boy—
Hes just there for sex, and Shane can deliver that quite well. Nothing more, nothing less. Its almost a tradition now. A habit.
•••
Shane straightened himself as he hovered at his locker, fresh thes already on, bag already packed, migraine medication already taken. He’d gone to press already, which was almost depressing with how short the questions were. It seemed as if everyone had figured Montreal would win in their home tonight.
Shane had assumed that, too.
Shane was snapped away from the thoughts of the press by the sound of his phone dinging with a text message. He sighed, rubbed at the growing pain in his left temple, and looked at the message.
Lily: Are you ready for round 2? 😈😈
Shane huffed.
Jane: We haven’t even had round 1 yet, asshole.
Lily: Ah, so you want 2?
Shane felt his cheeks burn.
Jane: Fuck you.
Lily: Later 😘😘
Shane slammed his phone into his bag, his eyes squeezed shut. He forced himself to calm down, because his teammates were still around him. He needed to get to his apartment, trying and calm down his growing migraine, and figure out how he was meant to have sex with a migraine.
He could figure it out. He had to. He wasn’t wasting this moment with Rozanov because of a stupid migraine.
•••
Shane stepped into his house and somehow, his migraine got 5x worse in the short 15 minute car ride. The dots in his left eye were blurring more and more, causing his vision to start and double. Shane was pretty sure he had about 30 minutes before he fully had double vision, and it would be noticeable from the view of an outsider.
The outsider being Rozanov. Which wouldn’t work.
But, if Shane was efficient, then he could figure it out. He could just keep his face hidden in a pillow the whole time, or buried in Rozanov’s shoulder. He did it often enough during their time together that it wouldn’t seem weird if he did for a longer time tonight. He could tell Rozanov to let himself in, give him the code, and already be upstairs so there wouldn’t be any unnecessary eye contact.
Shane pulled his phone out of his bag, and brought up his texts with Rozanov.
Jane: Let yourself in when you get here. Code is 0506.
Lily: See you soon, Jane.
Shane sighed, pressing his phone to his thigh and slowly making his way up the stairs. The migraine wasn’t dying down, even though he took his medication. He must’ve taken it too late.
Shane got himself settled on his bed, and just laid there until he heard the door opening and Rozanov’s footsteps coming into the house, and up the stairs. Shane felt his stomach clench slightly, and his eyebrows furrowed. He tried pushing the anxious feeling out of him, but it didn’t really work. For some reason, he always felt nervous around Rozanov. He didn’t know why, but a flutter always made its way into his heart around him.
The steps grew ser, and soon enough, Ilya Rozanov was standing in Shane’s blurry line of vision. Shane’s heart quickened as the man stepped ser.
“Hello.” Ilya’s voice was gravely and low, and fuck, Shane loved it.
“Hey.” Shane replied, hoping his voice didn’t shake. His head wasn’t getting any better, and soon it would start affecting him.
Rozanov moved closer, now on the side of the bed that Shane was sitting on. He leaned over him slowly, a low hum resting in his throat. Shane watched as Rozanov’s eyes traced his face, before a hand came up and cupped his jaw.
Before Rozanov could comment, Shane pulled him into a deep kiss, one that Shane knew would get him going. Shane moaned into his mouth as Rozanov’s tongue slipped its way into his own. While Shane loved sex, this was one of his favorite parts.
Rozanov straddled Shane’s waist, drawing a moan out of both of them. Shane’s hard cock pressed against Rozanov’s thigh, and his hips twitched upwards, hoping for friction.
The movement made Rozanov smirk, “Eager, are we?” He held Shane’s hips down with his hands.
Shane groaned, which was half a moan at that point, “Fuck off, you asshole—“ Shane tried moving his hips again, but was met with air as Rozanov shifted to lay on his side next to him.
Shane’s eyes flickered towards him, and were met with that fucking smirk, “Hm… Maybe I edge you tonight, yes? Is… punishment because you lost at home. I think is fair.” Rozanov’s voice was sly and teasing, and his hand trailed up and down Shane’s thigh.
Shane let out another groan, his head falling back against the head board, “You’ve got to be kidding me—“
“I do not think I am, no. I think you want to be teased, Hollander.” Rozanov’s voice grew lower as he spoke.
And fuck, did Shane want it. He wanted it so fucking bad.
Shane grabbed his collar and pulled him into a rougher kiss, and straddled his waist. If he wanted to tease him, fine. Shane could tease back. He ground his hips down against Rozanov’s, causing both of them to let out breathy moans.
Rozanov’s hands found Shane’s waist, his grip hard. Shane smirked to himself. He was getting to him.
The kiss broke for a moment so they could catch their breath. Shane felt his head swarm, either from the migraine or loss of oxygen he didn’t know. He didn’t care much either. This was perfect.
Rozanov was, as he always is, fucking perfect.
Rozanov’s mouth met Shane’s jaw, sucking lightly and biting. He wouldn’t leave any marks, but fuck, was it hot.
Shane moaned, moving his hips against Rozanov’s aroused cock. He felt Rozanov hum against his jaw, and was met with green eyes that had a certain look to them that Shane had seen many, many, many times. Shane was sure he could name all of the colors in his eyes, and then draw them without having a reference.
Rozanov’s hand moved down to the hem of Shane’s shirt, pulling it up and up until it was off of his body and across the room. Shane tried not to cringe as it landed crumpled in a ball on the ground, but he didn’t have much time to think before Rozanov was sucking and licking down his chest.
Shane moaned, his hands coming up to grip Rozanov’s shoulders, “Oh—“
And once again, before Shane could even finish his sentence, he was being flipped around, and his back pushed into the soft mattress, now with Rozanov laying on top of him.
Rozanov made his way down his torso slowly, leaving wet spots as he licked and sucked. Rozanov’s shirt was off now, and Shane was sure he would never get enough of this sight.
Unfortunately for Shane, that one look would have to be enough, because his vision was getting worse and worse, and was starting to double slightly. He had pushed down the migraine pounding feeling for the feeling of his cock against Rozanov’s thigh, but now that feeling was gone, and the migraine was back to take over. The migraine was like a bully, just kept punching and pounding its way into Shane’s life.
“Hollander? Hello? Earth to Hollander?” Rozanov’s voice pulled Shane out of his thoughts. Rozanov was down by Shane’s crotch now, obviously wanting to get into his pants. Shane nodded, giving him permission.
In no time, Rozanov’s mouth was around Shane’s cock, sucking and bobbing up and down, up and down. Shane threw his head back, and cursed, but no noise was made from Rozanov apart from the slurps and sucking noises.
Shane’s hands found Rozanov’s hair, gripping tightly. His grip was tighter than normal, but for two good reasons. One, Rozanov was really fucking good at blowjobs. And two, his migraine was growing worse and worse, and they weren’t even having sex yet. Shane hoped and prayed he’d be able to mask the feeling and push it down in time.
“Oh my god, Rozanov—“ Shane felt his stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety. His hand gripped Rozanov’s curls harder.
Shane felt Rozanov hum against his cock, and the bobbing and sucking became faster. Shane’s mouth was hanging open, moans slipping out one after one. He couldn’t stop, and he didn’t want to stop either. He’d been missing this so fucking much.
“Fuck— Oh god, I’m gonna cum—“ Shane moaned into the air. He was so close, so, so, so clo—
Rozanov pulled off.
Shane groaned, his right eye snapping open. He wouldn’t open them both because he knew his left eye would be screwed because of the double vision, and Rozanov would catch on.
“What the fuck? I was about to—“ Shane started, and was swiftly cut off by Rozanov wrapping a hand around the base of Shane’s dick.
“Mm… you will have to wait. Remember what I said, yes?” Rozanov’s voice was low and raspy, and all it did was make Shane want him even more. Shane sat up, but closer his eyes. His hand trailed down to Rozanov’s pant covered crotch, and he palmed him. Fuck, he was hard too.
“Seems you’re pretty desperate too.” Shane said, his voice lower than it normally is.
Rozanov inhaled sharply, and his hand came down to clutch at Shane’s wrist. Shane hummed. Everything was going well. Rozanov hadn’t noticed Shane’s head was probably a few minutes away from exploding into pounding pain, and Shane was about to get exactly what he wanted.
“Legs up.” Rozanov basically growled, now pushing his own pants and boxers down to reveal himself. Shane still had his eyes closed, but it was almost like he had a 6th sense for all things Ilya Rozanov. He’d developed it sometime in the 5 years they’d been… whatever they were.
Shane complied, grabbing the backs of his thighs and hiking them up to meet his chest. The position was never the most comfortable, but the outcome that followed it was worth it to Shane, so he didn’t mind.
For a moment, Shane realized how bad his head was getting. It was partially better with his eyes closed, but the persistent pounding was still present, and his ears had a dull ringing in them. He prayed it would stay at this level and not get any worse, because Shane couldn’t afford to lose this moment. He needed this.
And boy, he got it.
He felt Rozanov’s finger press in, first circling his rim and then pressing past it, slowly. And fuck, did he miss this feeling. Shane moaned, his head tilting further back against the pillows. Rozanov’s finger crooked one way, slowly opening him up. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to edge Shane today.
“Fuck, Rozanov—“ Shane moaned.
After a few very slow minutes, Rozanov added yet another finger. Still painfully slow, but so, so, so good. Shane moaned as Rozanov’s fingers started moving together, making Shane’s legs shake slightly. His fingers scissored and stretched, moving around to find his prostate. Rozanov was a very talented man on the ice, and his talents didn’t stop there.
“Writhing already, Hollander?” Rozanov teased, and Shane could hear the smirk on his face. His fingers brushed Shane’s prostate.
“Oh my god— where did you— when did your English get so good?” Shane questioned through a breathy moan. He squirmed as Rozanov brushed his prostate again.
“Mm… I talk to this boring Canadian a lot. Have you ever heard of him?” Rozanov’s fingers crooked again, and Shane let out another moan.
“Hilarious, Rozanov.” Shane’s cock twitched against his stomach and Rozanov’s words spoken before. His English getting better because of Shane, while his fucking fingers were inside of him, brushing against his goddamn prostate.
Fuck, that made him hard. Okay, maybe Shane was a small bit of a freak.
Shane groaned as Rozanov’s fingers pulled out, and an empty feeling came over him. He cracked an eye open, just long enough to see Rozanov slipping a condom on and lining it with lube. Shane laid his head back, his heart racing. This is what he had been waiting for—
A sharp pain sliced through the left side of his head, and Shane didn’t have enough time to hold in the wince that slipped out. He cursed himself immediately afterwards, because he knew Rozanov had heard him.
“Hollander? Are you okay? Did I do something—“ Rozanov’s voice was… concerned.
Shane shook his head, which turned out to be an awful idea so he instead spoke, “No— no. I’m fine. Just— just moved my leg wrong. Keep going.” Shane tried to make his voice sound convincing and not like a 5 year old who just stubbed his toe.
Rozanov hummed, “I’ll go slow, yes?”
Shane shook his head, “No— no. Its fine, I want you.” It was a half lie— Shane did really want him, but fuck, his head hurt.
Rozanov made a sound of acknowledgement, and the feeling of his cock pressing against Shane’s hole was now the most present thing ever. Shane and Rozanov both moaned in unison at the feeling.
Rozanov pressed in slowly, pushing against his rim slowly. Rozanov pushed in gently, as he always did. For being so rough on the ice, he was surprisingly gentle during the start of sex. Shane moaned, his hands flying down to grip the bed sheets tightly.
“Okay?” Rozanov asked, his body now laying over Shane’s, his cock half way in. Shane moaned, which Rozanov deemed a yes, as he continued pushing in, and in, and in.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rozanov bottomed out. Both men moaned at the feeling, one they knew quite well together. Shane felt promisingly full, and he was sure Rozanov could feel every inch of Shane. Rozanov made Shane feel full in a way he never would’ve thought was possible.
Rozanov started slow, and Shane groaned, “Faster, Rozanov, c'mon—“
Rozanov tutted, “Ah ah, remember what I said? I want you to be writhing and begging for me tonight. I am in control here, Hollander.”
That sentence alone could’ve made Shane finish.
And so, Rozanov moved agonizingly slowly, his hips thrusting at a pace of what Shane considered a grandpa. He moaned, the feeling unbeatable. Shane could never get enough of this, even if he thought he wanted to.
“Fuck, Hollander…” Rozanov moaned, but didn’t speed up.
Shane was pretty sure he’d explode if Rozanov didn’t pick up the pace. He’d already been denied of finishing before, and now he really had to. He needed him to speed it up. His ears were starting to ring, and Shane was pretty sure that was from the migraine, which was now coming back harder and harder.
“Please— I need you—“ Shane moaned, his head tilted back, his eyes squeezed shut, and his fingers clutched tightly in the sheets.
“Oh, what was that?” Rozanov teased, his smirk pressed against Shane’s neck.
“I need you—“ Shane repeated himself, his voice shaking. Thankfully, Rozanov was in a good mood tonight, and he started to actually thrust into Shane.
“Fuck, Hollander—“ Rozanov moaned, biting Shane’s neck.
“Holy shit—“ Shane moaned back. Rozanov pressed his hands into Shane’s hips harder, and he was sure there would be marks.
Shane moaned at the feeling of Rozanov’s cock sliding in and out of him, repeatedly. His stomach clenched for the second time tonight, and Shane was sure this was it. He wasn’t going to last long, but he needed to—
•••
Shane swore he was about to finish, but the sharp pain from before returned, sending pounding pulses through Shane’s skull, immediately affecting him. He tried holding in his wince, but it was to no avail. It slipped out at the worse possible time, and Shane could unfortunately do nothing to cover it up.
Shane held his breath as Rozanov’s thrusting abruptly stopped, but staying inside. Shane prayed Rozanov would mistake it for a moan, but Shane was never that lucky.
“Hollander? What was that?” Rozanov asked, his hand steady on Shane’s hip.
“It was— it was nothing. Keep— keep going, Rozanov. Please.” Shane muttered, his head tilted away from him and eyes still shut. If begging would work, he would try.
“No, I do not believe you. That was not nothing. What is wrong?” Rozanov was persistent, and he wouldn’t back down. But neither would Shane.
“I said it was nothing, okay? Just— I’m about to finish. Keep going.” Shane repeated. He needed this, and he knows for a fact Rozanov does too.
“Hollander, would you stop being so stubborn for two fucking minutes and tell me what is wrong?! I do not want to hurt you!” Rozanov’s voice grew sharper, and Shane knew he wasn’t getting out of this easily.
Shane was about to protest again when another round of sharp pain rang through his head. He winced again, his grip in the sheets loosening.
“There it is again! Hollander, what is happening? Was I too much—“ Rozanov sounded concerned now, and slightly frustrated.
“Its not you— fucking hell—“ The pain grew sharper, and Shane brought a hand up to press against his temple. He really wasn’t getting out of this now. Shane barely registered Rozanov pulling out, and his hand coming up to cup Shane’s jaw.
“Hollander. Open your eyes.” Rozanov’s voice was firm and commanding, and Shane felt the urge to listen. How could he deny that voice? He was getting weaker and weaker, hookup by hookup.
Shane’s eyes opened, and he felt Rozanov flinch slightly. Shane knew it wasn’t a pretty sight from an outsider, because it wasn’t a pretty sight for him either. Everything was doubled, and it made his head hurt even further. He couldn’t remember if Rozanov had ever seen him with double vision.
“Your eyes— What is this, Hollander? Are you on drugs—?” Rozanov’s voice was more concerned now, and had lost all of its teasing hint from before.
“I’m not— I’m not on drugs! Its— I have a migraine…” Shane mumbled, moving his eyes away from Rozanov’s face. He fucked it up again. He can’t do one goddamn thing right.
“A migraine. And you did not tell me? Hollander, what the fuck?” His voice was definitely frustrated now.
“I didn’t want to mess up this—“ Shane started, but was cut off.
“No. You tell me when you have a migraine, Hollander. I can’t— I do not want to hurt you, and I could’ve. I do not want to hear stupid excuses, either.” Rozanov’s tone was strict, and Shane felt himself nod.
“You can— you can leave if you want…” Shane whispered, his head rolling to the side. He didn’t want Rozanov to see him like this anymore. He felt so stupid.
“No. I will stay for little bit. I will help you, because I am— I am not heartless monster. Montreal is boring, anyway.” Rozanov said, his hand cupping Shane’s jaw.
Shane’s breathing hitched. This was too much— too intimate for rivals who fucked on the down low. Rozanov had helped him through migraines before, but neither of those times had felt like this one. This was a new feeling, one Shane wasn’t sure he should let in.
“Is the same thing as before? You need… ah… wet cloth and water?” Rozanov asked, getting off of Shane and pulling his boxers and pants on.
Shane nodded, closing his eyes again. He felt bad Rozanov never got to finish. Next time, (if there was a next time), Shane would make sure he feels good too.
Shane heard Rozanov leave the room, and return minutes later with a glass of water and a wet cloth. The wet cloth got draped across his neck, and Shane let out a moan of relief.
Rozanov let out a small chuckle, “That good, yes?” Shane hummed in response.
“I will clean you up quickly, and then you drink water, okay?” Rozanov didn’t wait for an answer, because before Shane could say anything he was in the bathroom and back with another wet cloth, this one meant for something entirely different than the first.
Rozanov started cleaning him, gently and slowly. Shane hummed in contentment, a noise he didn’t know if he ever made around Rozanov. Normally it was moans and groans, nothing like this. Rozanov’s thumb rubbed circles on Shane’s hip, a small way of comforting him. The cloth brushed up and down his thighs, his stomach, around his ass and hole, cleaning all of the… fluids.
Within a few moments, Rozanov threw the cloth into a hamper, and slowly laid beside Shane, “Do you need anything else? I can not remember from last time.”
Shane shook his head slowly, “Mmm… no. Jus’ you.” Shane didn’t think about what he was saying, and he didn’t find himself caring much, either.
Rozanov’s arm wrapped around Shane’s waist, spooning him from behind. Shane felt his lips press against the back of Shane’s neck, soft kisses left in their wake. Shane found himself relaxing further and further. Shane pressed himself further into Rozanov, his head growing heavier in sleep rather than the migraine.
Rozanov whispered something in Russian that Shane didn’t quite catch, as his body succumbed to the sleep pulling at him. His head was still pounding, but he was warm and safe and really fucking comfortable, so the good outweighed the bad.
Plus, he was being spooned by Ilya Rozanov. That was a bonus within itself.
•••
Shane woke to a cold bed, a dull migraine, and a feeling of disappointment swirling in his chest.
He groaned as he rolled over, hand swatting at the bedside table to find his phone. Instead, he was met with a piece of paper. Shane cracked his eyes open, which were now slightly blurry instead of fully doubled, and gave the paper a once over. On the paper was neat handwriting that didn’t belong to Shane, and could only belong to one other person.
Rozanov.
Shane read the paper slowly, and then read it three more times, in case he missed something.
Hollander,
I made breakfast, and is in the fridge. Has note of ingredients on top because I know you are picky with diet.
I am sorry I could not stay until you woke. I have flight back to Boston. Text me after you read this, so I know you are not dead or kidnapped.
I hope your head feels better. I left pain meds on bedside table. I hope they help.
The best hockey player ever,
Илья Розанов
Shane’s heart fluttered at the image of Ilya Rozanov making breakfast in his kitchen for Shane. He thought of Rozanov looking for the pain meds, most likely in the dark at the crack of dawn. He thought of him writing this letter, and hoping Shane would read it.
Fuck, Shane was so ruined.
He set the note back down, and sat up slowly. His head wasn’t as bad as it was last night, but a dull pain was still present. He would have to take it easy at practice today, but at least he was going. At least he could actually sit up.
Shane thought back to last night. The game, the sex, the migraine, Rozanov getting him a cloth and spooning him. The thought of all of that happening last night made Shane’s head hurt more, so he quickly took his migraine medication that he left in his bedside table, and moved on to the next objective.
He had to text Rozanov.
Shane pulled his phone off of the charger, and opened his message app, going straight to the text thread with Rozanov. He took a breath in before he started typing.
Jane: Thank you for everything last night, and this morning. I appreciate it a lot.
Shane expected to get an answer later in the day, and was shocked when one came in 5 minutes.
Lily: Is no big deal. You just wake up?
Jane: Yeah, I just read your note. I’ll eat what you made me. Thanks for making breakfast.
Lily: As I said, no big deal.
Shane shook his head. It was a big deal to him. How was it not to Rozanov?
Jane: I’ll repay you next time.
Lily: Oh, next time?
Jane: We play each other in February, so yeah. Next time.
Lily: Yes, I know. Next time.
Shane closed the messaging app, sighing. He kept repeating the words in his head.
Next time. Next time. Next time.
There would be a next time. Next time was 2 months away. 2 months would feel like a lifetime away, because it always did. And fuck, Shane didn’t want to wait 2 months.
He would, though. Plus, he had to think of a way to repay Rozanov. Even though he knew what it would be, the sentiment is there.
Shane sighed, and stood. The mental countdown would start. But for now, he had a breakfast to eat and a migraine to conquer.