Chapter Text
It doesn't take long for Scott to realize just how inexperienced Shane is. He's good, he's so fucking good, but it's clear he hasn't done this with many people.
"Fuck," he grits out, a hand going to Shane's leaking cock. "You know how good you look, Hollander?"
He's so loud that Scott is grateful he'd escaped to a bar that night. Scott isn't small by any means but Shane's tight hole takes him like it's nothing and fuck if that isn't hot. It might just be for the night, but Scott is surprised to learn just now needy Shane Hollander is on his dick.
It makes Scott just a little cocky, knowing he's one of the few who has seen Shane like this, writhing and stuffed, panting as sweat glistens off his chest.
Shane jolts at the pressure, and Scott nips at his neck, slowly thrusting into him. Shane had tried to control the pace when he had gotten on top, but Scott had held his wrists in place and asked, "let me?"
He didn't want it to be like anything Shane had experienced before.
Thrusting into him slowly, making him feel every inch of his cock working in and out has to be driving Shane wild, and Scott loves the feeling of him trembling in his lap.
"Look so fucking good here, taking it so well." He mutters, kissing at his Adam's apple and feeling him tighten around his cock. He has to laugh, letting his head fall forward. "You feel like a fucking virgin, baby."
He hears a low whine come from the man in his lap and Scott takes note.
Shane whines when Scott's hand releases his cock, but it's quickly replaced with a moan when his hands go to Shane's hips, pulling him upwards only to then drop him on his cock.
"Fuck!" Shane cried out, the sudden change making him tense up, and Scott is done teasing him. He pistons into him, hips searching for that tight heat that is Shane, punching beautiful noises out of the younger man.
Shit. Ilya Rozanov is a fucking idiot to let this man go for six months.
He's sure the situation is so nuanced, but here, now, with Shane clinging onto him and burying his head into Scott's shoulder? Fuck he doesn't care.
All he cares about is making Shane feel good.
Digging one hand into Shane's hair, he kisses the side of his neck before flipping them over, hearing Shane let out his loudest groan yet as Scott hits into him deeper.
"That's right, baby," he pants, looking at the beautiful sight underneath him.
"Fuck, Scott--" Shane whines. "Kiss me? Please, I need it--"
Scott is on him in an instant.
Their lips crash together, and Scott moans as Shane's tongue begs for entrance, exploring him as he bucks and moans at the now-brutal pace Scott has set.
The sound of skin on skin, mixed with their panting is intoxicating to Scott. He feels heady and drunk on this, this experience he's giving Shane Hollander.
"You're making me fucking crazy," Scott growls when Shane is no longer able to form words, only holds on to Scott and takes it. Takes it all. Fuck, he's so tight and pliant in his arms, being so needy. Fuck, he's so close to coming, so so close that-
He has to pull back.
Shane finds his voice then, a sharp noise of indignation filling the room. He gapes up at Scott with a look of anger and confusion that has the older man grinning.
"Why the fuck did you stop?!" Shane all but yells, chest heaving.
"Because," Scott says pressing a gentle but firm kiss to his lips. "I said I'm taking care of you tonight."
Shane's eyebrows draw together, looking both skeptical and angry at this turn of events. "You keep saying that like I'm a project or-or like I have a daddy kink, Scott." He huffs, looking mortified.
Scott raises an eyebrow at him. "You know, Rook, people don't usually bring that up during sex unless they do."
Another furious blush works its way onto Shane's face. Well isn't that interesting.
"Not judging," he admits, a grin spreading across his face. "What, Hollander. You need a daddy tonight?"
Despite the very obvious want to fight him on it, Scott sees just how much the idea thrills him.
Shane huffs at him, but there's no heat in it. A look of embarrassment flits into his eyes and he chews at his lower lip. Scott just cocks his head, letting him know he's listening.
"What...what does that even mean? Having a daddy kink? Other than, y'know...?"
"Calling a man 'daddy?' "
That gorgeous blush is back and Scott needs to be more blunt if this is the response he gets.
"Well," he says, laying down some and landing between Shane's legs, pressing a kiss to his pouting lips. “I don’t have much experience,” Scott admits, voice quieter now, less teasing than before. “But it’s not anything different than what I’m already doing, Hollander.”
Shane’s expression tightens with confusion. “...Taking care of me?”
“Yeah, baby.” The endearment slips out naturally this time, roughened by warmth instead of mockery. “Just means an older and more experienced man gets to take care of you.”
Shane’s face immediately goes pink again.
Scott smiles despite himself. God, the kid is easy to fluster once someone actually gets past the armor.
“And usually,” Scott continues, fingers running circles around Shane's hip, “they’re in charge.”
He says it lightly, but not carelessly. Just an explanation Shane can take or leave.
Because the truth is, Scott doesn’t actually know if he’s any kind of authority on this. His experience isn’t exactly extensive. A handful of hookups over the years, some half-hidden relationships, and—
Well.
One very memorable European exception. Scott huffs a quiet laugh to himself at the memory. Older by almost fifteen years, silver fox, self-assured in a way Scott had found almost offensive at first.
And somehow, impossibly, had made Scott feel small without making him feel weak. Delicate without making him feel lesser. Safe. Scott hadn't minded calling him whatever he told him to, didn't mind being submissive under him as he came at least five times in one night.
God bless Spanish men.
Shane studies him for another long moment before asking quietly, “And being in charge means what, exactly?”
Scott’s gaze turns predatory, if the way Shane's eyes widen is any indication. “It means,” he says carefully, “you let me do what I want to you."
Shane stills, mouth falling open ever so slightly. There's an expression on his features, mostly want if Scott is reading the situation correctly.
"Yeah, Rook?" Scott asks, hand falling in between Shane's legs and finding his half-hard cock. "Is that what you want tonight?"
He lets out a whimper, but it's not enough. This is a big trust, and Scott isn't letting Shane blush his way into this.
"Need to hear you say it, Hollander. Am I in charge?"
It might be playing dirty, but he squeezes around Shane's cock as he says it, just to watch those pretty eyes roll back. Fuck, what Scott wouldn't do for this man if he just asked.
"Make me come now," Shane gasps. "Then you're in charge."
"Fuck, how are you still so tight?" Scott pants, pushing into Shane without pause, making Shane throw his head back violently with a broken scream. Two orgasms in, Shane has got to be beyond sensitive.
So sensitive that he's writhing against Scott’s hand keeping his wrists above his head.
"Oh fuck," Shane moans when Scott has bottomed out. "Fuck, Scott, too much--"
"You need to tap out, baby?" He asks, stilling his movements, but Shane shakes his head.
"No! No, no, don't stop. Fuck I need-- fuck!"
Shane's pretty little beg is cut off as Scott begins a brutal pace, snapping his hips roughly into the younger man.
"You're gonna take it all," Scott says, brushing their lips together "unless you beg me to stop."
Shane whimpers and fuck, tries to bring his knees up so Scott can go deeper.
Fucking. Hell.
As he begins fucking into Shane, listening to those pretty little moans, Scott wonders how Rozanov could be such an idiot. How he wasn't on his knees in that bathroom begging for Shane to forgive him.
And fuck, why hadn't he asked Shane to get on his knees for him? Does Shane even know how pretty he looks?
His hips stutter at that. Maybe Shane doesn't know how good he looks, how precious someone like him is.
Scott needs to fix that. And, with a quick look around the room, he knows how he's going to. But first, he needs to make the man come on his cock again.
"Give me another, Hollander," Scott pants. "Want to see you fucking covered in it."
Shane's abdomen is already sticky with cum, but Scott has no doubt the other man still has one in him. He's younger, sure, but more than that he's needy.
"Scott," Shane whines, eyes brimming with tears at the sheer force of it all. He tugs his wrists, huffing and moaning at the same time. "Touch me, please. I can't--"
"You can." Scott says, not moving his hands at all. "And you will."
That makes him release a string of curses, but it also makes Shane's dick twitch in interest. Had Shane ever come untouched before?
"F-Fuck," Shane grits out, eyes rolling back and Scott has the urge to comply, to touch him, to reward him.
But in the end, Shane comes with a scream that has Scott thanking himself that he let it happen this way.
He lands back on the bed with a thump, gasping as he catches his breath and stares up at the ceiling like it holds answers to questions Shane never knew he had.
"That good, huh?" Scott jokes but Shane is too out of it to even respond. He gives the man the minutes he needs to recover, peppering him with kisses and rubbing the non-sticky parts of his body. He kisses at the joints, murmuring how well Shane took it.
He brings Shane up for a kiss, sweeter than anything he's given all night. Because he knows he's really about to push Hollander's limit. But, they have a safe word established and he trusts Shane will use it if it becomes too much.
"You trust me, Hollander?"
Shane looks up at him, a question in his eyes, but he nods. There’s still uncertainty there. Still bruised emotion from earlier hanging over the edges of the night like smoke. But still.
"Yeah, Scott. I do."
Scott kisses him again, his hand slides up along Shane’s jaw again, thumb brushing lightly against his cheek as he leans into it fully, trying to pour everything he can’t quite put into words.
When he pulls back, he pulls the condom off his softening dick, tosses it into the trashcan by the bed, and offers Shane a hand. He leads Shane to the foot of the bed.
And faces him towards the mirror.
"Scott," Shane gasps, looking at him with a look of fear and doubt. Scott kisses him again, kisses him so hard that Scott can feel Hollander's teeth through his lips.
"Still trust me?"
There's a very real chance that Hollander will bolt. That he'll shake his head, ask Scott to back away so he can pull his clothes back on.
There's a chance Scott will be the second man to make him cry tonight.
He's preparing for it, knowing this is a risk that Hollander might not want. It makes it all the more surprising when Shane nods a little.
"Y-Yeah. I do."
He has Shane sit down on the edge, Scott settling in behind him. They're close enough that Shane can probably each individual ridge of his abdomen. One hand slides to Shane’s waist automatically, broad and steady there.
His other hand comes up beneath Shane’s chin. Gentle, but firm enough that when Shane instinctively tries to duck his head away from the mirror, Scott stops him with almost no effort at all.
“Don't." Scott orders. His hand tightens slightly at Shane’s waist.
“Come on, baby,” he says quietly. “Look at yourself."
Scott watches the exact moment it gets uncomfortable for him. The second self-awareness creeps in and Shane starts trying to retreat into humor or annoyance or anything else that keeps him from actually seeing what Scott sees.
But then Scott places a hand on Shane’s chest, pressing enough just to feel the man's heartbeat under his fingertips. Shane’s breath catches.
Scott’s eyes flick up to meet his in the reflection.
“Look at you,” he says softly, almost disbelieving now that he’s saying it out loud. “You’re gorgeous.”
Shane visibly struggles with the word.
Scott can tell. He wants to believe it and doesn’t know how. Scott has to figure out how to make Shane Hollander realize he's the most beautiful thing Scott has seen.
Shane’s throat works once, Scott feels it beneath his hand. Sees it in the mirror. He lets his gaze drag deliberately over Shane’s reflection again. Not subtle about it. Not hiding the appreciation anymore.
His hand slowly starts making its way away from Shane’s pectoral, loving the way he feels his chest rise and fall against him, how he tries to let his head drop but Scott doesn't allow it. He keeps his hand under Shane's chin and tilts it up.
"You are so pretty, baby."
That earns him a small whimper, which makes Scott lean in and press another slow kiss just beneath Shane’s ear. This isn't supposed to be sexual, but Scott thinks it might be the most intimate thing he's done with a partner.
"Pretty?"
Scott feels something in his chest pull tight so suddenly it almost pisses him off. Because Shane sounds genuinely uncertain.
"You are," Scott says, leaving no room for argument.
Shane’s eyes stay fixed on the mirror, but Scott can see the exact moment the compliment lands differently this time. Not bouncing off armor. Not getting dismissed immediately.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and steady near his ear. “Pretty face. Pretty eyes.” His gaze drags deliberately over Shane’s reflection again. “Pretty enough that I think half the league would lose their minds if they saw you like this.”
God, they would. Even the straightest men in the league would be tripping over themselves to get Hollander like this.
He's about to tell Shane what else he thinks is good and nice and beautiful about him, when he sees that Shane is getting hard.
There's a look of shame in Shane's face when their eyes meet in the mirror, but also, a challenge.
"Can I fuck you like this?" Scott asks suddenly, the question landing heavy in the room.
"Yes."
He has to hide a grin in Shane's hair as he presses a kiss to it, smelling what is undeniably Shane's shampoo.
"But you haven't come." Shane says, sounding almost petulant.
Scott has to stiffle a laugh. Was Shane only now realizing that, after three orgasms and probably a fourth on the way? Maybe Scott was letting him be too greedy, but fuck Shane deserved it. If possible, Scott would edge himself all night if it meant getting Shane Hollander off as many times as he --
"I'm clean," Shane blurts out, which makes Scott freeze.
The blood immediately rushes to Scott's ears, making the room spin a little. Was Shane Hollander asking him to...?
"Will you come inside me?"
Oh, fuck, he's asking more. Scott thought maybe Shane wanted to be fucked bare, could have a discussion about that, but this? This is not what Scott was expecting.
Shane was supposed to leave tonight satisfied, a little wrecked maybe.
Not with a first experience being taken away, not something so trusting and intimate.
"Hollander."
The words comes out brusque, harder than he meant. It makes Shane jump but Scott is too wired up to apologize.
"Do you know what you're asking me right now?"
He's staring into the Shane in the mirror, not the one in his lap. And fuck, fuck this is bad. This is incredibly bad because Scott shouldn't. He knows this is such a bad idea but fuck. Shane’s grown, successful, captain of a goddamn franchise. More than capable of making his own decisions.
"I'm asking you to come inside of me," Shane huffs, annoyance in his voice.
"Shane."
And immediately he feels the reaction.
The tension that seizes through Shane’s body is instant and instinctive, like Scott accidentally pressed against a bruise he couldn’t see. Shane’s eyes clamp shut hard enough that Scott feels his stomach drop.
"Hey, hey--" he says, and hand comes up automatically, grasping into Shane’s side "Talk to me, Rook, what happened.”
Shane shakes his head quickly before Scott can move away fully. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
Shane laughs once under his breath, but it sounds awful. “No one’s ever called me that during...”
Scott stills.
“During sex?"
Shane keeps his gaze fixed somewhere around Scott’s collarbone instead of meeting his eyes now. “No one really…” He shrugs one shoulder, small and tight. “I guess they want Hollander for the night, not me.”
Something hot and furious twists hard in Scott’s chest. "Not even Rozanov?"
The name tastes like acid in his mouth, but he has to know.
"No. Especially not him."
Scott’s jaw tightens hard enough to ache.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he says, low and quiet and so fucking angry.
Shane blinks, startled by the tone. Scott pulls back just enough to look at him properly now, both hands settling firmly on Shane’s waist like he needs the contact to keep himself anchored.
“That asshole had you sneaking around hotels for months,” Scott says, voice dangerously calm, “and he still couldn’t be bothered to call you by your fucking name?”
A pulse of fury goes through him so sharp he has to physically unclench his hands before he accidentally grips too hard. For one horrifying second, Scott genuinely contemplates finding Rozanov tonight and having all his teammates jump him.
“He’s not—” Shane starts weakly.
“No.” Scott cuts him off immediately, sharp enough that Shane falls silent. “Don’t you fucking dare defend that asshole when you're in my lap, Shane."
When Shane's head falls forward, his hand reaches out and fists into Shane’s hair, enough to tilt his head back further and startle a cry out out of him.
And holy shit, Shane is getting harder. He's leaking, and Scott wonders if it's from the anger and dominance he's displaying. Or maybe it's from finally hearing someone calling him Shane, recognizing that they don't have a hockey legend in their bed but a person.
"Fuck, you're so needy," Scott hisses. "You need this, don't you? You need my cum, Shane?"
A guttural groan comes from him, and Scott feels his eyes roll back.
"I'm clean. But that doesn't mean we have to, Shane."
Because he's very very close to just lifting the man up and backwards onto his dick if Shane keeps moaning like a porn star. He's sure he can find his last medical report, but Shane doesn't let him entertain the feeling long.
He watches in awe as Shane uses the floor to push himself up and Scott holds him right there, perfectly lined up for Scott to fuck into him.
"Shane." Scott moans, moving forward to the edge of the bed so he has better leverage. It also means Shane has no choice but to dangle off his cock. "This is your last chance to tell me to stop."
"Don't stop. Fuck me."
Scott swears.
Suddenly, he pulls Shane up with one arm around the waist as he spits into his other palm. He's too far from the lube and too out of his mind. This'll have to do.
He swears no one has ever been so tight and so warm around Scott before, the sensation making him go out of his mind with lust.
"Holy fucking shit," Scott groans as Shane drops down another inch or so, rocking back and forth, writhing on his cock and he's not even halfway in.
Watching it happen in the mirror is even better.
With their positioning, Shane can't reach the floor, leaving him completely at Scott’s mercy, trying to keep himself upright. Scott almost comes just at the sight of Shane's thick thighs trembling from the exertion, his cock leaking all over his them. Some of it lands on Scott's own thighs and a sick part of himself forces him to commit it to memory. He wishes he could take a photo of Shane Hollander like this, legs spread over Scott's thighs, fucking himself onto Scott's dick.
With the angle, Scott's deeper than he has been all night. He can almost swear he sees a bulge in Shane's lower abdomen.
He has to dig his heels into the carpet to keep himself from thrusting up into Shane before he's ready, but it does jostle him slightly, the man letting out a groan at the feeling.
“Holy shit,” Shane keens, high and needy, struggling to fully seat Scott into him. "Help me?"
Scott will deny the growl that escapes him for the rest of his life, but he grabs Shane's hair to make the man watch as he forces him down on his cock. It's too much and not enough all at once, and Shane turns his head to kiss him the moment their thighs meet.
It's messy, too much teeth and tongue, but Scott needs this just as much as Shane does. But he breaks it off to see Shane's face in the mirror when he begins thrusting into him.
He's hoping that since the Awards or after party is happening (Scott hasn't been keeping track of the time for a few hours) there won't be any neighbors to hear Shane begin screaming as Scott takes him apart.
Scott never takes his eyes off the mirror. Why would would he, when he can properly appreciate and enjoy the spectacle that is Shane Hollander fucking himself on his lap. He can take in the beautiful moans escaping him, can watch the beads of sweat dripping off the body on top of his, can feel the warmth of him.
"Fuck, Shane," he moans, reaching around and rolling one nipple in between his fingertips. "You look so fucking good like this."
Minutes later, Scott's thighs are burning with the exertion, but he can’t stop his wild thrusts into Shane's body. He’d worry about it being too much if not for Shane's constant whines of “ Yes!” and “Holy fuck, yes.” He never wants to forget the sight of Shane Hollander being fucked into, mouth agape.
"Look at yourself," Scott bites out, almost inaudible over the sound of skin slapping against skin. "Wish I could take a photo of you like this, Hollander."
Even on top of his dick, Shane shoots him a glare but it has no heat considering he's being bounced so viciously Scott's eyes can't seem to focus on him.
"I think you'd like that, Shane," Scott taunts, hand finally snaking around to grab at Shane’s leaking cock. "You know how pretty you are taking it."
For all his glaring a second ago, Shane blushes madly at that sentence, opening his mouth to (probably) protest but it's cut off with a whine as Scott thrusts into him again and again.
They're athletes, they're used to pushing their bodies past limits, but even Shane gets tired and Scott isn't expecting to slide an inch deeper when Shane slumps forward. Both moan cry out at the sensation, and Scott doesn't feel bad in the slightest about grabbing Shane's head and pushing him further down, almost folding him in half.
Fuck, he wants to hold out longer, wants to keep fucking Hollander and hear those fucking perfect moans, but he hasn't finished once all night and Shane feels too good like this.
"Last chance, Shane." He pants, thighs stinging from the constant friction of their fucking. "I can still pull out."
"Please, don't," Shane gasps. "Wanna feel it, please, Scott."
Before tonight, Scott hadn't thought of Shane Hollander as anything but a talented rookie from Canada, as a very polite and professional adversary. Now he knows he'll never be able to forget this encounter with the pretty Canadian boy who let himself be Scott's for a night.
He yanks Shane up and flush to his own chest as he finally, finally, came in that tight, warm, heat, both men gasping at the sensation.
"Holy shit," Shane cries out, and Scott can only hold Hollander as he finishes too, painting both their abdomen and thighs white.
Both men pant as they try to catch their breath, and Scott shifts ever so slightly so they can both lay on their sides. He runs his hands over Shane's waist, pressing feather light kisses over his skin.
"Thank you," Shane huffs, trying to roll over to look at him.
It makes Scott laugh some, but all he says is; "You're welcome, Shane."
In a minute, Scott will kiss him deeply and laugh about what a night they had, will run a bath for Shane and clean himself up in the suite while he waits for his turn.
But right now, he just holds the man in his arms and grins.
It's hours later, when they're both awoken with a notification alert, then another, then another. Scott looks blearily for the phone in the darkness and it's not until he's looking at the name on the screen that he realizes it's not his phone.
Lily.
He can't help but snort. Sue him, he's tired.
Shane has Ilya fucking Rozanov in his phone as Lily?
It is a fucking miracle no one has figured those two idiots out there.
"The asshole is texting you," Scott says with a sigh, pushing the phone in Shane's direction. The rookie is actually fucking adorable with tousled hair, but Scott isn't letting himself dwell on it.
He turns back, intent on sleeping, when he hears Shane sigh.
"“Is it bad I want to hurt him too?” Shane asks quietly into the dark.
Scott raises an eyebrow automatically, though he’s fairly sure Shane can’t see it with the lights off and the city glow barely bleeding through the curtains.
“Hm?”
“Not physically,” Shane says quickly. “Just…” He exhales hard through his nose. “I want him to feel as shitty as he made me feel.”
Scott considers that for exactly half a second before shrugging "I mean, it's understandable. He did kind of fuck with you last night."
"Until you stepped in."
A swell of pride soars in his chest and Scott lets himself feel it. He shouldn't be, but he can be selfish until the sun comes up.
"Yeah, Rook. So how do you plan to piss him off? Ignore him?"
Rozanov was never bothered much on the ice, chirps doing nothing, except when someone ignored his chirps. Scott guessed he was a drama king who never got held as a child or something so the asshole probably needed attention to survive.
“No,” Shane murmurs. “We ghost each other enough already. That won’t do anything.”
Scott huffs quietly in agreement. Then, after a beat, “You realize it’s kind of shitty to talk about another man while you’re in my bed, Hollander?”
Even without lights, Scott just knows the kid is blushing. Well, good, because he means that shit.
Shane groans softly into Scott’s shoulder. “You’re right. Sorry.”
Scott smiles to himself, one hand sliding lazily through Shane’s hair. “It’s fine, Shane,” he says more gently. "Just ignore him for tonight, and go back to sleep."
A beat of silence.
"Maybe you can... help me piss him off?"
Scott's eyebrows furrow. "How?"
"Nothing identifying," Shane hurries out, which does nothing to quell Scott's curiosity. Even in the dark, Scott can tell Shane’s blushing again.
Christ, he’s getting addicted to that.
Shane shifts against him, clearly debating whether to say it at all now. Scott can practically feel the nervous energy rolling off him.
"... you talked about wanting to take a picture of me."
Scott stills.
Oh, absolutely not.
He starts pushing himself upright immediately, already halfway to telling Shane what a catastrophically terrible fucking idea that is before Shane rushes on.
"No faces. Nothing that could come back to us. Just...an implication."
On one hand, it genuinely is a terrible fucking idea.
But on the other hand, Scott would love nothing more than to fuck with Ilya Rozanov, even if the asshole doesn't know it's him. He can picture Ilya staring down at his phone, shocked at the fact that Shane didn't chase after him.
Scott would be lying if that idea didn't sound delicious to him, on a spiritual level.
"Give me your phone."
After it’s done, after the picture is taken and checked three separate times for anything identifiable, Scott drops the phone onto the nightstand and pulls Shane back into his chest before he can think too hard about any of it.
The room settles into silence again almost immediately afterward.
Just the sound of breathing. The sheets shifting softly when Shane curls closer without thinking about it.
Scott’s heart is still beating a little too fast from the adrenaline of the whole thing. From the recklessness. From Shane laughing quietly into his shoulder after they hit send like he couldn’t quite believe he actually did it.
God.
They’re both going to regret that in daylight. Probably.
But right now Shane is warm against him, loose with exhaustion for the first time all night, and Scott can’t quite bring himself to care.
He rests his chin lightly against the top of Shane’s head and closes his eyes.
The scent of Shane’s shampoo is everywhere now. Clean and faintly sweet and already unfairly familiar. Scott breathes it in slowly. And because he’s finally alone with his own thoughts again, the reality of this settles over him piece by piece.
He knows what this is. More importantly, he knows what it isn’t.
This isn’t the start of some grand romance. Not in their world, not with their careers, not with the league watching everything all the time.
By morning, Shane will leave.
They’ll probably joke awkwardly over text for a few days. Maybe become closer after this in that strange, intense way people sometimes do after seeing each other at their worst.
But that’ll be it.
It has to be.
Scott is old enough to understand the difference between a life-changing night and an outlet. Old enough to know that sometimes people collide at exactly the right moment to alter each other permanently without ever actually staying.
His arm tightens slightly around Shane before he can stop himself.
Because even knowing all that, some traitorous part of him already hates the idea of waking up alone tomorrow.
Shane shifts sleepily against him, forehead brushing briefly against Scott’s collarbone. Scott exhales slowly into his hair.
At least, he thinks, he got to give Shane one night where somebody looked at him and saw a person first.
Maybe tomorrow Shane walks away from this understanding he deserves softness that doesn’t need to be earned first. Maybe he stops accepting scraps from men who only want pieces of him.
Scott hopes so.
Even if it means someone else eventually gets the version of Shane he found tonight, warm and laughing and quietly devastating in the dark.
The thought hurts more than it should. Scott presses one last absent kiss into Shane’s hair anyway.
Then he closes his eyes and lets sleep take him before he can make the mistake of wanting more.
The vodka Ilya ordered was good. Very good.
But it did nothing to him.
He stared down at his phone, at the photo Shane had sent him, one sentence attached to it. A photo.
Shane had never sent a picture before. And now he was sending one with another man, clearly after sex. How much had Ilya pissed him off?
Ilya had gone too far. He knew that now.
Ilya’s jaw tightened hard enough to ache, looking at the last message he had sent.
Who is that?
The reply didn't come. All he could do was stare at that stupid fucking text from the man he loved.
Ilya was going to bed. He would figure it out in the morning.
[A photo. A hand on a man's waist, surrounded by slight bruising in the shape of fingers. Just beneath, one single dark freckle]
Congrats on winning MVP. See you next season.