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"Did you bring them?" Rozanov asked in lieu of any proper greeting once he had the door to his hotel room sealed shut and Shane crowded against its smooth surface.
"Jesus, yes. I brought them along this time." Pressed so close to each other, it was difficult not to notice how thin the material of Rozanov's bathrobe was, nor his brazen nudity underneath. Not like that was anything new and Rozanov always preferred to cut to the chase in their meetings.
"Good. Then follow me," Rozanov said with the same commanding tone he'd used on the ice earlier today. "And put them on."
"I seriously don't understand your obsession. They're just glasses."
Already halfway across his suite, Rozanov threw an exasperated look over his shoulders before continuing on. "You don't have to understand. Only do. Come."
The suite Rozanov was assigned to tonight was nearly identical to Shane's own; columns of cold stone and granite interspersed between a minimalist white background that was more glass windows than actual walls. Though, thirty or so floors above the rest of the city had lent itself to an expansive view of the traffic in the vicinity, a blurred flurry of shape and streaky light. It was all so far removed from him and Rozanov that they may as well have be in their own world altogether.
Just behind Rozanov's retreating back, Shane dug around his jean pockets for the bulky case where his glasses were tucked neatly inside. The signs of their older age clear in only the beat up dents on the black case, the frames themselves nearly pristine. Shane had taken good care of them as he did the rest of his belongings.
Of course the fact that he didn't use them often meant a much easier time maintaining their condition. He hadn't asked for them, didn't see much point in wearing them either. But his mom's insistence that he was straining his eyes whenever he squinted to read had driven him to finally visit an optometrist.
He kept them safe afterwards for the sole reason to never have to get another eye examination again; his tolerance for air being puffed directly into his eyeballs for minutes on end without blinking was more of a test for his endurance than any of his playoffs had ever been.
No way would he go back.
"Hollander!" Rozanov called through the other side of the suite walls.
"Coming, coming," Shane muttered, placing the pair on himself just as he crossed the threshold to Rozanov's bedroom. Beside the warm low-lit lamps scattered around, skylights leaked through the floor-to-ceiling windows to illuminate Rozanov's tall figure as he stood waiting. "Ta-da," Shane said, unable to keep the sarcasm off from his voice. "Your greatest wish come true."
Rozanov, without an ounce of his usual disingenuous demeanor, replied: "Yes," before he was on Shane again, smashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Shane tilted his head to the side, slotting their noses against each other and welcoming Rozanov's mouth on his own. His glasses nearly clattered off his face in the process had Rozanov not gripped the sides of his face with the same brutal force.
"Wait a second, you want me to keep them on when we—" Shane swallowed the rest of his words as Rozanov slipped his tongue inside, cigarette smoke an aftertaste only so tolerable coming from Rozanov's mouth.
"Yes Hollander, very good. Using your brain for once."
Shane retreated his head as much as Rozanov's hands were willing to allow, scoffing. "Why? Does it make a difference?"
"So you can see my face better when I fuck into you."
Shane nearly choked on his own saliva. "I see it just fine. These are reading glasses not—"
"Then it is so you can read my face when I fuck—"
"Oh my god." Shane didn't know what the hell compelled him to listen to Rozanov's requests at all but it couldn't be anything resembling logic. That kind of thinking was long gone the moment he'd met his Russian enigma.
Unfazed by Shane's reaction, Rozanov stepped back to disrobe, cotton sleeves cascading off his wide frame with a single effortless shrug. Nothing left to the—very thin, poorly concealed—imagination, Shane was awarded his favorite view: all lithe muscles and Rozanov's thick throbbing cock already hard from a mere look at Shane.Fuck. He could barley glance away but when he finally managed, there was that smug smirk that Rozanov wore so much around him
"See? The glasses are good for you. Enjoying the view?"
"Fuck you," the response automatic. Shane wasn't stupid enough to believe wearing his glasses wasn't doing something back to Rozanov too. "You're getting off to this aren't you?"
Rozanov didn't answer, tugging Shane back into his arms for another open-mouthed kiss. Heady from the attention and the touch, Shane too readily gave himself over, mouth pliant to receive whatever Rozanov wanted. He used to hate how easy he was for Rozanov, how submissive he became for a half-promise of something more. But then Rozanov would shove his tongue inside his mouth and he'd nip at his lips until they'd bled and lick the front row of his teeth until his mind reeled. By then Shane didn't care, just didn't want it to end.
So distracted from all the fondling and kissing, Rozanov had unbuttoned his shirt and zipped down his pants before Shane even took notice. His fingers glided across his chest, kissing a wet trail down the column of his neck.
"I still wanna know why," Shane mumbled as Rozanov groped his ass, spreading him apart and ghosting a teasing touch over his hole.
"Why what?" Rozanov asked around Shane's nipple, the words vibrating against his skin.
"Why do you want me to wear them. Seriously."
"Because you look," Rozanov pulled back a bit, pausing as though carefully deliberating on his next choice of words. Either that or he was grasping for an English translation he didn't know. "Serious. Professional. And I want to take apart that Shane Hollander. I want to make professional captain Hollander moan, serious mister Hollander scream, totally boring Hollander cum."
Shane huffed, furrowing his brows as he struggled to formulate a response back. What the hell was he meant to say to that anyway?
"ты выглядишь эротично…Ебабельный."
"What's that?"
"Never mind," Rozanov dismissed, dragging Shane to bed by his waist. They settled on top of each other with Rozanov comfortably laid on the bottom, his legs dangling off the side, while Shane was perched on his lap, still hesitant to bear his entire weight down. "I want to enjoy this so no more questions, yes?"
"Okay."
With a bright flash of his teeth, Rozanov tilted his head and waited for Shane to bend down and meet his lips in another heated exchange. And as their mouths grew accustomed to each other's again, less coordinated and far needier than minutes prior, Shane relaxed into Rozanov, unconsciously dropping lower and lower until the cleft of his ass was chafing against Rozanov's hard-on. At the first contact, Rozanov inhaled sharply, fingers clenching into Shane's thighs.
There was a rhythm to this dance by now, they had done it countless times in countless hotel suites. Yet every time, something white hot and unrestrained pooled inside of Shane and he'd moan into Rozanov's mouth like it was their first time all over again. He ground down onto Rozanov's cock, relishing the way skin pulled against skin and the way Rozanov would grow impossibly harder in response.
"Rozanov'," Shane moaned. "I want—"
Rozanov was quick to shush his whimpering. "Take what you want, Hollander." Extending a free arm behind, Rozanov had fumbled around blindly until his hand finally came in contact with the discarded bottle of lube in the middle of the mattress. Already prepared for this. But so was Shane.
"Don't," he said, voice gruff and strangely pitched, even to his own ears. "I already opened myself up. Just—put it in."
"No," Rozanov said with enough composure and casual authority that Shane could almost believe he wasn't as affected as Shane. Almost, that was if he couldn't feel his the insistent pressure pressing under him. "Finger yourself again. I like to watch."
"Fuck." Rozanov was really drawing out the whole foreplay part this time, wasn't he?
Without any frills or flourish of the slutty spectacle Rozanov had wanted, Shane quickly squirted a generous portion of lube onto his palms, not even rubbing the oil warmer before leaning forward, face inches from Rozanov's as his elbow dug into the sheets besides Rozanov's hungry expression. Shane's other hand reached back, index and middle finger rubbing the lube around his tight ring of muscle before gradually easing his finger inside. And it wasn't long until he was two knuckles deep, shoving three fingers in and out with a wet squelching noise as he very explicitly tried to ignore the heated looks that Rozanov sent his way.
"Just going to make me do all the work here?" Shane grunted.
"Is very entertaining show. I deserve it, yes?" Rozanov said, folding both arms under his head and grinning. Of course Rozanov couldn't go a single hour without bragging about the Boston Raiders's win today. A hard fought game against Montreal Metros that left Shane feeling like a sore loser by the end.
Just for that comment alone, Shane should prolong the entire thing, really torture Rozanov back. But unfortunately—or more fortunately for Rozanov—Shane was impatient and he didn't really see a point in torturing himself alongside the cocky man underneath him. "Fine," he said, scissoring himself open faster.
Grunts and groans seeped out of him faster too, and even though he had already prepped himself an hour or so prior to their meet, Shane felt overly sensitive with Rozanov's eyes on his body, studying every twitch and move he was making. The anticipation for after, for more, roiled inside of Shane until even the familiar stretch of his fingers felt new. He hadn't even touched his own cock yet it sat leaking a sticky trickle onto his and Rozanov's abdomens.
At a particularly loud moan, Rozanov yanked Shane down like he was guiding him to another sloppy kiss, only to stop once the tips of their noses had grazed the other's, his mouth open as though he could drink Shane—and his every sound—up from the small gap of space between them.
Their breaths intermingled. Shane had trouble focusing on his task, caught somewhere between the pale gradient of Rozanov's irises and the dark fan of his lashes above.
"Your eyes have green in em'?" Shane mumbled aloud without realizing, his fingers having long stopped their movement while he became transfixed by the sight of Rozanov up close.
Shit. Rozanov was right, he did see him better like this and he had basically admitted that outright just now, hadn't he?
Rozanov's expression had the same vindication oozing out of his every feature as he had when he won the game earlier today. His eyes grew darker too, pupils swallowing the mesmerizing colors that Shane had been so intently studying earlier. "Oh yes Hollander? You want to stop the fucking for nice little eye contact moment? Very romantic."
"Shut up."
Taking control per usual, Rozanov snagged Shane's hand—the one still fingers deep in his own asshole—and pulled it back out again. Rozanov's other hand had slithered under Shane to jerk his own cock a couple times, quick and short strokes, just to coat himself with whatever leftover lube was in the tube.
When he was finished, both hands had found their place once again on either side of Shane's waist, long fingers digging into the small of his back. He hadn't said anything after, hadn't needed to as his harsh breathing and tightly wound muscles had done all the actual communicating for him. Rozanov's hold was loose; if Shane wanted his cock enough, he'd do the rest of the work himself.
Slowly, with one hand a guide for Rozanov's cock and the other a steady anchor on Rozanov's rock-solid chest, Shane speared himself down. Vastly different from the stretch of his own fingers, Rozanov's cock breached inside him like molten heat and overwhelming pressure. Then, as Rozanov worked his own cock further and further into Shane in small aborted thrusts of his hips, blissful fullness followed, the kind where his every thought and worry vacated him until all that he knew and felt was Rozanov's girth in him, Rozanov's body under him, Rozanov's hands all over him. This he could never achieve by himself, not in his own room back home in the months they spent apart when Shane would touch himself to the thought of Rozanov without being able to emulate half of what Rozanov did for him now.
Fully seated on Rozanov's thighs, Shane breathed in quick bursts as his body adjusted to the new intrusion. Rozanov flexed his fingers along Shane's back, staring up at him with patience and something more that Shane couldn't really read.
He used his splayed palm atop of Rozanov to balance as he began to slide up and down the length of Rozanov's cock in earnest. Long and slow thrusts, in and out of him that had his own hard cock bouncing in tandem and his glasses skewed one way then another, precariously sat on his face. Still, Shane didn't remove them.
"Shit," Shane said, for lack of anything else to say. He just needed to say something, anything. "F-fuck."
Rozanov nodded, grunting a curse back.
Normally when the sex began to blur together into overlapping sensations and smells and sounds, Shane would close his eyes and throw himself into Rozanov like there was an invisible force connecting their mouths. He always wanted to cum with the taste of Rozanov alone. Now though, there was less of that inclination to lean forward. No, if anything he was compelled to lean back as his rode Rozanov's cock if only to better study the man under him; the tight line of his lips, the intermittent clench of his abdomen, and most of all, the gaze that had yet to leave Shane's through all of this.
Out of his lenses, the room had sharpened into focus and the sex didn't have a layer of haze anymore as though a memory relived. Rather everything was solid, vivid, and breathing under him. And Rozanov hadn't stopped staring at him.
Seemingly sensing Shane's attention racing away, Rozanov threaded his fingers through Shane's hair, tugging him closer. "Fuck you're still so tight. You really prepared before coming here?"
"You could have helped," Shane said a minute too late.
Rozanov rolled his eyes. "You want princess treatment? Okay."
A split second was all it took for Shane to be splayed on his back, Rozanov casually lifting and manhandling him into position with barley any strength and far too much ease. Wedged between his legs now, Rozanov slid back inside without losing his earlier rhythm, picking up speed one thrust after the next. And the new angle hit in the exact places that had Shane muffling another moan in the crook of his elbow.
Rozanov liked to do him rough, that was the very first thing that Shane had really learned about him. He knew Shane could take it, so he would clench his fingers around Shane's ankles and thighs and pound into him with such a ruthless pace and merciless aim, in and out, until even the mattress began to creak threats beneath them. Even as his brains were fucked out of him and sounds of slick skin and lube inundated him, Shane still found he couldn't look away from Rozanov and the furrow of concentration on his brows, the trail of sweat collecting along his collarbone.
He barely blinked. They've fucked more times than he could count but he had seemingly missed everything, all the intimate nuances of Rozanov's face and body so up close that he never caught. Worse than the regret of a missed shot on the ice, he should've done this sooner.
And it wasn't Rozanov slamming their mouths together again that had tipped him over like always, nor was it the way he had moaned 'Hollander' over and over, right against the shell of his ear when he was getting close to the edge. Rather it was his expression, one that Shane always had his eyes closed to before yet would imagine crossing Rozanov's face every time anyway when he would stroke his own cock after; slack jaw, glazed eyes, and a singular focus on Shane and Shane only, as though his entire world amounted only to the orgasm and pleasure of the man under him.
Shane was the first to cum in a loud shout halfway between Rozanov's first name and a jumbled curse. Rozanov pulled out not even a full beat later, cock still pulsing and engorged.
"I'm not finished," Rozanov complained, motioning to his cock.
"Yeah," Shane replied, heaving with half-lidded eyes.
"I want you to suck me off."
Shane wrinkled his nose and hesitated for a fraction of a second—in that time deliberating whether sucking the very cock that had been deep in the cavity of his ass would be a very palatable experience—before coming to the conclusion that he couldn't care less. At this point, he'd lick his own cum if Rozanov had asked him to. "Sure."
Shane made to remove his glasses, no doubt a hindrance during oral and an even greater annoyance now as their previous pinch around his nose bridge had come loose, sliding down his sweaty face no matter how many times Shane readjusted them. They were already a hassle to deal with, having been designed more with the strong slope of a White person's nose in mind than an Asian one's, so Shane was all too grateful to take them off. Rozanov intercepted him though, tutting his hands away. "Don't do that. Keep them on."
"But—."
"Please. I don't like begging."
Weak to his requests, Shane agreed in the end.
They rearranged themselves on the mattress, Rozanov leaning back against the headboard while Shane laid on his stomach below, face nuzzling into his cock. The heady scent of him hit Shane hard, a mixture of his sweat and sex all concentrated in one. And he wasn't ashamed to admit—at least to himself—that he naturally gravitated towards that smell, masculine and so very Rozanov that it was difficult to catalogue as anything other. He imagined that if he was allowed to bury his face into Rozanov's neck post-game, free of an audience and their bulky uniforms, then he would probably smell similar to now.
Shane licked a strip of skin from the base of Rozanov's cock up to the tip, tasting of the artificial lube, pre-cum, and something more that likely came from him but he wasn't going to indulge that line of thought. Instead he licked another strip, unabashedly lapping at Rozanov's cock and drooling him slick once again. From above, Rozanov's breathing stuttered, his fingers weaving into Shane's hair like encouragement for more.
He continued to tongue at his cock while Rozanov's fingers scraped at Shane's scalp, pushing him forward and further into his cock. Then, Shane finally opened his mouth and took him in. More and more, smothering down his instinct to choke and blinking away the tears, up until he felt the tickle of Rozanov's pubes right against his nose, before going back up again.
Overtaken by the rhythm of it, Shane bobbed his head up and down to meet every reflexive thrust of Rozanov's hips. And just as his jaw grew sore, he sensed Rozanov preemptively clench his muscles underneath, his thrusts losing all coordination—a usual tell that he was cumming soon. Yet just as Shane moved to swallow him fully down again, throat closing in around the length of him, Rozanov tugged his head off.
Shane gazed up at him in confusion but he hadn't even caught a good glimpse of Rozanov's face before streaks of cum had distorted his vision, covering his face, hair, and lenses in their entirety.
"Shit." Shane straightened up, hurriedly removing his glasses to wipe them against Rozanov's nice sheets to absolutely no avail as they only ended up smearing the cum around. "A little warning would've been nice."
He realized there was cum drying in his hair and itching his face—granted very overstimulating in the moment—yet his glasses took priority. He continued to wipe them like that somehow might improve the situation. Maybe he should rinse them in the sink…But his mom told him not to clean them with water…Did that apply here anymore?
"I'm sorry, Shane," Rozanov said with sincerity that seemed to have warranted the use of his first name. "Can you clean them off or…" Rozanov trailed off.
"They're ruined," Shane said, studying the pair in his hand with utter despair.
Rozanov seemed to have misunderstood the source of his upset though, supplying quickly: "I will pay for a replacement, no problem."
"No that's not— I don't remember my prescription, it was a long time ago. And I'm way past due for an eye test so I have to put up with the whole thing."
"Huh." Which meant Rozanov hadn't fully understood him. Shane couldn't tell if the source of confusion was simply the language barrier or Rozanov being so blessed with perfect vision his entire life that he had no clue what getting a new pair even entailed.
Shane was struck by a ridiculous thought then. "Do you think people wear glasses just to look sexy or something?"
Rozanov blinked. "Not people, just you."
He shook his head, returning his gaze to his glasses like he could scrutinize a solution from thin air.
Rozanov suddenly added: "Oh! I see now. You are scared of doctor?"
"No! Fuck you," he replied without any real heat behind his words.
"Don't worry, I will come with you to hold your hand. Even give little kiss after for your boo boo."
Shane should really smother his smug face under a pillow. Instead he deliberated on taking him up on the offer. Not that he required an excuse to hold hands with Rozanov or anything, just that he owed him now.