Work Text:
Scott Hunter was a normal person.
Well, not a normal person. In fact, he was a millionaire and a hockey player. A very good one. One of the best in the league. The best, probably.
And also, he was gay. Very gay. In a very homophobe world. And he just had the chance to fuck other men once a year, on holidays, when he traveled to Spain because in Spain no one gave a fuck about hockey and he could just be a normal gay tourist looking for a nice fuck. Or, at least, a decent one.
But, despite that, he was a very common person.
He loved routine and control. He went to work, did it well, and won matches. He also liked to read thrillers and drink smoothies. But everybody those days loved to read thrillers and drink smoothies. It was pretty common too.
Very normal.
But Scott was also lonely. Being the only gay player was a heavy burden.
However, Scott’s life changed radically that day on February 11’.
It was All-Stars game time. Again. And it had been a nice weekend. The Americans team went for dinner last night, they had fun, got drunk… Well, it would have been better if Scott could have picked a man in that bar to go to the hotel room together and fuck, like some of his teammates did with women, but… he was used to just jerking off alone in the shower.
But here, listen.
The thing that changed its direction radically wasn’t that. It occurred during the skills competition, when they were doing the accuracy shooting. Scott had set a new record and he was really happy about it. He was getting older, but he was still in good shape and that proved it.
However, one minute later, that asshole rookie, Ilya Rozanov, surpassed it. Scott was annoyed, because he disliked Rozanov very much. He was a dick, an annoying cocky arrogant full of himself. And also an incredible hockey player. Somehow, Scott knew that if he wanted to still be the best player of the league, he had to destroy Rozanov in the ice.
He was determined to do so.
But, to everyone’s surprise, Rozanov’s record didn’t last long, because Shane Hollander, the other rookie that was at the same level of Rozanov, broke it.
Scott didn’t hate Hollander, probably because he was a decent guy. Very nice, very polite, very standard. Like Scott. Like everybody should be. And when Hollander broke Rozanov’s record, Scott felt a little better inside. At least, the cocky one had been beaten by the polite one.
And then…
Then THAT happened.
Oh my god. Scoot couldn’t believe it at first. But when he saw Hollander’s face, he knew he hadn’t dreamed it. It really happened.
Because the fact was… that Ilya fucking Rozanov had invited Shane Hollander at his room that night.
But the worst part of it wasn’t that.The worst part was that Scott was in the room next door.
Or… well. Maybe it was the best part of it.
***
When the activities of the day finished and they all moved to the locker room, Scott couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Hollander and Rozanov.
It was very clear. Rozanov had said: “I think I’m going to bed early tonight”. And then: “One, two, two, one”. In Scott’s head it was a clear invitation. If he did that with someone the implication would be: “come to fuck”.
Where the two most important rookies in the recent years fucking each other? Or was it just a normal friendship?
Well, it could be a normal friendship, couldn’t it? They knew each other for a while, had been in the same tournaments, TV spots and in that stupid rivalry that the press and the league had created. They grew up together in the world of hockey.
Players had friends in the league, Scott. Not everybody is gay like you.
But Scott had a feeling. Because he had seen something in Hollander’s eyes when he had asked about what Rozanov said to him. He had seen the fear of being caught. And Scott knew very well that feeling.
And now, he needed to know if that feeling was true. So, that night, after drinking a beer in the bar with his teammates and socialising a bit, he went to his room.
Very early.
And then, he just put a chair next to the door and waited.
He waited so long that he almost fell asleep there. But then…
Somebody knocked at the door in the next room.
Scott had the urge to go out to check out if was Hollander. But that would ruin the mood if those two were going to do more than just chat or watch a movie together. Imagine that you are a rookie, in the door of your archrival, and then the best hockey player in the league (well, Scott’s very proud of himself here) emerges from the next door and runs into you. It would be really funny to see Shane Hollande’s face at it, but not what Scott wanted to know.
So, instead, Scott moved quietly to the wall that faced the room next door and put the ear on it to just— listen.
And wow.
WOW.
“Is someone chasing you?”. That was Rozanov for sure.
“I was standing in the hallway like an idiot. Scott Hunter is right next door”. That was Hollander. And he was scared. Scott knew it already.
And then… where were those little moanings?
OH BUT WAIT.
“Get on your knees”. That was Rozanov!!!!
OH MY FUCKING GOD.
He was the bossy one! Well, not surprising, to be honest.
They’d gone quiet, but Scott could hear some noises. Heavy breathing, the bed, a zip.
And now Hollander was panting and moaning louder!!!
“Oh my fucking God! Fuck Rozanov”.
Shit!
Scott was starting to get hard. Oh, no. That was such a bad idea. But the idea of these two fucking each other was really hot and Scott couldn’t stop himself.
Could he touch himself while listening? Or was that impolite? If they were fucking in a hotel room, they might know that other people could listen. Walls in hotels are like paper.
Suddenly, the moaning stopped. They were chatting now, but very weakly. Scott couldn’t listen to what they were saying. He turned around and looked over the room, looking for something that could help. There was an empty glass in the nightstand. He took it and returned to the wall.
And then…
Omg!!! Did Rozanov asked Shane to bottom????
And now they were talking about dildos.
What the fuck??? Shane had one of those too???
These two were very into it! Scott couldn’t believe it. Maybe he really was getting old and those things were normal for young people.
“Not whit fucking Scott Hunter next door”.
Wait! Why? He wanted to listen!
“He is hot”. That was Rozanov again. Well, Scott was hot, wasn’t he? He worked very hard to have such a body. But he liked that Rozanov thought it too. “You should let him listen like mating call”.
Oh, yes, please. Let him listen to that. He wanted it very much. And his dick wanted it too.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Hollander asked.
Scott would too, in fact. And Rozanov knew because he said: “He probably would, too”. It was scary how this rookie knew him very well.
But no. They didn't let him listen to the mating call. Instead, they keep talking about fucking in two weeks in Montreal, and then moved to the shower.
The water was running for almost fifteen minutes. And, despite that, Scott could hear some more moans coming from there. Especially Hollander’s. He was a loud boy. Scott imagined twenty different scenarios. Rozanov sucking his dick, licking his hole, fucking his tights, putting a finger inside him, or two, frotting together, jerking each other… By the time that the shower stopped running, he was so turned on that he jerked furiously until he came. Then, in the solitude of his room, laying naked in the bed, he looked at the ceiling realising that he had discovered the biggest secret in the league.
And that he wanted very much to see where these two would go from here.