Chapter Text
Boston is on a five game winning streak and Ilya Rozanov has no intention of letting go of it. They were playing in harmony that could only come from a sixth sense. Boston was playing the best they’d played in a long time and Rozanov was one goal away from a hat trick for the second game in a row.
With three minutes left on the clock, Rozanov scored again, and the crowd went wild.
They beat Philadelphia 5-2, Ilya scoring the final point. His blood was pumping. The energy in the locker room was exhilarating and everyone was making plans to go out. Some of the married men had plans to go straight home, others traveling right away, but Rozanov and Marleau had quickly made plans to hit their favorite club in Cambridge.
Marleau and Rozanov were showering beside one another when Marleau started a conversation. “Hey man, so I have this girl-”
“Whoa, you? Have a girl?” Rozanov tipped his head back but avoided eye contact. It wasn’t often that guys had conversations in the showers, but they had made peace with being unconventional.
“Fuck off. It’s nothing serious. Anyway, we’ve hooked up a few times and she’s cool. The last time I saw her, she had mentioned having someone else join us.”
Ilya nods, pinching his chin between his thumb and index finger, water running down his back.
“She wants to be fucked by two guys, one right after the other.”
Ilya’s eyebrows raise and he tilts his head to the side. He looks off to the side, imagining what that might look like.
Cliff continues. “But like, raw.”
Ilya nods his head, thinking about it for a minute.
“Oh, are you blushing?”
“How many times do I tell you, Russians do not blush. This is just hot shower.” Ilya turned around to lower the temperature. Ilya couldn’t deny the way sex felt different without a condom, but he knew the risks that it came with. It wasn’t a game he liked to play, at least, not often.
The two kept street clothes in their cubby for nights like this, when the energy was buzzing to the point that they wanted to go straight to the clubs. The clothes weren’t anything special, but the shirts were always one size too small on purpose.
Cliff sent this girl a text, then drove the two of them across the city, his car not drawing as much attention.
They entered the club to find it packed. On a Saturday night, this came as no surprise. Ilya snaked his way to the bar along the side, ordering two drinks for himself, determined to keep the good vibes flowing. Cliff trailed right behind him, starting with a beer. They made their way to the dance floor, taking in the vibrations of the music. Ilya recognized the song, loved the song, even, but didn’t know the name of it, could never remember to look up the lyrics when he got home. The two fell into a pattern of dancing that could only be explained as muscle memory.
After a few songs, there was one that without a doubt was playing for Ilya. When he had first started coming here, he insisted that the music they played wasn’t exactly shit, but that it could be better. He shared a few songs they played often in Moscow, and occasionally they made it into rotation. Ilya felt alive, the song sounding like it’s traveling from wall to wall of the club.
Ilya and Cliff danced with each other for several more songs. Ilya appreciated being able to let loose with someone like this, without judgment, with someone who loved clubbing as much as he did. Cliff stables a hand on Ilya’s shoulder, pulling him out of his tipsy daze. He taps on Ilya’s shoulder, then points across the bar. “That’s her. Brittany.”
There are, of course, dozens of people enjoying their night, about half of them women. “Which one, you idiot,” Ilya shouts next to Marleau’s ear. When Ilya looks back at his face, he can see that he has locked eyes with someone. Ilya traces his eyes to find a medium-height woman with fair skin, black hair, dressed in a simple white top. She squeezes her way through the crowd to the two men.
As she makes her way closer, beer bottle in hand, Ilya can see that she’s smiling wide, clearly looking forward to seeing Cliff. Ilya wonders what kind of woman would actually enjoy Marleau’s company and want to keep coming back.
“Hi, stranger.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and she throws her arms around Cliff’s neck, probably leaning up on her tippy toes. Cliff wraps an arm around her, leaning back and forth. If the three of them weren’t planning on leaving together tonight, Ilya would say that Cliff was smitten.
Up close and personal, Ilya can see that her hair is longer than he thought, falling halfway down her back. She was clad in a white tank top and some jeans and he couldn’t deny that they looked like they were made just for her.
He let go of Brittany and she formally introduced herself to Ilya, and vice versa.
The three took turns dancing in rotation, enjoying each other's presence, Ilya getting to know Brittany’s body language before the three leave for what they all know they came here for.
Ilya let Cliff and Brittany catch up while he made his rounds through the bar, dancing with anyone who would let him, and who would deny him?
Roughly 20 minutes later Ilya felt an arm snake around him, startling. Ilya craned his head back to find Cliff, who started screaming. “It’s time to go, boss man,” drawing out the O in go. Ilya grabbed Cliff’s hand and danced his way out to Cliff’s car.
Cliff had taken control of the night and Ilya let him. They had nowhere to be the next day and Ilya couldn’t care less if they went to a hotel or someone’s house, but the familiar streets told him that they were nearing Cliff’s condo.
The three made their way inside past the doorman, whose smirk tells Ilya that has seen even more of Cliff Marleau’s shenanigans than Ilya knows about.
Cliff let everyone inside and led them to the kitchen island. They had all started to sober up, so quickly he poured three shots. Ilya threw him a judgmental glare, never a fan of Cliff’s spirits selection, but still downed it, never one to reject alcohol.
Ilya waited patiently for Cliff to make the first move, having experience with Brittany. He watched as Cliff leaned in for a soft kiss with Brittany, then took her by the hand and headed down the hallway. Ilya followed behind, starting to undo his pants.
Much to Ilya’s surprise, Cliff was actually very eager. They had just entered Cliff’s bedroom and he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Brittany. The kisses were messy, a sign of what was soon to come. Brittany guided Cliff’s hands under her shirt, pushing them up until he took the hint to take her shirt off, revealing a white lacy bra.
Ilya, admittedly, started to grow hard at the sight of it. It was hot.
In between kisses, Cliff started to strip, practically tearing his own shirt off, hands grabbing all over Brittany. He started to palm himself through his briefs, but not wanting to stare at Cliff for too long. Their kisses started to slow down, and Cliff stuck a hand out in Ilya’s direction. Ilya accepted, and he pulled him closer to the two of them. When Cliff pulled back, his lips were a deeper shade of red and slick with spit. His eyes were in a daze, face already sex drunk. Ilya was half expecting him to lean in and kiss him, but Cliff stepped back and left Brittany and Ilya to their own devices.
Ilya pulled her in by her hips, running his hands down her backside. He waited for her to lean in first, and when he saw her eyes fall shut, he pressed their lips together, gentle at first. He knew how easy it was to get out of breath from just kissing, something he did all the time with– Brittany gently tugged Ilya’s bottom lip into her mouth, not to the point of pain, but to capture his attention. Ilya pulled back and locked eyes with her, smiling before going back in, more purposeful this time. He cupped a hand around the back of her head, deepening the kiss, her hair silky and smooth.
He pulled back again, taking her by the hand and leading her to the edge of the bed. Ilya was pleased to see that Cliff had the decency to change the sheets and make the bed, or at least his cleaning lady did. She sat on the edge, but Ilya tipped her back with a single finger. He climbed on top of her, knees on either side, pinning her arms parallel to the bed. Ilya, face hovering over hers, breathed out, “Is this okay?”
Brittany blinked slowly. “Yes.”
They continue kissing like that, Ilya on top of her. He started to roll his hips along hers, thirsting for friction. He reached in between them to start undoing her zipper. He didn’t have to look down to know that he was leaking.
He crawled off of her, standing between Brittany and the bed. She was half sitting up, half leaning back on her forearms. He knelt down and pulled her jeans the rest of the way down, noting the resistance from behind, discarding the jeans across the room for her to find later.
Ilya heard Cliff position himself on a chair across the room, and glanced over to find him stripped down to his own boxers. Cliff had pulled a hand up to his chin, covering his mouth, watching. He couldn’t see from here, but he imagined that Cliff was hard, too. Ilya loved this so fucking much, loved clubbing and sex, how it felt good, how he made women, anyone, feel good too.
Ilya spread Brittany’s legs, inching closer in between them. He hooked his fingers under her panties, pulling them off. He held them up on one finger, looking at her, then at the underwear. Brittany’s eyes were low, breath heavy, looking up at Ilya. He brought them to his face, sniffing, before throwing them across the room in Cliff’s direction.
Cliff made a choked sound from where he was watching.
He took a finger, tracing up the outside of her slit, feeling her shudder at the touch. Pressing slightly further, he runs his finger up and down again, feeling how wet she is. He plunged two fingers inside, feeling around for a few strokes.
Ilya pulls his fingers out and quickly shucks down his briefs, kicking them aside. He takes his cock into his hand, tracing it up and down her slit. “So wet for me.” Eager, she reaches down, guiding him toward her hole. “Easy.” He commands. “Be patient.” He pushes her arm away, back to the side. She’s leaking, slick making him almost slide in a few times. He traces up and down a few more times, stopping to poke the tip to her clit, massaging circles.
He really wants to savor this, enjoy this for all that it is, and all that it isn’t.
When she’s finally trembling, he pushes in. Brittany immediately clenches around his length, sending shudders through his body. She cries out, “Oh, fuck”. It was clear she had done this before, knows how to get men going. She knew the power of clenching her own asshole and the way men would just lose their control, letting them know that she was as equally in control. Ilya wondered if Cliff had felt this before, too.
He swallows hard, bracing his arm on the headboard behind her, and begins fucking her. Ilya looks down at her. Brittany smiles up at him, eyes heavy, mouth gaping. His eyes trace down her body, taking it all in, her breasts bouncing in rhythm with him.
Ilya takes his free hand and slowly traces down the expanse of her neck, locking eyes with her. He starts at her earlobe, skin warm and soft to touch. He drags just a finger down, feeling every curve and crevice, stopping at her collarbone. He takes a breast into his hand, palm engulfing all of it. He grips onto it and continues fucking her, watching her face for any discomfort.
Ilya continues to pump his hips, harder this time. Brittany begins letting out little huffs of breath, not forming words. Ilya leans down, hovering over her. “Are you okay? Is this okay?”
It takes all the energy she has, but she manages to mumble a “Yes.”
Ilya laces his arms around her shoulders, holding her close now. He continues like that for a few paces before asking her a question again. “You want me to come inside you, yes?”
“Fuck, yes.” She groans.
“Okay. I’m close.” Ilya slows his pace, riding the feeling of it.
He manages a few more seconds before he’s releasing inside her, shouting “Fuck!” When Ilya feels her throbbing slow down, he pulls out, cock slick with both of their cum. He tugs a blanket closer to her, not covering her, but leaving it there if she wants it.
Ilya heads to the en suite to clean himself up, cock softening.
When he emerges, several minutes later, he finds Cliff on the bed with Brittany.
“Hands and knees,” Cliff commands.
She repositions herself, arching her back, ass in the air giving open access. She’s leaning down on her forearms, face almost on the mattress, knees shoulder length apart.
Cliff is already hard, having worked himself up watching Ilya and Brittany, but stopped himself every time he got too close to the edge. He wanted to finish what Ilya started, what they all came here for.
He lines himself up with her already-leaking hole and presses in. It’s warm and inviting and he presses all the way in, hands braced on her hips. He feels her squeeze around him, and knows that he doesn’t have much longer; she’s going to pull him over the edge.
He picks up his pace, friction giving him what he needs. She continues clenching around him, and he sees her other hole do the same. Cliff raises a hand and smacks her ass, sound echoing through the room. He rubs over the spot that will soon have a handprint.
She cranes her neck and shouts to him, “again.”
Cliff is not one to deny a woman what she wants, so he lifts his hand again, higher this time, and makes contact with the same spot. He grabs her hips and holds her in place, fucking in and out. They continue like that until Cliff breaks the silence, “I’m gonna come.”
He pulls almost all the way out slowly, then slams back in, fucking harder.
Brittany gives one final squeeze, stronger than all of the others, and Cliff finishes inside her.
They stay like that for a few moments, until he can feel her pulsing slow down. “You can pull out now.” She lets out a sigh and collapses onto the mattress.