Heated Rivalry

Maybe he understood what he meant. Maybe some feelings couldn’t be hidden behind foreign words.

Shane fucking hated him. But Rozanov was really good at sucking cock, and he was, for whatever reason, willing.

“I have ruined you,” Rozanov said when they broke apart. “No one else will do.”“God, fuck off.”“Such a mouth on you.”“Don’t say it.”“I preferred it when it was on me.”

For the rest of his life, Shane Hollander would have to live with the fact that he had ended his NHL draft day by getting himself off to thoughts of Ilya Rozanov.

“Very pretty,” Rozanov teased him. “Like a doll.”“You’re painted up too.”Rozanov leaned on the top of the boards and grinned. “Yes, but I’m not pretty.”Shane rolled his eyes. He had been called “pretty boy” a few times before, usually during games, and he hated it. He wished he hated it this time.

Rozanov’s mouth twitched up. “If I knock on door of room 1410 tonight...maybe around nine?”Shane fought to keep his voice even. “I might open the door.”Rozanov smiled. “I might knock.”

Plus, Ilya hated this guy. He hated his pretty boy face and his perfect goddamned English and his perfect goddamned French and his loving parents and his polite little manners and his million-dollar smile. He hated how serious he was. How earnest. He was everything the league wanted from their stars.Ilya kissed his dumb mouth and swallowed his stupid little sighs and felt his annoying fingers in his hair. He pulled back so he could look at his horrible face with its ridiculous freckles.Fuck.

“So...after the game you just want me to wait at home for you?” Hollander’s voice was tight, like he was angry about something.Ilya rolled his eyes. He had no idea why they were wasting time talking right now anyway. “Yes! Wait for me. I will come to your house and fuck you.”Hollander looked embarrassed again. “It’s an apartment,” he mumbled.“Jesus! Fine! I will fuck you in your apartment. Can we get back to things now?”