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Shane was in his junior year at Boston University. He chose BU because of their hockey program, which historically churned out top NHL talent, and because it was an opportunity to try something different, maybe be someone different in a major city in the US. It also didn’t hurt that BU had a long list of notable alumni, which he could see being beneficial in the future.
Joining a fraternity his freshman year was part of the “try something different” thing. About half of the guys on the team were members of Eta Beta. The Greek letters looked like “HB” and as a result the fraternity was typically referred to as “Hockey Bros.” All of his notions of what being in a fraternity were like were built off movies and TV shows, and while some of those depictions were true – there really were a lot of opportunities for drinking and partying – the day-to-day reality was, not boring exactly, but pretty mundane.
The expectations of being a brother of Eta Beta lent to a predictable schedule and gave him an opportunity to meet people who didn’t play hockey. It took him a while to warm up, get comfortable socially, so he had found it difficult to bridge the gap from a friend in class to beyond the classroom. Having other brothers and new pledges around gave him the time needed to warm up, break down his walls, and build friendships.
He was required to live on campus in a residence hall his freshman year and stuck around for his sophomore year because it was familiar. Now, though, he wanted the feeling of his own space, and damn, can’t a man light a candle in his room without the threat of getting kicked out?
Wanting to avoid the res halls and exorbitant Boston rent, he snagged a spot in the fraternity house. The house was what it was - not as disgusting as some places he’d been but had definitely seen better days. It offered more freedom than a res hall could provide, and more space than he could ever hope to afford finding an apartment on his own this close to campus.
Due to his high GPA and regular, on-time dues payments, he had his choice of rooms and went with the biggest room in the house. This came with a catch, though – he’d have a roommate. He figured it’d end up being another teammate, so they would have similar schedules anyway.
While he was right that he was paired with another teammate, it was the last one he was expecting – Ilya Rozanov. Ilya was flashy, charming, and wickedly talented on the ice. What aggravated Shane more than anything was that he didn’t seem to care at all about anything, and yet he excelled in all of it.
He said ‘yes’ to every party, every bar, every event, and had one of the highest GPAs in the chapter. He stayed out late before practice, before games, and showed up looking refreshed and energetic, outperforming almost everyone. Except for Shane, obviously. Because Shane cared, he cared about all of it, but most importantly he cared about being the best and it showed.
He wouldn’t call himself and Ilya friends, but they both recognized that they were destined for something more, and that came with it a shared respect. Even if Rozanov was a cocky fucking asshole, and the last person he wanted to share a room with.
There was a quieter, smaller part of Shane that recognized that one of the reasons he didn’t want to share a room with him was because, despite everything, Rozanov was objectively incredibly attractive, and he found the cocky asshole act very charming. Due to proximity he’d also managed to see a softer, kinder side to Ilya, which made the cocky asshole the worst thing of all - endearing.
Shane wasn’t gay or anything, he just recognized when a man was objectively attractive, didn’t we all? And Ilya’s regular appearances in his fantasies when he jerked off were simply because having an attractive person there really sets the mood. But he really didn’t have time to think about all of that right now, because he was focused on hockey and his degree. Besides he had had girlfriends! Plural!
But if he did like men in that way, sometimes it seemed like Rozanov may have liked men (or, in his wildest dreams, Shane) in that way too. Sometimes it seemed like Rozanov’s eyes lingered on Shane a half second longer in the locker room, sometimes it seemed like his flirtatious comments weren’t just a joke to rile Shane up, but that would be ridiculous. It was no secret that Rozanov was hooking up with a lot of women, they were practically lining up and down the block to have a chance with him.
As a roommate, Ilya was actually pretty considerate, and despite the constant sarcasm and eye rolling, it had been a pretty uneventful couple of months. That is, however, until the aforementioned line of women down the block set in motion the entire upending of Shane’s life as he knew it.
Shane had a very set, predictable schedule, and for whatever reason, it got thrown off one day. This is what leads him to arriving back at his room much earlier than he would otherwise. In hindsight, he should have been paying more attention, there were clearly noises happening beyond his bedroom door. But he swung it open anyway, and was met with the sight of Rozanov, naked, flushed, shining with sweat, and clearly making a woman very happy on his bed.
Shane stared, paralyzed for a brief moment, then managed a small squeak of apology, and quickly shut the door. But that wasn’t the worst of it, no, because Ilya had caught his eye, smiled, winked, and never stopped thrusting at a pace that could only be accomplished by a dedicated athlete. At the very least, the anonymous woman was clearly so pleased with his performance that she never noticed Shane. Silver linings and all that.
Following this terrible, awful moment, Shane needed to leave. With no real plans, he went to the campus library in hopes that maybe he could do something schoolwork related.
Unfortunately, this was proving very difficult because all he could think about was the way Ilya’s necklace swung against his chest and how his abs constricted with each thrust. How the flush on his body made each mole stand out in stark relief. How one bead of sweat dripped into the hair trailing from his belly button to his… Ok, that was enough, Shane had to do something, anything, that wasn’t thinking about what he just saw.
He tried thinking of hockey, no, that didn’t work, Ilya played hockey. He thought of his microeconomics class, no, that didn’t work either, the professor was Russian, sharing an accent with Ilya. He thought of cute puppies, but goddammit, the puppies were blond and so was Ilya. He tried to think of anything, but it all lead back to Ilya and what he witnessed in their shared bedroom.
After about 45 minutes of sitting in his misery, counting ceiling tiles as a last resort (these, thankfully, shared nothing in common with Ilya), he decided it was finally safe to return to the house and his room.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he opened his bedroom door and Ilya wasn’t inside. As he set his stuff down, that relief was short lived, because Ilya strode into the room in nothing but a towel. A fucking towel. His hair was damp, and the curled ends dripped small beads of water onto his shoulders, collarbone, pecs, which then tracked down to the trail of hair peeking out of the towel around his waist. Shane audibly gulped, flushed red, and considered throwing himself out of the window.
Ilya, the fucking asshole that he is, grinned widely and simply said, “Welcome back.”
Were his eyes looking Shane up and down? It seemed like it, but Shane was on the verge of becoming the first legitimately confirmed case of spontaneous human combustion so he couldn’t really delve too deeply into that right about now.
“Hah, yeah, sorry about that. Uhm, earlier. Just, you know, schedule got thrown off, uh, today,” Shane managed to stammer as he was about to … puke? Cry? He really wasn’t sure. He almost considered holding out his hand for Rozanov to shake, for some unknown reason, but even he was able to recognize that that was insane.
He hadn’t even seen him move, but Ilya was now closer, crowding into Shane’s space. Like opposing magnets, Shane slowly backed into the edge of his bed as Ilya followed, unable to move back any farther. Up close Shane was more aware of their difference in height and muscle mass, Ilya’s broad shoulders seeming to cast Shane’s features in shadow.
After his recent shower, the scent of Ilya’s body wash and shampoo was at its strongest, seeming to wrap around Shane and only intensifying … whatever this was that was happening. Shane willed himself to not audibly gulp like a cartoon character again.
“It is okay, no need to be sorry,” Ilya continued smiling, but there seemed to be an edge to his voice, and he licked his lips. Leaning in, his mouth close to Shane’s ear, his voice barely above a whisper, “Did you like what you saw, Hollander?”
This was it; Shane was going to die right here on the spot. His mouth was dry, his heartbeat was pounding in his ears, his body felt like it was on fire from how intensely he was blushing. In a split second he ran through a million scenarios in his head, and it seemed, to him, that Ilya was not making fun of him or giving him shit. He was asking like he wanted an invitation for … something. Shane wasn’t sure exactly what, but assumed, imagined, that it would be good.
With this knowledge, and the smallest ounce of courage he could muster, Shane breathed out a barely audible, “Yeah,” and then gulped again. He’d be embarrassed if his brain wasn’t a loop of static.
Ilya huffed out a soft laugh in his ear and then held Shane’s jaw in his large hand. Looking into Shane’s eyes, he said softly, “Good.”
In what felt like slow motion, Ilya’s other hand moved to Shane’s waist and pulled him flush against his body and kissed him. Tentative at first, but when Shane let out a soft whimper and leaned in, Ilya deepened the kiss. Their tongues exploring one another’s mouths, sucking and nipping on the other’s lips in what felt natural, like they’d done this hundreds of times.
Shane’s hands had laid rigidly against his body but then moved up Ilya’s broad arms and into his hair. Ilya moved his hand from Shane’s jaw upwards, gently carding his fingers through his hair.
Cautiously, Shane moved his hand between their bodies and to the edge of the towel still wrapped around Ilya’s waist. He felt completely out of his depth, so he tentatively dipped his fingertips below it, feeling Ilya’s trail of hair, and slowly rubbing along the expanse of skin. He was too nervous to go further on his own, hoping Ilya could read his mind, hoping Ilya would be brave for him.
Ilya pulled back from their kiss, looking more dazed than Shane had anticipated which sent a surge of pleasure throughout this body. He knew he looked like a disaster right now, but he was able to do this to Ilya, someone so much more experienced than he was. Shane felt proud.
Ilya smiled at Shane, and asked, “Is this your first time? With a man?”
Oh god, had it been so obvious, Shane had been too quick to feel proud, he was fucking it all up. He mumbled out, “Yeah, sorry, I don’t- I don’t know what I’m doing,” beginning to pull his hand away from where it was still tucked into the top of Ilya’s towel, hoping he could sink through the floor.
Ilya laid his hand firmly on top of Shane’s preventing its removal, “No, no, is good, do not be sorry. Just wanted to know, make sure you are okay… comfortable.”
Shane’s emotions were on a roller coaster, a moment ago he wanted to sob from embarrassment, now he wanted to sob from how caring and patient Ilya was. Instead of sharing that, he haltingly asked, “Have you ever… Been with a man?”
Ilya had begun to move his hand covering Shane’s over his towel, down his body at an agonizingly slow pace, and responded, “Yes, one, my coach’s son. We were…,” he let out a soft moan as Shane’s hand finally touched his hardening cock, “curious.”
Shane didn’t know how he had missed Ilya’s sizable erection until this point but let out a soft gasp as he felt it. Still out of his depth, still unsure of what to do but knowing he didn’t want this to stop, he lightly palmed it through the towel, whispering, “Curious… Can I,” he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “touch you? Without the towel?”
Ilya grinned, undoing the knot holding the towel up and letting it fall to their feet with a soft thump. If Shane were being honest with himself, he had fantasized about exactly this so many times, but nothing compared to it actually happening.
In his fantasies he was bolder, more confident, knew exactly what to do. This wasn’t a fantasy though, this was real life, so he tentatively reached out his hand and stroked Ilya’s length. His only experience up to this point had been with his own cock, so he tried to think about what he liked and hoped that he’d learn what Ilya liked along the way.
Precum had collected at Ilya’s tip, and Shane slowly, gently ran his thumb over Ilya’s slit, using the liquid to glide his thumb more smoothly down the underside of his shaft. He alternated pressure and speed along his shaft, paying special attention to the pronounced vein that ran its length, ending at Ilya’s balls and gently caressing them. His hand looped through these motions, mapping Ilya’s cock to memory.
Ilya’s hand had found its way to Shane’s hair again, and he grabbed it as he groaned softly, “Yes, just like that, so good, so good Shane.”
Heat flooded Shane’s body, and he was suddenly, acutely aware of his own erection. He wasn’t sure entirely what to do because he didn’t want to stop touching Ilya’s cock, and he also wasn’t sure if Ilya even wanted him to remove his clothing. He was realizing that there were so many things unaccounted for in a fantasy versus real life and shifted uncomfortably.
With the powers of a mind reader, or just the keen perception of someone with two working eyes, Ilya’s hand left Shane’s hair. One hand grasped the bottom of Shane’s t-shirt, the other the waist of his sweatpants, “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
Shane froze, his hand still on Ilya’s cock, he was now faced with the knowledge that Ilya did want to see him naked. That maybe Ilya would touch Shane’s body, maybe, just maybe, he would even do more.
Shane lifted his arms above his head as Ilya tugged his shirt over and then pulled both his sweatpants and boxers down. Shane kicked off his slides and shook out of his pants, holding on to Ilya’s shoulders to remain balanced, eliciting smiles and soft chuckles from both men.
Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever been more hard in his life. When he had been naked with his girlfriends (plural), he had genuinely thought he may have had issues getting it up, this was clearly not an issue now, though. He’d evaluate that more later.
Ilya raked his eyes over his body appreciatively, and wrapped his hand around Shane’s dick, rubbing his thumb across the leaking head. He hummed, “You’re so wet.”
Was that good, was that bad? Shane didn’t know and suddenly felt very self-conscious. He typically produced a lot of precum which he’d never thought much about, but now he was nervous, was that not normal?
Again, Ilya, ever perceptive, or just horny with a need to verbalize, breathed out, “So fucking hot.” He slowly stroked Shane, seemingly mesmerized by Shane’s cock. This had never come up in Shane’s fantasies; real life was turning out infinitely better.
All Shane could do was stare and breathe. Stare at his cock in Ilya’s hand, stare at the way Ilya’s arm flexed as he stroked, stare at the expression on Ilya’s face. He wanted more of that expression, that seeming awe at him and his body.
Shane put his hand over Ilya’s, stopping him mid-stroke. His desire to please Ilya making him infinitesimally braver, he licked his lips and breathed out a simple question, “Can I?” He looked down at Ilya’s dick, shifting his weight to begin lowering his body.
Before Shane could drop by even a centimeter, Ilya grabbed his jaw again, tilting Shane’s head up to meet his eyes. “Can you what? Use words.” He said it so quietly, but it was as if Ilya had held a megaphone to Shane’s head, the way each word shook through his skull.
Shane had definitely not prepared for this, and was suddenly frozen, the entirety of the English language leaving his brain. After a pause that felt like it stretched out for days, Ilya spoke again, softly, “Be good for me, tell me what you want.”
And, oh, that did it. The desire to be good for Ilya (which he’d evaluate later, the list was growing longer by the second), knocked him back to his incredibly aroused reality and while his grasp on the English language was still tenuous, he managed, “I want to… Go down on you.” In his fantasies he was a lot filthier, but here, now, in person he found himself unable to say, “suck your dick,” so this would have to do.
Ilya softly chuckled, his smile reaching his eyes, “Good boy.” He released Shane’s jaw and threaded his fingers through his hair, gently guiding Shane to his knees.
The towel and his sweatpants were still collected at their feet, so Shane’s knees had a buffer against the old wood floors. He was now eye level with Ilya’s cock and suddenly realized he had no idea what he was doing, but he was not about to let this experience end simply because he felt uncertain. Ilya had called him a good boy, so that’s what he was going to be.
He slowly dragged his hands up Ilya’s strong thighs, gently grabbing to keep himself steady, as he tentatively leaned forward and licked then sucked on Ilya’s head. Ilya gave a low groan above him, whispering a curse in Russian, fingers flexing against his scalp. Shane mentally catalogued every porn he’d ever seen with blowjobs, and what he had liked when on the receiving end of them, hoping that something, anything, could help him with this.
Experimentally, Shane began to slowly bob his head up and down, flicking his tongue as he went, spit running Ilya’s length and beginning to leak from the corners of his mouth. Ilya was big so he took as much as he was able into his mouth and supplemented what he couldn’t with his hand. As he bobbed, he tried to match the movements of his short strokes at Ilya’s base. In a distant part of Shane’s mind he wondered if there would be a next time, or many next times, to the point that someday he’d be able to deepthroat him.
The mere thought of being able to take all of Ilya into his mouth, his nose pressed flush to Ilya’s body, breathing in his scent so deeply, drew a small moan from him, sending vibrations through Ilya. Ilya’s hand momentarily gripped hard on Shane’s hair, letting out a soft groan of his own, whispering, “Da, da, yes, just like that.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. Bobbing and stroking more quickly, moaning as precum slowly coated his tongue, the knowledge that he was making Ilya feel good flooded his mind. He had been so focused on giving Ilya a good experience, that he finally chanced a look up, unsure of what he would find.
They locked eyes. Ilya was staring at him, Ilya wanted to see Shane sucking his cock, maybe he even wanted to think about it later, maybe Ilya would think about it the next time he jerked off. Thoughts of Ilya wanting him, of touching himself to the thought of Shane, it was all entirely too much.
Was this his first blowjob ever? Yes, but fuck it, he was horny as hell and it was making him very brave/stupid, so he pulled off and quickly breathed out, “Come in my mouth-Just-I want you to come in my mouth.” He immediately took Ilya back into his mouth and re-doubled his efforts, bobbing, sucking, flicking his tongue, stroking, caressing, doing anything that had elicited a positive reaction from Ilya up until this point.
Distantly Shane heard Ilya whisper out a string of Russian and English curses and felt his hands grip more tightly in his hair, as he gently rocked short, contained thrusts into his mouth. Shane’s dick was practically a fountain, leaking a large wet patch into the soft items he was currently kneeling on. He really, genuinely hoped that he wouldn’t come from this alone, not only would it be embarrassing (and another thing to evaluate later), but it would mean that Ilya wouldn’t have a reason to touch him, and he needed Ilya to touch him.
Shane felt the change in Ilya’s body before the words, “I’m coming,” reached his ears. He didn’t know what to expect and braced himself, nervous for the unknown, but wanting so badly to create a memory for Ilya to jerk off to later. The idea that Ilya would jerk off to him became his new north star, guiding all his actions.
As Ilya’s cum flooded his mouth, Shane tried to swallow it down as best as he could. The taste was unexpected, not as terrible as he thought it would be, but there was just so much, and it was hard to swallow while Ilya’s dick was still taking up so much space. He gagged softly as he finished swallowing, and some of the cum definitely dribbled down the sides of his mouth, but he thought he did ok, or he hoped he had.
The next thing he knew Ilya was tapping the side of face, demanding, “Up, up, up” and grabbing at his shoulders and arms to get him standing more quickly. Shane momentarily panicked, had he done something wrong? As quickly as the thought formed, it was interrupted by Ilya kissing him hungrily, filthily, like a man who had gone feral. Ilya’s hands roamed over every inch of his body, grabbing and stroking. His mouth followed not long after, kissing, nipping, and sucking.
Shane’s hands were glued to Ilya’s hair, the soreness of his knees and jaw soon forgotten, as he let out quiet moans and curses while Ilya touched him. Eventually Ilya pulled away, breathing heavily, seeming to take a moment to compose himself, his smile returning as he leaned in. Shane’s breath hitched, anticipation rocketing through him.
“So good for me,” Ilya whispered, as he brushed his hand through Shane’s hair, ending it with his fingertips pressed to the side of Shane’s face. Without thinking, Shane angled his head into Ilya’s hand and let out a small sigh. “Now I want to be good for you, what do you want, Shane?” As he finished, he slowly stroked Shane’s cock.
Shane’s eyes went wide; Ilya was asking him what he wanted. What did he want? What didn’t he want? He was so consumed with need that it was difficult to pin down. As much as he wanted to say, “Anything, anything you’ll give me,” he knew that Ilya wanted him to use his words, to be specific.
“Can you,” he paused for a brief moment because he really did want to be raunchy, but it still wasn’t happening, “go down on me?” He blushed, despite the fact that Ilya’s dick had literally just been in his mouth, and he was pretty sure some cum was drying on his chin.
Ilya cocked his head and chuckled at that, smiling broadly, his eyes shining in delight. He was so charmed by Shane, who just told Ilya to come in his mouth during his first blowjob, but blushed wildly and couldn’t seem to say any variant of, “suck me off” or “suck my cock.”
“Okay, da, yes, I can,” he fluttered a hand, still smiling, “go down on you. Get on the bed.” At Shane’s seeming hesitation, Ilya clarified, “I’m good at what I do, don’t want you to fall, get head injury.” He leaned in slightly and whispered, “Want you to go down on me again, can’t do that from hospital.” And good god, the asshole actually winked.
Shane scrambled ungracefully on to the bed, his feet momentarily tangling in the discarded towel and sweatpants. Normally he would be embarrassed at how uncoordinated he was, but quite frankly, he did not give a shit right now. Ilya Rozanov was about to suck his dick, and he wanted Shane to suck his dick again – there would be a next time!
Panting and flushed, Shane lay on his back, suddenly unsure of what to do. Ilya towered over him, running his eyes up and down his body, cataloguing, appreciating, before getting on top of Shane and kissing him again. Shane felt more confident that he knew what to do now, putting his hands in Ilya’s hair, parting his legs to give Ilya space.
Ilya moved his kisses down his throat, squeezing his pecs, licking, sucking, and gently biting his nipples and any available skin. He peppered kisses across Shane’s stomach, caressing his sides, his waist. Shane was overwhelmed by the sensations, by the idea of what was to come, that when Ilya took him into his mouth, he let out a loud gasp and immediately clapped his hand over his mouth.
And holy shit, Rozanov was right, he was good at this. Of course he was, he was Rozanov, he was good at everything. Shane couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, was so good about it, just that everything was. The way he sucked, the way he moved his tongue, grabbed his waist and thighs, how he seemed to be able to take all of Shane down, nose pressed to the thatch of Shane’s dark pubic hair. In the deeper parts of his brain, Shane was determined to get as good as Rozanov at this, he wanted to be able to do this and be the best at it.
Shane’s hands scrabbled everywhere, in Ilya’s hair, his shoulders, his upper back, then to his own chest, his own face, a constant loop. He was so close, trying to contain the energy buzzing beneath his skin. He was at the precipice, he was going to come soon, and while he had wanted to swallow, he didn’t know if Ilya would, so he grabbed Ilya’s hair and managed to choke out, “I’m about to-I don’t know if-I just-Fuck.”
Ilya grunted, stayed on Shane, taking him to the back of his throat and humming, and soon Shane was tipped over that precipice. Head thrown back, hands painfully gripping Ilya’s hair, eyes squeezed shut, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he tried to manage his volume. He felt Ilya swallowing every drop, stilling his twitching cock with his tongue, felt the weight of Ilya’s hand as he stilled his hips, felt his throat constricting around his now sensitive head. Shane was so overwhelmed he could actually cry, and a few tears leaked out from the corners of his eyes, a hiccup escaping his throat, before he quickly wiped them away.
Shane was really glad Ilya made him get on the bed, he would have gotten a head injury, he was sure of it.
Ilya slowly pulled off him, which sent a shudder throughout Shane’s body, his hands unsteady as they brushed through his hair. Ilya laid a quick kiss on his stomach, and leaned over Shane, a twinkle in his eye, and the all too familiar cocky grin, “Told you I was good.” Shane let out a loud laugh, “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
He was suddenly acutely aware of the change in energy in the space, his fantasies always ended at the point that either he or Ilya came, he’d never considered what to do next. But Ilya was still looking at him, smiling, his hand slowly rubbing up and down his side.
Cautiously, he gently guided Ilya’s face to his for a kiss, his once regulated heartbeat speeding up again, and, oh my god, Ilya was kissing him back. It was slow, tender, and made Shane melt. Before he started crying, again, he pulled away. They each looked at one another like idiots, painfully wide grins, shining eyes, hints of flush still visible on their faces.
“I’m so glad I paid Kip off so we could be roommates,” Ilya said, his eyes taking in all of Shane’s face, dancing from eyebrow to nose to lips, a beaming smile stretched across his features.
The realization that Ilya wanted him, and had wanted him rocketed through Shane’s entire being, but all he could manage was a barely audible, "Holy shit."