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    “Ilya, what are we gonna do?” Shane says.

    Ilya finishes whatever he has been doing on his phone, and tosses it gently to the bed beside him. He crosses the room to Shane, stands in front of him, squeezes into his shoulders with his big hands, rubbing them like he means to warm them up.

    “Looks like we will have a little vacation,” he says, with a big obnoxious grin.

     


     

    Boston and Montreal are sent to Paris to play against each other in an exhibition series in January 2017. Ilya and Shane decide to stay in Paris for one more night. Just one more night, so they can talk. Maybe finally understand each other.

    They aren't expecting a volcano to erupt in Iceland and close all the airspace in Europe, leaving them stranded there. Together.

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    05 Jul 2026

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    “Adventurous,” Ilya said, smiling sharply.
    “Shut up.”
    “This is unlike you.”
    “Shut up.”
    Ilya did, pulling open the sealed cardboard slots instead and upturning the box over his palm, not all that careful considering its contents were glass, letting the bottle fall into his hand.
    “Shit, Rozanov,” Shane said, exasperated. “I was going to return it.”
    “Oh, no, you will go broke now?" Ilya popped the cap off the perfume and sprayed it at Shane.

    Shane Hollander finds a hobby.

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    04 Jul 2026

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    He looks up at Rozanov, whose brows have since migrated up over his forehead, almost tangling in his mess of curls as he eagerly awaits either a response or a reaction.

    Shane gives both at once.

    “We can’t fuck in there.”

    Ilya’s smile doesn’t falter. Shane really wishes he was kissing him instead of standing here, shrinking into his jacket, shivering under the cool nighttime air, the hot tub water glimmering under a heavy moonlight.

    “Why not?” Rozanov challenges. “Is fine, no? I can make you break a sweat, Hollander. Even without the bubbles.”

    Shane deadpans him and that just makes Rozanov laugh airily, clearly bemused by his response to all this.

    or: ilya’s house has a hot tub and a mirror in the yard, so he and shane make very good use of it

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    04 Jul 2026

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    The steady, persistent pressure of Rozanov’s thick cock sinking into him is unlike anything Shane has ever felt before. He feels impossibly full, impossibly exposed, but more than that, he feels good.

    Fuck, it’s good.

    It’s so good that he forgets to feel awkward as he begins to rock back into Rozanov’s thrusts. He forgets to feel ashamed as Rozanov draws sounds out of him he didn’t even know he was capable of making. As Rozanov drives him out of his mind and deep into his own body, holds him there, forces him to feel everything and think nothing at all—

    Shane forgets to feel anything but good.

    (In which Shane has a dirty fantasy, and Ilya runs with it.)
     



    “Ah,” Ilya says softly, brushing a finger along the column of Shane’s throat. “Is that what you want, Hollander? To be humiliated?”

    “Yes,” Shane says, the word a guttural moan. “No? I don’t know. Maybe. Fuck.”

    “To be put to good use? To be told what to do?”

    “Yes,” Shane gasps, relieved to be asked a simpler question. “That’s what I want.”

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    04 Jul 2026

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    Ilya pulled off with a wet pop, a thin trail of white fluid connecting his lips to Shane’s nipple. He looked up at Shane’s stunned, confused face and chuckled.

    “The little one doesn’t even know his own biology,” he mused, before licking the droplet from the swollen tip. “Succubi produce when they are well-fed and thoroughly satisfied.”

    Before Shane could process that, Ilya’s hands were everywhere again–two on his hips making him bounce on his cocks, two rubbing and pinching his milk-slick nipples.

    (or, when newly turned succubus Shane sneaks into the open penthouse window, he realizes he's not the predator in this game)

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    04 Jul 2026