Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

   Connor wiped his forehead, the L.A heat getting to him. In theory it hadn’t sounded like too long a walk. He was used to Texas weather, anyways. But this was a different sort of heat than what Odessa possessed. L.A was far more populated and stifling, but it was where the work was. So it was where he’d gone. If he’d been able to stick to the made up schedule in his head, he would have been finished with thirty projects by now.

 Instead, he’d needed to beg for just two. He’d needed to find a roommate after blowing through his savings; a man named Hudson he’d quickly grown close with, who was in just as precarious a financial situation. He’d just gotten off his third twelve hour waiting shift, and it was only Wednesday.

 Connor didn’t like to go to auditions smelling like work, but he had little choice. This one had been a last minute decision, because he’d googled the hockey player and spent ten minutes blinking, heart skipping at how perfect a casting it would be.

 It was still out there. He knew this when he finally made it to the studio they were taking auditions at, and saw a hundred potential fake Ilya’s. Connor knew little about hockey, but like with any role he’d done his research.

 This Ilya Rozanov was apparently a big deal( though any athlete needed to be, to get a biopic.), given the secret relationship with his rival and ten years playing on the same team afterwards.

 The potential fake Ilya in front of him turned around, and his smile immediately dropped. Connor tried to think of that as a good sign. It was hard, after over a hundred rejections; over a year of living on work leftovers plus the $15 a week grocery budget. Would be more, but Hudson spent most of his portion on skincare and hair gel.

 It was dark, and twenty more had gotten in line behind him by the time his turn came around. The man in front of him came out crying, mumbling about how he’d blown it. Connor wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse about his prospects, but he didn’t have long to contemplate. A second later a production intern who looked just as exhausted as him was motioning him in.

 This building of the studio, made just for auditions; contained two rooms. An office and the larger area, where a long table was set up with various members of the project’s production crew. In the beginning this had been more intimidating. Now looking at them was simply a part of the routine, no different than needing to take a breath before long lines.

 That didn’t stop him from staring at the man at this table’s center; half of a pair that’d inspired the damned show. He was nearly forty, retired; but the exposed skin of his arms and lower legs spoke to a lifetime of hockey.

 Unlike the other people in the room- who appeared ready for this part to be over, he was relaxed. Leaning back in his chair, his eyes ran over every inch of the new prospect. Connor swallowed- not that he minded, but was he supposed to be doing that?

 In person, he didn’t have a chance to think about Hudson’s own resemblance because his was so striking. He and Ilya likely wouldn’t be told apart, except by those they were close with. It would take side by side photos and circles, and even then Connor knew some would say Ilya played himself. Until they looked at pictures of them together in person.

 If anyone ever got to.

 Connor’s nose was a little larger at the bottom, jutting out more from the side. His eyebrows were thicker, but that could be dealt with. And his curls were a little curlier, but through his research Connor thought that’d work in his favor. Apparently Ilya’s had loosened slightly with age-

 “Hello? Are you in there?” The man sitting beside Ilya snapped his fingers, and the hockey player glared to his right. Not because he was annoyed, but because it’d been particularly loud next to his ear. Connor’s face burned. Like the man before him, he was already blowing this. “Hel-”

 “Yes I’m… I’m sorry. Just tired.” Connor said. Ilya leaned forwards, observing him even closer. The way he stood and breathed, the blush in his cheeks and bloodied cuticles over his general features then. “What did you say?”

 “Name’s Jacob Tierney.” He repeated. “I am the director and Co-executive producer for this limited series, and to make this as painless as possible for everyone involved I’d like to see your-”

 before he could finish that sentence, Connor was reaching into his side bag for the stack of papers he kept there; that he’d hoped to not need so many copies of. Jacob took it, and Connor moved back to his spot a few feet away. True to his word, Jacob did not spend an absurd amount of time analyzing the small resume.

 He simply looked up and shrugged matter of factly. “One short film and a play?”

 “I got paid for the play.” He said, sheepishly. “Short film was a project my roommate did as a joke. He doesn’t act.”

 “Oh?” Jacob asked. “How long? Is it something we can wat-”

 “No.” Connor shook his head. A potential employer for a non-comedy project did not need to witness him pretend to be a robot and swing his dick around like a helicopter.

 “Does not matter.” Ilya waved them both off. “You are a little skinny, but nothing a few months can’t fix. And the nose and nipple piercings will have to go, but judging by how tight that shirt is they are already healed, no? It will not make them close up. Two simple questions before your audition. Can you skate, and do you happen to know any Russian?”

 This time, Connor was shaking his head yes. That one summer he’d spent at an actor’s boarding school, after saving a full year finally seemed to be paying off. They had way too much free time there for what it cost, and he’d spent it learning with a few of the other boys. “Skating, yes. Russian… a little. I could translate enough of any conversation to understand, but I’m.. still working on speaking.”

 Fuck. Fuck fuck Fuck fuck fuck. Like every director before him, Tierney was going to see he was a fraud. That he didn’t belong in this room, much less this city-

 “We’ve got a tutor for the cast and a certain married couple that’d be happy to help.” Jacob waved him off again. “A few months can fix that too. Ilya?”

 Ilya stood, and walked around the table with his own stacks of papers. It was hard to ignore how good he smelled once close.

 “Short scene, that doesn’t reveal too much of the show. A private moment between my husband and I, that lasted about five minutes but was… well, you can read.” Ilya said. “We will skip the kissing. Leave it for your costar, yes? You will be me, and I will be my husband.”

 Connor mumbled an ‘mhmn’ and tried not to inhale the citrus. Like he knew what he was doing, Ilya inched forwards. Connor told himself it was a part of the scene, as he glanced over his lines. He definitely didn’t notice the staring, face close enough to his that he could smell Ilya Rozanov’s good oral hygiene.

 When he indicated he was ready, he backed Ilya fucking Rozanov against a wall; hand snaking around his back and another on his face; holding him in place.

 Ilya grinned. Yes, this already felt very familiar.

 “This your first time with a man?” He asked, looking Connor in the eyes. Briefly, Connor wondered what noises the Russian might make on his knees.

 “Mmn, no. Not my first time.” He imitated a Russian accent as well as he could, having less than five encounters with such. Apparently it was tolerable, as Ilya didn’t comment on it or stop the audition all together.

 “Really? Who?” Ilya pretended to be a mixture of shocked, aroused and amused. He was no actor, but he’d certainly secure a project or two if he chose that path.

 “My coach’s son back in Russia.” Connor smiled, a hand freed to trace up and down Ilya’s torso. “I like trouble.”

 It had to be his imagination. That or the human body’s natural reaction to a familiar situation, but he swore the body underneath his fingertips shivered. He did not let the thoughts show in his expression, though. He could not afford to waste an opportunity by seeing things that weren’t there.

 Being the one not pressed against the wall was an unnatural position for him, but so was the play where he’d needed to pretend to jerk off in front of five hundred people. That director had praised his role as a medieval prostitute, claimed he’d call him again if he had anything else and then promptly walked off a ten story building while high, believing the pavement below was a swimming pool.

 “Weren’t you afraid of getting caught?” Fake Shane Hollander, or Ilya; drifted between making eye contact and looking at the floor. His blush was perfect too; an absurdly close shade to an eighteen year old Shane hollander’s. If he wasn’t too old and white, he had no doubt Jacob would ask him to play his own husband.

 “Was just fun.” Connor shrugged, channeling the nonchalance from the time Hudson had caught him using dollar tree hair gel. He did struggle not to laugh, thinking of the hour long argument that ensued. “Besides, we had same secret. It was…”

 Connor used one hand to gesture, pretending he only knew about half of his first language. Ilya, still in character; leaned his head back against the wall and swallowed. His fake nerves mirrors Connor’s real ones.

 “Curious?” He suggested.

 “Curious.” Connor repeated. “And you, Shane Hollander- make me curious.”

 There was a kissing scene here, in the script. Followed by other things. Instead Ilya’s demeanor changed in a split second, his back straightened and the two inches he had on Connor became a little clearer. He clapped, seemingly delighted with the performance.

 Connor took a deep breath.

 “That was perfect, fake me. I’d like to see how you do with-”

 Jacob and Ilya gave him several more small scenes, like that. Moments that wouldn’t mean a ton if he did leak it, that told a version of Ilya and Shane’s story the public hadn’t seen yet. It was intimate in a way. Connor needed to remind himself more than once, that it wasn’t real.

 His time ran over by twenty minutes, by the time they claimed to have everything they needed. He tried to take it as a good sign, too- that they watched him go instead of muttering amongst themselves.

 He did not make eye contact with the competition as he left. He did not notice that they watched him go too, thinking only of his soft sheets Hudson insisted on washing because, and he quote; “You don’t do it right, and the machines are big enough for two queen sized comforters.”

 He put his headphones in for the twenty or so minute walk home, let the Hamilton soundtrack distract him from the fact that he was rapidly leaving a safer area; in favor of the only place he’d been able to afford. He passed not one but two homeless encampments, wished he had anything to give and had just rounded a corner by an alley when he felt the hand on his shoulder.

 Connor screamed.

 He was sure any who’d heard though it was a woman’s, that something horrible was happening from how long it lasted as he spun around.

 “Easy, fuck. " The elder Russian held his hands out in surrender, out of breath. “You are a very easy person to follow, and a very difficult man to grab the attention of.”

 Connor’s hand was over his own chest, as he came down from that momentary shock. Though he was immediately sent into a different sort, at the idea of such a man trailing him. He swallowed now that he wasn’t in audition mode, and was grateful the darkness helped hide the very real tint rising over his cheeks.

 “I’m…sorry. Mr.Rozanov-”

 “Ilya.” He interrupted, pointing. “You may call me Ilya. But I wanted to tell you this. The casting team will pretend to meet with and consider the other auditioners. That will take weeks, and we still need to find a fake my-husband. One you have enough chemistry with.”

 Connor blinked, lips slightly parted. He knew he must look ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. Did he mean-

 “We will have tutor work with you on your Russian, and some to help with the scenes on ice. And you may text me whenever. I’ll only be in L.A two more days before I have to fly home; but we should get dinner before then, fake me.” Ilya patted him on the shoulder. “You have phone?”

 Connor’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s.

 “Oh my god Storrie, you are so boring. You have phone. You give.” Ilya held a hand out, and Connor eventually complied. It would not stop him from standing there, staring at the screen of his refurbished thirteen long after Ilya had gone. Or Ilya from shouting over his shoulder. “Dinner! Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

  “You’re fucking with me.” Hudson said, alternating between a slight crouch and pace. He’d been like this since the moment Connor walked in the door, when every detail of the night immediately flew from his lips. He hadn’t stopped talking once, on the other side of the curtain as Connor showered. “But that would just be cruel. You know how-”

 “Creepily obsessed you are with that man?” Connor interrupted, rinsing his conditioner out. Hudson would frown over him not using the body scrubs his aunt had gifted them. But his legs ached too badly to stand up for anything longer the basics. “He isn’t that hot.”

 He was. He said so just to mess with Hudson, knowing what would come next.

 “Fuck you, that is your doppelgänger!” There was silence on the other side of the tiny room, long enough that Connor contemplated poking his head out. “You touched him. I can’t believe you got to touch him-”

 “Wasn’t a big deal.” Connor lied as he squeezed wash into an exfoliating cloth. “Was just acting. No different than any other audition… until he trailed me for multiple minutes afterwards because I couldn’t hear him calling my name.”

 Hudson groaned, head in his hands. He sat criss-cross on the bathmat, dreading his ten hour shift that just so happened to start at four a.m. Retail.

 “You think you did well?” He postulated, then freed an arm up to pull the curtain sideways; just enough to slouch and rest his chin on his arms- on the bath’s edge.

 “Did better than the one in front of me.” He repeated, unphased.

 “And you’re sure he wasn’t fucking with you?” Hudson kept going. Connor sighed, cupped his hands and flicked it in Hudson’s face. He may have shrieked, if it weren’t for the (also gifted) filter head.

 “I don’t think he would.” He said, moving on to washing his ass. “He striked me as… I don’t know. The type that might fuck with you for fun, but never in a cruel way unless you were into that, and never with someone’s job. Reminded me of you.”

 “Because of our asses?”

 “Because he has that energy.” Connor dramatically waved a hand around, gesturing to Hudson’s entire body. “Matches what I read in some of that script.”

 “And yet you won’t tell me what any of it said.” Hudson huffed. “Do you have any idea how few people have gotten to see that? The moments they didn’t share with anyone, until those words were written-”

 Connor let the last of the soap fall down his legs, shut the water off and stepped out. Due to the awkward angle he needed to deploy, from the soap bottles and Hudson being in the way; his ass smacked him in the side of the head.

 This time, he did shriek.

 “Do you want to live here and work six days a week forever, or do you want to move into one of those ridiculous places in downtown Hollywood you window shop on Zillow every night?” Hudson mouthed the words as Connor said them, managing to both mock and smile. Connor hit him with his ass again, on purpose. “Then I can’t risk it by blabbing until the production team says it’s okay!”

 There’d been an unspoken agreement that if either of them got rich, they would take care of the other. That the money would be theirs, and if they weren’t legally able to split the paychecks down the middle they would be put in a joint account.

 Some nights they slept in the same bed. Others, Connor tossed and turned too much and Hudson would kick him or push him off into the floor. Sometimes they slept clothed, sometimes not.

 They’d never fucked. Never kissed, and didn’t plan on it. They spoke of the people they had fucked, every time one or the other got laid; in a relationship or out of one. Most of all they had to deny relationship allegations from a different family member at least once a week; the most recent being a niece who’d asked if they knew it was legal now.

 “Fine!” Hudson yelled, pretending to be angry. “When does filming begin?”

 Connor laid a towel down and sat on it to put lotion on, so Hudson didn’t have brain aneurysm. It would be a particularly inconvenient time.

 “Early winter? They were waiting on a rink’s confirmation for exact dates.” Hudson raised an eyebrow. “Ilya texted and said-”

 Hudson promptly grabbed their basket of clean towels, shoved his face in and and screamed.

 “That I would also get paid for the time it’ll take to prepare for this role.” He continued. “The hundreds of hours of work outs, language tutoring, hockey lessons, the mannerisms I’ll have to get, reading through the script with fake Shane. I could theoretically quit my job right n- where are you going?”

 Hudson had stood suddenly, leaving the bathroom door wide open as he moved to their thrifted entertainment center. “You are watching the documentary tonight!”

 Connor groaned. Hudson was going to be insufferable about him playing his celebrity crush. But he did not complain. He simply finished up the lotion, threw the sweatpants and old shirt on and followed Hudson to the couch. He laid with his head in his lap, and willed his eyes to remain open the remainder of the documentary. It was, after all; something Ilya had told him to watch anyways. Something that would prepare him for the role of a lifetime.

 And oh, what a lifetime it would be.

Chapter Text

   The restaurant Ilya invited him to made Connor hyper aware of the thread hanging from his suit jacket, worsened when he tried to pull it out. He’d thought it was a joke, when he texted him the address. Connor had worked here a few months, and couldn’t afford a single thing on the menu with a month’s worth of paychecks. But Ilya said he’d be paying and Connor didn’t want to argue.

 Thus he found himself being led to a window booth by the new host, a woman he didn’t recognize. He hoped that anyone else he came in contact with would be the same. It hadn’t exactly been a fun place to spend his time, serving customers who(for the most part) would speak less than a paragraph’s worth of words and expect him to read their minds. Time and time again he’d watched coworkers get fired or sent home for a hair out of place, eye makeup that was too dark or once; a male coworker fired because he refused to take out a fresh second lobe.

 The more recent waiting job was more lenient, no one saying anything when he came in with a mesh shirt or false septum he was testing the look of, though the pay was far worse.

 Together, he and Hudson had fifteen hundred dollars. But the rent needed to be paid, groceries bought, and the bill from the dermatologist Hudson made him see needed to be dealt with too.

 Connor would see the first of the series’s paychecks in a week, as he began to prepare. It would just make for a financially painful set of days. When he sat across from Ilya, he caught himself wondering when the last time he’d struggled with money was. Seventeen? Eighteen, before his rookie season began?

 “Any food allergies that would kill you?” The Russian asked, before he said hello. Connor shook his head. “Good, I went ahead and ordered. I thought you might have questions. This type of work is stressful, yes? You’d want to do well, but playing a real person… you may deal with some comments from hockey fans that think they know me better than I do.”

 He had no choice but to do well. Because if he fucked it up, tanked the biopic’s ratings after being selected for it on his second paid project; he would not find another one. He could survive on the money from it for quite a long time, but it would eventually run out. And he’d have to go back to waiting, being yelled at over a spilled drink or looking the wrong person in the eyes too long.

 “Yes I…” Connor gulped. “I have questions.”

 Ilya raised an eyebrow.

 “Oh! I- Shane said in an interview a few months ago, that he was fluent in… your language. How long did that take?” Connor stuttered, then wished Hudson was there to slap him.

 “Twenty years.” Ilya shrugged. “Oh, do not look so horrified. That was to understand everything, without translating to English in his head first. You will only need to memorize about twenty, twenty five minutes worth. And your accent is acceptable to any one who does not speak the language themselves, but that can be fixed too. It isn’t like this will play anywhere in Russia either.”

 A shadow passed across Ilya’s eyes, a whisper from a past he’d been reminded of. But he recovered quickly, pouring two half glasses of wine out from a small bottle that were more expensive than Connor’s existence.

 “I’m sorry.” Connor swallowed. “I haven’t seen the full script yet. Will it start there or…”

 Ilya shook his head. “Mhmn. In Saskatchewan, year before my rookie season. The exact moment I met Moy Sheyn.”

 “And the kids-” Connor questioned, relaxing some. He would even wait to pull out Google translate, until Ilya left to use the bathroom in an hour or so. He took a sip of the wine, still struggling to accept that he might be able to pay for his own soon. “Will it get into when all of them were born, or be more of a compilation at the end?”

 “No, No-” Ilya shook his head. “Would take up the full series if it went into detail on all of them. And they are all young still. We don’t want our children fictionalized. Our triplets’s surrogate had complications, and the twins are…Shane is constantly finding something they’ve drawn on the walls with sharpies. Takes every bit of patience he has, to remember they are just children. But he does this thing where he pretend to be his mother or father, to deal with the toddler stage like they might have- I am sorry. That’s something that would be more relevant to fake Shane, I think.”

 Connor’s voice was quiet when he responded, but he couldn’t help the small argument then. It was hard to focus on his point, however; with his own face staring back at him. Ilya’s eyes trailing over his chest, trying to pretend he wasn’t curious what jewelry was worn there today. Lingering on their slightly different noses, and thinking that if he got a septum himself; they would be entirely indistinguishable. Even staring into his blues, with their slightly thicker black rim around the edges; forcing himself to focus as Connor finished up.

 “…. but it helps. I am supposed to pretend to be in love with fake Shane, and I think… that’ll be easier if I know as much as possible about real Shane.” Connor said. He watched a waiter, an old co-worker come out of the kitchen with a cart. The kind they used for absurdly large orders. He thought nothing of it, with a larger party at one of the longer tables towards the restaurant’s center. “If that’s okay.”

 Ilya leaned back. He looked too relaxed here, amongst furniture that’d made Connor choke; when he saw an invoice on how much one booth cost to replace. “That is why we’re here.”

 “And here I thought we were going to talk about you.” Connor blurted out, then wanted to shove the words back in. His cheeks burned, and the ones that came next likely would have made the embarrassment worse, if it was anyone else. But he’d been told more than once that he let too much bother him. That he worried too much about saying the wrong thing; when so little in life actually mattered. “There are a lot of sex scenes. Like, a lot; if the glimpses I caught at my audition represent anything. Borderline Porn the first three episodes. I… like to think I’m versatile in…. acting roles, and I’m definitely not complain about having paid work but… thirty four minutes in the first episode alone- I think I will have to tell my mother not to go on the internet ever again-”

 A small smile had begun to form on Ilya’s lips, before Connor’s old coworker did indeed come closer to them with that cart. And then he was right beside him, that customer service smile with secret ‘fucking kill me’ eyes, that he could easily have concealed if he took Connor’s acting lesson.

 But he was stuck on the food, more than James’s expressions. It all looked so….normal. Things that were absurdly priced for what they were, but still from a section of the menu most of their patrons had deemed ‘Poor people food.’ A few different salads, fresher than anything he had at home. A long plate with a lineup of sliders, truffle fries, loaded fries… everything that could be pronounced.

 “Your food, Mr.Rozanov. And Connor. Would you like more of that wine, or will the one bottle be- Connor?” James frowned as the recognition hit. And then his gaze flicked back to Ilya, his mind to an entertainment gossip article he’d read months ago. And it clicked. “What brings you back here?”

 Connor struggled to come up with an explanation, without violating his contract. So he was grateful when Ilya interjected. “Work.”

 That one word was the truth, and it wasn’t. It made James decide not to push further, to switch back into work mode and wait until they were leaving to ask for Rozanov’s autograph. He set their plates and bowls down, rattled off some of the service script Connor had memorized his first day here; and was gone.

 “Is he going to be a problem?” Ilya asked.

 “James?” Connor gestured a maybe with his left hand, mouth watering. “I don’t think he’d spread rumors about the casting. He would, however; tell his boyfriend. And he will absolutely tell everyone, the fucker.”

 Ilya chuckled. “We do not like him?”

 “Absolutely not. He fucked my best friend’s ex situationship in my bed. Of course they hadn’t been fucking for years but James had just gotten evicted from his place for forgetting to pay his rent; and not because he couldn’t afford it. That same night-” Connor had to stop himself from tapping a fry on the tablecloth, as his face and arms became less stiff; more animated. “That happened- we?”

 Ilya shrugged, like he didn’t know what he’d said. “I am you. You are me. We. The sex scenes.”

 “The sex scenes?” Connor raised an eyebrow, then took a bite of his fry.

 “The sex scenes. Yes, they are borderline porn. But it is necessary. “Ilya said, leaning on a fist. “For years… that was all we got. There was no after. No hours spent in tangled sheets, in the shower or cooking for each other afterwards. No lazy afternoons, holding each other. No… me putting the triplets, twins, then Arina and Natalia to bed, then climbing in next to him. There was no teasing from our poor teammates, who’d gotten stuck in the rooms next to us at away games. No falling asleep together on Hayden’s couch the night after a Stanley cup win because we were too drunk to get home, then waking up and having to help get a barbie shoe out of his ass, with the worst headache of my life. It was just… fucking for a while there. Pretending we didn’t love one another, and falling deeper into while we- fucking paparazzi. Binoculars, really?”

 Connor followed his gaze, as the Russian cursed under his breath. Then he cursed too.

 “I am going to kill him.” He tried to stand up, but Ilya’s hand closed around his wrist. His heart jumped.

 “Killing the press is still considered extreme here, is true?”

 “I am going to kill him. I will grab one of our dirty pillows and rub it on his face while he is sleeping, so he gets a cyst on the tip of his nose bigger than the great whitehead of twenty eight’. Then I will hide the prescription patches his aunt gave him, and put vegetable oil in his hair gel. Only after I hide it, so he thinks he has lost his mind again and the ninety dollars has disappeared from his bank account for no reason-”

 “Storrie, you are having panic attack. Why murder paparazzi for being annoying?”

 Across the street, Hudson lowered his binoculars. There were ways he could play this off. Pretend he was on an evening run and saw them there, or had to pick up an order from the Sephora across the street for work.

 Connor would see through each of those ways and he was currently gesturing him inside with one hand, the other middle finger up and pressed against the glass. He hadn’t planned on getting close enough to speak to the man. Or to have his eyes fall over him. He didn’t smell good enough, wasn’t worthy enough to share the same space.

 He’d just wanted to take a look.

 But with each passing second the man he lived with was getting more and more agitated, so he bit the bullet and pulled his mask off. He’d learned long ago that people did not question a newcomer’s presence if one walked like they owned every room they graced their presence with. So he did. He stepped past the host’s table, bracing for the slap when he was close enough to Connor for such.

 Instead he was struck by Ilya Rozanov’s unblinking gaze, lips slightly parted and breathing changed like he’d seen a ghost.

 “Are you kidding me? I agreed to Life360 for emergencies, like a car I’m in crashing or maybe I’m being mugged and don’t have enough time to call the cops before my phone gets smashed-”

 Connor stopped talking when Ilya, his boss for all intents and purposes- seemed completely unbothered by the stalker’s presence. He tilted his head, when Ilya jerked his towards the empty spot next to him.

 He kept quiet when Hudson followed the instruction instead of finding something to remark over, then watched as Ilyaswallowed and remembered how to make noise with his mouth.

 “You will be fake Shane.”

 Hudson laughed.

 “I don’t see why that is funny.”

 His face fell, at the realization that Ilya Rozanov was not joking. That his seriousness came from a place of need; a want for this depiction of his life to be perfect.

 “I…. don’t act.”

 Ilya placed a hand over his, a small scar on the left disturbingly similar to one on his Shane’s right. “You do now.”

 “But-”

 “But what? Was the pay on casting call not high enough? Camera anxiety? Can’t skate, bad balance? Bad actor, not in shape under those sleeves? All can be fixed. All can be discussed. " Ilya interrupted. “You will play Moy Sheyn. That was not a request.”

Chapter Text

  Their lives blew up the same hour casting was officially announced, as if the world had been told they would get full frontal pictures of Ilya Rozanov’s cock in every single scene; if a certain threshold of obsession was met. At first, there were things the production team had told them to expect. Those comments from hockey fans, positive and negative. The entertainment industry as a whole, foaming at the mouth over how exact their casting was.

 
 What no one had seen coming were the offers, before filming had even wrapped up. YSL and Chanel fighting over Connor, Bulgari and Louboutin over Hudson. Peleton would remain in a screaming match with Apple fitness for months.

 Connor caught a camera flash on him, more than once at the gym. Not that he could blame those picture takers. He looked incredible, and would continue to as the regimen became more or less intense; depending on what year’s scenes they were filming in a set of weeks.

 Hudson had been in the middle of a haircut, an adoption of Shane’s locks paid for by HBO’s production team- when another client of the stylist had walked in and asked for a picture. To anyone who didn’t know better, it was as if they’d been in the industry for years. Hudson was still startled, of course; with slightly less time to adjust than Connor had been given. That, and the skit where he and Connor had pretended to sword fight with their robot dicks now had five million views.

 A month before filming began, so did the calls from potential agents. A few begged. Some made enticing offers with dream sponsorships, and one promised they’d be able to sell them as a packaged deal. You hire them both or you get neither, she’d say.

 First acting job or not, Hudson hadn’t liked that at all. So they’d agreed their friendship would not belong to the cameras or the show’s fans. It would not be hidden, but they also wouldn’t have it be used. They would not allow one another to grow sick of that bond, or to have Hollywood rip it apart. They would have their own careers, if it meant clawing the already established ‘Olsen Twins’ image apart.

 In the end they had gone with the same agent, though- a woman who hadn’t threatened them with an American eagle contract or tried to bribe them into a ten movie deal with horrifically poor pay for ‘exposure.’

 Together, by the day before filming started, they had seven bookings lined up.

 And oh, what a disaster that first day had been. They’d told the production team to expect it of them, with the two sex scenes to be filmed right off the bat. They’d had a long sit down talk; alone first and then with those directors and producers and the intimacy coordinator; on what they were comfortable with. Kissing Hudson would be weird, but not unbearably so. Pretending to fuck him would be stranger, but they could be professional about it.

 They could go home afterwards, and act like nothing had happened. That was what they told themselves. But then the intimacy coordinator had bought a new brand of barriers and for lack of better wording- cock socks. Barriers that were meant to reduce sensation in a professional environment, but be as thin and small as possible to keep the scenes realistic, while Connor’s head bobbed between his thighs and cheek occasionally brushed against said barrier.

 So approximately thirty seconds into the very first take, Hudson had gotten hard; moaning Ilya’s name and begging him to take what he needed. He’d broken character long enough to wiggle his eyebrows, and they both lost it.

 For a while they forgot that there were, in fact- other people in the studio. Hudson held his stomach, laughing so hard it hurt. When he shifted the way he sat as a director yelled cut- it caused his bright orange, fuzzy dick to smack against his thigh at a level with Connor’s eyes. Everyone thought he was going to throw up, with how long that silent laughter lasted, tears falling down his cheeks and face redder by the second.

 But somehow, it eventually stopped. They were made to drink water, switch to a more tried and true… cock sock brand, and given a full five minutes to stop crying. At the resumption, Connor had to pretend he was sucking off Donald Trump, to avoid getting hard himself. Best friend or not, it was objectively hot. For a single second before going back to the trump thing, he allowed himself to picture real Shane and Ilya in similar positions; bare skin to bare skin.

 Throughout the morning, there were still several more incidents. Hudson got hard again, then Connor. Connor kneed Hudson in the face when he sunk to his knees, and it took another half hour break to calm down. Connor forgot one line, and improvised by sucking on Hudson’s nipple. One of the cameramen mouthed something to the effects of ‘Is he allowed to do that’, to which Tierney shrugged.

 “Please fuck me-” Hudson mumbled, his change in breathing not entirely a lie. Behind Connor’s eyes was that slight shine, that said he knew exactly what effect he had. The pair told themselves it was for the cameras; anything for the fucking cameras, but they’d begun to enjoy it just a little bit. There was a silent communication in that gaze too, a trust built through many months of keeping on top of the joint bills without making it a ‘your turn, my turn’ thing, being there for the small and large things.

 When Hudson had come home sobbing once because he’d seen a coworker get ran over four feet in front of the old Cheesecake Factory he’d worked at, Connor held him a while. He’d made them dinner and brought it to Hudson in bed, then simply held him while they watched a rerun of some detective show he liked. The same one he’d secured a leading role on.

 When Connor had come home sniffling because an older hookup posted their videos on a certain orange and black website without asking, he’d stayed silent. He’d listen to Connor’s entire recounting of that story, then calmly described how they could get away with slitting his throat. Connor had managed to talk him down, only by convincing him that the right acids might be expensive.

 A week later Connor had come home to a grinning Hudson, who claimed to have written a slightly threatening email with his lawyer cousin’s guidance. The video had been taken down, the hookup’s account and I.P Address permanently banned.

 Connor- or Ilya, nodded. Still in character; he kissed up Hudson’s chest and to his shoulder. He really took his time on the spot connecting it to his neck, knowing just how sensitive it was because of a hookup who’d discovered that same thing; on a night Connor had spent with shitty earplugs. Hudson shivered at the light kiss, then harsh bite.

 Jacob looked like he wanted to interrupt; to tell them to calm down. Lasting marks were generally a huge no in the industry, but another director shrugged when met with his gaze.

 Let it play out, he said.

 It was at that exact moment, that Shane Hollander walked in through a far door in the studio. It hadn’t been a planned drop in with him staying over an hour away, doing some startup work on a new branch of he and Ilya’s charity; but curiosity had gotten the better of him.

 “Ilya, please-” Hudson said, off script now. “I need, oh fuck-”

 Connor’s hand had drifted under the bedsheet covering their lower halves, barely in front of Hudson’s crotch- and was moving like it’d grabbed onto something. Behind him was a thicker barrier, used for scenes like these with no true nudity but plenty else. Connor thrusted up against it, hard once again. He couldn’t help his grin either; over the feeling of Hudson doing so too. He snaked his free hand around so Hudson’s head was resting on his bicep, threading their fingers together.

 He pushed at Hudson’s hip, moving them in a way that put one leg over the other man’s; trapping him there . Such a position made it more difficult to jerk or pretend to jerk another man off, but it was still doable. And it was as intimate as they could make it look, with the barrier that may as well have been a pillow. Not that it stopped Hudson from feeling the clear arousal. He would be lucky if his left asscheek didn’t have deep purple bruises. The position also put Connor’smouth right by his ear, his ‘false’ noises of pleasure so incredibly real Hudson would need to hop back on tinder later.

 
 “Something the matter?” He teased, picking up his imaginary pace to something almost inhuman. “Too much?”

 “Mmn-” Hudson groaned, trying to convey an expression of the delicious mix between pleasure and pain.

 “You did ask me to fuck you. And I can never say no-” there was a particularly hard thrust, that made Hudson bite the inside of his mouth. “To my favorite whore.”

 Shane blushed, his face hot where he stood by Tierney. He thought about murdered puppies to avoid getting hard himself, but it only half worked.

 “How long have they been like this?” He asked, leaning over.

 “Not long. Not like this, anyways.” He tilted his head. “But I have a feeling it may be a reoccurring problem.”

 As if on cue, Connor’s right arm left it’s spot beneath Hudson’s head. That hand threaded through Hudson’s locks, how heliked when with a man. There was barely enough to grab onto, but enough that Hudson could feel it. He hissed again, mouth hanging open slightly for a few moments after.

 “Something to complain about?” He teased again, still fake fucking his roommate.

 “Mmn- fuck you, dickhead-”

 It was then, that they were finally interrupted. But not by Tierney or the intimacy coordinator or any of the production team. It was Shane Hollander who cleared his throat and yelled cut.

 A little over three years ago, Tierney had led with a simple hello on instagram. An ask, if the rumors of them attending that year’s met gala were true. Shane had his ethical dilemmas surrounding the event, but the prospect of being dressed by someone who knew what they were doing was tempting. He and Ilya’s seventh kid had just been born, to a woman who had a one night stand with a man that died of a drug overdose two weeks later.

 She’d been sad for him, but as there was no deep connection she’d quickly moved on. She’d gone to an adoption agency the same hour she saw a positive test, and that was that. She’d refused to hold Natalia, had showed little to no emotion while signing the appropriate paperwork; thus the newborn had immediately been brought to them. With each of their kids it had been different. One of the surrogates had invited them into the room, one had only wanted her mother…. they hadn’t been there for Arina’s first day.

 She was a surprise addition, if a human could be called so. A distant cousin of Ilya’s, who’s mother had been found in a pool of blood after she tried to free birth while on crack. Her medical expenses had, of course- been the most exorbitant. The sleepless nights had lasted longer, brought on more fights and a difficult time finding childcare( Yuna and David were getting older, and they didn’t want to stick them with even six kids for too long) for away games.

 At one point those four heart-stopping words had lingered on the tip of Shane’s tongue. Words that would have changed those (then) six kids lives forever and sent shockwaves not just through hockey, but their community as a whole. It had been no fault of Ilya’s. They were just so stressed, both of them; from trying to be decent parents and players and keeping the three charities and their marriage working.

 They’d reached a breaking point, but before that bucket could tip over Shane had physically crumpled to the floor and sobbed. Ilya immediately forgot what they’d been arguing about, held and cried with him. They made a decision that night, to go for one more season and be done. Family was far more important than the careers, and they’d been dealt some damned good ones.

 Not one, not two; but five Stanley cups in a row. It was getting selfish of them, to not give anyone else a chance. The decision to have a seventh wasn’t planned either, but the agency they’d worked with to legally adopt their others called and they’d talked long about it.

 Natalia had been a particularly difficult newborn, pressing certain buttons again; but they’d been able to deal with those buttons better, after a marriage counselor had cautioned them to take care of themselves before the children if they didn’t want to be remembered how Ilya remembered his dad.

 Yuna and David had insisted on watching the kids a full week, so they could have that time.

 Thus Tierney had pulled them aside with a proposal at the met gala.

 Since they’d retired it was less stressful to have just one of the pair watching the children. They both got more sleep, wouldn’t be apart more than twice a month and made up for it plenty when back. They’d thrusted their hands and minds into helping write and edit the show’s script, and rediscovered things about each other they’d missed for nearly two years; but had not forgotten.

 Connor and Hudson’s movement ceased, though their breathing did not. Both wore puzzled looks, like Shane had materialized out of thin air while they were a little too into the scene.

 “Afternoon.” He blushed, trying to hide a half-risen part of himself behind a camera. “I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself sooner but uhm… I just wanted to.. we all want this to be accurate, right? The improv and all.”

 Hudson and Connor shared a slow glance, Hudson’s head turning back with a wince to meet his eyes. When he looked at Shane again, both were simultaneously nodding.

 “Then…. I uhm… I wouldn’t tell Ilya to fuck off.” Shane wanted to crawl into a hole, maybe his own; and die there. “A little brattiness here and there and certain… rougher kinks we definitely cannot put in this for our kids to stumble across one day, but uhm…”

 Hudson grinned, casually laying down like he was in his own bed; not half naked in a room of thirty people. He did not think about the words that left his mouth, before he said them.“So you are more submissive? You know, I got that from the script but you’re making it sound like it goes even deeper. What is it you’re into? Impact play? Predator-Prey chases? Consensual non consent-”

 Tierney choked on his water and promptly dropped the cup, lucky it missed any important equipment.

 Shane elected to ignore most of Hudson’s questioning, and responded only to his first. “Yes. I… Ilya is more dominant but clearly you’ve read your lines and know…”

 “Sweetheart, I will pretend the shit out of that; to the point people will wonder if I have ever been in a willing sex slave dynamic.” Shane was going to combust and turn into a beet, at this rate.

 He stuttered something out about how he couldn’t stay long, and just about bolted out the door. Not that the humiliation hadn’t done something to him.

 He’d run to go deal with it inside his pants, in the rented car.

 Connor slapped hudson, over and over again; though neither could stop laughing. “The fuck is wrong with you? That man is our boss too- don’t look at me like that’s a ridiculous sentence!”

 After an hour break for everyone to regain their composure, filming had resumed. Hudson on his knees again, this time in front of a reconstruction of a window from Shane and Ilya’s cottage. There’d been talks of using the real thing, but with the renovations and extra bedrooms it’d become their primary residence. And it was difficult enough to keep seven kids healthy, happy and fed in a familiar environment. Trying to explain why they needed to stay elsewhere a while, without actually explaining- would have been nearly impossible.

 Connor braced a hand against the fake window wall, the other in Hudson’s hair. As he began to move, his face rubbed up against his best friend’s crotch and Connor swore. But then Hudson being Hudson, kept fucking doing it like that.

 Instead of moving his head back a little, to a point that was still realistic with the current camera’s angles- he grinned. His mouth was not visible, and the intimacy coordinator pretended to shoot herself in the head.

 It stopped, only when it was realized that Connor’s noises weren’t all good acting. Hudson’s face wasn’t enough to get off on, but it was damned close.

 “Cut!” Sharon yelled, annoyed and exasperated. “Save the actual porn for your free time.”

 Hudson took that literally. Without being too cocky, it was easy for him to find partners for any activity in the world he wanted to try. Having the face he did and all.

 Twenty minutes on tinder, and he had separate invites to a man’s apartment and woman’s house. He’d stayed for three hours, and they filmed all of it. One hour of that was laying with, making sure she was okay after.

 Meanwhile, Connor had found a hookup of his own. A man slightly older, who’s first message had been ‘I’m not looking for a relationship.’ Lucky for him, neither was Connor. He spent far less time there, so he’d been laying in bed with some episode of criminal minds on for background noise.

 Hudson flopped down next to him, no concern for something others might call ‘personal space.’

 “So?” He asked.

 “So what?” Connor turned his head.

 “One round? Two?”

 “Fuck you, I’m not answering that-”

 “Personally I had four in me- she had fourteen; but I’m probably good for the rest of the week.”

 “I don’t care-” Connor grumbled, pretending to shove his face into the pillow.

 “I imagine Shane has said that a few times, if Ilya’s ever asked which way he wanted it that day.” He said, leaning over so he were right in Connor’s ear. “He probably sounds like-”

 Hudson moaned, loud enough Connor contemplated moving so he’d never have to look their neighbors in the eyes again.

 “Go awayyy-” He huffed. He would definitely shove Hudson onto the floor tonight, so he could wake up and complain his shoulder hurt.

 “Nope.” He smiled, close enough Connor could feel it. “You still love me.”

 Yes. Yes he did.

Chapter Text

  A week into filming and hundreds of miles away, Shane and Ilya had finished putting the kids to bed for the night. After two decades together they had learned to differentiate between types of quiet; whether Ilya was staring at the ceiling trying to organize pediatrician’s appointments in his head or overthinking an unintentional snap of Shane’s.

 Whether Shane was quiet because he he was tired and overstimulated, or actually mad about something. More of Ilya’soverthinking had come in recent years, after he saw those four words on his Shane’s tongue. They’d always had their fair share of problems, he knew… but they’d learned to work it out, over shoving every basic emotion down like in the earlier years.

 Now, Ilya watched his husband watch the nursery monitor; for the two youngest. They’d worked on themselves for them, yes- but also because neither could imagine waking up if it wasn’t next to each other. In therapy, Ilya had regretted those words the second they left his mouth. Shane’s head had snapped sideways so fast, expression falling into a resemblance of the first time they’d discussed his mental health.

 “No. I don’t mean that I still think of… that.” He’d quickly said. “I just… it is a lot sometimes. To keep breathing and have so many young ones, relying on you and one other person. To know if something happened to you… it would be hard for him.”

 Ilya would not leave his children. He understood more now, why his mother had done what she did. He’d talk to the triplets about her sometimes, with them being old enough to understand why it made him sad. Why he still twisted at the chain around his neck, after a particularly long day. They all made it easier, in their own ways. The triplets and twins could both sense, when their fathers were on the verge of tears. Not that either had cried in front of them, more than a handful of times.

 One of those had been on his mother’s birthday last year, when he’d glanced back and forth between the two pictures he had left. The eldest girl had wiped his face with her tiny fingers, and he’d lost it. Shane, arms aching from the massive pot of potatoes he’d been mashing- heard the sobs from a floor down. He’d turned the oven off, made sure the other children were okay and tried to send the girl out to play. She’d frowned at him, those eyes so similar to her surrogate’s- and temporarily crossed her arms in protest.

 A moment later she’d wrapped those tiny arms around the father she’d dubbed papa and squeezed. The child, and Shane; had not let go until his face was dry.

 Shane, who had so much love to give. Shane, who was close to sixty percent of the reason they (the ones who could talk, at least) felt comfortable coming to them with anything. Shane, who’d have the occasional nose bleed from the high blood pressure that came with a bad sleep. They were better about doing that in shifts nowadays, over every other nights. They’d found that, for them; four to five hours a night was better than seven or eight every other.

 Shane, who’d gone quiet and faced away from him half an hour ago.

 “They’re okay. You know they’re okay.” Ilya commented, breaking the silence. “They’d been fed and bathed. Natalia and Arina have fresh diapers, and they’re all out. They’re not going to wake up or fuss for at least a few hours.”

 “I know.” Shane’s voice was short, sharp. Ilya had also learned to read the slight tone variations, between whether he was annoyed at him or angry with himself. Between an attitude he hoped would lead to bedroom activities, and one where everything had gotten to be too much.

 This was a strange mix of all of the above, with something else buried beneath. Ilya shut the monitor off and turned Shane on his back, climbing over him a moment later. “We are not going to do that silent thing again, when you know as well as I do that it almost broke us. Talk to me.”

 “I am. I’m talking right now-” he grumbled, weakly shoving at Ilya’s arms where they’d caged him in.

 “No. You are saying words, but you’re not talking.”

 “Ilya, that makes no sense.” He tried to look away, but Ilya was too close for his eyes to land anywhere else.

 “It makes perfect sense. Are you going to tell me what you’re really thinking of, or do I have to get it out of you some other way?” Shane shuddered. They’d found a contractor that worked on government buildings, to soundproof this particular room for particular reasons.

 But Ilya was right. Lying got them nowhere but a dangerous edge, however large or small.

 “Is it sex thing?” Ilya asked, and Shane gulped. Ah. “fantasy, then? Something you want to try? Something you don’t want to do again? A dream you had, or something you did?”

 At his last words, Shane tried his hardest to hide his face. First by shoving it sideways into a pillow, then by fighting Ilyawhen he pinned his wrists above his head. When all else failed, he closed his eyes.

 Ilya released him just long enough to cross the room, lock their door and unlock the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He did not have the patience or time to set up the bench they kept disassembled in their closet, so old reliable would have to do. Shane scrambled away from him on the bed, not in true panic but discombobulation over the threat; with how rapidly his mind had been moving.

 All noise ceased. For a moment he even forgot why said threat was being made, or rather why said action was being taken. He got about a foot away from his side before being yanked back, an arm around his midsection landing him on his back. Before he could register the change of scenery, however; Ilya was climbing over him to stand, had yanked him further towards the edge.

 “Now, do I have to tie you to headboard or will you behave and put them up willingly?” Ilya mused, a hand stroking up and down one leg. When his Shane didn’t immediately respond he leaned over him, that same hand on the side of his face. “Color.”

 Shane knew better than to ignore that word, as did the growing evidence of it’s effect and the reason Ilya dangled those ties in the first place. They’d been in this certain dynamic before they reached that dangerous edge, too. But they’d both grown to take it more seriously after making time for it again, in a way they hadn’t practiced since before the kids. Never in front of them, of course.

 And anyways, It was not always sexual. After so many years of not having the small moments, they relished in the more domestic activities; still with a safe word, where Ilya might tell him when to do what and he listened. It helped get him out of his head, to stop overthinking the inevitable mess that came from so many little ones and be satisfied with what he’d been allowed to clean. Sometimes, he liked not speaking except when allowed. Every once in a blue moon, when they hired Nannies to take the children elsewhere- he appreciated being made to crawl unless told otherwise.

 He blushed even now, thinking of one such day where he’d spotted a peanut under the couch, tried to pick it up and were promptly hauled over Ilya’s lap.

 “Z…. zelenyy-” he stuttered. Half a second later, his arms were yanked up over his head by expert hands, having learned a hundred different ways to tie situation-appropriate knots over the years.

 “You, moya lyubov’- have done something.” Ilya started. “I can see it in your eyes.”

 Stupidly, Shane opened his mouth for a reason that wasn’t answering honestly. In retrospect he should have seen it coming. But he was too focused on lying to himself, to use his brain cells. “I didn’t d-”

 The slap reddened his left cheek immediately, the sting lasting. In contrast Ilya manipulated his head back like a doll’s, giving Shane no option but to meet his eyes. His fingers were almost gentle where they gripped. Almost.

 “You would not lie to me unless you thought you’d get in trouble.” Ilya postulated. “So what was it? Did you jerk on someone? Let them jerk on you? I know you did not fuck anyone else yet. Or without me, with all that dropping you did the last time we invited Scott and Kip. Did you watch someone else fuck and get off on it?”

 Shane’s throat made an involuntary noise of protest, and Ilya grinned like he’d discovered a diamond the size of their tv.

 “Did someone take a stroll down Laguna beach and see another someone do something to get charged for indecent exposure?” Ilya pushed, wrapping a hand around his throat with the lightest pressure. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think you watched porn again either. I think you may have taken a detour to a certain film studio, watched fake me fake fuck fake you and it was all too familiar. I think you wish you’d been alone with them, so you could not-fake get fucked by them both.”

 “I-”

 “Do not interrupt. Is rude. I think if given permission, you would take any opportunity you could to touch them.” Ilyatsked. “So desperate. Such a slut. Tell me, why would either of them want someone so ran through?”

 Shane whimpered, trying and failing to get any amount of friction where he needed it. “Maybe I could be good to both of them. You were the one that said I have a nice set of holes. Of course, Scott Hunter thought so t-”

 He’d really done it then, and he knew there would be no escape. Flipped on his stomach, he smiled while Ilya couldn’t see his face.

 “You think is funny?” Ilya said, hand wrapping around his throat from behind. Never with enough pressure to cut off air, but enough to know he could. “Not telling your husband, when you think fake you is hot? Not immediately calling, so we could figure out what to do about that?”

 Ilya repositioned himself, chest pressed to Shane’s back. It forced his arm into an awkward angle to keep that hand where it was, but thankfully Shane could not see; to be pulled from the scene by his own laughter. Ilya’s lips were just by his left ear when he continued. His tone lowered in a way that was both terrifying and made his sweatpants uncomfortably tight. “You’re not wrong. He is hot. Zelenny?”

 Shane did not respond for a good few seconds, but he also failed to rapidly tap his fingers against the comforter.

 “I think I would let you fuck you.” Ilya said, casually rolling off Shane to lay on his side. He spoke like they were talking about the weather, or how complicated their taxes had been last year. “I think you would let him fuck you. I think I would fuck me, and me would let me fuck him.”

 “That makes no sense, Ilya-”

 “Do I need to get the gag too? Yes it does.” Ilya repeated, tilting his head as his eyes raked over the bound gift. They would not have all night like he wanted, to unwrap it slowly. To make it beg for more, to stop, to push limits how it liked. If he wanted to make him reach a peak three or more times and be able to recover at least an hour, he’d have to start now. Fuck him now.

 So he did.

 He ceased the teasing, the discussion on future potentials and inched close enough to pull his sweatpants and underwear down in one go. Just to a necessary point, and just slow enough to poke at shane’s impatience. He went back into his (now unlocked) bottom drawer, coated his fingers from the half empty bottle and got to work. After so many years their bodies knew one another, and despite that two year gap it welcomed a first finger with little resistance.

 The second, just a minute or so later; was near the same story. By the third Ilya was brushing against that spot, deliberately light. Shane cursed(not at him but in general) and got another slap to a different type of cheek for it. Ilyaclimbed off the bed, abandoning him just long enough to free himself.

 He was not gentle, by any definition of the word. It’d taken all of ten minutes during their first encounter to figure out Shane didn’t like it that way. That he needed some sort of intensity, from the way he hadn’t stopped asking for harder, faster, more.

 So Ilya set a pace from the beginning that anyone else may have tapped out of, a hand pressing between his shoulder blades. He kept him on his stomach until he’d gotten two out of him, then turned him back over and pulled him to the bed’s edge again to enact a third. Shane had started crying, half from the intensity and what he thought might be a break.

 That break did not last long, as when he could bring himself to open his eyes Ilya was grinning; holding one of their larger toys. His legs would not work when he tried to pull them away, off Ilya’s shoulders.

 “Look at you-” he laughed. “Pretending you have not taken bigger.”

 “What, like Scott Hunt-”

 “Now that is just gross. He is fifty.”

 “He’s forty sefuck-” Shane moaned, interrupting himself.

 “What was that?” Ilya asked, conversationally. He did not give him an ease in, a slow build up with the toy slightly larger and thicker than he. “That makes no sense, Shane. Sefuck is not a word.”

 After he’d wringed a third (near dry) peak out of the sweating mess that used to be his husband, he slowly lowered his legs. He maneuvered him to lay against his chest, against the headboard and pulled the comforter back over them.

 They stayed like that for about ten minutes, before Shane wanted to crawl out of his skin just looking at the damp spots. But Ilya did not let him up just yet. He made him drink, from the mini fridge kept next to Ilya’s bedside table for this very reason. He made him eat most of a chocolate bar, from a brand Shane found acceptable for its simple ingredients and lack of child slavery.

 He turned the monitors back on, drew him a bath and insisted on carrying and depositing him into said water. He would have stayed, had Natalia and Arina not risen and threatened to wake the other five. He put a hand up, motioning that he had it despite it technically being Shane’s shift. Ilya rocked both babies by their window, moonlight peeking through their curtains.

 How had he gotten so lucky?

——

Chapter Text

   A month after filming had begun, Connor needed to drag himself out of bed. He was far from tired. He’d simply convinced himself that the later the day started, the longer it might last. It wasn’t like this particular set of scenes could be filmed without them, but as his self-chosen departure time approached( it was normally him, having to yell at the man to get up), Hudson’s paces grew louder.

 A toaster that could be put up silently got slammed back in a cupboard, his nose was filled with the scent of purposeful garlic and onion in the scramble Hudson was making, and eventually his roommate and coworker dramatically walked up to his door and started banging his head on the wood.

 He knew he was pushing it. They’d be lucky, if his late rise and L.A traffic didn’t bring them into the studio half an hour past eight. It wasn’t like filming was done with either; they still had several more weeks to go. But then it would be done, and their time would be filled. Their schedules would pull them apart more often than not. They might have a project together every few years, see each other a few times a month if that; despite continuing to live together. In three months Hudson would film a period drama, a Bridgerton spinoff on the child of Sophie and Benedict Bridgerton- for two months. He would go into a crime drama immediately after, then have a few week’s break before a voice-acting project, for season one of an animated version of the acotar series.

 Connor would be across the world for most of those weeks, in Italy and Scotland and London; for a period and crime drama of his own. His next two years were planned as intensely… but he’d enjoyed the past weeks especially. Thinking about them did little to help the morning wood, nor did Hudson ‘s over exaggerated groans.

 “Go away, m’need to take care of something.” He said, thrusting an arm out to rake his alarm clock into the floor. Whatever version of a god the world believed in had to be smiling at him, because it came apart in several pieces on the actual hard wood.

 “Could always help if you’d let me!” Hudson called through the door, only half joking.

 “Not my type.” Connor lied.

 He did not waste time. He gave himself five minutes, thought keeping up with it were made more difficult by his lack of a clock. His strokes were fast, lubricated by a good lotion Hudson would actually strangle him for using in that manner; his peak nothing to write home about. But it was enough to take the edge off and make himself focus, he thought.

 He got through breakfast and the six step skincare routine Hudson had recently bullied him into(with the help of their agent), without getting hard again. He managed to sit in the passenger seat of Hudson’s new car, and shake Jacob’s hand while he started talking about positions with a straight face. He definitely did not think about the dread that’d filled him, when he woke and remembered these were the very last sex scenes. One with Hudson pretending to ride him, and another in a replica of Shane Hollander’s trophy room; as it might’ve looked when the couple was first outed.

 Hudson and Jacob argued back and forth, though not too seriously- about whether he should be facing Connor or not. Then Hudson proposed that they simply ask Ilya and Shane, Jacob claimed they’d discussed this already and Ilya and Shane had written the script for both scenes today. Hudson showed him a text, where Ilya had told them to improv the dialogue within reason if they wanted, and they landed somewhat in the middle. They could add things that were in character, if they fit with other lines.

 The whole time, Connor had remained silent. He had nothing to add, beyond please let this be another sixteen hour day. Please let us make enough small mistakes, that we have to refilm the angles over and over again.

 Jacob looked at him, waiting on some addition to the conversation- it was weird to be in an environment where the actor’s opinions were valued, but he only shrugged. Their groomer took less time than usual, only blurring a spot on his chin, shaping his eyebrows and curls- as they’d wanted every micro-expression and imperfection visible with how much skin would be too.

 In a version of Ilya’s old living room, most of his actual furniture pulled from a storage unit; Connor snapped into character. He fell back against the couch and raised an eyebrow, motioning Hudson over. The way his chest rose and fell, and eyes dilated- was not acting.

 Hudson climbed over him. The intimacy director moved in, asking in earnest- if the extra thin barriers for that particular angle were doing what they were intended for. Hudson lied and said yes, though every slight brush pushed his mind somewhere else. To a room with Ilya Rozanov, fighting him for control. Connor was honest when he nodded, but his was sized properly- Whereas Hudson’s was slightly too loose.

 Kathy moved back, to mumble something to Jacob and a cameraman. Jacob nodded. Connor tried to catch his breath, waiting on the go.

 Not that Hudson was better off. He had to focus on Connor’s nose, to remind himself it was not Ilya. That Ilya Rozanovwas married, and they’d fought to be able to say that for over a decade. A harder reality to accept, was the one where he’d have to wait at least ten hours before hopping back on tinder. He guessed there were always bathrooms to defile during their breaks, but-

 “Alright we’re going to start from the very beginning here and fourth line on the next angle, guys.” Jacob said. “And action.”

 Hudson snapped into character then too, the unscripted flush in his cheeks adding something. Connor’s hands moved to grip his ass, thighs positioned on either side of him in a way that shielded their covered dicks from the camera.

 “What did I tell you, that time in Vegas?” He said, squeezing.

 “That I.. I….” Hudson leaned over him, their foreheads pressed together as Connor pretended to help him down. Hudson bit his lip, stifling noises he’d elicited from a partner earlier that week. “I don’t hold the cup-”

 “no, the other thing. First year we were on same team.” Connor pushed him back, but would not let him fall. His thighs tightened, trapping both Hudson and his own wrists there. “Does dick make you that stupid?”

 That definitely wasn’t in the script. Nor was the slap, hard enough their groomer would have to cover up those marks for the day’s second scene.

 “No I-” Hudson tried to rub his cheek, but his hands were quickly pulled back to Connor’s face and chest. “I, no sir. The other thing… you told me it was only the beginning.”

 Ilya- no, Connor; loosened his thigh’s grip and allowed Hudson to fall back over him. “Good boy.”

 Hudson had not been prepared for how Ilya- Connor; pretended to thrust up into him. There would be bruises again. Likely darker, longer lasting. He didn’t exactly mind, as they would help him pretend later. And the genuine surprise would translate well on camera, he told himself.

 During the day’s second scene, Connor bent him over an arm chair with fingers woven tightly through his hair. There was real pain there too, but anything for a good shot. “Do you know how powerful this feels? Fucking a king in his throne room?”

 With Connor’s hips pounding against his it was difficult to think. It let to a few extra seconds of the movement, as he tried to remember his words.

 “F-fucking hell Rozanov-”

 Connor wrapped an arm around his chest, maneuvering him to face the back of the armchair on his knees. It faced him towards a different set of trophies, made the cameraman try to keep silent as he maneuvered very heavy equipment. Connor moved to stand in front of the chair, and pretended to sink back into Hudson. “I think I should drag you back in here anytime you need a reminder-”

 A particularly hard thrust then, to drive a point home. “Of who the fuck you are. You are Shane fucking Hollander. If you ever forget it, I will drag you back in here and fuck you until you remember.”

 “We’ll- We’ll share a trophy room someday.” Hudson stammered, on script but genuine once again.

 Connor smiled, hands tight on his hips. “Yes. A fucking empire.”

 It was dark, the world outside quiet when Jacob asked if they’d be interested in a massage- from a professional of course (he’d specified, the moment he heard how it sounded). It’d been a particularly straining day, and Hudson nearly jumped him in gratitude. Jacob just barely managed to maneuver away from the hug and sweat. An hour later, the roommates were laying on fold-out massage tables. Naked. Again.

 “Don’t tell your aunt, but I think I like this lady more than hers.” Hudson gasped. The masseuse decided to take it as a compliment, working on his legs then. He’d spent hours contorted into positions that were strenuous under ordinary circumstances, so he tried and failed not to moan. The masseuse took that as a compliment, too.

 “Any shoulder pain?” She asked.

 “Nope-”

 “Yes.” Connor answered. And leg and back pain, but he and Hudson had certainly done different types of work. When she was done with Hudson’s legs she moved on to Connor’s upper back, the position on his stomach reminding him of certain thoughts. So he tried to replace them with images of republican politician’s faces, to quell a certain someone from rising at a particularly inappropriate moment. He though of how glorious a certain former president’s death had been, but all that served was to make him smile.

 “What’s so funny?” Hudson managed to get out, despite how close he was to falling asleep. With his head resting on his arms, his view of Connor was tilted.

 “Just… something that would probably get my projects recasted, if I said it in a tiktok.” He sighed. “Do you thin-”

 Before he could finish that thought, Connor’s phone rang from atop his pile of clothes. The masseuse lady peeked over his ass, covered by that thin sheet; and onto the floor. “It’s Mr.Rozanov.”

 She smiled too, having remembered the extraordinarily generous tip he’d given her over two decades ago. And not the monetary kind.

 “Will you-” he started to ask, but she’d already placed it on the table next to his head.

 Connor clicked accept, a little too eagerly. Hudson’s head perked up at the sound of the retired hockey player’s voice.

 “Ilya, Hey?” He said, both surprised and not by the sudden call. A few times a week one of the pair would ask how filming had gone, ask if there were any hiccups; and Connor or Hudson would lie about their body’s natural reactions. But they’d spoken just last night, and it wasn’t like the man to let someone else say hi first.

 “Yeah, Hey. Listen, are you alone?” He asked.

 “I’m not. I’m with Hudson and a masseuse Jacob got for us-”

 “You’re in L.A still, right? Haven’t moved on to the rink scenes in New York? Would that happen to Be Isabella Moreno with you?” Ilya interrupted, speaking quickly.

 “I… it would.” Connor frowned. “Why?”

 “Hello, Ilya!” Isabella Huffed. “I have missed you. Your Shane still not interested in women?”

 “Oh, you know him.” Ilya said. “Likes what he likes. You and Marley still fucking?”

 Hudson choked on air.

 “Of course we are.” She replied casually. “What a stupid question.”

 There was a momentary silence on the other end, before Ilya took a deep breath. “Sorry, I asked if you were alone and if that was Isabella because she will not go run to tabloids. And actually, is good that Hudson’s with you. Shane is putting the twins down for a nap right now, but we’ve been discussing some things. And there is something we want to ask you. Both of you.”

Chapter Text

  Scheduling had, of course- been a nightmare. Until all four of them got the call that, not only had heated rivalry been nominated for outstanding limited series, but Hudson and Connor would also be against one another for outstanding lead actor. That Rose Landry’s younger cousin, despite the nepotism protests- had been nominated too for her portrayal of the elder actress. That nominations had also been secured in the writing and directing categories, casting(fucking obviously), music composition and production design.

 Hudson’s ears had rung, but his thoughts had stayed on the awards for approximately two seconds. Because it put all four of them in the same city at the same time.

 They’d been discussing it casually for months, but as the day approached those talks on boundaries were taken more seriously. Ilya had commandeered the situation, making Shane sit with him and getting Connor and Hudson on a call. There was the obvious, that brokered no arguments from any involved. These things were settled in all of a few sentences before everything else was seriously contemplated.

 “Condoms only.” Ilya had started. “Traffic light system, to make it simpler. Of course, both of you look like you know what that is.”

 “It was in the script, Ilya.” Connor had replied, then immediately pressed his lips together. “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m just….”

 “Nervous. And a little more vanilla than the rest of us.” Hudson happily chimed in, to which Connor scowled.

 “Fuck you, I am not.” He huffed. “Do you want to sleep on the balcony again-”

 “Guys, is what traffic light system is for.” Ilya interrupted. Shane had kept his eyes down for the most part, but they’d flicked up then; to where Hudson’s head was resting on Connor’s shoulder and body pressed against his. “My Shane does not like to top, ever. Fake me, he wants you to.”

 As Connor’s heart has thumped out of control, it took a few moments to understand. “Me to….”

 “You are not me, of course. But he is curious. And I am not one to deny curiosity.” He shrugged, watching Hudson as he spoke. “Perhaps I am curious too.”

 Beside him, Shane had blushed and tried to hide his face. Hudson only leaned further into Connor, to get a better view of the couple on his phone screen.

 “Kinks?” He asked. “That you two are comfortable practicing with other people?”

 That list had been too long to list over FaceTime without losing all of their voices, but the hard limits were easier. Nothing to do with shit or piss- Shane would actually peel his skin off and burn whatever was left behind, and nothing to do with feet. And Connor and Hudson had no interest in sleeping with each other.

 That had been the only thing that genuinely surprised Ilya and Shane, given the way they were laying together, the fact that they were living together and… well, the on and off set chemistry. After the call had ended he’d turned to Shane and mumbled through an amused expression, on how he’d give it a year at most before those two were a thing or at the very least, friends with benefits.

 They arrived at the hotel, to rooms booked across the hall from one another; a day before the Emmys. Groomers, designers and hairstylists came and went- and a few hours before the awards show started they readied in the same. In Ilyaand Shane’s room, speaking nothing of their after party.

 They were all dressed as variants of Greek gods, partly for the amusement of watching people try to tell them apart from single glances; partly because they’d asked the designer to make the outfits easy to take off. Shane had tried to casually mention it was because the met gala suits took an hour to get out of, but she wasn’t born yesterday. She simply chose to mind her business.

 They went to the show in the same limo, nearly blinded by camera flashes on their way to it and on the red carpet. Vain or not it felt really fucking good to Hudson and Ilya, but made Connor and Shane want to pull their chest fabrics( Shane would not deign to call them shirts) over their heads. So Ilya only had them on the carpet a little over a minute, before moving on with a hand on his back.

 Inside Hudson and Connor met Rose for only the second time; sticking to quick cheek kisses over the extended hug she shared with Shane. They did not have to be her best friend too, and that was okay. There was a professional respect, a type of bond that said they could still count on each other within reason. And Connor would have a project with her in January of ‘31, where they’d play members of a female president’s protective detail that were hooking up.

 They took their seats, and Rose moved backstage to prepare for the first award presentation. None of their table paid much attention to the night’s host, except when he introduced her.

 “Last year one of the most talented women of our generation was introduced as Shane hollander’s ex girlfriend.” Ilya and Shane boo’d along with the others. “I know, I know. Fucking ridiculous. She has done charity work, that has sent a thousand young people and counting to college they otherwise may not have afforded. She has recently opened a farm store, operated out of pocket- on a pay whatever you can basis. I’ve been there. Fucking delicious, everything. She was arrested last year, for breaking into and stealing four beagles from one of the last operating cosmetic testing facilities in North America.”

 Around the room, there were cheers and claps. Rose Landry was a very, very difficult person for anyone to hate.

 “With eight Oscar nominations, five Oscar awards, three Emmy nominations and three Emmy awards, two Tony nominations and awards and most recently, a Grammy for her role in the musical Blue Sundays; she is the first of the decade to receive an EGOT. Ladies and Gentlemen, Rose Landry.”

 When she walked out with that envelope in her hands, Rose could hardly hear herself think; let alone remember the planned speech. But decades of work in the industry had prepared her for such moments, so without missing a beat she waved to Shane and adjusted the podium’s mic.

 “Good evening-” She blinked, when the applause did not stop. “Oh come on guys, Blue Sundays wasn’t that good. I have been blessed with a long, successful career. But every one of those starts somewhere, usually with a project someone is not very proud of. I am able to say, unlike most of our presenters tonight; that the nominees for this category have been in no more than three projects each. But nearly all have made it here on their first, which is just- I mean that’s fucking crazy.”

 A camera panned over Hudson and Connor’s table, lingering a bit longer over Shane and Ilya. Shane pretended to be eating so he wouldn’t make awkward eye contact with the lens, and Hudson blew it a kiss.

 “Every individual who is about to pop up behind me has, unexpectedly- carved a place out for themselves this year, in an industry known to send people back to their hometowns after years of unsuccessful auditions. Without further ado, these are the nominations for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Limited or Anthology series.”

 The screen behind Rose changed, lit up blue for a split second before playing the prepared video.

 “Haley Yansen, A Dead Man’s Cathedral. Anna Edwards, Silent Juror. Hugo Wardell, Royal Dickheads. Hudson Williams, Heated Rivalry. Connor Storrie, Heated Rivalry.”

 Rose swallowed, allowed a few moments to clear her throat so she didn’t stutter through this part either. Naturally, she and Shane had spoken less when she continued to stay booked and he chose to have one million children. She wouldn’t say they’d grown apart, but when he’d called to excitedly tell her about the project; she’d frankly wondered if it would go through. HBO was notorious for that sort of thing nowadays, allowing everyone involved to get as far as a day before filming, before they pulled funding for one reason or another.

 But they’d spoken a few handfuls of times since then, and filming had gone ahead. Then the footage into post prediction, and arguments had ensued with the network over how much nudity they were allowed to keep( they’d managed to get away with just five minutes of cuts), but it went through with few hiccups. She’d attended the premiere, Ilya and Shane upset they hadn’t been able to- and watched their younger versions mingle in a place they still didn’t believe they belonged. Be photographed, when they thought those cameras were trained on her.

 They had no idea, truly- what they were in for. They’d glimpsed the good parts, that others typically didn’t get to for at least a decade. But if they hadn’t dealt with stalkers yet, it were only a matter of time. If they hadn’t needed to slap a producer or coworker or director’s hand away from certain body parts yet, it was coming too. They would also continue to make friends with people they grew up watching on TV, and continue to be offered so much free shit every time they went shopping that their heads would spin.

 “And the Emmy goes to-” Rose opened her envelope slowly, hoping for one of two nominees despite her own guest appearance in A Dead Man’s Cathedral. While Connor reached for Hudson’s hand, Ilya and Shane watched them instead of the stage. All four had stopped breathing. “Hudson Williams, Heated Rivalry.”

 The reaction was not immediate. Hudson forgot how to blink, while the production team from the table behind moved to hug and congratulate him. His ears rung, but before he acknowledged them or anyone else he looked to Connor. Partially as a ‘Did I hear that right’, partially as an ‘are you okay?’

 Connor simply wrapped his arms around him, before anyone else could. In his eyes there was nothing to be upset about. His best friend had just received an Emmy award, for fuck’s sake- for his first project and one they’d worked on together. The world continued to be background noise, waiting on them to come back to reality- until a director tapped Hudson on the shoulder and those around them laughed.

 When Connor pulled back enough to look at Hudson’s face, they were both crying. Hudson tried to wipe those tears as he made his way up to that stage. He was extraordinarily unsuccessful, as they just would not stop.

 He handled the pre written speech the best he could, remembered every word- though he was nowhere near as composed as Rose Landry. And people normally didn’t bother him, but there were just so many-

 He was grateful when he could sit back down.

 As the night went on and Heated Rivalry won every category it was nominated for, his grip tightened around the statue. Ilya and Shane’s for their writing role sat on the table, and Anabelle Landry kept running a hand over hers, two tables away.

 When the last of the categories the series had been nominated for passed, the four men couldn’t stop staring at each other. Every minute brought them closer to the ceremony’s end, and a different sort of happy ending than the one Hudson had recently began studying for; for a movie about a male prostitute escaping his pimp.

 The time came for the night’s first after party, and they slipped out to their limo to let people theorize over which they’d attend. Back at the hotel there were fewer paparazzi as a result, but not so few they’d fail to realize they hadn’t come back out.

 By the time they reached their hall, Ilya and Hudson were both hard; but the retired hockey player did not hand his Shane over to Connor just yet.

 He crowded him against a wall, hand on the side of his face and face close enough to feel one another’s breath. “Remember what we talked about, yes?”

 After so many years together, Shane still forgot how to speak with his husband so close.

 “I… you asked… my mom to call you first if anything went wrong with the kids so.. I could keep enjoying myself. Only.. you told her it was so I could rest.” He managed. “And…condoms. Traffic lights. Feet gross Connor out.”

 Behind him, Connor gagged at the thought of one touching him in a sexual way.

 “I… may kiss or touch him however I want, as long as he says it’s okay. He may do the same, and so can you two. So… so long as safe words are… respected.” Shane gulped.

 Ilya grinned, rewarding him with a kiss long enough that Hudson and Connor exchanged glances; wondering if they did still want to do this. But eventually Ilya did pull back, planting a shorter kiss on his husband’s forehead. “Good Boy. Now go have fun.”

—

 Though it likely was not possible, Shane swore the lock to Connor and Hudson’s room echoed. He tried not to picture what they were doing across the hall, but it was difficult when he could feel that presence behind him. He stood in the middle of the room he hadn’t seen yet, taking it in.

 Above all, there were obvious signs of who’d been staying here. Discarded garment bags where they’d been set aside by a stylist for the night’s end. On one was a note threatening to pluck one of their eyelashes out; if they did not put said outfit away carefully. Shane might have laughed, knowing damn well who that one was meant for- if his eyes did not immediately fall over other things.

 An open suitcase, in such disarray he needed to resist fixing it. Another, still open but neat; with the clothes and skincare inside carefully put into sections.

 Someone had gone ahead and bought the mini fridge, to have options. Snacks had also been ordered just in case, but the supplies openly laying on one nightstand made Shane’s breath hitch. Connor was still fully clothed, though a certain someone had begun to rise; tenting the thin white fabric. It had been a miracle that all four of them got through the night without indecent exposure charges.

 Connor did not want to see what Twitter or TikTok looked like right now, over how low his pants rested and the patch of hair peeking out. Shane’s was a little more high waisted, but mostly because he did not feel like explaining a fresh(and his only) tattoo of a boulder to his mother. He did not feel like explaining to anyone, really- that his husband had fucked him so thoroughly over it he’d wanted a permanent reminder.

 Connor would never be his Ilya, but he was bold enough to move directly behind him; close enough to wrap his arms around the slightly shorter man. One hand slipped just under the hem of those absurdly expensive, flowy leg prisons. It did not move lower, just testing. A preamble to the night ahead, like the lips that rested against Shane’s neck. Not demanding, just present.

 “What is your color?” He asked, moving nothing just yet. Shane still felt him against his back, the size not quite at Ilya’sbut close. Slightly shorter, but marginally thicker? Maybe? “Shane. I am not going to touch you until you tell me how you’re feeling.”

 The sound that came out of him was a mix of nerves and protest. If he wasn’t touched tonight, Shane might explode. He wanted this. He’d simply forgotten how to speak, it having been so long since he’d been with anyone else. He and Ilyahad planned something with Scott and Kip a few times, but the last had been a disaster. He’d started hyperventilating before anything could happen, then cried for over an hour over ruining the fun.

 Ilya had been perfect, of course. Hadn’t left him once while he’d calmed down. Had made him talk about what went wrong; and learned that he was simply overwhelmed from how hectic the day was beforehand. And that was with Ilyapresent for everything. Of course, he was less than thirty feet away now. He simply needed to say the words, and his Ilyawould be holding him instead.

 There was that twinge of guilt too, over not wanting that right now. Over wanting to find out, even if just this once- what fake Ilya was capable of using his body for.

 
 They’d discussed Shane’s tendency to feel guilty over his desires, more than once over the past months. He had a husband more than willing to indulge his every wish, and in return he wanted to do the same for his Ilya- but it almost felt greedy.

 He tried to focus on the breath against his neck, the fingertips resting so close yet so far from where he needed them, and the Texan Accent that’d surprised him the first time he heard it; before he could get in his head too much.

 “Do you want me to go first?” Connor asked, voice lower than usual. The best Shane could do was a rapid nod. “I am feeling… like I could take your cock down my throat and never let go. Like I would be perfectly content to stay there, sucking down every drop of Shane Hollander I was allowed. Like I wouldn’t mind being ridden, or-”

 Across the hall, something got knocked over. Connor chuckled. The sound went right to Shane’s dick. Why was a laugh so fucking hot?

 “Or getting you ready down here.” Connor’s free hand moved around Shane’s body, to rest just above his ass. “Would you want it slow? Fast? Tied up? I know we all have our up to date tests, and you don’t want anyone’s cum but his dripping out of you; but it is fun to think about. Maybe one day, then. For now, tonight- What does Shane Hollander want?”

 The question made him shudder, but before he could swallow the words he let his thoughts fall forward. Out into the open, to get things moving.

 “Everything.” He said. “I want, fuck I am so green right now. I want you to take what you want. But…. slowly, if… if that’s okay? I’m… suck me? Please?”

 Connor grinned. He did well with clear instructions, and it felt like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. He walked around Shane, until he had to look him in the eyes. He did not watch his hands or look down, as Shane’s blush deepened and he worked on unclasping his chest fabric from the pants.

 When he managed to get the hang of the second clasp, the material pooled around Shane’s feet. He would deal with that later, apologize to their designer for not being very careful- but he was focused.

 “On the bed. Sitting up against the headboard.” He told Shane. Shane complied so, so quickly. He’d be lying, if he didn’t admit it did something to him. He was not normally what Ilya had referred to as “a dominant”, but he didn’t let any partner leave without a peak.

 He wanted to bring Shane there a dozen times or more, if it weren’t for biology’s pesky interference. Still clothed, he moved up the bed between Shane’s legs.

 He looked up at him through long lashes, a last out before real contact. Shane groaned.

 “Green, Jesus Christ I said I’m g-”

 Before he could finish that sentence, Connor had taken all of him down his throat. Shane cried out, the sudden wet warmth overwhelming- though apparently not as much as it was for Connor. The content hum sent shockwaves through his body, made his hips involuntary buck off the bed and apologies spill from his lips.

 “Fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t mean toh, god please don’t stop-”

 Connor complied, head bobbing as he took Shane to the hilt. He pulled back until just the hockey player’s tip were still stretching his mouth, then took him fully again. His gag reflex was a horrid thing, but the moans and writing elicited from the older man were enough to work through it.

 He was granted that privilege all of thirty seconds, before Shane was pulling out with a panicked expression.

 “Was that-” Connor coughed, a string of saliva connecting them. He didn’t think so, but this would only work with communication. “Was that bad?”

 “No I… was the opposite. Too much, too good. Don’t want to come yet.” Shane admitted, out of breath. “Can I….”

 Connor moved up the bed, laying beside him. In all of ten seconds he’d undone his chest fabric, tossed the material aside like an old T-shirt.“Well?”

 Shane didn’t have to be asked again. But there was something else he wanted to taste first. Connor watched as he settled in his lap, rested his hands comfortably on hips for a moment before they moved up to pull Shane closer.

 It was easy enough to read what he wanted in that moment, but he would still let the former captain lead. One hand snaked up through his hair, the other staying at his back. Supporting, not holding in place. He could feel Shane’s breath shake, just in front of his own; before the man took another part of what be was there for.

 Connor’s mouth was, as previously proved- very talented. He seemed to know the way Shane’s would move before it did so, adjusted accordingly- and did not shove his tongue down his throat. He tested the waters, devouring only when Shane leaned and moaned into it.

 When he finally pulled back, both men’s lips were swollen and both struggled to breathe. Still, Shane trailed his lips down Connor’s neck. He planted a smaller kiss in the crease between it and his right shoulder, then just below a collarbone. His upper chest, then lower. When he saw no sign of protest in the rise and fall of Connor’s chest, he moved back up and sucked. Bit and twisted a little, the way Ilya liked on occasion.

 Connor yelped, but not once did Shane hear a ‘red’ or ‘fucking stop ‘. So he kept going until the buds were red and swollen. One so close to bleeding, it would likely take one more tap.

 “Fuck, Hollander.” Was all he could get out, leaking drops of precum. He wasn’t going to last. He could go again, perhaps a third round if Shane wanted- but watching the man trail lower did little for his self control. Connor widened the gap between his legs, making sure everything was on full display.

 Shane was a great deal shyer and slower the lower he moved, forehead resting on Connor’s thigh a few moments. So Connor lifted his chin, and the older man blushed.

 “We can stop right here.” He mumbled. “I can get you off, or you can come back up here and we’ll just… lay together. Watch something, or I can go get your husband if you want. Or take you to him and come back across the hall-”

 “Connor.” Shane interrupted.

 “Or if you changed your mind and did want to fuck me, or wanted to go home and not think about it we could get a jet for-”

 “What is your color?” He asked, hands currently tight around a pair of thighs. He wanted this. He’d just needed a moment; and it was apparently Connor’s turn to tremble. He did not answer at first, chosing a thumb’s up instead. “That isn’t in the system.”

 “Green, I’m green I just- the half minute I got to taste you’ll seem like decades in comparison to-”

 Connor lost it, when those lips wrapped around him. When a hand took what that mouth couldn’t, not quite used to the subtle difference between he and his husband’s cocks. If the noises that left Connor were embarrassing or inhuman, he was too gone to notice. Then Shane did a thing where he hollowed his cheeks, hummed and changed the pressure of his hand and-

 “fuck, holy shit Shane you’ve got to get off I can’t stop it-” His words came out in one string, seconds before the edges of his vision blackened. He spilled down Shane’s throat, who moved his head lazily a few times; to catch every drop. He licked Connor clean, ignoring the little twitches that came along with it.

 “Don’t taste too different either.” Shane smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing. He got to rest his chin on Connor’s stomach all of one minute, before his eyes had darkened. “Of course, Ilya lasts a bit longer but he can’t always go more than a few rounds. Not that we never do, but I wonder; were you lying about how many you can get out of-”

 Connor was many things. A liar was not one of them. In one movement, he’d pulled Shane up and flipped him on his back like he weighed no more than an empty water bottle. He checked in again. Shane nodded, so he took that opportunity.

 “Good at this? Yes.” Connor pretended to seriously think, grip tight on Shane’s waist as he leaned over next to his ear. “A liar? Oh, Milyy Sheyn. You have no idea what you’re in for.”

 His Ilya accent came out on it’s own, and if Shane had been hard before he was fucking concrete now. Connor reached over him, onto the nightstand that contained their supplies. He flicked the (absurdly large) bottle cap open, and Shane giggled. It would ordinarily be an odd sound, coming out of a forty year old man. Instead, it deepened Connor’s commitment to the bit.

 “Something funny?” He said, laying the accent on thick enough it was borderline appropriation. “Need to fuck it out of you?”

 Shane’s throat jumped, but he nodded rapidly. So Ilya squeezed enough gel out to coat two fingers. He made Shane hold his legs back to his chest, to make it a little easier. He worked him open with just one finger at first, with shallow thrusts that went up to the first knuckle. It wasn’t enough, and that was the point.

 Only when Shane was begging, looking like he wanted to curse Connor out- were he rewarded with a second. With deeper thrusts, that lightly brushed against prostate with every angle change. Once, he curled and twisted those two fingers to slam against it perfectly; allowing Shane that pleasure before going back to his previous denial. He wasn’t crying yet, but Connor could see it was near; if he didn’t get a dick up there soon.

 He scissored his fingers, making enough room for a third. But he didn’t give him that just yet.

 “Tell me, why do you think you deserve my cock?” He postulated. “I will keep getting you ready, because I cannot enjoy myself if the person under me is hurting too much, but there is so much room up there. Your husband take you this morning? Why would I fuck such a slut?”

 The language was also not in his normal vocabulary, but it flowed easier than Connor expected; after how many times Ilya had assured his Shane loved it.

 “I can be-” Shane whimpered. “A good…set of holes….”

 Connor hummed, accepting this. “Yes, I think so. But how good?”

 As he asked, the question ironic; he sunk a third finger in. Shane greedily swallowed him, eyes closing. Connor was more hesitant about the next part than the language, but it’d been discussed too; along with boundaries as to how hard was acceptable. He decided not to push that tonight, the slap with his free hand only hard enough to count. The side of Shane’s face barely reddened.

 But his eyes flew open, long enough to meet Connor’s and understand he was being told to keep them open.

 “Could… could take whatever I… whatever you decided I deserve. For however long-” Shane struggled to form full sentences, watching Connor’s fingers move in and out. And then pull back entirely, seemingly satisfied. His throat went dry, when Connor reached for one of the foil packets laid out. He raised an eyebrow, and Shane nodded.

 Please- that gaze said. Fucking please.

 Connor tore the packet open and rolled it’s contents on. He lowered Shane’s legs back down, to a more comfortable position and moved to rest the blunt head of himself against Shane’s rim.

 “Remember what I told you in that second text thread?” He asked, rubbing himself up and down Shane’s crack. Connor could cum again like this, if he wasn’t so curious as to how the hockey player might clench around him.

 “That…” Shane stuttered. “You like people for…people. That there’s no point in denying yourself… any of the available options-”

 “And that I’d be very lucky, to have you as an option.”

 Connor sunk in, until his hips were against the other man’s. He gave him only a few seconds to adjust to the girth, the invader his mind wanted but body wasn’t expecting.

 A few experimental thrusts, and Connor stopped being so gentle. It was a confusion to his system. Without his glasses, and with his inability to pick one point of Connor’s face to look at, and him not speaking at that moment- he could pass for Ilya. Except the cock. The cock was different. Not in a bad way, but he could feel it. In the way his body clenched around him, taking a bit longer to relax than with Ilya. And in the slightly different angle used to hit that spot inside of him.

 It was one of a person who hadn’t been granted unwavering access to his body for two decades; but who had plenty an idea of where to look. Just past it, brushing against and teasing it in a way that made his eyes screw shut again as he tried to stave it off.

 “Eyes open. I will not ask again.” Connor warned, shocked at his own words. The last time a similar phrase had left his lips was three years ago, with an old girlfriend who’d broken up with him because he could never be mean enough. “Or I will stop fucking you. Not let you come at all, and send you across the hall to be your husband’s problem. How disappointed would he be, to have his fun interrupted because you couldn’t follow simple instructions?”

 Shane’s eyes flew open. “No please I’ll be good, I will just don’t stop I…. fuck I need…”

 “I’m getting really tired of telling a grown man to use his words.” Connor huffed, still moving in him. And there it was. The performance that’d helped land him Ilya. “How fucking pathetic, that you can’t string a few words together. It’s not like you have anything to be shy about. I bet that husband of yours has touched every part of you with his cock. So tell me, what does a slut need?”

 Shane reminded himself not to close his eyes, though he still wouldn’t look Connor in his until the man gripped his face. “To be fuckeoh fuck- thank you, Mmngh-”

 Connor had changed angles slightly, grinned when Shane’s face twisted. With that direct pressure and first near-orgasm, it was a matter of minutes before he felt that pleasure rise. He took the risk, thrusting his hips up to chase it- meeting Connor’s.

 “Can I- please-” words. He needed to use his words. “Can I come please, please I can’t last I won’t, Mnh-”

 In response, Connor pressed Shane’s knees up by his chest and pulled out completely. “You may. But I’m not stopping until I get another.”

 “Fuck, I can take it just-”

 Connor held him to his word. He pushed back in, setting a pace that might make anyone else shove him off. He kept his eyes on Shane’s face to make sure he wasn’t really hurting him, when he spurted over his stomach and chest.

 Connor chased his own building pleasure for a little over a minute after that. Shane only pulled him closer, egging him on as the over-stimulation bordered on too much. Then just as he began to hiss, a moment away from begging the younger man to come as he abused his (what might be sore, if he wasn’t prepped so thoroughly) hole; Connor cried out and stilled.

 He stayed right there, softening in Shane for long enough that they both wondered if the pair across the hall might be done too. After some time he carefully lowered Shane’s legs, pulled out and tried to discreetly toss the used condom. Then he laid over Ilya’s husband like the world’s second warmest weighted blanket.

 “I could go again.” Shane said against Connor’s forehead. He felt his forehead wrinkle, as he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

 “Okay, Mr.Sex Machine.” Connor said, a thumb brushing over shane’s cheek. Sweat from his forehead dripped down his neck, and he were struck by the sudden urge to lick it up. So he did. “How are you feeling?”

 Shane grimaced, tried to wipe his neck and were rewarded with his fingers being slapped away. But there was no reason to lie, when the man’s cock had just touched his insides. “Tired. Sticky. Like I’ll claw my skin off if I don’t take a shower. Or have someone to help me.”

 Connor chuckled, sitting up slowly. He moved Shane with him, maneuvering him into his arms like a five pound potato sack. He stood carrying him, stopped about halfway to the en-suite when it sounded like something got knocked over across the hall again.

 “I think we can go ahead and clean off without them.” Connor said. “Sounds like they might be a while.”

——

  The room where the four had readied for the ceremony was still a disaster, but after their teams had gone earlier and he claimed he’d forgotten something; Ilya had taken a few minutes to prepare it. A made bed, an extra suitcase pulled toward’s its right sight.

 He’d been hesitant about bringing it through airport security, but the man who checked it hadn’t blinked an eye at it’s contents. He’d seemed bored, like he saw something along those lines every single hour.

 Hudson walked in front of him, into the purposefully spacious room and threw his small clutch wherever it landed. It’d taken a little more prodding to get him to agree to anything, not because he didn’t want this; but because he wanted everything.

 Ilya shut the door, set he and Shane’s Emmy down on the right side table and walked back to Hudson to take his. Hudson fought him for it, with a certain glimmer in his eyes and smirk in that expression.

 “Let go of that, fucker. I earned it.” He said defiantly, not breaking contact with those dilated pupils once. He didn’t have to look down, to feel a friend poking him when Ilya stepped closer.

 His hand tightened over Hudson’s, waiting for an excuse. “Maybe you did. I think you should earn it a little more, though. Such a mouth on you.”

 “I will earn whatever I feel like earning.” He said. “Unless you have a problem with that. Of course there is the part where I don’t care-”

 Ilya took his momentary distraction as an opportunity to push Hudson back towards the bed, shoving him back with a hand on his chest. In the process he and Shane’s Emmy fell over, and it in turn knocked a dainty lamp off that table. Ilyapaused just long enough to unplug it and step back over the broken glass.

 Hudson was sitting up again, legs crossed as he enjoyed the view. Ilya damn near growled, but he did not budge to do as told.

 “Here’s what I think will happen.” He postulated, waving his Emmy around with the hand gestures. “You will sit up there. I will get that annoyingly soft fabric out of the way, use your cock however I please, and when I’m done using it I may let you decide if we’re done or not.”

 Ilya took a single step back towards the bed. The look in his eyes was dangerous, even as he watched for any hint of a ‘red, you fucking asshole’, so early on. He was glad fake Shane had decided to save that for later.

 He stood just in front of where Hudson’s feet dangled, arms crossed. “There is another option.”

 “Alright.” Hudson said, licking his suddenly-dry bottom lip. “I’ll bite. What is this proposal?”

 “Ah Ah, see that’s where you’re wrong.” Ilya snapped and pointed. “To think there was a different one. This isn’t a multiple choice exam. I will sit back like you want, let you do the work until I decide otherwise; and then I will decide how much of you to use. When we stop, and how much you can take.”

 Hudson grumbled. It was still a war in his chest. A contradiction that his celebrity crush were another dominant man, and even more of one to give up his control. But there was something akin to butterflies in his stomach, threatening to spread and ruin his nerves. The discussion had long since been held, on what they had and had not done. On how long he could take something, and how long Ilya was able to give it.

 There had also been one just a few days ago where Hudson told him he didn’t want to plan too much. This wasn’t a skincare or workout routine, a diet or reading schedule- and everything else was flexible. He’d wanted to go with the flow and Ilya was more than happy to oblige. Had sounded excited even, over being given just three hard limits.

 “Tell me your color.” It wasn’t a question, and he’d still barely touched Hudson. The younger man was growing quite impatient, annoyance sneaking into his expressions. Though he understood why the system was needed, having read and acted out an extremely toned down version of he and Shane’s dynamic. Not a 24/7 power exchange, but damned close on the few occasions they were alone.

 “Green.” He mumbled. The word came out slowly, as he still needed to look up at Ilya on the bed like this. That was not in his nature either, made a heat rise in his cheeks that were more akin to the hockey player he’d portrayed… but he didn’t mind.

 And if he would have this one night with Ilya Fucking Rozanov, he would take full advantage of it. Go out of his way to make sure he could feel him next week, to savor it as long as possible. No matter how much agony that might cause during his pap walk tomorrow.

 Without looking down, Ilya undid his clasps and a body he’d had dreams of were on full display. The arms were one thing, out more often than not in pictures taken. They had been out all night too, and though glorious- Hudson had grown used to looking at them. The uncovered chest and thighs, however…

 Hudson was struck by the urge to pin him down and taste them, lick trails up towards the dick between them. Nestled in a crop of hair longer than Connor’s, but still well groomed.

 There was a smell still emanating from him, of Armani’s stronger with you; that a stylist had thrust into his hands over a decade ago. That he’d stuck with out of habit, because it worked on him and he’d been told more than once that he ‘smelled how he looked.’

 He watched Hudson’s face then, as he tried to control himself and avoid inhaling. He did not call him good boy, or anything at all. He simply moved up the bed, swinging his legs around Hudson to rest behind his back. Like he were a particularly good looking obstacle course( Ilya wouldn’t call him the hottest one. Shane was still his Shane, and the father of his children).

 He raised an eyebrow, looking Hudson up and down.

 “Take that off. And get yourself ready, I want to watch.” He instructed. To which Hudson finally stammered.

 “I… I’ve never-”

 “No fucking shit, Williams. It is our night. Don’t make me beg.”

 Hudson sighed, reaching over just enough to set his Emmy down by Ilya and Shane’s. Still sitting, he unclasped his chest fabric from the bottoms; the only things holding the thin fabric up. It’d truly been a miracle, that he hadn’t accidentally exposed himself to half of Hollywood. Not that he hadn’t already done so on purpose.

 He kicked the bottoms away, though there wasn’t much of a point. They were the shortest things he’d ever worn, and he’d managed not to catch a charge by keeping himself taped all night.

 “Jesus Christ, Williams.” Ilya hummed an approval as the tape came off. “Is that a prosthetic? How have you not killed anyone with that thing?”

 Hudson shrugged. “How have you never killed anyone with that?”

 But even as he said it, Hudson turned so he was facing Ilya; laying closer to the bed’s end. He would not draw this out.

 Ilya tossed him a tiny, TSA approved bottle. Hudson turned it over in his left hand, a ‘hmph’ escaping his lips. What he didn’t say was ‘you think this’ll be enough?’, because even he knew better. He would push. Do what he could to make this last as many hours as possible.

 He knew to any normal person, that would be far from enough lube. But it wasn’t there to make anything hurt less. It was there only to ensure a lack of permanent damage.

 Pain, he could deal with. Pain, he craved.

 Hudson flicked the bottle open, drizzled a small amount on a finger and went to work. He made sure his legs were as wide as he could manage, to give Ilya the best view. He felt no shame in it. He’d gotten a few women, and a man to do the same once.

 He pressed the first finger in, the angle awkward on his back. He could not get as deep as he needed or wanted but Ilya’scock could take care of the rest, inflict a burn he’d remember every time he thought of the limited series.

 He’d gone out of his way not to eat anything heavy, and cleaned out how the internet gays had told him to when he first looked that up five or so years ago, on a family computer.

 For a while he just moved that first finger around, thrusting in and out in shallow movements. He added a second too quickly and were rewarded with a hiss from his own lips, the burn just on that uncomfortable edge he loved so much. He scissored his fingers apart, though he knew nothing could truly prepare him for Ilya.

 Not that he wanted anything to.

 So he pulled those two fingers out and glared at the man, his gaze demanding.

 “Yes.” Ilya said. “You may.”

 Hudson was embarrassingly quick to comply. If it was anyone else who’s lap he climbed over, he may have taken his time. Tortured them with the wait…

 But it was very, very difficult for anyone to out-dominate Ilya Rozanov. So Hudson lined himself up, Ilya’a fingers digging into his hips tight enough to draw blood. He could go nowhere if he did want to, and that was saying a lot. His training had gotten more intense in preparation for a movie, about an MMA fighter and Olympic skater.

 “Fucking-” He began to hiss, making no move to get away.

 “Shut up and do what I said.” Ilya tightened his grip for a split second, released those hips and enjoyed watching the red fingernail marks swell up. He leaned back with his hands behind his head, and in his frustration Hudson listened.

 He grabbed a foil packet, making quick work of pulling it’s contents over Ilya.

 He sunk down in one hard hip thrust, pushing past the burn from a too-fast stretching. He did not give himself time to adjust, bouncing like he might on a toy suctioned to his bathroom floor. If Ilya was going to be Ilya; he could be selfish and chase that cliff how he liked.

 He’d been riding him hard and fast, all of ten minutes before he was leaking; a familiar pit building in his stomach. Ilyahad the audacity to shake his head.

 “Is still… okay?” He asked through heavy breaths, attempting to stave off his own peak.

 “Mnn- fuck off, Rozanov-” Hudson said, knuckles white on the mahogony above Ilya’s head. “You know I’m green, asshole.”

 He did know. So in one movement he lifted Hudson off him, flipping the man onto his back and then stomach. To Hudson’s credit, the remark did not leave his lips for a full five seconds.

 “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been thinking about this?” He said. “How many times I’ve woken up painfully hard, to my best friend shoving at my shoulder from the other side of our beds? To him shrieking once, when we fell asleep spooning and I accidentally poked him with it?”

 He didn’t look back, but he heard Ilya zip open that suitcase. A moment later there was that unmistakable silk against his back, dragging up as Ilya reached for his hands. For a moment he was uncharacteristically gentle, tying that silk at the small of his back and making sure It wasn’t uncomfortably tight.

 He turned Hudson’s head to the side, an eyebrow raised in question as he held up another silk. He nodded. Soon after, the world was black.

 “On accident?” Ilya leaned over him, a hand tight around those bound wrists. “Sure about that?”

 “Yes. Shane ever fuck Hayden? Or you Marleau?”

 “Mmn, no.” He mumbled, almost conversationally. “And yes. But is not the same.”

 “How the fuck is it not the same-”

 “For one, I did not get aroused repeatedly whilst pretending to fuck my best friend in front of thirty people and cameras. Cameras that would put it out for the whole world to see.” Hudson groaned, at how the position trapped his dick. “Someone gets very excited just thinking about it. I think you would like to be fucked at center ice, in a rink that holds ten million.”

 “There isn’t a rink in the world that can fit-”

 “Do I have to gag you?” Ilya interrupted. Hudson swallowed. Accepting that was not in his nature, either. He’d always been the one securing it in someone else’s mouth, shoving a discarded piece of clothing up there in a pinch.

 But to be on the receiving end…

 “oh. You like that a little too much, I’d say.” Ilya smiled against his shoulder, before pulling Hudson up onto his knees. It forced his back into an arch, legs trapped by Ilya’s on either side. “That will be your punishment then, if you do not say the word right now. You don’t get a gag, and I get to hear every one of those sounds you’ve been trying to hold back.”

 His cheek pressed hard into the pillow, Hudson couldn’t move his head to look at anything if he wanted. Ilya pressed into him with the lubed condom, still listening for that word; but when he heard none he started moving. He slammed into him, grip bordering on brutal. Hudson took every thrust, indeed unable to help the noises that fell from him. They only spurred Ilya on, and it were just under three additional minutes before he spilled in him.

 He reached under Hudson, stroked him with little mercy and smiled when a release coated his fingers. Ilya took his time licking it off, before untying Hudson. He propped himself up on an elbow next to the man, pretending to think.

 When he started to sit up Ilya tsked.

 “Further down.”

 It was an odd feeling, but Hudson found himself wanting to listen. So he moved further down, until his hands were above his head. Ilya hummed an approval, then remembered the two objects behind him. A perfect size for two hands to clench around. He placed one in each of Hudson’s, and ever the quick learner- those talented fingers tightened. Those legs spread, inviting again despite what had to be an intense over sensitivity.

 Ilya reached into the suitcase again, for another favorite toy. This were a new one bought specifically for the night, and the least intense of the packed three. It didn’t vibrate, but would keep that man fucked open while his own body got ready again. He moved between Hudson’s legs for the best up-close view, despite the strain it put on his shoulder. He watched that stretched hole swallow the black dildo, and the man around it shudder and shake. Then whine and…

 “aw, is that a tear I see on my nice silk?” Ilya mocked. “So sensitive for a dominant. Could always tap out early.”

 Hudson squeezed the awards above his head. It was an awkward, uncomfortable position for his arms- though he imagined not as uncomfortable as Ilya’s, who were insistent on watching every thrust.

 “Will never.” He said, soft cock hardening again. “Could fuck me until dawn and I wouldn’t, Jesus Christ; wouldn’t tap out-”

 A wicked glint passed through Ilya’s eyes. Hudson sensed he’d made some sort of mistake, though he couldn’t see Ilya’sexpression to confirm that.

 “We’ll make it a challenge, then. Whoever taps out first loses, and winner gets.. bragging rights?” Ilya’s voice trailed off. In reality, this were a nice excuse for him to use as much of their time as possible. When he and Shane had woken that morning, they spent half an hour in each other’s arms. Enjoying the rare quiet, before a chaotic day. They hadn’t spoken at first, but eventually they got to talking about the evening again. Shane had no gripes about Ilya taking his time, or doing the same himself.

 But it was more likely than not that he’d get in his head afterwards. So he would want time to just sit with Connor, would see that Ilya and Hudson had time to come down and deal with any drops on their own- before reuniting. They hadn’t decided whether to sleep in the same bed or not, so Shane and Ilya had booked their California King to decide with everyone’s moods afterwards.

 Right now Ilya’s mood was up; energy high with no end in sight. If Hudson’s eyes weren’t covered, he might be able to see the determination there. Instead it was the words he needed to trust, that let him know it would be at least an hour. Likely far, far longer.

 He might even skip a workout tomorrow.

 “You’re on.” Hudson said, body shaking with the spot Ilya hit on every thrust. Below, the older man kept his eyes open. Tried very hard to ignore his own arousal, knowing he could go again; but not yet. Not with someone who wasn’t his Shane. He let Hudson’s delicious moans and pleads bounce right off, as he pretended to be disinterested.

 “Good. I was thinking; if you and Connor are available the Irina foundation has another gala in five weeks.” He sighed, slowing down on the thrusts. He still hit that spot, though perhaps not as hard as Hudson would like. “We have our regular patrons, but you and Connor’s presence alone would draw a new crowd. Raise thousands more, if not over a hundred. What do you say?”

 Hudson could not help the whimper, as Ilya’s arm slowed to a near crawl. “I’ll, goddamnit- have tommnn check my schedule-”

 “Of course. Wouldn’t want to interfere with those filming schedules. So many. How do you keep everything organized? Make time to study so many scripts?” Ilya asked. He might genuinely be interested, if this conversation were held any other time.

 “How do you… make time for anythoh-” without warning, Ilya sped up. His movements were shorter then, not pulling out to the dildo’s tip; but that were nearly impossible with how fast he went. Hudson, embarrassingly- forgot how to form words. “Make time for anything, married with seven, fuck I can’t- it’s too soon I’m going to..”

 “You can.” Ilya said, not letting up. He noticed one hand’s grip beginning to loosen above Hudson, and slapped the underside of his left thigh. “You will. I give you thirty seconds, or we are done then and you won’t get any more.”

 What came out of Hudson then could only be described as a scream. Nothing was truly painful yet, he was still looking forward to that- but he knew that when he came a second time and Ilya still didn’t stop, that would be it. While the dildo hit that spot over and over again, Ilya managed to reach up and grab him. His hands moved in tandem, arms twisted in a way none ever should be.

 But the movement was effective. Twenty seconds later Hudson swore and coated his fingers, though there was less. He still didn’t want him passing out, so he gave him time to come down. A few generous minutes where he stroked up and down a leg, grounding.

 When that was over Ilya winced, reaching back over into the suitcase. He pulled a vibrator out he and Shane had never tried, that he’d still wiped down right out of the package.

 It was smaller than the dildo, a bright purple with a base that held it’s buttons for different settings. Not that Ilya paid attention to the lower ones.

 “Color.” He repeated, and would do so many more times.

 “Gre-” Ilya yanked the dildo out, not bothering with gentleness. Shane winced, somehow convinced he might outlast Ilya. Sweat had started emanating from every point it could, on him and the older man. The smaller object that replaced the dildo rested inside him for a few moments. Hudson didn’t have anything to focus on but his breathing or confusion, until a button got pressed.

 Not the highest setting, but close. Hudson writhed, and Ilya needed to move up to keep his hips down. While one arm did that he resumed the movements.

 Hudson forgot any attempt to keep his dignity. He would be surprised, if they couldn’t hear him across the hall or country. Some of his sounds were screams, others whimpers. His eyes rolled back in his head, a pleasure hiding just under that pain. It was what kept him from tapping out; knowledge that he could still have that.

 He couldn’t say how long that round lasted. Minutes or hours, it made no difference. He just knew it took (at minimum) a little longer than the last two combined. The vibrations burned, made him instinctively try to get away despite what his mind might want.

 He didn’t sob yet.

 “Ily-”

 “What is it now?” He interrupted. “I thought you could take anything. Whores stupid enough to run their mouths usually can.”

 Hudson had never been a name caller, solely because he hadn’t been with anyone into that.

 It sent him over that edge with a scream, that had him biting his own mouth to make sure no hotel staff came to interrupt. The drops that shot out of him were even less.

 He didn’t think Ilya was going to take the damned vibrator out. It sent his mind into a momentary ‘get it the fuck out’ panic that was beneath him, and his body moved of it’s own accord. He found himself wishing the ties were still there.

 In that case, Hudson wouldn’t have been able to drop the pair of Emmy’s and scramble off the bed. Ilya wouldn’t have needed to stay there a second, to give him a head start. Hudson wouldn’t have been able to pull the silk from his eyes and squint at the sudden light, several steps from Ilya.

 He did not try to run with a real destination in mind. His movements were slow, of someone who wanted to be caught and were more than capable of remembering a three letter word. He stumbled towards the middle of the room, and made it to the wall that held the suite’s door.

 Ilya lept off the bed, snatched a foil packet off the nightstand as he went, and slammed Hudson against that door with one hand on his neck and the opposite arm firmly across his lower back.

 “Color.” He commanded, hesitating just long enough to hear three or five letters from those lips. Those gorgeous, swollen lips with a little blood at one corner.

 “Green, goddamnit-” Hudson growled, ever competitive. With his face pressed against the door, he could hear every small sound in the hallway. His chest ached from how hard it’d hit wood, and the position wasn’t exactly comfortable for his dick or easy to breathe in; but he would not give the other dominant the satisfaction of winning.

 He thought.

 The hand on his neck left long enough for a foil packet to be torn open by veeners and fake teeth, then the other momentarily left his back to help get it’s contents on the appropriate cock.

 When Ilya slid into him again there was less pleasure, more of a delicious ache. How he liked it on occasion; during the weeks they’d filmed certain scenes and he needed to pretend to fake his expressions for ten hours at a time. He wasn’t proud of it, but during those first weeks so many months ago; he would imagine Ilya in place of Connor.

 To erase that image he would hop straight on dating apps the moment he had a free hour; sometimes looking for a verse so they could have it both ways the same night. In a city as big as L.A one could easily find someone for what we desire plagued them… but very few had been a decent substitute.

 Ilya Rozanov was someone else’s husband. It was easy to forget that with such a cock in him, pressing against every overstimulated nerve. But he was here for fun, nothing more. Hudson had watched their vow renewals, when a clip got posted(with permission) by a guest.

 Until death did them part, had been the exact words.

 In a way it made Shane Hollander’s willingness to share hotter.

 He is mine alone and nothing in the world will change that, but my husband is too hot for one man alone, Shane had told him over a phone call. And the… idea that we always come home to eachother, regardless of what happens in separate rooms… there was a time it would have turned into an argument. But nothing is cheating to us, when we tell each other everything and communicate those boundaries. Not that either of us gets time to touch anyone other than each other, but maybe once a year. And even then it is usually together.

 Hudson’s moan was high pitched in a way that might be embarrassing if he wasn’t so far gone. And his heart thumped, lungs burning from being sandwiched between two different types of wood; one that’d decided to to pull completely out of him before slamming back in. Hitting that spot over and over and over again.

 Against all odds, Hudson was getting hard again. But his dick didn’t have anywhere to go, so his arms flailed out; trying to find anything to grab onto. To white knuckle, as a shitty distraction.

 Ilya laughed, pulled his ass out and moved Hudson’s hands over his head. They rubbed against the door with every thrust, but it were far less uncomfortable than not being able to breathe.

 The man behind him became less measured in his movements, sloppier as he neared another high of his own. Ilya’sfingers tightened on his hips, just beside the other marks. Hudson’s dick both begged for attention and to be left alone, but it got neither.

 “Touch yourself.” The command was simple, to the point. Hudson looked down and thought it might fall off if he complied. Arguing wad a bad idea… but he was full of those.

 “I can’t- Ah-”

 “Would have tapped out if that was… true…” Ilya managed, face twisted in pleasure. “You will come before me, or beg to stop by the time I am finished with you. Your choice.”

 Hudson tried. He did. But by the time he worked up the willpower to stroke himself, Ilya’s hips had stuttered and he spilled into the condom.

 Oh no.

 Ilya was a man of his word. He jerked his head back towards the bed, and when Hudson defiantly took a second to catch his breath; the retired hockey player decided to put him there. Hudson yelled from the momentary surprise(though he wasn’t actually surprised), beating at Ilya’s back. He was close to two hundred pounds. No one should be able to sling him over a shoulder like that.

 “Put me down, fuckhead-” Ilya promptly deposited him on the mattress. It creaked, Hudson bouncing slightly as it settled.

 “Such a mouth.” Ilya repeated. “Need to tack that onto your punishment, I think.”

 “You didn’t give me enough time.” Hudson protested, with no real bite behind it.

 “It is not my fault your face and ass look like that.” Ilya pouted, pulling Hudson close to the edge. He nudged the suitcase aside with a foot, and Hudson thought he was going to fuck him again. What ended up happening, was Ilya reaching for the vibrator. “What’ll it be now? Number four? Five?”

 “Four I… I think.” Hudson swallowed. “I don’t know if I-”

 “Liar. You were close.” Ilya interrupted. When he bent Hudson’s knees up to his shoulders and made him hold the appendages, the actor did not protest. The vibrator teased across his rim, and he jerked. Ilya grabbed the open lube bottle from it’s resting place, before drizzling some right over the stretched hole.

 He pressed that vibrator in and turned it on the highest setting.

 Hudson screamed. Really, truly screamed. Ilya was quick about covering his mouth so no hotel staff would get nosey. It was too much. It was also perfect.

 It was all of thirty seconds before Hudson reached another, nearly dry peak. Sweat fell into his mouth, several muscles of he and Ilya’s cramping up. The vibrator stayed in, changed angles and was just… left there. Right against that spot.

 Tears mixed with the sweat as Hudson sobbed, entire body shaking and vision dotting at the edges. A sane person would tap out then. A sane person would not sit there and take it, their body pushed past it’s limits and ass likely bleeding.

 Hudson was not entirely sane, nor was the Russian.

 He couldn’t say how long they stayed like that, Ilya holding it there while casually going over the best borscht recipe or how long it took took to pickup the cottage at the end of a long day. He told Hudson about the time Shane had tried his hand at gardening for food, when hornworms had swarmed his tomatoes and vine borers in the squash. He talked about a time he and Cliff Marlow had fucked a massage therapist after her shift, and the time he walked in on Shane standing on the kitchen island; dusting the ceiling.

 He told him about the time Shane had walked in on him using body scrub on his face, and the other one he discovered Ilya was using his clarifying shampoo every day.

 Once, he paused his stories just long enough to wipe Hudson’s face and kept on talking. Hudson couldn’t say if that lasted ten minutes or an hour. It made no difference, when he would appear to be having a grand mal seizure to any who walked in.

 Horrifyingly, he felt the first indications of another peak. Ilya noticed the slight change, turned off and pulled the vibrator out.

 Hudson was so out of it he didn’t notice him grab or put on another condom, but felt it when the vibrator was replaced by Ilya’s cock. Standing, he used the momentum and decades of hockey muscles to drive into the younger man hard, fast. He showed no mercy when Hudson seemed unable to control his screams, instead pulling the comforter down some to shove in his mouth.

 It made it much, much harder to breath with half a nostril blocked too; but it didn’t last long. The intensity had Ilya close faster than he’d admit.

 A few minutes later, Hudson was begging to put his legs down so he could stroke himself easier or be stroked in tandem. Hudson, who’d greedily had close to five.

 Hudson, who did have five when Ilya obliged, jerking him as he pounded him. Ilya came first, a few more drops left in him than the younger man. But Hudson’s body had nothing left to give after a fifth, and for one of the first times in over a year- he lost the game.

 “I- Ah, Jesus Christ, red red red fucking red-” His words attached, unnecessarily running together. Every movement ceased after his first use of the word. Ilya did not pull out immediately, but rather leaned over him; pressing kisses to his forehead. His neck, cheeks, lips, brow- anywhere Ilya’s face could reach.

 He wiped Hudson’s tears, then grabbed a tissue for the sweat. When he did pull out it was so, so slowly. He opened a packet of wet wipes and wiped his body down next, from the endless mess he’d made of his own stomach and chest- then tried his hand at massaging some of the soreness out of Hudson’s legs.

 It was not in his nature to be the one being taken care of, but it was nice. And oh, so necessary. He struggled to sit up, even with Ilya’s help; and held back a wince when a wipe touched the sensitive flesh around his hole.

 But Ilya was so, so gentle; mumbling words of praise, telling him how good he’d done. It made Hudson want to grab a pillow and bury his face in it, so the man could not see his uncharacteristic blush.

 This was, and simultaneously was not the same Ilya from five minutes ago. This was the ‘now it’s time to put you back together’ version, who wanted to see that Hudson could walk again sometime next month. It would be quite inconvenient to his career, after all- If he had to lay down during every type of filming.

 Ilya had him sit up a little more, took some steps to the room’s breakfast nook and came back with a water bottle. He made Hudson drink, and it was by then that Hudson was alive enough to use his brain again. He looked over at Ilya, scooted closer to his side and accepted the arm around his shoulder.

 Before he could protest, say this part was his job too; Hudson took the bottle and held it to Ilya’s lips.

 
 “Drink.” Hudson commanded. Miraculously, Ilya listened. His fingers traced over Hudson’s arm them, heartbeats settling and aches setting in. They stayed like that close to an hour, before either spoke again. “Shower?”

 “Mmn, yes. Need to check on husband first. For proof of life.” He said, slowly untangling himself. He looked around for Hudson’s clutch, the actor sleepily smiling at him.

 He shuffled around for Hudson’s keycard, then were opening the door he’d fucked Hudson against. Hudson frowned, at how many staff worked here and Ilya’s lack of clothing. He supposed it didn’t matter, as he returned under a minute later.

 “They are asleep. Cuddling, is very cute. Room Service?”

—

 
  At four in the morning a reporter for CBC Canada walked through their headquarters’s top floor, determined. It’d been easy to put together, and anything surrounding those four would drive ratings through the roof.

 But her boss had blocked the story, declaring it none of anyone’s business. So she’d decided to push, take a risk in the hope it would pay off. She walked right into the CEO’s office, both a stack of papers and laptop in hand.

 He did not immediately look up, yawning over his own screen. “Amber already told me about your story.”

 “So you get it then.” The report said, speaking too fast. “It is right in people’s faces. But people are stupid. They just need someone to point it out, to get talking. And I know you’re old friends but-”

 The CEO held a hand up, too tired and too few hours away from a doctor’s appointment for this. “That has almost nothing to do with it. This story is a massive invasion of privacy. As was your last one.” 

 “But Mr.Drover I-”

 “No buts.” Harris interrupted. “Bring me or Amber something relevant by the end of the week, or you’re fired.”