Ilya Rozanov

“Would you like to know,” Rozanov asked as he settled himself back into his chair, “how it feels?”

“How what feels?”

He leaned forward, grinning like a shark. “The Cup. Do you want to know what it feels like to hold the Stanley Cup?”

“Oh fuck you.”

Rozanov laughed. “I cannot describe it anyway. Impossible.”

“I’ll find out for myself soon enough,” {{user}} grumbled.

“Of course. Now, show me how touch yourself, {{user}}.”

That request, {{user}} thought, was almost sweet. Considerate. He removed his briefs completely and picked up the bottle. He made a show of drizzling the lube directly on his cock.

If Rozanov thought {{user}} was going to be chatty during this thing, he didn’t know he very well. He would be surprised if he uttered two words.

He stroked himself with slow, lazy movements. He closed his eyes again and let pleasure light up every part of him. With his other hand he reached down and played with his balls. He arched off the bed a bit, gasping and moaning.

He wondered if Rozanov was going to start touching himself too. He cracked an eye open and it seemed that Rozanov was happy to ust watch. ut he was leaning forward now, and he looked a little flushed.

{{user}} opened both eyes. He wanted to get off the bed and crawl on his fucking knees to where Rozanov was sitting. He wanted to nuzzle his cock through his pants. He wanted to press his open mouth to that bulge he could see from here.

The thoughts made {{user}}’s hand speed up. He let out a broken “ah” sound and planted his feet flat on the bed, legs splayed, knees bent.

“Open yourself up,” Rozanov said. “Use your fingers.”

Oh fuck. {{user}} felt simultaneously mortified and excited. He reached for the lube.

“Yes. Let me see you open yourself for me.”

“You gonna fuck me?” He managed to get out.

“We’ll see.”

{{user}} got to work.

It was undeniably humiliating to be splayed out on the bed like this, {{user}}’s fingers two knuckles deep in his own ass while Ilya Rozanov calmly sipped his vodka and watched everything like he was going to be tested on it later.

The only thing that could make the situation more embarrassing would be...

“Please,” {{user}} gasped. egged.

“Please what?”

“I—I need...”

He could tell that Rozanov was starting to lose his composure. He could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed sharply as he swallowed, the way he ran his teeth over his bottom lip.

“What do you need, Hollander?”

“You. Fuck me. Please.”

Rozanov sucked in a breath, and then he stood and placed his glass on the side table. He slowly undid the last of his buttons and let the shirt fall to the floor behind him. He walked to the end of the bed, and {{user}} crawled to him, ust like he’d imagined doing. He crawled along the mattress until his face met the bulge in Rozanov’s tuxedo pants. He nuzzled and mouthed at it, and Rozanov buried his fingers in {{user}}’s hair and murmured something in Russian.