Work Text:
Some of the Boston Raiders come out with them after the game - those not too bothered by the ass-kicking they were just delivered - and hours into the night, the only ones still left standing are Marley, Ilya, and Shane, who's there still only because Ilya is, and has been dozing on and off against his shoulder for a little while now.
He wakes right the fuck up, though, when Marley laughs and says something about it being a funny coincidence, the only two people Ilya's been seriously involved with being from Montreal.
"What?" Shane says.
Ilya frowns, equally confused. "What are you talking about, Marley?"
"I mean, there's Hollander," Marley says, gesturing at Shane with his beer bottle, "and before him, there was Jane."
Shane relaxes against Ilya's side again. "Oh."
"Please tell me you are joking," Ilya says. When Marley just blinks at him, he helpfully prompts, "Montreal Jane, Montreal Shane...."
Marley's eyes widen. "No fucking way, man."
Ilya shrugs his free shoulder.
"Okay, but..." Shane watches with fascination as Marley's cheeks go pink. His eyes dart towards Shane, and away again. "You talked about Jane, like. A lot. Got pretty fucking graphic with it. You telling me all that was about Hollander?"
Shane straightens. "What."
"Why are you surprised?" Ilya asks, raising an eyebrow at him. "You knew this, I told you this."
"I thought you were just running your mouth," Shane says. Making it up because you knew it turned me on, he doesn't say. He glances back at Marley, who is now openly staring at him with a look on his face that Shane has no idea how to interpret. "What - what did he tell you?"
"What didn't he tell us." Very fucking helpful, Marley, thank you. "He got really detailed about you. Pretty sure Carmichael's jerked it to you more than once, he always got excited when Jane was brought up."
Shane's stomach twists, and he can't tell if it's embarrassment or something else.
"You all got excited," Ilya says, grinning. There's a glint in his eyes, a shark that's just spotted blood in the water. "Always wanting to hear more about my Jane. I tried to tell you no, she's a good girl, wouldn't want me talking about her like that, and you'd say a good girl doesn't leave marks like that."
Shane swallows. He feels warm, his head spinning. He should be telling Ilya to shut up, shouldn't he?
"You looked like you'd been mauled by a tiger," Marley says, clearly remembering a specific incident. "And don't act like you didn't love to brag. Always talking about Jane's fat ass and how much she loved sucking your cock."
"You didn't," Shane says numbly, mortified. Skin buzzing with it.
Ilya's hand settles on his thigh, but he's not looking at Shane, doesn't bother answering him. "You would brag too, if you had a girl so hungry for you she's getting on her knees in the doorway as soon as you step in the room."
Shane wants to protest. He can't, because it's true.
Marley seems to pick up on that. "I always thought you had to be exaggerating."
"I never exaggerate about Jane. Why would I need to? Eager slut like that, already sounds too good to be true."
"So when you said she once rode you for almost an hour..."
Ilya shrugs. "My Jane likes a challenge."
Marley whistles, impressed. Shane doesn't look at him, can't anymore, but he can feel his eyes on him, hot like a brand.
"And that she likes it when you fuck her tits?"
"I don't have tits," Shane mutters, face flaming.
Ilya's hand squeezes his thigh in warning. Hush, darling, the men are talking. "Her perfect perky little A-cups. Look even better when I've marked them up."
"And that she lets you cream pie her ass?" Marley's voice has gone hushed, almost awed.
"Lets me?" Ilya repeats. "No, she begs for it."
Shane is on fire. He's so turned on he can hardly breathe.
Ilya isn't done. "She's unbelievable, Marley, a wet fucking dream. I do whatever I want to her, slap her ass, spit on her, choke her with my cock, doesn't matter. She's begging for more."
His hand has been stroking Shane's thigh as he speaks, inching higher and higher. It's still a shock when his fingers brush against his cock and Shane let's out a shocked, breathy, mortifying noise.
"You see?" Ilya says, unbearably smug.
"Fuck," Marley breathes. "You lucky son of a bitch."
Ilya hums. "Very lucky. And you are very sad, hearing all this and knowing you can never touch."
Marley barks out a laugh. "Oh, fuck you, man."
"If you ask nicely, though, maybe I will let you watch."
Shane startles. He looks at Ilya, who's watching Marley, lazily curious. Marley's eyes are darting between the two of them, conflicted but clearly interested.
"Jane won't mind?" he finally asks.
Jane, still. It shouldn't be this hot.
"We just went over this, no?" Ilya says.
He finally looks Shane's way, gaze sharp, daring him to protest. To pretend he doesn't want this.
"Jane never minds."
It feels a little unreal, seeing Marley in their bedroom, sitting in a chair at the end of their bed like he belongs there. The whole chain of events that lead them here has felt unreal, and Shane is thankful that he hasn't had to make one single decision for himself since they were at the bar.
Ilya suggested Marley join them. He put his hand on Shane's waist, lead him out to the car. He was the one who brought them all to the bedroom, who offered Marley a seat, who ordered Shane to get on the bed and take his clothes off. He did this all without consulting Shane and Marley followed his lead, directing every question his way.
So it feels a little like cruelty when Marley finally speaks directly to Shane again. "You good, Hollander?"
Shane swallows. His legs are bent and raised, covering his lower half, but he thinks Marley's still probably caught a glimpse of just how good Shane is. But he gets the need for explicit consent, so he nods. "Yeah. I - yeah."
He glances at Ilya who is watching him, eyes dark and hooded. For a moment Shane is worried he'll push, make him give Marley more than just this lukewarm confirmation, make him beg for it, but that's not the game they're playing tonight.
Not yet, at least.
"Are you?" Shane asks belatedly.
Ilya snorts. "This won't be the first time Marley's watched me fuck someone."
Something hot seizes in Shane's chest. He forces himself to sound casual. "It's not?"
Ilya sees right through him, of course, grabbing Shane's chin and leaning in with a delighted grin. "Don't worry, none of the other girls were as pretty as you."
He kisses Shane and Shane melts, hating himself a little bit for how good that feels to hear.
The kiss turns filthy quick and Shane feels himself relaxing into it, head going pleasantly fuzzy. Ilya's hand keeps him pinned in place, his other trailing down Shane's chest, groping roughly at his peck.
Then Ilya is pulling away and Shane is reminded again that they have an audience, Marley's eyes meeting his. His hand is between his legs, fondling himself, and Shane ducks his head, blushing.
Ilya jerks him up by the chin, tutting. "Don't pretend to be shy now, sweetheart."
"I'm - I'm not-" what, shy? Pretending? Shane isn't sure.
"It's no use," Ilya tells him, voice gentle and mocking. "Marley already knows what a slut you are. My whole team does."
Shane's stomach twists, his cock twitching at the reminder. Ilya doesn't let him dwell, hand moving to cup the back of Shane's head and pull him towards his crotch. Shane goes because it's easy, doing what Ilya wants, nuzzling Ilya through his pants and feeling him twitch against his cheek even through two layers of fabric.
Ilya grabs his hair, pulling him away just enough so he can undo his pants with his other hand, pulling out his hardening cock and rubbing it over Shane's lips. Shane's mouth drops open on instinct, head swimming.
"There we go," Ilya says, voice low. "Show Marley how hungry you are for it."
Shane's answering whine is mercifully muffled as Ilya feeds him his cock, fucking in slow and teasing, not stopping until he's all the way in. Shane's hands clench uselessly against his thighs, cock already hard and dripping, and he feels dizzy at the realization that with the way Ilya's got him positioned, Marley can see exactly how turned on he is.
"Fuck," Marley groans. "You really weren't kidding, Roz, she's taking it like a pro."
"My Jane is very talented," Ilya says, fond and almost bordering on patronizing. Like he's showing off a trick he's taught his dog.
"And she's so wet, man. Starting to think you were right, when you said she could come just from sucking cock."
They're talking like Shane can't hear them and Shane thinks he should be insulted, or at least not as turned on as he is. There's also a relief to it, knowing he's not expected to answer. Not that he could with Ilya's cock stuffing his mouth, fucking his throat none too gently.
"Bet Carmichael would be kicking himself for going home so early if he knew I was getting a show," Marley is saying.
Ilya laughs. "I should make it up to him, no? Next time we're in Boston, I bring Jane to the locker room. Show them all the stories are true."
Shane's skin buzzes at the idea, cold sweat prickling at his temples.
"Don't be a fucking tease," Marley says. "You bring Jane to the locker room, the guys are gonna think they'll get to fuck her."
Oh, god. It's a terrifying thought. Shane's abs clench, something almost like nausea rolling through him. His hips thrust uselessly into the air.
"In their dreams," Ilya says. He grabs Shane's hair, roughly pulling him off his cock. "Jane is a slut only for me. Only I can fuck her right."
He's not talking to Shane but Shane nods anyway, needing Ilya to know.
"You think I should fuck her now?" Ilya asks Marley. Brushes his thumb over Shane's lips, tracing them. "You think she's earned it?"
"Fuck, man. Yeah."
Ilya tugs at Shane's shoulder and Shane lets himself be manhandled, be placed in Ilya's lap, back to his chest, facing Marley. Like this, there's no ignoring that they're not alone.
Marley has pulled his dick out and he's stroking it slowly, teasing himself. Shane's jaw aches at the sight of it; he's so big all over, big and hairy and manly.
Shane is distracted so he's caught off guard when Ilya's fingers prod at his hole, already wet with lube. He lets out a startled moan, hips jerking away on instinct. Ilya grabs him, holding him still.
He's rough with the prep, impatient, dick hard and wet against Shane's thigh, smearing his skin with precum. Shane's own cock is leaking against his abs, untouched, twitching as Ilya's fingers mercilessly press on his prostate.
"I think she's ready for you," Marley says.
Ilya hums, twisting his wrist. "What do you say, Jane? Want me to fuck your pretty little pussy?"
Shane startles at being addressed. "...Yeah?"
"You don't sound sure," Ilya says, teasing. "Are you sure you want it?"
"I want it," Shane echoes.
"You want what?"
Shane's cheeks are burning, stomach twisting with humiliation. He can't believe Ilya's asking him to say this in front of Marley, can't believe how thoroughly he wants him to debase himself. He's dizzy with it, dick hard enough to cut glass.
"Fuck me," he tries.
Ilya twists his nipple cruelly. "Fuck you where?"
"You know."
Ilya pulls his fingers out and for a moment Shane thinks he's being shown mercy. Ilya moves his hips against him, humping him lightly, his cock slipping between Shane's thighs, head catching on his rim but not pushing inside.
Leaving Shane empty.
"Don't embarrass me, sweetheart," Ilya says lowly.
Fuck.
"Fuck my pussy," Shane whispers.
He hears Marley groan but before he can get too caught up in his mortification Ilya is pushing inside, finally. He sets a brutal pace immediately, forcing choked gasps out of Shane's throat.
Shane rolls his head back against Ilya's shoulder and Ilya slows his thrusts in warning. "Don't look away. Be nice to our guest."
Shane snaps his gaze forward, unthinking in his obedience. Marley has sped up his movements, fucking his fist tightly, the head of his cock angry and red where it peeks out.
Fucking his fist, Shane thinks, and imagining it's Shane. He knows it from the look in Marley's eyes, the hunger in them. If he thought there was any chance Ilya would let him, he'd be begging to fuck Shane as soon as Ilya was done, eager for his Captain's sloppy seconds.
The fantasy startles Shane, sends a bolt of heat through him, tips him over the edge. He comes without a hand on him, Ilya still fucking into him in deep, rough thrusts.
"Is he-?" Marley gasps.
Ilya lets out a pleased laugh, trailing off into a moan as he comes, emptying inside of Shane.
Marley groans, speeding the movement of his hand, looking almost ready to burst.
"Come on his tits," Ilya commands, breathless. "You've been good, Marley, you deserve a prize."
Marley curses, stumbling as he stands, reaching the bed just in time as he starts coming, painting streaks across Shane's chest. Shane's cock twitches valiantly at the wet, hot feel of it, the degradation of being covered in another man's cum at his husband's behest.
"Goddamn," Marley wheezes, still tugging at his cock, nearly spent. "Roz, you twisted bastard."
Ilya hums. "I think you mean, 'thank you, Captain, for showing me how a real man fucks'."
Marley laughs. "Fuck off."
"No, you fuck off," Ilya says. He turns his attention to Shane, pressing a line of soft kisses down his neck. "You are not invited for round two. Guest bedroom is down the hall."
"Round two," Marley repeats quietly, in disbelief. "Whatever. You crazy kids keep it down, some of us do need to actually sleep tonight."
Shane's eyes have slipped shut so he doesn't actually see Marley go, but he thinks he remembers to tell him good night. He's a little preoccupied with Ilya's lips on his neck, his hand splayed wide and possessive over his stomach, his soft cock still nestled inside Shane.
"Round two?" Shane finally asks drowsily.
"You are covered in another man's cum," Ilya says, sounding petulant. "I need to fuck you again so you will remember who you belong to."
"That was your idea."
"That is not how I remember it."