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Ilya Rozanov watched the back of Shane Hollander’s head disappear around a marble column. He was heading to a staff bathroom to wait for Ilya to meet him there in a few minutes. The event had begun an hour ago, but it was far from over, and Ilya couldn’t wait all night to get a taste of Hollander. Ilya checked his watch.

A well-dressed man approached Ilya and began speaking to him. Ilya nodded politely along with the small talk, only caring to listen to half of it. That’s what these events were for, after all. Meaningless small talk mixed with make-or-break networking. Ilya already knew everyone he wanted to know, and wondered what he could change about his appearance to make himself less approachable. The reputation was enough to ward most away, but some were boisterous and personable enough to interact. It was usually Americans, and this man was no exception. Just Ilya’s luck, of course, that one of the few Americans at this multinational gala would seek him out. Any European would keep the small talk to a minimum.

Ilya finally broke away from the man, hamming up his own broken English to end the conversation. He dodged through the crowd, leaving his empty glass on the tray of a floating caterer. He looked at his watch again. Fuck. Two minutes late. Hollander would be anxious. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Ilya loved to get Hollander riled up, but keeping Hollander waiting meant keeping himself waiting, and it had been a long goddamn summer.

Down an empty back hallway, Ilya ducked into a restroom tucked by the fire exit. Closing the door behind him, he scanned around. There were two stalls, one occupied. Ilya cleared his throat and the stall door opened, Hollander’s face peeking out at him.

“Why are you hiding?” asked Ilya, amused.

Hollander stepped out of the stall, straightening his suit jacket and glaring at Rozanov. “You’re late. Someone passed by a minute ago.”

Ilya closed the distance between them and pulled Hollander’s angry face to his. As he grabbed the back of Hollander’s head, he watched his expression soften before their lips met. There was nothing quite like that first kiss they shared after the long summers between seasons. The anticipation, the doubt, the uncertainty, it melted away as they reminded each other just how good the other tasted. Ilya drank Hollander in, pulling his waist to his and stroking his hair the way he liked when he was blowing him.

Whether Hollander picked up on the signal consciously or not, his hands began undoing Rozanov’s belt and guided him back against the wall. Hollander sunk to his knees in front of Ilya and Ilya pulled his cock free from his briefs. Ilya dug his fingers into Hollander’s scalp as he took him in his mouth. God, how Ilya had missed that mouth. Hollander was wasting no time, and was already working Roszanov’s tip to the back of his throat.

Ilya’s hips twitched forwards just as the bathroom door swung open. Hollander shot off Ilya’s dick and stumbled to his feet. Bursting in were two tuxedo-clad figures wrapped around each other. Ilya stuffed his slick, still-hard dick back into his pants and turned away from Hollander who was staring at the “employees must wash hands” sign on the wall.

The two men broke apart almost instantly seeing the bathroom was occupied. Ilya didn’t know what to do. The three of them looked between each other, panicked. One of the men, a familiar blond looking man, made a step back to the door. In an instant, Ilya had crossed the small room and shut the door as the blond opened it, putting himself in between the man and the door. No one was going to leave this room. Ilya determined, glancing at Hollander who was still facing the wall in an attempt to conceal his panic attack.

“Let us-” the blond man began.

“No,” interrupted Ilya. He had to make sure they would say nothing.

“Listen,” stepping around the blond man was a slightly taller, yet not as tall as Ilya, man with tan skin and dark curly hair. “You didn’t see anything, we didn’t see anything.” He raised his eyebrows as he offered his statement, his hands were up in an amicable display.

The recognition of the man in front of him shocked Ilya, though he maintained his expression. It was the fucking President’s son, Alex Claremont-Diaz. President Claremont had visited Boston last year, and while there were rumors she would attend a Raiders game, she ended up not coming. That night (after the Raiders beat the Houston Drillers 4-1) at the afterparty, Ilya had seen Alex in a VIP section with a handful of secret service. Ilya blinked, hardening his gaze to who he now recognized as a very, very public figure. Alex stepped back and his hand reached out behind himself to grab the arm of the other man.

“You are-” Ilya began.

The recognition was mutual.

“You are-” Alex repeated.

If Ilya could keep his composure for coming face to face with the son of the President, he couldn’t for what he saw next. His mouth parted ever so slightly as Ilya’s mind placed the blond waves and distinguished face, which was now worn with stress lines not unlike Hollander. Henry, Prince of England.

Ilya couldn’t contain his laughter, startling the three tense men in the room. He surprised himself, quickly putting a hand to hide his wide smile. It was just too ridiculous. His laughter seemed to put the other two at ease.

“See, we’re all good here,” Alex gave a laugh in return.

From the corner, Shane Hollander slowly turned around, his face pale as a ghost, as he tried to read the new situation. Ilya bit his tongue to not laugh in Hollander’s face about the absurdity of the situation. Hollander had a right to be freaked out.

“Hollander, welcome back from your panic attack. Would you like to meet Prince of England and the President’s son?” Another chortle escaped at the end of the sentence.

Ilya watched Hollander nod at the pair, not fully absorbing what Ilya had said.

“This isn’t funny, Rozanov,” snapped Hollander. “They saw us.”

“Arguably, you saw us too,” said Prince Henry, scratching his neck.

“Why don’t we all take a step back and take a deep breath.” Alex looked between the two of them. Alex took a literal step back, putting a more comfortable distance between Ilya and himself and Henry. They leaned against the sinks.

For a minute, no one said anything. Ilya felt behind him for a latch, locked the door, then crossed over to Hollander, who was now staring at Alex and Henry in disbelief. Ilya tentatively placed a hand on Hollander’s shoulder, prompting him to meet his gaze. Instead, Hollander’s gaze landed around his neck, which was as far as he usually came to eye contact when he was freaking out.

“Hollander,” said Ilya softly. “You didn’t see them come in. These two were sucking face like teenagers.”

Ilya looked over at the two, who had accidentally matched their faux, non-chalant posed leans: right leg crossed over left, left arm crossed over right.

“You two are meeting in secret, yes?” Ilya knew he would have heard about this if they were an official item, and neither were public gay figures. Though, Svetlana did once say something about figuring Prince Henry was in a fake relationship with some Duchess back in the day.

“Yes.” Henry nodded once, his eyes skipping away from Ilya’s.

“Of course,” Alex met Ilya’s gaze. “We have a lot to lose. And I’m guessing, so do you.”

“See, Hollander?” Ilya looked back at Hollander. “No one is going to tell anyone you were sucking my dick.”

“Fuck off,” Hollander replied, but the tension had broken and he laughed weakly. He inhaled, rubbing his face and turning to Alex and Henry.

“Pleasure to meet you, your Highness.” Ilya admired Hollander’s complete awkwardness as he addressed them. “And you Mr. Claremont.”

Alex and Henry graciously accepted Hollander’s formal handshakes.

“Claremont-Diaz, actually. Actually, just call me Alex.”

“Just Henry, please.”

“Ilya Rozanov, pleasure,” Ilya inserted himself in the handshaking formalities, not one to be left out. Of course Hollander would turn this into a business meeting. He was more like his mother than he noticed.

Shane Hollander stared into the drink in his hands. He hadn’t remembered what he’d ordered, but by the taste of it, it was definitely not ginger ale. Shane took a swig, swallowing the bitter liquor as fast as he could. He was stood at a table by the bar forty minutes after he had left the bathroom. He felt like a man who’d walked out of a car wreck unscathed. There was nothing – nothing – more terrifying than being found on his knees with Rozanov. And yet, somehow, his greatest fear had come to pass and it was… all right? He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

He looked around at the various people mingling and chatting. There were people here far more famous and influential than Shane would ever be. It was exactly the kind of function you’d expect to see princes, but not kings, as his mother had explained to him. It reminded him of Wimbledon and the Swedish princess his mother wanted him to meet. No wonder he had come across the prince of fucking England. Or Wales, Shane didn’t remember. Plenty of people knew all about the British royalty, but Shane never paid attention. He knew just as much about it as he did American politics, which was a constant shitshow, and a loud one at that. Alex Claremont-Diaz was the son of the first female US President.

"Shane Hollander, it’s an honor to meet you," It was the prince.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. Up close, Shane could really get a sense of how easily Prince Henry carried himself. He had an air of confidence around him that drew your eyes to him. He must have been well-practiced in the art of existing in a space, something that never came naturally to Shane.

"Pleasure to meet you, your highness," It was the same thing he'd said earlier, and they shook hands once again.

"I'm a fan of your work; you are an especially skilled hockey player.”

"Really? You're a hockey fan? “Shane wondered why Prince Henry had come to talk to him.

"No, not really actually,” the prince smiled in a way that made Shane realize why princes were called charming. “Mostly surface level knowledge. History, origins, rules… and, of course, I know about the best player in the league."

Shane smiled at the compliment. “Not the best.”

“One of the best, then,” offered Prince Henry.

It was polite, normal small talk. That’s what the prince was here for. That was fine, normal even. Shane knew how to have small talk, even if it was a prince who’d seen him on his knees an hour ago. Shane looked at his hair, a similar color to Rozanov’s, but with a tinge redder, and much less curly. He considered asking him what mousse he’d used when Henry continued the small talk.

“I also can’t help but hear all about the glamourous lifestyles you athletes live."

"Not as glamourous as a prince"

"No, not quite,” Henry laughed. “That being said, we both share a burden of a certain social obligation. And, there’s another thing we have in common."

Fuck. He wanted to talk about it. Here? Really? Shane looked around nervously.

"You speak French. I’m fluent as well."

“Québécois,” replied Shane. “Hard to not pick up in Quebec.”

“How nice,” said Henry in French, “Do you speak it often?”

“From time to time.”

Henry made a casual glance around them that would have been missed by Shane if he hadn’t also been doing the same thing. He must not have spied any nearby French speakers, because he continued. "I wanted to apologize for earlier"

So he did want to talk about it. In French. Clever.

"Normally, we are a lot more careful, but I looked into the bathroom a minute before and didn't see anyone."

"I was there!" laughed Shane. "I was hiding in a stall, but I didn’t close the door fully. I heard someone open the door but no one came in."

“Sacre blue! I should have looked closer."

Oh, Henry was funny.

"I blame Rozanov. He should have locked the door!" Shane felt nervous dropping Rozanov’s name in the middle of their French, but their English conversation had begun with hockey so it wouldn't sound so strange coming out of his mouth to the odd passerby.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't see much."

Shane flushed hard, remembering the position had been in. he didn’t fully want to die, because Henry was very good at making him feel at ease.

"Though I did get an eyeful of Rozanov," said Henry cheekily.

“You mean you saw his baguette?”

Now it was Henry’s turn to laugh, Shane joining him. He had a stupid sense of humor that Shane appreciated.

"So, you and Alex..."

"We're good friends. Well, obviously a bit more than that. We were briefly rivals, but nothing like you two. I think we're more shocked about your situation."

"More than seeing the son of the President and the prince? No way." Shane was feeling more comfortable, and the conversation was much easier now that they’d bypassed the façade of small talk. Somehow, speaking French with Henry broke the ice more than witnessing his clandestine blowjob.

"I’m sorry if we ruined your night."

"It’s all right. We haven’t seen each other since last season, so..." Shane trailed off.

Henry raised his brow. "Oh, so this is ongoing?"

"Definitely not the first time."

Shane didn’t elaborate, and Henry didn’t pry. Henry didn’t need to know Shane and Rozanov had been hooking up since their rookie season, stealing moments after games together, teasing each other for years until finally fucking. Continuing to meet up whenever they played in the same city. The awkwardness of the before. The way it all made sense in the moment. The thrill. The pure energy the two of them shared. And how the number of people in the world who had known just doubled. Shane and Rozanov were the only people who understood what they were going through. Except now, so did the prince of England and the President’s son. And they shared their own secret, which was now shared by two of the world’s best hockey players.

"It’s kind of nice, if you think about it."

"What is?" asked Shane.

"To not be the only one. Or two. That have this. Millions of eyes are on us at all times and we have so many expectations to uphold. Reputation is the only thing that matters. Having to be perfect all the time… and once in a while you get to finally be yourself."

Shane nodded. "You get to be bad."

"And it’s so good.” Henry smiled wide.

Shane tried to imagine if his mother was the queen, and his father, the king. It was funny to imagine, but the pressure Shane already felt would quadruple. Instead of upholding the gold standard for hockey sportsmanship and representing all Asian hockey players, he would have an entire nation on his shoulders. The pressure would be unbearable. And yet, looking at the dashing prince in front of him, he didn’t see a man crushed by expectations. He saw someone who shouldered them with great experienced effort. Henry had trained his whole life to hold this weight. It was nice to know they got off the same way. Got the weight off, that is.

"Where is Alex now?”

"I believe he's mingling with a certain Russian, making a diplomatic appeal."

"Is that what this is? Diplomacy?" Shane wasn’t sure what Henry was getting at now. Henry and Alex had coordinated to talk to himself and Rozanov?

"Maybe. More like a peace offering. Perhaps a treaty could be signed," Henry winked.

Oh. An NDA. That was probably smart. They wanted to cover their asses. Honestly, it would be good for all four of them.

"That sounds like a good idea." Shane smiled.

"Let’s meet in the presidential suite at 10. You'll have to give your phones to our security, but I promise you they’re the best. Amy’s been with Alex for years."

"Sounds good."

Shane sighed in relief when the elevator doors were stopped by a familiar hand. Rozanov slipped through and joined him in the polished lift and straightened his tie in the reflection of the doors.

“I thought you were going to be late again.”

“I am always on time,” Rozanov looked at Shane through the mirrored doors. “You are just early.”

The elevator meandered upward, a piano tune playing softly from the ceiling. They stood in silence side by side, staring at each other in the mirrored door. Rozanov’s lip twitched. Shane bit his own. The scent of cigarettes gently wafted over to Shane’s nose.

“I told you those are bad for you.”

“I have very important meeting. I smoke for my nerves.”

“You’re not nervous.”

“No. I am not.”

Rozanov smiled wryly at Shane in the mirror. Shane looked away, rolling his eyes but not hiding his warming cheeks. This elevator was slow as fuck. Though, Shane thought, he wouldn’t mind getting stuck in an elevator like this with Rozanov. It was basically a mirrored cube. The thought of Rozanov pressing him against one of the mirrors and fucking him made Shane’s breath get heavier. He was still hungry from earlier. Even hungrier than before, now that he’d had a taste of him. Shane hoped that they would still be able to meet together later that night, either at Rozanov’s hotel room or his.

The soft piano was interrupted with a ding as the elevator came to a stop, and the reflections of Shane and Rozanov slid away. They faced down a luxurious hallway, marble columns and fancy-framed portraits lined the walls. At the end were two very serious looking security guards, a man and a woman, standing in front of large white double doors. Not intimidating at all. Shane balled his fists and stuffed them in his suit pants.

With his usual swagger, Rozanov strolled on up to them and flashed a smile that Shane tried not to stare at.

"Ilya Rozanov, the president and prince and expecting me."

He loved saying that, Shane rolled his eyes.

The woman, presumably Amy, made no response to this, and instead held out her hand, looking bored. "Phones."

Rozanov and Shane obliged, and as Shane was digging around in his jacket, Rozanov spoke up.

"Careful, Hollander has a gun."

All eyes snapped onto Shane, who was horrified.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

Ilya burst out laughing. The security guards didn’t laugh, looking at Hollander expectantly.

"I don’t have a gun; he's just an asshole," Shane was surprised he hadn’t been tackled yet.

"I know you don’t,” said the security woman flatly. “I’m still going to pat you down. Arms up."

Shane glared at Ilya as she frisked him, checking his pockets. Ilya grinned like an idiot, that familiar twinkle of mischief shining in his annoyingly pretty eyes.

“You next,” she turned to Rozanov.

“Fair enough,” Rozanov let her frisk him as well, his smug smile staying trained on Shane.

"All right, get going," she stepped aside, letting them pass.

"I hate you," grumbled Shane.

"Was very funny."

"Fucking wasn't,” Shane huffed. “I'm never going through TSA with you."

"You would be nightmare in airport. Arriving hours early."

"You're supposed to!"

Rozanov knocked twice, and the door opened to reveal a lovely suite with white and gold accents. It wasn’t gaudy, or extravagant, but it warranted it’s small crystal chandelier. The suite was made up of a large sitting room and fire place, with a dining area to one side and arches leading to what Shane presumed to be the bedroom. On the couches were Alex and Henry. Alex’s bowtie was gone and his shirt was unbuttoned slightly. Henry only had his bowtie undone. Both had their jackets off. They were sitting with a bottle of wine and four glasses.

"Told you they come," Alex prodded at Henry, who nervously held a glass of wine

"Nice place," said Rozanov, walking around the couches to a gilded bar cart where he poured himself a glass of vodka.

Shane nodded, looking around as well. It was nicer than any hotel suite Shane or Rozanov had ever spent the night in. Shane made his way to the couches and Alex leaned forward to pour him a glass of wine. He would have refused it if Rozanov hadn’t helped himself to the vodka immediately. Shane wanted to be at least more polite than Rozanov in a given circumstance. Rozanov joined Shane on the couch opposite Alex and Henry, who held their glasses in a small ‘cheers’.

"Fancy stuff," said Alex. "Did you have any trouble with Amy? She’s really good at her job."

"Not me, no, but she frisked Hollander," chirped Rozanov.

"You told her I had a gun!" Shane said indignantly.

"Yes, it was hilarious."

Alex laughed with Rozanov and Henry smiled. Shane shook his head, repressing his own smile and took another drink.

"So, Alex, you wanted to give me American citizenship, yes?" Rozanov must have gotten along with Alex famously. They were both known for having a good time, so it made sense.  

"No can do," he raised his hands, "even if I could, my mom’s still sore about the Drillers."

"Please, it is not my fault we keep beating them. They were great team years ago but they've gone to shit all by themselves."

"They were number three when we were drafted,” said Shane. “You could have been a Driller."

"No, definitely not." Rozanov shook his head, mock-insulted. “I would never drill.”

"Next time you’re in Texas, I’m getting you a Stetson,” said Alex.

“What is this ‘Stetson’?” Rozanov raised an eyebrow. “Shitty American vodka?”

Shane laughed. “It’s a cowboy hat. You’ll look right at home.”

“How do you know what a Stetson is, Oh Canada?” Alex teased. Shane noticed how similar Alex and Rozanov chirped. They would probably have great banter on the ice. Probably a fight or two if they weren’t careful.

“Robbie Báez,” answered Shane. “He was traded from Houston to Montreal two years ago. He always wore a cowboy hat to practice.”

Henry nudged Alex subtly, but Shane noticed. The two exchanged a look and then turned back to Shane and Rozanov, Alex’s hand resting on Henry’s thigh.

“Well,” began Henry. “We should probably get to business.”

"Oh sure,” Shane nodded. From the corner of his eye he saw Rozanov smile and empty his glass of vodka.

“Great,” replied Henry, getting a nonverbal cue from Rozanov. “Is there anything you want to go over before? We don’t want to impede on any boundaries.”

“Can I read it over?” Shane knew better than to sign anything without reading it at least once. Normally, he forwarded contracts to his mother, but that would definitely not be happening tonight.

“Read what?” asked Alex. Henry looked confused too.

"The NDA?” Now Shane was confused.

Rozanov snorted.

"Oh,” Henry looked at Alex. “That would be a good idea I guess”

“You guess?” Shane tried to ignore Rozanov, who was beginning to uncharacteristically giggle. “What’s so funny, Rozanov?”

“Hollander, they did not invite us to presidential suite to sign NDA.” Rozanov turned to Henry. “What did you say to him, exactly?”

“I invited him up here, we were joking about diplomacy, I said we might be ‘signing treaties’.”

Rozanov turned back to Shane, the light of humor not fully gone from his eyes, but mixed with a sincere look. “British are too vague. Alex and Henry have propositioned us for foursome. Or ‘just hand stuff or whatever’ as the eloquent American said to me.”

Rozanov stretched out, placing his arm on the couch behind Shane’s head.

A misunderstanding of this size might have emotionally tormented Shane on any other day, but coming from Rozanov’s pretty mouth, it was a bearable situation. Shane let the realization soak in as he looked back at Henry’s apologetic face and Alex’s repressed yet charismatic grin.

Shane considered it. He’d been looking forward to having sex with Rozanov all day, and now there was an opportunity for that… and more. More than Shane had ever experienced before. Tonight, he could have not just Rozanov, but someone – two other men – as well? And these other men…

Shane looked at Alex Claremont-Diaz. He was tall and built, with incredible cheekbones and jaw. He had full, dark lashes that drooped over his dark eyes and wild, curly hair. His clean-shaven face was giving way to a dark five o’clock shadow which centered his lips. His dress shirt was unbuttoned just enough to see the few curls of chest hair weaving around a chain that disappeared by his pecs. Shane’s eyes trailed down to Alex’s tuxedo trousers, taught around his full thighs. Fuck.

Shane looked over at Prince Henry, whose high cheekbones and full lips drew him in. He’d admired him earlier and even made a friendly connection. Shane glanced down at Alex’s hand on Henry’s thigh, reminding him of the way Rozanov would touch his inner thigh and… fuck. Fingers combed through Shane’s hair at the nape of his neck. Shane instinctively leaned back against the touch. The intoxicating touch of his rival’s strong hands through the back of his hair sealed the deal. He turned to Rozanov, who understood his look immediately.

“That is yes from Hollander,” he said to the pair across from them. “And me as well. I want more vodka though.”

Ilya pulled his hand from Hollander’s neck and crossed the room to the bar again. “I am assuming you have condoms and lube yes?” he said to either Henry or Alex.

“Oh yes. Plenty,” replied Alex.

“Good. Four dicks, four assholes… We’ll need all we can get.” Ilya wasn’t planning on getting fucked tonight, but he was open to wherever the night took them. He’d decide once he got the pants off that American and the prince. He recalled a picture of Alex in a speedo in a tabloid magazine a year or two back. He had a good ass for a non-athlete.

“Mind getting me a glass too?” asked Alex. “I figured you know which of these expensive-ass bottles are the best.”

Ilya pulled out the bottle he’d poured from before. “Polish Belvedere. Not Russian, but it will do.”

To Ilya’s slight dismay, he turned around to see Henry had crossed over to the couch with Hollander and was speaking with him in French. Seeing Hollander speak in his perfect French with such a perfect prince struck Ilya with a twang of jealousy he usually tried to ignore. No, tonight, Ilya would not let jealousy get the best of him. Tonight, he would let it fuel him. Ilya focused in on Alex, whose hand brushed against his as he handed him his glass.

Ilya plopped down on the couch beside Alex and they sipped their drinks while watching Hollander and Henry chat. The two of them were turned entirely to face each other, Hollander’s leg was pulled up onto the couch and his ankle rested on his knee.

“You speak French?” Ilya asked.

“Not a lick,” Alex was turned to Ilya, his elbow up and hand resting in his dark curls. “Fluent in Spanish, though. You?”

“Ah, no. English is hard enough.” That was an understatement.

“I’ll say,” Alex used some weird American phrases, Ilya noted. Things like ‘I’ll say’ and ‘No can do’. Ilya would try them out later and Marleau’s reaction would tell him how normal they were to say.

“So we have no clue what they’re talking about.”

“I have some clue.”

Henry’s hand rested on Holander’s thigh. Ilya felt both his chest and pants tighten. He imagined Hollander kissing those full, pouty lips of Henry’s, and Henry biting down on Hollander’s bottom lip the way he liked. Ilya emptied his glass and turned to Alex, who seemed to be imagining the same thing, his eyes slightly glazed and the seat of his pants just a bit larger. Alex’s gaze drifted over and met Ilya’s. Ilya reached into the dark curls of Alex’s head and pulled him in. Alex met his lips with fervor, pulling at Ilya’s lips with a matched enthusiasm. Fuck, he was a good kisser. The two of them ducked heads, exchanging force as they pressed their hot tongues into each other’s mouths. Ilya’s assertive lips were met with Alex’s confident mouth, their movement a conversation they were used to directing.

Ilya wondered if Alex would submit to him the way Hollander did when he pulled at his scalp. Alex moaned slightly into Ilya’s mouth, and instead of submitting, he intensified. Ilya felt a tug on his own hair, a welcome gesture, as Alex’s other hand trailed down and rested on his jaw.

The two of them parted for air, noting the French conversation had ceased entirely. Ilya and Alex maintained eye contact as they broke apart, blinking their half-lidded eyes at each other. Alex’s eyes were gorgeous; his lashes were the kind of full you’d expect to see on a woman with extensions. Ilya wiped a trail of saliva from Alex’s mouth with his thumb and turned back to Hollander and Henry. He had enjoyed that, and now he was daring on of them to break the silence.

A smile spread across his face as Ilya registered the look on Hollander’s face. It wasn’t unlike his expression in the shower the first time they’d been together. Curious and unaware of just how turned on he looked. But there was something else in Hollander’s eyes too. A look Iyla knew all too well in both the bedroom and on the ice. Determination.

As if in sync, Hollander and Henry wordlessly pulled themselves up and off the couch. Hollander’s jacket had been removed already and the two of them were unbuttoning. Alex reached out and began standing to help Henry, but Henry pushed him back into his seat, giving him a cheeky wink. Alex began undoing his own belt. Ilya stayed still, carefully watching Hollander fold his shirt. He enjoyed how meticulous and slow he was. Henry didn’t fold his shirt, and instead tossed it on the couch behind him. To think, Hollander was neater than the Prince of England. Ilya hid a small smirk.

The two of them knelt before Ilya and Alex, who opened their legs eagerly. Ilya stretched his arms on the backrest of the couch, leaning back and tilting his hips towards Hollander, who began removing his belt while nipping at his abs through his shirt. Ilya pulled his shirt off entirely to give him access. To his right, Ilya could see Henry teasing a near-squirming Alex as he pulled down his boxers to reveal a trail of curly hairs gathering at the base of his hardening shaft. The clutching of his balls though his pants pulled Ilya’s focus back to his own lap, where Hollander was trailing kisses down his adonis’ belt.

Ilya let his head roll back and bask in the sensation of Hollander’s tongue running up his cock and his lips encircling his tip. Hollander was less desperate and rushed than earlier when they had met in the bathroom, but he was still energetic as he began taking in Ilya’s dick, working his way up and down. Hollander steadied himself with one hand on Ilya’s thigh and his other was stroking the base. Hollander found a rhythm and Ilya peered over at Alex and Henry curiously. Henry already had Alex at the back of his throat, the sound of wet moans emitting from his occupied mouth. Alex’s shirt was open and his chest was heaving as Henry worked on him. They were hot enough to just watch, but Iyla pulled Alex’s head toward him and their lips met again. Fuck, it felt good to kiss someone during a blowjob. Alex’s left hand found its way to Ilya inner thigh, causing him to buck up into Hollander’s mouth further. Hollander made a soft noise and Ilya looked down at him, Alex’s bottom lip still between his teeth.

Hollander was looking back at him, at Ilya’s lips locked with Alex’s, with his own lips wrapped around Iyla’s cock. Ilya saw in his eyes a new kind of determination, something brought on by seeing the man he was blowing kissing another. It was fiery. It was hot. Hollander dove back onto Ilya’s cock and pumped it harder than before, his tongue working in a way Ilya hadn’t yet experienced from Hollander. Ilya gasped, his labial grip on Alex releasing as he felt himself losing control. Fuck. Fuck. He didn’t want to come quicker than Alex. Ilya shut his eyes, but it only made the sensation stronger. He grabbed Hollander’s head to try and control his pace, to slow him down, but Hollander powered on.

“H-Hollander-” Ilya choked out. What was he on?

Hollander didn’t stop, Iyla looked down again and knew immediately it was a mistake. Hollander was staring right back up at him, his large, brown eyes demanding.

“Cum for me,” they said.

Ilya came hard, his leg jerked up and out of Alex’s grip, Hollander kept going, his mouth riding Ilya out as he came in his mouth. Ilya’s cock twitched more as he felt Shane’s throat close, swallowing his cum. Iyla’s hand was clenched into Hollander’s hair and he finally rose off of him, dipping back down only to clean him up. Ilya reached for him as the sensation pulsed through his body, pulling Shane up onto his chest and bringing their mouths together. It wasn’t the first time Ilya had tasted himself on Hollander’s lips. He didn’t care, he pulled him in closer and drank him in more, holding him to his chest as they panted between kisses.

Alex was similarly cumming, gasping Henry’s name as he finished him off. Henry pulled himself from Alex’s cock, revealing it fully to Hollander and Ilya for the first time, and the four of them watched as it shot his load onto his abdomen, landing among his chest hairs. Henry slid onto the couch beside Alex, kissing him and holding his head as Alex stoked his golden hair.

Hollander shifted to a more comfortable position, still half on top of Ilya, whose arms remained wrapped around him, just under his regrettably still clothed ass. Iyla stared at the pair next to them, entangled the same way. He’d just watched the prince of England blow the US president’s son. And they’d just watched the same thing with the world’s best hockey players. It was a surreal as it was arousing.

Ilya watched Henry give Hollander a look. He looked between them – yes – they were communicating something.

“What is going on what are you psychic fuckers saying?”

Alex looked over, confused. Hollander’s freckled face spread into a smug grin. Ilya knew that look. It was the same face he gave Ilya when the Metros beat Boston.

“Henry and I made a deal,” Hollander said. 

“We wanted to see who could make the other cum first,” explained Henry.

Of course. Nothing turned Hollander on like a competition. Ilya made a note to never play poker with Hollander. Then again, strip poker could be fun. Ilya wanted to be annoyed, but the idea of being used as a fuck machine in Hollander’s strange little games was titillating to say the least.

“I win!” chirped Hollander happily. Ilya wanted to put his cock back in that mouth.

“Or does it mean I win?” offered Alex, whose hand was resting beneath Henry’s pants. “I lasted the longest.”

“I think it just means Rozanov loses,” needled Hollander. “He’s the one who came first.”

“How am I loser?” Ilya snorted. “I got my cock sucked by Shane Hollander; I am not loser.”

This made Hollander give a pleased grin. Ilya congratulated himself on being able to make Hollander accept a compliment. It wasn’t easy outside of sex. Humility was a part of his schtick.

“Technically, I think I lost.” Henry sighed and pouted a sheeny lip.

“So what’s your punishment then?” teased Alex, his hand making small circles on Henry’s thigh.

“I don’t know,” Henry looked at the ceiling. “I haven’t really thought about it. Maybe Shane fucks me while you two watch.”

Henry had definitely thought about it.

Alex, Henry, and Rozanov looked at Shane expectantly. Henry wanted him to fuck him.

"I’ve, uh" Shane stammered more than he wanted to. The six eyes on him didn’t help either. "I’ve never done that before."

He's had sex with girls, of course, but that had been an awkward few occasions, and none had involved anal. His only experience with assholes was with his own. Shane knew how to find his own prostate, and god knows Rozanov knew how to as well. Would he do a good job? Would Henry still want him knowing it would be his first time? That was a tall order, to top for the first time with an audience, and on the apparently well experience prince of England.

"I can always give you tutorial," smirked Rozanov.

Shane rolled his eyes, but didn’t dismiss the offer in case it was genuine.

"You don’t have to,” said Henry quickly. “It was just a suggestion.”

"I’m… considering." Shane looked to Rozanov, biting back the strange instinct to ask permission. Where the fuck did that come from? Shane could do what he wanted. And he wanted.... Shane looked at Henry, shirtless, sprawled on the couch next to Alex. His hip was protruding and his knee was hooked over Alex's thigh. …Yes. Shane decided. He wanted to try out Henry.

“And you’re both fine if…?” Shane wasn’t going to ask Rozanov permission for shit, but he felt at least a bit compelled to run it by Alex too.

“Oh yeah,” said Alex. “I don’t mind being cucked by a hockey legend.”

“He’s joking,” Henry rolled his eyes at Alex. “He’s not being cucked.”

“Yeah, I’m not getting cucked ‘cause I’m next.”

“You want Hollander to fuck you also?” Rozanov grinned.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Alex paused, and cocked his head in consideration. “I mean, unless…”

“One at a time, Jesus,” Shane shook his head. “Roz, there’s a line forming for my dick.”

“Is a good dick,” Rozanov shrugged. “Worth queueing for.”

“Let’s just,” Shane sat himself upright to feel more physically decisive. “Take it one step at a time.”

Henry nodded.

"I would like to fuck you,” Shane said all too formally.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Henry returned the formality with a genuine smile.

"You,” Shane turned and jabbed a finger into Rozanov's chest. “Need to behave… and maybe give a couple pointers."

He laughed with the last part, but he was only half joking. Rozanov had a strange talent for making Shane sexually comfortable. Rozanov's face lit up at the prospect. Shane may as well as asked him for hockey tips, something he not only didn’t need but would never, ever ask for. He could get fucked by Rozanov sideways to Manhattan, but he'd rather die than ask for tips on hockey strategy. They were evenly matched on the ice, but in the bedroom, they played different positions.

The thought of fucking Rozanov crossed Shane's mind. Neither had ever brought it up, but it had floated by once or twice in a distant hypothetical in Shane’s mind. Their meetups were scarce and sacred. They were hardly the time to learn something new. Shane was more than satisfied being on the receiving end of Rozanov's cock. That being said, switching it up wasn’t something he'd written off entirely, and it was definitely not going to come up tonight. Shane was already trying new things tonight, and it seemed easier to try new things with new people.

"The bed's an Alaskan King" said Alex. "You could fit like eight people on it."

"Good luck finding two more high profile rival couples to rope in," joked Henry.

Shane avoided looking at Rozanov as they chuckled. They were not a couple. A couple of dudes, and rivals for sure, but a couple couple? No way. Henry and Alex were… well, maybe not boyfriends, but definitely exclusive. To them, it seemed like a bit more than just sex.

The four of them pulled themselves off the couch, the deflated cushions marked with faint patches of sweat. Alex led Henry by the hand through the high white arches into the primary bedroom. Shane stuck his thumbs in his pockets and followed, Rozanov trailing behind, finishing off Alex's glass of vodka.

The bed was indeed massive. It was like a queen and a half. The four of them could each lie comfortably and never even touch. But that was not the goal tonight.

Alex disappeared into the cavernous bathroom to presumably wash the cum off his chest and Henry began removing his pants. Locker room time. Shane pulled off his own, finding an armchair in the corner to lay them on. He turned again to see Rozanov with his dick out already. Shane’s mouth watered like a Pavlovian dog.

"Hollander, you're staring again."

"Am not."

"I am," said Henry, who was sitting on the bed looking between the two of them. He bit his lip. "I am going to go cross-eyed."

"You want a taste of Russia, your highness?" Rozanov stepped closer.

"Foreign relations could always be improved," gasped Henry.

"Hey!" Shane closed the distance between the three of them, pushing Rozanov back by his pec. Rozanov smiled, backing off of the prince and Shane.

Alex ran back into the room, his pants still on, damp towels in his hand. "Don’t start without me!"

"Get your ass out of those pants, Claremont-Diaz!" Rozanov used his Captain's voice, sending a jolt of electricity through everyone's spine, Shane's especially.

Alex nodded and all but tore off his pants and underwear, socks included. He climbed onto the bed and brought a pillow from the distant headboard to Henry, who pulled himself back, spreading his legs.

Shane looked down, his eyes trailed over Henry's smooth chest and across his thick thighs. His dick was hardening already. Shane knelt and began stroking, eliciting a moan from Henry. Shane took his dick in his mouth. It was different from Rozanov's, but discovering it's exact differences excited Shane. He felt Henry harden inside his mouth as Shane explored with his tongue. His hands wrapped around his thigh, and found his balls. Shane pulled and sucked, listening to Henry to learn how the prince liked it.

Shane felt a presence behind him as Rozanov's hot body pressed behind him. His hand snaked around his waist and began stroking Shane's dick from behind. Rozanov laid kisses on the back of Shane’s neck as he bobbed up and down on Henry.

Shane lifted up off Henry, who had been mostly silenced by Alex's lips. Shane stroked an exploratory finger on Henry's taint down to his asshole, causing him to squirm toward him.

"Lick."

The command was murmured into Shane's ear, sending a shiver through his whole body. Shane obeyed, moving himself and Henry into position. Shane salivated and pressed his tongue against Henry's anticipating hole. Rozanov vanished from behind Shane, who focused on repeating what Rozanov had done with him. Circling and prodding, Shane pushed more saliva to the front of his mouth to make it slide easier. Henry let out a moan into Alex’s mouth.

Rozanov returned, the heat returning to Shane's back, and his hand returning to Shane's dick.

"Fingers now."

Shane pulled back and Rozanov picked up his hand and wiped him with slick, warm lube. Shane turned to look back at him, but Rozanov whispered, his lips brushing against Shane’s ear.

"Look at him.”

Shane turned back, and with his left hand, began stroking Henry again, and with his right, began gently circling and pressing into him. Alex must have broken away from Henry's mouth, because he was moaning louder now. Shane glanced up, it was an awkward angle. Alex knelt by Henry's head, stoking his hair and watching Shane.

Shane worked his way from one finger to two, then three. It was strange to be on this side, and Shane could feel himself growing more eager to feel himself inside Henry. Rozanov planted more kisses and began sucking at Shane’s neck.

"Stand up."

Shane wasn’t sure he could, Rozanov had been stoking him the way that usually made his knees buckle, but he managed to get to his feet with Rozanov pressed against him, his head still buried in his neck. Rozanov's arms were wrapped around Shane’s waist, his hands gathering at his cock. Shane watched his hands spread a condom on his dick, his careful and dexterous fingers rolling it down to the base. fuck that was hotter than he expected. Rozanov applied more lube.

Henry shifted excitedly, his hips moving towards the edge of the bed, ready for Shane's dick. Shane placed his hands on Henry's thighs and lined himself up. Is this what he looked like to Rozanov? Spread open and eager, his hard dick moving gently as it rested on his panting stomach.

"Slowly."

Rozanov's drawl tingled Shane's ear and he bit his lip to keep himself from closing his eyes and moaning aloud. Instead, he maneuvered and pressed his tip against Henry's slick and pulsing asshole. Shane pushed in, and a deep moan left Henry’s chest. His head rocked back over the pillow and he reached out and clasped Alex’s free hand, who was stroking himself as he watched.

“Fuuck,” murmured henry.

Fuuck indeed. Shane eased his way into his tight hole, it’s muscles fluttering and pulsing around his cock. It was nothing like a mouth, and nothing like a vagina. Shane pulled back, sliding himself nearly out, then back in. No wonder Rozanov had begged to fuck him for years. This felt good.

Shane began to pump, starting slowly, looking for a rhythm. Henry was breathily taking each thrust, and Shane felt confident to speed up. He watched Henry’s body react to his thrusts, moving up on the bed with each push and chasing him when he pulled back.

A familiar pair of hands rested on Shane’s hips. Shane placed his hands on Henry’s hips. Rozanov was behind Shane, his own hard dick pressed between him and Shane’s ass. Shane felt his asshole flex He wanted Rozanov inside him even now.

“Fuck him like you want me to fuck you.”

It was so quiet, Shane almost didn’t hear it over Henry’s moans. Fuck. Shane gripped Henry’s hips tighter and thrust into him harder. Henry approved, his jaw open and eyes rolled back. Rozanov kept pace with Shane’s thrusts, so that they were pressed together. With every thrust into Henry, Shane felt Rozanov’s cock press harder against his ass.

Harder and harder. Henry was panting and turned his head to Alex, pulling his dick to his mouth. Alex gasped as Henry, rocked by Shane, moaned as he began sucking his dick.

“Fuck, Henry, Hollander,” Alex steadied himself on the bed.

Shane leaned forward over henry, his face closer to Alex now. Now bent over, Rozanov began fingering Shane, causing him to jerk in unexpected pleasure. He lost his rhythm but recovered. Alex leaned in and locked lips with Shane. Fuck was this heaven? Every orifice, Shane’s asshole, dick, and mouth, was occupied and being serviced by a sexy fucking man. His body was vibrating, operating on its own as his brain oscillated from the pleasure of Henry’s asshole, Ilya’s fingers, to Alex’s mouth.

Henry’s legs spasmed and he released Alex’s dick from his mouth, who backed away from Shane. Henry was cumming, his hands grabbed at Shane’s waist, pulling him in as he came. Shane watched his own dick slide in and out of the orgasming prince, slowing his own pace. He was wondering if he should pull out when Rozanov’s fingers stroked his prostate.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Shane came suddenly, bucking into Henry as he came down from his own orgasm. His elbows weakened and he fought to not collapse on Henry.

Shane’s muscles clenched and he pumped out of Henry, emptying his load into the condom. His head rested on Henry’s chest, where someone stroked his hair. Rozanov had exited Shane’s ass at some point and backed away. Shane rolled over onto the bed next to Henry, the both of them panting and covered in a light sheen of sweat, lube, and cum.

Henry’s head lolled to the side to look at Shane. He smiled like he wanted to say something, but from either the panting or the oxytocin he said nothing.

The bed dipped next to Shane.

“Enjoy your reward?” Rozanov slid next to him, his hand squeezing Shane’s pec.

“Mhmm,” affirmed Shane, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Rozanov.

“Now you know why I am always on you,” Rozanov’s nose was in his hair, drinking him in.

Ilya didn’t want to seem impatient. But he needed to fuck Hollander now. Watching Hollander take his direction while fucking Prince Henry… Ilya had participated in threesomes before, a couple girls in Philadelphia, a married couple back in Russia, the pair from Philadelphia again, and they were all a good time. But none of them had Ilya feeling this way before. With Henry and Alex it felt different. With Shane it felt different.

“Wake up sleepy grandmas,” Ilya didn’t like where his thoughts were going.

Ilya wrapped his arms around Hollander and playfully pinched his tits, making him squirm and chuckle lightly.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Ilya maintained a joking tone but it was getting harder to ignore their nude bodies next to each other.

“Damn Rozanov, don’t you want to go back to the locker room before the next period?” piped up Alex from the far side of the bed. He had moved further up to sprawl out with Henry. Ilya figured the bed could actually fit another pair. Ilya wondered if the English word would be “sixsome” following the same conventions as “threesome” and “foursome”.

“Fine, I will be back in seventeen minutes,” Ilya rose as Alex and Henry laughed.

Hollander looked at him curiously, like he always did when the sex was done and it was time to end the interaction. Who would be the first to say goodbye? Sometimes it was easy to say goodnight, when they had back-to-back games or events and saw each other twice in the same week? How they both silently kept a record of how long they had spent together in one evening. And who, of course, was the one standing up and leaving? Ilya could say goodbye first, but Hollander would be the one to get up and leave him when they were in Boston. And how much Ilya hated his house once Hollander left. It would be suddenly quiet once the door closed behind him. Ilya would catch himself, in the weeks between their meetings, hooking up with a woman and in the morning, believing for a moment it was Hollander in the bed next to him. As much as he and Hollander had slept together, they had never gotten to wake up together.

Ilya walked away from the bedroom and his thoughts, looking for some water and a bite to eat. This suite had to have something good, especially if their taste in food was as good as their taste in vodka. He immediately spied a giftwrapped bakery box on the dining table. Inside were a dozen or so macarons. He found more standard hotel minibar snacks. Unbranded crackers, mixed nuts, water, and such. Ilya grabbed some water and the nuts, figuring there was a joke there. He also took the macarons and returned to the bedroom, where Hollander, Henry, and Alex had all made their own islands in the massive bed with their bodies and pillows. Ilya dumped his findings in between them, climbing onto the bed to join Hollander Isalnd.

“Oh yeah, the macarons from the thing,” said Alex, sitting up. “Who did you get these from?”

“The Hugo Foundation,” answered Henry. It was presumably one of the many charities the two of them sponsored.

Henry pulled a pillow into his lap as he sat up and reached forwards to open the macarons while Alex grabbed the nuts. Ilya caught Hollander looking at him a weird way and offered him a water bottle. Ilya gave him a questioning look, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Snacks?” Hollander looked confused.

“For stamina,” Ilya opened a bottled water and held it to Hollander, “and hydration. It is intermission Hollander.”

Hollander nodded and took the water from Ilya, sitting up as well. The four of them munched on the macarons and nuts in silence for a minute. Ilya looked around. It was like a picnic. Well, a picnic on a hotel bed with three other naked men.

“What are you smiling about, Rozanov?” asked Alex.

Ilya wondered if mentioning a picnic would sound silly to them. “I am surrounded by sexy men.” He said, shrugging.

“Fair enough,” Alex tossed a cashew into the air and threw back his head, catching it. Ilya watched, admiring his neck.

“Throw here.”

Alex lined up the shot, the nut arched through the air, and Ilya dipped to the side to catch it in his mouth.

“Yes!” cheered Alex. Ilya took a handful and the two of them began taking turns tossing and catching. Ilya started making it harder for Alex, who was tossing his higher each time. Alex dove halfway across the bed, bouncing as the peanut missed his mouth entirely. Hollander and Ilya laughed while Henry shook his head.

“Alex, you’re getting food all over the bed.”

“You’re eating too!”

“If I wake up tonight with a peanut digging into my shoulder-”

“Princess and the Pea ass…” grumbled Alex as he rifled through the covers to find the nut.

“Prince and the Peanut,” offered Hollander, earning a chuckle from Ilya.

Ilya watched Alex clean the bed, and subtly tossed a couple out of Alex’s line of sight onto the bed near him. He turned and found them, picking them up. Ilya threw a couple more where Alex had just cleaned.

“What the-” Alex caught on, furiously turning to look at Ilya.

“It was Hollander.”

“Was not!”

Ilya flicked a walnut at Hollander, beaning him in the cheek.

“Now guys,” began Henry.

Hollander threw the nut back at Ilya, bouncing it off his shoulder, his eyes lighting up with playful aggression. Alex joined in, throwing two at a time. Ilya quickly emptied his hand, playfully tossing them at Alex and Hollander. The three of them laughed as Henry ducked a volley of mixed nuts.

“A food fight in a bed is my worst nightmare,” said Henry, covering his head with a pillow.

Hollander looked around, realizing the mess they’d made. “Shit, the bed’s kind of gross now.”

“Not the whole bed, though, right?” Alex began pawing around again, finding more nuts in the crevices of the bedsheets. Henry began collecting crumbs and placed them in the now-empty macaron box.

“Call me Prince and the Pea, but,” Hollander’s freckled nose scrunched in disgust. “I do not want to get dicked down on a bed full of crumbs and nuts.”

Ilya’s lips curled into a smile as an idea formed. “Maybe Henry and Alex hold you while I fuck you.”

“Hold me down? On the peanut bed?”

“No, like cradle,” Ilya motioned, showing exactly how they would stand, but the three of them blinked back at him, not understanding. “Ugh, lemme show you. Up, up.”

The four of them got to their feet and stood at the end of the bed. Alex stood at attention, his hands on his hips, Henry and Hollander had their arms crossed. Ilya took a moment to appreciate the incredibly attractive captive audience.

“Okey, so Hollander stand here, and Alex, you are on left side, Henry on right.” He directed them, touching shoulders to move them into place. Hollander followed instruction swiftly and perfectly like he always did, but Alex and Henry took a bit more coaching.

“Now Hollander, put arms on their shoulders, you two put one under his arm on back like that.” Ilya watched Hollander’s lightly confused expression. It was one of Ilya’s favorite looks; it always came before he told him to do something, and he loved watching him melt away into doing what he was told. For such a control freak, Hollander took instruction in the bedroom nicely. Hollander’s willingness titillated Ilya’s imagination. What would Hollander do if simply told to? Quite a lot, it turns out.

“Then bend slightly to go under thigh,” Ilya leaned over with Henry and Alex. “No, hand goes under knee and holds thigh.”

“And then lift?” asked Alex.

“Wait-” Hollander had no time to react.

It was too late, Henry and Alex righted themselves, sweeping Hollander’s legs out from under him and tilting him back. A small cry of surprise left his lips as he grabbed onto their shoulders. The two of them held him by his thighs and back, reclined. Henry and Alex shifted a bit, finding a comfortable grip and balance.

“You alright?” asked Henry.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting…” Hollander looked at himself, spread out in front of Ilya, in the arms of two men. Ilya watched his face relax the way it always did when Hollander was turned on.

“You like?” Ilya already knew the answer. He could already see Hollander’s breath change, his chest moving slower with deeper breaths. Hollander nodded. Ilya closed the distance, standing between Hollander’s stretched legs and shoulder to shoulder with Henry and Alex. He reached forward and stroked Hollander’s cheek with one hand and waist with the other. Holander leaned his head into Ilya’s hand, his lips brushing against his thumb.

“Do you mind if Hollander and I show off for you?” The question was directed at Alex and Henry, but Ilya kept his gaze locked with Hollander, who only broke it to close his eyes as Ilya’s thumb entered his mouth.

“Not at all,” breathed Henry.

“Be my fucking guest,” murmured Alex.

Ilya wasted no time. He pulled his thumb from Hollander’s mouth and moved it to his hole, lubricating it with his own saliva. He moved his other hand to Hollander’s cock and began stroking it. Hollander gasped, his back flexing, suspended. Henry watched his pelvis roll hungrily. Ilya pressed into Hollander again, who was looser than earlier in the night, eliciting more moans from him. Ilya knew just what buttons to push to get the sounds he wanted from him. He had a theory he could edge Hollander forever, but he’d never been able to, eventually giving into his own need to fuck him and other times finding himself unable to resist the achingly delicious sound of Hollander begging. Ilya would not be drawing this out too long tonight. No, he was here to fuck. And the two of them had an audience to play to.

When Rozanov entered him, Shane let out an embarrassingly loud moan. He was well over the awkwardness of an extra set of eyes, and seeing the faces of Alex and Henry eagerly watching Rozanov penetrate him was surprisingly turning him on. Shane focused on relaxing himself as he slid onto Rozanov’s cock. He moaned again, his lips unparted and jaw clenched. Rozanov inside him was familiar, but being held, ass off the ground, spread open like this, was brand fucking new.

“Fuck,” Shane said as Rozanov began pumping in and out of him, Henry and Alex accommodated for the movement, humming in arousal as they watched Rozanov at work.

“Oh fuck me,” he gasped

Shane’s head rolled back, a bit too far for comfort since he had nothing to lean back on. He leaned forward again. Rozanov had one hand on Shane’s dick as he thrust inside him and the other hand on the back of Henry’s neck as he kissed him. Alex watched in awe, his eyes flickering between them. The sight of Rozanov fucking him while kissing someone else did something to Shane. Deep in his gut he felt both aroused and betrayed. The dick throbbing in his ass kept him from analyzing those feelings deeper, and he instead watched in awe, panting lightly with each thrust.

Henry and Rozanov broke apart, and Rozanov turned back to look at Shane. Before their eyes could fully meet, Shane grabbed Alex’s head and pulled him in, taking his lips into his mouth and weaving his hand through his thick curly hair. Alex had a bit more stubble, and Shane realized he quite liked it. He felt Rozanov begin to thrust harder into him as he explored Alex’s mouth. Perhaps Rozanov was feeling the same possessiveness watching them kiss.

Rozanov kicked up the pace and Shane detached from Alex, leaning back to the middle and gasping as Rozanov pounded into him. Alex and Henry moved Shane to assist with the motion, and Shane’s head rolled back once more as sounds escaped him, pushed out with every breath and every thrust.

“Show them how well you take my cock,” purred Rozanov. Shane rocked his hips, his body reacting as his mind cleared and filled only with the sensation of Rozanov filling him wholly.

He was feeling it everywhere now. Not just where he was connected with Rozanov but up through his core, into his arms and legs as they pressed into the warm, strong bodies of Henry and Alex. Shane could go entirely limp and his position would stay the same. He was far from limp, though, his fingers dug into shoulders, his back was arched, and his toes were curled. Rozanov kept stroking his dick, and the dual sensation was all he could feel, all he could think about. Every sound that left him was involuntary and necessary.

“Fuck,” Rozanov’s free hand was on his shoulder, his thumb stroking Shane’s neck.

The pace was faster now, racing with Shane’s panting and cries as Rozanov slid his length back and forth across his prostate. Shane hadn’t been trying to keep his eyes open, but now his vision was blurring. Shane shut his eyes, heightening his other senses. The sound of Rozanov moaning and cursing under his breath and the sound of his cock pounding into him. The smell of sex and lube, the faint traces of four colognes, nearly sweat off their bodies. The taste of Alex still lingering on his lips. The feeling of strong men holding him while another entered inside him.

“Sh- shit, fuck Hollander.” Rozanov abandoned Shane’s dick as he started cumming, grabbing his hips and pushing himself deeper into Shane. His dick spasmed and thrust against Shane’s prostate more, finally tipping him over the edge.

Shane’s orgasm lasted longer than Rozanov’s, who rocked Shane rhythmically as his whole body tensed and trembled. Shane’s ankles locked behind Rozanov, pulling him in, and his fingers pulled at Henry and Alex’s skin. Shane felt himself cumming on himself, both his ejaculation and his orgasm ripping through his core and filling his brain with pure white noise. Shane’s neck relaxed first, his head reclined fully. His legs unhooked and before he could catch himself, he went limp. However, he was still supported. Henry and Alex held him fast from either side, and Ilya was at his hips, still massaging inside him. Someone was peppering his heaving chest with kisses as he came down from his orgasm.

Rozanov pulled himself from Shane’s hole gently, eliciting a small involuntary whine from in his chest. Shane barely paid attention as he heard the gentle voice of Rozanov directing Alex and Henry on setting him down on the bed and Henry worrying about finding a clean spot for him. Alex must have kicked up a part of the bedspread and Shane was laid down on the soft sheets of the gargantuan bed.

“Fuck me, that was hot,” said Alex. Shane opened his eyes to see the three of them looking down at him. He was too fucked out to care and just gave a slight smile in response. It was hot. And judging by Alex and Henry’s rock-hard cocks, they enjoyed the show. Their gazes met and Henry bit his lip.

“Need you, now,” Alex pulled Henry in, grabbing a handful of Henry’s royal ass cheek.

“But the bed is-” Henry protested between kisses.

Alex broke away and tore the rest of the top comforter off the massive bed, taking all the macaron crumbs and mixed nuts with it. An empty water bottle flew across the room and comically bounced into the wall. Henry tackled Alex, the two of them so far from Shane he barely felt the mattress move. They said nothing more as they pulled their bodies together.

Shane stared at the ornate ceiling, his train of thought having not yet pulled into the station. The mattress dipped beside him and Rozanov came into view beside him, first kissing his pecs, then working his way up his neck. Fuck, Rozanov knew just where to kiss him. Shane’s fuzzy feeling spiked again with the gentle touch of Rozanov’s full, beautiful lips on his neck.

Rozanov’s face hovered above Shane’s, who tilted his chin in anticipation for another kiss.

“Did you enjoy?”

Shane’s heavy eyelids blinked as he looked into Rozanov’s eyes. “Yes.”

Rozanov smiled slightly, but Shane knew what that look was. Pride. He enjoyed making Shane feel good almost as much as Shane enjoyed feeling good. There was something about that soft look of accomplishment that compelled Shane. To do what? He had no idea. But it lingered in his mind’s eye.

“Did you enjoy?” Shane asked in return.

Instead of answering, Rozanov connected their lips, his tongue parting Shane’s and flicking it’s way into his mouth. Shane welcomed it readily, sending his own tongue after’s Rozanov’s taste. They kissed slow and deep, the two of them basking in the simple intimacy of it. All that reached their ears was the sounds of their own wet lips and the growing moans of Henry and Alex.

Shane and Rozanov stayed like that for a while, or at least until Henry and Alex had reached their own desperate orgasms. The four of them laid quietly in bed, each entangled with the man they’d begun the evening with. Even Rozanov, who was always quick to pop up for a shower or cigarette, laid with Shane, their arms draped over one another.

Ilya could have fallen asleep. He could have laid with Shane for hours, days even. His mind screamed at him to get up and do something. But he couldn’t think of a good reason why. To break the tension? There was none. To prevent another round of passionate fucking? No, Shane was spent for the night. So why did Ilya want to leave? Why did he want to get up and ruin the moment? Ilya wanted this moment to last just a little bit longer. Tonight, he wouldn’t be the one to initiate goodbyes.

“We’re going to shower,” said Henry from the far end of the bed.

Ilya held up a thumbs up, regretting moving his arm away from Shane’s body immediately. He returned it to it’s warm spot across Shane’s stomach, where he felt the gentle rise and fall of Shane’s breath.

Ilya had until their shower ended. He and Shane were guests, they had to leave eventually. He smiled to himself, thinking about the hotel room he’d booked. Ilya always liked to book a nice hotel room when he knew he’d be meeting up with Hollander. Penthouses or luxury suites with massive windows he fantasized about fucking Shane against. He wanted to make sure he was fucking Shane in the nicest room available. But tonight he’d been shown up quite a bit. A suite like this wouldn’t even have been available to someone like him. But that was alright. They’d gotten to fuck in it anyway.

The pair of politically relevant studs finished their shower all too quickly for Ilya’s liking. He knew they’d be too polite to kick them out, or worse, they’d invite them to spend the night to sleep. That wouldn’t do. Breaking his earlier promise to himself, Ilya pulled away from Shane. His arms followed Ilya, tempting him to reverse his decision and jump back into them again, but it was too late.

“Well, this was fun,” Ilya winked at Henry and Alex, who were now wrapped in towels and drying their wet hair.

Shane also got up, but slower. He was definitely sleepier than Ilya, and probably a bit sore. “Thanks for having us.”

“We should do this again sometime,” Alex said earnestly. “Not even just to fuck. But yall are… you guys get us. Our situation.”

Ilya nodded. They were each so different, but somehow so similar, all with crazy lives and a combined global audience of millions. To meet up again would be tricky and dangerous, but if it would be anything like tonight was, it would be worth it.

After Ilya and Shane rummaged through the clothes scattered about the place – Ilya suddenly was very jealous that Shane found his own clothes so fast, maybe folding them was actually a good idea – the four of them end up standing awkwardly in the sitting room.

“We should probably get your numbers,” Shane began frantically patting his pockets, not finding his phone.

“Hollander,” Ilya put a hand on his shoulder. “Security took our phones, remember? They will give it back when we leave. But they might keep your gun.”

“Shut up. I still can’t believe you said that.”

Alex grabbed his phone. “Tell me your number, I’ll text you mine and Henry’s contacts.”

Shane recited his number. “We uh, go by Jane and Lily,” he said quickly.

Alex smiled. “Sharing one contact ‘His Royal Highness Prince Dickhead’ with you now.”

“Piss off, that’s still your name for me?” said Henry.

“It’s endearing!”

“It’s way more obvious than Jane and Lily. Why don’t you call me Henrietta or something nice.”

“Because you’re a dickhead.”

Prince Henry rolled his eyes, but grinned like a schoolboy, hardly hiding his amusement at Alex’s teasing.

It was that time to say goodbye for certain now. Ilya watched Shane shift uncomfortably, his thumbs in his pockets. Ilya sighed, and took Shane’s face into a solid kiss. He then turned to Henry and pulled him into a kiss. Alex excitedly received his kiss next.

“Is that a typical Russian goodbye?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

Ilya smiled wryly at them. “No.”

With that, he walked to the door, hoping Hollander had the sense to follow him. He peeked over his shoulder as he opened the door and saw Shane give a goddamn handshake in parting. Ilya smiled to himself. That’ll keep him up at night.

The two hockey players walked down the hallway of the luxurious hotel, stopping at the security to retrieve their phones, and entering the elevator together. The mirrored doors slid closed and they were alone again.

Shane had put his suit jacket back on and tried to re-tie his tie, but gave up and stuffed it into his pocket. Ilya had his jacket draped over his shoulder.

“That was nice.” Shane broke the silence first, looking at Ilya through the mirror in front of them.

“Yes. Though, I did not get a chance to fuck Claremont-Diaz. I will have to get a turn next time.”

“Next time?”

Ilya shrugged. “Who knows.”

A beat of silence passed. The elevator whirred.

“Do you think we should have signed an NDA?”

Ilya laughed. “Hollander, we did sign NDA tonight. With our dicks.”

Shane rolled his eyes as a repressed smile pushed its way forward. The elevator doors opened to the lobby, where the night staff were cleaning up the remnants of the gala. Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander stepped out wordlessly, and went their separate ways.

Ilya called a cab. As he waited, he looked down at his phone.

New message from +1 202 539 6080: Here’s “Princess Henrietta’s” contact. –Lexi [click to open attachment]

New message from Jane: see you in 3 weeks

The cab pulled up, and Ilya drove away into the night.