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Note: This takes place several years into Shane and Ilya’s hockey career, but the two of them never started any sort of relationship or flirtation.
Ilya Rozanov is many things. He is 26 years old, #1 or #2 in the MLH, depending on who you ask, as well as one of the most notorious killers in Boston, Massachusetts.
Of course, no one knows he is a killer. The police and the FBI have been trying to catch him for years, but they always come up short. You see, Ilya Rozanov is also very smart. He covers his tracks very well. Too many serial killers leave little clues or calling cards for the feds to intentionally string them along, but Ilya doesn’t do that. Ilya doesn’t want to get caught. No way. He doesn’t want to go to prison. He loves the life he leads right now, winning hockey games all over the country, partying hard whenever he wants, fucking so many beautiful women. He wouldn’t be able to do any of that in jail.
One rule Ilya has for himself to prevent himself from getting caught is to never, ever, kill another player (or coach or manager or team owner, etc). If he started doing that, evidence could eventually point him. He also never kills when he and his team are away from Boston; he doesn’t want the feds knowing he’s someone that travels often, or where he travels, because then that could eventually be discovered to coincide with the Raiders’ game schedule.
He supposes he never kills women either. And that’s because… well… he doesn’t ever want to see a lifeless woman on the ground ever again, the way he found his mother passed away when he was 12 years old, having taken her own life. And his best friend, Svetlana, is a woman, and even though Ilya doesn’t think he is capable of feeling “love” for someone the way normal people do, he cares about Svetlana a lot. A whole lot. And she’s a woman, so Ilya doesn’t think he could ever kill someone that even slightly resembled her, even if that resemblance was just that they were a woman too.
But everyone else is pretty much fair game, if the mood strikes. Ilya does tend to go after people like abusers and rapists and pedophiles. Not always, but usually. —Not because he thinks himself a vigilante or wants to inflict justice or anything like that, not at all; it’s laughable for Ilya to imagine himself as a “good guy” in any way. He derives great joy from killing, and he derives even more joy if it’s someone who thought they were untouchable. Someone who thought they were above everyone else, who could do whatever they want with no consequences; Ilya likes crushing their hopes, their spirits, their false sense of immortality.
Ilya knows he is not immortal. He knows he is not above everyone else like some of these other criminals seem to think. He knows one day his mortality will catch up with him, or maybe even his morality, and then his life will be over, either because he is dead or because he is behind bars for the rest of his life. But that just fuels him even further, to pursue his bloody passions before the day comes that they are over.
And that is why, right now, Ilya is in his garage, grabbing a body out of his trunk to dismember in the attached shed. Ilya took up deer hunting a few years ago, so that when people see his shed with its very nice butcher’s setup, they think absolutely nothing of it. Ilya is very smart, you see.
With his very lovely knife set, he makes quick work of dismembering the body, then transfers the parts into bags, and cleans up the mess.
The next step is to drive to the very run-down marina where he keeps his boat (he keeps his boat in a run-down marina rather than a high-end one because he likes the fact that there are no security guards and hardly any cameras), take his boat farrrrr off the coast of Boston, and then dump the body parts into the ocean. He uses biodegradable bags so that it’s easier for water and wildlife to access and break down the body— plus, he doesn’t want to litter more than he has to.
However, as he is about to leave the shed, trash bags in hand, he hears the tiniest sound from the other side of the door. It was very small, but Ilya is very perceptive.
He places the bags down, grabs one of his knives, and very slowly opens the door, revealing his garage, which appears empty except for his many cars.
He knows he heard something though, so he carefully makes his way between his vehicles— some flashy sports cars, others more practical, like the truck he had to buy for deer hunting— looking between them and under them, but he finds nothing.
But he knows he heard something.
Wanting to investigate further, Ilya walks through the door that connects to the main part of the house, the knife still in his hand. He walks slowly, cautiously, keeping his eyes and ears peeled, listening for any sort of noise, watching for any sort of movement. He keeps his footsteps silent on the floor; if there is someone in here, Ilya doesn’t want them knowing he’s here too.
He walks through the kitchen… down the hall…— wait.
Ilya stops. He just passed by the hallway closet, but he’s fairly certain he hears…
Oooh. He does hear. Someone’s labored breathing from the other side. Shaky, like they’re trying hard to quiet their breath but their body is pumping them so full of adrenaline that it is impossible to breathe silently. He’s heard that before. A maniacal grin creeps across Ilya’s face. He clutches the knife in his fist tighter, his own heart beginning to beat harder in anticipation.
In one swift movement, Ilya seizes the door handle, rips it open—
—And it’s Shane fucking Hollander on the other side.
Ilya’s shock allows Hollander to push past him and sprint down the hall, bolting like a scared rabbit.
After only a heartbeat longer, Ilya chases after him. Hollander is fast, but Ilya is faster, seizing him from behind and tackling him to the ground.
Hollander fights him, fights hard to push him off or wiggle out of his grasp. Ilya is hindered by only having one free hand, the other one holding the knife, but when Ilya presses the dull edge of the blade against Hollander’s throat, he stops moving as soon as he feels the cool metal touching his skin.
“What are you doing in my house?” Ilya growls. He is sat on Hollander’s hips, his free hand pressing down on his chest.
Hollander’s eyes are huge and full of fear, his chest heaving. “I was… I was…” he trails off.
Ilya raises his eyebrows. “You were what?”
“Um…”
Ilya presses the knife firmer against Hollander’s neck. It is the dull side of the blade, but Hollander doesn’t know that. “I recommend you start talking, Hollander,” Ilya states in a smooth, dangerous voice.
“I really like you, okay?” Hollander blurts out in response.
…What??
Now Ilya is really confused.
“You what?” Ilya replies.
“I really like you. I really, really like you. I’ve liked you ever since we worked out together in the hotel gym the night after the draft.”
“...Okay?” Ilya is baffled, but he does not remove the knife from Hollander’s neck.
“And… and we played a game against each other earlier today, and I… I wanted to come see you…”
“So you broke into my house?” Ilya asks.
Hollander winces. “Well, I didn’t really break in. —I mean, I didn’t bust out any windows or anything. —Your… your back door was unlocked, so I just… let myself in, you know.” Hollander lets out a very weak laugh.
“My doors are never unlocked,” Ilya replies, and he means it. With the way he lives his life, he cannot be so careless as to leave doors unlocked. He narrows his eyes, getting suspicious now. “You better tell the truth right now before I decide this isn’t worth my time.”
“You’re right!” Hollander admits frantically at the threat. “It wasn’t unlocked. I… I just… I know the code to your house.”
“You know the code to my house,” Ilya repeats slowly.
“Y-yeah.”
“Then what is it?”
And Hollander does proceed to say the correct code to Ilya’s door.
“Hollander…” Ilya begins in a dangerous tone. “Have you been… stalking me?”
“St-stalking?? What? No way!” Hollander replies in a tone that reveals everything Ilya needs to know.
“You are a very bad liar,” Ilya states.
“L-listen, Rozanov, you don’t need to kill me,” Hollander says. “I’ll keep your secret, I swear I will.”
“My secret?” Ilya asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I know you, um… I know you’re…”
“I’m what?”
“I know you’re a serial killer— but-but I’m okay with that! I don’t care!—”
“Oh I think I really gotta kill you now, Hollander,” Ilya states. And he means it. He cannot have someone knowing what he does. Especially if Hollander has been stalking him for who knows how long. Who knows how much Hollander knows at this point. It’ll be a shame to have to kill him, but it’s what has to be done.
“No! No! You don’t have to kill me. I… I can prove to you that I can keep your secret.”
“I’m sorry, Hollander, but I don’t think I can take that risk—”
“You can! You can! Here, I’ll tell you. You can take a video of me sucking your dick— or bouncing on your cock— and then you can use it as leverage over me: you can tell me that if I tell anyone, then you’ll release the footage. That way I’ll neevverrr tell anyone, because then my career would be absolutely over.”
Once again, Ilya is just dumbfounded.
But… hold on…
After a few seconds of pure speechlessness, Ilya remarks, “Hollander… that sounds really specific and well thought-out. Like… it sounds like you thought about this in advance.”
“Well… yeah… I thought about it while I was hiding in the closet…” Hollander replies unconvincingly.
Once again it seems like Hollander is lying. It seems more like Hollander has thought about this, in detail, in the past. —If he has known Ilya is a serial killer for a while, he’s probably had this fucked-up fantasy for a while.
“Hollander…” Ilya begins. “I think you need professional help. Did you seriously break into my house, knowing that you would get caught, just so that you can have this happen? Do you know how fucking dangerous that is?”
“Well… I like danger,” Hollander replies, a grin creeping across his face now.
“I can tell,” Ilya remarks. And, yeah, Ilya feels it now— Hollander is hard underneath him, while Ilya has a fucking knife to his throat.
Ilya shakes his head. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do here. He will kill Hollander if he has to, but he doesn’t really want to kill Hollander.
“How much do you know? How much have you seen?” Ilya asks, in a more even tone now, now that he’s recovered slightly (emphasis on the word slightly) from the shock of all this.
What Hollander should do here is convince Ilya he has only seen a little bit, only knows bits and pieces of the truth. But instead Hollander decides to tell him exactly who his last three kills were, two of which are not even known to the public yet.
Ilya takes a deep breath.
“Hollander are you fucking stupid?” he asks, and he means it.
“I can be anything you want me to be. I can be a stupid mindless cockslut if that’s what you want.”
What the fuck is even going on right now. Ilya must be dreaming. He must be.
…But you know what… fuck it.
Ilya gets up off Hollander, hauling him to his feet. Hollander’s eyes go wide, but there is way more excitement in them than there is fear.
“Come on,” Ilya orders gruffly, grabbing Hollander by the arm and pulling him in the direction of the bedroom. Hollander lets himself be led and does not resist whatsoever.
Once in there, Ilya sets the knife on the dresser and then turns to face him.
“Convince me, Hollander. Convince me that you are not a threat to me, and there is no way for you to tell the police about me because there are no thoughts in your head at all except for how much you want my cock.”
Hollander just drops to his fucking knees, immediately coming forward and pressing his face against Ilya’s bulge.
Oh. That’s effective.
Hollander’s eyes are already half-lidded and hazy as he mouths at Ilya’s cock over the rough fabric of his jeans.
“You’re so fucking stupid, aren’t you?” Ilya asks, bringing a hand to the back of Hollander’s head, running his hand through his short, black hair. “You know, these are the pants I wore while I killed that person.”
In response, Hollander pushes his face harder against Ilya’s bulge, now beginning to take a fat lick of the fabric.
Ilya finds himself chuckling. “Wow.”
As if wanting to surprise him even further, Hollander’s hands come up to swiftly undo Ilya’s pants, then tuck his fingers in the waistband to pull them down along with his underwear.
Ilya is… half-hard right now. He began to get hard when Hollander started mouthing at his bulge. Hollander takes him into his mouth, being able to fit the full thing since Ilya is not fully hard right now, and Hollander moans the instant he has Ilya’s cock in his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Wow. Breaking into the house of a serial killer just so you can get a cock in your mouth,” Ilya remarks. “You are a little cockslut, aren’t you?”
“Mm-hmm,” Hollander responds, moving his head up and down his shaft.
Ilya rapidly hardens at the feel of that wet warmth enveloping his length. Soon, Hollander can’t fit the whole thing in his mouth, since Ilya is quite large.
Up until now, Ilya has been keeping his touch light on the back of Hollander’s head, just resting his hand there and not guiding his movements at all, but now, seeing that Hollander is having difficulty swallowing his whole length, Ilya decides to help him out.
Ilya presses Hollander’s head down on his shaft, forcing him to take his cock into his throat. Hollander gags when he reaches the base of it, all nine inches of Ilya’s cock in his mouth, and he reflexively tries to pull off, but Ilya doesn’t let him, keeping his hand firm on the back of his head.
“Nope,” Ilya shakes his head. “You wanted this cock, so now you get to have it.”
At this, Hollander relaxes, no longer trying to pull off Ilya’s cock. His throat relaxes as well, getting used to having something so big in it.
“There you go,” Ilya coos, pulling Hollander’s mouth a few inches up his length, then all the way back down again. Ilya lets go of Hollander’s hair, and Hollander repeats the movements on his own, taking Ilya’s cock all the way into his mouth each time.
“That’s right. You gotta suck my dick properly if you want me to spare your life. Gotta prove you can be a good cockwhore for me.”
At this, Hollander moans, picking up speed. He’s good at this. He’s not extremely skillful— he must not hook up with men very often— but it seems like he has a few times. Or, hell, maybe he even practices with a dildo. Ilya wouldn’t put it past him. Either way, it feels amazing, the way he’s working Ilya’s cock with his lips and tongue.
But Ilya remembers… something Hollander asked for earlier…
Ilya takes his phone out of his back pocket, opening the camera app.
Hollander looks up when he feels Ilya’s movements and notices the phone camera pointed at him.
He sucks him harder.
“Shane Hollander,” Ilya says as he begins the video, making sure the camera has a good view of what’s going on. “Sucking my cock after you lost to us earlier today. How much more pathetic could you get?”
Hollander moans, high-pitched and desperate, at Ilya’s words.
Ilya grabs the back of Hollander’s head again, pushing him forcefully down his length so he gags again, on camera this time.
“Fucking gagging on my cock. But you love it, don’t you.”
Hollander looks up at the camera this time, his deep brown eyes watery but so full of lust. The answer is clear just from the look in them, but he utters a sound of confirmation anyway.
Ilya lets him up, letting go of his head, and Hollander resumes his movements, sucking him so eagerly, so hungrily.
“Just can’t get enough, can you? Just a greedy cockwhore.”
As if to punctuate his statement, Hollander gets more liberal with the sounds he’s making on Ilya’s shaft, slurping and sucking on it obscenely, moaning pornographically. It has Ilya’s toes curling against the carpet, his balls tightening up.
Oh, speaking of balls… Ilya grabs Hollander’s hair, pulling him roughly off his cock, then shoves his greedy mouth against his balls. Hollander immediately begins lapping at them, sucking them into his mouth. First one, then the other, then both.
Ilya’s about to fucking cum all over the place. He has never had someone act like this, so desperate for him.
“Fuck, Hollander,” he breathes out.
Hollander takes his balls out of his mouth so he can drag them across his face, lapping at them as he does so, getting his own saliva all over himself. And his eyes are closed, his face so full of bliss.
Holy fucking shit. The sight is too much, Ilya feels the pleasure building inside him, and he is teetering on the edge.
One of Hollander’s hands reaches down to rub himself over his pants. Ilya can see how his cock is straining against the fabric. He wonders if he is getting close too.
“You gonna cum, Hollander?” Ilya asks him.
Hollander is lapping at his shaft again, his free hand coming up to grip the base. “Uh-huh,” Hollander answers.
“You gonna cum while you suck me off?”
“Mmmm. Want to cum while you cum on my face.”
Oh fuck.
Ilya replaces Hollander’s hand with his own, beginning to stroke his shaft up and down. Hollander continues licking the tip, lapping at the slit and the beads of precum that form there, and he speeds up with how he’s rubbing himself over his pants.
“I can’t believe you’re going to cum like this. That Shane Hollander is going to cream his pants while sucking Ilya Rozanov’s cock.”
Hollander moans loudly, his breathing quickening. He rubs himself faster too. He’s getting close, Ilya can tell. And Ilya is getting close as well. His fingers twitching where they grasp his phone, his own breathing getting shaky, ragged, that wonderful pleasure building, building—
With a groan, Ilya finishes, the pleasure washing over him as the orgasm hits him. Hot cum spurts from his tip, landing so beautifully on Hollander’s waiting tongue, and perfect lips, and freckled cheeks.
Hollander’s eyes roll back in his head, a loud, fucked-out moan coming from his lips as he, no doubt, cums in his pants at the feeling of Ilya’s warm, thick release landing on his face.
“Is this what you fucking wanted, Hollander?” Ilya manages to ask, despite the pleasure racking his body.
“Yes, yes,” Hollander rasps out, moaning so deliciously, firmly grinding the heel of his hand against his bulge. Ilya can see the wet spot forming there.
“Oh, fuck, Hollander,” Ilya moans. He strokes every last drop of cum from his cock, Hollander lapping up the weaker spurts with his tongue before they can roll down his shaft.
Finally, when Ilya’s cock begins to flag and he begins to come down from that amazing orgasm, he catches his breath for a few moments, and then ends the video.
Hollander looks at him with a grin, still on his knees, and then starts swiping up Ilya’s release from his cheeks with his fingers before bringing him to his mouth and sucking the cum off the digits. He makes eye contact with Ilya the whole time he does it, and Ilya thinks he might cum again.
“I told you I could be a good cockslut for you,” he says.
“Oh I’m not done with you yet,” Ilya remarks. “Stand up and strip for me.”
Hollander quickly obeys, getting to his feet and taking his clothes off. With each article of clothing he takes off, he folds them and lays them neatly on the dresser.
Wow, his body is gorgeous. …And it seems it’s allll Ilya’s.
“Lay on the bed, on your stomach,” Ilya instructs. And Hollander does so, Ilya taking off his clothes as well.
Hollander perks up his hips for him as Ilya approaches. Ilya is about to grab lube from the nightstand to start getting him ready, but then he sees Hollander is wearing a butt plug.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me, Hollander,” Ilya states, staring in shock for a moment before he gets on the bed and positions himself behind him. “You’ve been wearing a butt plug this whole time??”
“Well, yeah, I didn’t know how tonight was going to go, so I wanted to be prepared.”
Ilya is baffled. Maybe, despite his evil-doings, he has been blessed. Blessed with this wonderful, freaky man delivered right into his hands.
Ilya grabs the plug, beginning to fuck it in and out of him, pulling it most of the way out before sliding it back in. And he’s not exactly being gentle either, as Hollander’s hole is already wet and relaxed. Hollander begins to writhe at this, of course, his fingers clenching the sheets and a ragged moan coming from his lips.
“Ohhh, Hollander,” Ilya begins. “I don’t think you know what you’ve gotten yourself into. I hope you aren’t too attached to your teammates, because you’re not going back with them to Montreal tomorrow.”
“I’m-I’m not?” Hollander stutters out, the pleasure causing him to have a difficult time speaking.
Ilya laughs, even as he continues to work his hole. “I’m shocked you think you would. No… you’re going to stay here, with me. Now that I got such a wonderful cockslut… a wonderful cockslut who breaks into my house just so he can have my cock… sucks me off… lets me cum on his face… creams his pants for me… wears a plug so I don’t have to waste time getting him ready… how am I supposed to let him go?”
Hollander just moans in response, burying his face in the pillow.
“Oh, come on, Hollander. What did you think was going to happen? That you were going to reveal to me that you know my deepest, darkest secret, and then I was just going to let you go afterwards? No, Hollander, that’s not what’s going to happen.”
Ilya’s cock is fully hard again, so he takes out the plug, discarding it on the bed, and then replaces it with all nine inches of his shaft.
A strangled noise tears from Hollander’s lips as Ilya sheathes his cock inside him. And fuck he feels so good, his tight walls squeezing Ilya’s cock.
“Ohhh. Yeah. You’re not going home,” Ilya declares, beginning to thrust.
“Rozanov, Rozanov,” Hollander pants, his voice strained. Ilya isn’t going fast (he does not want to hurt him), but he’s not going as slow as he usually would when someone takes him for the first time.
“What? Is that too much for you?” Ilya asks. “Should have thought about that before you made yourself my cockslut. Now you take what I give you.”
Hollander groans raggedly, letting his head flop against the pillow again, seemingly resigning to his fate.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Ilya asks.
“Yes,” comes Hollander’s voice, muffled against the pillow.
Ilya makes a noise of approval, and then begins fucking him harder, that gorgeous ass bouncing each time Ilya’s thighs smack against it, Hollander making so many beautiful noises as well.
“Better get used to it then. Because now I get to have you annyy time I want you. That needy mouth or this perfect hole.”
“Yes, Rozanov,” Hollander breathes out. He seems to have relaxed more now, his body gotten used to Ilya’s massive cock inside him.
Ilya grips his hips, hauling him back against him to meet his thrusts, and Ilya’s not going to last much longer. Based on his moans, it seems like Hollander isn’t going to last much longer either.
“Gonna cum for me again?” Ilya asks him.
“Yes, I’m so close,” Hollander rasps out, but he doesn’t reach down to stroke himself. —Oh, he’s going to cum untouched.
“Oh yeah? Gonna cum from my cock in your ass? From me fucking you? Like you’ve been wanting sooo bad?”
“Yes, Rozanov, I’m gonna— I’m gonna—”
And then he does.
Hollander cries out, his hole suddenly clenching and spasming around Ilya’s shaft, his cock spurting all over the bedsheets below him, absolutely painting them with his release. It tips Ilya over the edge as well, a loud moan tumbling from his lips as the pleasure crashes over him, even stronger than when he came earlier, with Hollander’s walls squeezing his length so perfectly.
Ilya fucks him through both their orgasms, filling him up, his cock throbbing inside him.
When Ilya feels himself begin to come down, the aftershocks beginning to roll over him, he pulls out, and admires his handiwork: Hollander’s hole puffy from being fucked, Ilya’s release leaking out of it.
“Should take a picture of that too,” Hollander slurs out with his cheek against the pillow. “For more leverage.”
What a great idea.
Ilya grabs his phone from the nightstand and takes a photo, first a close-up of Hollander’s ass, then a pic of his full body, including his face, which is so flushed, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted. There’s sweat rolling down his incredible back muscles too. Then he takes a third photo, of Hollander’s whole body again, but this time with Ilya’s hand splayed on his asscheek.
Ilya’s gonna fucking love jacking off to these pictures later. He loves how thoroughly claimed Hollander looks, his body ravaged, his hole leaking Ilya’s spend.
But… he’s not quite done with him yet.
Grinning, Ilya gets up and grabs the knife from the dresser. Hollander doesn’t see him do it, as he is still laying on his stomach.
“Flip over,” Ilya directs, and when Hollander does so, his eyes widen when he sees the knife in Ilya’s hand.
“Don’t worry,” Ilya says in response, and for some reason unknown to man, Hollander trusts him, his body relaxing.
Ilya sits on Hollander’s thighs to hold him down, and then brings the knife’s blade to Hollander’s skin, just below his abs. “Now stay very still. I’ll just do my first name so that it hurts less.”
“Rozanov!” Hollander says in protest when Ilya makes the first cut. But it’s not to tell him that it hurts, or that he shouldn’t do something so fucked-up. It’s to say, “My teammates are going to see!”
“Oh hush, you wanted this. And besides, your teammates aren’t going to be seeing you for a while anyway.”
Hollander doesn’t say anything else, but lots of ragged noises tumble from his lips as Ilya carves his name into his skin. He’s not cutting deep; just enough to leave red lines on his flesh that spell out Илья, which is “Ilya” in Cyrillic.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ilya asks, sitting up and removing the blade from his skin.
Hollander looks down at the word and moans, his spent cock twitching.
Wow, he really is freaky.
Satisfied, Ilya flops down on the bed beside him, and Hollander rolls onto his side to face him.
“I wish I could stay and cuddle,” Ilya says after a moment, “but I have a body to get rid of. You kinda interrupted that earlier.”
“Can I come?” Hollander asks, his face lighting up.
Ilya frowns in mild disturbance at how excited he is about that. “No,” he replies. “I can’t have you seeing how—”
“You dispose of the bodies by bringing them with you on your boat, and then dumping them in the ocean miles off-shore.”
…
Wow. Hollander’s stalking skills are impressive, if disturbing— that Hollander had been stalking Ilya all this time and Ilya never noticed. It’s… admirable.
“Fine. I guess you can come then,” Ilya concedes, getting up off the bed.
Hollander gets up as well, grabbing his clothes from where he folded them, beginning to put them on hastily.
Ilya stares at him for a while as he gets dressed, at his eagerness, and his trust.
“This could be a trap, you know,” Ilya says to him. “I could be taking you out on my boat so I can kill you out there and dump your body in the ocean.”
But instead of any sort of normal response, a wide grin forms on Hollander’s face, a devious glimmer appearing in his eye. “Ohhh, don’t say that, Rozanov. Or you’re just gonna get me going again, and then we’ll never leave.”
Oh my God. Ilya lets out a sigh. What has he gotten himself into?