Chapter Text
November 2021 — Winnipeg
Being on the same team as Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander was more amazing than Luca could have ever imagined. Except for when you ended up in a hotel room next to theirs during a road trip.
There were about two hours until curfew and Luca was alone in his room; Dykstra had gone out to catch up with an old friend. Luca had been planning to mess around in his sketchbook or get some extra sleep. And then the sounds began.
In their defense, Rozanov and Hollander probably didn't realize anybody would be able to hear them right now. Winnipeg wasn't exactly known for being exciting, but there was an arcade near their hotel that looked surprisingly fun and most of the guys had decided to check it out after dinner. That knowledge combined with the way the team always tried to arrange for the NHL's first married couple to have a room at the end of a hallway meant the odds of anyone being around to hear them were quite low.
And yet, there Luca sat, spine stiff and eyes wide.
It had started with a dull thump, like something (or someone) colliding with the shared wall. Could've been just a duffel bag or anything, really. The noises that followed were unfortunately a lot more distinct: a moan, quickly joined by a slightly deeper moan.
Luca knew he should find his earbuds or get his shoes back on and go see if the arcade was as cool as the guys were hoping. Instead, he was frozen in place on his bed, face heating as he continued listening to his captain making out with their newest teammate.
He'd been hoping that his embarrassing infatuation would lessen with time and exposure to Rozanov under the less glamorous conditions that came with hockey. As it turned out, a full season with the Centaurs, seeing Rozanov spitting phlegm all the time, and being within smelling distance of his sweat-soaked gear hadn't dulled his crush very much. The man was simply too charming and so goddamn hot. Hollander also looked like he could be a model for cologne ads. It was truly unfair. Everything would be much easier if his teammates were all unattractive oafs. Or if he was straight.
His body's response to the sounds coming from next door was an unnecessary confirmation that he was most definitely not straight. He grew harder in his sweatpants as the masculine groans got louder.
The sounds paused for long enough to make Luca think one of them had pointed out that they should be quieter. He let out a grateful breath and grabbed his sketchbook to force his mind to more wholesome subjects. Apparently, though, the pause was only because they were switching things up over there.
The next several minutes consisted of the low rumble of Rozanov's voice speaking indistinctly and Hollander sounding more and more desperate. Luca dutifully ignored his erection and tried to sketch Thor. Somehow, his version of Thor ended up shirtless with a bird tattooed near his left shoulder and a snarling bear on his left pec. God fucking damn it.
The sketchbook was unceremoniously shoved back into Luca's bag. He didn't want to be enjoying this. It was probably messed up to listen to people having sex, especially if you knew the people in question. But the noises they were making were turning him on so badly that he'd be awake all night unless he did something about it.
Cringing and contemplating what size donation to the Irina Foundation could possibly make up for his impending actions, Luca tugged his pants down and finally squeezed his neglected dick. The relief outweighed the guilt. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to listen as he began to move his hand.
Whatever dirty things Rozanov was saying were still impossible to make out, but his tone was sultry. If Luca had to guess, which would be completely inappropriate to do, he'd say Rozanov was probably preparing to top Hollander. God, what must it be like to get fucked by Rozanov? He was so strong and confident, but also had a soft heart. He would take good care of his partner, never being too rough for them to handle. Luca almost whimpered but caught himself before any sound escaped his throat. He'd have to change his name and move back to Switzerland if Rozanov or Hollander found out what he was doing.
The noises briefly paused again and Luca held his breath with anticipation. Was Hollander getting on his hands and knees now? Or would they be face-to-face, Rozanov's giant hands gripping his husband's hips? Hollander could even be straddling Rozanov's lap. He couldn't tell which option was hottest. Soon enough, Rozanov cried out in a way that indicated he had likely slid his cock into Hollander, who made a needy sound that got a little louder as Rozanov, presumably, got deeper.
Luca was probably going to hell for this, but he ignored that thought and kept stroking himself. He'd never realized it was possible to get so worked up from just audio. The moans on the other side of the wall developed a pattern and he timed his strokes with the tempo of Rozanov's thrusts.
Hollander came first. Luca wasn't sure if it was that sound of release or the way Rozanov seemed to praise him for it that triggered his own orgasm. He sat there panting with cum on his hand for a few moments until he heard Rozanov's final grunt, then awkwardly shuffled to the bathroom to clean up.
What was the English phrase people used for this feeling? Post-nut clarity? That was definitely hitting him as he dealt with the aftermath of his voyeurism. He was definitely donating to the Irina Foundation. And maybe volunteering to help at their camps next summer if they'd take him.
The next day — Canada Life Centre
Luca had not been at his best tonight. Hockey was very much a physical game, but your mental state could have a big impact on the way you play. He was still reeling a bit from the fact that he'd overheard his captain fucking a teammate and not only listened to it, but gotten off because of it. He'd been having trouble looking at either of them all day and was terrified Rozanov was going to notice. He was annoyingly perceptive.
Despite Luca's off night, the Centaurs managed to win and the mood was celebratory in the dressing room. He did his best to seem normal and carefree as he tugged off all his gear and headed to the showers, pleading with the universe that he wouldn't have to interact with either of the men he'd jerked off to.
The universe decided to laugh in his face. Rozanov entered the showers shortly after Luca and chose to use a shower right by him.
"Haas, is something wrong? You have been weird."
God in heaven, did they have to have this conversation while naked and wet?
"No, just in a strange mood. Didn't sleep well last night." He'd used the first excuse that came to mind and instantly regretted it. He turned to give Rozanov some reassuring eye contact and a hopefully-not-deranged smile, but his eyes snagged on a smallish purple mark on the side of his neck. He forced himself to meet Rozanov's eyes, pushed his lips into approximately the right shape, then turned his attention back to cleaning himself.
That went well, he thought sarcastically. The only way he could fuck this up even more was if— Luca glanced down. Son of a bitch.
Seeing the hickey Hollander left last night had dragged his brain into a very dirty place, even as it was panicking about trying to convince Rozanov everything was fine. Worst multitasking ever. He bent to rub soap on his shins (because shins are obviously an area of concern when washing off the sweat of a hockey game) and concentrated on the idea of sad, hungry kittens in a damp cardboard box on a dingy sidewalk. God, what a disaster he was.
"Mm. Can be tricky to get enough rest on the road. Sometimes the conditions are not what we would like."
Lonely kittens. They need someone to go rescue them.
Luca straightened, fully aware that he was still probably blushing but hoping it could be passed off as exertion remaining from the game. "Yes. I'm sure I'll sleep better tonight." He finished rinsing himself and turned off the water, moving at what he hoped was a casual pace instead of fleeing like he wanted to. "See you on the plane!"