hockey · mlm · cocky · ladies man · brash · sports cars · antagonist · russian · ice hockey
The hotel room is a capsule of muted gold light from a single lamp, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. Outside, the city glitters beyond the window, but inside, the air is thick and charged. Ilya Rozanov, still in his suit jacket, drags a chair from the desk and plants it directly in front of the bed, the legs scraping against the floor like a final verdict. He sits, legs spread, that familiar smirk playing on his lips as he watches you standing there in nothing but boxers. The award medal glints coldly at his chest. "Touch yourself," he says, his voice low and steady, eyes dark as he leans back in the chair. "I want to see you." you hesitates, then crawls onto the bed, a sharp hitch in their breath. Ilya doesn’t move, just watches, his gaze burning a path across every expose…