Work Text:
December 26th, 2016
6:15 AM
It was the day after Christmas, and nothing stirred all through Shane’s apartment. The sun had not yet begun to rise, so the only light shone from his electric fireplace. Flames illuminated the room and cast shadows that twirled like sugar plum fairies along the walls.
As he reached over to his nightstand to grab his phone, Shane adjusted himself against the headboard to read the new e-mails that had popped up overnight. The MLH had a mandatory three-day break from December 24th to December 26th. No e-mails or communication regarding hockey were allowed during this time, but that did not stop the brands, or his mother, from working overtime.
Turning the phone on, he was temporarily blinded first by the bright light and then, promptly after, nearly killed by the first message on his phone.
From Lily, 25 DEC 2016 // 9:57 PM
Merry Christmas!
“What,” Shane paused as he opened the message, “the fuck.”
He hadn’t spoken to “Lily” in over a month and a half. Not after the paparazzi had captured pictures of him and Rose Landry running around the city. Ilya had stopped double texting, and Shane had made a conscious decision that he was not going to send any messages back. He had Rose now; she was his priority.
From Shane, 26 DEC 2016 // 6:19 AM
Don’t text me again.
“No,” he muttered under his breath as he erased the message. That message was too blunt, and, whether Shane wanted to admit it or not, he wanted Ilya to continue texting him.
From Shane, 26 DEC 2016 // 6:22 AM
Merry Christmas.
He jammed the backspace button repeatedly, clearing his second draft. He didn’t want Ilya to have a Merry day-after-Christmas. The Boston hockey player was not supposed to be sending texts that complicated things further.
From Shane, 26 DEC 2016 // 6:29 AM
Asshole.
Annoyed, he erased his message once more as he squeezed his phone tightly. Shane’s knuckles turned white as he bored holes into the screen. What was he even supposed to say to something so nonchalant and incredibly inappropriate?
As if he was marked by a cruel demon, a text notification popped up, interrupting his thoughts. Without reading the message, Shane slammed his thumb onto the bubble and the new conversation appeared.
From Rose, 26 DEC 2016 // 6:29 AM
Good morning! I hope you had a good Christmas with your parents. 😁 Early shoot today. Can’t believe they’re making me work! Are you free tonight?
Inhale.
He held his breath for a moment as his cheeks flustered. His freckled face turned pink from the tips of his nose to the ends of his ears.
Exhale.
What if I just exploded right now?
Shane took his phone and gently placed it face down beside him on the bed. He closed his eyes as he rocked his hips back and forth, thumping his head against the headboard once.
He recollected himself after five minutes and picked up his phone again, opening the messages app. Staring at the two top texts, his thumb hovered over “Lily,” then Rose, and then Lily again, switching every few seconds.
“Fuck,” he swore.
Without realizing it, he had pulled up one of his hoodie strings and began to chew on it. He winced in pain when he bit down on his bottom lip with too much force but continued to gnaw as he tapped the edge of the phone.
Another deep breath before Shane sent a response.
From Shane, 26 DEC 2016 // 6:41 AM
You too.
He wanted to hurl his phone across the room. Pulling his hoodie string out of his mouth, Shane sighed exasperatedly before running a hand down his chest to soothe himself. A distracting pressure had steadily begun to build in his waist, and he shifted his thighs, only then registering the heat gathering between his legs.
“Shit,” he breathed. His gaze dropped as his free hand drifted down to confirm the hard-on growing in his sweatpants.
He could almost hear Ilya taunt him. “Merry Christmas,” Hollander? Wooow.
Desperately, Shane returned to his phone and looked at Rose’s message but struggled to form a response. His fingers pressed into his thigh as his brown doe-like eyes glossed over. After a moment, he swiped her message away and turned off his phone, placing it carefully on the nightstand.
Shane sat still for a minute too long, staring at the space in front of him. Suddenly, he turned and slid off the bed, wincing as the cold hardwood floor met his feet.
He stripped, leaving folded clothes beside his phone before climbing back onto the mattress. When his hand settled against his now bare skin, he sucked in a deep breath, shoulders going rigid.
Shane took both his hands and gripped the bed sheets. He flexed his leg muscles, trying to calm his erection, but his body betrayed him as heat continued to rush through his stomach.
Flashes of Ilya on his couch in Boston surfaced uninvited. Legs spread apart, confident and aroused. One hand wrapped around himself, and the other typing out the text without regard for the effect it would have on Shane.
Of course, Shane had no doubts that Ilya had intended for this to happen. He knew exactly how to make him spiral. Before the games, after them, and sometimes during.
Fuck.
Shane’s grip loosened on his bed sheets as he cursed underneath his breath once more. In a dire attempt to save himself from the inevitable, he placed a hand on his thigh and dug his nails into his skin. His attempts only further reminded his body of memories it shouldn’t have kept. Familiar, calloused hands pulling Shane closer, pressing them together, Ilya deeper into him.
It was always Ilya, even when it couldn’t be him.
Shane flattened his claws and dragged a frustrated breath through his nose as he rubbed the mark he’d left behind. The sting faded into something warm, and his hand moved slowly, stroking his shaft.
Relief washed over his body as he touched himself, and he fell into a daze, sinking deep into the mattress. His other hand fell to the base of his dick, and a quiet moan escaped his lips. Reason slipped out of reach, leaving only an instinctive desire that took control.
“Rozanov…”
Shane’s hips bucked off the mattress as he choked out his rival’s name. Shamelessly, he spread his legs wide, letting a finger trail below his penis and circle his entrance.
He could feel Ilya’s eyes watching him.
“Oh fuck—!”
His breath hitched as he suddenly came, spilling over his chest as he continued to pump his fist. The overstimulation caused his body to jerk, and he let out a quiet whimper before falling flat on the bed.
Cheeks flushed, he forced himself to breathe as hands fell to the bed, splayed out in exhaustion. The silence of his apartment weighed heavily as he stared at the ceiling, the firelight flickering too brightly against his eyes, before his phone vibrated.
For once in his life, Shane didn’t feel inclined to check his phone immediately.
Instead, he sat up and began to clean up his mess. Whoever messaged him would have to wait.