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In hockey, a hat trick is when a single player scores three times in the same game. Other sports have something similiar. Cricket. Horse racing.
"Oh fuck!" Shane cries out. Another orgasm ripping through him. His third. He has no idea how he has so much cum decorating his chest, but more of it keeps spurting out. Long ribbons splashing all the way to his chin.
His last release is still dripping down his sides and, above him, Ilya couldn't be more smug. Grin wide, and manic, as he slams back in, sheathing himself in Shane's clenching hole.
So fucking big. Hitting right where Shane likes it. Ilya finally finishes with a groan, collapsing on top of Shane. Claiming his lips immediately, the two of them panting against each others mouth.
"Told you," Ilya chuckles, nipping at Shane's lip, "I can do hat trick, on ice and off." Later, when his lungs aren't burning and his head stops spinning, Shane will roll his eyes, dispute his argument.
For now, he just hums and laces his fingers through Ilya's damp curls, his body still trembling. So is Ilya though. Overexerted, to match Shane's overstimulated.
"Next time," Shane huffs and slaps at Ilya's arm, "Don't do that before our game." He groans, back arching, aching. "You're such an asshole."
Ilya grins, knocking their foreheads together, "But you like it." Shane steals another kiss to silence him.
He's right, of course, but Shane has no intention of admiting that any time soon. Probably.