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Once upon a time, Ilya had been able to take as long as he wanted to cool down after practice. He used to stay late, picking up cones and chatting with the coaches or helping rookies run drills. Then, he’d pedal on the elliptical bike until his knees felt like they’d pop right out of his legs. Only then, when he could barely stand, would Ilya drag himself to the shower and then back to his empty house, where he might be able to FaceTime his husband if he were lucky.
Like most good things, though, that has come to an end. Ilya still tries to stay late and be helpful, and to properly cool down after failing to score on Wyatt for the entirety of practice. The only difference is that his number of husbands has multiplied, and if he’d thought Shane Hollander was a handful on his own, the addition of Troy Barrett keeps him busy ninety-eight percent of the time.
His phone buzzes on the control panel for the bike, and Ilya doesn’t have to look away from his reflection in the gym mirror to know who it is.
Troy: Practice ended two hours ago
A smile forces its way onto his lips as Ilya reaches for his phone.
Ilya: Is that why the arena is empty?
He’s barely had time to set his phone down before another text comes through.
Troy: When are you coming home?
Even after a year with Troy in their California King bed, seeing the word home in a text from Troy Barrett of all people is enough to get Ilya’s body right back to an unhealthy temperature.
Ilya: Which one did you lose, Shane or Anya?
The bike is already slowing by the time Troy replies.
Troy: Fuck off
Troy: Someone needs you
Troy: [Image]
Ilya almost falls off the bike as the picture loads in the text thread. It’s a picture of Troy in their bed, with Shane’s face nuzzled into the crotch of Troy’s black sweatpants. Troy’s hand is in Shane’s hair, and the sight of his knees on either side of Shane’s head has his cock immediately thickening.
Ilya: No one is naked until I am home
He doesn’t stop to shower, grabbing his duffel bag from the bench in front of his stall in the locker room and running straight past a confused janitor on his way to the parking lot. Before Troy, he wouldn’t have to worry about Shane getting ahead of himself and ruining the fun before Ilya gets home. If there is one thing they both like, it’s Shane whiny and desperate, and Ilya the right amount of wound up to give him everything he needs after making him beg for it. And, if he’s told to keep his pants on, he does.
Troy, though, likes to push buttons on and off the ice. One of the worst things to come out of welcoming him into the Centaurs' fold is the fact that a relaxed Troy Barrett is an absolute menace. On and off the ice, he calls Ilya on almost every single bluff, poking and chirping until Ilya has no choice but to do something about it.
He loves it – loves them. And as he pulls into the driveway to find Shane’s car haphazardly parked, he knows Troy started this long before sending that text message.
The house is quiet when he finally forces himself through the front door. Anya looks up at him from her spot on the couch before yawning and going back to her nap, apparently happy to pretend nothing is happening on the second floor. Ilya drops his keys on the table and makes for the stairs, pulling his shirt off and tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. The closer he gets to the bedroom, the more clearly he can hear Shane whining. Troy was smart enough to leave the door open, already looking up by the time Ilya reaches the threshold.
He knows what Troy is going to say the moment he opens his mouth.
“You said we couldn’t be naked.”
Shane stiffens in his position between Troy’s legs, his fingers gripping onto the sheets as he pulls off Troy’s cock. They are both still technically clothed, with Troy’s sweats pulled down just enough to let Shane do what he does best. On one hand, Ilya can’t blame Troy – he’d do the same thing. Shane’s mouth is twenty percent of the reason he’s in Ottawa at all.
On the other hand, though, this is exactly why their arrangement works. Shane tries so hard to be good, Troy enjoys being bad, and Ilya is going nowhere.
“I’m sor–”
“Is okay, Shane.” Ilya stops at the foot of the bed, reaching out to run a hand through Shane’s hair. “I don’t blame you.”
Troy’s smirk and the languid way he strokes himself in the absence of Shane’s mouth says he’s perfectly happy to take the blame.
“I told you,” Troy drags his eyes to Shane, who glares back at him, though there isn’t any real anger to it. Ilya knows Shane will be more than happy to help him pay Troy back.
“I know you think this is funny,” Ilya says, letting his hand slide down the back of Shane’s neck, between his shoulders, and then further to the hem of his shirt. “But, in five minutes, you will not be laughing.”
He pulls Shane’s shirt up, and Shane lifts his hands so Ilya can take it off and toss it to the floor. A gentle push is all Shane needs to fall back into his previous position, his back arched just the way Ilya likes.
“Suck him off, Shane,” Ilya instructs as he climbs onto the bed behind him. “Stop every time he is about to come. You can do that for me, yes?”
Troy is still smiling when Shane obeys, and Ilya keeps their gazes locked as he reaches out to slide Shane’s gym shorts and underwear off. Shane’s cock is already leaking onto the sheets as Ilya runs his hands up the backs of his legs to his ass – his perfect, obedient ass that takes everything Ilya gives it without complaint.
Their bed has never looked better, with Shane naked and working Troy’s cock with his mouth, hole exposed as Troy lies there still fully clothed. Ilya lets them carry on for a moment like that, ghosting his finger along Shane’s rim and forcing himself not to palm as his erection through his shorts. This isn’t about him, after all. It’s about the guy whose hands are moving toward the waistline of his pants, trying to push them down to give Shane more room.
“The pants stay on,” Ilya says, enjoying the way Troy’s hips thrust up into Shane’s mouth at his words. “I did not say you were going to be naked, did I?”
There’s a bottle of lube by the pillow next to Troy’s head, and Ilya lets his hands explore Shane’s back as he reaches for it. Once his fingers wrap around the bottle, Ilya pulls back and pops open the cap. Troy bites back a moan and throws his head back against the pillows, breaking eye contact. That just won’t do.
“First, you get Shane so worked up he can’t park properly,” Ilya says as he coats a finger with lube and begins to work his way into Shane’s hole. “Then, you make me come home just to see that you could not even wait fifteen minutes.”
“Practice ended hours ago,” Troy complains, his voice breaking as Shane moans around him from the feeling of Ilya’s finger expertly finding his prostate.
“How many of those hours did you spend winding Shane up?” Ilya asks, giving Shane a few passes with one finger before adding a second.
“I– fuck–!”
Troy groans as Shane pulls off him, following Ilya’s instructions like the good boy that he is.
“All of them,” Shane says, more than willing to throw Troy under the bus as he presses back against Ilya’s fingers, urging them deeper, faster. “He kept sticking his thumb in my mouth until I– I couldn’t help it.”
A new wave of annoyance hits Ilya at the fact that he hadn’t been there to watch. He loves it when Troy teases Shane until he’s begging for both of them, too turned on to think about anything except being filled.
“Says the one who– God, yes!” Shane’s mouth is back on Troy, and Ilya knows that he needs to get inside Shane now if he wants to remain in control of the situation. If Troy sees any leeway in his composure, it’s over.
“Put your fingers in his mouth, Shane. I’m tired of his excuses.”
Shane obeys, and Ilya shoves his shorts down just enough to free his cock so that he can get inside Shane before his compliance and Troy’s brattiness undoes him completely. Between the two of them, it’s a miracle he’s remained out of prison and mostly sane. Still, as he starts to sink into Shane’s hole, he can’t help but think that every bit of this is worth it, and he wouldn’t change a single thing.
“Fuck, you both look so good like this.” It’s true. Ilya is, for better or worse, the single luckiest man alive. “I love it when you just can’t wait for me.”
The slow rhythm that Ilya sets as he fucks into Shane has Shane’s mouth moving over Troy in a way that goes straight to Ilya’s head, voiding it of any coherent thoughts. This – his cock buried in his first love’s ass, his second love with one hand in Shane’s hair and the other fisting the bed sheets – is what he’d been waiting for his entire life.
As he increases his pace, unable to keep himself back for very long, Troy starts to thrust up into Shane’s mouth, matching Ilya movement for movement so that Shane is never empty. It must do the same thing to Troy that it does to Ilya, because he twists his head so that Shane’s fingers slip from between his lips.
“Fuck, I’m– no, Shane–”
Shane pulls off Troy’s cock with an unhappy whine, neither of them particularly fond of the rule Ilya gave them. Troy wants to come just as badly as Shane wants to swallow him down, and Ilya should give them what they want. After all, Troy’s bullshit technicality aside, they’ve listened perfectly well since the moment he got home.
“What do you think, Shane?” Ilya asks, his grip on Shane’s hips tightening as he slows just enough to speak without sounding like he’s gasping for air. “Should we let Troy come?”
Shane whimpers, and Ilya understands.
“Will that make you come?”
A nod and a broken yes are the only responses Ilya receives, and they make the decision for him.
“Then make him come, Shane,” Ilya says. “While I fill you up.”
Normally, Shane hates the mess, and typically, Ilya would take the opportunity to mark them both with his cum, but there’s something about how well Shane is working both of them, milking Ilya and Troy for everything they have, that short-circuits his brain.
Troy lets out a choked noise as Shane takes him back into his mouth, and, when he and Troy make eye contact, Ilya feels his orgasm mounting with an increased urgency. It’s close to torture, having to keep a steady rhythm in Shane and not get lost in how tight he is and how well he takes Ilya’s cock.
“Yeah, I’m– fuck, Shane, yes, Ilya–”
They fall after one another like dominoes, with Troy holding Shane in place by his hair as he mumbles both of their names toward the ceiling with his eyes squeezed shut. Shane comes next, pushing back against Ilya’s thrusts as he tries to focus on swallowing and breaking apart at the same time.
When Ilya comes, he almost thinks that he isn’t all that mad that Troy got Shane started without him. If the result is burying himself so deep inside Shane while he comes that he sees stars, while Troy lies beneath them with a glassy look in his eyes and a smile on his lips, then it was undeniably worth it. Troy might be a bad influence, but he speaks to that part of Ilya that enjoys a challenge, and today, all three of them passed with flying colors.
Shane has already collapsed onto the mattress by the time Ilya finds the strength to try and pull himself back to his feet. They need water and towels, and he needs to not trip over the shorts now around his ankles on his way to the bathroom. By the time he makes his way back to the bed, Troy’s ditched his clothes, and Shane has curled his way into Troy’s side, beginning to doze off but not quite gone yet.
“Sorry,” Troy whispers as Ilya climbs back onto the mattress, a towel in one hand and a large glass of water in the other. He sets the water down on the nightstand on Shane’s side of the bed.
“He isn’t,” Shane adds, his voice muffled with his mouth pressed to Troy’s skin. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Neither are you,” Ilya chuckles, taking his time wiping as much of himself off Shane as he can without disturbing him too much. “Troy is a bad influence on you.”
“You’re both a bad influence on me,” Troy argues, nestling deeper into the pillows as Ilya throws the towel in the general direction of the bathroom. “I was innocent until you two showed up in my life.”
“Technically,” Shane adds, no doubt throwing Troy’s words from before Ilya got home back at him. “You walked into his life. It’s me who's been corrupted.”
“We can argue this another time,” Ilya says, finally letting himself fall into bed. He slides an arm beneath Troy’s head, pulling them close and forcing Shane’s hair within touching distance of his fingers. The hand Troy doesn’t have on Shane’s back goes in search of Ilya’s thigh, gently scratching in an idle pattern that has Ilya’s eyes closing. “Right now, I need to sleep. You two exhaust me.”
“You love us, though,” Shane says, his eyes closed and the words quiet.
“I do.” Ilya kisses Troy’s temple before leaning forward in search of Shane’s forehead. “Now, no one wake me unless there is food or an emergency.”
Troy laughs, Shane sighs contentedly, and Ilya’s asleep before he can say anything else.
Once upon a time, Ilya had been able to take as long as he wanted to cool down after practice. Now, he doesn’t know why he insists on staying late at all. Not when he has an innocent and a bad influence to keep entertained.