Chapter Text
Shane was starting to float. Loose and warm.
Not all the way up, not through the ceiling and into the night sky, but maybe a few feet above his head.
One shot and two vodka crans was enough for his intolerant system to slow down and drag behind him a bit. The deep bass from the music playing in the VIP room filled with the team- his team, after they just won the fucking Stanley Cup- was burrowing through his ears and into his brain. He could feel it in his feet, resonating up his legs, through his groin, down his arms, tingling in his fingertips.
Shane’s hand slid up his torso, past where the buttons on his white dress shirt opened up a few inches further than they had an hour ago, to press against his heart. The beat echoed like a second heartbeat and he smiled at the feeling.
Everyone knew that Shane Hollander-Rozanov didn’t get drunk often. It wasn't a restriction he put on himself, or a part of his intense performance diet. He didn’t like to. He liked to feel 100% in control of his body and mind, and he didn’t like that, on the rare occasion when he did partake, that he couldn’t just snap out of it as soon as he wanted to be done.
But tonight was different.
He’d talked extensively about it with Ilya, in the days leading up to the championship game, in the quiet of their bedroom when they felt that speaking another word about hockey would jinx their very real shot at winning. When Shane expressed that, sometimes, seeing the Centaurs celebrate a good game at some club with their partners and friends and strangers, he got envious. Of these men he’d come to call his friends- his family. Dancing and kissing and letting hands wander without a care in the world, happy to be letting others in on their joy and pleasure.
So yeah, they’d talked. Shane knew he would never be fully comfortable with the public affection while sober- not of this caliber. And Ilya worried that Shane not wanting to do it sober meant he didn’t want to do it at all, regardless of his assurances. It took a lot of convincing, but they’d worked it out. Shane wanted to get drunk, and he wanted to make out with his husband in a club after winning the Cup, just like the rest of their teammates. And that’s what he was going to do.
A hand followed his own up to his chest and grasped his fingers. Shane smiled, slow and easy, and opened his eyes to see his beautiful husband in front of him with a fresh drink in hand. Ilya squeezed his hand briefly, then let it slide back down his chest to his waist, curling around his back and pulling him closer.
“Feeling good, champion?”
Shane hummed, low enough that he didn’t think Ilya would have noticed had they not been pressed so tightly together. His smile grew, and he let his head lean forward to rest lightly against Ilya’s. He breathed in his husband’s cologne, deep and musky and fading along with the night, and took his hand off his own chest to trail down the other man’s arm. Cupping his hand around Ilya's, Shane brought the glass up to his own mouth and took a drink.
It was straight vodka, no mixer like Shane needed, and he made a face.
“That’s disgusting.”
Ilya huffed a laugh and pinched at the skin of his hip through his slacks. “Yes, is because it’s supposed to be for me, asshole.” Shane couldn’t help but laugh, smile uninhibited in a way it so rarely was but was almost exclusively reserved for the man in front of him.
“Well, finish it then. I want both your hands.”
Ilya’s amused smile melted into something else. Something excited and aching and undeniably sexy. Shane’s eyes trailed down his body as he slowly began draining the rest of his drink. Ilya’s throat worked around his swallows and Shane followed his bobbing Adam’s apple down to his exposed collarbone, on to the bit of chest hair peaking through the top handful of buttons opened on his silk button-up. He hummed again in appreciation, raising his gaze back to Ilya’s face. His husband had finished his drink and was already staring back at him, eyes dark and steady. His eyes darted over Shane’s shoulder for a second before he walked them backwards a few steps until Shane’s back knocked lightly into the edge of a high-top, where he reached over to abandon his empty glass.
“Both hands, Hollander,” he smirked. “Where do you want them?”
Shane licked his lips and genuinely considered. Sure, Ilya was just teasing him, but he knew that the man would listen if he answered.
“I think,” he started, taking Ilya’s hand in his own from his waist and leading it upwards, “one up here,” and he pushed it into his own hair on the back of his head. Then the other- “And one,” he pulled it to the front of his neck, coaxing the fingers into curling around where his jaw met his throat lightly, “right here,” he exhaled. Then he reached down to wrap his arms around Ilya’s waist, pulling him as close as he could. Their chests and stomachs pushed them even tighter with each deep inhale they took, and Shane splayed his hands wide across Ilya’s back, rubbing up and down slowly. The fabric felt very nice, cool against his warm skin.
Ilya tightened his grip in the hair at Shane’s nape and grasped his chin to tilt his head closer, but stopped with their mouths barely a centimeter apart. Shane knew the man was waiting for him to close the distance, to make it his own choice, but god did he want Ilya to just take it.
“Please,” he whispered into Ilya’s mouth. “Please kiss me.”
“Hmm, you are sure? With all of our teammates and friends around us, you know anyone could look over and see.” With the hand on his jaw, Ilya turned Shane’s head to look out into the crowd surrounding them, breath hot against his cheek. Bood and Cassie in the corner, tall glasses of champagne and smiles as they spoke an inch from each other’s faces. Wyatt laughing as he slapped a grimacing Luca on the back, empty shot glass held far away from the younger man. On the other side of the room, Rose and Svetlana were dancing and talking, hands reaching out to touch arms as they giggled. Troy and Harris were caught in an intimate embrace, swaying and sharing the occasional peck. The others scattered about. Purple and pink lights cut through the dark atmosphere and lit up hordes of other bodies undulating and vibrating.
“And they will,” Ilya continued. “Once they notice, they will not be able to look away from you. Shane Hollander, letting go in public. Taking what he wants and not caring who is watching.” Shane’s breath hitches and he turns his head back to Ilya.
“Or maybe he does care. Maybe he wants them to watch- wants them to know how good he is at pleasing his lover.”
The word that normally made Shane cringe instead sent a zap of heat down his spine. He was done talking.
The first press of their lips was heavenly. Mouths slightly open, but still mostly dry. Ilya’s thumb swept across his chin, back and forth, pushing and pulling at the skin but not taking it any further. The control was in Shane’s hands.
For now, he hoped.
His grip tightened around Ilya’s waist, shirt undoubtedly getting wrinkled between his fingers, but neither cared. He parted his lips further and let his tongue caress the other man’s bottom lip, stomach flipping when Ilya moaned and grasped harder at his hair while pushing his own tongue to meet in the middle. Typically, it was his husband that progressed things- pushed Shane out of his comfort zone, made him feel fuzzy enough to not mind the slick glide of a wet kiss. But right now Shane was already fuzzy, and there was nothing he wanted more than to get a little messy. He pulled away to readjust, eyes fluttering open to take in Ilya’s blissed out face, and decided in that moment that he was going to make sure his husband remembered this night for years to come.
Hands on his hips, Shane looked over Ilya’s shoulder and walked them back to an empty couch against the wall. He pushed the man down and heaved in a breath, fingers tingling and chest burning. The eyes looking up at him were wide with delight and Shane couldn’t help but smile, letting out a chuckle in utter disbelief at himself. Then he climbed on top.
Someone wolf-whistled their way, followed by more cheers and heckling, but Shane couldn’t care less.
Well, maybe he did. Maybe Ilya was right and this wasn’t just about letting loose and allowing himself to not hide. Maybe he did want to be watched- to be witnessed in his love and lust. The thought settled heavy in his stomach as he straddled Ilya, but not in a bad way. There was no shame or anxiety to be found, just a deep and unending want fueled by alcohol and steady bass and the absolute Adonis of a man currently wriggling into position under him.
Some force pulled at his heart and he swayed forward to place a few gentle kisses to the corner of Ilya’s mouth. His hands took their place on the man’s face, sliding up and down his neck, fingers dipping into curls and tugging lightly, just to slip back out and hold steady at Ilya’s cheeks as his mouth finally found its way back to where it belonged.
They kissed deep and long with mouths open and burning. The back of the couch was at the perfect height for his husband’s head to rest back on, so he gripped tighter and pushed him to do just that. The movement forced their lips apart with a wet shlick, but Shane didn’t even let his eyes open before he was pressing higher up on his knees to put his head directly over Ilya’s and dipping back down. At this height, his groin pressed deliciously into Ilya’s sternum, it was a struggle to not deliberately grind in. And it certainly was not helping that that seemed to be exactly what Ilya wanted.
Hands that had been momentarily holding his thighs inched closer and closer to his ass, stopping just at the crease below each side. They squeezed, but didn’t pull. Not much, anyway.
Shane felt like he was burning up. Like his nerves were on fire and underwater at the same time. There was so much sensation and for once it was everything he needed. He leaned an arm behind Ilya’s head on the couch and used the other to grasp over his throat, pressing his palm lightly over his Adam's apple, moving it down to the hollow between his collarbones and back up. Ilya’s tongue pressed further into his mouth from below and Shane gave in to the urge to wrap his lips around it and suck.
The man beneath him jerked like he’d been shocked- let his mouth fall open a little wider.
The sounds must have been obscene had the music not been far too loud to obscure them. Shane bobbed his head up and down around Ilya’s tongue like it was his dick. God, he hoped to do that later. Soon. With the way Ilya was panting and groaning against his lips and trying to push his hips up, he knew they wouldn’t be there for much longer.
Shane pulled back and swallowed all of the spit that had pooled in his mouth- much of it not his own. He went to speak but found that he couldn’t. Pressing his nose against Ilya’s, he let the rush fade a bit before he opened his eyes again.
His husband’s eyes were half-lidded and looking at him so intensely Shane thought he would surely catch flame right then and there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he must look completely ruined. He had no control over his face at the moment- knew his desire was painted all over him and there were undoubtedly multiple people seeing it clear as day. Could sense eyes on him, even in this state. But it just made his stomach burn hotter. He swallowed again and found his words against his husband’s lips.
“I need you to take me home and fuck me.”
Ilya’s eyes flashed, and they were standing up the very next second.
“Yes,” he said. Grasped Shane’s hand and pulled them through the crowd while calling a ride. They didn’t stop to say goodbye to anyone, but Shane felt a hand slap his shoulder, heard another whistle and some more jeers, saw Luca’s blushing face avoid eye contact.
They would apologize for the Irish goodbye the next day. They would accept an invitation to a barbeque where they would properly celebrate with the team.
But tonight, Ilya looked back over his shoulder to smirk at him, and Shane wasn’t thinking about anyone else.