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Shane squeezed his husband’s hand tightly as he felt the plane’s wheels lift off the tarmac. His own stomach dropped as the engines roared, not due to fear of flying, but because he knew Ilya hated takeoffs. His husband wasn’t usually an anxious person, but anyone who had been through a scare like he had would also have some lingering uneasiness around planes. But Ilya's hand had only a slight tremor as the noise from the wheels retracting grated loudly through the cabin, his focus entirely devoted to the deep breathing techniques Shane had shown him to calm his nerves.
Ilya kept his eyes closed until Shane, who sat in the window seat monitoring the ascent, tapped his thigh to let him know everything was fine once the plane leveled itself out. Shane pecked him on the cheek for good measure, feeling emboldened by the empty aisle seat that left them all alone in their row.
The flight was uncharacteristically empty, with only a few non-Centaurs players scattered throughout the cabin. It was a long flight, from Boston where they had just defeated the Raiders to San Jose where they would play the Sharks the following day, so Shane was thankful for the extra leg room. He was propped up against the window, with Ilya in the middle seat leaning almost all his body weight into Shane.
“Good?” Shane knew he was, they had flown on countless flights now for almost two seasons together since the scare, but Shane wanted to check in anyways.
“I am good,” Ilya confirmed, “Want to watch something?” It was their flight time ritual to pick a random airplane movie and count down together before pressing play on their respective screens. This time, it was Shane’s turn to pick and it was a predictable choice when he selected Rose Landry’s newly released action-thriller.
Ilya groaned. “This one didn’t even get good reviews!”
“I told Rose I’d watch it, and she always quizzes me after,” Shane responded, “She’s good at knowing if I’m telling the truth.”
“She always has been very perceptive.” Ilya wiggled his brow menacingly, sending Shane’s eyes rolling in the back of his head.
Ilya moved to rip the plastic packaging wrapped around a thin complimentary blanket. Shane supposed that was one nice benefit of the longer-haul flights. Not that he couldn’t cuddle with his husband openly, but even with being out, he was still a private person.
There’d been more than one instance where a photo of them sleeping on each other’s shoulders with their hands clasped together during a flight was posted online by a fan, and while Shane did indeed save every single one of those candid pictures to his camera roll, the invasion of privacy was still unwelcome.
Ilya was definitely the more PDA-inclined one out of the two of them, retweeting said photos on his main account, but being under the cover of the blanket was enough for Shane to not have to think twice about rubbing his husband’s arm when turbulence got a bit bumpy.
Ilya readjusted in his seat to get comfortable, propping his leg up on the aisle seat before slouching back into Shane’s side and draping the blanket over the both of them.
They had to countdown starting the movie three separate times because Ilya kept pressing play too early (Ilya argued that Shane was too slow), but finally the frames synced on both their screens.
The movie, like Ilya predicted, was bad. Shane found his mind drifting off to more pressing matters, hockey-related of course: their impending game against San Jose, their tour down the coast of California to play Anaheim and Los Angeles. It was a long time to be on the road, but their away games were much more bearable now that he got to travel with Ilya by his side. Shane didn’t miss for one second the hurried FaceTimes and phone calls in hotel rooms while they were on opposite ends of the continent. Well, maybe he missed certain aspects of their FaceTimes, where after catching up on their games, Ilya would eventually order Shane to take off his clothes and…
A booming explosion sounded suddenly in his headphones, making Shane jump slightly in his seat. He focused his attention back on the screen where Rose now stood bloodied and limping having just survived whatever the fuck was going on.
Ilya, as he did with most things, noticed this. “Getting distracted, huh? Movie is too boring even for Shane Hollander, King of Boring?”
Shane couldn’t bring himself to defend the film. “It’s not great. I mean she’s good, she’s always good. I blame the script.”
Ilya made a non-committal noise. “Mmm.” Shane had to fight a smile knowing even after all these years, it still irked Ilya to hear him compliment his last-ever-ex-girlfriend.
Shane felt Ilya untwine his fingers from his, peeling apart their palms that had all but fused together, hot and sweaty under the blanket. Shane looked at him confused, until he felt Ilya’s hand wander to rest right above his crotch.
“Ilya.” His husband was fucking crazy.
“Shane.”
“Absolutely not.”
Ilya didn’t even turn to meet Shane’s gaze, staring straight ahead at a car chase sequence that seemed entirely out of place. “Keep watching the movie, Hollander. Don’t want you to fail Rose Landry’s test.”
He tucked the blanket over his shoulder tighter, anchoring it in place against the back of the seat. The fabric was suspended over both their laps, pinned behind both their bodies and elevated by Ilya’s knee, obscuring whatever movements were taking place underneath.
“Ilya, you can’t…I mean, we’re…”
“On a plane, yes,” his husband answered back in Russian, his voice dropping an octave as he spoke with aggravating dismissal, “I am not doing anything. Just resting my hand.”
Shane had picked up conversational Russian quickly, much to Ilya’s feigned annoyance at his knack for languages. And while Shane was typically grateful for the ability to engage in covert conversations with Ilya in public, right now he cursed his husband for being able to say just about anything to him without worrying about indecency.
“You know what you’re doing,” Shane retorted, his pronunciation slipping with how quickly he spoke, “What is the matter with you?”
It was the wrong move. Ilya's eyes lit up as they always did whenever Shane spoke to him in his native tongue.
“Nothing is the matter if you don’t get hard.” The gruffness of Ilya’s voice sent a pang of arousal shooting through Shane’s body.
“I won’t.” Shane responded in English, like that would somehow make it true.
Ilya, to his credit, didn’t move his hand. It just laid there, a weight resting on Shane's dick like an anvil, all while Shane tried and failed to refocus on the stupid movie. It was impossible to concentrate with the heat from Ilya’s hand radiating into him, just knowing that if he moved even a centimeter…
Shane squirmed in his seat involuntarily, the heaviness of Ilya’s hand pressing ever so slightly into the head of Shane’s cock. Even through the fabric of Shane’s sweatpants, his touch was as hot as a brand.
Damn his husband, always using his competitive streak against him. Ever since they were teenagers, he knew Shane would never be able to back down from a challenge, even one as inappropriate as this. Shane wouldn’t admit it in that particular moment, but he loved how they egged each other on. Always trying to push the other on the ice and elsewhere.
In any other circumstance, he would be all but falling over himself begging for Ilya to wrap his hand around him, but they were in a very public space hurtling 600 miles per hour through the sky, surrounded by every single one of their teammates. It’s not like any of them could see what Ilya was doing, but Shane didn’t trust himself to look composed if he were to really start jacking him off.
But even that sobering thought didn’t matter, as Ilya’s grip twitched just slightly, the movement almost reflexive as he chased the contact.
Ilya always praised Shane for how pretty he looked when he unraveled him. Mouth agape, panting, writhing, all while he came undone at Ilya’s behest. Ilya would often coax him to be louder, pleading for Shane not to suppress himself as he encouraged Shane’s whimpers into moans. Ilya liked Shane unrestrained, and it was only with him that Shane felt like he could cease whatever control he so desperately clung to in all other facets of life and allow himself to sink into that sense of freedom he had never experienced anywhere else.
It was because of this Shane highly doubted he could manage to get a handjob on a plane discreetly, in any sense of the word. But, on the other hand, Ilya wouldn’t ever make him do something that would push him past the boundaries of his comfort. And putting on a show in front of their entire team and coaching staff is something they both wouldn’t want. Shane, for reasons of embarrassment, and Ilya probably for his insane possessiveness when it came to Shane.
But part of him also wanted to beat Ilya at his game, remaining unfazed while his husband dragged his fingers danced over his crotch. Maybe Shane could do this, be good for Ilya while he proved he could handle it.
Fuck. Oh God. Shane could feel himself start to harden. A rush of heat began to pool in his abdomen, exacerbated by the cocky smile Ilya always wore when he knew he had won.
“Did not take long.”
“Fuck you,” Shane hissed, careful to keep his voice low in case anyone was listening. He popped his head up, doing a quick scan of the cabin to make sure no one was in ear shot. The rows around them were empty, and the passengers he could see were mostly their teammates either passed out or engrossed in a movie with their headphones on.
Ilya began to move his hand slightly, rubbing his palm over the growing tent in Shane’s pants at an infuriatingly slow pace. Shane’s breath hitched, unbelieving that he was actually letting this happen, but also feeling completely helpless to stop it.
Ilya made a point of glancing down towards their laps, and back to Shane, asking without words if this was okay, to which Shane bit his lip and nodded. Shane wanted to place the blame on his husband and pretend it was Ilya’s fault that he corrupted him to the point he was getting off on this, but Shane would be lying to himself that he didn’t want to be bad just as much as Ilya did.
The rumble of an approaching beverage cart ripped Shane momentarily from his haze of lust.
“What can I get you both to drink?” Ilya’s hand ceased its torturous rubbing, coming to a stop by firmly gripping Shane’s now completely erect dick through his pants.
The flight attendant wore a plastered on smile, waiting patiently for Shane to find his words, but he couldn’t think with Ilya’s hand wrapped around him.
“Um…”
“I’ll have a Coke, please,” Ilya cut in, saving Shane from further embarrassment. Shane waited for his husband to order him his usual, but then Ilya turned to Shane, mimicking the same wide-eyed grin as the flight attendant. It dawned on him then that Ilya would not be his knight in shining armor coming to rescue him, but rather his executioner.
“For you, sir?” The flight attendant prompted. If his cock wasn’t being clutched within an inch of its life, this would have been a very simple social interaction for Shane to navigate. But it was, and his brain was faltering.
“Ginger ale,” he finally managed, hoping the words sounded more measured than it felt coming out of his mouth. Under the blanket, Ilya squeezed him once. “Please.”
After the attendant served them their drinks, placing them on the extended tray of the aisle seat, Ilya resumed the agonizing motions over his pants. He had released his tight grip and was now barely applying pressure as he ghosted his hand over his cock.
“So good, moya lyubov, ordering all by yourself.”
“You could’ve helped me.”
“That would be no fun. I like to see your face when you get like that.”
“Like what?”
“Opredelennyy. Determined.”
Shane was past the point of learning a new Russian vocabulary word. He looked at the screen to assess how much longer they had left in the flight, praying they were touching down in San Jose soon so they could go straight to the hotel. The screen display, however, showed a remaining journey time of 1 hour and 35 minutes. Even with Ilya’s featherlight touches, he would not last the rest of the flight.
“Ilya, please, I’m not going to make it.”
“I love when you say ‘please’ in Russian, makes me hard.” Ilya moved his hand to grab Shane’s, guiding under the blanket it to where Ilya’s cock stood strained against his jeans.
The temporary relief of the absence of Ilya’s touch was now replaced by a hunger in Shane’s chest knowing how much his husband was getting off on this too. It was intoxicating to sit there fully clothed, forced to school their faces into neutrality to mask how affected they both were, while everyone around them was none the wiser.
Shane began to curl his fingers around Ilya’s length before his husband ripped his hand away.
“Ah, ah, this was not the deal,” Ilya chided.
Shane huffed in response, cursing his failed attempt to gain the upper hand over his husband. “There was no deal.” He switched to Russian quickly. “You grabbed my dick and challenged me not to get hard, what do you think was going to happen?”
“You are the victim here, I see. Tricked by your mean, mean husband.” Ilya’s expression contorted into one of mock sympathy. “Fine, I will leave you and your dick alone.” Ilya returned his hand to his own lap, leaving Shane immensely hard and devastatingly unattended.
Fuck. Not exactly what Shane was expecting.
Rose’s movie ended unceremoniously on a cliff hanger, the only silver lining of the whole thing being that his best friend could milk this awful franchise for many more checks to come. Ilya wordlessly picked another movie, navigating on both their screens and pressing the play button for Shane, who was, for all intents and purposes, still incapacitated.
His dick pressed tightly against his pants, the pressure of the fabric an unyielding reminder of his arousal. He could think of nothing else. And having his husband so close, his body weight pressing into Shane like a weighted blanket, overwhelming him with the faint scent of shea butter from Ilya’s special curly hair shampoo – it was enough to drown out whatever reservations Shane would have normally had about what he was about to do next.
Shane felt Ilya’s eyes on him as he angled up his hips to readjust in his seat, propping his own knee up to give himself more coverage under the blanket. Slowly, he pushed down the elastic band of his sweatpants, removing his cock from his briefs. As much as he wanted to, Shane didn’t move his hand, only gripping himself as he pretended to watch the new movie.
He knew Ilya could guess what he had dared to do, but Shane let the unanswered question linger between them like a tantalizing prize. If Ilya wanted to know, he’d have to come to him.
Shane’s face heated as his husband began to strum his fingers impatiently against his own chin. His lips were pursed, his eyes too focused, like they were staring straight through the seat, to actually be absorbing anything he was watching. Shane smirked to himself. The first crack in Ilya’s resolve was surfacing, and Shane wouldn’t have to wait much longer until he got what he wanted.
He loved when Ilya got all wound up like this, so frustrated and keyed up that he wasn’t able to just take Shane right where he stood. Shane noticed this brand of his husband’s hunger most viscerally after a win, when the locker room was still buzzing with excess energy that had nowhere to go. Shane would often catch Ilya staring at him intently while he peeled off his gear, Ilya tapping his skates against the floor as he fidgeted with his own laces. More often than not, Ilya would make up a lame excuse of why he and Shane couldn’t join the team for post-game celebrations at a bar, before hauling Shane into their car and kissing him senseless the second they were alone.
Shane could only imagine all the things Ilya could be thinking of at this moment, what he’d be willing to do to Shane if no one could see them. Maybe Ilya was thinking of a way to discreetly lower his head, resting his head in his lap as if he were taking a nap, wrapping his plush lips around the crown of his head...
A muted gasp slipped past Shane’s lips at the visual.
“What the fuck are you moaning for, Hollander? You want everyone on this plane to hear how you sound when you’re turned on?” Ilya’s focus was fully on him now, his gaze intense as he turned his body to shield Shane completely from view from the aisle. Shane tried not to react, but internally blazed with want at his husband’s possessiveness. He reached for Shane’s dick, only for his fingertips to come in contact with his bare, unclothed cock. “I fucking knew it. Knew you were so fucking horny you had to take your dick out on the plane.”
“Well, someone had to do something about it.” Shane knew he was getting himself into trouble.
“Now you want? You were just crying how unfair I was playing, and now you want to play?” Ilya spoke the hushed tones directly in his ear, a chill spreading down his neck. He wanted Ilya to move closer and press his lips to his skin. Sink his teeth into his stuttering pulse. But Ilya just hovered there, barely grazing his earlobe with his breath before pulling back again.
“Obviously.” Shane ever so slightly rutted up into Ilya’s hand to prove his point.
“So easy. Took you two seconds to get hard for me, and no time for you to beg for me to touch you.”
“So fucking touch me then, Rozanov.” Shane knew it was his own fault he was having to debase himself like this, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when his cock was weeping under the blanket, desperate for release.
“You’re going to have to ask a little nicer than that, dorogoy. My little whore is going to have to beg me to touch him, since we’re in public and all.”
Shane’s ears flushed red at Ilya’s cruelty. He fucking loved it.
“Please touch my dick,” he ground out, taking extra care to pronounce every single syllable in the Russian word for “please.” “I’ll be good for you, I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”
Shane exhaled forcefully out of his nose as Ilya wrapped his callused hand around him once again, moving his palm over the head of his cock so slowly the drag was almost imperceptible. Even with the coverage of the blanket, it’s not like Ilya could get him off like he normally would, with fervid strokes that had his hands gliding over his length from base to tip. This would have to do.
“Yes, and you will thank me for whatever I am willing to give. Good boy, knowing your place.”
“Fuck, Ilya…Thank you. Needed this.”
The intense attention to his sensitive head was starting to overstimulate him, but Ilya was relentless, thumbing the underside of his cock over and over as Shane fought to keep himself still. The repetitive motion verged on welcome pain, driving a stabbing lust deep into his core.
Shane held his breath, untrusting that if he let out an exhale it wouldn’t be followed by a moan. If they were alone, Shane would be crying out as Ilya’s skilled fingers worked over him, but here, he had to make a conscious effort to swallow his sobs before they bubbled out of his throat.
“That’s right baby, doing such a good job staying still. No one knows how hard you are right now, how fucking desperate you are for it.”
“More, please, Ilya, please.” Shane knew he was greedy to ask, but he needed it. Needed it so bad he was willing to drop to his knees in front of everyone to see and beg for it.
Ilya stopped, sending Shane temporarily into a panic that he had pushed too far, asked for too much, before watching his husband bring his hand to his lips and spit softly into his hands. The feeling of Ilya’s slicked fingers against Shane’s throbbing cock when they returned to grip him was complete euphoria, even with his tempered strokes as he tried to hide any movement under the thin blanket.
Shane bit the inside of his cheek hard as he felt the unmistakable sensation of an orgasm begin to creep up his spine. Panic began to flood his system, unsure how he could pretend to the outside world that he wasn’t cumming in seat 24C.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make it look like he was sleeping fitfully or something.
“Are you–?” Ilya’s tone seemed almost shocked.
“Yes, fuck.”
“Look at me when you cum.” Shane’s eyes snapped open at the order, as he met Ilya’s searing blue gaze right as he tipped over the edge. Ilya quicked shoved his other thumb in his mouth to silence him, Shane biting down hard as he convulsed into the blanket he held into his waist, neck straining as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.
All too fast, the world came back into focus, his senses grounding him back in reality. The dry air pumping out of the vent above him prickled his sweaty forehead, the itchiness of the blanket rough over his sensitive cock, the droning silence of the plane deafening as Shane came down from his high. He quickly returned his dick into his pants and bunched up the spent blanket, shoving it deep into his backpack under the seat. He looked around for a second, just to make sure no one was staring, but to his relief, everyone in eye line looked entirely bored or asleep.
“I wasn’t even planning on making you cum.” Ilya said nonchalantly once Shane regained composure.
“What?”
“Yes, I was only planning to get you all hot and bothered so you’d be extra horny when we got to the hotel. But Shane Hollander ‘the freak’ always has to take things to the next level.” Ilya was biting his lip as he suppressed his laughter.
“I’m not a –” Shane lowered his voice and switched to Russian once more, “I’m not a freak.”
“Says the guy who just came in an economy class blanket.”
—
“What do you guys think Rozanov and Hollander were fighting about on the plane?” Bood asked as the team gathered around baggage claim. “I stood up to go to the bathroom and heard them, like, whisper-yelling in Russian.”
“Whatever it was, it looked intense. Shane looked like he was about to explode,” Hayes responded, “Probably Rozanov saying some dumb shit like he always does. No clue how Hollander puts up with that 24/7.”
“Well, I guess we can be prepared for extra drills before the game,” Barrett sighed. They were all used to the emotional field of landmines caused by Ilya Rozanov, their captain’s mood correlating directly to the suffering he inflicted on his team.
“Actually, we might be safe.” Bood gestured to Shane and Ilya, who stood wrapped in each other's arms as they waited for their bags, smiling lovingly at one another as if they were the only people in the entire airport. It was enough to make several of their teammates groan.
“Guess they kissed and made up.”