Archive of Our Own

Shane never thought a time would come when he would hate being in Montreal. The city had been his home for over a decade, the arena and locker room sometimes more familiar to him than his own apartment. The Voyagers had been his family- or at least he’d thought so- but now they were even worse than strangers to him. The fans, ever unbridled and enthusiastic, weren't shouting for him, they were shouting At him. They hated him. 

“We’ve got this, Hollzy.”

A strong slap to his back jarred Shane out of his thoughts. The chill of the rink was cooling the sweat on his face and neck and the sensation had him scrunching up his face in discomfort. It was Bood that had spoken to him and Shane nodded, said something that he hoped sounded like an agreement. They were halfway through the second period and Shane knew he was playing excellently. But he also knew that something was wrong.

It was something that used to happen a lot more often in his early years. During playoff games or games against particularly fierce opponents, when all eyes were on him as captain. Sometimes it happened for no discernable reason- a bad week that Shane didn't have the words to explain. Sometimes, back then, it was after seeing Ilya, when all their encounters were just sex and misunderstandings. He could barely remember any of the games from the weeks after the infamous tuna melt incident.

But whatever this was- the blank stares, the zoning out and playing on autopilot- it had practically stopped years ago. As he’d gotten more comfortable in his skills as a hockey player and his role as captain and his relationship with Ilya and himself in general. Of course he wasn't ‘fixed’. He still had those days and even weeks where a label on a shirt threw him off for the entire day and the lingering sensation at the back of his neck had him zoned out for an entire game. But this was different. He couldn’t just shake this off after a day or two like he usually could. And, worst of all, he knew that Ilya was worried. 

He’d been worried all week as Shane slowly retreated into himself. Their game against Montreal was the last in a week-long road trip of five games that had taken them to the States and back. Neither of them had spoken about it, but it didn't take a genius to know that Ilya was concerned about how Shane would feel facing his former teammates for the first time since the trade. Since they were outed and married. In a new jersey on a team with their biggest rival. Because while Shane and Ilya had always been the face of the rivalry, both their teams had always taken each encounter just as personal. And now Shane was playing with the enemy. 

Ilya had only asked once if Shane was okay, a week ago right before they left home for the trip. And Shane had answered that he was. And then gone on to get more and more distant as the week wore on. He was still playing well, playing great even, but he wasn’t present. He and Ilya had set rules about how they would interact with each other at work long before the season began, and part of that was rooming with different people during road trips. So Ilya didn’t know that Shane hadn’t been sleeping for shit all week, had been tossing and turning and causing Troy to shoot him worried looks from across the room. 

A heavy hand settled on the back of his neck and he came to again. Ilya was standing over him, brows furrowed. Shane released the mouth of his water bottle from where he had been chewing at it absently. Ilya didn't have to say anything really, but Shane knew. 

“Ya v poryadke,” he muttered. He still wasn't anywhere near fluent but he was glad to know some of Ilya’s native tongue for moments like these, when Ilya’s lips quirked in that small smile of appreciation at Shane for learning it at all. 

“No, you are not,” he answered easily, hand still on Shane’s neck, he squeezed slightly and Shane closed his eyes at the pressure, letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. “But you are still the best player on the ice,” Ilya continued. “And we will win, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane answered, the answer coming easier than anything else he’d said all day and Ilya nodded. Another squeeze and he pulled away, rallied up the guys with a speech that had everyone cheering and then they were back on the ice. 

The new Montreal captain and Shane stared each other down.

“I thought a fairy like you would want his big bad husband to take the face-off for him,” he muttered. Shane’s lips twisted but he remained silent as the ref blew his whistle. 

Shane bent over for the face-off and won the puck. 

They beat the Voyagers 3-1, and the team was ecstatic. They kept patting him on the back, congratulating him for scoring two of the three goals and making plans to party that night. Their flight back to Ottawa was early the next morning but they had three days off and didn't seem too concerned about hangovers. Shane heard Ilya make some excuse for him and didn't bother to confirm it. The night would be a blur. The next day probably would be as well. 

As he showered and changed out, he didn't catch any of the worried glances Ilya sent his way. He dressed the same way he always did; boxers and shirt, left sock, right sock, pants, belt, tie, jacket. It was all autopilot. Everything was autopilot, even the kiss he brushed on Ilya’s cheek as he headed out for the bus before everyone. That night he went to bed long before Troy returned to the room and before he knew it, he was on a flight, then in their car on his way home, Ilya by his side. 

He hadn't realized he had dozed off until he felt a slight pressure against his lips and his eyes fluttered open. Ilya was holding his hoodie string to his face, damp at the tip from where he had been chewing on it. 

“We are home,” Ilya said simply. Shane nodded and got out of the car, carrying his duffel in with him. Ilya came in behind him and the sound of the door shutting behind them felt louder than usual. Anya was with his parents and he wondered why they hadn't gone to pick her up first. He headed up the stairs to their laundry room and methodically unloaded his duffel before heading to their room. Ilya was already there, arms crossed like he had been waiting for Shane. His defenses immediately rose, though he didn’t know why.

“What?” he asked, then winced. Even he could tell how empty his voice sounded. “What is it?” he tried again.

“We won,” Ilya said, like he thought Shane didn’t know. “We beat them.” 

“I know,” Shane replied, running his hands through his hair. “I was there.”

“Then why have you not come back to me?”

The question stumped Shane for several moments. “I don't- I don't know what you mean. I’m here, aren't I?"

“No, moya lyubov, you’re not. You are somewhere very far away.” 

Shane frowned. There was a part of him that knew what Ilya meant. Or, at least felt like he should. But at the moment, the words weren't registering. What did Ilya mean by he was far away? Was he upset with Shane? Was Shane doing something wrong? How could he explain whatever he was feeling to Ilya when he could barely identify it himself. He didn't realize he had started breathing hard until Ilya crossed the room and gripped him by the back of the neck.

He didn't say anything, just began taking deep heavy breaths that Shane instinctively knew to copy.  

“Tell me what you are feeling.” It was a demand, not a question. 

The problem was that Shane didn't know what he was feeling. His thoughts were impossible to pin down and he didn't want to think at all. He didn't want to remember the things the men who he had considered his brothers had hissed at him on the ice. Didn't want to wonder what he had done wrong to lose all their loyalty besides just being himself. Didn't want to consider that being himself was something that could make people hate him, could make people leave him covered in bruises from hits that had just barely toed the line of legality. He didn't want every second of the game to play back behind his lids every time he closed his eyes, wondering if he was on the brink of doing another wrong thing that would make another team of men hate him. But he didn't know how to stop any of it. 

“I-,” he tried. Started, then stopped. “I played good, right?” he asked. “I know I haven't been- that I've been kinda… but the guys, they’re not mad are they? You’re not mad? The- the fans. Do they- was it enough? Am I-” he paused, choking on his words and Ilya grabbed his hand, putting it on his chest. He felt the steady thump of Ilya’s heart under the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest and he breathed for Shane. Shane clutched at Ilya’s arm where he held on to Shane’s wrist as he struggled to match him. 

“In and out, moya lyubov, just like that.” His voice was even, even as Shane’s breath came out raggedy and hitching. He pressed their foreheads together, hands still holding Shane’s by the neck and wrist and they stood there breathing. Eventually, Shane felt his breath even out. The pressure that had been building lessened with each passing breath and he didn't know his eyes had fallen shut until he fluttered them open. 

Ilya was already looking at him when he raised his gaze and he felt the distant heat of embarrassment. He had just nearly had a full breakdown over, what? He wasn't even sure. He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize though he wasn’t sure what for. Ilya beat him to the punch. 

“Do you want to try something with me?”

Shane’s brow furrowed. Try something? “I- what kind of thing?” he asked hesitantly. 

“Something I will need your trust for,” Ilya answered. “Something that might help, maybe.”

Shane’s frown deepened, but only in confusion. Of course Ilya had all his trust. That wasn't in question. But he didn't know if he would be able to focus enough on whatever it was Ilya wanted to do. The only thing he could count on to do reliably no matter what state he was in was play hockey. Everything else he did, he did thanks to routine and this didn't sound like it would be something from his routine. 

Still, if Ilya thought it would help…

Slowly, he nodded. He was rewarded with a smile from Ilya and he felt the familiar warmth that smile brought, though still distant. 

“I want you to go downstairs, okay?” Ilya said, speaking slowly. “Go to the couch, in front of the TV and wait for me. On your knees.”

The last part made Shane pause. Now he was really confused. Of course he was more than used to Ilya telling him to get on his knees. But that was usually an in the moment thing. This time Ilya wanted Shane to wait for him. On his knees? He had a million questions and he was poised to ask them. Then he looked at Ilya’s face again. He still had that smile, like he knew Shane would do whatever he asked. And he would. Shane would do anything for him. 

Another slow nod, and that smile spread even wider. Shane felt his heart race increase.

“Go on, then,” Ilya said. “I will join you soon.”

Shane had never felt more confused as he turned out of their room and headed down the stairs. He entered the living room and regarded the couch warily. So, he was just supposed to…kneel? He glanced back at the stairs but Ilya wasn’t coming down yet. He realized, abruptly, that he didn't want Ilya to come down and find him not kneeling. Hastily, he made his way to the arm of the couch where Ilya usually sat and knelt at the foot, facing the couch. He folded his hands in his laps, then let them fall to his sides, then put them palm down on his lap again. He twitched, shifting from knee to knee on the carpeted floor. He glanced at the stairs and then back down at the floor, unsure if being patient was part of… whatever this was.

Finally, minutes later, he heard the sound of Ilya coming down the stairs. He perked up, rising on his knees and folding his arms on his lap again but frowned as Ilya didn’t even glance at him and instead turned towards the kitchen. He couldn't see into the kitchen from the living room and strained his ears to try and figure out what Ilya was doing. He heard the sound of the fridge opening and the tap running. What sounded like a knife hitting a chopping board and more running water. Then, finally and for real this time, Ilya emerged from the kitchen and headed for him. He was holding a glass of water and a bowl, though Shane couldn’t tell what was in it. 

He smiled when he saw Shane, maybe because Shane had knelt at Ilya’s usual spot, maybe he just thought Shane looked good on his knees. 

“How do you feel?” he asked, taking a seat in front of Shane and spreading his legs so Shane was nestled between his thighs. He dropped the glass of water at his feet and the bowl beside him on the couch. Shane could now see that it was filled with fruit, some grapes and cubed watermelon and mango from what he could see. 

“I don’t know,” Shane answered honestly. He only worried for a second that he had given the wrong answer before Ilya reached out and carded a hand through his hair. Shane felt his entire body sag towards Ilya’s touch. 

“That is okay, moya lyubov. You don’t have to know how you feel. You just have to trust me, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane answered. 

“Khoroshiy mal’chik.”

Shane’s entire body warmed at the term of endearment. Good boy. It wasn't the first time Ilya had called him that, though it wasn't one he used too often. But something about hearing it right then, on his knees with Ilya’s hand in his hair, made him want to melt into Ilya. He wanted to fuse them together, to do whatever Ilya wanted, to close his eyes and not think anything at all. Let Ilya tell him what to feel. 

“Open your mouth, Shane.”

Once again, his eyes had fallen shut without him noticing. He didn't open them this time, just did as Ilya said and hummed as he felt a grape on his tongue.

“Chew.”

The quiet order was all he knew, and he closed his lips around the fruit, chewing slowly. After a few moments, Ilya said “Swallow,” and Shane did. 

“Again.” 

Shane opened his mouth; this time it was a piece of mango on his tongue. He closed his mouth and chewed then swallowed, immediately opening again for the next piece. 

Ilya hummed. “Moy khoroshiy mal’chik. I didn’t even have to tell you. So good for me.”

The words settled in Shane like a warm meal. He felt like he was almost swaying, and wasn't surprised as Ilya’s hand that was in his hair slowly guided him to rest his head on his thigh. All he wanted to do was what Ilya asked. Open. Chew. Swallow. They continued the cycle with Ilya feeding him a different fruit each time. The fruit was sweet and fresh but none of it registered to Shane outside the warmth of Ilya’s hand in his hair and his words making his body hum. Eventually he opened his mouth again but Ilya’s hand came empty as he caressed Shane’s bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Open your eyes, Shane,” Ilya said and Shane let them slowly open. Ilya was looking at him with nothing but love, the glass of water held to his lips and Shane leaned down to drink.

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet and hoarse and he self-consciously cleared his throat, but Ilya had heard him and smiled. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he answered. “How do you feel now?”

“Good?” Shane answered, again, honest. The question was simple enough and he felt like his answer could be as simple at the moment. 

“That’s good,” Ilya said. “Now, you will do one more thing for me, okay?”

Shane nodded. “Anything,” he answered.

Ilya smiled, leaning down to kiss Shane. Shane stretched up on his knees for it, realizing that they hadn't kissed properly in, what, days? That seemed impossible but he chased after the kiss like it had been weeks anyway. It was slow and languid, Ilya’s tongue slipping into his mouth to taste the residue of the fruit he had fed him. When he pulled back, Shane was pouting and a familiar heat was stirring in him. 

“Are you ready?” Ilya asked. “To do this one last thing for me?”

“Yes,” Shane answered. Then, “Please.” He didn’t know why he said it, but he liked the effect it had on Ilya. His pupils blew and his lips parted on a silent gasp. 

“Oh, dorogoy, you do not have to beg,” he said, leaning down to peck at Shane’s lips again. “It is easy, okay? I want you to just hold me.”

“Hold you?” Like, his hand? 

“Yes,” Ilya answered. “No sucking. No licking. Just hold me like the good boy I know you are. Keep me warm. ”

No sucking or licking… the words danced around Shane's head  Surely Ilya didn't mean he wanted Shane to hold him…

“Hold you in…with my?”

“In your mouth, yes. You can do this for me, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane said immediately, unhesitatingly. If that was what Ilya wanted he could do it. Anything. “Yes.”

“Of course you can, moy khoroshiy mal’chik.”

Shane watched as Ilya pushed his sweatpants down to free his cock. He wasn’t hard yet, though he wasn’t fully soft either. The familiar feeling of want that Shane felt whenever he saw Ilya’s cock stirred and he leaned forward to take it in his mouth. He rarely ever got to suck Ilya while he was soft and he instinctively slid down and began to push back up before Ilya’s hand came behind his head. He didn’t push, or put any pressure, but the presence was enough to halt Shane. 

“No sucking, Shane, remember? I just want you to hold me.”

Shane’s brow furrowed. How was he meant to get Ilya off if he couldn’t even move?

“Don’t worry about anything. This is what will make me happy. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

Shane nodded as best as he could with his mouth stuffed. 

“Then stay.”

The order came the same as all the others, and Shane hummed in response. It felt….weird. He’d surely had Ilya’s dick in his mouth hundreds of times at this point, but never like this. Ilya settled back against the couch and Shane watched from the corner of his eyes as Ilya picked up the TV remote. Behind him, he heard it turn on and heard the sounds of Ilya flipping through channels before stopping at one and returning the remote to his side. 

“Close your eyes, Shane.”

He obeyed, trying to resist the urge to caress Ilya with his tongue. His mouth had never felt so full, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was both familiar and overwhelming, and he followed the motions as Ilya guided his head back down to his thigh. Behind him, he heard the voice of the narrator or a nature show he liked to watch talking about how deer forage in the winter. 

Ilya always called Shane boring when he watched this, so Shane didn’t understand why he was watching it now. He didn't understand why Ilya was watching anything with his cock in Shane’s mouth. He let out a breath as he settled even deeper in his position. Then, Ilya started petting his hair again. The next breath he let out was even heavier and suddenly his limbs felt like weights. He sank deep on his knees, suckling Ilya’s cock lightly to adjust it in his mouth. 

The sounds of the documentary faded to the background as Shane settled. It still felt a little weird, just having Ilya in his mouth, still mostly soft, but as he thought that, he realized that he hadn't thought about the Voyagers, the Centaurs, the fans or hockey at all in god knows how long. Even as the thought came to him, it floated away. How could he think about any of that when he had this? Ilya had fed him and given him water. He’d put on his favorite show and was petting his hair. He was as close to Ilya as he could possibly be. There was something so raw about the position, Shane realized, somehow even more intimate that fucking. Ilya was allowing Shane have him in a way that didn’t seem to have a goal. He was letting Shane use him, and it was working. 

Shane could hardly hold on to any thoughts. He felt nearly half asleep, more comfortable than he’d ever felt in his life; closer to Ilya than ever before. The smell of Ilya’s skin was familiar where Shane’s nose was nearly pressed to his hip bone, his hand in Shane’s hair was lulling him deeper into whatever state he was in, the quiet of their house made the space seem liminal. He felt saliva drip from his lips as it collected in his mouth but couldn't be bothered to do anything besides half-heartedly try to slurp it up. 

He felt Ilya shake lightly as he chuckled. “Messy, aren’t you?” he asked. “It is okay, I will take care of it.” Shane heard rustling but didn’t open his eyes. Ilya hadn’t told him to yet. A few moments later, he felt soft cotton dabbing at his lips and chin. He must be using his shirt, Shane thought absently, but just like his other thoughts, it drifted away as soon as it came.

“You are taking such good care of me,” Ilya said. His voice was quiet and steady, penetrating through the fog in Shane's head without forcing him out of it. “Always so good for me, so perfect. Keeping my cock so warm just like I asked.” 

Shane didn’t understand how he could feel even better, but every word from Ilya's mouth sent him to even greater depths of comfort. He felt good for once. Stable. Like he was doing exactly what he was meant to and he was doing it well. On his knees here with Ilya's cock in his mouth there were no expectations. He couldn't fail, couldn't disappoint anyone because it was just Ilya and Ilya said he was good. He felt like he was in a place even farther than dreams as Ilya wiped at his face and whispered his praises. 

“You’re so good for me, aren’t you?” Ilya’s voice was quiet but intense. “So sweet and docile with my cock in your mouth. You’re perfect, Shane. So fucking perfect.”

Shane moaned at the words, feeling like his chest would burst with the feelings. He had no idea how long he had been there, how long he’d had his eyes closed and Ilya’s cock in his mouth like the world’s largest pacifier. Ilya had slowly grown harder in Shane’s mouth and he was nearly fully hard now, but nothing about his motions changed. His hands didn't feel any more urgent in Shane's hair and Shane didn't want to move. The sounds on the TV had switched to something about penguin migration in Antarctica. Had they really been like this for an entire program? Did it even matter? Ilya had asked him to stay so he would. He let himself drift, feeling the gentle motions of Ilya wiping at his mouth every couple of minutes and the repetitive motion of his hands in his hair. His tongue slowly moved around in his mouth, rubbing against Ilya but never trying to take things farther. He just liked the feeling. Enjoyed tracing the surface of Ilya’s cock where it was stuffed in his mouth. 

He couldn't have answered how long they stayed like that if anyone asked. Couldn't have said what had played on the TV, or whether anything had happened around them. For however long they were there, it was just them. Shane, feeling full and content, his head truly empty for once. It was pure bliss.

Slowly, after Shane could have sworn he’d fallen asleep and woken up at least a couple of times, Ilya’s hand started to slow in his hair. His own tongue had slowed too, though he didn't know when. 

“Do you want to stop?”

He let his eyes open slowly at Ilya’s words. Ilya caressed his lips again, this time tracing their entire surface where they were wrapped around his cock. Shane looked up at him, blinking slowly and he felt Ilya’s cock twitch in his mouth. 

“Fuck.” Ilya breathed out the word like he didn’t even know he was saying it. “You’re gorgeous.”

Shane slowly pulled back and off Ilya’s dick, letting it slip out of his mouth, shiny and soaked in all his spit. 

“How do you feel?”

“Great,” Shane answered, easily. Foggy and loose-limbed. “Amazing.”

“Yeah?” Ilya asked and Shane nodded. He glanced down at Ilya’s still hard dick and back at him and Ilya chuckled. 

“Don’t worry about it, dorogoy,” he said, cupping Shane’s cheek. “This was for you.”

“I want to,” Shane answered, heat stirring in his belly. Ilya had taken such good care of him, had made him feel so good. Now he wanted to do the same. His voice was hoarse from disuse and he cleared his throat. “Please, Ilya. Let me suck you.”

Ilya shut his eyes, tilting his head back for a second as he cursed to himself. He looked back at Shane, taking his face in his hand again, holding him by the jaw. He slipped a thumb in Shane’s mouth and Shane immediately drew it in, swirling his tongue in the purposeful motions he had avoided before. 

“Jesus Christ,” Ilya breathed. “How the fuck am I supposed to say no to that?”

His thumb slipped out of Shane’s mouth and Shane lurched forward, taking Ilya's cock back in his mouth. This time he sank as low as he could and bobbed back up, swirling his tongue around as he went. Ilya’s groan came from deep within him as Shane repeated the motion over and over, loving the familiarity. 

Ilya's words were garbled as Shane pulled every trick he knew, taking Ilya deep into his throat and suckling at the tip as he pulled off. Ilya was cursing at every move, hips rising off the couch to thrust into Shane’s mouth as he mumbled about how good Shane was, how well he was taking it. 

“Shane, dorogoy, I’m going to cum,” Ilya warned, hands buried in Shane’s hair as he continued to bob. Shane didn’t stop at the warning, but took Ilya even deeper and his husband came down his throat with a loud shout. Shane swallowed all of it on instinct. Typically that would be it, but something in him wanted to do more, to show Ilya just how good he was. Shyly, he opened his mouth and stuck out his clean tongue for Ilya to see. 

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya said, sounding ruined. He released Shane’s hair and grabbed his arms, pulling him up. “Come here. Fuck, get up here now.” 

Shane scrambled to obey, straddling Ilya’s lap even as his husband roughly grabbed at his sweats. Shane hissed the second Ilya’s fingers wrapped around him. He didn't even know when he had gotten hard, so lost in whatever headspace he had floated to on his knees, but as he looked down now, he saw that his cock was already twitching in Ilya’s light grasp. The head was a deep purple where it poked out from the top of his loose fist.

“Fuck, Ilya,” he panted, burying his head in Ilya’s shoulder. “Fuck, fuck.” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else as Ilya stroked him at first with feather light touches. He felt like his whole body was a fuse on the brink of blowing and Ilya’s hand was a box of matches. When Ilya let go of his dick he let out a garbled moan of protest but Ilya’s other hand went to the back of his neck immediately, gripping him there hard as he soothed him with quiet shushing sounds. Shane registered the sound of him pumping some lube from their stash between the couch cushions into his other hand before it finally returned to his cock. 

The slide was everything and Shane immediately wrapped his hand around Ilya’s as well, tightening the grip. His hips moved almost of their own volition, thrusting into the tight, slick channel that they had created. The air between them was damp and thick, Ilya’s chest still rising and falling rapidly from his own orgasm and Shane choking on whines with each thrust. “I- I can’t, Ilya- can't hold it.”

“I don't want you to,” Ilya replied, still keeping that steady pace. “You’ve already been so good. I want you to come for me now. All over me, just like this, moy khoroshiy mal’chik.” 

The permission was all Shane needed, coupled with the pet name and he was gone. His vision whited as he exploded in their hands with a scream. He clutched Ilya like he would float away if he didn't, squeezed his eyes shut as the feelings washed over it. He felt like he was coming forever, felt like he was flying with only his nails in Ilya’s shoulder and Ilya’s large hand on the back of his neck keeping him on this plane.

As he slowly came back, he found that his mind was clear for the first time all week. All he felt now was exhaustion, but it wasn't the same kind of numb exhaustion he had felt all week. No, now he was fully aware of his body, could feel the way his toes had clamped from crunching them so tight when he came and could follow the steady rise and fall of his own chest. He was covered with a light sheen of sweat again but this time it didn't make his skin crawl. Ilya was covered in sweat too. And an insane amount of cum. 

Shane pulled back only slightly to take in the damage and cringed at the sight of his spend all over both of their hands as well as the hairs on Ilya’s chest, his stomach and even a bit almost at his neck. 

“What the hell,” he muttered, mostly to himself but of course Ilya caught it. His hand shifted on Shane’s neck, moving up to card through his hair. 

“Did you jerk off at all this week, Shane?" Ilya asked and it was all Shane could do to shake his head slightly. 

“Saved it all for me, huh?”

“Shut up,” Shane muttered, cheeks heating up and he buried his face in Ilya’s neck once again.  

“Ah, there he is,” Ilya said. “Moy zastenchivvy krolik.” Shane could hear the smile in Ilya’s voice and couldn't help but smile in response. His forehead was still pressed to Ilya’s neck and Ilya’s hand was still carding through his hair but all the tension had left both of them. His muscles felt loose for the first time in what felt like forever and, even though he felt kind of mortified, he was glad to be feeling anything at all. 

“That was…” he tried, and then paused. Slowly, he raised his head so he could finally look at his husband. “Ilya, what was that?”

Ilya raised a brow at him. “You tell me.”

“I- I was,” Shane tried, then stopped. “This week has been hard. I’ve just been so…”

“Lost,” Ilya supplied. “Lost in your head, yes? Lost trying to be what everyone wanted.”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “I guess.”

“Do you want to tell me some of what you were feeling?” Ilya asked but Shane just shook his head. 

“It wasn’t anything in particular. It was just everything leading up to Montreal. Feeling like… I’d failed them somehow. Like I had to make sure I didn't fail the Centaurs too. Fail you.”

“You could never fail me, Shane.”

“I know that,” Shane said, and he meant it. “But still. You saying that stuff about how I was… you know…” he trailed off. 

“My good boy?” Ilya asked, smirking. 

“Shut up,” Shane replied on instinct and Ilya’s smirk grew. “But how did you know that would help?”

Ilya shrugged in that fake humble way of his. “Maybe I am just a great husband who always knows exactly what his husband needs.”

Shane rolled his eyes but smiled at Ilya’s obvious attempt to make him laugh. “Well, you were right,” he said. “It did. Brought me right out of my head.”

“Ah, so now we must buy you a pacifier shaped like my dick for you,” Ilya nodded. 

“Fuck off.” Shane swatted at Ilya’s chest and immediately frowned in disgust at the cooling cum that was still over him. 

“Ah, you are truly back,” Ilya sighed at the expression on his face. “‘We’re so gross, Ilya, we need to shower, Ilya.’ This is what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

Shane wanted to argue, but one glance at his cum covered hand still entangled with Ilya’s had him groaning. He didn't bother answering as he found his footing as gently as he could, pins and needles scattering up and down his legs from staying on his knees for so long. He grabbed Ilya’s discarded shirt and used it to wipe the majority of the mess of his hand and thighs before tossing it to Ilya with a pointed look.

Ilya groaned loudly as he stood as well, wiping himself down with the shirt as Shane headed to the stairs. “We didn’t even get to cuddle, you know?” Ilya said, following behind him. 

“We’ll cuddle when we’re clean.”

“You are already so uptight, Hollander. Would another thirty minutes on my dick change your mind perhaps?”

“Seriously, fuck off,” Shane replied, but he was smiling.

He always was at the end of the day with Ilya.