Work Text:
February
Shane arrived home to find a package sitting on his doorstep on Valentine’s Day. Almost at the same instant, his phone pinged.
Lily: You home yet?
Shane smiled, unlocking his screen.
Jane: Just got to the door.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket and wrestled the door open. The familiar creak echoed in the quiet hallway as he dropped his practice gear against the wall. He picked up the package and carried it straight to the kitchen island. Inside was a soft, light-brown fur teddy bear clutching a red heart with "I LUV YOU" stitched in white across the center.
Shaking his head, Shane snapped a picture and sent it to Ilya.
Jane: You're ridiculous.
A FaceTime request from Lily popped up immediately, and Shane's grin widened.
Two weeks later
The living room was dark except for the flickering glow of the TV, the sounds of the Boston versus Toronto game filled the air. It was late in the third period, tied 2-2, and the tension on the ice mirrored the tight knot in his chest. Usually, watching games that didn't involve his own team was a casual affair, but not tonight. Not when Ilya was playing.
Shane leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees, barely breathing as he watched Ilya antagonize the Toronto goalie. He was hovering around the crease like a storm cloud, tapping his stick against the ice in a steady, deliberate rhythm that spelled trouble.
Shane blindly reached to his right, his fingers seeking the now-familiar soft fur of the bear that had taken up permanent residence on his couch. He’d initially put it there because he felt ridiculous keeping it in his bedroom. Truthfully, it would look ridiculous anywhere in his apartment with that goofy grin and the obnoxious red heart screaming “I LUV YOU.”
But more often than he was willing to admit, he found himself reaching for the dumb thing, maybe out of comfort for missing a certain Russian man. The color of the fur was almost identical to the shade of Ilya's hair, and every time Shane sank his fingers into the plush, he was thinking of the other man's curls.
On the screen, Ilya had gotten tangled up with a Toronto winger near the boards. The ref's arms went up, and Ilya threw his hands up too in exasperation. The call was for holding, which Shane thought was absolute bullshit.
"Oh, come on!" Shane muttered into the empty room. He looked down at the bear, now nestled in his lap. "He barely touched the guy, right?"
The camera focused on Ilya as he skated toward the penalty box, his jaw set tight, expression thunderous. He looked gorgeous when he was angry, in a terrifying, predator kind of way. It made Shane want to kiss the scowl right off his face. Or many provoke him further until the Russian man snapped and did something about it.
With Ilya in the box, Toronto gained control of the puck and was streaking down the ice. Shane clutched the bear tighter, practically crushing it between his chest and thighs. His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Unfortunately, Toronto scored when the puck deflected off a Boston defender's skate and slid agonizingly slow past the goalie's pad. The red light flashed behind the net, and the horn blared through the speakers.
"No!" Shane shouted. He slumped forward, burying his face into the bear. "You've got to be kidding me. That wasn't even a shot!"
He was squeezing the bear so tight that it couldn't even be considered a hug anymore, more like a strangulation. Suddenly, a deep familiar voice filled the room, slightly grainy through a tiny speaker, and unmistakably Russian.
"Freckles make me hard… well yours do."
The scream that tore out of Shane's throat wasn't dignified, definitely one he would never admit to Ilya ever escaped his mouth. He didn't just dropped the bear; he flung it away from his body like a grenade. It tumbled through the air and hit the rug with a soft thump, rolling to a stop against the leg of the coffee table. That stupid, goofy grin looked more obscene than ever before. Shane actually felt like he was being judged by a ridiculous stuffed animal.
He sat frozen on the couch, chest heaving, eyes unable to tear away from the lump of fur on the floor.
"What the fuck?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the TV and his pounding heart.
He took a hesitant step forward. That voice had unmistakably been Ilya's, Shane had no doubt about that. But why the fuck was it coming out of the bear? Maybe he was hallucinating. He was just too focused on the game and missing Ilya, so he imagined it. Right?
Shane dropped to his knees on the rug. The bear stared at him with glass eyes that glinted with what Shane was now convinced was pure, unadulterated malice.
"Okay," he breathed, wiping a slightly sweaty palm against his sweatpants. "Let's see."
Admittedly, he felt foolish, hovering his hand over the soft brown fur like it was a bomb. He pressed his fingers into the bear's chest. Nothing happened. He tried again, harder. Still nothing. He moved his hands down to the bear's stomach, trying to remember exactly where he’d squeezed earlier. He tried the sides, then the belly, even each of the arms, but the stupid thing remained stubbornly silent.
Shane gritted his teeth. He couldn't believe he was wrestling with a stuffed animal. After a few more unsuccessful attempts, he let out a frustrating huff.
"I know I'm not crazy."
For one last try, he placed the bear against his chest the same way he had earlier and squeezed. He was about to give up when he felt a faint, hard click of plastic against the stuffing. He pushed harder.
"Your mouth looks good calling me asshole."
Shane's brain short-circuited. The sentence hung in the air, vibrating with the same smug, arrogant cadence Ilya used. He squeezed it again.
"Your butt… that's it. That's the message, Hollander."
Shane actually laughed out loud, a warm sensation filled his heart and a flush crept on his cheeks.
"Fucking Ilya…"
Shane waited a few hours before texting Ilya, when he knew that he was back at the hotel, likely alone.
Jane: Tough break tonight. You played well, though.
He hit send, then tossed his phone onto the cushion beside him, one hand was resting casually on the bear's head. The reply was almost immediate.
Lily: The call was bullshit, but that score shouldn't even count as a goal. I am annoyed.
Shane snorted.
Jane: It was one game. You'll destroy them in the next one.
Shane shifted his grip on the bear, flipping it over so he could examine the back. He ran his fingers along the seam, looking for the hidden mechanism that had turned his innocent Valentine's gift into a vessel for Ilya's filth. He pressed down. There was a muffled click, followed by a short burst of static, then Ilya's voice filled the room again.
"I am thinking of how you look when you lose to me in hockey… almost as pretty as how you look in my bed."
He felt the heat rise instantly up his neck. That was a low blow.
"Asshole," Shane muttered, but there was no heat in it.
Over the next few months, Shane found himself reaching for the bear and squeezing it a lot just to hear Ilya's voice. He told himself he wanted to know just how many recordings were inside, but mostly he missed his boyfriend and couldn't help the lurch in his heart every time he heard a new phrase.
"I like when you wear my jersey, but it's even better on the floor."
Or "The things I would do to you right now if I were there…"
They all had the same effect on Shane. His heart pinched and heat rose up his face. It became a sickness, really. Shane was sure he was becoming addicted to the feeling.
He had also begun to carry the bear around the apartment with him instead of letting it sit on the couch. Like now, it was set on the kitchen counter while he made coffee, propped up against a fruit bowl like a judgemental roommate. Shane glanced sideways at it, and it stared back with that stupid grin. He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly as he burned his tongue, and set the mug back down with a clack against the counter.
"Don't look at me like that," he muttered, pointing a finger at the stuffed animal.
The other thing that had begun was that Shane had started speaking to the damn bear, like it was going to actually respond to him. Like it wasn't a stupid pre-recorded prank of a stuffed animal.
"This is not funny," Shane insisted. Truly because he felt ridiculous. "You don't get to look at me like I'm the crazy one. I'm not the one that went to a Build-a-Bear workshop, or wherever the fuck Ilya got you, and recorded dumb sexual shit."
Shane took his coffee and walked into the living room, deliberately leaving the bear on the counter. He had better things to do with this day than hold onto the damn thing and listen to his dumb boyfriend's cheesy, sensual pick up lines. He settled onto the couch, turning the TV on to watch the sports highlights. But his eyes kept drifting back to the kitchen, to the brown lump of fur silently mocking him.
He lasted ten minutes before he was making his way over to the counter again. It was like a ticking time bomb.
Shane groaned. "Okay," he said, grabbing the bear by the arm. "We're going to do this."
He marched back to the living room, bear in hand, and plopped down on the couch. He set it onto his lap and turned it to face him, staring it down. Apparently, Shane had completely lost his fucking mind.
"Oh, you think this is funny, don't you?" He crossed his arms. "You're lucky the person who gifted you is cute. Or you would've been in the Goodwill bin from all the judgment you're giving me."
Shane sighed and pulled the bear close to his chest, turning it back to face the TV. He squeezed the middle section hard before static hissed and Ilya's voice sounded.
"Hollander, you are so boring… but I guess I like boring."
"Jesus, Ilya," Shane couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "That's your idea of a romantic confession? 'I guess I like boring'?"
He looked down at the bear, feeling a warm, fond ache in his chest that rivaled the embarrassment. He squeezed again.
"I looked in the mirror today and thought about how lucky you are to have me. But then I thought of your face the last time you were riding my cock and remembered I'm the lucky one."
Shane choked on his own spit, his face heating up. "Fucking hell, Ilya," he groaned, covering his face with one hand while keeping a grip on the bear with the other. "Subtle. Real subtle." He flipped the bear around to face him. "How the hell did he record these in a store?!" Shane had no idea why he was scolding this stuffed toy, but the grin it kept giving him was irritating him even more. He gave it another squeeze.
"Shane, if you don't stop looking at me like that in public, I will start misbehaving on purpose."
He let out a booming laugh and shook his head. "First of all, when does he ever behave even in public? And second of all… I'm the one looking at him?!" Shane gestured wildly at the empty room. "He's the one that undresses me with his eyes across the face-off circle every time!" He pressed the bear tight against him.
"I love when you give me sex eyes during our face-offs."
"Oh, I do not fucking give him sex eyes!" Shane wanted to throw the bear across the room for a second time. "This is what he's thinking about when we're on the ice against each other?!" He felt like he was losing an argument with the plushie, but he couldn't stop. "I give him 'I'm going to steal the puck and score on you' eyes. There's a fucking difference, Rozanov."
He waited a beat before squeezing the bear again.
"If missing you were a sport, I will lead the league."
Shane's shoulders slumped, all the annoyance drained out of him almost instantly. "Wow…," he murmured. "That was actually really sweet… and smooth." He rubbed his thumb over the stitched letters. "Cheesy, but smooth."
The phrased echoed in his mind. Shane looked down at the bear, thumbing over the soft fur now, wishing it was Ilya's curls tangled in his fingers. God, he missed him. Shane pulled it closer, buried his nose in the soft fur between its ears.
"Lead the league," Shane whispered, a sad smile on his lips. "You definitely would."
June
Shane stood in the kitchen as he heard the sound of a car crunch over the gravel driveway. He took a slow sip of his ginger ale, leaning back against the kitchen island, and heard the key turn in the lock. He looked over at the bear that he had deliberately set on the counter. It was grinning stupidly at him like it always was.
The door swung open, and Ilya stepped into the cottage, bringing in the scent of the lake air and his cologne. He looked dangerously gorgeous with his hair slightly damp from the humidity. Ilya's eyes scanned the room before locking onto Shane and gave him a smile. He moved closer to him, his eyes darkening with that specific, predatory intent that usually made Shane's knees weak.
"Did you miss me, solnyshko? Or is that your new boyfriend on the counter?"
Shane fought back a grin. Of course Ilya would expect him to be flustered. He expected Shane to blush and stammer about the recordings, maybe even throw the bear at him.
Instead, Shane shrugged. "The bear is better company."
Ilya huffed out a laugh, stepping into Shane's personal space. He crowded him against the counter, bracketing Shane's hips with his hands.
"Mm, I don't believe you. Can he do this?" He dipped his head to brush his lips against the sensitive skin of Shane's neck. "And I know he can't get the noises you make when I—"
"Freckles make me hard… well yours do."
Shane's hand, which had been resting casually behind the bear, squeezed the spot making Ilya's voice blare into the quiet kitchen. Ilya froze and pulled back just enough to look Shane in the eye, one brow raised.
"Yes? Is true."
He wasn't blushing. He wasn't apologizing. He actually looked insufferably pleased with himself, as if he'd just won a bet against the universe. But Shane refused to let him win.
"I know, Ilya. It's very romantic." He rolled his eyes. "Truly poetic. I'm sure you know what else he says."
Shane gave the bear another squeeze.
"Your mouth looks good calling me asshole."
Ilya's lips twitched. "You do have very pretty mouth when you are angry, Hollander."
Shane ignored him. He squeezed the bear again and again, cutting Ilya off every time he tried to speak or lean in to kiss Shane.
"I am thinking of how you look when you lose to me in hockey... almost as pretty as how you look in my bed."
"Your butt… that's it. That's the message, Hollander."
"The things I would do to you right now if I were there..."
"I like when you wear my jersey, but it's even better on the floor."
Shane had listened to these recordings so many times over the last few months, he knew the order of the messages by heart. He knew exactly what recording was going to play after this.
"Shane," Ilya warned, his voice low.
He reached out to still Shane's hand as he went to press the spot again. But Shane was faster. He dodged him, keeping the bear pressed between them like a shield.
"Wait, wait, I want you to hear my favorite one."
"Hollander, you are so boring... but I guess I like boring."
Shane burst out laughing. "Wow, Rozanov. In all the years you've called me boring, this might be the first time you admit that you like it." Ilya was glowering at him, still fighting for control of the bear. "And I can't believe it's recorded."
"The battery will die with how often you listen to it."
Shane shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I've already recorded a copy of these."
Ilya went still, the way a predator does right before it pounces. The playfulness in his eyes sharpened into something laser-focused and intense.
"You think you are funny?" Ilya asked softly.
"I know I'm hilarious," Shane corrected, breathless from laughing. He looked at Ilya, who was keeping his expression neutral, but Shane could see the muscle in his jaw twitch. "What? No comeback?"
"You are mocking me," Ilya observed. He stepped closer, forcing Shane back until his back hit the refrigerator. "You think because you have recordings, you know me?"
"I know you're a cheesy romantic, Rozanov. Who hides dirty talk inside plush toys," Shane countered, but his voice was slightly breathless with the Russian man towering over him.
The air between them had changed. It was thick and charged with Ilya's sudden shift. Ilya slammed a hand against the fridge beside Shane's head, caging him in. He didn't touch the bear. He didn't touch Shane. He just leaned in, his face inches away, his eyes burning.
"The bear can say he misses you," Ilya whispered. "He can say he likes boring. But he cannot do this."
Ilya's hand moved to grip the back of Shane's neck, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin behind his ear. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down Shane's spine that for sure no recording could replicate.
"The stupid bear cannot kiss you," Ilya muttered, his lips brushing against Shane's, teasing. "The bear cannot make you beg. It's just stuffing and a cheap speaker, Shane. I'm the real thing."
Shane's breath hitched. The bear slipped from his fingers, tumbling to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.
"Prove it," Shane whispered, the challenge clear in his eyes.
Ilya didn't smile. He didn't smirk. He just crushed his mouth against Shane's, kissing him with a desperate, hungry intensity that proved he had been waiting months for this exact moment. It was like he was starving for Shane, his tongue forcing its way past Shane's lips in a way that left him gasping for air.
"You need to step up your game, Rozanov," Shane panted against Ilya's jaw, his hand fisting in the front of Ilya's shirt, dragging him impossibly closer. "So far, the bear is winning on the dirty talk."
Ilya growled, a low, rough sound that Shane felt vibrate against his chest. He grabbed Shane by the waist, lifting him effortlessly, and Shane didn't hesitate to wrap his legs around the man's hips.
"The bear does not have hands," Ilya bit out, his mouth hot and wet against the side of Shane's neck. He slid his hands down to grip Shane's ass, hauling him up until their groins were perfectly aligned.
The friction was electric, even through their pants. Shane let his head fall back against the fridge, a broken moan tearing from his throat as Ilya rolled his hips, grinding the hard line of his cock against Shane's.
"Fuck," Shane gasped, his nails digging into Ilya's shoulders. "Yeah, the bear definitely can't do that."
Shane felt Ilya smirk against his skin as he sucked a bruising kiss just below Shane's ear. He carried Shane away from the fridge, not bothering to put him down, all the way to the bedroom with a single-minded focus. Shane hung on, kissing every part of Ilya he could reach. They hit the mattress in a tangle of limbs, Ilya settling heavily between Shane's thighs, spreading them wide with his knees.
"Shirt," he commanded, tugging at the hem of Shane's t-shirt. "Off."
Shane arched his back, letting Ilya strip the fabric away, and then Ilya's mouth was on him, hot and demanding. He didn't waste time on teasing licks. He bit down on Shane's collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark, his hands roaming aggressively over Shane's chest and stomach. Shane's breath hitched as Ilya's thumb brushed over his nipple, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to his groin.
When Ilya lifted his head to look into Shane's eyes, his own were dark and wild, pupils blown so wide the hazel was just a thin ring. He smirked, a wicked crooked thing that promised exactly the kind of trouble Shane craved.
"Does the bear get to see you like this?"
Shane rolled his eyes, half from annoyance and half from how turned on he was by that stupid smirk. Ilya moved down Shane's body with agonizing slowness, his hands hooking into the waistband of Shane's sweatpants and boxers, stripping them down his legs with one rough tug. Shane's cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach, already hard and leaking.
Ilya didn't touch it. Instead, he hooked his arms under Shane's knees, pushing his legs up and open, baring him completely. The heat from Ilya's gaze was almost enough to send Shane over the edge.
"Look at you," Ilya murmured, his eyes fixed on the tight furl of muscle between Shane's cheeks. "Does the bear—?"
"Ilya," Shane warned, his voice strained. "I'm going to need you to stop mentioning the fucking bear."
Ilya laughed heartily.
"Asshole."
Ilya let out a soft moan. "Mm, my favorite word."
He leaned in, licking a broad, wet stripe over Shane's hole, his tongue flat and heavy, before immediately stiffening it and pushing inside. Shane cried out, louder than he intended to, his hips bucking off the mattress as his hands flew to Ilya's hair to hold him there.
It was wet and filthy and perfect. Ilya ate him out like he was trying to consume him, his tongue fucking into Shane's clenching heat with relentless pressure. He alternated between thrusting deep and circling the rim, sucking on the sensitive skin until Shane was writhing, broken curses falling from his lips.
"Fuck, yes. Oh, God, just like that. Jesus, your tongue. Fuck, Ilya, fuck."
Ilya hummed against him, the vibration traveling through Shane's body, making his toes curl. His hands were gripping Shane's thighs hard enough to bruise, holding him open, taking everything he gave and demanding more.
"Turn over," Ilya growled, pulling away abruptly.
Shane didn't argue. He scrambled to flip onto his hands and knees, his chest heaving. He felt the mattress dip as Ilya moved behind him, and then the heavy hot weight of Ilya's cock was nudging against his entrance. Then his hand came down hard on Shane's ass cheek, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
Shane buried his face in the pillow, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I need you to fuck me, Ilya. Now."
"Ask nicely, Hollander. Where are your manners?"
"I swear to God, Ilya…" Shane managed through gritted teeth.
The edge of Ilya's mouth curled up in a dark, approving smile. He leaned over to the nightstand, and Shane heard the sound of the drawer opening followed by the snap of a cap. A moment later, slick fingers were pressing against his rim, breaching him with a steady, deliberate pressure. It had been a while, and the stretch was a sharp burn that made Shane hiss, his fingers clawing at the sheets.
"Relax," Ilya said, soothingly. "Let me in. You are so tight, moy lyubimyy. So perfect for me."
"I am relaxed," Shane lied, his voice tight. "Just put it in."
Ilya let out a soft laugh against Shane's shoulder blade, but he didn't rush. He worked Shane open with agonizing patience, scissoring his fingers, curling them just enough to brush against his prostate. Shane's eyes rolled into the back of his head.
"You're taking it so well," Ilya whispered, pressing a kiss to the base of Shane's spine. "Always such a good boy."
Shane groaned, his face heating up. "Ilya, please."
"I know, I know," Ilya soothed. "I have you."
When Shane finally pushed back, greedy for more, Ilya withdrew his fingers. He gripped Shane's hips with both hands, positioning himself. The blunt head of his cock pushed against the loosened muscle, and Ilya rocked forward, sinking in inch by inch. Shane dropped his forehead to the mattress, overwhelmed by how full he felt with Ilya inside. A low groan tore from his throat as the Ilya seated himself fully, his hips flush against Shane's ass.
"God, you feel incredible," Ilya rasped, leaning forward to cover Shane's back with his chest, his weight grounding and heavy. "Like you were made for me. So hot, so tight."
He pulled out, almost all the way, then slammed back in. The force of it shoved Shane up the bed, a cry catching in his throat. Ilya set a punishing rhythm immediately, deep and hard, taking Shane apart with every thrust. The room filled with the slap of skin on skin and the broken, needy noises Shane couldn't hold back.
"You feel so good, sweetheart," Ilya gritted out, his hand tangled in Shane's hair, tugging his head back gently. "Better than I remembered. God, you're amazing."
"Fuck," Shane gasped, his vision blurring. "Ilya, yes. Harder."
Ilya obliged, driving into him with a ferocity that bordered on violent, but his touch remained reverent. He reached around, wrapping a hand around Shane's aching cock and stoked him in time with his thrusts.
The dual sensation was too much. It didn't take long for Shane to spill all over Ilya's fingers and the sheets beneath him. His entire body shuddered, his muscles clamping down tight around Ilya's length. Ilya groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. He thrust deep, one, two, three more times, burying himself to the hilt as he found his peak, pulsing hot inside Shane.
Ilya's breathing was heavy as he collapsed onto the bed beside Shane. He immediately pulled Shane closer, wrapping himself around Shane's sweat-slicked body.
"You are incredible. I love you."
Shane laughed weakly, completely drained, tucking his face into Ilya's neck. "I love you too."
Ilya was pressing kisses into Shane's damp hair.
"Even if you're jealous over a stuffed animal," Shane snickered.
"I am not jealous."
"The bear," Shane mumbled, his eyes drifting shut. "He's still on the floor."
Ilya shushed him gently, "Let him stay there." He tightened his grip on Shane. "He is learning his place."