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Shane liked feeling sore. He enjoyed when his body was pushed to the extreme, muscles burning as a result of a thorough training or even better, a won game. It made him feel accomplished, every little wince feeling like a medal around his neck, a little nudge that he should feel proud of himself for working so hard.
Sex with Ilya left him with a similar feeling.
It was rarely during the act that he felt like that - mostly because his husband had a habit of reducing him to a moaning mess, slipping white stars underneath his eyelids as his bigger body enveloped and pressed him into the mattress. Being the one on top didn’t help either, not because Shane did not do his best to concentrate, but because Ilya rarely gave him the time to acknowledge the fact that he momentarily had the upper hand; fingers digging into his sides, moving him up and down at an almost delirious pace, emptying Shane’s mind and making him feel like a mere ragdoll.
The soreness came mostly after, in the few minutes of aftercare he could tolerate before his skin would start to feel too sweaty and the covers sickeningly dirty.
His time of comfort was about to run out when Shane nuzzled closer to Ilya, hiding his face in the crook of his neck while wishing his brain wouldn’t have been so much of a bother for once. He wished he could roll to the clean side of bed and go to sleep but he could already feel cum sliding out of him where his husband was softening, irrational anxiety starting to simmer inside his chest at the thought that the man holding him might actually forget their nighttime routine and fall asleep.
“You start the shower, I change sheets?”
Shane couldn’t help but smile at that, making it so their mouths would meet into a sweet kiss before humming in agreement. The muscles of his back were on fire as he got up from the embrace. He was ready to tease his husband with the prospect of showering separately when a playful smack fell onto his backside, earning an automatic “Ilya!”.
“You cannot blame me, kotik.” Ilya was the one smiling like the cat who got the cream. “Not with the way you’re flaunting that ass.”
“That is my ass to flaunt if I want to, and I was literally just getting up.”
“I think is my ass now.”
The suggestive raise of the eyebrows added an extra dimension to the blush Shane was already sporting, and he felt himself clenching in response, even more cum seeping out. He knew his husband would follow him in the shower and the thought of his back flushed against glass made his member twitch in interest.
He was not wrong and two orgasms later they were back in bed, with Ilya lying on top of him like an overgrown puppy. He grabbed his book from the nightstand - "99: My Story" - and was in the process of finding his bookmark when his husband stretched his arm. Shane thought Ilya was reaching out for his phone as “quiet together time” was not unusual, but fingers worked familiar glasses on his face instead, concluding by squishing his cheeks slightly and pulling him into a kiss.
“Ilya,” Shane chastised without heat when lips moved down his throat.
“What? Am not doing anything.”
Ilya did stop, burying his face in the crook of Shane’s neck and letting out a long, content exhale. His curls were still damp, his eyelashes tickling Shane where they fluttered against his skin. A peck found its way to the middle of his forehead.
If anyone would have told 17 year old Shane what his life was going to look like in his thirties, he wouldn’t have believed them. He kissed the top of his husband’s head again for good measure, flexing the muscles of his legs just enough to make sure the burn was still present.
Tomorrow’s practice was going to be hard on his body but realistically, Shane wouldn’t have changed a thing. He loved both sex and hockey. He felt his traitorous member twitching in interest at the admission, his eyes moving over the same paragraph he had supposedly started his lecture with. Shane didn’t love sex - he loved sex with his husband. He had already slept with a few women by the time he met Ilya, had even tried to sleep with other men during their long and painful situationship, but nobody had managed to make him feel as confident in his body, as good. Nobody managed to get him out of his head like Ilya did.
“You aren’t reading.”
It wasn’t a question. Shane placed the book on the bed, his teeth already worrying his lower lip. He was thinking about their first time and the confidence of Ilya’s instructions, the times before that, when he had asked Shane if he had ever tried to play with himself.
“How did you know I’d like bottoming?”
His question must have come as a real surprise because Ilya blinked the entirety of his sleepiness away and got up to look Shane in the eye. He looked completely caught off guard, like he sometimes still did when people used intricate English phrases, so Shane let out an amused little snort.
“What do you mean?”
Shane ran his fingers through sand-colored curls. “How did you know I wasn’t a top?” He expected a stupid, dirty answer about him being desperate for cock - a fact he wouldn’t have been able to deny - but his husband hummed instead, taking the time to actually think it through.
“The way your body reacted, I think.”
Shane liked being manhandled, liked to be tossed around, liked having his hair pulled; all those things weren’t a secret anymore, not after so many years of having sex with one another, but he couldn’t quite understand how that had been so obvious for Ilya in the beginning.
“You bought a dildo, too. I think you knew you weren’t top before me.”
Shane felt his cheeks burning at the mention of his first toy - well, the first toy he bought for himself. In a lot of ways, Ilya was right, they have not discussed sexual dynamics back then. He didn’t know if it had been because he was already so far gone for Ilya that he would have assumed whatever position would be asked of him or if the idea of being the bottom came to him naturally. He hadn’t given it much thought.
“Most people switch,” Shane said weakly, clearing his throat as his eyes fixed the mole on Ilya’s left cheek.
“What, you read study?” Ilya asked teasingly, leaning in to nuzzle the tip of Shane’s nose with his. The latter’s brief anxiety melted into a smile. “Sweetheart, are you trying to tell me you want to fuck me?”
Shane crinckled his face in that way that always made Ilya compare him to an upset kitten.
“Would that be weird?”
The laugh that rumbled through Ilya’s chest was laced in affection. “Why would it be weird? I do it all the time.”
“But I’m not you.” And he didn’t want his husband to believe he was unsatisfied with their sex life because that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He didn’t even know if he was going to be good at it -
“No, you’re not,” Ilya agreed and pressed their lips into a kiss. “You’re better.” Kiss. “At everything besides hockey, I mean.”
Shane shoved playfully at his chest. “Asshole.”
Their mouths found each other again, this times hungrier than before and Shane found himself spreading his legs wider, making space for Ilya to move closer. Hands were already tracing the muscles of his abdomen, digging into his sides when the kissing turned particularly deep, the evidence of Ilya’s enthusiasm pressing against his upper thigh.
Other people would have found thinking difficult in the given situation but Shane came to accept the fact that he was most times not part of the majority. He needed more information before he could even take something like that into consideration.
“Have you done this before?”
“You mean kissing or dry humping?” Of course his husband had to be insufferable. “I’ve never bottomed before, no.”
Shane felt his throat constricting at the sincerity in Ilya’s voice. He had expected another answer; after all, out of the two of them, Ilya was the one with most experience, the renowned ladies man who had often made it into tabloids because of all the sex parties he attended.
“You’d let me do it?”
“Let me -” Ilya repeated his words with an almost amused frown. “You’re my husband, moya lyubov. I belong to you, body and spirit.”
“Body and soul.”
The correction was whispered, and Ilya just had to lean in and capture Shane’s mouth, pretending he didn’t notice the way brown eyes turned glassy.
I love yous were whispered, one time in English and one time in Russian before Ilya allowed his entire weight to press Shane into the bed, hands and mouths moving with abandon. They have already taken their pleasure and while it wasn’t any less exciting, the edge was gone, their bodies setting a comfortable, almost lazy pace. It was similar to the rare mornings in which Shane decided against his jog and woke up enveloped in warmth and desire, when Ilya’s mouth would make a mission out of peppering kisses on every patch of skin it could reach while mumbling sweet nothings in his mother language. It was easy and natural and them.
Shane’s brain was starting to get hazy once again, his erection pulsing where Ilya was grabbing it through the boxers, so he reached out for the bottle of lube they didn’t even bother to put away anymore.
“How do you want me?”
Shane froze for a second. He didn’t expect it to happen this soon, didn’t realize this was the turn their making out session would take.
“On your front?”
Ilya grinned, showing his pearly white teeth. “Are you asking me or are you telling me?”
“Fuck you,” Shane bit back, moving so Ilya could take his place against the pillows.
“Yes, that’s the point.”
Shane let out a little chuckle at the cockiness and grabbed one of the smaller pillows in order to position it under Ilya’s hips. It was something he was still doing while exploring his body, something that he hoped would help his husband release some tension.
He felt a little silly, looking at Ilya’s glorious ass from that angle, going over all the moles his fingertips have already memorised over the years. He almost wanted to chicken out and ask Ilya to fuck him, but then saw the faint pinkness covering his husband’s cheeks and was reminded he would be the first one - the only one to see this side of him.
“Are you going to open me up for you?”
Shane swallowed loudly and nodded in agreement, the bottle of lube already uncapped. Fingering was nothing new but Shane’s cock still leaked more precum at the sounds escaping Ilya’s mouth. He struggled to pull his own boxers down with his left hand before adding even more lube to the two fingers he was working inside his husband.
“Does it feel good?”
“Fuck yes,” Ilya moaned against the sheets, angling his hips slightly differently and pushing back. “More, Shane. I need more.”
Two fingers turned into three and Shane leaned in to press a kiss to a muscular shoulder while curling them, making his husband tremble with pleasure. He could hear half syllables, a combination of his name and Russian and curse words that encouraged him to keep going, to see how far he could push. He could now understand why Ilya always sounded so smug while teasing him - he felt on top of the fucking world seeing his husband, his captain and one of the most powerful hockey players in the world reduced to incoherent moans because of him.
“I’ve got you,” Shane whispered against his neck, picking up the speed just slightly before Ilya reached out behind him to still his wrist.
“Fuck -”
Shane’s first instinct was to panic, his hand going lax into Ilya’s grasp. He didn’t understand what went wrong, what he did wrong. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, baby, fuck,” Ilya answered breathlessly, twisting his upper body so he could look at his husband. His cheeks were still flushed and his smile was dopey. “Just don’t want to come like this.” He motioned for Shane to lean in for a kiss that ended in a loud mwah and low chuckles.
“Are my fingers that good, Rozanov?”
“You have always been a fast learner,” the blond admitted, leaning back against the pillows while maintaining his current position. It wasn’t the most comfortable but he took pleasure in studying Shane’s expressions, he wanted to see him glow. “I think I’m ready.”
“Okay.”
Shane realized his fingers were trembling only when he reached for the lube once again, his thoughts starting to race a bit too fast inside his brain. He knew it was silly to be this nervous - this was Ilya he was going to top, his husband and the man he gave almost all his firsts to, who had been by his side through thick and thin, who loved him as a whole.
His heartbeat picked up once he pushed in, the realization that he didn’t even think to ask about using a condom slapping him in the face. He was about to open his mouth when Ilya, ever the impatient man, pushed back and took even more of him inside. His vision turned white.
“Fuck, Shane.”
It was good - Shane knew that. His entire body was buzzing with anticipation, his nerve endings on fire because of the tightness and the warmth and the whimpers. He moved until he bottomed out, one of his hands cautiously pressing against Ilya’s lower back to keep him in place. He could feel Ilya clenching around him, begging without using his words, so he made an effort to pull out halfway before slamming his hips forward.
“Fuck -”
Ilya had always been the vocal one of the two of them. He knew exactly what to say, when to say, allowing Shane to wordlessly float and to feel when he needed it the most. Shane found himself repeating the words back at him, his tongue feeling too heavy inside his mouth to be able to come up with any new ones. His hand moved from Ilya’s spine to his ass, squeezing the softness of it and allowing the other to finally move as he wanted.
It felt good. It also felt different. He felt clumsy and didn’t know where to touch and his legs already felt sore but not in the way he liked it. A drop of cold sweat ran down his neck, sending a shiver rippling through his body.
He wanted it to be over. And he couldn’t remember the last time he has had such an embarrassing thought; it must have been the last time he has had sex with Rose. He didn’t even manage to stay hard all through it, back then - because everything just felt so wrong and wet and suffocating.
But Ilya was not Rose. Ilya was his incredibly beautiful and hot husband, the man who made Shane want to fall to his knees with a single glance. It didn’t make sense for him to want to stop.
“Shane?” He didn’t even notice when the movements of his own hips ceased. “Did you just say your own name?”
He must have.
Jesus, he must have.
He opened his mouth dumbly, as if waiting for sentences to come out flying, panic taking over as he realized him repeating the words Ilya was saying was not just him lacking imagination but him stimming. He has been unconsciously trying to distract himself from the pressure of being in control.
It felt embarrassing more than anything so when Ilya looked at him over his shoulder, Shane felt as if a bucket of ice had been thrown at him. He wanted to say that he just needed a minute, that he could fix whatever the fuck was going on inside his head and keep going, but no words came out.
“Shane?”
Shane needed to swallow the sound of his name so as to not repeat it. His vision turned blurry in frustration.
“You’re panicking, sweetheart.”
He knew and he wished he wouldn’t be because it was just so stupid. It didn’t make sense why he couldn’t do the one thing his husband always did for him. He brushed his unshed tears away with the back of his hands, furiously, because he wanted it to hurt, because he didn’t deserve the tone Ilya had just used to point out the obvious.
It wasn’t hard for Ilya to pull away because Shane was already soft. He almost let out a wail at the pathetic sight of his glistening member falling against his thigh.
“I need you to breathe, zaichonok.”
“I’m sorry -” He didn’t even know what to say, he didn’t have any excuse besides the fact that he simply did not like it.
“I don’t need explanation, malysh. I need you to be good for me, yes?”
Shane nodded and sobbed, his brown eyes following Ilya’s expression closely. Ilya didn’t seem mad but then again, he couldn’t remember a time when Ilya had been mad that he was having a meltdown.
He followed the instructions and breathed in and out, trying to empty his brain of all the unfair thoughts running through it. Ilya had him safely wrapped in his weighed blanket within seconds, strong arms making him feel small inside his cocoon, soothing words breathed into the dark.
“Moy khoroshiy mal'chik.” My good boy. “Tak khorosho dyshish' dlya menya.” Breathing so well for me. “Tak berezhno k sebe otnosishsya” Being so gentle with himself.
The praises felt distant, like something from a dream, but Shane still tried his best to absorb them, body trembling in its attempt to self regulate. He didn’t know how many minutes he had spent listening to words being whispered into his ear until he realized Ilya was not only holding him but also rocking him back and forth. It was something Shane did without realising when in distress, something he never thought his husband noticed. He felt the entirety of his muscles relax at the realization, warmth blooming inside his chest as the back of his head rested on Ilya’s shoulder.
“That’s it,” Ilya murmured into his hair. “Doing so good, malysh.”
Shane let out a sigh at the words, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he briefly went over everything that he had not done good. Like asking for something and then having it send him into sensory overload before he had managed to process it. Like not pointing out how strange it made him feel, how much it reminded him of nights he spent struggling to feel normal. He did not understand the hype around sex back then, didn’t get it why everyone in the locker room seemed so obsessed with something he found simply distressing.
Ilya knew him better than anyone else did but not even he could read his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he tried again, voice hoarse. He knew Ilya was going to tell him he didn’t need to apologise for something out of his control, but it was not his brain he was apologising for. “Should have spoken sooner.”
His husband took a few moments to reply. “Yes.” A kiss was pressed to his temple. “But is not important now.”
Shane supposed it wasn’t.
“I feel stupid,” he confessed, his hands finding each other under the blanket, feeling the bones of his phalanges through pale skin.
“Shane, you’re not stupid.” Ilya tightened the hug. “They always say you have biggest IQ.”
“Hockey IQ,” Shane said dryly. Maybe they were right when they said he was only smart when it came to hockey and hockey alone.
It was Ilya that moved first, as if he had just heard Shane’s self-deprecating speech, coaxing him around as gently as possible, guiding thick thighs around his own middle. His hands continued rubbing circles onto Shane’s arched back as their foreheads pressed together.
“You tried something and found out you don’t like it.” The words sounded definitive, coming from Ilya’s mouth. Simple. “It’s not stupid, is brave.”
“It reminded me of before -” He hated admitting it because that was his husband he was in bed with and not some girl he tried his best to compulsorily like. “When I was trying to be straight.”
Ilya couldn’t stop himself from letting out an amused wheeze.
“I’m sure there’s not a lot of men who say this after gay sex with their husbands.” He burst into chuckles at the crimson shade Shane turned at his commentary and leaned in for a chaste kiss. “I love you.”
“I hate you,” the Canadian protested, tucking his head in the crook of Ilya’s neck. He still felt embarrassed but a smile was threatening to tug at the corners of his lips as his husband's body shook with laughter.
“No, you don’t.”
Shane followed with a little “no, I don’t”, his eyes closing as he surrendered himself to the comfort of Ilya’s embrace. The rocking was barely noticeable but still present, helping him through the last remains of his anxiety.
“I always knew my zaichonok is super gay.”
“I’m regular gay,” Shane protested, brown eyes remaining close as he tried his best to feign annoyance, the warmth from his chest spreading all through his body at the sound of his husband laughing. He really, really loved this obnoxious man. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu, Shane.” I love you too. “Silly brain, too.”