Work Text:
CENTAURS VS METROS
FINAL SCORE: 6-2
Shane beat Ilya home that night. He didn’t take losses well, but it was hard to be mad over stuff like that now. Now that he had Ilya. He was happy for him, and he knew that.
Shane sipped his water— wandering the kitchen, searching for something small to snack on. He wasn’t in the mood for anything hearty. He also wasn’t in the mood to admit how much of a sore loser he still was.
The silence was broken by the rustling of feet and jingling of the keys at the front door. Ilya took off his shoes and jacket.
“Shane?”
“In here.” Shane said low, before the blonde curls appeared around the corner. A smug expression already wiping his face.
He walked over to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind and resting his chin near his neck, breathing in.
“Mm. Told you we’d win.”
“Good job. You played hard.”
“I did?”
“You know you did, asshole.”
“Yes. But I like to hear you say it. Keep going—.”
“Shut up.” Shane cut him off, a small smile breaking through his exhaustion.
Ilya leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. Then his lips. Then again, deeper this time.
He looked into Shane’s eyes, looking carefully as he studied his face.
“You ok?”
Shane looked into his eyes, clearly not holding a gaze, but not enough to notice that himself.
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ilya hummed softly at that, leaning his face back towards the warmth of Shane’s neck. “Just checking.”
“Well, you don’t have to. Really, I’m fine.”
“Mhm.”
Shane shot him a glare, that usually meant Ilya was on the verge of being in trouble.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, sweetheart." Ilya spoke easily, a teasing smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re just doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Mm, that thing where you say you are fine.” He tilts his head slightly. “But you look like someone just cancelled Christmas.”
Shane rolled his eyes playfully. “You’re so dramatic.”
Ilya studied him for a second longer, amusement still lingering in his expression.
“You didn’t even chirp me once tonight,” he spoke. “Very.. what is word.. suspicious behavior. Weird for you.”
“Maybe I’m growing as a person.” Shane smiled ever so slightly.
“Wow. Big step for you.”
“Oh my god.”
Ilya lifted his head from his boyfriend's neck, staring again.
“You sure nothing is bothering you?” He asked lightly.
“I’m sure.”
“Not even a little?”
“Nope.”
Ilya let the silence stretch for a moment longer, before deciding not to push it further.
Shane shifted where they both stood against the counter, suddenly moving with strange urgency like he had remembered something important when he hadn’t. He opened the fridge, staring intently.
“So,” he said after a beat, voice carefully casual. “I can make pasta. Or that stir fry you like.”
Ilya watched him quietly.
Shane was already pulling ingredients out. Spinach– a carton of egg whites, a container of pre cooked grilled chicken. Lining them up neatly on the counter.
“Up to you,” Shane added, reaching for a pan. “Both are easy.”
“Ah. So this is your plan,” Ilya smiled. “Feed me until I forget everything.”
Shane shrugged, glancing over his shoulder briefly. “You still have to eat.”
“I just won a game,” Ilya pointed out.
“Yes. I know.”
Ilya could tell how much Shane was biting back. He knew him too well. But he still couldn’t contain the warmth that spread through his chest because of it.
“Pasta.” He said, leaning against the island.
Shane nodded. Getting the rest of the small ingredients out. A few more silent moments pass, Ilya making his way back over to press his chin to the top of Shane’s shoulder.
“Bood and Barrett invited me out tonight. Le Rouge.”
“Yeah?”
“Da. I think I want to go. Could be fun.”
Shane didn’t say anything, just nodded, taking another sip of his water. He wasn’t ready to admit he just wanted the night in with his boyfriend. It also wouldn’t be fair to say so.
But Ilya noticed. And he already knew what he was going to do next.
“You should come.”
Shane froze at the sudden invite. “What?”
“What?”
“No way. That sounds like a terrible idea. I’m good here.”
Terrible? Ilya thought.
His eyebrows furrowed as he broke the small contact between them, stepping back slightly. Putting thoughts together.
“I didn’t mean–”
“You said terrible.”
“I mean.. logistically terrible,” Shane said quickly, “Crowds. Cameras. Your teammates.”
“My teammates are terrible?”
“What? No– that’s not what I’m saying.”
Shane turned back to the stove, preparing more things for the meal he was slowly forgetting about.
“I’m just saying it’s not exactly subtle for us to go out together like that.”
Ilya watched him for a moment longer. Anger is clear in his expression, but hurt too.
“You go out with friends all the time.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because my friends fucking know!” Shane snapped, immediately regretting how it came out. His stomach dropped instantly.
But Ilya’s eyes narrowed, hurt flaring clearer now, flaring into something sharper now.
“That. That is exactly my point,” he said, voice low. “You get to tell people. You get to feel safe, accepted. While I’m.. invisible. While I laugh off the fact I am in love with you with people that do matter.”
Shane’s face paled. He didn’t even realize his knuckles had turned white, his grip on the wooden spoon tightening. He opened his mouth.
“You really wanna whine about being in a fucking crowd? For what? I’m still your shadow. Your ghost standing next to you. You’re.. Selfish.”
Shane’s lip trembled with something mixed between anxiety and utter heartbreak. “That isn’t what I–”
“Don’t worry. You are crystal clear, really.”
Shit.
“Ilya don’t be like that. It seriously isn’t what I meant. I’m just tired. It was a long day and–”
“And you are not in the mood. Got it. Because when are you ever in the mood to do something that has to do with being seen with me?” Ilya spoke roughly, his accent cutting harshly through all of the emotions he currently felt. Shane flinched at that. Realizing how quickly this was escalating.
“Okay. Seriously, what? That isn’t fair, and you know it. We are both not out, and we both realize what going out together can look like.”
“Look like.” Ilya repeated, softly. He had just won a game with his team for the first time in who knows how long. He was not going to argue further.
Shane froze, his heart hammering. He knew exactly what Ilya was thinking. That knowledge alone made his chest tighten. He fucking hated how twisted his words were coming out right now. The air between them was sharp and accusing. Ilya stepped away, going up the stairs.
Before Shane could even realize, he was following behind. Walking into the shared bedroom.
“Ilya.” Shane called softly, but it was half protest, half plea. His voice didn’t carry far, but it was enough.
But not enough for Ilya to stop getting dressed, changing shirts at lightning speed.
The sound of zippers and hangers filled the room. Ilya grabbed whatever else he needed. Shane lingered stubbornly, not wanting to speak up again, but yet—
“Ilya.” He repeats. The part of him that wanted to grab his boyfriend and just.. be for the night, breaking through.
“What, Hollander?” Ilya said with urgency, done getting ready and ready to leave.
Shane paused, he hated using last names. Especially now after everything they’ve gone through together. His heart hammered further.
“I get that you’re pissed. But you don’t have to do that.”
“Don’t have to do what? Use your name? Wince every time I say something you don’t like? Only you can have feelings now?”
“That’s not—“ He sighed nervously. “You are not a problem. It’s not that. I just don’t want to go out tonight.”
“I know. You don’t want to be seen with me. It’s fine. I will go. Your choice.”
“But—“
Ilya is already walking down the stairs, not letting him finish.
“You’re being childish! Just listen to me!” He spits out, getting to the bottom of the stairs.
“Mm. So childish of me,” Ilya said, a fed up smirk tugging at his lips, “for wanting a night out with the man I love. Keep it up.” He says, grabbing his shoes.
Shane stayed quiet. Chewing his lip, watching his boyfriend get ready to leave. Not knowing when his return would be.
“Can I at least.. cook something for you before you go? You still won.” Shane asked pathetically. Already wishing this never happened and wanting to try and fix it without admitting too much.
Stay home. Just stay with me. I’m sorry. I love you. Please.
“No,” Ilya said firmly as he finished putting on his shoes, grabbing his jacket. Realizing this whole argument was honestly ridiculous– but not enough to change his mind.
He walked over to him, slowly. Kissing his cheek. Grabbing his phone.
“Goodnight. Go rest.”
Shane let the kiss linger on his flustered cheek. Wishing more than anything that it had landed on his lips instead. Maybe he didn’t deserve it.
“I love—“
But the door opened and closed before he could get the final “you” out.
–
Thirty minutes had passed. Only thirty. Thirty minutes of pure tension. Unsaid things he wished could’ve been spoken. Imagining Ilya. God. Was he overthinking as much as him right now? Probably not. He imagined Ilya sipping a drink, moving through a crowd without a care in the world. All while Shane sat alone on the couch in the house they shared. It had never felt so impossibly empty.
Shane found himself wandering the kitchen again, glass in hand, picking up random dishes. His heart is clutching a little more when he finds Ilya’s coffee mug from that morning. He then found himself picking at a snack he didn’t even want. Every little sound made him jump– keys jingling outside? Footsteps on the stairs? Nothing. Just silence. He ran a hand through his now slightly tangled hair. He hated how much he missed him already. How much his chest tightened just thinking about the smug smirk Ilya had worn before leaving. That little chirp about “So childish of me..” — It stayed planted in his mind on replay.
Shane sank down onto the edge of the couch, restless. Should he text? Should he just sit and sulk stubbornly? He wanted to scream and pull Ilya back into his arms all at once. Every option felt wrong. No matter what emotion crossed his mind, he kept his legs planted firmly on the ground. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like when Ilya returned. The way his hands always found Shane’s, the soft, teasing bite to his tone that he loved so much. Even the last kiss that lingered on his cheek, left a warmth that made him ache in a way he couldn’t–wouldn’t–admit out loud.
Fuck it. He needed something. Someone. He was calling Hayden.
Shane grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over Ilya’s contact for a split second– no.
He knew calling Hayden over this was sort of ridiculous, he had nothing to do with this. But he needed reassurance. Someone who would listen and understand the absurdity of his own panic.
Hayden answered on the second ring, “Hey,” his voice was casual, maybe a little sleepy.
“Hey.. you busy?” Shane asked, trying to keep his voice steady but failing.
“For a random call from my best friend? Never,” Hayden said. Amusement threading through his tone.
Shane exhaled, running a hand through his tangled hair for the millionth time that night.
“Okay, so.. Ilya left. Like, Actually left. And I’m just sitting here, being ridiculous, overthinking everything and I just–”
“Whoa, slow down,” Hayden interrupted. “He left. Cool. Did you two argue before?”
“Yes. After the game the tension was so off. It was partially my fault for being quiet– but that is just how I get after a loss. It wasn’t anything new. He invited me out. I said no and it totally escalated.”
“Typical Hollander brain panic.”
“I’m serious! I’m freaking out,” Shane exclaimed.
“He is just celebrating with his teammates. Blowing off some steam? Probably. Do you want to text him?”
“I don’t think he wants to hear from me. We didn’t even kiss.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true. It’s already 11. You could just survive one more hour without dissolving entirely.”
“Survive one more hour… right. Sure.”
“Listen. I know you. More than we both admit. And you, better than anyone, know Ilya. An argument this small isn’t gonna make him stop loving you. He will come home. This is just a disagreement, they happen. For crying out loud you two are Shane and Ilya!”
Shane sighed to himself, understanding Hayden was the only person being actually rational about this. He felt his eyes begin to sting softly, “But..” another sigh.
Hayden gives him his moment, before Shane speaks up again, quieter this time. “What if he meets someone else? Someone easier?”
“Shane,” Hayden spoke, voice sharp but amused. “He’s Ilya. And he is completely in love with you. He doesn’t meet random people. And he doesn’t want to. You know him well enough to know that he will come back.”
“I know.. I know. I just can’t stop thinking.”
“Thinking is your superpower, buddy. Use it for something good. Go jerk off.”
“Oh yes, thanks for that. Really comforting.” Shane laughed, blinking back the unshed tears.
“Of course man!” Hayden responded, before a high pitched cry erupts somewhere in the back of the phone call. “Hey listen, Amber just–”
“I get it. Go do your dad duties. I’m alright.” Shane spoke, honest this time.
“I’m still a call away. He will come home! Give me updates, but if you do jerk off.. I would prefer if you left that o–”
“I’m hanging up!”
“Goodnight, Hollzy!” Hayden chirped, before the line went dead.
Shane glanced at the time, 11:04. He could be home anywhere between an hour. Or three. Or.. he just wouldn’t come home.
He let his thoughts consume him for just a few more minutes before they won. And he messaged Ilya.
Ilya ❤️
I’m sorry for being an asshole. Are you coming home?
10 minutes later.
Ilya ❤️
I miss you. I love you.
Message not delivered.
No.
What?
Shane stared at the screen like it might change if he looked hard enough. He stared in complete silence. Picking his nails as time ticked by, thinking of what the actual fuck to do next.
The three dots never appeared. The message was never delivered. Was this seriously it?
His thumb hovered over the call button, his stomach twisting before he called.
And called again.
And again.
Again.
All to be left with, every time,
“Hi, this is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.”
This was it. A sob tore through the back of his throat, throwing his phone. Unshed tears and unspoken thoughts finally breaking through.
He sank onto the couch. The couch that had never once felt more uncomfortable than right now. The fabric rough against his skin. He stared at the door. Every tick of the clock sounded more like a hammer in his chest by the second. The home was quiet. Too quiet. The hum of the fridge only made him become more aware of the silence Ilya had left behind.
He picked up his phone again. No new messages. He stared quietly at the unread messages before pressing his face back into his palms, letting out a strangled sob that had been building since he shed his first tear.
Minutes– or was it hours? They all passed in a blur. Shane’s mind spun in cycling loops:
What if I fucked up for good? What if I genuinely pushed him away? What if he’s having fun without me and realizes he doesn’t need me anymore? Need this?
Every memory of his boyfriend– his laugh, the way he leaned against him after game days like these, the soft brush of his lips on his skin. It all twisted the knots in his stomach further.
He was definitely being irrational now. He tried to distract himself. He moved back to the kitchen, picking up the knife that felt so heavy in his hand from the half forgotten meal. The rhythm of cleaning up after dinner only made the house feel emptier. He ate a piece of bread, drank some water, and then stared at his phone again.
11:47. 12:05. 12:30.
Every passing minute was a slow, tortuous drip of panic. He paced, tugging at his sleeves. He rubbed his palms across his face. He even pressed his forehead against the cold glass of his phone for a moment.
He thought about texting him again, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought of another undelivered message, another “Hi, this is Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail,” made his stomach knot further.
Shane let the tears come and go, counting the quiet while listening for any sign of Ilya’s return.
By 12:40, Shane was slumped against the couch. He rubbed his arms, feeling the tension in his shoulders while wishing he could just hold Ilya and fix everything with a touch.
After moping around and wasting all of the time away, he grabbed his phone again shakily. Wiping the remnants of tears away from his flushed face. Inhaling for 4 long seconds.
12:49am.
An hour and 45 minutes.
An hour and 45 minutes since his call with Hayden.
An hour and 45 minutes since Ilya could’ve been on his way home.
Shane unlocked his phone, moving at rapid speed now, sniffling. Typing before he could stop himself.
Ilya ❤️
Stop fucking around.
Call me–
He typed the last letter before keys jingled near the front door. For real this time. The familiar blonde curls at the entrance of their shared home.
Shane froze for a second, he didn’t move at all. Making sure this wasn’t a figment of his breakdown. Ilya stood in the doorway, shedding his shoes. The hallway light behind him turned his hair almost golden. He looked.. completely normal. Like Shane hadn’t been sitting here unraveling piece by piece for 3 hours.
“Oh.”
The word came out barely louder than a breath.
Then the shock wore off and the anger rushed in to fill the space. Pulling himself together completely.
Ilya walked over, but Shane immediately backed him into the nearest wall.
“Hollander–”
“Fuck no. Don’t Hollander me. I called you 8 times.”
“I know.”
“You know?” Shane let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“My phone died.”
“That’s not–” Shane stopped himself, “That’s not the point.”
“Really? What is point then, Shane?”
“You couldn’t borrow someone’s phone? Ask for a charger? Send one message before it died to calm whatever the fuck I have been dealing with? Alone?”
“I was with my friends. Last time I checked, we were not happy with each other when I left for Le Rouge.”
“And you think that matters right now?”
“Shane–” Ilya started. Before silence fell between them. A frown poking through his slightly annoyed appearance.
He noticed the glassiness in Shane’s eyes. His cheeks flushed and blotchy. His breathing uneven like he’d been trying very hard not to let something spill over.
Ilya leaned his face in closer, before stepping around, Shane now against the wall as Ilya grabbed his boyfriend's face. Careful. Slow.
“Моя любовь...”
Ilya let his thumb linger under Shane’s eyes, so gentle. His thumb collects any ounce of damp moisture left behind.
The words land softer than Shane expects. And that’s the problem. Because the anger he’s been clinging onto for the last hour and 45 minutes suddenly doesn’t feel as solid.
“Don’t–” Shane mutters, voice rough. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know what.”
Ilya’s eyes search his face for a moment longer. Shane looks everywhere except at him. At the floor– the couch, the stupid phone that was still clutched in his hand. Anywhere but his steady blue eyes. His voice comes out smaller this time. Dropping.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
The confession hangs there. Ilya exhales slowly. Like something in his chest finally loosens.
He steps even closer, close enough now that he can feel the warmth coming off of him.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“I can see that.”
There’s the faintest hint of amusement in Ilya’s tone, which makes Shane’s head snap up immediately.
“Oh, you think this is funny?”
“No.”
But the corner of Ilya’s mouth twitches.
Shane glares at him. Then suddenly grabs the front of his jacket and pulls it only half an inch closer. Their lips crashing into one another. The kiss is hard, messy, all teeth and frustration mixed with relief. Ilya makes a low sound of surprise against his mouth before responding just as fiercely, his tongue pushing through Shane’s mouth, fighting for dominance instantly. One hand coming up to grip Shane’s jaw and steady him. They still needed to resurface the night, but that could happen later. After.
They break apart, but only for long enough for Shane to whine out,
“I need you.”
Something in Ilya’s expression shifts slightly. The softness disappears, replaced by something darker. More focused. His hand slides to the back of Shane’s neck, fingers firm and harsh.
“Yeah?”
His voice drops lower.
“What do you need?”
“Fuck me.”
The words fall between them like a match hitting gasoline. Ilya’s grip tightens ever so slightly. A slow yet dangerous smirk appeared in his mouth. His thumb brushing under Shane’s chin, lifting his gaze.
“How do you want me?”
“Fuck me until you forget why we were ever mad.”
For a second neither of them move, before Ilya leans in, his lips brushing Shane’s earlobe.
“Oh, sweetheart. That won’t be a problem.” He whispered low, before they were back at each other's mouths. Neither of them remember the time stamps between the wall or rushing up the stairs. Hungrily shedding clothes like never before.
They didn’t even bother closing the bedroom door before they were on the bed. Ilya hovering over Shane, the kiss still messy and unbroken. Their hands wandering all over the now bare skin.
Shane whimpered softly when Ilya’s hand found his aching, clothed cock. Practically begging for release through his underwear. Trying to hook Ilya’s own hand onto the waistband of his boxers.
“Still mad?” Ilya asks, a smirk on his lips, still palming him.
Shane’s shoulders loosen. His grip on Ilya’s shoulder has changed too– less desperate, more needy. His eyes are heavier, half-lidded, fixed on Ilya like he’s the only solid thing left in the room.
When Shane doesn’t respond, Ilya takes this moment to grab his jaw, forcing his gaze to join his.
“I asked you a question.”
“Maybe.” Shane breathed softly,
“Mm. I thought you were furious? You looked at me with those angry kitten eyes. Was very cute.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes. Soon.” Ilya smirked again, before his hand let go of his jaw and cupped around his mouth.
“Spit.”
Shane obeys almost instantly, spitting generously into Ilya’s hand. Looking upwards after, his lips glossy.
Ilya looks at his hand, then at Shane. A perfect mixture of awe and desire, before taking his free hand and pushing his boxers down completely. The hand covered in Shane’s spit instantly wrapping around Shane’s free, throbbing erection.
Shane practically cries out at this. Ilya wasted no time moving his hand rapidly.
“Fuck. Ilya–” His voice broke halfway through his name.
Ilya didn’t stop. If anything, the sounds leaving his lips were an encouragment. His grip was firm, deliberate, and the pace was set completely ruthless and clear that it would stay that way.
Shane moaned again, his forehead dropping forward until it rested against Ilya’s shoulder, his lips parted as soft pants escaped. He hated how quick he was to crumble when Ilya had him like this. Completely at his mercy.
But he also loved it. Fuck, he loved it.
“Ilya.. Ilya I’m gonna cum–”
And just like that, he stilled. Any movements at all pausing completely.
Ilya’s mouth curved slightly, not cruel, just knowing. His hand stayed there, steady, but unmoving. His dick twitched in his hand with a whine.
“Already?” Ilya spoke, “You’re so needy today.”
Shane let out something in between a moan, and a frustrated whimper.
“Look at you.. all quiet. I thought you wanted me to forget why I was mad?”
Shane let out a shaky exhale, that still sounded more like a pathetic whine. Ilya loved it.
“I didn’t mean stop.”
“No?”
Ilya settled between Shane’s legs, his head inching lower and lower to where Shane needed him most.
“Beg.”
Shane threw his head back into the pillow, groaning. He really wasn’t gonna make this easy, was he? I mean, he technically asked for it.
“You’re impossible.”
“You like impossible,” Ilya said back.
Shane sighed, “Please.”
“Oh, come on sweetheart. Do better. I know you can–”
“Please. I need you. Need you so fucking bad, I can’t take it. Can’t you feel it? Ple–” He started before Ilya’s mouth was around him. Swallowing completely.
“Oh fuck–” He moaned, his hand immediately clutching Ilya’s curls. His knuckles white.
Ilya moaned, the vibration sending a new sense of shock through his dick, resulting in an even louder moan from Shane’s parted lips.
He continued moving his head at the perfect speed, his cheeks hollowing around him as he brought his hand up, his hand running up his chest, sweat slightly collecting around the surface of his skin. His finger running back and forth over Shane’s nipple. Both actions were perfected.
This earned another moan from Shane, his open mouth an invitation for Ilya to slide two fingers into his wet mouth. Shane closed his lips around his fingers, whimpering softly and sucking harshly.
Ilya’s free hand slapped Shane’s cheek, slightly tapping his lips, and gripping his jaw. Working his head faster. Not caring how close Shane’s tip actually was to the back of his throat.
More moans tore from Shane’s mouth, his hand gripping even tighter into Ilya’s hair. Pushing down slightly on his head without meaning to.
Ilya pulled up for a split second, his lips brushing his tip.
“Taking charge? Trying to fuck my mouth?” Ilya said, grabbing his balls with a soft squeeze, earning a squeak from his boyfriend.
“All you have to do is ask. Want to fuck my mouth, huh дорогой?”
“Yes. Please. Oh god—“
Ilya’s mouth wrapped around him again, and he immediately took the offer, his hand pushing down a little harsher on his head than he planned. But he was too horny to care. And Ilya didn’t mind it. He took him completely, swallowing around him ever so often.
Shane grew close again, his cock twitching in Ilya’s mouth. Ilya moaned around him again, before pulling off with a pop. His fingers leaving Shane’s mouth. He breathed heavily, a smile on his lips, before kissing him roughly.
Shane kissed him back, the desperation clear in his movements.
“Please.”
“So desperate. I will give you what you want. Can you be patient for me?”
Shane nodded, but that wasn’t enough for Ilya.
Ilya grabbed his ankles, pulling him closer to the leather bench near the end of the bed that Ilya had his weight on, grabbing his jaw.
“Hm? Use your words.”
“Yes. Fuck—“
“Good boy. Such a perfect slut. You love it.” Ilya spoke before flipping Shane over completely. Shane grabbed a fistful of the sheets for support.
Ilya’s fingers ghosted over Shane’s hole. He was already clenching and he hadn’t even been touched there yet.
His fingers swiped over his hole a few seconds more, before his hand smacked down on his ass, harshly. Shane gasped and whimpered into the sheet, his face turning, cheek smushed into the mattress.
“Stay still.” Ilya said, before getting up quickly to grab the half empty bottle of lube from the nightstand dresser.
“Condom?”
“Fuck no. Just need you.”
Ilya smirked, returning back before drizzling a generous amount of lube onto two fingers. Then three.
He slid just one finger to start with, Shane instantly clenching around the simple gesture they had done countless times before. Huffing out yet another whine.
“Relax. I’ve got you.”
Shane relaxed around the finger, sighing, but still not enough. Ilya slid in another finger, pumping them in and out slowly. Pulling out just enough to watch them slide right back in at a quicker pace.
“God..” Shane spit out. Probably muttering other affirmations, but couldn’t bring himself to care what he was actually saying at the moment.
Ilya curled his fingers slightly at that, searching for the spot that would drive him wild.
When Shane cries out, he doesn’t stop there. He adds another finger, scissoring him open slowly while ruthlessly hitting his prostate. The soft burn adding onto the pressure and fiery pit that had been building the second Ilya touched him first.
“Fuck— right there. Ilya, please—“
His fingers drew in and out at a brutal pace. The slick sounds mixed with Shane’s small whimpers and moans muffled against the sheets filling the air.
Ilya pulled his hair, tilting his boyfriend’s hair back, kissing his earlobe before speaking,
“You sound so pretty. Don’t hold back.” Ilya said, kissing Shane’s shoulder blade softly.
Shane tried to say something back, but the words dissolved into another breathy whine he couldn’t control. Ilya could tell he was getting close again, pulling his fingers out of him completely.
“So perfect.” Ilya said, before licking his fingers completely clean. “And so good.”
“Ilya—”
“Yes I know, malysh. I’ll fuck you now, yes?”
Shane nodded, faster than he would ever admit, sinking further into the mattress. The anticipation alone was almost unbearable.
Ilya took a second to just look at him. Not rushed, not careless. Just looking. His boyfriend a complete writhing mess beneath him.
Shane’s hair was a mess against the pillow, cheeks still flushed from earlier tears. It caused heat to approach Ilya’s cheeks fast. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he was trying very hard to act composed and failing completely.
Ilya’s hand slid slowly up Shane’s spine, fingers warm and steady.
His gaze faltered at his boyfriend's slight arch in front of him, and then at the mirror next to the bedroom door. A dangerous smirk crept onto Ilya’s face.
His hand smacked down harshly against Shane’s cheek for the second time that night, getting another gasp and moan from Shane who was trying so hard not to prove how much he fucking loved it.
He walked over to the mirror, picking it up with ease, and placing it against the wall beside their bed, walking back over to Shane, who still had no idea.
“Look at you,” He murmured, voice low.
He lifts his head for a second, before freezing, noticing the reflection.
God he looked pathetic. He almost found it hot, too much, before the reality sunk in that he was staring at himself. His stomach tightened immediately. His eyes darted in the same direction for another half second before snapping away.
“No way.”
Ilya’s brow lifted slightly. “No?”
“I’m not doing that,” Shane muttered, turning his head further into the sheets like that would somehow solve the problem.
Ilya watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders were tense, the way he was suddenly very interested in staring at literally anything except for the mirror.
“Ah,” Ilya murmured. “So you did see yourself?”
Shane whimpered softly under his breath.
“Stop.”
Instead of arguing, Ilya reached down and slid his hand around Shane’s neck. His fingers settled around his throat as he forced his head upwards.
“Hey.”
Shane shook his head stubbornly, still refusing.
“Look.” Ilya said again. It wasn’t harsh, just certain.
Shane tried to resist for another second, squeezing his eyes shut like it would help.
“I’m not–”
Ilya tilted his head up even higher, guiding his gaze toward the mirror further.
“Shane.”
The way he said his name made the protest die in his throat.
Reluctantly, Shane cracked his eyes open. The second he caught their reflection for the second time, his breath hitched.
A low moan escaped Ilya’s throat. “There he is.”
Shane tried to look away again, but Ilya squeezed slightly around his throat.
“No hiding.”
Shane swallowed hard, and Ilya felt it against his palm. His face burned as he was forced to actually look. His cock aching more than it already was.
“So are you gonna fuck me or are we just gonna stare at ourselves all night?” Shane muttered, his trapped cock leaking precum over his skin. Clearly trying for nonchalance but failing.
Ilya wasted no time, pouring lube over his hard erection, stroking a few times with closed mouth moans as he moved. He leaned down, kissing one of Shane’s cheeks before slamming into him completely with no warning.
Shane’s breath left him in a sharp gasp, the sound punched out of his chest before he could stop it. His fingers tightened in the sheets instantly, shoulders tensing somehow further as the suddenness of it sent a shock straight through him.
“Shit–” the word broke from his throat, quieter when he whimpered it a second time. Like he was trying to regain some sort of composure.
Ilya moved with intensity, brutally and ruthlessly. He gripped Shane’s hips. Pulling out of him almost completely before pulling him back onto his dick.
When Ilya’s hand moved from his grip around Shane’s neck, he instantly tipped his head back into the mattress, eyes squeezing shut as he practically cried out.
Ilya noticed immediately, and didn’t let it slide, even for a second. “No.”
Shane barely had time to process it before Ilya’s hand slid up to his jaw, thumb pressing lightly under his chin to guide his face back towards the mirror.
“Open your eyes. Now.”
His eyes opened at that. The moment their gazes met, something in his fucked out expression softened. Less stubborn now. His dick grew impossibly harder.
Ilya’s open mouth curved into the faintest smirk, still snapping his hips forward as he drove into Shane.
“Yeah,” he moaned. “Just like that. Eyes on me. On us.”
“Ilya–”
“Do you have any idea how hot you look?” Ilya groaned, “How perfect you look for me? You were made for this dick. Fucking take it.”
“Oh my god.” He cried out, letting everything take over. His eyes locked with Ilya’s in the mirror. The sight in front of him almost too much to handle.
“Yeah?” Ilya moans, “You like watching what you’re doing to me?” His hips snapping forward again.
Shane’s breath caught hard in his throat, the sound breaking out of him before he could realize or try to stop it. His fingers slipped from the sheets, and instead tried with everything in him to grab at Ilya’s wrist, like he needed something to hold onto. Keeping eye contact in the mirror was one thing, but seeing it all unravel was another. Getting completely devoured one thrust at a time.
“Fuck– Ilya..”
His voice came out so thin and short, utterly wrecked already, and he hated how obvious it sounded.
His mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips wet and parted.
“I know baby, I know.”
A moan tore from the back of Shane’s throat, and Ilya knew he had found the one spot within him to make him go crazy. And he instantly took advantage of it, ruthlessly slamming into the same spot over and over.
His back arched slightly off the mattress, fingers completely slipping from whatever grip he gained from Ilya’s wrist as a sharp breath escaped his lungs.
His eyes shut again, not even meaning to this time.
“Fuck!” Ilya shouted, his own gaze faltering for a second before he noticed.
“Uh-uh,” He opened his eyes, gripping his chin. “Eyes open.”
His eyes tore open, now glassy. His breathing uneven. Was he gonna cry?
His fingers curled tightly into the sheets, knuckles pale, but he kept his gaze on himself for a second further. It surprised him as much as anything else. He blinked hard, but that only made another tear gather at the corner of his eye.
Another snap of Ilya’s hips and Shane cried out, the tear sliding down the side of his face. Followed by another, and another.
Ilya noticed, looking down and away from the mirror for the slightest moment. Tilting Shane’s head back as he exhaled, his movements slowing ever so slightly. The sight went straight to his head. The tears, the rosy cheeks, the pleasure beyond his glassy, brown eyes.
“Jesus,” He almost whined. A faint, disbelieving smile tugging at his lips, followed by a woo as he kissed a stray tear.
“You are so perfect,” His thrusts picking up speed again. “You were made for me. Nobody else.”
He steadied their gaze back at the mirror, steadying his grip back on Shane’s hips harshly.
Shane fucking whimpered at that, eyes completely unfocused.
“Is this what you wanted? To cry just from my cock, huh?”
Shane moaned, nodding as his lip trembled.
“Say it.” His hip snapping.
“Yes. Fuck– yes..”
Ilya groaned in response, one hand roaming near his back dimples, in pure awe and desire.
“Still mad?” Ilya asked again.
“No.” Shane cried, not even trying to hide it.
Another tear slipped free, causing Ilya to curse out, wiping the sweat collecting from his curls and forehead before speaking up,
“Apologize.”
Shane’s breathing was completely uneven now. His breath coming out in short, sharp pants. His chest falling and rising. His head fell back to the mattress before he snapped it back up on his own. He let out a shaky shine, for a second he thought about doing it, but he shook his head weakly.
“No,” He spoke roughly.
“No?” Ilya asked, snapping his hips with more force bluntly.
“You started it.” He managed, voice still small.
A slow smile spread across Ilya’s face– not amused, exactly, More like he’d expected that answer.
His hand smacked down on his already red ass, rubbing there for a soft second, before grabbing his boyfriend’s throat once more.
“Come on sweetheart, tell me you’re sorry.”
“Ilya–”
“No.” Ilya interrupted, his gaze unmoving.
Shane lasted another few seconds before his resolve finally cracked. The pressure building slowly in his abdomen.
“I’m–” He gasped, voice breaking.
“I’m sorry.” He moaned.
“Much better.” Ilya spoke, releasing his throat as they stared intensely into the mirror together.
The sounds of broken pants and fucked out moans filled the air, as well as slick skin slapping together at a brutal pace.
Shane continued to whine and break, the pressure building up even quicker. His shaky hand slid underneath him, going to grab his aching and disgustingly sticky cock before–
“What’re you doing?”
His hand twitched as he grabbed himself, one stroke in. His face already flushed and his eyes nearly bloodshot as he tried to catch his breath.
“I–” he started, voice wrecked.
“Just helping.”
Ilya’s expression changed immediately. A quiet, amused sound left him as his hand closed around Shane’s wrist, then the other. Stopping the movement entirely.
“No.” The word was calm but absolute.
Shane let out a frustrated moan, his head tipping back as he looked at the action through the mirror. God.
“You don’t need that.” Ilya spoke as he kept a hold of his wrists, guiding is away and pinning it lightly around his back. Moving with purpose.
Shane swallowed hard, clearly struggling with the denial as he whined.
“I’m close,” He managed, his voice still breaking.
“I know.” His thumb brushed once across Shane’s wrist, keeping him exactly where he wanted him as he sped up.
“You’re finishing from me.”
His breath stuttered hard at that, his chest rising sharply as he tried to steady himself, but failed. Ilya still had him pinned completely against the sheets, fucking into him relentlessly. Shane knew better than to try to protest, or pull away, or do anything again.
His head tipping upwards, throat tight as he fought to keep his eyes open like he’d been told. His lashes were damp, his focus flickering between Ilya, himself, and the ceiling as he tried to regain any sense of composure.
Ilya watched every bit of it, getting closer to the edge himself as the sight unraveled in front of him. He couldn’t believe his luck sometimes. Warmth spreading through his chest and his dick at the same time.
Shane let out a breathy moan, his head shaking weakly again.
“I can’t–”
“You can,” Ilya reminded. “You will. Come on.”
“You’re doing so well for me. You feel it too, don’t you?”
The praise made Shane’s throat close even tighter, another tear slipped free when he blinked. He almost looked embarrassed, and Ilya noticed immediately.
“Hey,” Ilya muttered through thrusts. His hand stroking Shane’s flushed cheek, before resting at his jaw.
“Don’t hide now. You’re right there, aren’t you?”
Shane nodded weakly, another moan ripping past his lips. The pressure unbearable as he knew within he wasn’t gonna last much longer. His cock unbelieably tight.
Ilya’s smile deepened just a little, before leaning a little closer, his voice low again.
“Cum for me. Right here, just like this.” He said, guiding his jaw back towards the mirror.
His eyes closed as his orgasm approached, before a slight tap at his chin jerked him back to reality.
“You’re gonna watch yourself cum. Look how pretty–” Ilya said, cutting himself off with a moan himself, the sight purely overwhelming.
Shane stilled, his cry of pleasure pausing as the world felt like it was on pause. Painting rope after rope beneath him. Immediately overstimulated as he began to shake softly, still working through his orgasm, fast and heavy.
Ilya felt him clenching around him. The hug was so tight and real, ripping him away from the scene in front of him as he steadied a few more harsh, brutal strokes, before collapsing near his shoulder, moaning out into the thick air. Releasing almost instantly, roughly, his movements stilling. The room fell completely quiet except for the sounds of their breathing.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Shane was still half arched into the mattress, chest rising and falling unevenly like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that it was over yet. Ilya stayed where he was above him, cheek still still pressed into his boyfriend’s shoulder as he regained composure.
“Jesus..” Shane whispered after a second, the word barely there.
His eyes fluttered close this time, not out of defiance but simply because he physically couldn’t keep them open anymore.
Ilya let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh, pulling out, and laying beside him. Already reaching for Shane, bringing him close.
Shane made a small, offended noise in the back of his throat as he moved, his eyes still closed as he pressed his cheek to Ilya’s bare chest. His face was flushed, both of them utterly spent. Ilya’s curls were damp against his forehead. He took his hand, running through Shane’s hair softly. A look of pure adoration and sex filled his expression. He smiled softly.
Until something in Shane’s expression shifted, the teasing edge fading as he pushed his head up just enough to meet the blue eyes he fell in love with over a decade ago. The mattress dipped slightly, his hand brushing Ilya’s bare bicep, skin to skin.
Their breathing slowly evened out as they took in the sight of one another, the room settling back into that quiet, heavy stillness that always came after moments like these.
“Are you still mad?” He asked quietly.
Ilya glanced back at him, his eyes soft, completely wrung out. But nothing written on his face made him have any sort of doubt.
“Mm-mm.” Ilya shook his head softly.
Shane looked so gentle. His lashes were still slightly wet, lips slightly parted as he caught his breath. He swallowed, resting back into Ilya’s chest.
“I didn’t mean for tonight to happen.”
“No? Not even your great angry sex plan?”
Shane laughed softly at that, “Shut up. I’m serious.”
Ilya smiled back, rubbing Shane’s hair gently.
“I know you didn’t mean it.”
“You do?”
Ilya gave a small shrug. “You are bad at explaining things when you panic.”
Shane let out another tired huff of laughter.
“That’s generous.”
“You said terrible,” Ilya reminded him lightly.
The memory of it made his stomach twist again.
“I didn’t mean you were terrible,” he said quickly. “Or your teammates. Or going out with you. I just–”
He stopped, searching for the right words.
“I get scared.”
“Of what?”
Shane’s fingers fidget with Ilya’s fingers rather than his own, it didn’t go unnoticed.
Ilya was quiet for a second.
“Sweetheart. Of what?”
“Of messing everything up,” he admitted. “Of someone taking our chance of coming out before we are both ready.”
“I just don’t want to be the reason you lose things.”
The confession hung in the air between them. Ilya studied him for a long moment, their gazes meeting once again. He shifted closer.
“You are idiot sometimes,” he said softly.
Shane’s eyebrows knitted playfully, “Rude.”
Ilya ignored that.
“You think I would choose my team or some stupid club over you?”
Shane opened his mouth.
He closed it again.
Ilya rolled his eyes, taking his thumb and rubbing gently over Shane’s freckles.
“I left because I was angry,” he admitted. “Not because I wanted to be away from you.”
Shane blinked. Remembering how ridiculous he truly was just a few hours earlier.
“You.. came back pretty fast.”
Ilya smirked slightly.
“I stayed exactly long enough to have one shot and for Bood to ask why I was staring at my phone every thirty seconds. Which is also why it died.”
That made Shane laugh properly this time, Ilya smiling as the sound he loved so much filled the room.
“Did you tell him why?”
“Of course not,” Ilya said.
“But he did say I looked miserable.”
Shane smiled faintly. “Were you?”
“I was.”
Another quiet moment passed. “Me too.”
Then Shane shifted slightly, turning onto his side so he could face him properly.
“I still am sorry.”
He looked completely spent – eyes heavy, movements slow – but something so warm still lingered in his expression.
“I’m glad you have them,” Shane starts, “Your teammates.”
Ilya smiled, “Me too.”
“I want to come out.”
Ilya can't deny the way his breathing stopped in his chest, his pulse quickening. But not in fear. Just in a way that said everything and nothing at all.
“We will. The time will be right. I can’t wait to tell the entire world that I love you.”
Shane smiled, still soft, but so big.
“And that I get to fuck you and–”
“Okay– that’s enough.”
Ilya laughed, pulling Shane close again. They were both terribly messy– but right now? Neither of them cared. Maybe they would in about ten minutes, but that didn’t matter during this moment.
“I really am sorry–” Shane started but–
“Shh.” Ilya whispered, kissing him gently. The kiss was soft, careful, and full of all the words they both knew, but didn’t need to say.
Shane let out a slow breath against his skin as they broke away, cuddling again.
After a minute, he mumbled something muffled into Ilya’s shoulder.
“What?” Ilya asked.
Shane tilted his head up slightly.
“Next time.. you could just kiss me instead of starting a fight.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
“You started it!”
“Did not.”
“You did! You said terrible.”
Shane grounded again, a smile so big breaking through as he buried his face back into Ilya’s shoulder.
“Oh my god.”
Ilya laughed quietly, the sound low and warm as he wrapped an arm impossibly closer around Shane. He realized for the millionth time in that moment, there was no place either of them would rather be.
“I love you.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu.”