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“That was such a stupid fucking question.”
Ilya snorted into his beer, this having already been the third time this night that he’d heard that statement.
Shane sat next to him on the sticky bar booth seat, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed as he glared over to the announcer standing at the front of the room. He then shifted his gaze to the booth right next to them where Hazy sat and looked victorious with the correct answer written down on his little whiteboard.
Shane looked angry, and adorable and all Ilya wanted to do was sink his teeth into his cheeks.
When Hazy suggested Monday after practice that the team join in on the ‘Urban taverns’ trivia night on Friday Ilya was prepared to say no. He had no desire to spend his Friday night surrounded by people yelling out stupid answers to questions that Ilya couldn’t care less about, especially not at some place called the ‘Urban Tavern’. If Hazy wanted to spend his night being a giant nerd he could take the rookies with him and leave him and Shane out of it. Ilya would much rather be at home, where he could do as he wish and actually take a bite out Shane, and use the fact they didn’t have practice the next morning as an excuse to fuck him into the mattress so hard he wouldn’t be able to walk.
But nooo.
Shane insisted they should go. He still acted like he had to show up to every team bonding event just to make sure everyone liked him, as if anyone could possibly dislike Shane Hollander. It was ridiculous. Anyone in Montreal who thought otherwise was an idiot. Plus the centaurs already liked him before he even joined, especially those little rookies, who admittedly worshiped Shane even more than they worshiped him.
So now Ilya was stuck at fucking trivia night on a Friday, sipping shitty beer because this place had terrible liquor and losing. Not dead last, technically but nowhere close to winning either, which somehow felt worse.
The centaurs who showed up had split into teams of two, with Hazy and Dykstra currently winning the entire thing. And it was thanks to Ilya that he and Shane weren’t dead last with zero points, because at least Ilya knew some things. The trivia night was weird, with every team having to alternate between who could answer the questions without help from the other person. Not that Ilya took that too seriously. Every now and then, he’d lean just slightly closer, murmuring something under his breath for Shane to catch. But Shane was getting increasingly frustrated as the time went on about not knowing anything.
When it had been Ilya’s turn earlier, the question had been easy: “What was the number one song of last year?” He’d answered almost immediately, barely needing to think.
Then it flipped to Shane.
“Name any actor who has played Spider-Man.”
And Shane just blanked.
Which brought them to now. A pouty little Shane who looked like he was about to burst a vein, or round their booth and snap Hazy and Dysktras white boards in half.
“Mhm,” Ilya answered, paying little attention as he listened to the commenter announce the last question of the night. Fucking finally.
“Alright everyone,” the announcer yelled out, getting the bar's attention. “Time for the last question of the night! And seeing as we've got a few of our very own centaurs lets switch it up a bit shall we.” There was some cheering in the bar as people looked over at them, and Ilya watched as a small smile came over Shane's face.
“Hockey. Finally a good question,” Shane said, sitting up and reaching for the dry erase marker he was given earlier.
“Okay,” the announcer yelled out, giving the room a moment of silence before looking up at the projector screen showing the question and reading it out loud. “What is the centaurs goal song?”
Ilya watched as Shane froze and at the same time, both Dykstra and Young whipped their boards up in the air, each reading “All I Do is Win”. Ilya worried that within the next second both him and Shane would be covered in ink from Shane snapping the marker in half with the grip he had on it. The announcer’s voice cut through the room, bright and final, awarding the points before officially declaring Hazy and Dykstra the winners. Applause broke out around them and Ilya set his eyes on Shane raising his eyebrow.
“Shut up,” Shane spoke through clenched teeth as he watched Dykstra and Hazy walk up to the front, each accepting a “trivia winner” t-shirt and a free bottle of beer. Ilya would’ve liked something stronger.
“I did not say anything,” Ilya spoke back as he moved his hand to peel Shane's grip off of the red expo marker still clenched in his fingers.
The moment the marker was freed, Shane reached for his beer that had now grown warm instead and chugged it down. Ilya couldn't help but cringe.
“I thought that question was going to be about hockey,” shane muttered, cringing from what was likely the taste of warm room temperature beer sliding down his throat.
“Technically it was hockey related,” Ilya said as he grabbed a few more of the greasy fries placed on their table, the one good thing he'd had that night. “Also how do you not know Centaur's goal song?”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Maybe because you guys don't score enough for me to hear it.”
Ilya couldn't help the laugh that broke out of him in response to that. “Wow, Hollander,” he shot back, shaking his head, a grin lingering even as he tried to rein it in. “So nice to your new teammates.”
Ilya watched as what Shane had said caught up to him and relished in the blush that started to form on his face, a face that was still showing mostly nothing but annoyance. God Ilya loved it when Shane got pissy and started acting like a bit of a bitch.
“Guess I’ll start learning it soon enough with me on the team now,” Shane muttered under his breath quite enough for no one to hear, but Ilya knew Shane wanted him to hear it anyway.
Ilya could already feel himself growing harder just by the look that was being shot his way and the display of confidence in those words, the quicker he was able to get himself and Shane out of here the better.
Before he could make his plans known and whisk Shane away with a promise of a much better reward than some bar trivia shirt at home, Dykstra and Hazy walked over with Young, Holmberg and Haas trailing behind them.
“Bow down to your trivia kings,” Hazy said as he approached, congratulatory beer in hand and trivia tshirt already on. From behind him Ilya could see both Young and Holmberg dropping down into a bow, as Haasy looked on with a shake of his head.
“Haasy,” Ilya called out as he saw him, putting his plans on dragging Shane out of this place on the backburner till he could get the rest of the team to leave them alone. “Why were you not part of a team?”
Haasy just shakes his head with wide eyes as he looks at them all. “I am not good at trivia.”
Dykstra snorts as he bumps his shoulder into Shane's over from where he was standing next to Shane's spot in the booth. “Neither is Hollzy here and he still played.”
If looks could kill Dykstra would probably be six feet under. As much as Ilya knows Shane likes to think he's good at hiding the emotions on his face, it is truly a skill he has not yet mastered. Ilya sees the moment Dykstra moves his head to the right and watches the murderous intent cross over Shane's face, backing away instantly and moving back over to Hazys' side instead.
“Just messing with you Hollzy, if this was hockey only or something you'd crush us all.”
The rookies agree with him, nodding their heads before they decide that congratulatory shots are obviously in order for them and the winners.With Hazy and Dykstra on board, Young and Holmberg let out a loud whoop, hands thrown up in the air, already turning and heading toward the bar in a loose, laughing cluster.
“Are you guys coming,” Haasy calls over his shoulder at the last second, glancing back when he notices neither Ilya nor Shane had moved to follow.
Ilya saw his opening and didn’t hesitate. He reached over and grabbed Shane’s hand, tugging just enough to get his attention.
“No,” he said with mock seriousness, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Anya’s home alone. We’ve got to go give her dinner.”
Before Shane could protest, Ilya was already pulling him toward the door, beginning to weave through the crowds of people still lingering.
Haasy glanced back over his shoulder, a half-grin on his face. “Okay, see you Monday!” he called, waving as he disappeared toward the bar to join the rest of the team
The moment the bar door clicked shut behind them, the noise and chaos of the night fell away, leaving a quiet that felt peaceful. The streets stretched out empty except for parked cars and the occasional figure slipping into the bar, a muffled echo in the distance. And in that stilness, Shane was fully silent.
Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand gently, then started swaying it back and forth between them, small movements meant to tease him out of whatever mood he’d settled in. Years, and years of competing in the League had made both him and Shane used to what it feels like to lose. From regular season games to getting edged out of the playoffs, they’d had their share of heartbreaks, and through it all Shane had always been impossibly composed. Shane was the definition of sportsmanlike. Upset rarely showed. If a loss really stung, he might let it out around Ilya, someone who had seen him at his best and worst, but even then it was measured. He could handle himself.
But over the years, Ilya had learned something crucial: there was one thing Shane couldn’t handle, no matter how composed he usually was.
Losing at something that didn’t actually matter and had no stakes.
Losing in a game of uno? Shane is throwing his cards on the table, and Ilya is left dealing with a pouty shane for the rest of night. Coming in last in a game of monopoly with himself, Yuna, and David? Shane is calling him a dirty cheat who is stealing from the bank and declares he's never playing with any of them again. And did Ilya cheat? Maybe. But the point is Shane is such a sore sore loser.
And it is annoyingly cute to watch, especially when he becomes a bit of an asshole.
As they got closer to the car, Ilya reached over to poke Shane's lip, which was still jutting out just slightly from his mouth. Shane slaps his hand away and Ilya can't help but laugh at him, causing Shane to let go of his hand completely and walk away even faster to their car parked down the street.
“No,” Ilya whined, dragging out the word as he quickened his pace to reach Shane.
“It is okay sweetheart, I still love you even if you are very bad at trivia and a very sore loser,” Ilya said once he'd reached him, snaking his arms around Shane's waist, as he tried to wiggle himself out and open the passenger side door.
“Fuck you. Those questions were stupid anyway,” Shane said as he finally shoved his way out with a pinch to Ilya's arms, making his way onto the seat.
Ilya did the same, rounding the car and getting into the drivers side. Before starting the engine, he reached over and gently cupped Shane’s chin, tilting his face up just enough to really see him. His thumb brushed lightly across Shane’s cheek, tracing the freckles that stood out against the soft flush of his skin.
“It is okay, moya lyubov,” he said softly, voice teasing but tender. “You are very pretty. Doesn’t matter that you don’t know who Spider-man is.”
Shane scoffed. “I know who Spider-man is, I just don't know why I should know who plays him.”
Ilya smiled as he leaned in to kiss those pouty lips, savoring the taste of stale beer and laving his tongue over the areas of skin where shane had been picking at the flesh for the past two and a half hours. Ilya tried to deepen the kiss even further, tongue prodding at Shane's closed lips but his mouth stayed firmly shut.
Ilya was seconds away from complaining, when shane mumbled against his lips. “Y’know if it was a hockey question I would’ve won.”
Ilya pulled back and gave Shane a dead stare, “Shane, you can lose it is okay.”
Shane growled in frustration and fully pulled back. “I’m just saying,” he began throwing his hands in the air. “I can do trivia.”
Ilya gave up on his tentative plan on convincing Shane into a hot and sexy car blow job, or hand job Ilya was not picky. But seeing as Shane was still muttering under his breath about every question he thought was pointless, he came to the conclusion that it was a moot point. Sliding the car into drive, Ilya felt a small relief as he steered out onto the open road, rejoicing in the fact that, for once, he didn’t have to deal with the terrible Ottawa traffic. The night already felt lighter for it.
He reached over and flicked the radio on, remembering how music had been off ever since Shane had taken the car out yesterday for the grocery run. Static shifted to a soft hum of familiar songs, and Ilya let the sound fill the cabin as he focused on the road. By the time they reached the traffic light, Ilya’s attention drifted back to Shane, who was still mid-rant. Ilya let his head fall back against the headrest, letting the rhythm of Shane’s voice, sharp, exasperated, and a bit dramatic, wash over him.
“It's useless knowledge to know what the most watched music video of all time is,” he exclaimed, waving around as if he was trying to convince Ilya of his point.
“Ah but it is important to know when the first ever inside hockey game was?” Ilya questioned him, knowing Shane already knew the answer to that one.
Ilya saw out the corner of his eyes as Shane shot him a glare. “You’re mocking me.”
“Me?” Ilya said, pushing his voice into an incredulous tone. “I would never.”
“For your information,” Shane said, lifting a hand and holding up a single finger, “one the answer is Montreal eighteen seventy-five,”
“And two,” he added, holding up a second finger as well, “hockey history is good information to know.”
“Of course,” Ilya said, nodding his head as if he agreed. “Because hockey history is the reason you won Stanley Cup.”
“No but maybe more people would have one if they learned it.”
Ilya smiled as they pulled into their neighborhood, shifting the car into park as they reached their driveway. A much more fun idea than a regular car blow job coming to mind. If Shane wanted to win so badly, and prove he could answer some trivia, then Ilya would let him prove himself.
“Do you need to win, Shane?”
“What?” Shane said looking confused as he had a hand on the handle of the car door, looking at Ilya. His head turned slightly to the side like a confused puppy.
Fuck if Ilya didnt get his mouth and teeth on him soon he was going to lose his mind.
“You want to win, Yes?” Ilya said as he opened the car and made his way to the front door, waiting for Shane to follow and unlock it with the key held in his hand.
He waited for Shane to nod his head in answer before responding. “Okay we will play a game then."
Shane followed him inside, looked skeptical as he made his way towards the kitchen. He grabbed two glasses, filling them up with water, and gave Ilya a sidelong look like he was second-guessing every decision that had led him here.
“What is this game?” Shane asked him, Ilya relishing in the annoyance on Shane's face when all he did was shrug.
“You will find out soon.” Ilya says as he walks over to Shane, taking the glass offered to him. Ilya drains the glass, eyes looking over to where Shane is staring very closely to the line of his throat as he drinks. Once finished he places his glass in the sink and makes his way back to Shane. Grabbing his face he places a firm kiss on his lips, pulling away just before Shane gets a chance to deepen it.
“Okay go upstairs and get ready.”
“You want me to get ready for the game?” Shane questions him, looking confused.
Ilya just nods, hands going down to grab at Shane's ass, squeezing him through the fabric of his jeans. “Yes. I want you to go upstairs, get naked and then wait on the bed like a good boy.”
“And what will you be doing?” Shane asks him, cheeks going slightly red as a result of Ilya's words.
Ilya just smirks. “Preparing.”
Shane looks like he wants to ask more questions, but the trust he holds in Ilya to make this good must hold strong, because there are no protests as Ilya turns him around and pushes him over to the stairs that’ll lead to their bedroom. Shane looks back once more with a doubting look but continues on and makes his way up the stairs. Just before he gets too far, Ilya slaps Shane's ass, laughing at the middle finger he got sent his way in return.
Making his way back towards the kitchen, Ilya grabs Anya's bowl with one hand to replace the water while pulling up his phone with his other and googling ‘Hockey Facts’. If Shane needed to prove the fact that he can answer random questions and win, that was all good with Ilya. But he might as well make it a little fun, and see Shane become a crying whimpering mess in the process. Ilya opens a few different pages littered with random hockey information; from the easily known questions that anyone interested in the league would know, to the questions that even Shane may not know.
Copying the questions and answers to a new note app on his phone, Ilya worked to quickly remember the shorter ones, committing both the questions themselves and some of the answers to memory. Feeling sufficiently ready, and armed with enough questions to finally get Shane to calm down over the fact that he does know trivia, Ilya drops Anya's now filled bowl at its designated spot on the floor and makes his way over to the stairs.
Once Ilya reaches the bedroom door he slowly pushes it open and is extremely happy to see Shane, fully bare and sitting in the middle of the bed. His back resting against the headboard with naked long legs splayed out in front of him. His hands are placed firmly under his thighs, where the muscles are bulging over the edge, taking up space. Ilya is tempted to forget this whole thing and just dive in between those legs in an instant, sucking as many marks as possible into the smooth skin there.
Raking his eyes up higher, IIya watches as Shane's dick gives a small jerk, already half-hard laying against the spot where his upper thigh and crotch meet. He's thickening up by the second, Ilya's gaze on him clearly having an effect on him. Despite it all, Shane's holding himself tight, clearly in anticipation of whatever game Ilya’s got cooked up for him.
“You going to keep standing there and looking Rozanov or are you going to lose those clothes too?” Shane asks, trying to hold some control over the situation.
Ilya thinks it's cute. He's ready to melt him down into a puddle of nothing but whimpers and tears immediately.
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
Ilya just shrugs his shoulders and moves further into the room to stand in the middle, right in front of Shane where he's still sitting on the bed. Hands firmly placed under his thigh to keep from touching himself just like the perfect boy Ilya knows he is.
“How many times has Canada Men team won gold?” Ilya asks as he leans against the room's back wall and crosses his arms over his chest, looking at Shane as his face contorts in confusion.
“What?”
“You heard me Hollander. How many gold?”
“Nine?” Shane says eventually, voice going higher in the middle of the word as the answer comes out unsure.
Ilya pushes back from the wall until he's less than two feet from the foot of the bed. “You think or know?”
Shane begins to shift just slightly, hands moving against the sheet where they are still placed under his thighs. “Fuck you. I know, it's nine.”
“Good,” Ilya says with one decisive nod. Then he reaches down with both hands and begins unbuttoning his shirt. With each button coming undone Ilya watches as the heat in Shane's eyes begins to burn hotter until the shirt is fully open and Ilya lets it fall off his shoulders and drop to the floor.
“Is this the game,” Shane questions, shifting forward back from the headboard, eyes glancing down to where Ilya's shirt had just fallen.
Ilya watches his gaze and picks up the shirt, moving to drape it over the bedroom dresser instead. “Your version of strip poker?” Shane asks him.
“Maybe,” Ilya spoke back as he moved his hands down to the waistband of his jeans, waiting for Shane to settle back again before posing his next question.
“When did the Stanley Cup become official trophy?”
“Is that what you were doing while you told me to ‘get ready’, " Shane asked, pulling his hands out from under his thighs to emphasize the words. “Looking up random hockey facts, cause I sure as hell know you don't know the year that happened off the top of your head.”
“Shane,” Ilya spoke, moving his hands from the waistband of his jeans and placing them on his hips instead. Voice lowering in tone as he addressed him, an eyebrow raised as he looked Shane in the eye. Ilya saw the effect he wanted immediately. The haze slowly coming over Shane's eyes as he lowers his hands and politely places them down on the top of his upper thighs, keeping his hands away from where he's hard and leaking without Ilya even needing to say a word.
“Nineteen-twenty six,” Shane responds, voice lowering to a murmur.
Ilya smirks and brings his hands back down to his waistband, unbuttoning his jeans and slowly lowering the zipper. He looks up and makes eye contact with Shane, making sure to hold it as he slowly peels the fabric off of his legs. Ilya’s half hard where he's left straining against nothing but his boxers. Over on the bed Ilya watches as Shane licks his lips, now fully leaking onto his stomach.
Grabbing his jeans, Ilya folds them quickly and walks over to the dresser, placing them next to his shirt that was already there. Once standing back in front of the bed again Ilya hooks his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his underwear, waiting for some of the clarity to come back into Shane's eyes before asking his next question.
“Fastest Hat Trick ever in NHL.”
“Twenty-one seconds,” Shane says immediately, not taking more than a second to think.
God Ilya was so in love with his neurotic hockey freak.
“So smart,” Ilya coos as he sheds his last piece of clothing. He now stood fully naked, a hand coming down to lazily stroke his cock as he looked into Shane’s eyes. Shane’s own cock continued to leak, twitching slightly, and yet the entire time Shane kept his hands away just like Ilya had wanted. Ilya can see it in his eyes that he wants more, but Ilya wasn’t ready to let their little game end.
“What do you want Shane,” Ilya asked as he slowly moved closer, walking until his knees touched the foot of the bed. He watched as Shane swallowed, blinking his eyes until he was ready to speak.
“I want you to touch me,” Shane said, his voice on the edge of a moan without having even been touched yet.
Ilya tsks his tongue and shakes his head. “Try again,” he says.
Shane whines and then says the word Ilya was waiting for. “Touch me please,” he says, voice and body becoming desperate as his hips begin to make little movements, trying to find friction in the empty space.
“Good boy,” Ilya says smiling, moving until his knees were placed on the bed.
Slowly Ilya crawls up the space, until his body is bracketing Shane’s. His knees placed on the outside of Shane’s hips, as he slowly lowers to support himself on his elbows. He leans over Shane’s face and laughs quietly as he watches Shane strain his neck, doing his best to try and make their lips meet but Ilya was still too far away. Instead Ilya leaned in just slightly, letting one hand drift to Shane’s face. His thumb hovered for a moment before moving deliberately, brushing lightly over Shane’s lips. The contact was soft.
His thumb found a particular patch of skin Shane had been picking at, raw and red against the flush of his cheeks. Ilya lingered there, feeling the slight texture, the way the skin was tender, the way it flinched almost imperceptibly under his touch.
Ilya pushes his thumb down into it, and watches as Shane swallows all while his hips jerk up at the sensation. In an instance, Ilya has his hand moved out of the way and is crushing his lips against Shane’s.
The pressure is bruising and Ilya takes no time to deepen the kiss, tongue coming out to flick at Shane’s lips until he opens his mouth as well. It’s hot and wet, and Ilya is drunk on the taste of Shane and mint, from where Shane had probably brushed his teeth while getting ready. Ilya hears Shane as he begins to make little whining noises in the back of his throat and he swallows every single one of them. He wants to drown in those sounds. Have them engraved in himself so deeply that he can name every note and pitch in Shane’s voice. The way the noises get all throaty when Ilya first presses their lips together, to the way those moans get higher and higher the deeper Ilyas pushes his tongue in.
Eventually Ilya pulls away, moving his mouth down to Shane’s neck instead, as Shane drunkenly tries to follow his lips again. Ilya brings his hand back up to Shane’s mouth, this time pressing his thumb in and giving Shane something to occupy his tongue with. Ilya can feel the wet heat enveloping him, and loses his mind over the way Shane is laving at the skin, biting at the knuckle as he brings the finger in as far as it can go.
Ilya makes quick work of leaving a trail of wet open mouthed kisses down Shane’s throat, never lingering too long to leave a mark. That was until he got to the junction where Shane’s neck met his shoulder. Instantly Ilya's worrying that piece of skin between his teeth, sucking and biting it until he soothes the ache with his tongue.
“Fuck Ilya,” Shane moans out as one of his hands move over to winde themselves into Ilyas hair.
Ilya sucks the skin as he pulls away causing Shane’s grip to tighten, and Ilya can't help but look on in admiration as he sees the bruise already forming there. He begins to move down further reaching Shane’s chest, just centimeters away from right where Shane clearly wants him, but Ilya is resisting the pull at his hair.
Instead Ilya pulls back further until he’s looking at Shane’s face, his eyes now open and confused as he looks at Ilya all the while still sucking on the thumb placed in his mouth. Ilya retracts it, calming Shane's upset whines down by petting his cheek, spreading the leftover saliva all over.
“When was the national hockey association found?”
Shane’s quiet for a moment, barely registering the words until Ilya lightly taps the cheek he was previously rubbing at.
“I thought the game was over,” Shane asks, voice barely audible over the slight slur of words.
“No, game is not over,” Ilyas says as he brushes some hair back from Shane’s forehead. “You want to win, right Shane?”
Ilya smiles at the very quick answering nod he receives in response. “Okay. Four questions is not enough for winner, you can do better right?”
Shane nods his head but it isn’t enough for Ilya. He moves to grip Shane’s chin in his hand, stilling it from where it was still slowly bobbing up and down.
“Words Shane.”
“I can-” Shane starts, quickly stopping to swallow the spit that was still pooling in his mouth. “I can do better, promise.”
“Perfect,” Ilya says, looking at Shane and relishing in the look in his eyes. “Do I need to ask the question again?”
Shaw shakes his head no before answering. “nineteen-ten.”
“Good boy,” Ilya whispers before he’s diving down and latching his mouth around Shane’s right nipple.
He starts off slow, drawing careful circles with his tongue before he slightly lets his teeth graze the nub. Shane pushes his chest further into ilyas mouth, the quite little fuck causing Ilya to hum around the skin. The added vibrations making Shane’s hips jump up, desperately trying to catch some friction that Ilya is still refusing to give him. He sucks on the nipple hard, feeling the space where their bellies meet getting wetter by the second, from where Shane is leaking like a faucet.
His Shane always so sensitive.
Ilya lets go with a pop, quickly giving the other nipple a bit of attention as well before he draws back.
Shane already looked fucked out and Ilya hadn’t even gotten a hand or mouth on his dick yet. Hazy at nothing but the light touch and smell of Ilya, mind melting at being Ilya's perfect boy, whose being so good at answering all his questions. Ilya is obsessed with him. With the little noises he’s making, and the blotchy red that’s slowly leaking from his face down to his chest. His dick fully hard, tip red and glistening, and Ilya might just die if he doesn’t get a hand on him soon.
But not until Shane answers him again.
Ilya skates a hand down Shane’s abdomen, appreciating the way the muscle jumps from his touch. Once he reaches his upper thighs, Ilya traces the muscled lines in Shane’s body, takes his finger tip and traces circles oh so close to his cock but never once touching it.
“Please,” Shane whines, shifting his hips lightly to the right in what he hopes will probably get Ilya's hand to make contact.
Ilya takes his hand away immediately. He watches as the realization of his actions hit Shane, his strings being cut as he sinks back into the mattress. A quiet sorry being mumbled around the skin from where Shane at some point had stuck two of his own fingers into his mouth.
Fuck.
No matter how many times Ilya had seen it, nothing really compared to seeing Shane like this. Wet fuzzy eyes, with his mouth stuffed full of his own fingers, whining for Ilya to give him what he wants. There’s a bit of drool beginning to slowly drop between his pointer and middle finger, the wetness leaving a line down the back of Shane’s hand. His mouth is latched tight around them, and Ilya can see where Shane pushes just an inch harder, from where his lips are raw and cracked open from his messing around earlier. If Ilya didn’t have years of experience with Shane Hollander, this sight alone and a single touch to his dick may have been enough to actually set him off. Luckily though Ilya won’t be embarrassing himself like that tonight. Truly the only thing that would make this sight better was if it was Ilya's own fingers in his mouth. He’d get to that again later.
Ilya slaps the side of Shane’s thigh, not enough to mark but enough to get his attention. “Did I say I would touch yet?”
Shane shook his head no.
“You want my hand on your dick?” Ilya asked, hand back again to resting at the crest of Shane’s thigh, so close but still out of reach.
“Yes, please,” Shane said, mouth now free of his fingers, eyes watering as he looked up at Ilya.
“Okay,” Ilya spoke, hand beginning to move closer, fingers only centimeters away from where Shane was hard and wet, waiting for his touch.
“How many teams were originally in NHL?”
Ilya watches as Shane begins to think, the answer easy, something he knows that Shane knows, but the sensations and fog beginning to make answering hard.
“I uh-,” Shane says, stopping for a quick gasp as Ilya's other hand begins squeezing at Shane’s inner thigh. “Six, there were six original teams.”
Ilya smiles. “Good job, sweetheart,” he says and then he closes the space left, his hands curling around Shane’s dick.
He moves his hand slowly, listening to every moan escaping from the back of Shane’s throat and committing them to memory. Ilya hadn’t even needed to reach into the bedside drawer for lube, Shane having become wet enough to allow Ilya's hand a slick glide up and down. On each upstroke Ilya rubs his thumb against the head, pushing against the slit just so to pull a guttural noise from Shane.
“This what you wanted?” Ilya asks as he begins to move his hand quicker, the signs of Shane reaching the end becoming ever clear. The twitch of his hips, the steady stream of precum, and the open mouthed panting a pattern Ilya was all too familiar with.
“Please,” Shane whimpered as he threw his head back against the pillow, back beginning to arch.
“Please what?”
Shane panted as he looked at Ilya, eyes lidded. “Wanna cum.”
“Yeah?” Ilya questioned him, changing up the pace again as he squeezed tight against the base of Shane’s dick, staving off the impending orgasm for just a moment. Ilya thought back to the last question he looked at before climbing up the stairs.
“Who were the five original members of IIHF?”
“What,” Shane questioned, voice coming out pitchy as he struggled to think.
Ilya moved his hand up just a bit, thumb rubbing up right under the head of Shane’s cock.
“You want to cum Shane? Answer the question,” Ilya said, resuming his previous pace, a slow drag up and down the length of his cock, stopping at the head to rub the wetness leaking from it further into Shane’s skin.
Ilya watched as Shane thought, taking in heaving breaths as his hands dug into the comforter below then, anchoring himself to both the bed and reality.
“There was Switzerland and Belgium,” he said hips beginning to shift as if he was trying to move with Ilya's pace. Ilya quickly put an end to that, clamping his non occupied hand on Shane’s hip and pushing it into the mattress.
“Good, three more” Ilya said, rubbing at Shane’s hip with his thumb as the other fingers dug into the flesh.
Shane let out a whimper before he spoke again. “The other three were Great Britain, France, and Czech Republic,” the words came out pushed through gritted teeth as Ilya watched Shane brace for his upcoming orgasm.
Sadly that wouldn’t be happening. In an instant, as Shane was balancing on a hairs edge from flying over, Ilya unfurled his hand and let go.
“No, no,” Shane whimpered out as he shook his head. Ilya saw the tears starting to form, and if it wasn’t for the hypnotizing hold looking at Shane’s face like this had on him, he would’ve leaned in and begged to lick those tears up.
“So close Shane,” Ilya spoke in a mocking little tone, petting his hand over Shane’s belly as he consoled him, as if Shane had just lost his chance at the cup.
“I’m-,” Shane begins catching his breath from the denial he’d just faced. “I was right. I know I’m right.”
Ilya chuckled as he moved in to kiss Shane on the cheek. “You are forgetting a detail moya lubov, it was Bohemia then, not Czech republic.”
Shane shook his head as he tried to move his hips once again. “I don’t even know where that is,” he whined.
“Well today it is part of Czech, but was not Czech in nineteen-oh-eight.,”
Ilya watched as a bit of clarity began to seep back into Shane, the fog clearing and making space for an annoyed look instead as a glare was sent Ilya's way.
“That’s the same fucking thing,” Shane gritted out as his stony glare latched onto first Ilyas face and then his hand where it laid oh so close to Shane’s painfully red hard on, but still not touching.
“Mmm,” Ilya hummed out, pretending as he was thinking it over. “No, it is still different.”
“Fuck,” Shane groaned out, throwing his head back against the pillow, dragging a hand through his hair.
Ilya let out a chuckle deeply enjoying the annoyance etched on Shane's face, and the heaving breaths he was pulling into his body, chest moving up and down as if he'd just finished a full hour workout. Ilya moved his hand up Shane's body, skimming the light trail of hair just below his belly button before dragging his nails across his abdomen and chest. Finally he reached Shane's face, moving to push his fingers past those pouty lips and into the warmth of Shane's mouth. Until suddenly Shane slapped his hand away glaring at him.
“Aww,” Ilya says with a mocking little sad look on his face as he looks at Shane. “Such a sore loser.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, no,” Ilya mutters as he shakes his head, slowly moving his other hand previously placed on the inside of Shane's thigh further and further. “I think it is me who will be fucking you, yes?” he questions Shane as his thumb rubs dryly at Shane's hole.
“Fuck,” Shane said again, this time in a much different tone as he shifted down, trying to gain more of IIyas touch. Even despite the dryness of it all, Shane seemed to crave it and Ilya wanted more immediately.
Shane let out a noise of frustration the longer Ilya kept up his teasing, nothing but dry little tight circles as Ilya kept his distance. Sitting back on his knees with no other part of him touching Shane.
Ilya wanted him to beg. To plead for Ilya to finally push inside, to grab the lube and fuck him till he blacked out. Moaning and whimpering for Ilya to give him more as his knees pressed so tightly against his chest, he could feel nothing more, even his head blanking out and finally sending him to that quiet place where he did nothing but listen and float. Most of all Ilya was waiting for Shane to give in and beg to start the game again, to prove to Ilya he could do it.
Ilya reached over to the bedside table, opening the drawer and retrieving the bottle of lube. He looked at it and turned it upside down, not having realized how little was left after last time. Ilya would need to add lube to that shared grocery list Shane made for them in the notes app. Having shaken the bottle just a bit, Ilya placed it on the mattress next to him, looking back up at Shane and seeing the put upon expression on his face. Despite that look when Ilya shifts his eyes down he sees that Shane was still painfully hard, despite the lack of attention that Ilya had paid to his dick and the previously denied orgasm. Ilya glances back up at Shane with a raised brow.
“Are you going to do something with that or not,” Shane said, nodding his head to where Ilya had previously placed down the bottle of lube.
Ilya just looked at the bottle and shrugged his shoulders. Ilya knew shane was smart enough, he'd know what Ilya was waiting for, and Ilya would wait there quietly until he got it.
“What,” Shane said, the frustration building at the lack of both orgasm and touching that hed received.
Staying perfectly still, Ilya watched Shane like he had all the time in the world, noticing the little tells that gave him away. The way Shane’s fingers twitched against the edge of the bedspread, the subtle bite of the inside of his cheek, and the scrunch of his nose, all tiny, almost imperceptible, but to Ilya, they were glaring signals. Ilya gave it less than sixty seconds before Shane would begin begging once again. Moving his hand to the left, Ilya opened up the bottle of lube, the shnick of the cap opening was the only sound in the room, sharp against the heavy silence that had settled between them.
Ilya began counting down in his head.
Fifty-nine
Fifty-eight
Fifty-seven
“Fuck you.”
Fifty-six
Fifty-five
Fifty-four
Fifty-three
“Fine,” Shane spoke, voice low and almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. “I’ll play the game again, just do something.”
Didn’t even make it ten seconds, Ilya thought as he quickly pushed a finger into Shane, delighting in the sudden moan it tore out of him.
“Yes,” Shane moaned out, arching his back as he squeezed his eyes shut. Ilya's eyes were stuck on the sight as he racked his mind for another question he looked up earlier.
“How many teams in the NHL,” Ilya asked, starting Shane back up again easy as the finger he had inside him stilled, waiting for a response before continuing any movement.
Shane took a deep breath in before answering quickly. “Thirty two.”
“Good boy,” Ilya said as he moved his finger once again, slowly thrusting in and out, as he finally gave Shane some respite.
Ilya's other hand was dragging Shane’s leg up, planting his foot on the bed so that Ilya could bend his head just so and get access to Shane’s knee and inner thigh. Quickly he latched his mouth onto the skin, sucking biting little bruises into any patch of flesh Ilya could get his mouth on. Shane was beginning to squirm above him, shifting down as if begging for another finger. Ilya pulled out, petting Shane’s thigh and shushing his little whimpering noises all the while. He grabbed the lube again, this time drizzling some over his middle finger as well before placing both at Shane’s rim.
“First time hockey was in Olympics?” Ilya asked as he petted over Shane’s entrance, smearing the lube around as he waited for Shane to answer. It took longer than the previous one, the feeling of everything seemingly getting to him.
“Antwerp, nineteen-twenty,” he eventually stated and Ilya smiled as he now worked a second finger into him.
Shane groaned at the sensation and arched his back, right hand beginning to move towards his straining cock before he thought better of it. Instead Ilya watched as he moved that hand to the side and grabbed onto the blankets instead. Shane was always so good, doing exactly as Ilya wanted him too without him having to utter a word.
“That’s it, you know better than that,” Ilya said as he decided to reward Shane.
He moved the hand that wasn’t currently still moving inside of Shane, long drawn out little thrusts, towards his achingly hard dick. He wrapped a hand fully around him and gave a long stroke in time with the movement of his other hand inside. Shane let out a hiss and moved to shift his legs even farther apart, providing Ilya more space to continue his ministrations. Ilya made sure to circle the head when he reached it but kept his grip loose enough, not wanting to bring Shane to the edge just yet. Looking up at Shane, Ilya watched as his mouth hung open just slightly, breathy little moans escaping as his hips began to shift, stuck between chasing the friction of Ilya's fist or pushing back against the fingers currently inside him.
“Want more,” Shane eventually moaned.
Ilya hummed as he considered this. “My fingers and hand on your dick not enough for you hollander?” He asked as he began to scissor his two fingers, stretching Shane out further as he began to pet at his inner walls.
Shane shook his head. “No I- fuck that’s not-“
“Ah so it is enough then,” Ilya said as he nodded his head in confirmation. “This is the only thing you want tonight? To cum on my fingers.”
“No- yes-” Shane started, his words catching in his throat, faltering as if each syllable was a small battle. Ilya smirked as Shane fought with himself, not knowing how to answer Ilya's question. It was okay though Ilya would decide for him, and give him a question he would know the answer to.
Ilya presses inside just so, hitting that spot inside of him that makes Shane scream. He’s relentless, letting up only for a little bit at a time, until he goes back to it, little prods and taps as Shane struggles to breathe above him. Ilya looks up and watches Shane, eyes screwed shut as he pleads at Ilya. There’s a sheen of sweat covering his body, and tears clumping his lashes that Ilya can see all the way from here. Shane begins babbling little unintelligible words, ah ah ahs leaving his mouth, with the occasional mumble that Ilya assumes is supposed to be the word ‘please’.
It’s in moments like these that Ilya wished he had a talent for the arts instead of hockey. Wished he could take up a paintbrush and somehow capture the scene before him—every smooth line, every taut muscle of Shane’s body, the subtle arch, the tension of pleasure cresting across him. He imagined immortalizing it in sweeping strokes, splashes of color tracing every curve, every shadow, every fleeting expression.The tears glistening in Shane’s eyes were so impossibly dark and deep that Ilya knew no pigment could ever capture them fully.
But Ilya was no painter. So he works to commit the sight to memory instead.
If everything else were to fade, if every image and sound and word were to vanish, Ilya knew this would remain: the beauty, the intensity, the quiet, electric humanity of Shane. His husband. A masterpiece, etched forever into his memory.
“Please Ilya,” Shane sobs out and Ilya is shifted back into the moment, sees the borderline purple shade that has blushed the head of Shane’s cock. Tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.
“Wanna cum.” He mumbles, mouth heaving open with his pants as a line of drool smear across his cheeks. “Can I cum?”
“Who won MVP in twenty-fourteen,” Ilya asks him as he shifts down to mouth at Shane’s hip, eyes going up to meet Shane’s.
As if the answer was unconsciously waiting Shane moans out. “Ilya Rozanov.”
At that second Ilya presses into that same spot inside of Shane hard enough to where the pleasure might be tipping into pain, and tightens his hold as he strokes Shane’s cock and rubs right under the head.
“Cum for me,” he says and watches as Shane follows the command without thinking. Back arching up as ropes of cum shoot out of him, splattering over his chest and all the way up to his chin. Nothing but a drawn out moan coming from his mouth as one of his hands scrabble to hold purchase in Ilya's hair, where he’s still mouthing at the delicious v cut of Shane’s body. He keeps up his movements as Shane rides the wave of his orgasm, hand keeping light strokes, as his fingers shallowly thrust in and out, petting his walls as if to soothe the comedown.
Slowly as Shane's breathing seems to fall back into a normal cadence, Ilya slows down his movement, removing his hand from Shane’s cock to smooth the skin of his upper thing. Still Ilya's fingers stay inside of him, not moving but keeping a steady presence. Shane looks like he was in utter bliss, eyes sealed shut with hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he let out a content hum. Ilya shifts, licking a trail up his body, cum catching on his tongue as he makes his way up to Shane’s face. Shane's eyes slowly opened as he seemed to note Ilya's presence.
In an instant Ilya had his mouth on his, pushing past Shane’s slack lips to deepen the kiss, tongue coming to prod against Shane’s, letting him taste himself. The kiss was wet and messy, spit and cum in their mouths, as Shane was too far gone to contribute much movement. Instead his mouth hung open, moaning at the taste and feel, doing his best to suck on Ilya's tongue. It was a pathetic little attempt, nothing more than minuscule movements as Shane tried to get what he wanted, but brain signals and muscle not cooperating with one another.
Ilya fucking loved when he got like this. Brain finally slowing down, blissed out look on his face and dumb little movements, waiting and hanging onto every one of Ilya's words.
“So perfect for me Shane,” he said as he moved back, peppering Shane’s face with little kisses and licking the tear tracks of his cheeks.
He moved his middle and pointer finger over to Shane’s mouth, quitting down the little whimpers and shoving it in, giving Shane something to suck on. Shane does so immediately, tongue swirling around them and licking off the leftovers of his mess. Suddenly Ilya feels Shane’s hand start to creep up his thigh, moving closer to where Ilya has been painfully hard for a long time, but ignoring it for the show that was Shane instead.
“Y’re st’ll hr’d,” Ilya hears Shane mumble around the fingers stuffed in his mouth.
“Use your words.”
Shane lets out a frustrated little noise and reaches for Ilya's wrist, pulling his hand out to where only the tips of his fingers were still touching his lips.
“You’re still hard,” he then mumbles out and clumsily moves to wrap a hand around Ilya's own cock.
Ilya smiles and shifts the fingers that Shane must’ve forgotten were still in him, just slightly. Enough to remind Shane of them and punch a grunt from out of him.
“Ah but we are not finished yet,” Ilya mumbles against Shane’s lips as he moves in for another kiss and adjusts the fingers again, this time with more purpose. The drag is slightly dry, and Shane’s ass is tacky from the drying up lube that had spread there, but based on the moan Shane lets out into his mouth, Ilya doesn't think he cares.
Giving Shane one more hard press of lips, Ilya backs up, moving to sit on his knees as he grabs the bottle of lube. Pulling his fingers out and soothing Shane from the loss, Ilya applies more, even dropping some of the cold material straight onto Shane’s rim knowing he likes the quick shock of cold despite the hiss he lets out.
Shane was beginning to shift his hips again trying to gain more of Ilya's touch, despite likely still being sensitive from his orgasm not even five minutes ago. Ilya watches as Shane’s cock gives a little kick. Ilya moves his fingers back to Shane’s entrance, not giving Shane a second to think about it before pushing them back in. The stretch greater this time, and a little rough, as Ilya moves them in and out.
“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane whines as he moves one of his knees up higher to his chest all by himself, desperately wanting more.
“So good for me moya lubov,” Ilya says as leans down to kiss at Shane’s chest, sucking a nipple back into his mouth.
Shane throws his head back from the touch, hand moving to grip Ilya's curls as he holds his face there. Ilyas' other hand moves to where Shane’s leg is stretched up, skating across the skin until he reaches the spot where his thigh and ass meet. He smacks Shane once, hard enough for him to feel the sting but not enough to mark.
Shane’s been worn down to nothing but a puddle of little movements and moans as he babbles incoherently for more.
“Please Ilya.”
“Please what,” Ilya says back nosing against Shane’s neck as he delivers another slap against the meat of Shane’s ass, this one harder than the last pulling a gasp out of Shane.
“Fuck me.”
“Yes? Do you think you deserve it Shane.”
Shane nods his head up and down.
“I-,” Shane starts whining, as Ilya begins nailing that spot inside him again, keeping his fingers pressed there as he watches Shane struggle to form words.
“I played the game. I did good.” He finishes, sniffing as the tears start falling again, his whole face a wet blotchy mess.
Ilya smiles as he finally pulls out his fingers, and this time grips his own cock. Pumping a few times before dropping lube into his hand, Ilya begins slicking himself up. Leaning down for a moment, Ilya kisses the spot where a red mark was already beginning to form on Shane’s ass, continuing his trail of kisses up the leg still in Shane’s hold. Once he reaches Shane’s face, Ilya positions himself at his entrance.
“Yes Shane. So good,” Ilya tells him as he presses their mouths together at the same time that he pushes his in. He swallows down the noises Shane makes as he begins to thrust in and out. His own edge approaching faster than usual after having watched Shane for however long already this night.
He softly pets Shane’s side as he continues panting into his mouth, his other hand moving to take Shane’s place at his knee. He pushes at it harder, shifting Shane’s other leg up as well, basically folding him in half as he fucks him into the mattress.
“Fuck Shane. So tight and perfect for me.” He says, words now flowing out of his mouth as Shane has become nothing but a mess of noises. “Love the way you stretch for me, the way your body sucks me in.
Ilya moves a hand up to hold his check, Shane replacing his hand at the back of his knee. “Beautiful,” he murmurs as he kisses Shane's nose.
“Shh,” Ilya quieted him, his voice low and soft as Shane began to whimper, rubbing at the tear tracks with his thumb. “You’ve done so good for me, moya lubov.”
Shane leans into the touch, rubbing at Ilya's hand as if he was a cat. There was nothing in the world like watching Shane when he got like this, soft and pliant as he responded to every single one of Ilya's touches.
Sometimes it hit Ilya extra hard that Shane was his husband. This beautiful person loves Ilya wholly and deeply with everything in him, and every day Ilya hopes and prays that Shane sees those same things reflected in his own eyes. The trust Shane placed in him was sacred, something Ilya would never, could never, take for granted. To watch him let go so fully, to surrender himself without hesitation because he knew Ilya would take care of him, because he trusted Ilya to know what was best, it was a gift. A gift Ilya thanked for every day. He didn’t know what he must have done in the past to deserve someone like Shane, but when he looks up at the sky at night he thanks the heavens for it anyway.
Ilya pets his hair, cradling Shane's head as he looks down at him. So fucking smart. Years and years perfecting his craft, Ilya could never help but be amazed when he watched Shane out on the ice, the confidence and competence of it all causing a never ending fire to burn inside Ilya. But to see all of that knowledge like this? Shane quivering in pleasure but still doing his best to pull those little pieces of information out. Facts he read once in a book, stories he knew from studying the history of this sport that meant so much to him. All so that he could prove he could do it to Ilya. To prove he was good.
Ilya thinks he must’ve been some kind of hero in the past to deserve this.
He watches as the over sensitivity of it all starts to show up on Shane. The sweat all around them, with the scent of sex in the air. Ilya pushes in hard as he grinds dirty little circles against him.
“Please Ilya, please please plea-,” Shane started mumbling out, not knowing what he was even asking for.
Knowing that he himself was getting close to tumbling off the edge, Ilya reaches down to wrap his hands around Shane’s cock, which was hard once again.
Shane hissed at the touch. “Shhh,” Ilya said as he petted through Shane’s hair. “One last question okay?”
Shane nodded his head, as Ilya tried his best to stave off his own upcoming orgasm for just a moment
“Tell me the last five All Star shot accuracy records.”
Shane moaned out as he raised his hips to meet Ilya's thrusts, head shaking no all the while. “Can’t-“ he began struggling to catch his breath. “Can’t do it.”
Ilya stilled his movements for just a second, grabbing at Shane’s chin making him look at him.
“Yes you can Shane,” Ilya said, adding to the statement with a shallow thrust. “Do you want to make me cum?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to be a good boy?”
“Please.”
Ilya nodded his own head once before moving his hand to nod Shane’s as well. “Then you will think, and answer the question okay?”
Ilya removed his hand from Shane’s chin as he leaned on his elbow for support, his face hovering over Shane’s. Shane let out a breathy little ‘okay’, and Ilya smiled as he resumed his movements back again. Hips moving in and out, skin slapping on skin as his hand slowly tightened its grip on Shane’s weeping cock.
“Uh-”, Shane started as his eyes closed tight and eye brows furrowed. “Nine point seven seconds in nineteen ninety-eight, and then nine point two.” Shane said, the words being interrupted by a quite moaned out ‘fuck’.
Ilya nodded his head as he leaned down against Shane’s shoulder, heaving wet little pants onto his skin as he waited for Shane to continue.
“Then eight point four and after that seven seconds.”
Ilyas thrusts became more erratic as he got closer and closer to the edge, he tightened his grip on Shane, hand held right under the head as he rubbed his thumb at the slit. “One more,” he panted out.
“Six point seven seconds,” Shane finally spoke, words barely more than breath of air.
“By who,” Ilya said as he looked Shane in the eyes.
“Shane Hollander,” he spoke right as Ilya gave a particularly hard thrust and twisted his hand on the upstroke.
In an instant Shane was cumming again, cock giving little kicks as he spurted over the edge, cum pooling down in his stomach below. Not a sound coming out of his mouth, just an open silent scream. Ilya could feel his own organs approaching, moving to pull out as to not over stimulate Shane too much, body probably over sensitive from his second orgasm of the night. But before he could move much, Shane shook his head just slightly and moved his legs to tighten them around Ilya's back. Ilya took that for the sign it was, and give three quick more thrusts before he let himself fall over the edge, ridding the waves of his orgasm as he emptied into Shane. Shane who had gone basically quiet above him except for the wet little pants falling from his mouth, body twitching lightly from all the sensations.
After what felt like hours Ilya collapsed on top of Shane, mouthing over each piece of skin he could get his hands on. Underneath him Shane looked completely fucked out, eyes slightly open but not really looking at anything, as stretched out like a cat waking up from a nap. Even the sensation of Ilya finally pulling out, and cum slowly dripping from him not doing much to gain any sense of acknowledgment from him. Ilya moved to drop little kisses across his face, looking in awe as a dopey little smile etched itself across Shane’s lips.
“Feeling okay?” Ilya asked as he looked at him, Shane just hummed in content, snuggling back into the mattress and Ilya's hold, as if all his strings had been cut off. Ilya stayed there for a moment longer, letting Shane relish in his full weight on top of him, and petting through his damp hair before beginning to move. The cum between then starting the stick to their skin, and the mess between Shane’s cheeks growing. Ilya wanted to get it cleaned up before the sensation of it all had a chance to abruptly pull Shane out of the blissed out state he was in.
“I will be right back moya lubov,” he said as he placed a quick kiss on Shane’s lips, shifting off of him and the bed to make his way over to the en suite.
He grabbed one of the soft washcloths from the cabinet and ran it under warm water. When he returned Shane was still exactly how he left him, stardished out on the bed and beginning to nod off into sleep. Ilya started at his face, softly wiping up some of the dried tears and drool that stuck there before moving down his body. Next he softly cleaned up the drying cum on his stomach and chest, making sure to wipe him clean without causing any irritation to his skin. Lastly Ilya trailed the cloth down between Shane’s legs, wiping up the mess of lube and cum there. He did his best to wipe at Shane’s rim, being careful of the slight redness and irritation that was beginning to show. Cleaning up thoroughly, Ilya moved the cloth around him, trying his best to touch just at the edge of the inside. Shane would take a shower later, making sure to get it all but Ilya would do his best for now. Once he was sufficiently clean Ilya trailed kisses back up his body, as he grabbed one of the bottles of water they usually had on the night stand.
“Drink,” he said uncapping it before handing the bottle to Shane.
Mmm… sleep,” Shane murmured instead, pressing his face into the sheets and rubbing against them lazily.
God. He must have been really far gone if he didn’t even care about the mess the bedsheets had become. Ilya shook his head with a small, amused sigh, bringing the bottle up to Shane’s lips anyway. He waited patiently, letting Shane give in, or resist just long enough, before taking a few tentative sips.
“Good,” Ilya murmured, finally capping the bottle and setting it aside, letting himself relax into the quiet of the room. Shane, blissfully half-asleep, made a contented sound, curling further into the sheets, utterly unbothered by the world or the mess they’d made.
Ilya moved to lie back on the bed next to Shane’s side, before Shane tugged on his arm again, a wordless plea for Ilya to roll on top of him once more. Ilya did as Shane wanted, resting his full body weight on top of him as he lightly scratched at Shane’s scalp.
“Now sleep,” Ilya said, kissing the spot on his chest that covered his heart, as he lulled his husband to bed.
At some point Ilya must fall asleep too. He didn’t know how long he was out, could’ve been ten minutes or could have been two hours, all he knew was that he was getting shaken awake by a very disgruntled Shane Hollander.
“This bed is fucking disgusting,” Shane says, eyebrows all scrunched up as he looks like one of ilyas favorite versions of Shane. Angry kitten Shane.
“Well someone did not want to move to change the sheets,” Ilya says as he already begins to stand up, before he can get shoved off the bed.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” Shane says as he shifts and grimaces.
Ilya laughs at the face resulting from him probably touching one of the many damp spots staining the sheets.
“Shane Hollander. A sore loser and a dirty liar,” Ilya says as he walks over to their en suite, in search of a new set of sheets.
When he walks back out into the bedroom, Shane’s back in a pair of boxers with the bed fully stripped and in a pile waiting to be tossed into the laundry machine. He holds his hand out and Ilya hands him the other side of the fitted sheet.
“I am not a sore loser,” Shane says as he pulls tight to get his side over the mattresses edge, tight enough to where he’s pulled Ilya's corner away from him.
“See,” Ilya says, moving to stand to his full height, hands on his hips as he stares at Shane.
“Even now you are a sore loser, will not let me win getting sheets on the bed.”
Shane sputters as he moves to his full height too, mimicking Ilya's stance as he glares at him. “You can’t fucking win at putting sheets on the bed.”
“You can when it’s the terrible stretchy sheets,” Ilya says as he quickly grabs his corner again and fits it over, moving to do the same with the other corner of the bed on this side.
“See now I won,”
Shane growls in frustration as he moves too, pulling the last corner of the sheet taught over the bed. “Fuck you asshole, and it’s called a fitted sheet.”
Ilya, still half-lidded from sleep, let a slow grin spread across his face. “Wow,” he drawled, mock horror in his tone, “such a sore loser, you’re even making fun of my English. So cruel, Hollander.”
Ilya tries to keep the mock disappointing look on his face but the way Shane’s eye begins to twitch breaks him and he can’t help but laugh. Ilya moves over to the other side of the bed where Shane is standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Ilya plasters himself against his back, snaking his arms around his waist.
“It is okay Shane,” Ilya murmured, leaning in to pepper soft kisses along the side of Shane’s neck. “You are an only child. I know you are sore loser, and really bad at sharing, and pouty, and a little bitchy when you get told ‘no’, and-“
Shane twisted in his hold, catching Ilya’s gaze with a perfectly deadpan expression. “Are you finished?”
“Yes,” Ilya says, with a smile that feels like it’s splitting his face in two.
He leans down to connect their lips, the movement slow and syrupy as he savors the feeling of Shane’s mouth on his. Eventually Shane gives in, humming into the touch as he uncrosses his arms and reaches a hand into Ilya's hair. After a few more moments Shane eventually pulls away, Ilya getting one last peck in before Shane goes back to making the bed. Ilya staying out of the way, having already been told off one too many times that ‘that’s not how you tuck in the sheets Ilya!’ to know his help is better off at replacing the pillow cases. And only that.
After the bed was finally back to meeting all of Shane Hollander’s impossibly high standards, Ilya hopped back in, tugging Shane along with him. Shane shifted, resting his head against Ilya’s chest as one leg swung lazily across Ilya’s hips, settling into the familiar comfort of closeness.
After a moment of quiet, the lingering softness of the late night wrapping around them, Shane broke the silence. “How’d you remember all the past aim shot accuracy records?” he asked, voice low, but curious. “Last time I tried to read you the hockey page from the World Record book, you fell asleep.”
“I was only resting my eyes, Shane,” Ilya said, voice casual, though he definitely didn’t remember a single second of it. “I always listen when you talk.”
“Right,” Shane replied skeptically, one brow arched. “So… does this mean you want to hear more of them? Because I bought the new Guinness Book last week, and they had this section on most shootout-winning goals in the NHL. I wanted to know what the past few were, so I looked it up.”
“Of course, moya lubv, tell me,” Ilya said, letting his hand drift to rub gently at the small of Shane’s back, feeling the warmth beneath his fingers.
He didn’t have the heart to admit that he barely remembered the past five records and was mostly trusting that Shane had gotten them right. Well, except for the last one. He’d never forget those blinking numbers marking Shane’s record-breaking win, they were etched into his memory.
Eventually, Shane seemed to drift toward another topic, something about the longest ice hockey game, though Ilya wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe he had let his eyes rest just a little, letting the soft murmur of Shane’s voice wash over him. It was too soothing not to bring a quiet, steady peace, the kind that only came from these small, shared moments, curled up together in the gentle hush of the night.