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Las Vegas, June 2023
Ilya plopped down on the hotel bed with a flourish as Shane locked the door and rolled his suitcase to the dresser. The MLH awards were in Las Vegas again this year, and Ilya was excited. It was their first MLH awards as an out, married couple, and despite countless shared hotel rooms on the road during the season, it felt special to be sharing a hotel room at the MLH awards with Shane. His husband. Sometimes Ilya still couldn’t quite believe it. He had booked the penthouse for the occasion, and he was giddy with the thought of unabashedly, proudly sharing the evening with Shane.
It had been a long road to get here. The award ceremonies were less exciting after years in the league, but Ilya was looking forward to this year’s so that he could proudly have Shane on his arm. They would sit next to each other, mingle together, fuck, they would hold hands. Ilya thought back to the years of suffering and silence. The years of stealing Shane away in secret, for brief spells of time that did nothing to quell the painful longing he always felt in Shane’s absence. The feeling of longing hadn’t really gone away now that Ilya and Shane were married, out, and on the same team.
Maybe it was still too fresh, the wounds of years of secrecy still healing. Maybe Ilya felt protective of his time with Shane, because it still felt so new and exciting to have all the time in the world. And maybe this feeling would never fade. Maybe, Ilya would always feel a warm stab of longing when he thought of his gorgeous husband. Ilya hoped so. He couldn’t imagine the day that he didn’t swoon at Shane’s freckles, or melt into his touch, or tease him for his rabbit food, or feel glowy and incandescent waking up next to Shane. Or, or, or. As long as Ilya was in Shane’s orbit, he knew he’d be happy.
Ilya rolled over, put his poetic waxing aside, and eyed Shane as he put their toiletries in the bathroom.
“You know,” Ilya drawled, “we don’t have to be at the awards for another few hours. However will we spend the afternoon?”
“Hmm.” Shane played along as he glanced back at Ilya. “We could walk around and sightsee. We could see if any of the guys want to go to a casino. Or-“
“Mmm, yes, how about ‘or’? Come here.”
Ilya patted the bed and took a long look at Shane, starting at his head, traveling down his body, past his tanned freckles, his solid arms, and his strong, muscular thighs. God. He slowly looked back up. Shane had a slight blush coloring his cheeks.
“Ilya,” Shane said in that fond, slightly exasperated way that told Ilya he was willing to give in, but he wanted to be convinced. “I don’t want to get sweaty and have to take another shower before the ceremony.”
“Ughhhhh,” Ilya droned. “Who cares if we have to shower again? Just another opportunity for me to touch your dick, yes? Come here. You have been tempting me all day. I want to touch you.”
“How have I been tempting you! I’m literally just existing here.”
But, as Ilya predicted, Shane started to unbutton his shirt and make his way over to the bed.
“You always tempt me, moy pomidor.” It was true. Ilya couldn’t imagine a day where Shane didn’t set him on fire.
Shane smiled, rolled his eyes, and lowered himself to the bed. Ilya sat up and helped him remove the rest of his shirt. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Shane’s neck where it met his shoulder. Just a suggestion. He moved to Shane’s jaw, and then slowly licked the lobe of his ear. Shane let out a small gasp at the sensation and leaned his head back to give Ilya better access to his neck. Ilya shifted so that he was on top of Shane, straddling his hips. He moved slowly, gliding his hips against Shane’s for the lightest friction. Shane moved to unbutton Ilya’s pants, but Ilya stopped him, grabbing his wrists.
“Not yet,” Ilya said gently. “I want to savor you.”
Shane let Ilya grip his wrists and guide his hands above his head, pinned in Ilya’s firm grip. Ilya leaned down once more to kiss Shane’s neck. He peppered it with loose kisses and licks, moving down to his collar bone and chest. He removed one hand from Shane’s wrists and gripped his chest, massaging it. He squeezed, licking Shane’s nipple and giving it a small bite that had Shane gasping and jerking his hips toward Ilya’s.
Ilya moaned and brought his mouth to Shane’s ear. “Do you remember our second MLH awards in Vegas? Where you put on a show for me?”
“Of course I remember.” Shane kissed Ilya firmly, trying to remove his hands from Ilya’s grip. “I - everything about that night was so hot, but I remember-“ Shane’s voice broke as Ilya traced his hand along the outline of his hard dick.
“You remember what, moya lyubov’? Opening yourself up for me while I watched?” Ilya bit the space between Shane’s neck and shoulder, hard. Shane’s hips bucked up to meet Ilya’s.
“Jesus,” Shane groaned. “No. Yes. But No. I remember-” another gasp, “I remember wanting to kiss you. We didn’t kiss, and it’s my only regret from that night”.
Ilya’s heart melted at that. “Oh, Shane. I wanted that too. What were we thinking?”
“Well for one thing, we were both scared.”
Ilya signed into Shane’s chest, grinding his hips against Shane’s. “Not anymore. I am going to kiss you all night tonight. Every chance I get.”
“Could you maybe also take your pants off? I’m dying here, Ilya. I need your mouth on me, or I need to suck you off, or something.” Shane writhed against him. “Please.”
Ilya didn’t waste any more time, tearing Shane’s shorts and underwear off along with his own. “I’m not going to fuck you yet, I don’t think,” Ilya growled as he rolled his dick against Shane’s. Shane was leaking, precum smoothing the glide of their cocks together. Ilya wrapped his hand around Shane and then around his own dick, pressing them together and moving his hand across the tips. No, Ilya wouldn’t fuck Shane until after the awards. He would make him wait - make both of them wait - until they were dying for it. He knew Shane would secretly love the wait, the game, the control.
Ilya moved his hand down the entirety of their dicks, gripping hard. Shane moaned and tossed his head back. He was thrusting hard under Ilya, his breath coming out in short gasps. As Shane began to pant and move with less rhythm, more frantic, Ilya slowed his strokes.
“No,” Shane whined. “Don’t do this, Ilya, please. I need to come.”
“You will. Be patient.” Ilya ground his hips tighter into Shane. The slow drag was intoxicating. Ilya felt close himself. He took a few steadying breaths.
Shane’s eyes were closed, mouth slack. He was breathing hard. Ilya leaned down to kiss his jaw, his lips, his cheek. He tightened his hand that was holding Shane’s wrists in place and bent his head lower to trace his mouth along Shane’s arm. He inhaled near his armpit and bit his bicep before moving back to Shane’s mouth. Shane let out a breathy gasp, his hips moving faster against Ilya.
Shane kissed him back messily, but he was too far gone. “Fuck, Ilya. God, you feel so fucking good. So big. I want you in me later.”
“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya’s hand was stroking both of them impossibly fast now, losing rhythm as heat built at the base of his spine.
“Oh fuck, Shane, I’m going to come. I can’t - ah - fuck” Ilya let out a long, loud groan, thrusting hard has his dick finally pulsed with release, thrust after thrust, making a mess on Shane.
“Oh, fuck, Ilya. I’m so close, oh my god, Ilya, fuck, fuck,” Shane babbled as his entire body tightened to a point. He stopped breathing entirely for a moment, mouth agape and eyes thrown back before his breath came back in rapid bursts as he moaned into Ilya. It was a while before their breaths slowed. Ilya released Shane’s wrists and brought his hand down to Shane’s face, caressing his cheek. He kissed Shane slowly, luxuriously, bringing them both down from the adrenaline.
After a few minutes, Ilya rolled off of Shane and sat up on the bed. His head was still spinning, but he got up to grab a washcloth, wet it with warm water, and returned to the bed. He gently cleaned Shane’s abdomen and lay back down on his side to look at him.
Shane always wore his emotions on his face around Ilya, but he was especially open and vulnerable after sex. Ilya was sure he didn’t realize it, but Shane was looking at Ilya with blazing, unabashed adoration. His eyes were soft and his mouth tilted into a slight smile. Ilya wanted to kiss it off his face, and he wanted to freeze time so that Shane would always be this relaxed, would always look at him like this. Ilya took Shane’s hand and squeezed it.
“I love you. So much.”
Shane’s smile grew. “I love you too. I can’t believe I’m married to you. Sometimes it still feels like a dream.”
“Yes, it does.” Ilya leaned over and kissed Shane, then rested his head on Shane’s shoulder. Shane wrapped his arm around Ilya and kissed the top of his head. They lay still for a while, enjoying the quiet and the warm, glowy feeling that came after sex.
After a short nap, they got up, showered together, and got ready for the awards ceremony.
Shane stood at the edge of the room in front of the large windows, overlooking the glitter and grime of the strip below. Ilya was suddenly reminded of another detail he’d long forgotten of that memorable MLH awards together: after he’d won MVP, he had hoped to fuck Shane against the window with the Vegas strip stretching out beneath them. Shane had been afraid of the windows, of being seen, even though it was an impossibility this high up. Shane had become much less afraid in the last year. He was still learning that it was ok to touch Ilya in public - to hold his hand, stand close to him, and give casual touches. Ilya, admittedly, was still getting used to this as well. Ilya thought suddenly, brilliantly, that he should enact what he wanted to that fateful night many years ago.
He snuck up from behind and wrapped his arms around Shane. He would have to approach this carefully, suggestively, so that Shane could be convinced. Shane would love it, Ilya knew, but he might be prickly about being so exposed. Ilya could make the suggestion sexy, probably, and Shane would agree.
“You know,” he began, “there is something else I remember from those MLH awards.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” Ilya nibbled on Shane’s ear. “Remember when you stripped for me in front of those big windows before going to bedroom? I loved watching you open yourself up for me. Loved having you crawl to me on your hands and knees. I needed you so much that night. But..”
Shane rocked his weight back into Ilya and closed his eyes. “But what?”
“Imagine if I had held you up against the window, kissed you senseless, and bent you over and fucked you right there?”
“Ilya,” Shane huffed out a breathless laugh. “That’s crazy. Someone could see.” But even as he said it, Shane leaned back into Ilya and let Ilya caress down his stomach, kiss his neck.
“We are on the sixteenth floor.” Another kiss into Shane’s neck.
“No one would see.” A small bite. Shane let out a heavy breath.
“Only we would know.” Ilya’s hand drifted back up to caress Shane’s chest. “To all the world you are Shane Hollander: professional hockey player, philanthropist, good boy. The world does not know how very bad you can be, Shane. Only I know.”
“Ilya. That’s crazy. Just because we’re openly out and married doesn’t mean we’re, you know, exhibitionists.” Shane said the word exhibitionists quiet and rushed, as though taking the time to really say it, to name it, would make it true.
Ilya kept caressing Shane, one hand on his chest and another down his arm. His lips pressed a steady stream of light kisses down one side of Shane’s neck, then the other. Shane grew pliant in front of him, leaning back against Ilya and grinding his ass right where Ilya needed it, where he couldn’t afford it, in this expensive suit, minutes before they had to go down to the awards.
“Ah, not yet, Hollander.” Ilya crowded Shane against the window, pressing him tightly to the glass. He ran his arm down Shane’s back to the crest of his ass and grabbed tight.
“Think about it, moya lyubov. Was only a suggestion. I am going to fuck you either way tonight, as long as you still want. I want you to be bad with me when you are so good for the world. So perfect. Until I take you apart.”
With a truly monumental effort, Ilya lifted himself from Shane and gave his ass a smack before adjusting himself in his trousers and fixing his bow tie. “Come on. Time for the awards.”
Shane turned and looked back at him owlishly, still a bit dazed. “Wow. Alright. Let me just–”. Shane took a few deep breaths and adjusted himself as well. “Let me think about it.”
_______________________________________________________
The awards were fine. Fun, even. Shane said hello to all the correct people and made all the correct jokes and was very diplomatic and ignored most of the Metros and clapped when he was supposed to and everything was fine. He was seated next to Ilya in their section with the other Centaurs, and the final awards of the night were being called.
Later, at the after-party, he would mingle and make small talk and Ilya would be a relentless flirt and everyone would have a thousand questions for them and a thousand things they were thinking and not saying, and Shane would be able to tell anyway, and he would keep a polite smile on his face and a drink in his hand and his eyes on his watch, waiting for the right time to finally leave.
Imagine if I had held you up against the window, kissed you senseless, and bent you over and fucked you right there.
Shane’s knee bounced. Now was not the time to be thinking of Ilya’s suggestion, however enticing it was. Especially compared to this awards show. And the show really wasn’t that bad. It was just that Shane had managed, up until this point, to avoid a lot of actual conversations with other players since being outed last year. He would meet individual teams on the ice, of course, and do strategic press with players from other teams who were at worst, neutral to Shane being gay and being gay with Ilya, and at best, at least sort-of allies.
But this was a different animal entirely. The after-party would have players and wives and girlfriends and coaches and general managers and Metros, all in the same room, tongues loosened by alcohol and the adrenaline come-down at the end of the season, ready to comment or judge or ask questions Shane didn’t want to answer.
To all the world you are Shane Hollander. Professional hockey player, philanthropist, good boy. The world does not know how very bad you can be.
Shane wasn’t tired of being a hockey player or a philanthropist or a good boy, as much as it made him blush to hear Ilya say so. It was just that he was tired of being all three of those things all the time. After a decade of hiding, stress, and trauma (yes, trauma, Shane was learning from Galina by way of Ilya), Shane felt, less and less, the urge to perform.
He was one of the best players in the league. His worst fears about being found out had come true, and the world hadn’t burned. The world certainly had a lot of opinions, many of them wrong, but professional hockey did, in fact, survive in spite of its biggest rivals falling in love and getting married. It was even thriving, really. The Centaurs, especially, had been very welcoming, and a wave of new queer hockey fans joined in on watching the sport. Some people on social media shouted loudly at no one at all that they would stop watching hockey because it was too gay now, too sissy, too soft, but they kept saying it, and Shane knew they kept watching. They kept hating, yes, but they kept watching, too. The MLH hadn’t really lost anything at all except for some much undeserved respect.
Ilya’s hand on Shane’s knee brought him out of his thoughts.
“Ready for the party?” Ilya asked. “I can tell you are dying to mingle.”
Shane huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, sure. Let’s get this over with.”
“Oh come on, it won’t be all bad. Hazy will find a way to say some boring thing about new superhero movie–”
“What the hell, man? I heard that,” Wyatt protested from the next row.
“–Haas will find new ways to accidentally charm every WAG without meaning to–”
“Ilya, seriously?” Luca immediately turned bright red.
“–Quiet, Haas. I am giving Shane a pep talk.”
“You’ve got a weird way of doing it, cap–” someone else chimed from behind.
“And Barrett will get red as a tomato if he gets within ten feet of Scott Hunter, and we can take photos and send them to Harris to embarrass him,” Ilya concluded with a sidelong smirk at Troy.
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Troy said, without any real bite.
Shane laughed and followed Ilya out of the aisle, out of the main venue, and toward the ballroom that was hosting the after-party. In the crush of people, Ilya leaned in close and gave Shane a discreet kiss on the cheek. Shane blushed but didn’t pull away. He was getting better at not pulling away. Old habits died hard, and Shane wasn’t big on PDA in the first place, but he knew how much it meant to Ilya to be able to share casual touches in public. He never wanted Ilya to feel starved or hidden away, like a shameful secret, especially after how difficult the years of hiding had been on both of them. Shane’s coping mechanism had been to grasp desperately at any semblance of control he could, but Ilya’s was to shut down entirely. Shane didn’t want that. He saw how much Ilya blossomed, how much weight seemed lifted, once everything was out in the open.
Nothing, not even residual discomfort and fear, would make them hide again. Nothing was more important to Shane than Ilya, and he had worked hard to show Ilya in a million little ways. A hug at practice in front of their teammates, holding hands while skating along the Rideau Canal with his parents, a kiss on Ilya’s shoulder while shopping at Lakomka Deli for comfort food, an arm around Ilya’s shoulders while they waited to board flight after flight all season.
It was with these comforting thoughts that Shane steeled himself for the party.
It wasn’t that bad.
Shane mingled, people were mostly nice, and the rest of the Centaurs provided a comfortable buffer for conversations with players and management from other teams. He had one beer, and then another. Ilya stayed by his side except for one detour to go be a pest to Cliff and a few other Bears that Ilya somehow still felt he was contractually obligated to harass. Ilya floated in and out of Shane’s orbit, checking in on him, touching him, holding his hand, moving about the room as one.
Shane and Ilya had already been to a few events together as an out couple - a fundraiser for the Irina Foundation, Rose’s birthday party at a very upscale nightclub, and, much to Ilya’s outward chagrin, a party at the Kingfisher. Shane knew Ilya secretly liked it there, and that he even secretly liked Scott and Eric and the whole group of them, but it was important for Ilya to maintain an air of assholery, and Shane secretly found it charming, so he didn’t bother trying to reason with Ilya when he complained.
But this was their first MLH event together. Holding hands, light touches, simply spending time together instead of pretending to be rivals from across the room and sneaking away late at night in the dark. They were together, at an MLH function, in the light. It made Shane feel nervous and excited and like he was floating. It made him blissfully happy and a little bit disembodied, like he still couldn’t really believe that he was a hockey star, married to his rival-turned-teammate hockey star, playing on the same team, attending the end-of-season awards. If Shane, at 19, had been told this was how his life would turn out, he would have been speechless.
At one point, a few hours in, Ilya had wandered off to corral Haas and some rookies, and Shane was talking to Scott Hunter about this summer’s upcoming camps. Scott would be coming for a week in August at the Ottawa camp, and Shane was excited.
“Kip’s actually planning on coming up for the camp, too. He somehow thinks it will be possible to visit all eight national museums in one week, but I have a feeling he’ll be spending most of his time just at the National Gallery,” Scott laughed fondly.
“The National Gallery is great!” Shane enthused. “There’s this collage called The North American Iceberg, and when I was a kid my dad used to drag me to look at this one painting with a ship. I don’t know why I remember that, but actually, the last time we were in Boston to visit Ilya’s friend Svetlana, we all went to the Museum of Fine Arts there, and there was another ship by the same artist. I guess my dad took some philosophy class in undergrad that talked about this ship painting, and–”
Scott looked a little overwhelmed. Oh. Shane had had more to drink than he thought. He was rambling. He was being chatty.
“–Uh, anyway.” Shane let out an awkward laugh. “I’m sure Kip will have a great time. I’m looking forward to seeing him.”
Just as Shane was looking for a way to escape and find Ilya, Ilya appeared. He wrapped his arm tightly around Shane and squeezed. “Hunter! What is this about museums? Are you donating your bones to a natural history exhibit?”
Shane rolled his eyes, but privately, he was relieved. The heavy weight of Ilya’s arm around him and Ilya’s predictable chirp set everything to rights.
“Fuck you, Rozanov. It’s been years and you still have the same joke?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Is not any less funny than it was ten years ago. And you keep getting older,” Ilya shrugged. “I need to steal my husband away. Do you need help finding your room? Is the music too loud?”
“Jackass,” Scott muttered as he reached out to shake Shane’s hand.
Shane held it firmly. “See you in August. Thanks again, man.”
Ilya whisked Shane away. As they navigated through the crowd, saying their goodbyes, Ilya leaned close into Shane’s ear and whispered in a low growl, “So, did you decide? Bed or windows?”
Shane stiffened. He was sure his cheeks were bright red. “Ilya. Not here.”
Ilya gave Shane one of his most knowing smirks and dragged him to the elevator.
_______________________________________________________
Once they exited to their floor, Shane led the way down the hallway to their room. Ilya stalked behind him like a panther, occasionally crowding Shane to paw at his jacket, kiss the back of his neck, and run his fingers through Shane’s hair. Shane was having trouble focusing. The adrenaline from the night hadn’t worn off, but his body and mind weren’t in socializing mode anymore. The only thing in his orbit was Ilya, and he knew what was in store once they reached their room. His head already felt heavy with it.
Shane fumbled with the key card before unlocking the door and dragging Ilya inside. He pushed Ilya against the wall, pinned his shoulders, and kissed him hard. Ilya let out a little gasp, like he hadn’t been expecting Shane to take charge. Shane pressed harder, kissing him deeply, tongue messy and breaths hot. Ilya grabbed at Shane’s hips and dragged them to his, pressing them together in a slow grind. Shane let out a trembling breath before tackling Ilya’s mouth again. He went frantic, tearing off Ilya’s jacket and throwing it aside. He ripped at the buttons of Ilya’s shirt before moving down to his fly, hands fumbling with the belt buckle. If Shane could tear his mouth away from Ilya for long enough, he might be able to work the buckle faster, but it wasn’t worth it. Not when Ilya was moaning, arching into him, hands grabbing at Shane’s ass, already looking wrecked.
Shane eventually got Ilya’s pants open and dropped to his knees.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya said dazedly, mouth red and swollen, hair askew and shirt hanging halfway off.
Shane wasted no time, taking Ilya’s hard dick into his mouth. Sometimes, Shane liked to take his time, slowly torturing Ilya, licking just the tip and giving only light touches until Ilya either took charge and made Shane move, or, if Ilya was in a more vulnerable mood, begged Shane to please just take him apart already. Tonight, Shane didn’t want slow. He took Ilya in his mouth fully, tongue lapping around the head before he brought his mouth down the entire shaft, nestling his nose at the base, hollowing his cheeks impossibly hard. Ilya choked on a gasp and threaded his hands through Shane’s hair – not to control, but to ground himself. Shane was relentless, bobbing his head and sucking and moaning, his own dick painfully hard and straining in his slacks.
After a few minutes, Ilya stuttered and choked out, “fuck, Shane, fuck, stop.” Ilya grabbed Shane’s head and gently extricated him. “I don’t want to come yet. Fuck.”
Shane leaned back and let Ilya take a few steadying breaths, eyes closed, before he looked down at Shane.
Ilya’s look turned feral, and he yanked Shane up off the carpet and frantically stripped him. He manhandled Shane, dragging him to the vast windows. He pressed Shane’s face close to the glass and grabbed his jaw, maneuvering Shane’s head to look out at the strip below.
“Look at all those lights, all those cars, all those people. Imagine if they could see you through this window, hmm? What would they see?”
Shane couldn’t answer. Ilya’s hand holding him tight, his chest against Shane’s back, his hips grinding into Shane’s ass, were overwhelming. He was simultaneously mortified at being so exposed, and a little bit thrilled. He arched back into Ilya, rubbing against his hard length.
“Bend over,” Ilya said in a low voice, full of promise. “Put your hands against the window.”
Shane did, hands pressed hard against the window as he looked back at Ilya. “Are you going to fuck me?”
Ilya didn’t respond in words. He kneeled down, grasped Shane’s ass in his hands, and spread Shane wide. Shane leaned back, hoping to show off a bit to move things along. Ilya kissed down the base of Shane’s spine before moving lower, dragging his teeth along Shane’s ass and then moving to his hole and giving it a long, filthy lick. Oh, yes. Shane moaned, uncaring of how his voice carried in the large room. Ilya ate him frantically, his tongue going over Shane’s hole again and again in generous laps.
Every sensation in Shane’s body was centered on what Ilya was doing, tearing him apart and making him desperate. He was rock hard and felt wild with need. He always lost it, a little, when Ilya did this. The sensation was overwhelming – even more so when Ilya’s tongue breached his hole and swirled inside. “Oh god, Ilya, please,” Shane begged. He was making desperate noises now, each lick creating a hot, electric sensation. Ilya needed to fuck Shane soon or he was going to come just from this.
Ilya moaned and lifted up off the floor. “Stay still,” he ordered. Ilya walked the short distance to the bedside table to grab the lube and returned to Shane, still bent over against the window. Ilya drew a hand down Shane’s back, down the crease of his ass, to his hole. He rubbed gently, the area still wet from spit and soft from Ilya’s tongue.
“I am going to fuck you now. Try not to cry so loud that the street below will hear you.”
Shane could only moan. He looked down at the Vegas strip below them. He felt vulnerable and laid bare. He could see his reflection through the window. He already looked wild, face red and cock rigid, breaths panting. It was hard to feel too embarrassed, though, because Shane, deep down, liked feeling this way. Liked the way Ilya could take him apart and make him feel a little bit like a slut.
Ilya poured a generous amount of lube on his fingers and finished opening Shane up. He slicked his cock and notched it at Shane’s entrance and wasted no time sinking in to him. He took his time, pushing gradually until he was completely inside Shane.
Fuck, Shane,” Ilya growled. “You are so tight. So perfect.”
Shane ground back into Ilya. “Fucking – fucking move, Ilya.”
Ilya withdrew slightly and then thrust back into Shane, hard. He put both his hands on Shane’s hips, pinning Shane tight against him, not allowing Shane to move. Shane’s hands were still braced against the glass, protecting his head from hitting it with each of Ilya’s hard thrusts. Ilya picked up speed, and Shane whimpered at the sensation of fullness, of Ilya’s hands bruising into his hips, of the cold glass against his skin and the heat of Ilya’s behind him, slamming into him.
He was tagging Shane’s prostate with every thrust, drawing desperate moans from him. “Look at you,” Ilya said. “You are wrecked. Perfect hockey player, perfect philanthropist, perfect husband. Only I get to see you this way. Hard and leaking, crying out, not a care who hears or sees.”
Shane’s legs were shaking now, with the effort to stay still and from how fucking good this felt. He was moaning nonstop, a steady stream of cries and gasps at each thrust. His cock hadn’t even been touched, and he already felt destroyed.
Ilya let go of his hips and grabbed at his shoulders, hauling Shane up so that his back was flush with Ilya’s chest. His hips were moving faster now, more frantic. He was slamming into Shane, eyes locked on Shane’s through the reflection in the glass. Shane looked completely dazed, eyes glazed over, tears beginning to stream down his face. Ilya didn’t look much better, face flushed, breaths coming hard. He looked lost, drunk, totally absorbed in the rhythm of their bodies.
Ilya’s thrusts grew erratic, and he bit down on Shane’s shoulder, hard. He released one of his hands and moved it to Shane’s cock, gripping it tight and pumping fast. “Come for me, dorogoy. Ya khochu pochuvstvovat’, kat ty konchayesh’ mne ne chlen.”
Shane’s entire body seized tight, all of the pressure and sensation coming to a single point deep inside him. His back arched further, legs shaking and head tossed back on a loud cry. His cock spilled rope after rope of come, splashing onto the window and making a mess of Ilya’s hand. He was pulsing over and over, squeezing impossibly tight on Ilya’s cock.
Ilya moved frantically, a strangled moan escaping him before he, too, locked up and then thrust once, twice, before he was spilling into Shane, fingers digging in tight to Shane’s sides, breath hot and fast and erratic against Shane’s neck.
“Fuck, Hollander. Jesus Christ.” Ilya held him there for several moments, not moving, not withdrawing. Shane’s breaths slowly deepened, feeling coming back into his body in increments. Ilya’s hands caressed gently down his arms, his chest. He kissed Shane’s neck, brushed his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead.
Shane’s thoughts rose above the fog momentarily, enough to think, “We should – we need to clean the window.”
“Tomorrow, Shane,” Ilya said with fond exasperation.
They eventually moved apart and stumbled to the shower, still in a daze. Ilya washed Shane’s hair, and Shane gently washed Ilya’s chest and back. They stood there in the heat and the quiet and didn’t say a word. They kissed for a long time, lazily, softly, with no urgency. Shane broke the kiss to wrap his arms tight around Ilya under the stream of hot water. They rocked slowly back and forth, soaking in the warmth and each other.
As they toweled off, they kissed some more. Shane’s lips made their way down Ilya’s neck and across his chest, then back up to his soft lips. They fell into bed, limbs tangled. Shane felt perfect. He was clean, wrapped in Ilya’s warmth and comforted by Ilya’s heavy arm draped over him. He shifted to look at Ilya, but Ilya was already fading, eyes closed softly and breaths deepening. Shane snuggled closer and let sleep take him under.
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Ilya awoke in a tangle of limbs to bright sunlight shining through the window. He was on his back, Shane draped over him like a barnacle, arm and leg holding Ilya tight. Shane usually woke first, but he was still breathing deeply with his mouth ajar. Ilya looked down at his face. It was open and soft, and peaceful in sleep, none of the usual anxiety or the blank mask he sometimes wore. Ilya carefully lifted a hand to gently trace Shane’s freckles – across one cheek, then his nose, then the other cheek. Shane’s nose scrunched and he huffed out a little breath, but he didn’t wake. God, he was so cute. So beautiful.
Shane’s arm shifted across Ilya’s chest, and his hand caught the light. His wedding ring sat heavy on his finger, shining brightly in the warm morning sun. Ilya thought back to that first night in Vegas, nearly a decade ago now. How sad he had been, how scared, how desperate to have some sort of control over his feelings for Shane. Trying to hide behind expensive vodka and withheld kisses. That night was memorable, yes. Still one of Ilya’s favorites, if he was being honest. But with Shane wrapped around him, dappled in light, wearing his ring, Ilya knew: this was better.