Work Text:
Entitlement was an ugly emotion, one which Shane Hollander had always tried to steer clear of. Being an only child had never been an excuse for him. His mother had always made sure he knew he had to earn things in life by working hard at them. So he worked. He worked so hard and tirelessly that he started hearing things like "prodigy" and "hockey's golden boy" and "Montreal's shining star". Shane had worked himself to the bone to be a good captain— Montreal's youngest ever— because he knew he couldn't let his mom, his team, his city or his country down. The C on his chest meant perseverance, honour, duty. He loved being the Voyageurs' poster boy. So when Shane Hollander, unshakable force of hockey, fell and tripped during his breakaway in the final game of the playoffs against the Centaurs, he was devastated. He watched in horror as Ilya stole the puck and scored the final goal of the game, sealing the Voyageurs' fate then and there. Canada's Shane Hollander had failed. In the dressing room, after a hazy ceremonial handshake and a strange exchange with Comeau, he felt the first shift of the tectonic plate. He stood there, after J.J.'s terrible accusation, and watched as his team lost its trust in their captain. To add insult to injury, the fans also believed he tripped on purpose. The hockey newscasters did, too. The world had turned against Shane in an instant. The single mistake that cost him his credibility.
Ilya was furious for him. He was also pissed that they thought he only could score if Shane let him. He suggested then and there to get the hell out of Montreal and join a team that would have his back. For the first time in his hockey career, Shane considered it. He saw how Ilya's team treated him since they had been outed. It was night and day from the ambiance in the Voyageur's dressing room. But Montreal was his team. He had built them back up from mediocre to triple Stanley Cup champions. He had fostered a competitive but clean-skating environment. The accolades they won, they had won because they had followed Shane's example. Blue, red and white bled through him. Shane was the leader of the most decorated team in sport. How could he give that up? He wanted to follow in the footsteps of Maurice Richard, Jean Béliveau, Yvan Cournoyer: one uniform from draft to retirement. And sue him, he liked the mysticism that accompanied these Montreal legends. He wanted that for himself, too. He wanted number 24 to be retired league-wide when he got old and achy and see his jersey hang in the rafters of the Bell Centre next to his idols'.
The summer was a beautiful reprieve. He let all of these doubts behind and married the love of his life, surrounded by his family and his friends. He and Ilya went on a whirlwind honeymoon and he realized that as much as he travelled for work, there was much of the world he had yet to see. He vowed to fix that. He deserved to parade his gorgeous husband around and feel free. He liked that in other parts of the world, they were practically unrecognizable. Just two people in love, holding hands in the street of Barcelona.
Summer camps went swimmingly and they got great media coverage from a few news organizations that highlighted the diversity that they tried to encourage. Shane finally mustered up the courage to start looking at social media again. The playoffs had passed, and people started forgetting about the infamous tripping incident. The comments under Ilya's posts on Instagram were mostly fans gushing about how adorable and in love they looked. Shane's few and far between posts received less and less vitriol. So when September rolled around, Shane was confident that he could put all of this behind him and start the new season fresh. He would gain the trust of his team back through good, honest hockey and it would all be forgotten in the wash.
He arrived early to the training rink so he could get a few laps around the ice by himself. He didn't even bother to change yet, so he simply dropped his bag on the bench, laced up his skates and glided across the rink. His mind was focused, he had made a game plan with Ilya for how to approach his team this season. He did a few laps to test his speed and started hearing his teammates coming in, talking loudly on their way to the dressing room. He took off his skates and slipped his shoes back on, his heavy equipment bag on his shoulder. He braced himself as he entered the common area. Hayden and J.J. were talking loudly at their stalls and a few others were already there, too.
Shane was about to join his friends when he heard a very recognizable throat clearing behind him. Everyone in the dressing room turned and looked at Shane, and then over his shoulder. He turned around slowly and met head coach Theriault right in the eye. His face was severe, and he wore the same blue suit he always did.
"Hollander, in my office, please," he said, his voice completely even and impossible to read.
Shane shot a look to Hayden before following Theriault out of the dressing room. His friend was frowning, but he gave him a one shoulder shrug. He hadn't heard anything either, then. He made his way down the hallway in silence, his gaze fixed on the balding spot at the back of Theriault's head. He opened the door to his office and Shane stopped in his tracks when he saw the Molsons were sitting down at the table already. His hands were suddenly sweaty. Theriault made his way on their side of the table, forcing Shane to sit alone, his back to the door. He wished he had brought his water bottle with him. His heart was racing. He didn't have any time to prepare for this. He could feel that this wasn't a pleasant visit from the owners, and his coach's face was still just as emotionless. His phone was sitting in his pocket, but he couldn't really find the right settings and start recording right in front of their faces, now could he? He took a steadying breath. He might be imagining things. This was just reminding him of Crowell too much.
"Shane, glad to see you doing well," one of the brothers started.
He nodded rigidly, "likewise, sir."
"We brought you here to discuss the future of the team with you."
Shane sat up straighter. The chair beneath him was hard and cold. He gripped the edges of it to centre himself.
"A lot happened with you last season," one of the other brothers stated. "It brought a lot of attention to your personal life."
"Right, and as you know, it was out of our—" Shane corrected himself when he saw his coach look at the trio of men to his left at the mention of Ilya. "… Out of my control. I wanted to do this cleanly, more quietly."
"Yes of course. And the club is behind both you and your husband, congratulations, by the way," the youngest brother said with a smile Shane could tell was insincere.
Shane waited for him to finish his thought. The walls of the room were a dark grey and the neon light was buzzing loudly in the silence. Tick, tick, tick. The clock on the wall perturbed the hush that had fallen over the room. Shane pulled at his t-shirt's collar.
"I feel like there's a 'but' coming," Shane tried to joke.
The four men shared quick glances before Theriault rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
"We think for this season forward, it would be better to have a captain who's pulling focus on the team."
Shane could see that Theriault was still talking, but his ears were full of cotton. His throat felt tight and his nose prickled. His breath had picked up. He was trying so hard to remain composed.
"You're stripping me?" he croaked out, cutting off his coach who had rambled on, probably about their reasoning for humiliating him like that.
"We think you need some time away from the spotlight right now."
"I didn't ask for this. For any of it. I just want to play hockey."
"Right, exactly, and we believe this way you'll be able to do just that. Win us another cup," the eldest said with a deranged smile.
Shane made a sound that was between a chuckle and a sob. His chest was shaking, and he couldn't tell what his body was doing. He could hear himself breathing loudly, but he couldn't feel his own hands. The four men kept explaining themselves, until no one's lips were moving anymore and they were all just staring at Shane. He tried to say something, but nothing came out. Somehow, they must have interpreted that as agreeing with them, because Theriault then instructed him to go back to practice. He miraculously got to his feet and left the room, making his way back to the dressing room without having any recollection of doing it.
He got dressed in total silence, focussing his eyes on a small piece of lint under Comeau's stall on the opposite side of the room. Next thing he knew, he was on the ice. He watched a puck hit his stick and stared at it. He blinked once, then twice and raised his head slowly, his neck moving through jello. He found Hayden a few feet away from him. The smile he was wearing was slowly fading, his eyes rounding out and his brow lowering in concern. Shane saw him mouth his name. He should have reassured him. But he tried speaking and only a weak croak came out. He closed his mouth again and looked at the puck. He shot it into the net, vaguely remembering that's what he was supposed to do. He startled violently when he felt Hayden's hand grab his shoulder.
"Shane, buddy, you're scaring me," he said, his big blue eyes scanning his face.
All he could do was shake his head no. He felt the prickling again and blinked ferociously, trying to chase the tears away.
"Hey, hey, hey," Hayden had somehow moved them to the side of the rink, close to the exit. "What the fuck did Theriault say to you? Is Ilya okay?"
Shane nodded yes, because for Hayden to ask that, he must have looked very, very distraught. He tried to school his face into nothingness again. That must have been the wrong thing to do because Hayden's eyes widened. He yelled something to their teammates and grabbed Shane by the elbows, forcing him back into the dressing room. Shane's ears were filled with cotton again. His best friend tried to speak to him but all he could do was blink and remind himself to breathe. He saw Hayden forage through his bag for his cellphone. He noticed he moved his hands a lot while he talked on the phone with someone. He kept shooting him some glances over his shoulder. The world was spinning. The lights were too bright and his mouth tasted like copper. He closed his eyes and took his head in his hands, bringing it against his knees. He jolted again when he felt a warm hand rest softly on his shoulder. He shook his head no. He needed…
"Shane? Moya lyubov'? Please talk to me, or even to Pike, please say anything."
He raised his head, looking at the phone Hayden was holding up next to him, Ilya's face lighting up the screen. He looked scared. Shane tried to utter his husband's name, but all he could produce was a weak, pathetic squeak. He looked over at Hayden, starting to feel his chest tighten. None of this was normal. Usually he could voice his concern, he could freak out and be angry and terrified. But not in that moment.
"Pike bring him home, now," he heard Ilya's lilted command.
Shane tried to undress himself, but his hands were shaking too hard to pull on his laces. He managed to pull his jersey over his head. Then Hayden was kneeling in front of him, shushing him like Shane had seen him do to his kids. He threw Shane's gear into his bag after helping him slip on a hoodie and sweats and tying his sneakers for him. Something about being treated so carefully struck a chord in Shane's chest and he felt the burning tears escape his eyes. He brushed them away forcefully, realizing he was starting to feel his hands again.
"I got you, okay, don't worry, man."
Shane followed him to his car, sitting in the passenger's seat in autopilot. No, not autopilot. In standby mode. They drove for a nondescript amount of time. He only realized they'd arrived because he recognized his house, their house. The Ottawa house. He blinked profusely, confused at how he lost track of so much time.
"You drove two straight hours?" were the first words he managed to say.
He turned to Hayden, who was still gripping the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. His bottom lip was chapped and dark pink, clearly having been bitten non-stop on their way over. His best friend whipped his head towards him. His shoulders sagged in relief.
"Yeah, dude, you were scaring the shit out of me," his eyes wandered all over Shane's face and he worried his lip again. "Let's get you inside, okay?"
"Okay," Shane whispered, still dazed.
Shane and Hayden got out of the car, and before they could even get to the stone steps guiding the way in, the front door swung open and Ilya rushed outside. He was barefoot and Shane immediately thought he would get cold in this chilly September weather. Ilya grabbed his face and his eyes were so sad. Shane held on to the greens, blues and browns, his harbour through the storm.
"Oh, sweetheart," Ilya whispered as he started wiping at Shane's cheeks. Was he crying again?
He wrapped Shane in his arms, pressing a kiss on the top of his head, holding him against his neck. Shane breathed him in, letting out shaky breaths. He heard Hayden usher Anya back inside. She had been circling them and rubbing herself against their legs, asking for pets. He grabbed Ilya's shirt tighter and closed his eyes, counting to ten. He felt only the soothing hand at his back and the low rumble of Russian in his ear. Finally, his mind found his body again. His throat was sore from how tightly he had held everything in. His eyes were burning and were hard to keep open. His head was pounding with a headache. He breathed Ilya's expensive cologne one last time. Cedar, pepper, orange, rose. That amber bottle with all the fancy inscriptions on it. One of Shane's favourites on Ilya, as it wasn't too overpowering. It smelled undeniably manly and yet delicately soft. Just like his husband. His Ilya. His brain finally caught up to him and he realized he must have been scaring the living shit out of him right now.
"Can we go inside? You'll get cold," he said against the warm golden skin of his neck.
He felt Ilya's whole body relax slightly at the sound of his voice. He took a step back and just as he'd suspected, he found unconcealed worry across his beautiful face. Shane took him in, with his strong cupid's bow, his pronounced brow, his perfect moles, his light brown lashes catching the light of the day. Ilya nodded and, still holding him by the waist, guided them inside. Shane wasn't letting go either. Ilya's warmth was the only thing keeping him from being swooped away by the wind, the tornado of his emotions ravaging his insides.
"Shane, are you alright?" Hayden's voice boomed from the kitchen.
Ilya tutted disapprovingly and shook his head. He gave Hayden a curt nod of the head towards the living room.
"We will sit down for this, yes?"
Shane's heart swelled as he nodded yes. Of course Ilya had noticed. Had he ever had a serious conversation while standing up? Not any that went well or gave him time to breathe. His mom had always told him to have a seat if she needed to tell him something important. The habit had stuck. His husband, ever so perceptive. Hayden came into focus, placing a can of ginger ale on a coaster in front of him. He didn't touch him this time, and Shane felt bad for flinching both times he had tried.
"Sorry," he said meekly, breaking the prolonged silence.
"What happened, solnyshko?"
Shane was so tired. He leaned his whole body against Ilya's side and closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath in, then out.
"They're stripping me of my captaincy," and now the ugly truth was out there, to be absorbed by others, to take shape.
Shane opened his eyes again. Hayden gasped. Ilya tensed against him. He felt the hand Ilya was using to pet him go firmer, and then still into a fist on his back.
"No fucking way," Hayden said, way louder than he meant to.
"They are biggest goddamn idiots I have ever met," Ilya growled, his accent wrapping thickly around the words.
Shane could feel Ilya's whole body vibrate against him. His hoodie was in a death grip in his husband's hand. Shane looked through the window, the sun shining too high in the sky for such an awful day. The air inside was thick, suffocating.
"How dare they," Ilya added, his voice more controlled now. "You gave them everything. They are nothing without you."
"Fucking right," Hayden chimed in, suddenly rising to his feet. "This is some bullshit. No one in that team deserves to lead but you, not one of these fuckers even holds a candle to you, this is, no, this is…" his chest was heaving and Shane had never seen his best friend so angry in his life. He took his phone out of his pocket and started texting furiously.
"I think I finally see why you let him hang around you," Ilya said, trying to bring some levity to the moment, but his heart wasn't in it.
"Theriault had the Molsons in there and it was so awful. They congratulated me for our wedding and then in the same breath they just…"
He waved his hand limply in front of himself.
"I couldn't even defend myself. I just stared and nothing would come out."
"There has to be something we can do. Why do they wait until last minute to tell you? It's not ethical."
Shane shrugged. There was a bitter taste in his mouth and his face contorted.
"We should call Farah, see if there is legal route, hm?" Ilya took out his phone.
He looked up at Hayden who had made a strangled noise. His usual rosy cheeks had turned ashen and he raised a hand to his cheek.
"What?" Shane asked, preparing himself for another blow.
"These backstabbing assholes. Shane…" he sat down to his right and raised a hand to touch Shane's knee, then remembered himself and placed it next to him on the grey fabric. "The team held a fucking secret vote last week. J.J. just found out about it, too. He was the only one asking why we left and the others brushed him off so he went to Theriault directly and he told him…"
Shane's mouth filled with saliva. His stomach twisted. He rushed to the kitchen sink and puked everything he'd had for breakfast, his whole body wracked with shivers. He heaved over the sink with his eyes closed for a minute, his rapid breathing sounding ragged. He washed the vomit away and slowly straightened himself. Ilya and Hayden were both standing, still in the living room, looking at him with so much pity he thought he might puke again. He looked away, incapable of seeing one more minute of this.
His whole body was boiling hot, but he was sweating buckets and shivering. He worked his jaw and took out his phone. He pressed Farah's contact forcefully and slammed the cell to his ear.
She picked up on the second ring and he didn't even let her breathe.
"It's Shane, I want a fucking trade."
Hayden had left fifteen minutes ago, needing to go back to Montreal to his family. Shane had talked on the phone with Farah for an hour, Ilya and Hayden anxiously looking at possibilities on their end, too. His agent was absolutely appalled but confirmed that since the team had voted, there was no legal recourse for him.
"We will find you a team that deserves you, I promise," Ilya bent down and kissed Shane's shoulder. Shane was still at his desk, looking over at the documents Farah had sent him expeditiously.
A trade outside of the free agent season was going to be incredibly messy. Everyone had already had their picks at the beginning of the summer. Shane Hollander wasn't a small acquisition. Few teams had the salary cap for him. He would have to sacrifice something. But he couldn't stay a minute more than he was forced to with that team. His dream had disintegrated to dust, and all of it because of a single mistake. Except it wasn't only because he tripped, was it? The team had been weird to him since he came out years ago. Some players had distanced themselves from him back then. Some had been fine with him being gay in theory, but not in practice. Shane Hollander, captain Canada, could not be tangibly fucking someone, because that was gross. If it was out of their minds, then it was acceptable. But the solidification of his relationship with Ilya was apparently a line he was not allowed to have crossed.
All of his fears were concretized. He still wasn't good enough to be given a second chance. He was too gay, too Asian, too neurotic. Always singled out. The only thing that had protected him was his untouchable record. He didn't regret being with Ilya or marrying him one bit. But he felt bitter about not having the time to slowly accustom people to their situation like he had wanted to. Maybe then…
"Shane, you are shaking again," Ilya said, petting his hair.
"This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me," he blurted out.
"I know," Ilya's hand slid down from the crown of his head, around his neck and rested on his heart. "You can be angry. You can be a brat. You can scream and break everything in this house if you need."
Shane craned his neck around so he could look into Ilya's eyes. He didn't want any of that. He reached a hand up to cup Ilya's cheek. Shane caressed his cheekbone with his thumb and closed his eyes. Ilya just knew. He bent down to meet him, kissing him upside down. His lips pressed softly against Shane's, his tongue languidly lapping inside Shane's mouth. He couldn't help the soft whine that came out of him. Ilya stopped kissing him and nudged him with his nose. Shane spun the chair around and got up, wrapping both hands around Ilya's face and neck. Their mouths met again as Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane's waist.
"Make me forget everything, please," Shane begged.
"Anything, anything for you, lyubimyy."
Ilya hoisted him up, carrying him through the house to their bedroom. Shane was mouthing kisses to his neck, sloppy and wet. Ilya placed him down on the bed and kissed him until Shane couldn't breathe. He gasped for air, his body too busy with heaving to have any thoughts. Ilya pulled his shirt off and kissed all over his chest, mouthing at his nipples until they hardened from arousal at the touch of his tongue. He made his way down, burying his face under Shane's navel, kissing his stomach reverently before pulling down his sweats and briefs smoothly. He only took a break to undress himself, making sure to shower Shane with praise about how beautiful he was while doing it. He kissed down both of Shane's thighs, biting him once when he saw Shane had gone quiet again. It sent a jolt of electricity in his whole body, his cock now fully hardened against his stomach.
All Shane could think of now was how lucky he was to have Ilya. He always knew how to make him feel better, he always knew where to touch him or how to quiet his racing mind. He gave so much of himself to Shane and always complimented how beautifully Shane took it all. He saw something in him that Shane wasn't even sure he saw in himself. Even in his darkest moments, he found it in himself to love. Ilya was probably the most selfless person he'd ever known. The thought constricted his throat, and he let out a choked sound.
"I know, sweetheart, I will take care of you," Ilya purred against his thigh, petting him with his large calloused hands.
He rolled Shane's hips over, pushing them towards his chest and started lapping at Shane's hole. He hummed as Shane panted loudly and grabbed a fistful of his sandy curls. His senses were in overload already, his whole body vibrating against Ilya's mouth as he feasted on him.
"I love you, I love you, I love you."
Ilya whined against his skin and grabbed his thighs tighter. His tongue circled him and pressed inside in maddening rhythm, the wet, warm, fervent licks driving him mad. His stomach hurt from how hard he was clenching with arousal. Ilya released him, swapping his tongue for a finger. The slick wet from his saliva helped the digit glide in and out, teasing him and plunging back in when Shane's back would arch down onto him for more. Ilya reached over to their nightstand and pulled out the lube and the vibrating cock ring he'd bought him. At the sight of it, Shane's dick twitched against his stomach.
"Yes, yes," he panted, finding the side of Ilya's face with his hand and bringing him down so he could swallow his tongue into his mouth.
Ilya's lips were soft and wet as he took his time languidly loving Shane's top lip, and then playfully biting his bottom one before adding tongue again, the way only he knew how. Their noses were rubbing together. Ilya was still opening Shane with one hand, the other placed firmly at the intersection of his throat and jaw, guiding his face through the tender motions. He curled his finger inside Shane, hitting his prostate and his head fell back with a punched out "oh my god."
Ilya took the moment as his opportunity to install the toy around the base of Shane's rigid cock and place the vibrator beneath his balls. He turned it on on the lowest setting and slicked his hand with lube as he dove two eager fingers back in easily. Shane was writhing against the soft cotton sheets, the crook of his knees and his lower back already dripping with sweat.
"Yebat. Look at you. Made for me. So good and so willing. You deserve to be worshipped."
Shane's stomach clenched and his hand on Ilya's shoulder clasped down harder. He shielded his eyes with his arm, his cheeks warming up and his cock giving another twitch.
"Tell me, please," Shane needed Ilya's voice now more than he ever had. He needed to hear just how much Ilya loved him, he felt entitled to it.
Ilya's breath hitched and Shane felt his fingers exit him and heard his husband slicking his cock with the lube. Half dazed, half embarrassed, he opened his eyes when Ilya took his arm out of the way. Ilya's pupils were blown wide, his blue-green eyes just a whisper in the darkness of want. His mouth hung slightly open, his strong cupid's bow shining with saliva and sweat. There was a noticeable flush to his broad, heavy chest. He nodded slightly as he entered Shane. Both of them groaned at the filling and the warmth of each other.
"Hollander," he bent down as he grinded his hips in and out of Shane. "Everyone wants you. You are hockey's greatest gift. My greatest gift." He kissed right under Shane's ear and then took the lobe in his mouth in a sloppy, loud noise.
The warmth in Shane's chest shot down to his angry, overstimulated cock. They both swore as Ilya turned up the setting on the cock ring, the vibration felt by the both of them as Ilya was down to the hilt in Shane.
"You do not know this, probably. Players talk about you like you are their girl crush. They say you are the only man that could make them gay. With your ridiculous brown eyes, and those lips… Have I mentioned that people say your mouth is made for taking cock?"
Shane whimpered, his eyes burning with shameful tears, but his cock starting to leak profusely. Ilya knew how to toe the line between humiliation and admiration so perfectly. He knew Shane couldn't take a compliment unless there was some bite to it.
"Yeah, you like that, Hollander?"
"Keep, keep going, please," he moaned at the use of his last name. Ilya wasn't fucking his husband right now, he was undoing thee Shane Hollander.
Their bodies slapped together forcefully, Shane's legs spread so far open they were practically at his head. Ilya was grunting, his breath ragged and mixing with Shane's own breathy noises.
"You don't even notice people salivating over you. Like dogs wagging their tails. You come in room and people turn to look at you. They just want a piece of you, a handshake is enough to be spank bank material for months. Fuck…" Ilya's hips missed a beat as his own words echoed his own desire. "I jerked off to you so often, Hollander. All those underwear ads, showing your perfect ass and that big, useless dick—" Ilya cranked up the vibrator.
Shane screamed out under Ilya, tears escaping his eyes. His cock slapped down between their stomachs, leaving both of them wet and messy as it leaked and leaked. Ilya was humming, his own orgasm teetering on the edge, too.
He had noticed that sometimes people would go out of their way to say hi to him, but he never imagined it would be enough to leave even Ilya reeling. His skin buzzed with a mix of pride and abashment. His cheeks were warm, so warm.
"People will trip all over each other to have you," he butchered the expression, his mind too hazy to speak better English. "But you're mine, all mine. No one else gets to see how you're such a slut for it, begging for more, wanting to feel it for days."
Ilya bit down hard on Shane's chest, making him hiccup a violent sob. Shane's legs started to shake violently. Ilya was pounding into his prostate, making him see stars and the cock ring was vibrating so hard under his balls that he thought he would explode.
"Ilya I'm cumming, I'm about to—"
"No. I am not done."
He trapped the head of Shane's cock in a vice grip. Shane cried, wet, hot tears streaming down his face as his cock cried onto Ilya's fist. His husband was covered in a sheen of sweat, making him glow in the dying afternoon light. His curls stuck to his forehead and his happy trail was matted down with sweat and precome. He looked gloriously wrecked. His brow was set in a mean frown, his lip curling as he kept the insane cadence into Shane's warmth. Shane clenched down on him, his orgasm waiting on the precipice.
How could there be more?
"Hockey's golden boy. Most beautiful skater, they say. You are already living legend. Fuck," Ilya was also shaking now. "Players have posters of you in their rooms and they let you watch as they take themselves in their fists."
Ilya pumped Shane's cock once. Shane's head fell back, eyes widening, mouth dropping.
"They think about that dangle in the playoffs against Tampa. Just filthy. They remember that bottle rocket and they explode all over themselves like that water bottle," his fist slicked him once again.
"Ilya, please," Shane was panting so hard he thought his heart might give out.
Ilya groaned as he hit Shane's sweet spot once again, his eyes closing in concentration. He bit his pouty bottom lip into his mouth. Shane's hands were digging into his back, which was no doubt covered in scratches by now. Shane couldn't handle much more of this before he blacked out.
"People try to get your attention by chirping you and you just skate right by them, like they do not exist. Not even worth Shane Hollander's attention. They dream of being in my spot. They want to be seen by you, to deserve even being in the same room as you. They dream of you letting them destroy that perfect, tight hole. Fuck, Shane," Ilya slid his hand down Shane's side where he had been holding him so tight it would leave bruises. He freed Shane's cock from his punishing grasp and grabbed his hips.
And fuck, maybe it was the way Ilya was looking at him at that moment, like Shane was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen that made Shane believe him. To Ilya, his words were not just truth, but fact, and the praise went right to Shane's cock.
Ilya cranked up the vibrator to its maximum level and jack-hammered into Shane. Finally allowed, Shane whimpered louder and louder as the orgasm built back up in a warm pool at his stomach and balls. Ilya was humming louder and louder over him, also completely gone.
"Mine," Ilya growled as Shane's orgasm ripped out of him so violently his vision went dark.
"Ah, ah, ah!" He cried out louder and louder, his mind empty and fuzzy.
Ilya was whining over him and came in furious ropes inside Shane, so much that it made him clench down and spurt some more himself. He was wheezing with exhaustion, his legs wrapped around Ilya in a vice grip as he rode the second orgasm. Ilya collapsed over him, his whole body shaking from having been fucking into Shane for so long. Ilya turned the toy off as Shane was still vibrating with it, sobbing with overstimulation. He could barely see anything. He had no idea how much time passed until he could finally see again, but Ilya was still pressing down on him with his whole body weight. Their were both covered in cum and sweat. Ilya was still buried inside Shane, just like his face was hooked in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He kissed his husband's collarbone softly and petted his jet black hair, sopping wet and sticking to his forehead.
Shane's breathing finally evened out into something more normal, and he wrapped his arms around Ilya's back, kissing the top of his head.
"Thank you," he whispered into the curls that smelled of honey and almonds and salt.
Ilya raised his head from its resting spot, his lips a deep dark red, his cheeks completely flushed, his eyes glazed.
"You are so hot, you kill me."
Shane chuckled softly and ran a finger down the ridge of his nose, then down to his bowed lips. Ilya kissed the digit.
"Yours. You take such good care of me," it didn't make much sense, but he felt he needed to tell his husband.
Ilya nudged him at the jaw, his eyes closing and his lips curling up. He kissed at his wet cheek. He wiped Shane's face with a soft hand.
"Let's get you clean, yes?"
Shane nodded and Ilya unpeeled himself off and out of him carefully. He rubbed his thumb gently over Shane's puffy hole, taking it to his mouth as cum dripped out of it. Shane shivered and if it could have, his spent cock would have given a valiant twitch. He gave Shane his hand and helped him off the bed and to the shower. He took his sweet time, rubbing gentle circles all over Shane's skin with the washcloth under the warm water. He'd used the unscented soap on purpose, knowing Shane's senses were still in alert mode. Shane kissed him through the whole thing, unable to believe that he deserved any of it.
But then, something in his chest protested. Had Ilya not just spent most of half an hour telling him that he in fact did? He purred against Ilya's cheek, kissing him there, too. The love of his life didn't ask any question and softly ran his hand through his longer hair. He deserved to be a little entitled.
Shane and Ilya were curled up on their couch in the living room later that night, watching something on TV Shane hadn't been paying attention to at all. Ilya's hand was absentmindedly tracing patterns on his thigh while Shane was ruminating.
"You are thinking very loudly—"
"So I've been thinking—"
They both looked at each other as they talked over each other and Ilya let out a soft chuckle. Shane pushed his shoulder playfully.
"Shut up," Shane laughed. "I'll have to make some concessions to be traded, right?"
"Concessions are like, compromise?" Ilya squinted, wanting to make sure. Shane nodded.
"So if I'm already getting a pay cut, or going to a team with a lower standing, why not go where I really want to go?" he looked down and tangled their fingers together.
"Okay, rude, I am trying to make the team better," Ilya chided warmly. "But fuck, Shane would you? Really?"
Ilya's voice had gone small, higher-pitched. Shane met his husband's gaze and found him looking so hopeful, so quietly happy that his heart couldn't take it. He climbed in Ilya's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. He took Ilya's mouth into a tender and fervent kiss, slipping his tongue out first, letting it caress Ilya's soft counterpart, swallowing it as he hoped Ilya was swallowing his love. He pressed their foreheads together when he finally let his husband go.
"Do you think they can afford me?"
"Hollander, who cares, you are multimillionaire. Plus you have a very rich husband," Ilya was looking at him cross-eyed, since neither of them had moved their heads back.
"Well yeah, but I don't think the league will accept a trade below market value, that would set a bad example."
They parted slightly at the weight of the reality. Ilya chewed on that for a moment. His eyes travelled all around and then something lit up behind them before darkening quickly. He raised a hand to tangle it in Shane's dark hair. He leaned into it.
"Your rate was for a captain, though, right?"
Shane's mouth stretched into a thin line. It felt like a gut punch to hear, but Ilya was right. His husband pressed him closer against his chest, wrapping his free arm tightly around his hips. He kept petting Shane's hair with the other. Shane took Ilya's golden crucifix in hand and ran his thumb over it. His own mom would kill him. Accepting to let go of his captaincy? She raised him better than that.
"Gazonokosilka? We don't have to talk about this tonight. You had a long day."
Shane looked up and into Ilya's eyes. There was a slight crease between his brows and he was carefully assessing him. Shane ran one of his hands through Ilya's dark blond hair.
"No, it's fine. It's just still awful," he paused. "But maybe it will be less awful not being a captain if you're my leader."
Ilya's face brightened, his perfectly crooked smile shining its warmth on Shane's whole system.
"We should call Yuna. Let her know."
Shane swallowed thickly at the thought. He nodded, but:
"Tomorrow. Tonight I just want it to be us. Nothing else."
Ilya visibly melted under Shane. He pulled him down with him in a half-laying position on the sofa and buried his face between Shane's pecs. Shane hid his own face in Ilya's wild curls and they stayed there until night fell, straddled into a hug, the two of them against the world.
"Rumour has it that Shane Hollander was missing from mandatory training this morning, Paul."
"It's hard to believe, considering his spotless track record, but maybe that husband of his is rubbing off on him in more ways than one."
"I do wonder what made him suddenly change his tune!"
"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."
hollander's beard
@24montreal
what the hell. did y'all hear that hollzy wasn't at practice this morning? HOLLZY???? what did they do to him.
2h ∙ 15th September 2021 ∙ Twitter for iPhone
0 Retweets 3 Quote Tweets 2 Likes
💬 ⭯ ❤️ 📤
snoopy @snoopyonice∙ 2h
omg I hope he isn't too sick to start the season :(
💬 0 ⭯ 0 ❤️1Clark Renner @Clarkrenner75639 ∙ 2h
@24montreal I bet he was too busy tripping for his boyfriend. Hope they trade him next season.
💬 2 ⭯ 0 ❤️ 0
hollander's beard
@24montreal
SHANE HOLLANDER SEEN IN OTTAWA??? WHAT IS GOING ON?
1h ∙ 15th September 2021 ∙ Twitter for iPhone
3 Retweets 15 Quote Tweets 60 Likes
snoopy
@snoopyonice
I have a bad feeling… shaneybug would never be seen just walking around while he's supposed to be at practice.
1h ∙ 15th September 2021 ∙ Twitter for iPhone
0 Retweets 0 Quote Tweets 2 Likes
Shane had decided he had the right to take the morning off. He'd had a harrowing experience the previous day and he needed to recharge. Anyway, according to Hayden and J.J., it's not like the dressing room was a very welcoming environment right now. He was walking Anya around the block when a fan bumped into him. She was very excited, if a little confused as to why he was home, and she asked for a photo. What was he going to do, say no? He felt a small thrill when he smiled awkwardly for her camera, knowing she would probably post it online for everyone to see. Maybe he could finally live up to the public's view of him. Choosing his boyfriend over his team. Because they still called Ilya that, even though everyone knew they had gotten married (thanks to his mom's insistence that Sports Illustrated do an issue on the event).
He came back home and closed the door behind himself softly, not wanting to wake Ilya who still had a good hour before he had to get up. He freed Anya from her harness, watching her trot back upstairs towards her dad happily. He would join them soon. He washed his hands, cleaned a few things laying around, and then prepared them a tray with the pastries he'd stopped to get on the way, orange juice, coffee, and a yogurt parfait for himself. He made sure to place Ilya's meds in a little dish so he would take them with the food, too. He climbed back into the bedroom, watching Ilya sleep soundly with his dog curled in a doughnut at his feet. He set the tray down between them as he sat down, making sure Anya stayed away with a firm command.
The sound of his voice woke Ilya up, mumbling something in Russian Shane couldn't quite decipher. He turned around, crinkling his nose and smacking his lips. He blinked his bleary eyes a few times before truly waking up. He raised his head from his pillow quickly, frowning.
"You are still here," a statement, not a question.
"Yeah. Didn't feel like going back right away," Shane said, looking away. Saying it out loud made him sound like a child.
"Shane, hey," Ilya reached a hand over and hit it against the food platter. He frowned again as he realized what it was. He gasped happily.
He looked up at his husband, a huge, sunny smile on his face. He sat up quickly, making the liquids sway dangerously. He crawled over to Shane, grabbed his face with both hands and gave him a loud, exaggerated kiss. Shane giggled, his cheeks warming furiously.
"Oh my god, this is the best," Ilya said as he chose a chocolate croissant and took damn near half of it in his mouth. He moaned as it flaked everywhere on their freshly changed sheets. "Imagine this every morning moya lyubov'? I think I would die from happiness. Depression cured."
Shane let out a punched out, surprised laugh. Ilya dangled the chocolate croissant in front of Shane's lips and he took a bite. He had to admit it was delicious. Ilya smirked, content with seeing Shane have a sweet treat. Shane took his parfait and watched Ilya give their dog bites of his cheese, at which he shook his head disapprovingly. His heart was warm. He had been missing out on this for so many years, and what for? This is where he belonged.
They chatted about anything and everything that wasn't Shane's impending return to his god-awful team, and for a moment Shane felt no remorse at all for prioritizing himself. Ilya looked so soft with his bed head and his skin still marked by the sheets. He made sure to clean up every croissant crumb he could find and winked at Shane as he did so.
Their perfect little oasis of peace was disturbed by the characteristic buzz of his cellphone. Shane took it from the nightstand and swallowed thickly as he saw his mom's name. He looked up at Ilya under his lashes, his brow creasing immediately. His husband took his hand immediately and nodded, encouraging him to pick up. Shane accepted the call.
"Hi mom."
"Shane? Why did a girl post a picture with you at a coffee shop here?"
Shane sighed and Ilya squeezed his hand harder.
"Um… I have bad news."
Shane spent the next twenty minutes recounting the events of yesterday and Ilya held him in his arms when his body started shutting down again. He got through the conversation with a tight throat and tears brimming in his eyes, but he held it together. His mom didn't even flinch when Ilya took over for him when he saw Shane trying to breathe and working his jaw to try and reel it in. Yuna was seething with rage. There was an edge to her voice that Shane had never heard in his life.
"So you can imagine I called Farah yesterday and asked her to start the process for an immediate trade," he paused, letting the statement float in the air, his heart thumping in his chest.
"Good, so you asked to be traded to Ottawa?"
Shane gasped shakily. He couldn't hold it in anymore and he let the relief escape in hot tears down his face. He buried himself in Ilya's chest, crying while Ilya rubbed his back.
"I think he is feeling very grateful you said that," Ilya chimed in for him when Yuna asked if Shane was okay.
Shane nodded violently against Ilya's pecs.
"Sweetheart, of course she's happy."
"Shane, why are you crying?"
"I thought you…" he breathed out and turned around a little so she could hear him better. "I thought you would be disappointed I wasn't captain anymore."
"Oh, baby…" he could hear Yuna getting choked up. "Shane you've done nothing wrong, I'm happy you're going to a team who will actually value you, I would never hold that against you."
Shane closed his eyes and let all the anxiety melt off of him. Ilya squeezed him in his arms like Yuna would have done in that moment. His mom helped him figure out what to ask for to ensure the trade went smoothly and she hung up after checking on Ilya and Anya as well. Shane felt lighter than he had in years. The last time a weight like that was lifted off of his shoulders was when he'd come out to his parents at the cottage.
"You carry so much on your back, kotik. Always putting more pressure than the people who love you could even imagine."
The morning light shone around Ilya as he forced Shane to look him in the eyes. The front of his brows were raised and his eyes were tender. He brought Shane in for a soft kiss, pressing his bottom lip into his mouth, licking into him softly so Shane's mind could drift away for a moment.
They parted softly, a string of saliva breaking as Shane pulled away. He wiped his face with one hand and sighed.
"I'm so fucking tired of crying."
"Yes, I know. Next tears will be because you are begging for my cock, hm?" he teased, pinching Shane's nipple through his shirt.
Shane squirmed away, laughing and pushing Ilya with a hand smushing his face. He was so grateful that Ilya always knew how to read him and when to bring him a dose of laughter. He would need it in the next few weeks.
"Well here we go folks, first game back, pre-season has officially started."
"A classic Boston v. Montreal to start off the season. Now you may have noticed something different this time around. We were just as shocked as you when we found out this morning that captain Shane Hollander is captain no more."
"In an upset, it seems the Voyageurs have stripped their star player of his title, to replace him with… No one. We have to question their motives here."
"Hollander might have had a bad end of his season last year, but c'mon. This is a ridiculous move by the Montreal administration. Would you remove Tom Brady from his position with the Patriots? Would you punish Lebron James for one bad game by sending him to the bench? Appalling stuff."
Shane's first game back was awful. For his team. They refused to pass to him when he was wide open, losing chances for easy goals on four different occasions. That didn't deter Shane from scoring a hat trick with only one assist from Hayden. He didn't need them to score. Boston came close to sending them into overtime, but Shane secured their win alone, his last goal of the night hitting the back of the net with 15 seconds to spare. 3-2 Montreal win.
The atmosphere in the dressing room was glacial. There was no celebration. Hayden and J.J. gave him their usual "good game" with pats on his back, and that was it. The team was ignoring them. Theriault came in and begrudgingly asked Shane to go talk to the reporters. He scoffed and made his way to them, holding his shoulders back. He purposefully left his C-less jersey on.
When he entered the media room, the cameras blinded him. He stood behind the little podium and waited for them to be done with taking pictures. Theriault stood far to his left.
"Hi everyone," he said flatly.
"Shane, we have to ask, what happened to the captain title?"
Right into it then. Shane looked to his left briefly and saw his head coach shift uncomfortably. His eyes then pored over the room, where every mic was pointed in his direction. The reporters were waiting with baited breath.
"My vision for the team wasn't what the team needed anymore. It's just hockey, right? Everyone has a different opinion on what leadership means to them," he shook his head gently as he explained.
"So it was a mutual decision?"
Shane chewed on the words for a moment and turned his tongue in his mouth.
"Mutual between the team and coach, yes."
The blow hit the room like an atomic bomb. Everyone was screaming follow-up questions. Theriault had to intervene and gave a piss-poor excuse when he was verbally assaulted by the journalists. When he finally contained them, they returned their attention to Shane.
"So Shane, you scored three goals tonight, how are you feeling about the upcoming season?"
"Yeah, I'm feeling good, I think being surrounded by great hockey players with good sportsmanship really helped me get back into it," he gave a small smile.
"Didn't you train in Ottawa?"
"Have a good night guys."
He left the room as everyone started yelling follow-up questions, leaving Theriault to the wolves.
hollander's beard
@24montreal
HOLYYYY SHITTT LMAOOOO!!! FOLLOW ME FOR MORE SHANE HOLLANDER SHADY FACTS!
5 min ∙ 23rd September 2021 ∙ Twitter for iPhone
16 Retweets 5 Quote Tweets 50 Likes
snoopy
@snoopyonice
SHANE HOLLANDER OUR CLASSY FIRST LADY! FUCK THE MONTREAL VOYAGEURS FOR DOING THAT TO HIM!
6 min ∙ 23rd September 2021 ∙ Twitter for iPhone
5 Retweets 1 Quote Tweets 15 Likes
hollanov truther
@stickitin
did anyone else notice the massive hickey on hollzy's neck btw? Ilya marked his territory.
7 min ∙ 23rd September 2021 ∙ Twitter for iPhone
3 Retweets 1 Quote Tweets 25 Likes
Shane's phone rung almost immediately after he exited the press room, Ilya's name lighting up his screen. He picked up when he locked himself in the bathroom.
"Holy shit," Shane chuckled as a greeting.
"Hollander, that was the hottest thing you've ever fucking done in your life," Ilya panted into the phone.
Shane smirked at his reflection in the mirror and looked down, his cheeks warming.
"Yeah?"
"I am so hard right now."
"Ilya!"
"You looked so proper while destroying them and their stupid team. Ah!"
Shane heard rustling in his ear as Ilya moved around wherever he was sitting. The next thing he heard was unmistakable.
"Jesus Christ, Ilya are you touching yourself right now?" he whispered the last few words, holding a hand over his mouth.
"Yes, I told you I am very hard," he hissed as Shane heard his fist speeding up.
Shane gawked at his phone for a moment.
"You like it when I trash talk my old team?"
"Oh my god, Hollander," he heard Ilya's breath hitch. "Old team?"
"The talks are almost finalized. Farah said I could sign Tuesday at the latest."
Ilya hummed in Shane's ear, the sound of his slick fist squelching along with it. It sent an electric shock right down to Shane's crotch. He looked around the bathroom and once again made sure he was alone.
"I'll have five more weeks left with the Voyageurs after that. And then I'll be a Centaur. I'll finally have someone whose orders I want to follow," he uttered, his voice dripping in honey.
"Ahhh," Ilya gasped out, the sound of his hand speeding up again.
"You know," Shane sat against the counter and crossed his arms playfully before licking his lips, very much enjoying what he was doing to his husband. "I almost told them that my boyfriend always helps me play better with a great ritual we have…"
Shane heard Ilya sucking in air when he accentuated the word. He was humming again, he was close.
"But then I decided I would let them see me covered in bruises and play the best hockey of my life so they can draw their own conclusions. What do you think, malysh?"
"Fffffuuuuuck," Ilya cried out, gasping in short breaths as he released.
Shane's own pants were starting to feel tight, but he revelled in having undone Ilya just like that, without so much as touching himself. He heard Ilya shift around, no doubt cleaning himself.
"That was so hot," Shane admitted to Ilya as he heard him chuckling over the line.
"You always liked being bad."
Shane bit his lip to contain his smile.
"Maybe a little."
"Well we will not force you to be bad on our team if you do not want to."
Shane closed his eyes and let his lips fully stretch out.
"I know."
"Soon. I have to go. Anya needs a walk. I love you. Go destroy Washington next for me, okay?"
"Promise. I love you," Shane swore to him as he hung up.