Chapter Text
It starts with a ping from Ilya’s phone. Kinda insane, if you think about it, how something so insignificant can lead to the collapse of his friendship with Ilya.
From the other side of the couch, his eyes snap up instantly, narrowing as they land on Ilya. They’re supposed to be studying for their calculus midterm. The deal was that their phones were silent, distractions gone, heads down. Shane’s kept his end of it. He’s not the one struggling. Ilya is. Ilya, who should be locked in, focused on the practice booklet Shane printed for both of them, instead has his attention fixed entirely on his phone.
There’s a smirk tugging at Ilya’s mouth as he types something out, a quiet snicker slipping past his lips. Shane’s grip tightens around his pencil before he lets it drop, stretching his legs out until his toes brush against Ilya’s.
The contact is warm, familiar, and he tries not to think about the way his stomach dips.
“Who is it?” Shane asks, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
Ilya glances up for half a second before dropping his gaze right back to the screen. “Marleau.”
Shane sinks deeper into the couch, irritation curling tight in his chest. “Ilya,” he says, sharper now, a warning threaded through his voice. “We have to study. You need at least an eighty on this exam to pass. And may I remind you, if you don’t—”
“I won’t be able to play this season,” Ilya cuts in, rolling his eyes, finishing the lecture Shane has recited before. “Yes, yes. I know.”
“Okay,” Shane huffs, shaking his head at his roommate and co-Captain. “Then put the phone down.”
Ilya barely even looks at him, thumb still scrolling. “Gimme one second.”
“One,” Shane says immediately. He tosses his textbook onto the coffee table and leans forward quickly, snatching the phone right out of Ilya’s hand.
Ilya yelps, lunging for it, but Shane’s already pulling back, settling deeper into the couch and out of reach.
“What kind of bullshit did Marleau even send you?”
He gets his answer almost immediately. Before the screen can dim, Shane catches a glimpse of the video playing on Ilya’s phone. His breath stutters. It’s gay porn. Marleau sent him gay porn.
Shane’s stomach flips, once, twice, over and over as the realization settles in. On the screen, muted, two naked men move toward each other in some sleek, unfamiliar house, their mouths meeting in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s quiet, almost soft in a way he doesn’t expect, and for a second Shane finds himself frozen, caught on the image. Then, he catches a glimpse of one of their cocks and he jerks back, thumb snapping against the screen to shut it off.
“Marleau sends you gay porn?” Shane blurts, disbelief cracking through his voice. His throat feels tight, dry, like the word itself is getting stuck on the way out.
Ilya just shrugs. “Yes. So what?”
“But—” Shane stumbles, heat rushing up his neck, spreading across his face. He can’t quite meet Ilya’s eyes as he says the word gay over and over again, tasting the word in his mouth. “But Marleau’s not gay.”
“No,” Ilya says easily, closing his textbook like this conversation matters more. “But he knows I’ve hooked up with guys, so he sends stuff sometimes. Wants to know if I like it. If it’s realistic.”
“Is it?” Shane has no idea why he’s asking.
“Eh,” Ilya shrugs. “Not really. Too much gagging, not enough spit.”
A shiver crawls down Shane’s spine. He pushes it away, rolling his eyes instead, grasping for something normal, something safe. “You guys are so weird.”
“Okay, Mr. Purity,” Ilya teases, voice light, almost amused. “What do you watch?”
Gay porn, Shane wants to say. Tons and tons of gay porn. It’s really all he watches. Titles like Virgin Bottom Gets Destroyed by Hunk Top or Big Beefy Bear Destroys Twink’s Hole. More than he wants to admit, more than he lets himself think about. It sits heavy in his chest, tangled up with everything else he’s been carefully ignoring, especially the part he can’t quite admit: that Ilya has found his way into his fantasies.
Shane forces the thought down hard.
Not now. Not when his career, his future, is just starting to come together. Definitely not here, not with Ilya looking at him like that.
He clears his throat, straightening, every muscle in his back going rigid. “I don’t.”
Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t?”
Shit. Maybe that was too fast.
Shane shrugs, trying for casual and landing somewhere stiff. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” Ilya says immediately, like there’s no question. “How have you not watched porn?”
Shane needs water. He turns away before his expression can give him up, reaching for the water on the coffee table just to have something to do. He takes a sip, buying himself a second, then another, before setting it back down.
“I dunno,” he mutters.
“You are very bad liar.” Ilya chuckles, shaking his head.
“Fuck you,” Shane snaps, the words sharp, defensive.
“What kind?” Ilya pushes, not letting him off the hook.
“I dunno,” Shane mutters, swallowing hard. He rolls his shoulders like he can shake the tension out of them. His eyes flick, traitorous, to Ilya’s phone before darting back up, except Ilya catches it. Of course he does. “The regular kind.”
“Gay porn?” Ilya asks, and for whatever reason, his voice sounds hopeful.
Shane doesn’t answer. He can’t even force a lie out now.
Ilya pauses for a moment, sizing Shane up in a way he fucking hates and makes his skin itch. “Have you…” he starts, then clears his throat, glancing toward the same glass of water. “Have you ever had sex before, Shane?”
A snort bubbles up from Shane’s chest. “Of course.”
Ilya shakes his head slowly, a knowing smirk pulling at his mouth, his gaze dragging over the rigid line of Shane’s body. “No, no,” he says, quieter now. “You know what I mean.”
Shane does. He just doesn’t want to go there. Sex is mentioned between them, of course, but in passing. Most of the time it involves Ilya making a passing comment about some girl they both see and looking to Shane for him to agree. Shane will shrug before making a noncommittal sound but after that, Ilya usually drops it. This time though, Ilya won’t fucking drop it.
“Have you had sex with a man?”
Shane doesn’t have to lie now. “No.”
Shane watches as Ilya pushes his textbook off his lap, letting it hit the floor without a second thought. His hands come down hard on the couch cushions, fingers curling into the fabric like he needs something to hold onto.
“Have you ever wanted to?”
Shane’s gaze drifts; first to Ilya’s chest, rising and falling too fast, then to his hands, large and tense, then back up to his eyes.
It shouldn’t be complicated. He should lie. He knows he should. Because he knows what Ilya is really asking. He can see it in the desperation on his face, in the crazed feral look in his eyes. He wants to know if Shane has ever wanted to sleep with him. And Shane should say no. He should stop this before it can start.
They’re roommates, co-captains. They’ve built a solid team on the ice and an even better friendship off it too. It hadn’t always been easy but now it is. One wrong move and it all cracks. Their senior year could blow up in their faces.
He knows that. So, for those reasons, Shane should say no.
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you then?”
“Uh,” Shane shrugs, the movement stiff, awkward. “I dunno… been busy with, uh, hockey.”
Ilya lets out a sharp snort, rolling his eyes. “You do not play hockey all the time, Shane. You have time to fuck.”
“I know,” Shane mutters, heat creeping up his neck. “I just— it hasn’t been the right person.” He hesitates, then adds quickly. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. I have a first date with Rose tonight, so it’s not like anything’s happening anytime soon.”
Ilya looks deflated a little, before he leans back slightly and blows out a dramatic raspberry. “Ugh, yes. How could I forget? Perfect Rose and her perfect hair and perfect face and her perfect—”
“Fuck you,” Shane cuts in, sharper than he means to, eyes narrowing. “She’s nice.”
“Nice, yes,” Ilya agrees easily, sitting up straighter, leaning forward again until their feet brush. “But you do not like nice.”
“Of course I do,” Shane argues, frowning. Then, quieter, almost uncertain, “How do you know I don’t like nice?”
“Because you like me.”
Shane needs to get up and get the fuck out of here. He needs to rise from this fucking couch and study in his goddamn room like a normal person. Instead, he leans forward on the couch too, his face pressed closer to Ilya’s.
“As a friend,” he clarifies.
“Sure,” Ilya shrugs, unconvinced. “Friends who both watch gay porn.”
Shane scoffs, pushing back slightly. “Okay, I’m going—”
He barely gets the words out before Ilya’s hand is on him, his fingers wrapping around his bicep, firm, pulling him back. Shane’s breath catches. They’re inches apart now, the space between them thin enough that Shane would only have to lean an inch forward to close the space between them. He can feel Ilya’s breath against his face.
“Want me to show you?” Ilya asks softly.
Shane swallows. He knows exactly what he means. “I know how it works.”
A flicker of mischief passes through Ilya’s eyes. “But you don’t know how it feels.”
“Ilya, no,” Shane breathes, though it comes out weaker than he wants. “That would be a bad idea. One of your worst. We’re friends, we’re captains on the same team, we share a fucking apartment—”
“I know, I know,” Ilya sighs, rolling his eyes, leaning back just enough to break the tension, and for a split second, Shane feels a bit disappointed that Ilya isn’t pushing the subject harder.
“Fine,” Ilya says. “What about just one blowjob?”
Shane feels his body go rigid. “What?”
“Please, Shane,” Ilya whines and Shane has to ignore his cock twitching at the noise. “Just this once. I just wanna taste you.”
Shane’s breath stutters, a shiver running through him that he can’t suppress this time. “Ilya…”
“If I have to beg,” Ilya adds, voice dipping, a hint of teasing slipping back in, “can I at least do it on my knees?”
Shane knows he’s being stupid but he nods anyway. Ilya moves carefully, shifting off the couch and lowering himself onto his knees in front of Shane. Shane’s gaze flicks, almost instinctively, to the clock on the wall. He has an hour before his date. An hour to get his dick sucked and get ready. Hopefully that’s enough time.
Both of Ilya’s hands settle on either side of Shane’s legs, and he shoots him a look that’s nothing but smug. His palms slide back and forth over Shane’s thighs, the steady friction grounding him just enough. “Is this okay?”
Shane nods, breath uneven as his gaze drops. “Ilya…”
“It’s okay,” Ilya murmurs, still tracing slow, soothing circles before moving higher to the strings of his sweats. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” Shane rasps, not even attempting to hide the edge of desperation in his voice.
Ilya’s smile is blinding. “What do you want me to do?”
Shane narrows his eyes, fighting the urge to roll them. “Ilya—”
“Tell me what you want,” Ilya insists, hands pulling at the waistband of Shane’s pants, who lifts his hips immediately. “And say please.”
Shane’s jaw drops as the waistband of his pants bunch up around his thighs and his aching cock springs free. Fuck. He’s hard. Like more hard than he’s ever been in his life and there’s no hiding that.
“Suck my cock,” Shane whines as Ila grips the base of his cock. “Please.”
“Good boy,” Ilya murmurs, leaning forward on his knees, his mouth two inches from Shane’s cock. “You’re my good boy…”
Shane’s a whining mess, his face scrunched up as he takes in the sight below him. Ilya’s lips come up to the tip of his aching cock and kiss it tenderly. Shane fights the twitch in his hips, biting so hard on his bottom lip he’s scared he’s gonna taste blood. Ilya doesn’t stop though, kissing and licking from the tip of his cock to the base in a way that feels less for Shane’s pleasure and more for his own. He’s kissing and licking the underside of Shane’s cock when he realizes something.
Holy fuck. Ilya is making out with Shane’s cock.
“Fuck…” Shane hisses, one of his hands coming up to card through Ilya’s curls.
Ilya pulls away, glancing up at Shane through his hooded eyes. “You’re so wet, baby.” He licks at the head of Shane’s cock, where an embarrassing amount of pre-cum has gathered. “Must want my mouth bad, huh?”
Shane nods quickly, his body shuddering. “Yes, yes.”
“So pretty,” Ilya murmurs, going between swirling the tip of Shane’s cock in his mouth and speaking. “I ever tell you how pretty you are?”
Shane’s cheeks burn. Ilya has plenty of times. On nights when he’d drag Shane out to some party, or when they had to show up at an awards ceremony and Shane put on a tux, Ilya would let out a low whistle and tell him he looked very pretty. Shane would flush, as he’s doing now, and usually tell him to fuck off.
Now, though, he leans into it, preening under the praise, his grip tightening in the curls of Ilya’s hair.
“Not nearly enough,” Shane whines, every bit the brat he is.
Ilya smirks. “Then let me show you.”
When he takes Shane in his mouth again, he goes deeper than he has before, hollowing out his cheeks to take Shane further. Shane groans, the sound coming somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Fuck, he’s going to cum already. This is so fucking embarrassing. His stomach tightens, trying to fight the twitching in his hips that’s telling him to grab both sides of Ilya’s face and fuck his throat.
When Ilya gags on him again, the tip of Shane’s cock hits the back of Ilya’s throat. Shane throws his head back, groaning against the back of his hand as he muffles his moans. The next time he gags on Shane’s cock, Ilya swallows and the back of his throat suctions on the tip of Shane’s cock. Shane is a whining mess at the feeling, pleasure rolling through him in waves that he’s sure will drown him.
“F—f—uh—uh,” Shane moans, his entire body tensing as Ilya bobs his head quicker; over and over again until the only thing preventing Shane from cumming is the muscles in his stomach.
Ilya lifts his head off Shane’s cock completely, and Shane whimpers when he catches a string of spit connected from Ilya’s lip to his cock. The mess Ilya has made on his cock is near pornographic. There’s a cloudy film over his cock, and Shane’s hips twitch when he realizes it’s a mix of his own cum and Ilya’s spit.
“Want you to cum in my mouth,” Ilya rasps out, his voice hoarse. “And then I want you to cum on my fingers, okay?”
Shane nods, his breath coming in sharp gasps from his open mouth. “Please…”
Ilya grips Shane’s cock tighter for a moment, sitting up taller on his knees so his face is closer to Shane. “Such a wet, slutty cock for me,” he muses. “Want more?”
Shane nods quicker than he has in his life.
“Spit in my mouth.” He insists, tugging on Shane’s cock hard enough to make him shudder.
Shane doesn’t know what comes over him, just that he needs to obey Ilya. He leans forward, collecting a huge glob of spit in his mouth before spitting it into Ilya’s open, waiting mouth. Ilya’s eyes gleam with happiness as he closes his mouth, not swallowing and instead leaning back on his knees and then spitting on Shane’s cock.
“Fuck,” Shane hisses, watching his glob of spit, now mixed with Ilya’s, slide down his dick.
Ilya continues to gag on him, bobbing his head and playing with Shane’s balls like he’s getting paid. Shane throws his head back against the cushions, eyes squeezed tight as he feels spit trail down the underside of his cock.
“Ilya,” Shane warns, gripping on Ilya’s hair tighter and feeling him moan against Shane’s cock. “I—uh, fuck—I’m gonna…”
It’s all he manages to say before he’s cumming down Ilya’s throat, forgetting to cover his mouth as he loudly whines into the open room of their apartment.
Ilya finally pulls back, swallowing hard. He leans away just enough to look at him, a slow, satisfied smirk settling on his face, like he’s admiring his handiwork.
Shane’s chest is tight, breath coming uneven, like he’s been running instead of sitting on a couch. He needs a second, just one, but he doesn’t get it. Ilya stands back up and settles onto the couch beside him. His hand comes up, fingers wrapping around Shane’s chin, firm enough that there’s no escaping it, no looking away. Shane’s panting, his breath fanning across Ilya’s face, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“I will take my payment now,” Ilya teases, puckering his lips, waiting for Shane to close the distance.
Right. They haven’t kissed. Why does this feel more intimate than anything they just did? Shane swallows, nerves catching in his throat. Still, he leans in, closing the space between them and pressing a brief, careful kiss to Ilya’s lips. It’s soft, almost hesitant, and then he tries to pull back.
Ilya doesn’t let him get far. His hand slides to the back of Shane’s neck, fingers threading just enough to hold him there, to guide him back in for a deeper kiss.
It’s a bit messy, with Ilya’s tongue exploring Shane’s pliant, wet mouth. Shane whines a bit into the kiss, his cheeks burning from how good a simple kiss can feel. Ilya meets him with a small hum, closing his lips around Shane’s tongue and sucking on it.
Shane’s pulse stutters, sucking in a sharp breath as Ilya pulls away, his lips wearing a sheen that can only be from Shane’s spit. “You taste so good.”
Shane’s greedy cock, which was previously spent, now twitches again with excitement. “What’re you gonna do with me?”
Ilya’s grin is near wolfish. “What do you want me to do with you?”
Fuck me, Shane’s instinct screams. I want you to fuck me into this couch, into your bed, pressed against the wall. I want you to fuck me until I forget my name, my stupid date with Rose, everything really.
“I dunno…” Shane shrugs, suddenly feeling very shy. The irony of that isn’t lost on him though.
“I think you do,” Ilya murmurs, his wet lips coming down to kiss his jaw, then his neck.
“Ilya…” Shane mumbles out pathetically, tipping his head back and closing his eyes as he feels Ilya kiss and nip at his neck.
Ilya’s free hand comes down to grasp Shane’s hardening cock once more and Shane hisses at the contact. “Poor baby,” Ilya teases into Shane’s neck. “So needy…”
Shane pants into Ilya’s ear, one hand grasping onto Ilya’s curls and the other sliding down the front of his body before settling on the tent in his sweats. Ilya gasps against his neck as Shane rubs the hardness of his cock through the thin material of Ilya’s sweats.
“Want my cock, malysh?” Ilya lifts his head from Shane’s neck, his face looking fucking pained as Shane continues to rub Ilya’s cock.
Shane nods before he even realizes. “Yes, yes, please.”
Ilya smiles weakly before groaning again as Shane’s hands dip underneath the waistband of Ilya’s sweats and grasps his cock firmly. He’s never touched a cock other than his own so his movements are a bit tender, a bit awkward, but the whines coming from Ilya’s throat tells Shane he’s enjoying it nonetheless.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya whines, his hips grinding into Shane’s hand. “Please, let me fuck you.”
Shane’s mouth drops open in shock and he’s nodding before he can talk himself out of it. “Want it so bad.”
Ilya smirks, gasping softly as Shane lazily jerks him off. “You do? How badly?”
Shane whines, kissing Ilya without having to be asked or told. “Really bad,” Shane whines. “I’m so wet for you.”
Ilya groans, kissing Shane’s nose, then his cheek, before kissing his lips. “Haven’t even taken a real dick yet and already so slutty.”
When they kiss again, it’s much hungrier than before. The both of them seem to realize the same thing: they’re going to fuck. It’s no longer abstract, no longer something they justify into a quick blowjob. The excitement between them is palpable, both of them eager as they lick and bite, kissing each other deeply.
When they pull away, Ilya is smirking again. “Need to open you up first. Get you ready for my cock.”
Shane’s hand stills against his hard cock. “Where do you want me?”
Ilya chuckles under his breath, finally letting go of Shane’s cock before pulling the rest of his sweats off and chucking them somewhere on the floor. “Lay down for me.”
Shane tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it aside to join the growing pile on the floor before stretching back against the couch, the cushions dipping beneath his weight. His pulse is still uneven, his skin warm, every nerve awake.
Ilya follows without hesitation, moving over him, bracing himself with both arms on either side of Shane’s head. The shift brings them close enough that Shane can feel the heat of him, the steady press of his body.
“Off,” Shane mutters, already reaching up, fingers catching on the hem of Ilya’s shirt, impatient.
Ilya’s mouth curves into that familiar smirk. He dips down just long enough to steal a quick kiss before pushing himself back up and pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. It lands somewhere behind them, forgotten almost immediately.
This time, when Ilya settles back over him, he doesn’t hold himself up as much. His weight sinks into Shane, and Shane lets out a quiet breath as his arms come up automatically, wrapping around Ilya’s waist, his hands cupping his ass and giving it a squeeze through the fabric of his sweats.
“I’m going to hurt you,” Ilya murmurs, shifting slightly like he’s about to ease up, concern flickering through his tone.
Shane doesn’t let him.
His grip tightens, keeping him right where he is. “No,” he breathes, turning his head just enough to brush a kiss along Ilya’s jaw. “I like it.”
Ilya pulls back just enough to look at him, looking a bit puzzled. “Like me squishing you?”
There’s a beat where Shane almost backs off, but instead he nods, a little sheepish. “Makes me feel… safe.”
He leans down again, slower this time, their breaths mingling before his lips find Shane’s. “Like that weighted blanket in your room?” he murmurs against his mouth, teasing threading back in.
Shane huffs out a quiet, breathless laugh, tightening his hold around him. “Fuck you.”
“I am trying,” Ilya murmurs against his lips, hands trailing down the front of Shane’s body before stopping right at his cock. “Want my fingers, malysh?”
Shane whines, nodding quickly. “Please.”
Ilya eyes flash, using one hand to spread Shane’s legs, hiking one above Ilya’s hip. “So polite,” he murmurs, kissing and licking at his mouth. “Such a good boy.”
Shane’s cock twitches. “Ilya, what about lube?”
Ilya’s eyes widened with mischief. “You have lube?”
“Yes.”
Ilya’s eyes darken, and before Shane can ask what’s wrong, he’s already leaning in, kissing him so deeply Shane feels it all the way to his toes.
“Where is it?”
“My bedside table,” Shane answers. But before he can pull Ilya back in for another kiss, Ilya is already off him and striding quickly down the hall toward his room.
A few minutes later, he returns with the bottle in hand, eyes glinting with mischief. Shane is stroking his cock lazily as he approaches, and Ilya slows for a moment, gaze dropping to Shane’s hand, lingering there like he’s caught on the sight of it. Then he’s on him again, knocking his hand away.
“Stop,” Ilya grumbles, his expression caught somewhere between annoyed and pleased. “Only I can do that.”
Ilya leans back a bit, pushing up on his knees, spreading Shane’s legs apart once again. He kneels on the couch in between Shane’s legs, taking the back of his knees and wrapping them around his waist.
Shane’s head lifts from the couch, eyes trailing down the front of Ilya, stopping to blatantly stare at the tent in his sweats. Shane can feel himself drooling and only snaps his head back up to Ilya’s face when he hears him chuckle.
“Open your mouth for me, baby,” Ilya groans, shivering when Shane does so immediately.
Ilya leans forward just a bit, slotting his middle and pointer finger in Shane’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue and groaning when Shane’s lips close around him. He sucks on them, moaning around the fingers, letting Ilya’s fingers get nice and wet before Ilya pops them out of his mouth. He pops the cap of the lube open, squirting some onto those same spit-slick fingers, massaging them until it looks like his fingers are encased in gelatin.
“Have you ever touched yourself here?” Ilya says, his hooded eyes trailing down Shane’s naked body, his free hand holding his leg open.
Shane whines again, throwing his head back before returning to Ilya. “Yes…”
When the cold gel makes first contact with Shane’s hole, he shivers. The sensation is odd, much more intense than when he does it himself. Even with his eyes closed, he can feel Ilya staring down at him. He opens his eyes only slightly, barely able to keep them open as Ilya’s wet fingers circle his hole.
“My sensitive baby…” Ilya croons, pressing the tips of his wet fingers into Shane’s hole, like he’s testing him before adding them fully.
“Fuck, Ilya…” Shane moans, hiding his face in pillows.
Ilya circles his hole a few more times before he pushes in, earning a shocked gasp from Shane. Almost immediately, before Ilya can really even begin moving, Shane grinds down on his fingers, gasping again, like his moan is getting caught in his chest.
“Oh god—” Shane whines, another wave of pleasure coursing through him as Ilya begins to actually move his fingers.
Ilya leans forward, lips attacking Shane’s neck as he continues to gradually move his fingers in and out of Shane’s hole. Soon, their apartment is filled with sounds of squelching from the lube and breathy moans coming from Shane.
“My baby,” Ilya murmurs, his fingers picking up the pace, curling after each thrust. “My sensitive baby…”
“Ilya—oh my fuck—” Shane whines, grinding each time Ilya curls his fingers.
This feeling rivals any pleasure he has given himself. Ilya’s fingers are just long enough, just thick enough, that it is sending shockwaves of pleasure through Shane. Soon, he’s body goes rigid and his eyes begin to roll back, another strike of pleasure hitting him.
“You like?” He breathes against Shane’s neck. “You like how my fingers fuck this slutty hole?”
Shane is nodding, lips parted, stuttering a bit as he tries to keep up with Ilya’s fingers. “Yes, yes—faster please!”
Ilya lifts his head from Shane’s neck, smirking down at him like the fucking devil himself. “You want more?”
Shane nods quickly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes back and instead stare at Ilya through hooded eyes. “Yes! More—please!”
Ilya smirks, leaning back with a peculiar look. Shane is about to ask him to do something, fucking anything really, but then Ilya’s free hand, which had just been holding Shane’s leg open, drops to his leaking cock. Shane’s jaw drops, eyes widening when he realizes what Ilya intends to do. Before he can say much of anything, Ilya grips Shane’s cock again, jerking him off, collecting the beads of pre-cum from his slit and smearing it all down the length of his wet cock.
“F—fuuuckk…” Shane groans, the sound coming from the pit of his stomach.
He can feel himself about to cum and he wants to warn Ilya, wants to tell him to stop so he can last but that doesn’t seem to be what Ilya wants because once he sees that look in Shane’s eyes, he adds a third finger.
“Oh—oh—fuck, Ilya! I’m cumming!” Shane yelps, eyes wide as he watches Ilya jerk him off even faster.
“Cum for me, malysh,” Ilya murmurs against Shane’s sweaty skin. “Be my good fucking baby and cum for me.”
Shane does not need to be told twice. A scream rips through his throat as he cums for a second time, his entire body tensing as Ilya talks him through it. He doesn’t stop jerking Shane off, doesn’t stop fingering him, until he’s sure Shane’s done, until every rope of cum is between them.
“Fuck,” Ilya sighs, looking at his wet fingers, the lube now trailing down his elbow. “Poor baby wet himself.”
And then—fucking then—the motherfucker leans down and begins to lick the cum that landed on Shane’s stomach and chest.
And all Shane can do is whimper and lay there helplessly as his friend of four years and the man of all his wet dreams licks his body clean.
“Ilya,” Shane slurs, breathing hard when Ilya lifts his head. “Fuck me, please.”
Ilya’s lips quirk up, clearly amused. “You sure? Not tired?”
Shane shakes his head, even though they both know it’s a lie. “No, I need it. Need your cock.”
“Me too,” Ilya breathes, looking relieved. “Flip over for me, baby.”
Shane is amazing at following orders, even when he is fucked out and tired. While he is slow, taking a moment to breathe before he turns over, he does so without any help from Ilya. When Shane’s ass is finally on display for Ilya, he does the only thing that makes sense—he leans down and takes a bite out of his ass.
“Ow!” Shane mumbles, whining a bit as Ilya rubs the spot he bit.
“Sorry,” Ilya murmurs, leaning down to kiss his ear. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” Shane whines, grinding his ass against Ilya’s clothed cock. “But I liked it.”
“Good,” Ilya murmurs, finally shoving his sweats and boxers down his legs. “You do not know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“You can…” Shane clears his throat, fighting a blush rising to his cheeks. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Ilya groans, his forehead resting between Shane’s shoulder blades. He tugs on his cock a few times, hissing as he leaves a few kisses along Shane’s back. “Can I fuck you raw?”
Shane nods, looking back to kiss the corner of Ilya’s mouth. “Yes.”
Ilya chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. Holy fuck. In the years since they met, Shane Hollander has never surprised him like this. Ilya leans back, squirting a bit more lube on his fingers, lathering some on his cock, and then on Shane’s hole. He lazily jerks himself off a few more times before he lines himself up against Shane’s hole, which is open and waiting for him.
“Okay?” Ilya asks, one hand firmly gripping Shane’s waist.
“Yes, please,” Shane whines, grinding down against the tip of Ilya’s cock, causing the both of them to groan. “Please, fuck me.”
The first inch or so is like a punch to the gut. Shane, who has cum twice in less than an hour, no longer has the strength to control himself. His whole body hums like a live wire, every nerve lit up, trembling from the aftermath.
“Breathe,” Ilya murmurs, soothing, a warm hand moving over Shane’s back as he stills behind him. “Breathe for me, malysh.”
“I—I—uh,” Shane groans, struggling to catch his breath. “It’s too much.”
Ilya’s hips stutter as he sinks into Shane more, hissing as he feels his tight hole clench around his cock. “You can take it.”
Shane nodded into the cushion, mouth open as another wave of pleasure crashed through him. “I can, I can…”
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya glanced down as he bottomed out; first at where his cock disappeared in Shane tight ass and then to Shane’s side profile smushed against the cushion. “Are you drooling, baby?”
Shane nodded, whining loudly as he felt Ilya pull out slightly before pushing in once more. “Uh—mh—Ilya.”
“Yes,” Ilya nodded, feeling Shane’s hole relax a bit more for him. He begins to set a pace, inhaling sharply as the ache in his cock tears through his stomach. “Keep saying my name.” He paused, his whole body shaking as he thrusted harder into Shane. “Who’s making you feel so good?”
“You,” Shane whines, grasping at the armrest and lifting his head a bit so he could see behind him. “Harder, Ilya, please.”
“More?” Ilya taunts, punctuating his question with a thrust. “My baby wants more?”
Shane nods into the cushion, reaching to bite the back of his hand. He’s already so fucking close it’s embarrassing. “More.”
Ilya snaps his hips forward again, groaning as the sounds of skin slapping and lube squelching fill their apartment space. He isn’t far behind Shane. For Ilya, this whole thing has been an exercise in restraint—holding himself back from fucking Shane outright, from letting him get comfortable enough to ask for his cock instead. But he’s teased himself long enough, and now something else has taken hold of both his mind and body. He continues to thrust madly, moaning out into the living room with each one.
“Shane,” Ilya rasps out, gripping Shane’s hips for dear life. “Are you close?”
Shane nods into the cushion, his only answer a muffled groan.
“Cum for me,” Ilya pleads, driving his cock deeper and deeper into Shane’s hole. “Be my good little baby and cum for me.”
Shane, like the obedient little slut he is, does exactly as he is told. His orgasm rips through him, cum spilling across the cushions beneath him and he whines into his hand to muffle the sound. He squeezes his eyes shut, oversensitive from the last two orgasms, fighting to keep control and stop himself from completely collapsing.
He can feel Ilya cum inside him, grinding his hips down as his own orgasm tears through him. It feels… nice. Good in a way that he doesn’t want to examine. He feels safe, warm, fucking happy which terrifies him. He drags in a sharp breath through his nose, feeling Ilya slowly pull out of him, both of them groaning at the loss.
When he opens his eyes, he’s on his back again, and his vision is blurry. He feels a little raw right now, like an open wound and his head is floating somewhere far away, detached from the rest of him. He should move, should get up, get dressed, do something, but the strength just isn’t there.
Above him, Ilya is moving. His breathing is heavy, but there’s purpose in it. He wipes down the spot on the couch beside Shane first, quick and careful, then disappears for a moment before coming back with a warm cloth. He cleans between Shane’s legs just as gently, like he’s handling something fragile. When he’s finished, he leans over him, a small, soft smile on his face, and something in his eyes that makes Shane’s chest tighten.
“Do you want to take a shower?”
The question pulls Shane back into himself. He does want that badly. He can feel the thin, grimy layer of sweat clinging to his skin, making him restless. Beneath that though, there’s a flicker of emotion that rises in him when he realizes that Ilya knows exactly what he needs.
Shane nods, because words feel like too much effort right now.
Then, unexpectedly, Ilya dips down and presses a quick kiss to his lips. Shane can’t react quick enough to pull away but when Ilya lifts his head again, Shane knows his face gives him away.
“Do you…” Ilya swallows, suddenly unsure. “Do you want to shower alone?”
Shane pushes himself upright, slow and unsteady, nodding as he does. “Yeah. Uh… I think that’s probably best.”
Ilya tries to hide it, but Shane still catches the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
“Okay…”
Shane’s on his feet before he can think better of it, not even bothering to grab his clothes. He bolts from the living room, down the hall, and shuts himself into the bathroom, the lock clicking a second later.
Alone, it’s easier to breathe, to think without Ilya’s warmth wrapping around him, scrambling everything in his mind.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He just slept with Ilya. He just had the best three orgasms of his life with Ilya. What the fuck? His legs feel like jelly as he steps into the shower, turning the handle and waiting through the sting of cold before it finally warms.
What is going to happen to them as friends? A blowjob, he could’ve explained that away, buried it, pretended it didn’t mean anything, but three orgasms in a row is not nothing. He feels different, like things are clicking into place, and it’s fucking terrifying.
He’s always admired Ilya. Even at the start, when Ilya was nothing but a cocky asshole who got under his skin like it was his personal mission, Shane still couldn’t ignore how good he was on the ice. And later, after second year, when things changed, when they got closer and started winning, admiration turned into respect and trust. Ilya had this way of leading, of pulling people together, making them believe in themselves like it was the easiest thing in the world.
When did that become this? He tries to trace it back, find a moment where it tipped over, but there isn’t just one, but a million quiet shifts. Piece by piece, Ilya worked his way in without Shane even noticing.
Holy fuck, Shane has a pathetic crush on Ilya Rozanov.
What makes it even worse is that Ilya does not feel the same way. Sex, for Ilya, is easy, casual. It’s something fun, something to blow off steam or celebrate a win. Shane’s seen the women, the occasional guy, walk through his shared apartment, he’s heard their moans at night and watched the way they’d leave the next morning looking satisfied. And every time, Shane swallowed down the bitter twist in his chest and told himself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t his place to judge. Just because he didn’t work that way didn’t mean Ilya was wrong.
But now… this. And while Ilya could be casual about this, treat it like it was no big deal, Shane can’t. There’s nothing casual about the way his chest feels too tight, the way his thoughts won’t slow down.
He braces his hands against the tile, water running over his shoulders, his back. If he can’t act like this means nothing he could lose Ilya altogether. Fuck, how the hell is he supposed to prove he can be casual when it’s the last thing he feels?
Shane is stepping out of the shower when an idea hits him; Rose. They have a date tonight, set up by Hayden and his relentless need to see Shane settled down yesterday. And the thing is, Shane had been looking forward to it. Rose is easy to talk to, funny in a way that sneaks up on you. The last time they hung out, after that big Montreal win, they’d spent half the night laughing, shoulders bumping, caught in their own little orbit.
Maybe that’s the answer.
When Shane opens the bathroom door, he nearly jumps out of his skin.
Ilya is right there, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting the whole time. Sweats hang low on his hips, nothing else on, arms crossed over his chest.
“Hi,” Shane squeaks out as he tightens the towel around his waist.
“Hi,” Ilya replies, eyes narrowing slightly as he looks him over, like he’s trying to read Shane’s mind. “You okay?”
Shane’s gaze flicks toward his bedroom door. “Yeah,” he says, a little too quick, a little too shaky. “Just gotta change.”
Ilya nods and Shane moves past him carefully. Their shoulders brush briefly and it sends a sharp jolt through him. He keeps going, doesn’t stop until he’s inside his room, the door shut firmly behind him. The breath he lets out feels like it’s been stuck in his chest for hours.
Fuck. Why is it already so awkward? He presses his hands to his face for a second, dragging them down hard. He needs to get it together before he actually ruins their friendship.
He quickly changes into new clothes, pulling on fresh underwear, jeans, a linen shirt he knows looks good on him. From down the hall, he can hear the shower start. Good, he has time.
He practices what to say to Ilya, how to sound, how to act, all in his head, over and over, like he’s practicing lines before an audution.
Be normal, is all he keeps thinking. You’re normal. Nothing has changed. You just fucked Ilya, just had the best few orgasms of your life, but it doesn’t mean anything. You’re fine. Casual. So casual you’re about to walk out the door and go on a date with a woman like this didn’t happen at all.
Soon, Shane’s back in the living room, gathering up his clothes and on his phone from the floor. He’s halfway through typing a message to Rose when Ilya walks in again, changed now, fresh sweats and a hoodie.
Shane slips past him with a tight, polite smile, cheeks burning as he dumps his clothes in the hamper. He circles back, grabs his phone, and fires off a quick text to Rose, telling her he’ll be at hers soon before he can think too hard about it.
When he looks up, Ilya is staring at him. He’s like a statue almost, frozen in place as he takes Shane in. “Where are you going?”
Shane’s grip tightens around his phone. He doesn’t meet his eyes. “I told you. I have a date with Rose.”
He shouldn’t have looked up. Ilya’s expression hits him like a punch. He looks like he’s been cracked wide open, something raw and disbelieving in his eyes.
“You cannot be serious.”
Shane frowns. Shouldn’t Ilya be happy he’s being so casual about this? “What?”
Ilya steps closer, confusion hardening into anger behind his eyes. “I was inside of you twenty minutes ago, and now you’re going out with her?”
The way he says her makes Shane’s skin prickle.
“I—I told you I had to go,” Shane says, slower now, trying to make sense of it. “Hayden set us up.”
“Fuck Hayden,” Ilya snaps, the words tearing out of him. He looks… wrecked. Like he’s holding himself together by a thread. “Stay here,” he says suddenly, voice breaking into something Shane’s never heard from him before. “Stay here and—”
Shane’s phone pings.
The sound cuts straight through the moment. Both of them look down at it in his hand. Rose’s name lights up the screen, with a text saying she’ll be ready for him. Shane taps a quick heart, shoves the phone into his back pocket, and looks up again.
Ilya looks like he might collapse.
“Who is it?” Ilya asks, swallowing hard. Then, before Shane can answer: “Is it her?”
Shane just nods, slow and uncertain, because none of this makes any sense. What is this? Anger? Jealousy? Why? Shouldn’t this be what Ilya wants?
“I gotta go,” Shane says finally, his heart hammering too fast.
For a second, it looks like Ilya might reach for him, like he’s about to break, but instead Shane’s the one who steps back. The air between them feels unstable, volatile in a way that makes his chest tighten.
“See you later,” he throws out, already opening the door.
Ilya doesn’t answer, doesn’t even move. He just stands there, breathing hard, eyes fixed on him like he’s watching something slip out of reach.
The door shuts behind Shane with a quiet click.
And suddenly, he can’t breathe. What the fuck was that? He thought he was doing the right thing. Giving Ilya exactly what he wanted. Keeping it easy, casual. So why does it feel like he got it completely wrong?
Shane grips the steering wheel when he gets to his car, blinking hard against the sting in his eyes. The city blurs a little as he drives, something heavy lodged deep in his chest.
He doesn’t understand it. All he knows for sure is that he feels like he’s left a piece of his heart back in that apartment.