Chapter Text
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Shane set his duffle bag down and shut the door behind him. Anya ran up to him with a short bark of greeting, happily wagging her tail so hard her whole butt wiggled.
“Hey pretty girl” he said softly, scratching behind her ears. “Where’s your papa?”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Shane glanced up the stairs. He could hear Ilya’s alarm going off in the master bedroom but he had no idea on earth why.
Shane had left very early that morning from Montreal to get a jumpstart on a rare weekend off together in Ottawa but they didn’t have any plans that he knew of other than dinner later with his parents. Shane had his own key and he’d fully expected Ilya to still be asleep when he let himself in.
He was actually looking forward to crawling into bed right next to him and waking Ilya up himself. Soft sleepy Ilya with bedhead and pillow lines on his face was one of Shane’s favorite things. So why the hell had Ilya set his alarm?
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
“Come on,” he said to Anya. “Let’s put you out.”
Shane led Anya through the house and put her outside in the dog run so she could do her business. He’d take her on a proper walk later once he tracked down Ilya
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Shane headed back inside and made his way up to the bedroom where the sound was of course loudest and all the more grating to his ears. “Ilya! Your alarm!” he called out, as he climbed the stairs. What the fuck?
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
“BEEP BEEP BEEP”
Shane found him facedown on top of the bed laid out like a starfish wearing only a black pair of boxer briefs. He was snoring like a bear.
“Ilya!” Shane shouted irritably, rushing in to stab down the alarm’s off button.
Ilya startled awake, his head jolting up off his pillow. He winced immediately in pain and screwed his eyes shut against the morning light. “Shane?” he rasped.
For a brief moment, Shane felt terrible for shouting at him. Ilya was absolutely soaked in sweat. His hair was plastered to his head like he’d just gotten out of a pool. Shane put a hand on his forehead testing for a fever. Maybe he had the flu?
That is until Shane took a good whiff of his boyfriend and realized he was basically sweating pure vodka. He had also definitely been smoking last night even though he was supposed to be quitting.
“Jesus, Ilya!” He pushed off of Ilya’s head angrily and backed away from him. “Why are you so hungover? You’re about to start a playoff run!”
There was no way he would be crawling into that bed now until it was fully stripped and remade with clean sheets and covers. An extra load of laundry had not been on his to-do list.
Ilya moaned pitifully and curled into a fetal position, seemingly unfazed by the damp bedding beneath him. “Not hungover. Still drunk maybe. A little bit.”
As much as Shane hated all the time they’d wasted over the years being apart, he was suddenly very grateful to have missed the bulk of Ilya’s notorious party boy days now that he was getting to witness the aftermath up close.
Not to mention that he was pretty sure the labeling on Ilya’s medication explicitly advised against mixing with alcohol consumption. They would definitely be revisiting that fact when Ilya was in the right headspace to hear it.
“I take it you decided to go out with Cliff last night,” Shane said dryly, connecting the dots.
He knew Ilya’s good buddy Cliff Marleau was in town last night since the Centaurs had hosted Boston at home. Boston had lost, but it had been a nail-biter. Ilya had scored twice and Shane had sent him a congratulatory text afterwards, but not once did Ilya share his plans to drink Ottawa dry with his former teammate.
Ilya rolled onto his knees and very slowly unfurled himself as he sat up on the bed. He sat with his back hunched and hands braced on either side of his thighs to steady himself. His eyes were open now but only slightly. Ilya licked his lips, trying to unstick them enough to form words.
“I told him we are engaged now.”
“Oh.” Shane hadn’t realized that Ilya was going to tell Marleau last night.
“He made me go celebrate with him.”
“He made you.” Shane deadpanned. “Yeah, I’m sure he had to drag you kicking and screaming the whole time.”
Shane sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly avoiding the sweat stains. How the hell had Ilya ever played a game after a night out like this? Shane’s hockey-brain spiraled out wondering how much higher Ilya’s stats could have been earlier in his career if not for Boston’s club scene.
Ilya blew out a long breath, carding his fingers through damp curls to brush them off his forehead. “Marley is very happy for us. It was nice telling him in person. He hugged me so hard he maybe bruised my ribs. But ugh,” he groaned “So many shots.”
It did warm Shane’s heart a little bit to hear that it had gone so well. “I’m glad you got to tell him in person.”
Ilya deserved good supportive friends around him. Especially after the turbulent last couple of months they’d had.
Thanks to the Fanmail leak, the world at large now knew they were a couple. To say the hockey world’s reaction to it had been mixed would be an understatement. Since then, they had started telling their close friends and teammates about the engagement. The people they saw personally every day now knew, and Shane also knew Ilya had told Svetlana. Marleau was probably his closest friend other than her.
One or two of the guys from Boston apparently hadn’t taken the news of their relationship so well, but from what Ilya had told him, Marleau had shut that bullshit down immediately. Shane was grateful to him for that.
“So why did you need to set an alarm?” Shane asked him.
Ilya’s brows drew together in confusion for a second. Then his eyes went wide like something critical had just occurred to him. “Fuck! I’m late.”
Through some superhuman effort of will, Ilya sprang to life. He jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom. A second later, Shane could hear water running in the sink.
He followed after Ilya, concerned and completely dumbfounded. “Late for what?”
“Important meeting,” Ilya informed him. He was filling the sink with cold water. He got it about halfway full before he dunked his head in. He came up a second later gasping, water dripping from his hair and streaming down his mostly naked body.
Shane stood in the open bathroom doorway and tried valiantly not to objectify his boyfriend. He handed him a towel. “With who?”
Ilya rubbed the towel over himself fast and rough, working some color back into his skin so he looked a little less like a zombie. He tossed the towel back at Shane. “New lawyer.”
Ilya rushed past him and into the walk-in closet where Shane could hear him rummaging around for clothes.
“You don’t have to go anywhere do you?” Shane called out to him, dutifully putting the towel in the hamper. He hoped not. He didn’t want Ilya to kill half their day in some nondescript office conference room for a face-to-face.
“Is video call,” came the reply, accompanied by the clatter of wooden hangers.
“Okay…” Shane said, shaking his head. He left Ilya to get dressed. “I’m going to feed Anya.”
“Spasibo!”
*****
Once in the kitchen, Shane set the electric kettle to boil and dumped a scoop of whole roasted coffee beans into Ilya’s fancy machine to grind before it brewed. He brought Anya in from the dog run and methodically put together her breakfast bowl as she danced around his legs.
Ilya had her eating a special preservative-free diet with vet-recommended vitamins and supplements that he mixed in. Shane thought it was a little ironic considering how Ilya himself never met a processed food he didn’t like.
He set some tea to steep in a mug for himself and started fixing Ilya a cup of coffee just how he liked it - light and sweet.
Why would he hire a new lawyer? Shane wondered to himself. Ilya basically already had a team of attorneys between his immigration lawyer, his guy in Russia who handled his niece’s trust, and the sports & entertainment firm that handled all the major deals of his hockey career.
Also, what kind of lawyer scheduled meetings so early on a Saturday? It was just a bit past 9am.
Ilya sprinted down the stairs carrying his iPad. He was wearing black Adidas track pants, a grey blazer, and a navy blue tie looped loose and crooked around his neck. He inexplicably hadn’t bothered with a shirt. He sat down at the kitchen table and propped his iPad up, apparently preparing for his call.
“Ilya, what the hell-” Shane started.
“Shh.” Ilya put his hand up to cut him off. “Hold please. Is time for meeting.”
Shane set Ilya’s coffee down for him, a little exasperated. “Okay. Should I wait in the other room?”
“No, no, no. Sit! Is your meeting too.” Ilya gestured to the chair across from him. He tapped his iPad and started a Facetime call.
“I’m sorry, what?” Shane definitely would have remembered if they had discussed this before. Also, his mom would absolutely have wanted to weigh in on it.
Ilya took a sip of his coffee as the call tried to connect and sighed deeply. “Ahh. Perfect. Thank you, moya lyubov.”
It was then that Shane noticed the contact name on the call.
“Ilya, why is your lawyer saved as ‘Big Sexy’?”
Before Ilya could respond, Marleau’s bleary-eyed face filled the screen. “Roz, you gotta be out of your friggin mind.”
Cliff’s voice was little more than a growl. His dark hair was mussed with the remnants of last night’s gel and he was leaning hard on his thick forearms like sitting up straight was too much of an ask at the moment. It looked like he was sitting at some kind of desk in his hotel room. The king-sized bed behind him was a tangle of white linens. At least he was wearing a shirt. The Boston Raiders logo was emblazoned across his chest.
Shane looked to Ilya, perplexed. “Cliff Marleau is your new lawyer?”
Ilya nodded stoically. “Yes. I hired him last night.”
Marleau blinked, belatedly realizing that Shane was there too. “Hey Hollsy,” he said with a little wave. “Congratulations on the engagement, man.”
“Thanks, Cliff.” Shane replied, struggling to make any of this make sense. “Um, since when do you have a law degree?”
Marleau was a solid guy, but Shane has never known him to be the sharpest crayon in the box.
“I do not actually.” Marley confirmed. He gestured toward Ilya, “I told him that more than once.”
“He is modest,” Ilya replied, dismissing the issue. “He has seen every episode of Law & Order original series. Twenty-five seasons!” he eagerly pointed out. “Also SUV & Criminal Intent. He is highly qualified legal expert.”
“I watch them on flights mostly,” Marley supplied, as if that somehow justified his fanboy behavior.
Shane sipped his tea, thankful that he had listened to his meditation app on the drive from Montreal that morning. The love of his life had apparently woken up and chosen chaos. Now he was just along for the ride.
“No offense Cliff, but I don’t think that counts in a court of law.” Shane informed him. He was pretty confident that the Massachusetts Bar Association would have some opinions on it as well.
“My sister-in-law is an attorney,” Marley offered helpfully.
“See!” Ilya exclaimed triumphantly. “And his fee was very low. Excellent deal.”
“Five bucks.” Marley grinned. “It was the smallest bill he had on him.”
“I see.” Shane nodded sagely, playing along. He took another sip of his tea and resolved to prove he could be a good sport. “So what important matter of law did you two hash out last night between rounds of Jäger and Redbull?”
“Oh. Hold on.” Ilya began pulling wads of cocktail napkins out of every pocket he had on him. He piled them in the middle of the kitchen table in a large crumbled mound. “Sorry, let me get paperwork in order.”
Shane stared at him, wondering seriously if he needed to call the Centaurs team medical staff and have them schedule his boyfriend an MRI. Whatever the hell this was surely had to be an early warning sign of CTE.
Ilya flattened the napkins out as best he could and stacked them neatly in some specific order that only he seemed to know. “There!” he said, when he was satisfied. “Marriage contract.”
It took all of Shane’s fast-dissolving patience not to start freaking out right then, because what the actual fuck was happening now?
“Let me get this straight. You and Cliff got drunk and wrote a pre-nup? On bar napkins?”
Shane was not completely proud of how his voice spiked into bitchiness on the word pre-nup.
“Kind of?” Ilya replied, unhelpfully. He took a big swig of his coffee, watching for Shane’s reaction carefully from behind the rim of his mug.
“Nooo, no, no!” Marley assured him, accurately reading how close to danger they were. Maybe he was smarter than Shane had previously given him credit for. “Not a pre-nup. Nothing to do with financials and all that crap.”
Shane looked at Ilya, “So what then?” he demanded.
Ilya put down his coffee and took both of Shane’s hands in his.
“Marriage contract,” he began, staring into Shane’s eyes. “Every important thing in my life I have signed a contract about. Contract to play for Boston. Contract to play for Ottawa. Contracts to buy and sell houses. Contracts to buy and sell cars. Now the single biggest most important thing ever in my life is happening soon.” Ilya ran the pads of his thumbs lightly over the back of Shane’s hands. “We should have a contract for this too.”
Well, shit. Leave it to Ilya to have an idea so ridiculous, but at the same time so earnestly sweet. Shane had started falling for this man like Alice down the rabbit hole when they were seventeen and he hadn’t stopped since.
“Okay,” Shane agreed.
Ilya smiled. “Okay”
“Aww, look at you guys.” Marleau was watching them with a big dopey smile on his face. “Too freakin cute.”
Shane released Ilya’s hands. Physical affection still felt innately taboo to him in front of an audience. After so many years of having to hide it was hard to stop his knee-jerk reaction of shrinking away from simple touches. He still struggled to remind himself that he’d earned this. They’d earned this.
“So what’s in this contact?” Shane asked, curious as to what those two had come up with.
“Is very-” Ilya started
"Well-" Marleau interrupted him. "The idea originally was like general good relationship advice like, ‘never go to bed angry’, you know. That's a winner right there, let me tell you!” He snapped his fingers, emphasizing his point. “That one was mine. Someone wrote it in my brother’s wedding guestbook thingy. But then Ilya kinda went rogue so…honestly bro, I don’t know.”
“Objection, Marley!” Ilya chastised him, flipping through the stack of bar napkins like pages of a book. “You are going out of order.”
“Sorry, Your Honor.” Marleau raised his hands in apology. He gestured toward Shane. “Your witness.”
“Thank you.” Ilya cleared his throat, all business again. He adjusted his tie, making literally no impact to the sad state of it.
Shane suppressed a laugh. These beautiful idiots. Their dedication to the bit was admirable.
“Ilya, I don’t think you can be the client, opposing counsel, and the judge at the same time.”
“I am great multi-tasker.” Ilya assured him. “You will love this, Shane. It’s like rules for our marriage. You love rules.”
Shane had to admit he had a point there.
“So!” Ilya clapped his hands and rubbed them together vigorously. “Here are the terms.” He picked up the top napkin and squinted at it, trying to decipher his own handwriting. “Ah, okay. First item,” Ilya announced. “The subject of cars. I know you do not approve of so many flashy cars. I am willing to offer generous compromise. I get to keep one fun car and then one boring car for errands and such.”
Shane looked at him skeptically. “Define fun.”
“The Bugatti.”
“No.”
“The Ferrari.”
“No.”
“Not the yellow one,’” Ilya clarified. “The red one.”
“No.”
“The Porsche, then!” Ilya said, grasping at straws. “It's the most sensible of my fun collection. G-Wagon will be for boring things like groceries and dry cleaners.”
Shane considered. “I’ll allow it. With the stipulation that the motorcycle has to go.”
Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Ducati was not part of discussion.”
“It is now,” Shane retorted. He wasn't afraid to play hardball in a negotiation when he needed to. He was Yuna Hollander's son after all.
Ilya tensed his jaw. “Okay,” he ground out. “Only because it makes Yuna nervous and I’m not letting you steal Number One Favorite Son title so easy.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Marley groaned. “We’re going to be here all day at this rate. Can we move it along here a bit fellas? I got a flight to catch.”
“Second item…,” Ilya said slowly, like he knew Shane wouldn’t be happy with what he was about to say. “Hayden is only allowed visiting hours on the third Wednesday of every month,” he rushed out. Then, seemingly as an afterthought he added, “Jackie and the kids are welcome anytime.”
Shane actually laughed at the absurdity of that one. “No way. Nice try though.”
Ilya grumbled something under his breath in Russian but conceded the point by crumpling up that napkin and shoving it back into the pocket of his blazer.
“Third item. No Lasik, no contacts for you. Ever.” Ilya held up the napkin with his own blocky handwriting, gesturing at Shane with it. “You have to promise.”
“What?” Shane didn’t even know how to respond to that. “Why?”
“Because then you won’t need reading glasses anymore. Glasses are very important to me.” Ilya glanced at Marleau’s face on the screen. “For…reasons” he added with a wink.
Shane remembered how enamored Ilya had been seeing him in glasses for the first time. He felt a blush creep across his cheeks. “Whatever. Fine.”
Ilya flipped to the next napkin. “Fourth item. No fighting in front of Anya. It will upset her. She will get a complex.”
Shane glanced at Marleau then back to Ilya, slightly embarrassed. “You make it sound like we fight all the time.”
Ilya waited, raising his eyebrows in a silent Oh really?
Shane pressed his lips into a thin line of frustration. Ilya liked to push his buttons, and yes maybe he could at times be a little uptight about certain things. He just liked things how he liked them. Was that a crime?
“Okay. But while we’re on the subject of Anya, no dogs allowed on the bed.”
Ilya looked at him like Shane had offended his entire bloodline. “So you hate her now?” he demanded.
“Sustained,” Marley interjected, really milking it with his questionable grasp on legal jargon. “I have to side with Shane on this one, my guy. It's kinda gross.”
“Betrayal,” Ilya side-eyed his friend. “Fine,” he said to Shane. “You will have to explain it to her. I don’t want her to hate me.”
Shane rolled his eyes. “Sure.”
“Fifth item,” Ilya continued, flipping through the napkins. “No watching new episodes of Big Brother without me.”
This again. Shane couldn’t believe it. “It was one time! I didn’t think you’d care!”
Ilya arched an eyebrow at him. “Disrespectful behavior.”
“Fine,” Shane huffed out, exasperated. “Sorry.”
Ilya switched over to the next napkin. He looked it over, bit his lip, and then took a deep breath. Something changed in his body language that let Shane know this next one was a bigger deal. “Sixth item. Kids.”
“Kids? Seriously?” Shane was caught totally off guard. His thoughts were a jumble of discordant notes like someone had pressed too many piano keys at once. “That’s in the contract?”
They’d never talked about it properly in any kind of serious way. Shane had always known he wanted kids. Ilya was a natural with them of course. When he pictured their future together it was always there in the background. Slightly out of focus, but always there. For Ilya too, apparently.
“Yes. Family planning, Shane. You should be happy,” Ilya informed him. “You love making plans.”
“That’s not exactly-” Marley jumped in. “You know what nevermind.”
Shane ignored him. “What about kids?”
“Maximum two. A manageable number, yes? We are not the Pikes.” Ilya held up his hands in a gesture of apology. “They are great! Of course. Lots of fun for a few hours every so often. But four is unreasonable levels of chaos for every day. Even for me.”
Shane thought of how Ilya had looked holding the littlest Pike, Amber, one afternoon when Jackie and Hayden were both at their wits' end wrangling the other three. He imagined Ilya holding a baby of their own in his arms, its tiny fist curled against his chest. Lullabies in Russian whispered against Johnson’s Baby Shampoo-scented hair. His throat felt tight all of a sudden and he had to remind himself to breathe.
“Agreed,” he managed, his voice thick. “Two sounds nice.”
Ilya beamed at him and Shane could swear he felt its warmth on his skin like sunshine.
“At least one of them should have your freckles,” Ilya said earnestly. “This is very important.”
Shane bit back a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Also, both of them will learn to skate,” Ilya informed him, as if he’d just decided it on the spot.
“Both of them are playing hockey,” Shane double-downed. He had visions of a Hollander-Rozanov sports dynasty for the history books.
Marleau sighed, shaking his head. “Your kids are either going to be the greatest hockey players that ever lived or what…figure skaters?”
“Figure skaters are world-class athletes,” Ilya pointed out. “Very disciplined.”
Shane nodded in agreement. “A gold medal is a gold medal.”
"Oh boy!" Marleau whistled. “No pressure, huh?”
“Seventh item,” Ilya went on. “Marley already spoiled-”
“Hey,” Shane interjected, finally warming up to the proceedings. “Don’t I get to add some?”
Ilya looked at Marleau who only shrugged in response. They clearly hadn’t planned for any ad-hoc amendments to their contract.
“Okay,” Ilya said cautiously. “Like what?”
Shane decided he was going to shoot his shot. He might not get another chance for Ilya to actually agree once and for all.
“You have to quit smoking,” he blurted out. “Actually try this time and stick to it.”
“Objection!” Ilya was outraged “This is personal attack!”
“Oh shit!” Marley exclaimed. “Roz, he’s got you against the boards with that one.”
Ilya glared at him angrily. “This is contempt of court!”
Shane sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him. He wasn’t budging an inch on this subject. “Not sorry at all. I want you to live long enough for us to grow old together.”
That healthy dose of guilt seemed to tamp down most of Ilya’s outrage at being called out for his smoking. Still, he was simmering a bit when Marley finally proclaimed it, “Sustained.”
Ilya rolled his eyes and gave a little nod of agreement, which Shane figured was about all he was going to get on the matter. For now, at least.
“Any other terrible ideas?” Ilya snarked.
Shane thought for a long moment. He relaxed his posture, letting his elbows rest on the table. He thought about one thing he could do for both of them that might be the first step towards the kind of life they wanted to share.
“How about we do a date night once a month?”
Ilya’s stormy expression went blank for a second, processing the shift in tone. Then that sexy fucking smile of his curled slowly up one side of his face. “You want to take me on a date, Hollander?”
“Yeah, I do,” Shane said, earnestly. He looked him in the eye, needing Ilya to see that he meant what he was saying. “After everything…we can now, you know. So we should.”
It was a little scary to think about. Scarier than it probably should be, maybe. But being with Ilya taught him that he could be brave. Ilya deserved to be loved out loud.
“It's something my parents have been doing actually for a long time,” Shane continued. “They get dressed up and go out to dinner. Have a nice time, just the two of them. We can like..carry on the tradition, I guess.” He shrugged, trying for a measure of nonchalance.
Like it wasn’t everything they’ve both been waiting for ever since Ilya came to Ottawa on the promise of someday, after we retire. Since his dad caught them at the cottage and for a moment it felt like his world was falling apart. Since Shane’s hospital room after he got his bell rung and all he wanted was for Ilya to stay and keep holding his hand. Watching the sunset together (but not too close together) on the beach in Tampa. Kissing in the shadows of that Las Vegas rooftop, terrified someone would see. Sneaking Ilya through the backdoor of his condo in that sketchy neighborhood of Montreal. The horrible fucking oppressive atmosphere of Sochi. All the way back to the showers at the rink in Toronto where Ilya casually set him on fire for the first time in his life and the best he could say was not here.
Marleau grinned. “Love it! Solid contribution, Hollsy,” as if he had just gotten an assist on goal or something.
“Okay,” Ilya replied gently. There was something dreamy about his expression that made Shane’s heart feel all soft and squishy in his chest.
“Alright fellas,” Marley announced, glancing at his watch. “I’ve gotta shower and get my ass to the airport. And if I don’t leave myself time to grab a coffee in the terminal I’m going to fucking die.” He looked to Ilya, “I honestly don’t know how you live in a place without Dunkies, bro. It's cruel and unusual."
“I know. I know,” Ilya commiserated with him. “Thank you, Marley! You are terrible lawyer. Much better winger. Maybe stick to hockey.”
“Fuck you, Roz.”
Ilya blew him a noisy kiss.
“Bye, Cliff,” Shane said, giving him a little wave. “Have a good flight.”
Marleau pounded his meaty fist on the desk like a gavel. “Case dismissed!” he proclaimed, and hung up the call.
Shane shook his head in mild disbelief as Ilya made a neat stack of the agreed upon contract napkins. “You’re so ridiculous.”
Ilya stood up and rounded the table to put his hands on Shane's shoulders. He bent down and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “You love it.”
Shane squirmed out of his grasp when Ilya’s hands tried to slide down his chest with obvious intent. “Absolutely not.” He turned in his chair to face him. “You’re rank. Go shower.”
Ilya licked his lips. His eyes were laser-focused on Shane’s mouth. “What’s the point if all I want right now is to get sweaty again? Hmm?”
Hell no. Shane levelled a look at him. “Now.”
Ilya rolled his eyes and moaned in annoyance. “Fine!”
Shane watched him drag his feet all the way upstairs towards the en-suite bathroom. Always so dramatic. “And brush your teeth!”
He cleared away their mugs and washed them. Upstairs, he heard the shower turn on.
Shane went to gather up their ‘contract’ and noticed that there were a couple of extra napkins that he didn’t think they’d gone over. They were written in Russian while the rest had been written in English. Huh. He wondered why.
He went up to the bedroom and made himself useful by stripping the bed. Everything went into the laundry hamper. Then once he had it remade with nice fresh linens, Shane decided maybe Ilya had a point about showering just to get dirty again right away. That didn't make much sense. So purely from a logical standpoint, Shane decided to go with the most efficient option.
Shane slipped out of his clothes and wandered naked into the bathroom. Ilya was facing him with his back to the shower's spray, eyes closed, rinsing soap bubbles off of himself. As soon as Shane shut the door behind him, Ilya’s eyes blinked open at the sound. He didn’t say anything but the intensity of his gaze traced a line of fire down Shane’s body straight down to his cock.
Shane stood there a moment, taking in the sight of his man. Fuck, it still amazed him sometimes that all this was his now. A body practically carved from marble and a face designed by heaven. Not to mention that mouth with its absurdly sexy cupid’s bow that drove him insane in all the best ways.
Ilya started stroking himself, lips parting open as his breathing got heavier. He nodded to Shane and pushed the shower door open for him in invitation.
When they kissed, he still tasted like last night’s cigarettes. Shane would never admit it, but he knew there was a shy nineteen-year-old version of himself deep down inside that remembered how their first kiss had tasted and would miss it when Ilya finally quit once and for all.
A short while later, after much kissing and touching and grinding against each other’s wet bellies, Shane stroked himself until he came with his lips wrapped tight around Ilya’s pulsing cock. His knees dug into the shower tile while Ilya’s fingers cradled his jaw gently. Ilya's other hand was fisted in Shane’s hair as he came down his throat, murmuring to him filthy oaths and sweet praises. English and Russian languages laced together in ways God and the Orthodox church probably never anticipated.
It might not have been the one Shane had imagined, but all things considered it was a pretty good morning.