Chapter Text
“Off,” Shane said with a tone that was firmer than his playful smirk suggested. “Now,”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know when the United States signed the Declaration of Independence?” Ilya argued, “I am Russian!”
“And I’m Canadian,” Shane’s eyebrow lifted with his smirk.
“That is different,” Ilya insisted, “Canada is like America’s hat! Covering the bald spot! Russia is like a whole other part of the world.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Shane winked at him, “I knew the answer, and you didn’t. Those are the rules,” Shane paused between each next word, weight behind each one, “Take. off. the. fucking. shorts, Rozanov, or I will.” Ilya’s eyes went dark. There was nothing he would like more than to have Shane climbing over the living room table, trying to pin him down and do just that, but he wasn’t ready to accept defeat yet. He hooked his finger into his waistband, lifting to slide his gym shorts down over his legs.
All that he had left was underwear, and Shane only had one piece left to win. Of course, Shane was still wearing an undershirt, shorts, underwear, and socks; there was a reason “Strip Trivial Pursuit” was Shane’s favorite game. With all those hockey stats his husband kept stored in his beautiful, smart brain, Ilya was in constant wonder at how much other information he kept in there, too. Shane knew pop culture facts, world history, films, a little bit of everything, really. It made Ilya love making him forget his own name all the more. They both knew where this would end. One of them would be a cocky winner, and the other the begrudging loser. Ilya secretly felt like a winner either way, but he would never throw a game. No, he was committed until the last piece dropped.
Ilya rolled the dice, “Yes!” He pumped his fist in the air, “Pink! I need pink.” He stated with enthusiasm.
“And purple,” Chirped Shane, “And yellow.”
“Hush, Hollander, come from behind victory is more exciting,” Ilya gave him one of his lazy smiles that he knew distracted Shane like nothing else. “Read the fucking question.” Shane drew the card,
“What is the name of the pet dinosaur on "The Flintstones"?” Shane licked his lips, a nervous tell Ilya knew well. He knew the answer to this question already, but Ilya wouldn’t give him the chance to prove it.
“I know this one!” Ilya shouted, “Dino! Dino the dinosaur! I watched Flintstones when learning English in Russia.”
Shane’s mouth curled up in a soft smile, “That’s adorable, babe,” He tugged at his undershirt, pulling it over his head, “And correct, but you’re still going to lose.” ‘Probably, Ilya thought, he had lost this game so many times over, ‘but in the end, you will still have your mouth on my dick,’ and handed the dice back to Shane. Shane rolled the dice, landing on a green space, which he already had, but if he got it right, he could roll again, and he was only one question from winning the game.
“What is the name of the green pigment in plants that absorbs light for photosynthesis?” Ilya tripped over the last word a bit, but then smirked. This was a hard question. No way Shane kn-
“Chlorophyll,” Shane answered quickly, cutting off Ilya’s celebrations. His smirk was practically glued to his face. “I’m coming for you, Rozanov.”
“Oh, I’m counting on that, to be sure, Solnyshko,” Ilya replied, playing the only card he had left. The distraction passed over Shane’s face, while he fully took in the double entendre before he physically shook it off to roll his dice again. Shit, he had landed on an orange space, the only one standing between Ilya and full frontal nudity. Ilya pulled the card off the pile and immediately rolled his eyes. This had to be a joke from the universe, a hockey question? He might as well take off his boxer briefs here and now. With a tone that left little to be desired of his feelings about it, he read the question to his husband, “Who holds the record for most points in a single NHL game?” Shane practically shouted the answer,
“Darryl Sittler! 10 points: 6 goals, 4 assists on Feb 7, 1976!” Shane put the wedge into the holder with a grin that broke Ilya’s heart into a thousand pieces and reassembled it with molten gold. He loved teasing him, definitely loved beating him at things, but he also loved seeing him win. Every success and triumph was worn proudly across his freckled cheeks, and it ruined Ilya for any other beautiful thing, each time he saw it.
Then, as it often does after winning this silly game of questions, Shane’s tone shifted, “Now, take off your briefs.” He said calmly, looking into Ilya’s soul with fire behind his eyes, while he started packing up the pieces into their box, which Ilya had gotten custom-made for them when they’d started playing this game regularly. “Is my special day, Rozanov,” he said with a terrible Russian accent, “I vant to watch you.” Ilya’s dick twitched, remembering that night long ago in a Vegas hotel room. He was already half hard in his boxer briefs from the flirting and tension that always came on game nights. Ilya felt extra cheeky as he stripped off his boxer briefs and threw them in Shane’s face. Two can play that game. But his smirk faltered hard when his absolute menace of a husband took the briefs from where they landed in his lap and pressed them into his face, inhaling deeply as he gripped his still clothed dick in his other hand.
“Fuck, Kótik, you’re so bad,” Ilya purred at him. His dick is fully hard, painting little dots of precum into the short hair on his stomach.
“You fucking like it.” Shane practically growled back at him, not lowering the underwear from his face. “Now stroke yourself for me while I sit over here and drown myself in the smell of how fucking much you’ve wanted me this whole game.” Ilya was going to die. Shane Hollander-Rozanov was going to fucking kill him. Ilya licked his hand. Then, taking a firm grip on his throbbing cock, he held Shane in eye contact that he seemed to reserve for Ilya alone, looking over people’s shoulders most often when talking to them. He started stroking his cock, pulling the foreskin down off the head, exposing the angry red tip.
“Fuck, yes, babe,” Shane moaned, his bossy attitude slipping a little as he lifted his hips and pulled his shorts and underwear down in one motion, his own hard dick springing up, which he caught in his palm, the head drizzling enough precum for his fingers to slide over it and stroke himself with no help.
“Oh-God Ilya, you’re so fucking gorgeous. Like they should have you in a museum with your fucking shoulders, and those damn thighs.” Ilya’s body burned with heat from Shane observing him in such a filthy way. He loved how Shane would ramble dirty talk when he was turned on. It was one of Ilya’s favorite things about sex with his amazing husband.
“My Shanya, your beautiful ass is my favorite meal, I could eat it every day and never be hungry for anything else.” Shane’s hips canted up into his fist, and his gasp broke on a soft moan. “Parting your sweet hole with my tongue and feeling the heat crawl up your chest under my fingers, I would tear you apart like that for an entire day, if you let me. Teasing your prostate with gentle finger touches until you were grinding desperately against the empty air. You would beg me,” Ilya’s strokes had sped up; this was definitely more fun than Trivial Pursuit. “Please, Ilya,” his Shane-voice was terrible in that moment, but Shane didn’t seem to notice, “ ‘May I come, baby?’, Please let me cum’ “ and after I feel you have given me every moment you could give before breaking apart, that is when I will touch your dick.” Shane was breathless, sweat beading on his forehead, short, fast hip thrusts into his still hand around his weeping cock. He was so close.
“Oh, Ilyaa,” Shane moaned, “Fuck, I love you so much,” he grumbled into the boxer briefs that he had propped between the arm of the chair and his face, fingers pinching and groping his nipples.
“I love you too, my sexy Lyubov,” his own cock chasing the same fast approaching orgasm. “That is why, when you beg me to cum, I will take your cock into my mouth and swallow it down and watch you as you fall apart for me.” That did it, Shane shouted a muffled word that was probably Ilya’s name into the now saliva-coated fabric and came in ribbons over his hand. Ilya’s hands slowed as he enjoyed watching Shane come apart as he rode the orgasm out to its end.
Ilya didn’t even have a second to process what he was doing next, because Shane climbed over the table and into Ilya’s lap. Fuck. His hand was still slick with cum as Shane took Ilya’s almost too hard cock into his hand, looking down into his eyes as he stroked it with firm intent,
“Gonna make you come, baby,” Shane growled as he pressed his forehead into Ilya’s. “Do you want to cum for me?” He was thrusting along with his strokes, almost like he was riding Ilya’s cock, and it was fucking doing something to Ilya’s brain. “Want to cum all over these freckles you like so much?”
“Fuu-ck, Shane!” Ilya cried out, and with not a single second of restraint left in him, he came, shooting his load hard, pulse after pulse landing between them, the hardest of them launching one little droplet of cum on the target of those damned mesmerizing freckles. He ground his cock into Shane’s palm, determined to draw the orgasm out as long as it would go, and as the blissful roar in his ears faded, he started kissing Shane wherever he could reach, licking, and sucking their cum from his beautiful, flawless skin, drawing wimpers from Shane as his spent cock started standing again with clear interest.
Once his brain cleared a bit, he pulled Shane’s legs around his torso, still kissing at his neck and chest. “Mmmm,” he moaned into the sweat-slick skin there, “Is time for a shower, yes?” His fingers reached under Shane’s ass to grip it tight as he stood up with his husband in his arms.
“Fuck yes,” Was Shane’s breathy response as Ilya carried him towards their ensuite bathroom.