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Shane lies back on the bed, his mind already drifting away from him as Ilya settles between his spread legs. They're in a hotel room in Montreal—it always feels weird to be back here. Even after so many years, Shane's not quite used to playing against Montreal during the playoffs.
The Bell Centre isn't used to it either. There are still Shane Hollander fans here, Ilya likes to remind him.
"When we're retired," Ilya says now, pillowing his head on Shane's thigh. His breath ghosts against Shane's half-hard cock. "we will spend your entire birthday like this. Not just the end."
"You would suck me off all day?" Shane asks. He looks down to find Ilya gazing up at him, blue eyes wide and wanting.
"Or maybe I will just stare at your cock like this. Watch you grow harder and start leaking. Wait until you beg."
"Hmm," Shane hums, his hand falls to Ilya's hair, scratches at his scalp rather than pulling. "But you want it too."
"I do," Ilya says, then he takes Shane into his mouth.
Shane groans, lets his head fall back against the pillow, one hand coming up to cover his face. Sometimes, Shane's floored by how attuned his body is with Ilya… or maybe it's how well Ilya knows him, knows how to work his body to play any note. It's overwhelming, almost, how even if Shane wanted to, he'll never be able to take back how much Ilya knows.
So, it isn't long before Shane's pulling at Ilya's hair, a silent warning that he's getting close. They both know Shane won't come unless he's told. Ilya pulls off.
"Don't come," he says, and Shane sighs.
"How many?"
"How many what?"
"How many times are you going to edge me before you let me?"
Ilya snorts. "Who said I was going to let you do anything? You're not going to come."
Shane gasps as Ilya takes him in again. His head bobs slower this time, one hand wrapping around the base of Shane's cock, and the other teasing at his balls. The meaning of Ilya's words settle deep in Shane's stomach.
"You have to let me come," Shane says, words coming out in a rush. "It's— it's not fair. It's my birthday. You always let me come on my birthday. I—" Shane cuts off with a whine as Ilya hollows his cheeks. "Please, Ilya."
Ilya keeps going until Shane's shaking, on the verge of losing it, tipping over even without permission. Ilya pulls off before it's too late, squeezes the base of Shane's cock. Shane looks down at him with teary eyes, something like panic fills him.
"What is wrong with you today?" Condescension coats Ilya's words. "You think you can just get whatever you want? When has that ever been true?"
"It's my birthday," Shane says dumbly. He feels a little stupid, hazy in that way Ilya makes him.
It's just that every other year, Ilya's got him off. Today, Ilya didn't wake him up with a blowjob like he did last year, so Shane assumed he'd been saving it. It's his birthday—Ilya's supposed to make him feel good. That's what he's always done.
Ilya laughs, cruel. He reaches up to poke at the corner of Shane's frown. "What, you think just because it is your birthday, you get a treat?"
"I mean, kind of." He feels off-kilter. He'd expected Ilya to get him off quickly so they could both go to sleep, maybe take some time to edge him once or twice. Or to force a second orgasm out of him.
"Then maybe this is good reminder," Ilya says, casual, taking Shane's leaking cock into his hand again. He strokes him once, tight. "Does not matter what time of day, or day in year, you do not get to decide."
"I know." Shane pouts anyway, turning up his lip and crossing his arms.
Ilya's gaze on him is chastising, and Shane feels small with it. Like a child told he still couldn't have a second slice of cake even though it was his birthday party.
Or like a child who wasn't allowed any cake at all.
Shane wants to argue. He wants to come. But arguing would only make Ilya want him to wait longer, so Shane sighs instead, closes his eyes, and relaxes his arms. Tries to enjoy the feeling of Ilya's hand on his cock, even though he knows it won't lead anywhere.
"You like this too." Ilya's tone is matter-a-fact. "You like me taking what I want from you. Being selfish like this."
Shane shakes his head.
"I don't," he lies. "It's not fair."
"It does not have to be." Ilya strokes him with a tight hand, and Shane's hips jerk with every upstroke. Ilya doesn't push him down, but if he did, Shane would go.
He always listens. And he loves it, loves it when Ilya takes what he wants, when all Shane has to do is listen, be good. And even when being good isn't enough, when Ilya denies him just because he wants to, just because he can, Shane feels safe in that, useful even if it's to cause that twist of pleasure in Ilya. The denial will only make the next time better.
Although, that's hard to remember when Ilya pulls his hand off Shane, cutting him off before he even gets close to the edge. Shane lets out a long frustrated groan, avoids looking at Ilya so he doesn't have to see whatever smug expression he was.
Ilya gets off Shane, settles down next to him on the bed. He lies on his side, body curled towards Shane. His face soften when their eyes meet. "How do you want to get me off?"
The injustice of it sends heat through Shane, somehow making him harder even as it pisses him off. The way it's not even a question of whether or not Shane will get him off, only how.
Shane takes a deep breath before answering, wills his voice to keep steady. "I'll— Can I suck you off? Please."
Ilya beams. His grin lights up his face. "Of course you can. It's your birthday."