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Shane was crying. He didn’t stop as Shane tried to push his hands away, keeping both of them moving in tandem, stroking the length of his cock as Shane let out desperate, pitiful noises, too overstimulated to take it.
Ilya couldn’t help the flush of pride that swept through him as he rolled his hips upwards, slow and deep into Shane, kissing his shoulder as he watched them in the mirror opposite the bed, Shane’s back to his chest, limp against him.
He loved getting Shane like this. Spending hours working him up to orgasm, making him come again and again and again, getting him so fucked out and languid and soft boned, so dependent on Ilya for his pleasure that he couldn’t even breathe without Ilya reminding him to. Making Shane so dependent on Ilya’s hands, on his cock, his mouth, his eyes, every part of him, making him so desperate for Ilya and everything he had to offer him.
And Shane took it all. He took everything Ilya gave him and relished in it, he took every part of Ilya and held it close to him.
Shane gave him so much; it was the least Ilya could do to devote himself completely to Shane’s body. To make him feel better than anybody else ever could. To make Shane scream and come and cry and moan and get him to the brink, over and over. To force Shane to come to the point of dehydration, to force him to drink a gallon of water and make him come again so hard and fast that Shane asked him with teary eyes whether he came or pissed, too fucked out and too far gone to even know, let alone feel embarrassed when Ilya ducked down to suck Shane's cock into his mouth and confirm that he had, in fact, pissed himself as he came, licking up every drop that he could.
Ilya rolled his hips as Shane moaned, fucking up into him as he gripped the base of Shane’s cock hard, hard enough to make Shane whimper and writhe in his lap. If it were anyone else, they’d recoil and say it was too hard, too painful. But not Shane.
Shane moved with him, curling into Ilya’s hands, chasing more.
“I can’t,” Shane protested.
Ilya pouted as he looked at Shane through his reflection; he looked so beautiful like this. His face and chest blushing bright red, his dark eyes teary and blurry. Ilya wished everybody could see Shane like this, planted firmly on his cock, his own cock dark and hard and leaking down his own length, begging Ilya to stop, even as he jerked into his touch. Shane had always underestimated himself, thinking he couldn’t handle it, but Ilya knew better. Ilya had never underestimated Shane.
“You can. I thought you want to be full.”
Shane whimpered, mumbling something he couldn’t make out, but he didn’t move away.
Ilya watched his face carefully through the mirror; Shane wasn’t in pain. Not real pain. He was overstimulated and overworked and overspent, his body wrung out, but he was still hard. He was still moving into Ilya’s touch.
“One more,” Ilya bargained. Shane had been so good, taking so much; Ilya was sure he could wring another orgasm out of him, maybe two, but he’d let Shane rest. They had plenty of time to play; there was no rush, he had to remind himself. They had an entire week to themselves, hidden away from the world. Shane was at his complete mercy. He could do this all over again tomorrow.
He sat up straight at the thought, forcing Shane to tip forward in his lap. Shane whimpered as Ilya stroked him fast, timing his hand as he thrust up into him. Ilya could feel the pressure building, his stomach tightening as he watched Shane unravel in the mirror. He moaned as Shane tensed and twitched in his lap, coming as Ilya fucked him, splashing come wet and hot all over Ilya’s hand. It was all Ilya needed to follow him, coming inside him as he watched Shane cry and gasp and moan his name over and over.
Ilya rolled his hips as he filled Shane with everything he had, biting at his shoulder as Shane moved his hips in tandem, still whimpering his name. He watched Shane through the mirror as he finally released his cock, wiping his hand down Shane’s chest, smearing his release across his abs, marking him. Shane sighed, tipping his head back against Ilya’s, catching his breath.
“Good boy,” Ilya cooed, watching Shane in awe. “My perfect boy.”
Shane was spent. Ilya felt another flush of pride as he watched Shane’s eyes shut, running his hands down Shane’s stomach as he kissed the scar on his shoulder, biting it gently.
He would take care of Shane now. He would pull out, run a hot bath while he got Shane in the shower to rinse off, and then soak in the tub with Shane resting against his chest, just like this, while he rubbed Shane’s arms and chest and head and balls and legs and ass to soothe him, bringing him back to his body as gently as he could.
Then he would feed him dinner and tuck him into bed and try to fuck him again, probably. And Shane would beg him to, the way he always did, no matter how swollen and sensitive and puffy his hole was, because he always wanted Ilya inside him.
It was Ilya’s favourite part; it always had been. Now they were in a relationship, he could lavish this sort of attention on Shane and not send him running. Shane had once said that the sex was for him, and the after part was for Ilya, and Ilya had thought about it ever since, about how he would fuck Shane to the point of senselessness, and bring him back by making love to him in the after part.
Shane had told him that his words were wrong, but it made perfect sense to Ilya.
He kissed the back of Shane’s neck as he sagged against him, moving his hands to Shane’s hips, shifting to move –
“Don’t,” Shane muttered, his hands grabbing Ilya’s wrists.
Ilya froze, his hands on Shane’s thighs. “What?”
“Don’t,” Shane repeated unhelpfully.
“Shower,” Ilya said, squeezing his hips. But Shane just shook his head, planting himself down heavier somehow in Ilya’s lap.
“Wanna be full,” Shane mumbled.
Ilya nodded as Shane locked eyes with him through the mirror, kissing his arm sweetly. He watched as Shane melted against him, somehow burrowing closer, their sweat and come tacky between them. Shane had long gone soft, and Ilya wasn’t far behind him. But he nodded and wrapped his arms around Shane, holding him close while they caught their breath together, keeping Shane full for as long as he could.
>>>
Once Ilya heard it, during their summer at the cottage, Shane repeating it like a mantra, he couldn’t stop hearing it.
He hadn’t realised how often Shane had begged to be filled. He hadn’t realised how often he used those words, how often he asked Shane if he could take more or if it was too much, if he was felt like he was full enough yet, until they had enough time to spend asking for it and doing it and Ilya heard it on a loop.
Ilya knew he had started it. Their second night together, in his hotel room at their first All Stars game, he’d pressed two fingers inside Shane. He'd watched him practically spark to life as Shane had pushed back and whined, and Ilya had asked him how it felt.
Like I’m full, Shane had said. But I think I can take more.
Ilya had never stopped trying to give Shane what he needed. Even when they were teenagers and Ilya pretended that Shane was just another hook up, Ilya had known deep down that he wanted to stay and give Shane everything. To make him feel everything.
It was different now that they were together. Better. More, somehow, which Ilya couldn’t understand, because before they were together, Shane had been everything. He had been all consuming and all encompassing. And now, it was worse. Better. More, still.
“Have you ever done it?” Shane asked later that night as Ilya circled his rim, fingers dry, tracing the puffy skin delicately.
He was lying on his front, his head resting atop his crossed arms while Ilya laid next to him, watching him.
“Done what?” Ilya asked, barely listening. Shane's hole was fluttering underneath his touch; everything else could wait.
“Have you ever been fucked, or fingered?” Shane asked, staring him right in the eye as Ilya’s finger pressed against his rim.
“Not really,” Ilya said. “Sasha, once, this much of a finger,” Ilya said, holding up a finger and tapping the nail with his thumb. “Half of one knuckle, once.”
Shane smiled serenely, not even bothered by the mention of Sasha’s name. That annoyed Ilya; Shane should be annoyed by the reminder that Sasha existed. He should be jealous.
“That’s all?” Shane asked.
“I didn’t like it,” Ilya said, pressing his finger inside his mouth, getting it wet and collecting some spit before he moved back to Shane’s hole and pressing the tip of his pointer finger inside. “Not like you.”
Shane gasped softly, not moving a muscle as Ilya worked just the tip of his finger inside and keeping it there. Ilya watched as Shane’s eyes fluttered closed.
"You’re missing out,” Shane said breathily.
Ilya laughed softly as he gently circled Shane’s rim. “Not everyone is made for taking it like you, Hollander.”
He was rewarded with a red blush creeping up Shane’s face.
“Would you ever wanna try it?” Shane asked.
Ilya shrugged. “I don’t know. Not now. But maybe one day. I think I wouldn’t hate it so much if it was with you.”
“I’d be gentle,” Shane promised.
Ilya smiled at him; fuck, Shane was so fucking sweet. He filed Shane’s curiosity away for another day when he was feeling more adventurous with his own body.
“I know you would,” Ilya said.
Shane smiled at him as Ilya stroked his rim, more content than Ilya had ever seen him.
“I like your tongue inside me,” Ilya admitted.
Shane bit his lip as he watched Ilya. “I like that, too.”
Ilya nodded as he pulled his finger away, moving to climb over Shane, pressing his front to Shane’s back and pressing kisses from one shoulder to the other.
“What about you?” Ilya asked.
Shane huffed out a soft laugh. “There’s nothing you could do to me that I wouldn’t like.”
Ilya kissed his way down Shane’s spine before he settled down the edge of the bed between Shane’s legs, tapping Shane’s hip until he spread his cheeks for Ilya.
"What about my fist?” Ilya asked.
Shane’s breath hitched, his entire body going rigid for a moment before Ilya gathered spit on his tongue and licked Shane’s hole, still puffy from sex earlier that morning.
“Your fist?”
Ilya hummed. Shane shuffled beneath him, turning back to look at him. Ilya watched as Shane’s eyes landed on his hand, holding himself up by Shane’s hip.
“I wanna try,” Shane nodded, looking determined. The same face he made during face offs, Ilya realised.
He loved that Shane treated sex like it was something he could win. Ilya smiled as pressed his thumbs into the divots of Shane’s lower back, kissing his way back down Shane’s ass. It was why they were so perfect together.
>>>
Four fingers.
Shane routinely took three. Ilya sometimes pressed his thumb inside Shane, hooking into his rim as he fucked him, making Shane groan low and cry out, moaning about how full he was. Sometimes he’dslip a finger or two inside Shane, along with his cock, just to see if Shane could take it.
He always could.
Four fingers was fine. But now that Ilya had put fisting on the table, Shane wanted more.
Ilya had mentioned that he’d like to spend the day trying to spread Shane open as wide as he could, just for fun, and Shane had taken off his underwear and laid face down on the couch, ass up in Ilya’s lap, ready for Ilya to do whatever he wanted.
It made him feel drunk, or like he’d chain smoked an entire pack of menthol cigarettes; his head felt light and airy whenever Shane handed himself over like this, like he was a toy for Ilya to play with.
He was, Ilya supposed. The way Ilya was just a tool to make Shane feel good.
Shane, who was just as airy as he was right now, Ilya could tell. He didn’t so much as make a sound when Ilya poured so much lube that it dripped down his balls and onto the light brown leather beneath him. Ilya didn’t even think about the fact that he’d had to flip the couch cushion over two years ago after a particularly messy night where Ilya had learned silicone based lube did, in fact, sink into and stain leather. Shane had never mentioned it, which Ilya knew meant he hadn’t flipped the couch cushion over and noticed it yet.
He'd buy Shane a new couch, Ilya promised as he folded his pinky finger underneath his ring finger and pressed back in with four fingers, listening to Shane pant and moan and whine.
“Good boy,” Ilya praised as he pressed inside Shane down to his base knuckles.
Shane wriggled a little beneath him, raising his hips. Ilya pressed further into him, watching Shane’s face carefully as he pushed in deeper, not stopping until his face pinched. Ilya eased off slowly, reaching for the lube between his knees.
Ilya kept at it, fucking Shane with his fingers for so long the shadows through the bay windows had moved. He kept going until Shane was completely soft and languid beneath his touch, until his rim was so loose it gave no resistance.
He watched Shane carefully for a long moment; he was fucked out, completely blissed out as Ilya fingered him open, his mouth red and parted, drooling onto the cushion. Ilya watched as his eyes twitched every time Ilya pulled away and pressed back inside him, whimpering softly each time.
Ilya wanted to give him everything.
“Shane,” Ilya said softly. “You want more?”
“Yes,” Shane breathed.
Ilya nodded to himself, thinking about the extensive research he’d done over the last couple of weeks in preparation for this. “Good, good boy.”
Shane stuttered beneath him, Ilya could feel it. Shane clenched around his fingers, twisting his upper body a little to look at him properly. “Do you think I can take it?”
Ilya's heart skipped a beat as he looked at Shane, trusting Ilya more than he trusted himself with his body. “Of course you can,” Ilya said.
“Yeah, I can,” Shane agreed softly, looking back and trying to see where Ilya was pressing inside him.
“Feels okay?” Ilya checked. “Not too much?”
“No,” Shane promised, relaxing back against the couch. “I can take it,” he murmured to himself.
“Take everything I give you,” Ilya muttered to himself.
“Easily,” Shane mumbled into the cushion.
Ilya rolled his eyes as he grabbed Shane’s hips and maneuvered him to a kneeling position before he poured more lube onto his hand. Shane moaned softly as Ilya pushed back in, spreading his fingers little by little to stretch out his rim. Ilya stayed silent as he listened intently to Shane’s breathing, watching for any discomfort on his face, making sure that it felt good for him. He worked slowly, methodically repeating his movements, pressing firmly into Shane, working down to the wide set of his base knuckles slowly, so slowly, until he was pressing the widest point of his hand against Shane’s rim, avoiding his prostate.
He’d never seen Shane so open before. His hole was ruined, wide open and clenching, wanting more. The way he kept pressing his hips back, greedy for Ilya; the low, guttural, animal noises Shane was letting out, it was all so much. Ilya felt resolve trickle through him; he wasn’t leaving this couch until he had given Shane absolutely everything.
Ilya took it slower, determined to get this right for Shane. He twisted his hand slowly, pressing his hand deeper, slowly out, up to his middle knuckles, then back in, deeper and deeper, curling his fingers a little, millimetre by millimetre until –
“More,” Shane gasped.
Ilya trusted Shane, pushing deeper –
Shane cried out as Ilya’s base knuckles breached him. Ilya gasped as he felt Shane’s body give way to him, swallowing most of his hand.
“Blyad,” Ilya cursed, staring at where he was pushing inside Shane. “Fuck, Shane. Okay?”
Shane nodded, moaning softly even though Ilya wasn’t moving. “Yeah, fuck, oh my god.”
Ilya watched Shane’s face for any sign of discomfort, but he looked so blissful. His eyes were cloudy, barely able to keep them open, his cheeks were ruddy red, and –
Fuck, he was cross eyed, crying into the leather cushion. Ilya cursed again as he twisted his wrist a little, listening to Shane cry out in pleasure.
“Fuck, Ilya, more,” Shane begged.
He barely moved, focusing instead on letting Shane adjust to the intrusion. He pulled his hand back minutely, letting Shane writhe back and chase him. Only when he was certain Shane was loose and relaxed did he press deeper.
“Fuck, Shane, wish you could see this,” Ilya breathed. “Never seen you like this before.”
“God,” Shane choked out.
Ilya watched him, his mouth red and slick with drool, his eyes unfocused and wet, plastered to the couch cushion, his body too loose to move. He couldn’t wait for Shane to get mad about the couch later, acting indignant about the mess as if he didn’t get naked and throw himself down on top of Ilya, begging for him to wreck him.
He'd buy Shane a new couch. He'd buy Shane ten new couches. He'd buy a warehouse and stock it full of couches and replace them every single day if Shane wanted.
“More?” Ilya asked, watching Shane’s hips relax.
Shane made a whiny noise in agreement. Ilya pulled his hand away, pouring more lube on his hand, tucking his thumb in and pressing against Shane’s blown out, puffy hole, so stretched out he almost looked broken –
Shane took it. Ilya gasped as he watched his entire hand sink inside his boyfriend. Ilya was suddenly aware of how hard he was, his cock untouched all day, aching as he worked his entire fist inside Shane.
Ilya reached forward, wrapping his hand around Shane’s cock, hard and hot and already slick from all the lube that had dripped down his balls –
Shane screamed, loud enough that Ilya flinched. Ilya worked his hand up Shane’s shaft, pressing his fist against his prostate, smirking when Shane clenched and came. Ilya kept moving, kept milking him through his orgasm, kept kissing his back and telling him how fucking good he was, unable to stop even if he wanted to. He praised Shane as he cried out, telling him how beautiful he looked. How Ilya had ruined him all those years ago in a shitty hotel room in LA, how Ilya needed to do this every day or he might die.
Ilya watched in awe as Shane rutted against his hand, sobbing as Ilya eventually stilled. He waited for Shane to slump into the couch completely before he let go of his cock, soft and spent, reaching for Shane’s face, grimacing a little when he realised he had just smeared his come all through his hair and down his cheek. He kept his fist inside him, unwilling to pull away just yet.
"Shane –”
“Can you fuck me?”
Ilya blinked in surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not sore?”
“No,” Shane smiled dreamily. “Want more. I can take it. Fill me up. Please, Ilya.”
Ilya didn’t need to be told twice. He nodded and worked his fist out of Shane’s ass, slow and careful not to hurt him, before he knelt behind him. Shane was lax beneath him, making soft, happy sounds as Ilya lined up behind him and rubbed the tip of his hard, weeping cock to Shane’s gaping hole.
He was so swollen it looked painful. Ilya couldn’t help himself for pressing inside Shane slowly, moaning at how hot and puffy and wet he felt. Shane groaned as he pressed back against him, urging him on.
“Oh my god,” Shane breathed.
Ilya swore as he moved his hips slowly, working up to a solid rhythm as Shane began to whimper.
He knew what Shane wanted. What he needed, even after everything Ilya had done to his poor, tense body. And Ilya gave it to him.
He always gave it to him.
Ilya grabbed Shane’s hips roughly and fucked him hard, sinking into the feeling of Shane’s body trying to clench and keep him deep, moaning at how loose he felt. Ilya's orgasm hit him faster than he would have liked; he pounded aimlessly into Shane as he came, filling him up, giving him everything he had to offer. Shane clenched around him greedily, reaching back to try and touch Ilya.
Ilya slumped over Shane, still hard inside him as he kissed Shane’s shoulders, taking a long moment to catch his breath. They’d had so much incredible sex in the last ten years but that...
He blinked when he realised Shane was muttering something. Ilya tried to hear past the ringing in his ears, melting when he realised Shane was thanking him.
“So good, Ilya, thank you, god,” Shane was panting.
Ilya couldn’t believe him sometimes. Shane was the most unbelievable person Ilya had ever met. He used to wonder, years ago, when he and Shane were both lying to themselves and each other about how this was just sex, how he had gotten so lucky having Shane Hollander in his bed, so good for him, only for him. Ilya had figured that that was the trade off – that he had Shane and his big cock and wet eyes and tight asshole and perfect body in his bed, and that he’d never had him anywhere else, never in the ways that really mattered.
But now he had all of Shane, and there didn’t seem to be a trade off. Not a real one.
His family, his country, his culture, his reputation, his career – all easily traded off for Shane. All easy to let go of, if the trade off was everything with Shane.
Perfect Shane, who thanked Ilya after being fisted open and fucked for two straight hours. Beautiful Shane, who cried with relief whenever Ilya told him what a good boy he was. Angelic Shane, with those brown eyes and matching freckles who huffed in his sleep if Ilya moved away, rolling over to follow him, to press against him, always searching for Ilya’s touch, even when he wasn’t conscious.
Wonderful Shane, who was covered in lube and spit and come and sweat, who gripped Ilya’s wrist tightly, keeping him pressed against him, still murmuring his gratitude to Ilya for making him feel so good.
>>>
“Did it hurt?”
Shane shook his head. “Not at all. I thought at some point, it might, but you were so slow that it felt good the whole time.”
Ilya nodded, more to himself, as he trailed his fingers down Shane’s back. “You’re still loose.”
Shane’s cheeks turned red. “I wish I could have seen it. Watched you do it.”
Ilya perked up, opening his mouth to suggest taping them, but Shane was already shaking his head.
“Not here. Next time we’re at the cottage, though. Where we can film it and put it in the safe.”
He sighed, but nodded. “That’s so far away.”
“Only a few more months,” Shane said, rolling onto his side and curling into Ilya, resting his head on his chest.
“Few months,” Ilya sighed.
Shane reached up and ran his fingers through Ilya’s hair; Ilya recognised the soothing gesture, leaning into it. He loved it, the way that Shane touched him. It always fascinated him, the way Shane reacted to him. How certain comments would only get an eyeroll, and how others would end up like this, with Shane comforting him. Like Shane was hearing something in Ilya’s words that Ilya didn’t realise was even there.
“Maybe a picture next time,” Shane suggested.
"Next time,” Ilya agreed. “You want to do it again?”
Shane looked up at him and nodded, his cheeks still flushed red. “Yes. Not all the time. It was a lot.”
Ilya nodded, watching him intently.
“But yeah, again,” Shane smiled. “Like, I wanna have sex right now, but it wouldn’t feel good, and I hate that we have to wait until tomorrow. I couldn’t do that too often.”
Ilya beamed. “You are that desperate for my dick?” he asked proudly.
“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Shane mumbled, curling back into Ilya’s side, pulling the sheets up to his shoulders and tucking them both in.
“Maybe by summer we have more to film,” Ilya thought out loud. “Something different.”
“What do you mean?” Shane asked, his voice heavier with exhaustion.
Ilya thought about the video he and Shane had fucked to a few months ago of a guy getting double penetrated by two huge cocks; how Shane had looked at Ilya and wondered what it would be like to be that full, and wondered how much Shane’s asshole could take.
“Not on the leather couch, though,” Shane muttered.
Ilya tried not to laugh as he reached for his phone and handed it to Shane to start looking for couches.
>>>
Ilya swallowed around Shane’s cock, moaning as Shane shot hot and thick into his mouth. Ilya sucked Shane dry before he pulled off of him, crawling up the bed and kissing him passionately.
“Fuck, I missed you,” Shane breathed as they caught their breath, Ilya slumped half on top of him.
“I keep counting days,” Ilya said quietly, tracing patterns in the freckles of Shane’s cheeks. “One hundred and eighty four days until I leave Boston, if we make it to the cup.”
Shane grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Ilya shook his head. “Unless you can make time go faster, nothing we can do but wait. Nothing to be sorry for.”
“But you love it here,” Shane said.
Ilya nodded. “Yes. But I think I will love Ottawa too. I hear there’s good dick there.”
Shane yanked Ilya’s hair a little, making him laugh. Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane’s collarbone and tucked his head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, wondering if his own heartbeat matched Shane’s rhythm.
“I pray, sometimes,” Shane said in a quiet voice.
“You pray?” Ilya asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Just - I don’t know, maybe it’s not praying,” Shane shrugged. “Sometimes I just talk out loud. I don’t think anyone’s listening. But sometimes I just say it out loud, what I want or need. Like time moving faster. Us being together sooner. Everything being safe and okay for you.”
Ilya hummed, thinking about how he did the same, sometimes, talking to God inside his own head as he held his mother’s cross and hoping somebody, anybody, could hear him and save him.
“Do you pray?” Shane asked, his hands trailing down Ilya’s bare back, back up to his shoulders, down his arms, and repeating.
They hadn’t talked about religion before. Shane had asked about his cross, and Ilya had told him about his mother, but he’d never really talked about her beliefs. Mostly because he had never shared them. Not in a way that mattered or meant something.
“Not really,” Ilya said quietly. “Everyone is Orthodox back in Russia. Very loyal to the church, to God,” he tried to explain. “But my father’s sister was – I don’t know how to explain. Rodnovery. She believed in the old gods.”
“Like Zeus?” Shane asked.
“Those are the Greek gods,” Ilya explained. “We have Perun, he is the god of the sky. Thunder and lightning and fire and war, very scary. The ruler of all the other gods. Tetya would leave gifts, like, offerings, I think you’d say, for him and do what you did. Talk to him, tell him what she needed. Hope he was listening.”
“What kind of offerings?” Shane asked, his hands still moving down Ilya’s body. His hands were so warm and strong; Ilya closed his eyes, thinking about the tiny wooden table in his aunt’s apartment, a world and a lifetime away, and the little shot glasses she would pour of vodka when he was young, one for each of them, and a third for a deity who would never come.
“Food, drink, jewellery, pretty rocks, flowers,” Ilya said. “Whatever she had that looked beautiful or tasted good. She would tell me to leave a present for Perun and ask for what I needed.”
“Do you ever do that?” Shane whispered.
Ilya didn’t want to embarrass himself by saying yes; that yes, sometimes he left a little bit of vodka out for Perun and asked him to make him stronger, able to bear his burdens a little easier. To make the world easier for Shane. To make him braver, to take away the homesickness he still felt sometimes. To erase the strange feeling of loss for his father and brother, to forget that sometimes he missed them, because deep down, he loved even the worst versions of them.
“Not really,” Ilya settled on. “I think about it, sometimes.”
“Do you have a lot of gods?” Shane asked.
“Mm, some. I will tell you about them one day,” Ilya promised.
“Who’s your favourite?”
“I like Perun,” Ilya answered. “He’s a warrior. The stories all say he was very scary, and very beautiful. Strong, a leader. Like you.”
Shane hummed. Ilya could tell he was smiling and blushing without even looking at him.
“You would pray to Yarilo, I think,” Ilya smirked to himself. “He was the god of love, famous for being very sexy and beautiful and passionate.”
“Was he?” Shane asked flatly.
“Mm, you would worship him,” Ilya grinned. “He was the most beautiful. Curly hair, big muscle. He was very strong, god of spring and health.”
Shane snorted out a soft laugh. “Who told you you looked like him?” he asked, clearly amused.
“Lots of people,” Ilya laughed. “My mother always said I looked like she had a baby with Yarilo.”
Shane’s hands moved to his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. Ilya let his eyes fall closed, resting on top of Shane, not willing to crawl off of him. The last thing he heard before he fell asleep, his face tucked into Shane’s neck, was the low rumble of Shane’s voice against his ear.
"I think maybe I already worship him.”
>>>
“Did you order something?”
Ilya shrugged, taking another bite of his steak. He watched Shane eat his salmon through the facetime call on his laptop, not bothering to answer.
“It’s addressed to Jane Montreal,” Shane said, showing Ilya the box with an unimpressed look on his beautiful face. “Super subtle. Good job.”
“Maybe she should open it,” Ilya suggested, digging into his rice.
He watched quietly as Shane grabbed a knife and opened the parcel, thankful for the lighting over Shane’s kitchen countertop for illuminating the bright red blush spreading across his cheeks, making his freckles look more obvious than usual.
“Ilya.”
“Shane.”
“This is huge,” Shane complained.
“Smaller than me, just a little. I checked,” Ilya winked. “You can take it, easy.”
Shane shook his head as he took the dildo out of its box and held it up to the camera. “Jesus.”
“What, you don’t want it?” Ilya asked. “Fine. Send it back.”
“I didn’t say that,” Shane said quickly, his brows furrowed.
Ilya smirked. Of course Shane wouldn’t return it.
“You want me to –”
“No,” Ilya cut him off. “You don’t use it without me.”
Shane pouted, but nodded. “Fine. What's it for?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ilya winked. He knew Shane would drive himself insane with every possible scenario that Ilya could be considering until they saw each other again in a month. He was more than prepared for Shane to drive them both crazy with questions.
“What’s it for?” Shane pressed.
Ilya just shrugged as he finished the last of the broccoli on his plate.
“If you don’t tell me, I’m not having phone sex with you,” Shane threatened.
“Okay,” Ilya shrugged, staring him down.
Shane cracked almost immediately, looking back at the dildo. “I could use it and just not tell you.”
"Try it,” Ilya dared.
Shane narrowed his eyes at him as he kept eating, matching Ilya bite for bite in aggravated silence. Ilya couldn’t stop himself from smiling when he finished his dinner first, leaning back in his chair and palming his cock lazily as Shane watched him intently, pushing his plate to the side and sitting closer to the screen.
>>>
Being reunited with Shane was always exciting, and always upsetting. Seeing each other again was everything, always, but the impending separation always made him anxious and sick. It always made him feel the way he felt when he was a child, when his mother told him and Alexei to give their dog one last perfect day doing everything that made it happy before they put him down because he was sick.
He always tried to push it out of his mind. Sex was the easiest way; when he was touching Shane, feeling his soft skin and his hard muscles and listening to him moan and cry and whine, there was no space for anything else in his head.
Only Shane, and the seven hour window he had to leave his mark on Shane and keep him sated until their next meeting.
Ilya shoved Shane down onto the bed, yanking his sweatpants off and tossing them onto the floor. Shane reached for Ilya’s shirt, stripping it off him as Ilya fell to the bed on top of him.
“Fuck, Hollander, I missed you,” Ilya breathed.
Shane moaned as Ilya humped against him, their erections pressing together, sending fire shooting down his spine. One hundred and seven days until he could be closer to Shane.
“I need you,” Shane gasped as Ilya rutted against him.
Ilya nodded, reaching for the bedside table and grabbing the lube and the dildo he had sent to Shane last month. He tossed both onto the bed and grabbed Shane’s face, forcing him to look up at him and hold his eye.
“You want me to just fuck you? Or you want to use your new toy?” Ilya asked.
Shane whimpered as he stared up at Ilya, blinking slowly. He hadn’t even mentioned winning the game tonight; it might be the first time in all their years together that Shane hadn’t chirped him about losing.
“Shane,” Ilya pushed, “Pick one. We only have a few hours.”
Ilya watched as Shane processed what he was saying, his eyes faraway as he considered his options, looking between Ilya and the dildo next to him on the bed.
“The dildo.”
Ilya smiled brightly, thrilled that he picked the right option. “You sure?”
Shane bit his lip, clearly knowing Ilya too well. “What are you gonna to do me?”
He sounded so fucking sweet asking that Ilya practically melted on top of him, kissing him passionately. He kept kissing Shane until he was whimpering, desperately rutting up into Ilya’s hips. Ilya finally pulled away, still holding Shane’s face as he watched him carefully.
“Going to fist you open,” Ilya explained, watching Shane’s eyes glaze over. “Stretch you so wide you won’t be able to sit down tomorrow. Then I’m going to fuck you with my cock and the dildo at the same time. Not let you come for a while, I think.”
Shane’s breath hitched, tears welling in his eyes as he looked up at Ilya, bliss clouding those beautiful brown eyes. “Really?”
“If you want,” Ilya said, leaning down to kiss his cheek, trailing kisses down his jaw. “We can do another time. I can just fuck you slow tonight. Ruin you another night.”
"No,” Shane said loudly. “Ruin me now. I want it. Need to feel you when you’re gone.”
Ilya smiled as he kissed Shane, taking his time to get Shane languid beneath him. He undressed them slowly, taking his time in stretching Shane open, two, three, four fingers until he moved away, reaching inside the bedside table for the little rubber ring he’d bought for Shane years ago.
“Spread,” Ilya demanded, slapping Shane’s stomach.
He helped Shane shuffle up the bed and spread his legs, slicking his cock with lube before he slipped the cock ring down his shaft. Shane whimpered as Ilya pulled it lower, tucking it snug behind his balls before he slumped over him and kissed him.
“Okay?” Ilya asked, kissing his neck.
Shane nodded slowly; he was already airy, spaced out as he watched Ilya. Ilya loved when Shane got like this; airy, almost floating away, tethered to Ilya purely by touch.
“Yeah,” Shane breathed.
Ilya pushed Shane’s thighs up to his chest and laid down between his legs, sucking the tip of his hard, leaking cock into his mouth. He watched as Shane cried out, holding his legs to his chest and thrusting into Ilya’s throat. He suckled as he pressed his lube soaked fingers against Shane’s stretched out hole, slowly repeating what he’d done the first time, tucking in his thumb and working his hand inside. Shane writhed beneath him, working with Ilya's movements, taking him like he was born to do this.
Ilya moaned loudly as he worked his fist into Shane, watching his face carefully as he balled up his fist, twisting inside Shane. Shane cried out, tears gathering beneth his lashes as he looked down at Ilya. Ilya pressed wet, biting kisses to the inside of Shane’s thighs, working him open until Shane felt completely lax and loose, ready for more.
“Ilya,” Shane breathed.
Ilya raised an eyebrow at him. “Not yet.”
Shane was more than ready; he was more than ready. But Ilya had five hours left with Shane, and he was going to spend as much of that time as possible with Shane at his mercy, making him beg and cry and scream and moan before he had to leave him for another two months.
Shane whined as Ilya pressed in deeper, watching the sharp bones of his wrist disappear inside Shane. Already, he was taking more of Ilya than he had the first time. Ilya thought about their next summer at the cottage, about how they would have weeks of this. Ilya wondered how long he could spend spreading Shane open like this, keeping him from coming, forcing him to take Ilya, over and over, again and again, until he passed out from pleasure.
Suddenly, Ilya was all too aware of how hard he was. He could feel his cock pulsing so hard he ached, desperate to be inside Shane. He pulled out of Shane, kissing his hip before he licked his tip and sank down on his cock, sucking him off slowly as he reached for the lube. The bed was filthy; Shane was too far gone to care. Ilya would just add new sheets and a new duvet to the list of things he’d replace around here.
“Fuck,” he cursed, rising up to his knees and grabbing the dildo and lube. Ilya slicked the toy up, pushing Shane’s legs wider and bearing down over him.
He took in Shane’s cock, visibly throbbing and twitching, flushed dark, balls drawn tight confined with the cock ring. He pressed the toy to Shane’s gaping hole, looking at Shane and watching his face closely.
“Feels okay?” he asked.
Shane nodded, his eyes bleary and wide.
“Ready?”
Shane huffed, reaching down to grab Ilya’s arm and try to pull him closer. “Please,” he begged.
Ilya pressed the dildo into Shane slowly, smirking as Shane moaned and gasped. He worked it into Shane slower than he normally would have after all that prep, just to watch Shane cry out of frustration. He pumped the dildo slowly, painfully slow, waiting for Shane to snap.
It was almost ten minutes before Shane began to sob, a wet, desperately sad noise escaping him. Ilya was powerless against that sound, having chased it for the last hour and a half. He leaned closer to Shane, crawling over him and kissing him roughly as he pressed the tip of his cock to Shane’s hole, easily sliding inside with the dildo.
Shane cried out, moving his face away to pant and gasp. Ilya bit his neck lightly as he fucked Shane slow, watching for any signs of discomfort.
There were none.
Shane looked absolutely peaceful as Ilya double penetrated him, spread wide and filled completely. Ilya chased his lips desperately as he moved quicker, holding the base of his dick tight to the dildo and thrusting faster and harder. Shane cried louder, reaching for Ilya and raking his nails hard down Ilya’s chest as Ilya began to pound into him.
“Okay?” Ilya asked.
Shane moaned lowly as he nodded, his fingers gripping Ilya’s biceps so hard Ilya was sure they would bruise. Ilya bore down over Shane, pressing all the way inside and grinding filthily, his body begging for release.
Ilya gave in; he let himself come as he watched Shane, flushed and crying and desperate, writhe beneath his touch. Ilya moaned as Shane clenched around him, milking him, crying as he frantically tried to chase his own release.
Ilya kept thrusting, still hard, letting Shane squirm for a moment too long before he reached for the cock ring, slipping it off carefully and stroking his cock –
Shane came with a scream, scratching wildly down Ilya’s arms as his back arched up off the bed. Ilya worked him through it, tightly jerking his cock as his body finally gave out, sinking into the mattress.
Ilya was slow to pull out and even slower to remove the dildo, kissing his way through the mess on Shane’s stomach up to his slick red mouth. Shane kissed him back through spent pants, moaning as Ilya brushed his sweaty hair out of his face.
“Shane,” Ilya breathed. “Are you okay?”
Shane made a soft noise as he nodded, reaching for Ilya’s hair and tugging softly.
They were filthy. Disgusting, truly. They were covered in lube and sweat and come, and Ilya only had a couple of hours left with Shane. He bit his lip as he looked down at their bodies, trying to calculate how long it would take Shane to start to squirm and need to shower.
Not long, if the curl of his lip was anything to go by. Ilya kissed him again, trying to bask in the moment for just a while longer before it was over.
“Shane,” Ilya tried again.
Shane grunted softly, nodding. “So good,” he mumbled. “So full.”
Ilya smiled as he kissed Shane sweetly, pride flushing through him as he looked down at Shane.
>>>
Ilya bit his lip as he watched Shane through the laptop screen, moans and desperate whimpers filling his bedroom.
“How does it feel?” Ilya asked.
“So fucking good,” Shane breathed.
“How many times you used it?”
“A few,” Shane admitted, his face turning pink. Even his nipples turned a darker shade of brown as he bounced on the dildo, sinking down on his knees before rising back up and slamming back down again. His cock slapped against his stomach as he moved, but Shane made no move to touch himself.
“How many’s a few?” Ilya pressed, squeezing the tip of his cock in time with Shane’s movements.
“Don’t worry about it,” Shane huffed.
Ilya watched intently as Shane cried out, grinding down onto the dildo.
“It’s not the same,” Shane whimpered.
“What isn’t?” Ilya asked, one hand gripping his balls tightly as the other stroked his cock hard.
“This, not the same as you,” Shane moaned, coming down harder and faster on the dildo.
“Not as big as me,” Ilya smirked knowingly, gripping his cock by the base and showing it off for the camera.
Shane drooled at the sight of him, saliva dribbling down his chin before he wiped it away. The sight made Ilya’s cock twitch; he squeezed the base of his dick tighter, not willing to come yet.
“Which you like better? My hand or my cock?” Ilya asked.
Shane whined, riding his dildo frantically as he watched Ilya on his own screen. “I want both,” Shane breathed.
Ilya moaned at the idea of him fisting his cock inside Shane, forcing him still, maybe bound to the bed while Ilya worked himself inside Shane, masturbating inside him. He stroked himself faster, groaning loudly at the thought.
“Can I come?” Shane asked as he pinched his nipples, dark and hard.
Ilya shook his head. “No.”
Shane whimpered, but he nodded. Ilya watched as his hips slowed and tutted.
“No, don’t slow down,” he ordered. “Just don’t come.”
Shane frowned, but he nodded and reestablished his pace, moaning as he watched Ilya stroke himself.
“How many?” Shane asked.
It took Ilya a moment for the question to click.
"Ninety six days,” Ilya breathed. “Forty four until I see you again. Until I fill you up and fucking wreck you.”
Shane whimpered – whether it was at their next meeting being so far away or his body desperately crying out to come, Ilya wasn’t sure, but he needed to hear it again.
“Harder,” Ilya demanded.
Shane nodded, slamming down faster and harder on the toy, low, guttural moans giving way to breathy, high pitched whines. “Ilya,” he begged.
That was his undoing. Ilya came, jerking himself off and watching as Shane cried out and came untouched on the toy, moaning his name. Ilya stroked himself slowly as his body began to untense, watching Shane slumped down onto the bed. Ilya smiled to himself as he took in the new duvet cover, a soft, cornflower blue that Shane had picked out and paid for on Ilya’s card.
“Forty four days,” Shane repeated, his voice faraway and sad.
Ilya nodded, tipping his head against the headboard and willing himself not to cry.
>>>
There was a gap in his schedule.
Ilya had noticed it two days before. He chose not to tell Shane, instead just texting him to prep himself after his game for a late night phone call. He'd lied a little, telling Shane that the Raiders would be going out to a bar after their game against Vancouver win or lose for Connors’ birthday, and to be on standby for some late night drunken phone sex.
Then he’d gotten on a plane and flown straight to Montreal.
He'd gotten off the plane to half a dozen texts from Shane that he didn’t even read. Ilya just grabbed his rental car and practically sped to Shane’s condo, parking in the secondary spot next to Shane’s Jeep in the garage and taking the stairs two at a time.
The condo was dark when Ilya got in. It was after midnight already; Shane would probably already be asleep. Ilya unlocked the front door quietly, a small thrill zipping through him as he got to use his key, toeing his shoes off by the door and walking quietly up the stairs to Shane’s bedroom.
Shane was asleep. On his stomach, in just his boxer briefs, the covers half kicked off with his phone in his hand. The low light of the ensuite was still on, casting a soft orange glow through the bedroom.
Their bedroom, Ilya had thought of it, for much longer than he’d even been able to call Shane his.
Ilya stripped bare, crawling over Shane and pressing soft kissed up his back, across his shoulders, reaching for his phone and putting it on the bedside table. Shane didn't move, sighing softly as Ilya ran his hand down Shane’s side and gripping his hip.
“Ilya,” Shane breathed.
Ilya maneuvered up onto his elbows, looking at Shane, who was still asleep. Dreaming, maybe. Of Ilya. Too cloudy to realise Ilya was really in bed with him, that he could have him, right now.
Ilya ran his hand through Shane’s hair, scratching his scalp and pulling his hair gently as he kissed his neck, trying to rouse him. Shane stirred beneath him, finally moving when Ilya bent down to pull Shane’s underwear down his legs.
Shane gasped and rolled over, blinking rapidly as he took him in.
“Are you here?” Shane asked, his voice groggy with sleep.
“Yes,” Ilya promised, surging back up to kiss him.
Shane kissed him back, greedy and desperate, pulling Ilya back down over him. Ilya settled as Shane spread his legs, rutting his hard cock against Shane’s half hard cock.
“You didn’t call.”
Ilya pulled back to make sure Shane was looking at him before he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Only you would complain I didn’t ring you because I was on a plane or driving to see you.”
Shane smiled brightly, so bright that Ilya melted completely. “You’re here.”
Ilya nodded and kissed him again. “I couldn’t wait one more month to see you.”
“To fuck me,” Shane murmured.
Ilya made a dissenting sound, but Shane was right. He needed to fuck him. To come inside him and mark him and kiss him and show him how much he needed him, because there weren’t adequate enough ways in English to tell Shane how much he loved him and missed him and needed him.
“You’re right,” Ilya said instead, pulling away. “Don’t need to fuck. Just want to hold you.”
Ilya kissed him again, moving off of Shane and curling in behind him, wrapping his arms around him. And it was perfect; he would be content enough just to hold Shane in his arms and sleep like this. To wake up together, to kiss each other softly, to have one of Shane’s awful breakfast smoothies and one soft kiss before he had to leave for his flight back to Boston.
Shane made a disgruntled noise as he ground his ass against Ilya’s erection, reaching behind him to pull at Ilya’s curls.
“So you’re not gonna fuck me?” Shane whined. “I prepped for our call.”
Ilya huffed out a laugh. “Get the lube.”
Shane reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the lube, opening it and pouring some on his fingers. Ilya frowned as Shane reached behind himself, letting Ilya watched as he slipped two fingers inside himself with no resistance.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya whispered.
He batted Shane’s hand away, grabbing the lube and pouring it on his own fingers, pressing two inside him. Shane gasped and angled his hips back into Ilya’s, trying to get him deeper.
“When’s your next game?” Ilya asked, already knowing the answer.
“Two days,” Shane breathed.
Ilya smirked, kissing the back of Shane’s next as he pulled his fingers out and crawled behind him, rising up onto his knees. He shoved Shane back onto his front, grabbing his hips and pulling them up to meet his own, forcing Shane’s chest down onto the mattress.
Face down, ass up, Ilya smirked to himself. Shane should stay like this all the time for him. Maybe he’d do that this summer at the cottage; force Shane to spend hours like this, spread open and gaping for him, ready to be fucked whenever Ilya wanted.
He poured more lube on his fingers, pressing two inside Shane and watching his face. Shane moaned softly as Ilya scissored his fingers, testing to make sure he was already stretched enough before he pulled out and pressed four fingers inside him without any preamble. Shane moaned a little louder, gasping as Ilya stretched him open hard and fast, working frantically to get his knuckles inside him.
“Shane, okay?” he checked.
Shane nodded, biting his bottom lip red as Ilya twisted his wrist. Ilya worked quickly, tucking his thumb and pressing inside –
Shane cried out loudly, pressing back against Ilya as he moaned loudly. Ilya smirked to himself as Shane tried to get him deeper, tried to –
“Shane?”
It took Ilya a second to realise that someone else was there. He froze, wrist deep inside Shane, vaguely aware that Shane was coming untouched beneath him as he turned to the bedroom door where Hayden Pike stood, watching them with a horrified expression on his face, his jaw dropping as he looked down at Shane’s ass.
“Out, Pike,” he said lowly.
Pike looked concerned as Shane whimpered a pathetic Hayden, leave, slamming the door shut, heavy footsteps moving away from the door.
Ilya slowly withdrew from Shane, watching him carefully as he tried to catch his breath.
“Shane,” Ilya said, trying not to panic. “Shane, why is Pike here?”
“Kids are sick, we’re on the road in two days,” Shane panted. “I text you about it.”
Ilya cursed himself out for not reading the messages.
“What did he see?” Shane asked in a small voice.
Ilya flinched. He didn’t want to tell the truth, but he didn’t want to lie to Shane, either.
“Everything, I think.”
Shane rolled over onto his back, tears rolling down his temples. Ilya’s heart broke as he pressed himself against Shane, trying to comfort him.
“Shane, hey, it’ll be okay,” Ilya tried. “He knows you are gay. This is maybe embarrassing for him, but it’s going to be okay.”
“Ilya, he saw – fuck,” Shane whimpered.
“Okay. We need to talk to him,” Ilya nodded to himself. “We clean up and go downstairs. One thing at a time, okay?”
Shane nodded. “Okay.”
Ilya climbed off the bed, moving to the ensuite and turning the shower on before he went back for Shane. He washed Shane off fast, methodically, not stopping to linger on the beautiful planes of his body, not letting himself kiss Shane’s freckles or touch his hard muscles or his softening cock.
It wasn’t until they were out of the shower that Shane seemed to come back to himself and looked at Ilya with fresh eyes.
“You’re here,” Shane smiled softly at him.
Ilya nodded and kissed him sweetly to prove that he was, in fact, there.
“You didn’t come,” Shane realised.
“Maybe later,” Ilya shrugged.
He left the bathroom to grab them both clothes, sweatpants and a black hoodie for Shane, grabbing a pair of sweatpants for himself and the t shirt Shane had worn to bed before stripping it off and tossing it to the side, surreptitiously sniffing it, pleased to smell Shane on him.
“You want me to go with you?” Ilya asked.
Shane nodded, holding out his hand as he stood at his bedroom door. Ilya took it and followed Shane down the stairs, trying not to smirk at the sight of Pike pacing in the living room.
“Hey,” Shane called out, making Pike stop in his tracks.
Ilya watched Pike look at Shane with wild eyes before his gaze stopped on their locked hands. Ilya loosened his grip, expecting Shane to drop his hand, but Shane just held onto him tighter.
“I thought – I heard you scream,” Pike tried to explain. “I didn’t think –”
“No,” Shane cut him off. “This is my fault. Ilya snuck in and surprised me, and I didn’t tell him you were here. We should have been quieter.”
Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand in a silent apology. Shane squeezed back, and it allowed Ilya to breathe just a little easier.
He had anticipated more of a freak out from Shane. Maybe Pike already knowing that he was gay took away most of the panic, he wasn’t sure, but Shane didn’t seem to be reacting as bad as he did when David had caught them at the cottage.
“Ilya,” Pike repeated vitriolically, frowning at him.
Ilya raised his eyebrow challengingly. “You can just call me number one player in the league.”
Pike narrowed his eyes at him. “Shane screamed. You were fucking hurting him.”
Shane sputtered as Ilya did his best not to laugh.
“He wasn’t,” Shane said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Hayd.”
“I don’t know what I saw,” Pike muttered.
“You saw me wrist deep in his a –”
“Ilya,” Shane cut him off, dropping his hand and rubbing his eyes.
“You’re a fucking freak, Rozanov,” Pike spat. “That shit isn’t normal.”
Ilya clenched his teeth together as Shane bristled. Normal was whatever he and Shane wanted it to be. Normal was whatever Shane wanted and whatever Ilya wanted. Normal was whatever turned Shane into a sweaty, crying mess, screaming Ilya’s name and begging for more.
He wanted to punch Pike in the face. He had a brief, terrified thought that Pike would say something that would force Shane back into his own head, force him to no longer indulge in the beautiful, depraved sexual acts he and Ilya loved so much.
“Don’t be homophobic, Pike,” Ilya said instead.
Pike visibly flinched at that. “I’m not a fucking homophobe. Why the fuck are you even here? Doing that to him?”
“What, you’ve never tried?” Ilya shot back.
“Torturing someone like that? No, I fucking haven’t, you sick freak.” Pike spat.
Ilya felt rage rise through him. Nothing about what he and Shane did was sick or freaky. It was perfect and beautiful and it was everything. Just because Pike was a boring fucking loser that had probably never brought another person to orgasm didn’t mean anything he and Shane ever did was sick or wrong.
Shane took a half step forward, putting himself in between Ilya and Pike. “Hayd, Ilya and I – we're together.”
Pike laughed. It was mean and sharp and Ilya wanted to choke him to death with his bare hands so he would never have to hear it again. He could dump the body in the back of the rental car and sink it into the river behind the airport where no one would ever find it.
“You two. Together,” Pike repeated flatly. “Shane, buddy, come on.”
Ilya had tried for years to understand what Shane had seen in Pike, but right now, he felt more validated in his hatred of him than ever.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Shane asked.
“Just, come on,” Pike scoffed. “Rozanov’s a total slut. He's slept with every woman on the continent. He's gotta be fucking with you or something.”
Ilya’s teeth were in danger of snapping with how tightly he was clenching them. Shane tensed, going completely still in front of him.
“You think my boyfriend is fucking with me?” Shane repeated, his voice too calm to be anything other than dangerous.
Ilya did his best to ignore the twitch in his pants at how furious Shane was.
“He’s not your boyfriend,” Pike dismissed. “He’s barely a person.”
Ilya laughed, desperate to soothe Shane and try to deescalate the situation. Something told him that Shane might be the one murdering Pike tonight, depriving him of the pleasure.
“Funny, Pike,” Ilya said, making sure his voice was steady and light. “I’m impressed. You’re talking like you have a much bigger dick than you actually do.”
Pike visibly flinched at that. Ilya wondered if he was thinking about what he’d walked in on less than ten minutes ago, where Ilya knew he’d seen his cock, hard and red and slapping against his abs as he fisted Shane wide open.
“You don’t fucking know what you’re talking about,” Shane said, his shoulders loosening slightly. “Ilya and I are together.”
Pike looked gobsmacked as he looked between them.
“Seriously?”
Shane nodded.
“So, what, Rozanov’s been secretly gay this whole time too?” Pike asked.
“Bisexual,” Ilya corrected. “Secretly, yes. Russian government would have me deported and arrested if they knew.”
For the first time, Pike’s face softened. He looked surprised as he looked at Ilya, eyebrows raised.
“That’s a thing?” Pike asked.
“Mm. Probably worse, since my father was police,” Ilya shrugged. “They would make example out of me somehow.”
He caught Shane’s flinch, reaching to rub his hand down his back.
“We’ve had to be secret for a lot of reasons,” Shane explained with more patience than Pike deserved. “Ilya’s Boston Lily.”
Ilya watched carefully as Pike’s face flashed slowly with a number of emotions as he looked between them.
“Shane,” Pike shook his head. “That can’t be right. You’re in love with Boston Lily. You have been for years. I’ve seen it.”
“Ilya and I have been together in some way or another since the draft,” Shane explained, frustration evident in his voice.
Ilya tried not to smile at the sweetness of that statement, at how Shane considered them something when all they had done was smile at each other in the gym the night of the draft.
“You’ve been in love with me for years?” Ilya couldn’t help but tease.
Shane looked back at him to roll his eyes. “Shut up.”
Ilya smirked at him, much too pleased. Years. He'd tease the shit out of Shane about that another time.
“You two – what?” Pike asked.
Ilya rolled his eyes. He was getting annoyed now. He'd flown in to surprise Shane, been cockblocked and outed, and now he was forced to try to comfort Hayden fucking Pike, a man who wasn’t even in the top five hundred players in the league.
“Yes, we are we in love, we are together, we have hot gay sex together,” Ilya summarised. “Don’t tell anyone. This is secret. Shane, come on, bed, I have to fly back after lunch.”
Shane tensed as Ilya took his hand, his eyes locked on Pike. “Ilya, can you give us a minute?”
Ilya nodded, giving Pike one last threatening look as he turned to head back up the stairs, listening closely for any trouble. He made it all the way up the stairs before he heard Shane start to talk, low and fast. He busied himself by changing the sheets, cringing when he saw how much lube they had smeared everywhere. He stripped the bed and tossed the ruined sheets by the door so he would remember to wash them first thing in the morning.
He made a note to himself to buy new sheets. Maybe that was how he’d propose the idea of giving Shane a card linked to his account. Here, my love. Next time I ruin something with lube and spit and our come, use my money to replace it. For the rest of our lives.
Ilya snorted to himself as he moved to the closet to get a fresh set of sheets, shaking them out as he stretched the fitted sheet over the mattress. He couldn’t hear anything Shane or Pike were saying, which he supposed was a good sign. No yelling or arguing. But he wished he could hear them.
He leaned out to the doorway when he finished making the bed, trying to decide whether to go back down or not. In the end, he waited a few minutes before he crept down the landing, slowly making his way down the stairs to check on them.
Shane was leaning against the kitchen counter while Pike leaned against the back of Shane’s new couch, talking lowly. Shane smiled when Ilya walked in, making his way to the kitchen and grabbing himself a glass from the cupboard, filling it up with the filter water tap.
“All okay?” Ilya asked Shane.
Shane nodded. He looked okay, at least. His shoulders had relaxed, and the frustration in his eyes was gone.
Ilya looked over to Pike, who looked embarrassed. “Okay?” Ilya asked him.
Pike nodded. “Yeah. I won’t say anything to anyone.”
Ilya nodded. “Good. Here,” he said, handing Shane the glass. He watched as Shane drained the glass, handing it back before he refilled it and nodded to the stairs. “I’m tired. Can we sleep now?”
Shane nodded, tipping his head to Pike before they climbed the stairs together. Ilya shut the bedroom door behind them, grabbing Shane and pulling him in for a tight hug. Shane slumped against him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly. Ilya was silent for a long moment before he spoke.
“Are we going to talk about the way you came the second Pike saw me five fingers deep inside you?” Ilya teased.
Shane made a wounded sound and shove Ilya away from him, shaking his head. “You flew in just to make my life a living hell?”
Ilya snorted as he reached for Shane’s hoodie, helping him take it off and kissing him deeply. Shane kissed him back, winding his arms around Ilya’s neck and pressing as close to him as he could. Shane pushed him down to the bed, shoving him back to sit on the edge before sinking down to his knees. Ilya ran his hands through Shane’s hair as he rubbed his face against his cock, kissing him through the thick fabric of his sweatpants, getting hard so fast it made his head spin.
“Are you okay?” Ilya asked.
He remembered how fast Shane had sunk to his knees in the cottage after David had caught them. How desperate Shane had been for a rough touch, something to distract him, something to take him out of his head for a moment.
If that was what Shane needed right now, Ilya could do that for him. But he wanted to know for sure, to make it as perfect for Shane as he could.
Shane nodded though, looking up at him with clear eyes.
“Honestly, I’m okay,” Shane said, reaching for Ilya’s waistband and pulling his sweats down, making a pleased little sound when he realised Ilya wasn’t wearing underwear.
Ilya moaned softly as Shane’s mouth sank down on his hard length, gripping his hair tightly as Shane swallowed him down. Ilya watched Shane take him, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked and licked. He held off for a short while, until Shane reached up and pinched his nipple hard, digging his nails in –
Ilya tried to stay quiet as he came, spilling into Shane’s mouth. Shane swallowed messily, his mouth wet with drool and come. He grabbed Shane, pulling him up into his lap as he kissed him, licking his own mess off of Shane’s chin. Shane moaned softly as Ilya reached into his sweatpants and wrapped his hand around his cock, jerking him hard and fast.
Shane came quickly, writhing in Ilya’s lap, just as quiet as Ilya was. They stayed wrapped around each other for a while until Ilya yawned. Shane pulled away with a frown, running his hands through Ilya’s hair.
“Fuck, it’s been a big day for you,” Shane frowned. “Sick goal in overtime tonight.”
Ilya beamed. He loved when Shane complimented his game, and he didn’t even care to hide it anymore.
“Thanks,” Ilya smiled. “I saw you check Vaughn, too. Very sexy. I like when you’re rough like that.”
Shane snorted as he climbed off of Ilya’s lap and led him to the bathroom, grabbing them each a pair of underwear to change into once they cleaned off. Ilya finally relaxed as he crawled into bed with Shane, sinking into the fresh sheets as Shane curled up behind him.
“Take your shirt off,” Shane said, squeezing him. “You’re gonna overheat.”
“No,” Ilya whined. “Smells like you.”
Ilya fell asleep with Shane pressing kisses into his neck.
>>>
He woke up in the morning, soft dawn light filtering through the room. Shane was still asleep, his hands pressed to his stomach underneath his shirt. Ilya blinked, realising he probably woke up because he was warm.
Ilya extricated himself carefully, ambling into the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth before he snuck out of the room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen.
Coffee. He just needed coffee, and maybe a slice of toast. He hadn’t eaten since before the game last night, not even bothering with a shitty airport sandwich. That had been a mistake, but he hadn’twanted to waste any time getting to Shane.
He switched on the coffee maker, reaching into the cabinet for his favourite mug with the blue stripes before he realised he wasn’t alone. Ilya locked eyes with Pike, sitting at the dining table. Ilya grabbed a plain white mug and waited for the machine to kick over, making himself some toast in silence.
He buttered his toast, poured two cups of straight black coffee and carried them over to the table, sitting opposite Pike and sliding him the white mug.
Pike took it, watching him closely as he picked up the mug. “Did you poison it?”
Ilya snorted and shook his head. “I would kill you with my bare hands. No poison.”
Strangely, it seemed as though it was enough to convince Pike the coffee wasn’t tampered with. Ilya took a bite of his toast as Pike took a sip.
“You had a good talk with Shane?” Ilya asked.
Pike nodded. “Yeah. I'm, uh, I’m not proud of how I acted last night.”
Ilya noted that there was no apology there. “I figure you have to say this a lot.”
Pike rolled his eyes. “It just didn’t make sense to me. You and him.”
Ilya hummed as he took a sip of his own coffee. “Because of the rivalry?”
“Because he’s a good guy and you’re a fucking asshole,” Pike corrected.
“Really?” Ilya laughed. “Shane is a fucking asshole, too.”
Pike frowned as he looked at Ilya. “You’re wearing his shirt.”
“Mm. He is a good guy, you know, but he is an asshole too,” Ilya shrugged. “Why we get along, I think.”
Pike seemed to concede that, nodding. “I just can’t believe he hid it for so long. I thought he would have told me.”
Ilya did his best not to roll his eyes. He knew, when he and Shane finally came out, that this would be a running theme with the people in their lives. Having to comfort them about not being told, instead of them using their brains and understanding how dangerous it was for anyone to know.
“We couldn’t tell anyone,” Ilya said flatly. “Our careers, our lives. My citizenship. With Russia –”
“I googled it,” Pike said, his voice thin. “They kill people for being gay.”
Ilya hummed to himself. “My brother would make sure I was sent somewhere. Probably make sure I was taken care of.”
Pike flinched. “All that, and you’re still risking it all to be with Shane.”
Ilya shrugged. “Of course. It’s Shane.”
He watched as Pike looked at him, surprised. “Right. I mean, that part I get. I think it was just kind of shocking to see you guys like that last night.”
Ilya did his best not to smirk. “Ah.”
“And I didn’t mean to be homophobic,” Pike said quietly. “I did some research last night. I guess – I guess gay sex is different to straight people sex.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow at Pike. “Straight people sex,” Ilya repeated.
Pike turned bright red, sipping his coffee again.
“Straight people can be fisted,” Ilya said. “Women, too.”
Pike flinched again. “I just – I didn’t know people did that outside of porn.”
Ilya couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. “Poor Mrs Pike,” he sympathised. “Is this how you have so many children? Missionary vaginal sex only?”
“Don’t say vaginal to me,” Pike spat.
"You need sex advice?” Ilya taunted. “I can help. I'm famous for my dick. And my mouth. And my hands.”
“Yeah, I'm aware,” Pike muttered.
Ilya smiled, delighted that Pike would probably be haunted by what he’d seen last night. “It’s good, then? You keep your mouth shut?”
Pike nodded. “I’d never tell anyone about you guys. Even if it wasn’t Shane,” Pike said, looking him right in the eye. “I’d never do that to anyone.”
Ilya nodded, finishing his coffee and standing, reaching to take Pike’s hand. Pike took it, looking confused as he shook it.
“It’s not weird?” Ilya asked, tilting his head.
“What?” Pike frowned.
“Shaking my hand, knowing where I put it.”
Pike dropped his hand like he’d been burned, staring at Ilya in horror.
“Be a better friend to Shane,” he warned, moving away from the table. “And make sure JJ stops trying to set him up on dates.”
Ilya refilled his mug, getting Shane’s favourite mug with a map of Ottawa that Ilya had seen online and ordered for him, because it was in the shape of a heart, and made his way back upstairs, putting one on Shane’s nightstand before crawling back into bed. Shane woke up as Ilya curled around him, sighing happily.
“Where’d you go?”
“Coffee,” Ilya whispered.
“It’s so early,” Shane complained.
“Nearly time for your six o’clock run,” Ilya teased.
“No,” Shane sighed, grinding his ass against Ilya’s dick, reaching behind himself to try to pull Ilya’s boxer briefs down. “Work out at home.”
Ilya smirked as he kicked his underwear down his legs, pushing Shane’s down his thighs and spitting on his fingers, pressing against Shane’s hole. He was still a little slick from lube from hours earlier, but too dry to fuck like this.
“Lube,” Ilya demanded.
Shane grabbed the bottle from next to his coffee, passing it to Ilya and going slack against the sheets, soft, sweet noises escaping him as Ilya gently fucked into him, thinking about when they’d be doing this again.
And a little bit about trying to make Shane scream again, just so Pike would suffer a little more.