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Shane hasn’t seen the kitchen looking this bad since, well, since Ilya last threw a party - which was years ago.
More importantly, Shane hasn’t felt this hungover ever. Balancing a full-time professional sporting career on top of sponsorships, events, and most importantly being a father to three children who are about to turn four, Shane must have lost his fun-side along the way, because this was absolutely not fun.
Sprawled across his brand new leather couch is none other than Hayden Pike, his wife Jackie peacefully tucked under arms as they snore. Surrounding them is the outcome of inviting over a hundred people to your house on new years eve and letting a solid handful stay the night on the one condition that they weren’t guaranteed a bed.
Red solo-cups lay in an array across every flat surface, turning their family home into a college frat-house. Amongst the near-empty bottles of vodka, champagne and wine, Shane can make out a few cans of ginger ale - a testament to his old habits dying hard.
Except the subtle pang at the edges of his skull serve as a reminder of some less common choices he made last night, which only makes him wonder exactly when the taste of ginger had switched to the burn of shots going down his throat and the tang of beer on Ilya’s lips.
He lifts a hand up to pinch between his eyes at the bridge of his nose, the back of his head pounding. His phone buzzes suddenly with a string of texts. However, he decides that they are insignificant when the numbers 10:05, are glaring right back at him.
Well, that’s a bit late. He thinks to himself and gives the kitchen another once-over in the hopes that some fairy would come along to clean it. Unluckily for him, he admits defeat and begins to face the wrath of hosting New Years for a bunch of hockey players and their families.
Shane quickly finds himself melting into the routine of clearing, wiping and spraying various things. The clock on the wall ticks, and a few people begin to groan awake as Shane dwells on the fact that it is far too early for someone so hungover to be awake and cleaning. Most people would say he should be fast asleep right now, but this isn’t exactly early for him. This is late.
He has things he wants to get done in the day, hockey-related things, parenting responsibilities and a whole lot of emails to read. The slow chime of his alarm never seemed to wake Ilya - only the cry of their children or a fairly-rough shake does the trick - but it would have Shane up at six, in and out of the gym and showered by seven and ready to wake the triplets up by seven-thirty.
It was a routine that worked for them both. Ilya was not a slacker, he was not a bad father or a bad husband. Shane chose to start his days so early.
Ilya would wake most mornings to the glorious sight of Shane walking out of their en-suite with damp hair and a towel wrapped tight around his waist. If not distracted, he would walk Anya around the block with the sun rising in his face, shower himself and then join Shane downstairs to wrestle three toddlers into their clothes, put toothbrushes in their mouths and velcro their shoes to their wiggly feet, before sending them off to kindergarten with a prayer they’d come home exhausted and preferably in one piece.
That lovely repetition of a routine he had relied on for years, adapted and altered with care and consideration for his family because he loves them so dearly, has been set back by bottles of sauvignon blanc and over-flowing glasses being handed to him from faint memories that he can hardly restore.
“Holy fuck.” He mutters under his breath, and lets out a small laugh of disbelief.
Immediately he downs an aspirin, and then a few more glasses of water to follow. Shane isn’t sure how he got so drunk. Was Rose the mystery-person handing him those shots? Has she gotten home safe? Had the kids seen or heard him in such a state, despite being sent to bed just after their fake midnight which was actually at ten-thirty? Shane doesn’t even want to know, but he’s sure they’ll make him aware of daddy acting funny once they wake up.
Shane makes a start to clear the kitchen, cluttering about enough to wake the sleeping-beauties on his couch. Some leave wordlessly, most thank Shane for the party and a place to crash, and a few offer to help clean, which he denies - the last thing he wants is someone “helping” him clean.
By the time it hits eleven the majority of the clutter is confined in a pile of black trash-bags, and Shane can feel the aspirin kicking in along-side his sanity. He bleaches the sink and counters with precision, chuckling to himself as Hayden and Jackie sit up in a pile of hungover-groans from across the room.
“Good morning, love-birds.” He chirps, wringing out a micro-fibre cloth at the sink.
Hayden scoffs, turning his upper body to stare Shane down from over the back of the couch. “Dude.” He tuts, smirking at his wife as she giggles beside him. “You and that husband of yours, you guys are the lovebirds.”
Jackie lets out a proper laugh before lightly whacking Hayden’s arm. She must have noticed the sudden look of fear and confusion that had paled over Shane’s face at such a comment. “Ignore him, Shane. It wasn’t that bad.”
Shane looks between the two of them and decides that A, it probably was bad, and B, it’s even more bad that he can hardly remember.
By the time Jackie and Hayden say their goodbyes, Shane can’t get out of his own head. He was never much of a wild-card, but he can imagine that what he is feeling is similar to how college-kids felt after their first blackout.
He presses the front door shut with a soft click and turns to see that a small crowd of sleepy-headed children had formed at the top of the staircase. Shane grins at their three scruffy nests of hair, beady eyes peering at him in mis-matched pajamas, and his worries begin to lie dormant.
Roman is the first to come scurrying down and the others follow suit.
“Hello, sleepyheads.” He calls out as Roman launches himself into Shane’s arms. “You guys have slept for a while. You must have been so tired.”
Mikhail and Alexandra huddle around him like two clumsy baby-penguins as he guides them into the kitchen, and Shane makes a note to himself to get Mikhail some new pajamas as his pant legs seem to be rolling short.
After nearly four years of parenting, Shane is still impressed as to how difficult it is to rally his children into sitting down at the breakfast bar. His head felt like it was going to explode, and not just from the hangover, as Roman contorted his body in Shane’s arms so he couldn’t sit him on his stool.
“Roma, come on.” Shane groans, placing his son down on the floor and biting back his anger as he giggles and runs around the corner of the kitchen island.
The microwave dings. Inside, a pile of steaming blueberry pancakes that Ilya had made the previous morning.
“Thank god for your papa.” He mutters to himself, deciding that he’d rather not argue with his three year old if he truly did want to insist on sitting on the floor whilst he ate.
Happy, eating and breathing. Shane has learnt that those things are all that matters these days. He cups his warm mug of coffee in one hand, leaning over the counter to use the other to hold a fork out to Alexandra.
“The music was super loud, dada.” Mikhail said, breaking the silence of our eating and no talking that Shane had been quite enjoying. His son lifts his hand to his mouth, taking another happy bite of his blueberry pancakes. Beside him, and notably on the floor still, Roman battled the same meal with double the fury whilst Alexandra whined as Shane held a fork up to her mouth.
“Alex, you just asked me to feed you.” He sighs, giving up on his battle and topping up her cup with more apple juice. Mikhail’s legs swing under the bar, repetitively tapping the counter.
“No!” She huffs. “I’ll do it.” She snatches the fork out of Shane’s hand, and he simply can’t find the motivation within himself to tell her not to do that.
“I’m sorry if the music kept you up.” Shane turns his attention back to Mikhail, his pouty face covered in purple from the berries. “I won’t let papa do another party again, okay?”
“No!” All three of them whine collectively.
Shane stares between them, feeling pretty taken aback.
“Why not?” He raises an eyebrow, lifting his mug to his lips to take a long sip of his coffee. Upstairs, he can hear the commotion of Ilya finally waking up.
“Auntie Rose let us dance!” Alexandra says through a mouth full of pancakes.
“I know.” He laughs. “Mâchez, s'il vous plaît.”
“And then uncle Hayden said papa is a bad hockey player and we told papa.” Mikhail adds as Alexandra opens her mouth wide to show Shane the mushy, chewed up food in her mouth. Message received.
“Right.” Shane doesn’t exactly recall that happening, but perhaps he wasn’t in the room.
“And then you tried to pick us up and we nearly falled, daddy!”
“It’s fell- Wait? What?” Oh, god. Shane does not recall that at all. What if he had dropped them? What if he did drop them?
Roman lets out the loudest giggle possible from the floor, and Shane watches in slow motion as all three of them seem to communicate with one another through stares.
Alexandra hesitates when she looks back at Shane, and amongst her mischievousness he can see the curiosity and innocence hiding behind her eyes.
“Auntie Rose said you were drunk, dada.”
It’s almost comical the way his daughter says it, like an elderly woman at church talking of sin - taboo, forbidden, not Shane.
Was it that bad? Shane hates that he can’t remember.
And that’s when he feels it before he hears it - the footsteps approaching from down the hall, somewhere in the background of his chaotic mind, as he tries and fails to admit to himself that perhaps he went a little too crazy on the drinks last night.
It’s just so unlike him. Shane doesn’t do crazy. He does tame, at most, and that’s fine. He’s very okay with being just that.
“Oh, dada was very drunk.” Ilya’s voice teases as he walks into the kitchen, gravelly and warm, slipping on his t-shirt. If the very sight of him didn’t drown Shane in heaps of anxiety, he’d be focusing more on how unfairly hot he looked in the mornings. Ilya pokes his head through the hole of his shirt, and immediately narrows his eyes at the sight of one of their sons sitting on the floor.
“Roma, why are you on the dirty floor?”
“Don’t even bother.” Shane says, looking at Ilya for any ounce of hope that this is all one big joke and he definitely, one-hundered-and-a-billion-percent did not get ridiculously drunk last night.
It would be a good prank - getting him all paranoid, to get the kids in on it too - and it was definitely something Ilya would tease him about, but the look in his children’s eyes tells him everything. Something definitely happened.
Fuck
“You have hangover?” Ilya smirks, pouring his own coffee and turning to the fridge to begin adding an assortment of dairy products into it.
“Ilya-”
“What’s a hangover?” Roma asks from the floor, covered in blueberry stains all over his pajama shirt.
“It is why you do not drink. Ever.” Ilya says, closing the fridge and pouring a giant lug of creamer and milk into his coffee. “No alcohol as children. None when you are adult either, okay? Or you go crazy, like daddy last night.”
“But daddy was fun last night!” Roman protests, and trades the floor for following Ilya around the kitchen as he begins to make himself breakfast.
“Hey, stop.” Shane very much wants this conversation to end, but he can tell his husband is enjoying it way too much for that to happen.
“I know. He is not very fun is he?”
It goes on like that for ten more minutes until the kids get bored and migrate into the livingroom. They end up fighting over the TV remote and the sound of their screeches makes him nearly scream back. He’s too hungover for this, too tired of the relentless teasing, and far, far too anxious.
Ilya serves as his saving grace, leaving Shane to flip chicken sausages in a pan as he mediates over the remote in the other room. The meat sizzles, and Shane’s mouth practically salivates at the sight.
He hasn’t eaten anything this processed in months now, and he certainly doesn’t plan on changing that.
Shane had been going to great efforts since the summer to slowly transition his diet back to one of high-performence in preparation for his first season back since having the triplets. Five months in and Shane is struggling to feel its benefits when he’s playing at, arguably, his worst. But it’s fine, he has time - and he knows his worst is many player’s best - and he’s lucky to be there at all considering the shit-show his pregnancy had caused in the NHL a few years ago. So it counts for something.
He flips the sausages, revealing the crisp, golden brown skin that bubbles away in a coating of oil.
Ilya can have his fried meat and Shane can stick to coffee and bird-food. As long as Ottawa makes it to the play-offs he will be happy. They will make it.
At some point Ilya’s hands wrap around his waist and he feels the soft press of his lips against the back of his head. Ilya slumps against him with a deep inhale.
“Mm, you smell clean.” He mumbles and slowly shifts so he can peer at the pan from over Shane’s shoulder.
“Thanks?” He murmurs, staring into the abyss of sausage and oil splattering.
God, Ilya is being annoying. One moment he’s teasing him to no end, the next he’s wrapped around him like he can’t let go.
“You think very loudly.” Ilya’s voice practically vibrates against him, and if it weren’t for the absolute state of emergency his brain was in right now he’d be purring at the feeling. “You do not want to know about last night?”
“You were making fun of me.” Shane says and immediately realises how defensive he sounds. “And what makes you think I can’t remember?”
“I do not know.” Ilya shrugs. “Perhaps a little thing, I do not know if you have heard. It is called alcohol. Do you know it?”
“Asshole.” Shane grumbles, dropping the spatula and wriggling away from Ilya’s grip.
“Hey!” Ilya’s hands immediately grab onto him and gently spin him to face him. “I am serious. It was not very bad.”
“Then why is everyone talking to me in a tone that makes me feel like I committed a crime last night?”
Shane can see the hesitation in Ilya’s face. It’s a look he makes when he’s thinking, calculating an appropriate way to approach a situation without blowing the fuse of panic inside of Shane in the process.
“Why don’t you tell me what you remember then?”
He tries.
The silence hangs between them for a beat too long, and Shane musters up every ounce of patience inside of himself not to stomp upstairs and hide in the dark.
“I…” He scans the room, trying his best to connect pieces together. All he is left with are dotted memories with very little clues to bridge the gaps between them. “I remember before the children went up, the fake new years, we were dancing and Mikhail kept hitting my leg with his glow stick.”
“Yes, was very nice of him. What about after they went to bed?”
Nothing.
He tries harder this time, and only one moment stands out to him amongst the blur of feelings.
“We…” His face pales as the words roll off his tongue. “We missed the countdown. We were- we were trying to fuck in the bathroom, Ilya!” If it weren’t for their three children in the other room, Shane would have been yelling. “The bathroom is disgusting, I remember that. Oh god, I haven’t cleaned it yet.”
“Nothing else?” Ilya is asking like he already knows the answer, and Shane accepts that he is well and truly cornered.
“Nothing else.” He nods hesitantly, staring at his husband for any ounce of hope that this can all go away. “Ilya, I’m so embarrassed. What did I do?”
Ilya hesitates again, reaching a hand up to Shane’s face and smiling softly. “Like I said, nothing bad.”
“But-”
Ilya shushes him, and Shane’s eyes go wide at the action.
“I will clean the bathroom. And I will also clean the deck outside.” His rough palm, weathered from years of playing hockey, slides down the side of Shane’s jaw and loops around to rub gently at the base of his neck. “I do not want you to worry on your day off, moy rodnaya. We should take the kids out to the park whilst the sun is still up, yes?”
That’s not enough. It just isn’t enough! Shane looks at his husband in defeat, unable to control the way his mouth contorts into an anxious, stubborn pout.
“Ilya.” He lets out a long sigh from deep within. “I can’t relax. I need to know. What if I offended someone? Or hurt them?”
For a split second Ilya looks at him like he has gone mad. Then something switches, and suddenly he is crowding Shane’s space with determinism and captures his lips in a soft peck.
Ilya pulls away slowly and scans Shane’s face.
“You are worrying too much.” His hand reaches around Shane’s jaw and forces Shane to stare back at him, his thumb resting by the corner of his mouth. “The children think you were fun. You did not do anything bad, you did not hurt anyone. You are okay.”
Ilya presses their lips together once more and Shane bends at his will, his lashes fluttering closed.
Shane is pretty sure Ilya will never be fully aware of what his compassion does for the people around him. Sometimes he thinks it might be magic, the way Ilya can ease the landing of his worries with simple words and kisses.
They pull apart slowly and when Shane captures the green spark in Ilya’s eyes, he caves.
“Okay.” He mutters.
Ilya’s face melts into a soppy smile and nods affirmatively.
“Okay.”
-
For the rest of the day Shane’s worries simmer lightly in the back of his mind.
It takes two hours for them to even get to the car and start driving to the playground. But amongst the chaos of a lost shoe, layering up three children for the cold and an argument over a stuffed toy, Shane makes sure to take it all in.
He doesn’t think about last night. Instead, he thinks of all the busy mornings that would end in day-care drop offs and the short drive to the Centaur's training facilities. In the evenings they would rally the triplets into bed, and crash with the exhaustion that followed. Most nights were wordless between them. Shane would make a touchdown with his bed and that would be it, and whoever fell asleep last would set the alarms that would get them up to it all again the next day.
It’s not to say Shane is sick of it - he loves the blood, sweat and tears he and Ilya put into being able to have a family alongside hockey, the rewards are simply too good - but they never get to take their time with it all, not like this.
They’ve gone to their favourite park, a few miles from home with a vast green-space lined with trees and a playground bang in its heart. There are very few people around, and for once Shane quite enjoys the way the cold bites at his pink nose. So, it’s good. It’s peaceful.
It’s perfect.
His gloved hand pushes against Mikhail’s back as he sits on the swing, giggling hysterically whenever he swings back down. Shane remembers the feeling; deep within your gut, where even the smallest descents feel massive when you’re that small.
“I want to go higher, dada!” He is practically tearing up, the joy in his voice filling the chilled air that surrounds them. Shane just smiles and laughs faintly alongside him whilst feeling strangely hungover and content at the same time. He wonders where all of that energy goes as you get older.
“This is as high as it goes.” He lies, and turns his head to look over at Roman and Alexandra, who are loudly imagining their own world of pirates, spaceships and cowboys whilst traversing the climbing frame.
A few meters below, watching intently with his arms lifting hesitantly up and down at his sides, is Ilya. He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t follow too closely, but he hovers with the concern of a father who doesn’t quite trust his three year olds not to fall from the slippery, metal jungle just yet.
Shane continues pushing Mikahil, decreasing the height in subtle increments, and takes in every crease and expression on his husband’s face.
They never get to do this. Any moment of parenthood since Ilya had returned to hockey has been under the conditions that one, or both of them now that Shane was back, were always exhausted to some degree. Even when everything was new, when Shane was hurting and recovering, Ilya would lift some of that weight and feel it with him.
He can’t place it, but thinking about it all for too long right now makes his heart ache. Is it guilt? Fear? Or is Shane just overwhelmed at the look of adoration in Ilya’s eyes as he stares at their kids.
We made this. Shane pauses pushing Mikhail to lift a gloved finger to his face, and absorbs the tears that sit on his waterline.
When he looks back, Mikhail is staring at him curiously with his dark curls poking out of his beanie and hops off the swing with clumsy feet.
“Come on, daddy!” He squeals, grabbing Shane’s hand. “You have to catch me down the slide next.”
Shane follows, letting Mikhail drag him across the rubber flooring with his mittens, and positions himself at the end of the slide with exaggerated readiness.
“I’m here. Go on, then.”
Mikhail scrambles up the steps, nearly tripping over his own boots in the process. Above them, Alexandra immediately abandons her game to shout that she wants a turn next, while Roman insists he can go down backwards as he skips over.
Ilya finally steps closer, smiling despite himself.
“Absolutely not. No backwards.”
“Why?” Roman demands.
“Because I don’t want you losing your teeth.” Ilya adjusts Roman’s beanie and guides him to the slide, helping him scramble up. “Or you will have lots of fake ones like me and daddy. Is very expensive.”
Roman gasps dramatically as though personally betrayed and Alexandra cackles as she follows close behind. Suddenly, Mikhail launches himself down the slide before anyone can stop him, shrieking the entire way until he crashes safely into Shane’s arms.
The impact nearly knocks Shane backward, but he steadies them both, laughing so hard his stomach aches.
And for a moment, it all feels simple.
Cold air in his lungs. Damp gloves. Three loud children talking over one another. Ilya’s laughter somewhere beside him, warm and familiar and real.
No blurry images from last night. No gaps in his memory waiting to be filled with something awful. No dread clawing at the back of his skull.
Just this.
Shane presses a quick kiss to Mikhail’s forehead before setting him down again, and when he looks up at Ilya, his husband is already there watching him.
Softly. Completely.
Shane feels his chest tighten with it.
“Your turn!” Alexandra yells, pointing accusingly at him from the slide. Her nose is pink from the cold, her dark hair a mess from where it sticks out in all different directions. “You have to catch everybody!"
Shane snorts and moves back into position at the bottom.
“Alright,” he says, opening his arms as the triplets erupt into chaos again. “But one at a time, please.”
None of them listen, of course, and for once Shane doesn’t mind.
-
The kids rest pretty quickly later that evening.
After messy bowls of pasta, entertaining babbling conversations and ensuring to have some downtime with the help of Ilya’s excellent story narrations, all three of the triplets are fast asleep.
The first thing Shane notices when he gets into bed is that he doesn’t feel as exhausted as he was expecting to be. In fact, for the first time in months he might have some time to read the book he’d lost track of in August when hockey had walked back into his life full-time.
It’s only from the feeling of Ilya dumping his weight onto the mattress beside him that he remembers.
Last night.
“Today was nice.” Ilya mumbles as he wriggles under the covers in just his boxers. “We should try and get more days off together.”
Shane folds the ear over on his book and places it on the bedside table before scooching down to lie facing Ilya. He reaches out to brush his curls from his face.
“We do get days off together. We’re on the same team.”
“No.” Ilya shakes his head, before quickly halting to let Shane continue his careful movements. “We do not get days off like this. So peaceful. Just us and the babies.”
“They aren’t really babies anymore.”
“Yes, I know. They talk way too much for babies.” Ilya tuts playfully, and shifts his weight. He slowly moves closer, encouraging Shane to melt into the pillows as he crowds his space. “But it was so nice today. Makes me realise how much we miss out on those moments because of hockey.”
Shane pouts, because fuck, did Ilya really need to phrase it like that?
He fights back tears simmering in the back of his eyes.
It feels selfish, but Shane wishes he could just freeze time when he thinks too hard about everything. A future with Ilya had felt impossible for so long, so much so that when it became a reality he struggled to look at him and understand that he was all his.
Now there’s more, so much more than hotel rooms and hockey games. They have three lives depending on them, wedding rings, a house by the river in an expensive Ottawa neighbourhood and their ageing dog who had once done laps around them when everything felt new and scary - when everything was a secret.
Shane feels his body stutter as a sob finds its way out of his throat.
“Sorry.” He sniffles, trying his best to make the concern on Ilya’s face disappear.
“No, I am sorry.” The rough skin of Ilya’s thumb wipes away Shane’s tears, and he leaves soft kisses in their wake. “I did not mean to upset you. Is just…” He hesitates. “Now we are both playing again, maybe we should dedicate more time for them that isn’t just the mornings and the evenings.”
Shane nods, pressing his lips together as his tears slow down.
“I was thinking, actually.” He murmurs. “Maybe we could go on a holiday this summer? Us, the kids, my parents can come and watch them when we need them to. Just…Just something that isn’t here.”
“Da.” Ilya mutters, his eyes flickering down to Shane’s lips. “That would be good.” He smiles, pressing their noses together before leaning in to softly kiss Shane.
Shane raises his head to lean into it. Immediately he melts against his husband’s warm presence that shadows him in their bed and lets Ilya press him further into the pillows. They make out softly, losing track of time at the feeling of their lips against each other’s. Shane whimpers at the soft slide of their tongues and that impossible pressure Ilya applies - controlling, dominating, but so loving - as if Ilya is still trying to claim him after all of these years.
Ilya pulls away first, releasing Shane’s glistening bottom lip with the scrape of his teeth and watches it pop back - pink, bitten raw and glistening.
Shane thinks it must look absolutely erotic by the way Ilya audibly groans at the sight.
“You look really fucking good.”
Shane blushes, his eyes dropping to Ilya’s chest that shines with a thin layer of sweat.
“Hmm..” Shane can feel the weight in his eyes, lidded with the rush of hormones that have them both already achingly hard in their boxers. “Want you.”
Wordlessly, Ilya nudges Shane’s legs apart and swings his other leg over to lay between them. He lowers down on his forearms and simultaneously kisses Shane whilst pressing their erections together, immediately shifting his hips to grind against him.
Shane moans in surprise into Ilya’s mouth, the sensation shooting sparks of pleasure up his body as Ilya roams a hand down to pull them both free from their underwear.
“Fuck.” Shane knows he sounds pathetic, whimpering and ridiculously wet at the tip as the cold air hits his sensitive skin.
Ilya grasps him fully, pushing the waistband of his boxers down to sit below his balls and sits back on bent knees to just stare.
“I want to come on you.” Ilya grunts as he traces his index finger along the seam of Shane’s ballsack, and up the vein of his cock, smirking at the way it twitches from the attention. His other hand steadily pumps at his own, much bigger, length. “Always so wet for me, Shane.”
Shane can only let out a pleasured and frustrated groan, bucking his hips and using his hooked legs to force Ilya back over him.
“Then hurry up.” He reaches for Ilya’s cock, pressing his thumb hard against the tip because he knows Ilya goes absolutely mad at the feeling. His husband grinds into it immediately and expels a chain of Russian cursewords before deepening his hips to press fully against Shane.
They quickly melt into it, rubbing and humping at one another as the air grows thick from their panting, sweaty bodies. For a moment, Shane feels so desperate to orgasm that he is convinced he could ride out the pleasure forever, until Ilya’s hand lets go of them both and sinks his fingers lower - brushing against Shane’s hole.
Shane comes with a high-pitched moan and subconsciously uses his free hand to dig his nails deep into the thick skin on Ilya’s shoulder.
“Fuck. So good, Shane.”
“Holy fuck, Ilya.” He pants, bucking against the finger that merely teases against his sensitive entrance as rope after rope of white spurts out of him and onto his stomach and chest.
Ilya doesn’t respond, instead he bats Shane’s hand away from their erections and reaches over to the bedside table to get some lube. When he settles back between Shane’s spread legs, he grasps the back of Shane’s thighs and uncaps the bottle.
“I can’t.” Shane exhales, feeling sensitive and spent.
Ilya smirks, and begins pouring the lube over his cock. Shane watches, mouth slack in blissed-out wonder as Ilya gets lost in the feeling of touching himself, scanning his eyes over his husband’s body.
“Do not worry. I am not going to fuck you.” Ilya grunts and then suddenly lets go before pouring the lube directly between Shane’s thighs. “Not there, at least.”
“What are you-”
Ilya pushes his legs until he can’t bend anymore, and then tugs Shane’s ankles to rest on one of his shoulders.
“Oh fuck, baby.” Ilya groans loudly as he presses his thick cock between Shane’s slick thighs. “Yeah, stay like that. Almost as good as being inside of you.” He leans forward until their faces hover over each other, and kisses him passionately.
“T-this is so hot.” Shane feels fucking dazed, staring in awe at the sight of his husband as he starts to thrust between his plush thighs. Ilya gets lost in the feeling very quickly, his head hung low as Shane tangles his fingers in his sweaty curls and whispers to him.
“Shit, you love this, don’t you?” Shane pants, staring between them as Ilya’s cockhead slips in and out of the tight space. The sight alone had already gotten him hard again. “Fuck, I can imagine you in me.”
Ilya sits back and his lips press hard against Shane’s leg. He fucking bites, then licks the spot over and over before sucking with so much intent that Shane can’t even find it in him to be mad if a mark is left there in the morning.
“Yes.” Ilya whimpers as he pulls away from Shane’s skin, his hips snapping as he chases his release. “You fucking love my cock, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Love it so. Much.” He emphasises each word with a thrust, and Shane can tell that he’s going to come soon by the way his voice trails off at the end. “When I fill you up.”
“L-love you, Ilya.” Shane feels that familiar sensation pool deep within him and his hips start to buck uncontrollably. Fuck, is he going to come again so soon after? Just from Ilya fucking between his thighs?
“Mm, you told everyone about it.” Ilya’s cock starts to spurt out ropes of cum, landing against Shane’s chest and jaw as he grunts through his words. “Told them how good you take it. How good you are for me.”
“W-what?” Shane exclaims in a confused panic, unable to control himself as he follows suit with a few desperate bursts of his own, second, release. His chest rises and falls, and Ilya’s weight collapses over him and presses their grossness together. “Ilya, what do you mean?”
His words land with a strained echo into their bedroom. Their bodies are pressed so close, but Shane couldn’t feel further from himself at this moment. Ilya pants above him faintly, somewhere far away, and the smell of sex - thick in the air - infiltrates his nose.
“No, was just sex thing. Is silly. Ignore.” He puffs out, lifting his weight to sit back and gaze down at Shane. He looks ridiculous, like he knows the words sound futile as they pour out of his mouth, yet he still tries to put on an assured look.
Shane shuffles himself around to sit up straight, grimacing at the feeling of their cum growing cold against his skin. The sheets feel too itchy, and Ilya is all in his space and he really doesn’t need that right now.
“I can’t just ignore that, Ilya.” He pulls his legs away from his husband to swing them over the side of the bed as the mess on his body begins to beckon to gravity’s rules. He practically legs it for the en-suite.
“Shane!” Ilya calls out, and follows him into the bathroom as Shane dampens a face-cloth and wipes at his jaw.
“You were talking about last night, weren’t you?” He rubs until the loose skin on his stomach goes light pink from the contact and dumps the cloth onto the counter by the sink. “Tell me.” He runs the faucet, pumping soap into his hands and washing them vigorously as he stares at Ilya through the mirror. “I can handle it, Ilya. Tell me.”
“I-” Ilya looks like he’s running multiple equations at once, and stutters over his words like a bumbling fool. Shane notices the way his eyes zero in on the redness of his stomach, the way his concern is hidden behind his nerves. “It was not bad. You just told some people at the party some stuff-”
“Who?” Shane wrings the cloth out under hot water and passes it to Ilya to wipe himself down. His hands tremble as he does it, and that anxious feeling deep in the back of his throat is feeling stronger, louder. He quickly turns to the shower to hide his eyes.
“Was not to everyone.” Ilya slides the cloth over his now flaccid cock, and watches Shane run the shower. He can’t help but lower his gaze to his husband’s ass. Even when angry, and probably quite scared, Shane never fails to turn him on.
“To who, Ilya?” Shane knows it isn’t the come down from sex that’s causing his limbs to shake. He’s royally freaking the fuck out right now.
“Just to people who stayed later. It was close friends. Hayden, Jackie, I think Haris and Troy, and the nice lady J.J. keeps inviting to things. Oh, and J.J. of course.”
Shane can feel the colour drain from himself, the way his heart fucking drops and Ilya’s presence sounds more like blood pumping in his ears than any cohesive sentence.
“Oh my god.” He whispers to himself, and snaps his whole body around to find Ilya standing a couple of feet behind him.
“It was only them. At least it wasn’t coach, or your parents.” Ilya says, trying to convince himself out loud.
Shane takes a deep breath in and is hit by a wave of humidity from the shower, his exhale trembles and Ilya’s hands land firmly on either of his shoulders.
He nods slowly, squeezing his eyes shut as he forces himself to snap out of this weird mood he is in and gain some control back of his body. Ilya is right, it’s totally fine. It could be worse.
And then Shane thinks of something that is so worse.
–
“Dude, doggy is so the best!”
Hayden’s beer spills from the neck of the bottle he’s holding and it lands cold and fizzy on Shane’s thigh.
“That’s cold, Hayden.” He grumbles, but the words fall flat before they make it fully past his lips.
Shane quite likes the way his tongue feels kind of heavy in his mouth, how the LED lights mix with the shitty music, and the funny way Ilya’s face looks all swooshy as Shane stares into his eyes.
“What about speed bump?” J.J. speaks up somewhere in their circle of friends, sitting outside on the first morning of a freezing Canadian January with their coats, blankets, heat lamps and alcohol to keep them warm.
“This is the worst conversation ever.” Jackie remarks, but the smirk on her face from behind her gloved hands seems to imply that perhaps she’s enjoying herself more than she’d openly admit.
“It’s funny.” Shane giggles, mostly to himself, and feels his center of gravity tilt. He plants a foot firmly on the ground to try to catch his balance, but he fails, and Ilya’s strong grip tightens around his waist. He holds Shane firm in his lap, hands flexing protectively as they force him to stay seated on one of his knees.
Like a fucking lap dog. Shane thinks, and laughs some more.
“What are you laughing about?” Ilya looks at him with drunken curiosity, and Shane can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or the love in his eyes that’s making his husband look so good tonight.
Definitely the alcohol.
“I’m like your dog.” Shane says, smiling wide with his nose pressed to the side of Ilya’s face. The sound of groans and cackling laughter from their friends doesn’t annoy him for once.
“Oh, yes?” Ilya talks like he’s drunk himself whilst expertly mastering a tone of unease at Shane’s strange and flirtatious demeanor. It isn’t exactly common for Shane to go all out on the PDA, but the sight of it has Ilya teetering along the line of being alarmed and unfairly turned on at his sudden bout of confidence.
“Yeah. On your lap. Not letting me go.” Shane dips his head closer in a rushed and sloppy movement, pressing their lips together in, admittedly, not their best kiss.
Ilya presses back gently before pulling away, and lets out a cautious laugh as he flicks his eyes over Shane’s shoulder and to the group.
Shane whines. Ilya shouldn’t be looking anywhere when he’s right here.
“Holy shit, Shane. This is freaky!” Hayden chirps, huddled close to Jackie in an effort to reserve their body heat.
The sight makes Shane feel colder himself, and he scootches even closer to Ilya’s beating heart without a second thought.
“Definately doggy for him as well.” Troy digs from where he is tucked under Harris’ arm - who is already fast asleep with his head knocked back against the couch.
Shane turns his head around to glare at the whole group, before turning back to his husband. Ilya is dumb for it of course, and pulls him closer so he can press soft kisses to the side of Shane’s cold face.
“Dude, if only Ryan and Fabian were here. Only they can out freak these two.” J.J. laughs as he speaks, bringing his beer to his lips before passing it to his girlfriend, Maria, for a sip.
“I don’t know.” Hayden shakes his head. “Maybe it’s a tie.”
“You do not want to share a wall with these two during the play-offs.” For such a large man, Troy looks incredibly small pressed against his boyfriend’s side. “Every fucking night. I had to ask the hotel to move me one time. I think they get off on the competition.”
“Hey! We are right here.” Ilya chuckles, joining back in with the conversation as Shane nuzzles against his neck. ” And again, we are very sorry about that.”
“Not that fucking sorry.” Hayden laughs in disbelief. “Dude, look at you both right now.”
Shane isn’t exactly involved in the conversation, and he can hardly create the right words on his tongue to contribute anything meaningful, but he still smirks against his husband’s warm skin and scrapes his teeth against his throat.
“I do not see problem” Ilya rumbles, feigning innocence as he runs his hand up and down Shane’s spine.
He can only imagine it; how he is practically straddling Ilya’s lap, the blanket draped over them with the lamps casting a warm glow over their skin. Shane bets they look fucking great.
“We look hot.” He says against any better judgement, and then lifts his head from the safety of Ilya to say it again, louder this time. “We look hot.”
Ilya’s hands grip his waist in a half-warning, half-aroused way and it only makes Shane want to go on some more.
“Heard you the first time, bud.” J.J. says, and Maria laughs from beside him.
Shane turns his head back, pretending to sulk so he can press his lips to Ilya’s right ear. He nips at his ear lobe, unable to hide his drunken grin as their friends slip back into their debate over the best sex positions. Ilya’s hands flex and pull the fabric of his loose shirt tight around his hips.
Perhaps a slightly more sober version of Shane would think having this conversation with his friends is a little weird, but that version of himself feels surprisingly far away right now - hidden away for another day in the back of his mind, behind all of the dreamy fogginess he feels. None of it really matters when he can feel how turned on Ilya is getting from his careless displays of affection.
“They’ll never know real good sex.” Shane whispers, or hopes he does, into Ilya’s ear. “They’ll never know how good you are to me.”
Shane feels Ilya release him in shock, slowly shifting his head inwards to glare at him.
“Shane.” He laughs out in disbelief, flicking his eyes up and down his face.
Shane only hushes him, before using his hand to entwine in the curls at the base of Ilya’s neck and guide his head back to the conversation.
“Listen to me so good, Ilya.” He mutters, tugging at his hair gently and grinning at the sound of the startled squeak Ilya lets out whilst trying to listen to Maria’s opinion on reverse cowgirl. With a complete lack of consideration for where he is, Shane licks a stripe up the column of Ilya’s throat.
Troy snorts from where he sits directly opposite them.
“Holy shit, guys! Am I the only one seeing this right now?” He beckons his hand towards Ilya and Shane, and the rest of the group’s heads turn to the sight of Shane pressing wet kisses against Ilya’s jaw.
“See, this is how they ended up with triplets, man.” J.J. groans in disbelief.
Ilya rumbles beneath Shane with playful laughter, and his fingers pinch gently at his waist in a warning.
“You guys can take that upstairs.” Hayden says rather wearily. “We can close up.”
“No, it's fine.” Ilya’s deep and slightly strained voice practically vibrates down his body. His hands suddenly feel stronger against Shane, forcing him to sit up properly to meet the look of concern in Ilya’s eyes.
“What?” Shane smiles, his lips pink as he spares a short-lived glance to the rest of the group. He catches Hayden’s look of disappointment. “You guys are jealous.” He sings, and the group object in an array of groans and eye rolls.
“Absolutely not.” J.J. remarks, and swings his arm over the back of the love-seat to pull Maria in closer to his side.
“Yeah you are.” Shane sits up and properly faces the group. “All your boring sex stories. You guys will never be as good as us.” He tries to make his words land as unseriously as possible, but the way Ilya tenses beneath him tells him he did otherwise.
“Shane.” He warns.
“Doggy, speed bump, cowgirl.” Shane tuts. “None of that matters if you just know how to use your cock. Ilya does.”
“Okay!” Ilya exclaims, and the group erupts into amused laughter.
“Oh, yeah? Tell us more, Shane.” Troy eggs on, now sat up straight in order to properly hear this. Amongst the commotion, Harris is sleepily listening in with his head against Troy’s shoulder.
The group continue to exchange looks of pure amusement and somewhere from behind, Ilya lets out a long exhale followed by a curse in Russian under his breath.
“Made me come three times in an hour the other day.” He grins, feeling the alcohol weigh the lids of his eyes down. He can’t control himself. The way the words fall off his tongue feel as if they had to come out of his mouth or he would otherwise choke. “With just his cock.”
“Shane.” Ilya sounds serious now, and the whole group seem taken aback by the sensual tone to Shane’s voice.
“Dude, go upstairs.” Hayden repeats, and J.J. shushes him in an attempt to squeeze more embarrassment out of this moment with Shane.
“You guys should all try anal. It will change your lif-” Ilya’s hand cups his mouth and Shane flicks his tongue out to lick his salty palm. Ilya doesn’t react, and when Shane eventually stops trying to talk between the barrier Ilya takes a deep breath and lowers his hand.
“Let’s just…” Ilya murmurs, loud enough for the group to hear, but reserved just for Shane. He becomes alarmingly aware of the silence that has washed over everyone else. If it weren’t for the music, they’d probably be able to hear the city hum faintly in the background. “...chill out?”
Chill out? Shane is chilled out. This is the chillest chill Shane has ever chilled.
He feels their friend’s gazes burn into the back of his head and the side of his face. Was it that bad? Everyone had been fine about the sex positions. What was wrong with what he said?
He takes a deep breath in and feels the weight of his friend’s glares.
“Sorry.” He hiccups. “I think…I think I might be a bit drunk.”
Ilya’s chest immediately begins to rise and fall with laughter at that comment, and Shane practically beams at the way the smile on his face quickly unfolds into a full blown grin. Relief washes over him before he can allow his drunken mind to dwell on any further anxieties.
“There’s a first!” J.J. exclaims, raising his beer to the sky. “Never thought I would see the day, Hollander.”
They continue like that for five more minutes before the blankets and heat lamps dotted around the decking begin to fail to compensate for the missing heat of a cold Ottawa January. Shane can feel himself shiver, tucking himself back into his happy place where Ilya’s shoulder meets his neck and dozes off.
–
Shane replays the moment over and over in his head, before deciding to step into the shower to fully submerge himself under the steaming rainfall. The water hits his neck and the back of his head, perfectly hot enough that it will leave his skin slightly red afterwards, soaking his hair.
The door slides shut behind him, and Ilya’s hand - cold to the touch - startles him.
“Shane-”
“No, no. I remember now.”
They both speak at the same time. Shane lets the reality of last night, or really the early hours of the morning, wash over him with his eyes squeezed shut and his body turned away from Ilya.
“I’m sorry.” He musters up as the shower pours down hard against his back, loosening the tenseness in his muscles that the alcohol and his anxieties had made him carry throughout today.
Ilya eyes him with hesitation, shaking his head with a subtle nod of disagreement, and uncaps a bottle of shampoo, lathering it in his hands.
“Do not apologise.” Ilya says softly through the loud crashing of water hitting the basin of the shower and rubs the seaweed-smelling soap into Shane’s scalp. He makes sure to fully massage it in, scratching the places he knows Shane likes. “Was funny. Everyone was talking about weird stuff. We were all pretty drunk.”
“That doesn’t exactly make it better.” Shane sighs, closing his eyes and allowing the water to rinse away the suds that begin to fall down his face. “Clearly no one was as drunk as I was.”
Ilya’s hands make their way down, past the nape of Shane’s neck and to his shoulders, where his thumbs begin to work at a knot on his right side. He makes a noise of disagreement, dipping his head under the stream to press a soft kiss to Shane’s cheek.
“It does not matter.”
“It does.” Shane’s eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly as water drips over his face, and catches Ilya’s focused gaze. He tries his best to stop himself, but the sight of Ilya’s ease at the situation makes Shane’s worries bubble over in the back of his throat and his face drops into an immediate frown. “Ilya, it does matter.”
Ilya halts his movements, lifting a hand to cup Shane’s chin and pull him out from under the shower. Their damp chests meet, and Ilya dives in to kiss him hard.
Shane grunts in surprise, immediately submitting to the press of Ilya’s lips as his hands explore the expanse of his exposed back. For a moment, he forgets - until Ilya pulls back with a panting expression.
“It does not matter. I love you the same, yes?”
“That doesn’t change that I probably freaked our friends out!” Shane protests, and uses his grip on Ilya’s sides to turn them around and push him under the stream. “I hate how relaxed you are about this. You just find it hot.”
Shane angrily uncaps the shampoo and lathers it. When he looks back up to begin rubbing it into Ilya’s curls, he notices the worried look on his husband’s face.
“Shane.” Ilya mutters as Shane’s fingers make contact with his soaked hair.
“What?” He grumbles, and he can feel the way his furrowed brows are practically engraved into his forehead by now. He isn’t exactly an expert at hiding his discomfort and fears.
Ilya steps out from under the shower and presses Shane softly against the cold tiles.
“I am sorry, moy lyubov.” Ilya speaks, his hair covered in soap that drips down the sides of his face. “I did not realise.”
“What?”
Ilya worries his lip between his teeth as his eyes flicker over Shane’s face and spend a few extra moments gazing into his eyes.
“I forgot you can’t just…” He waves his hand in the air to try and find the words, and Shane melts at how endearing it looks. “...Just forget these things. You can’t.”
“I’m not trying to be annoying.” Shane mutters cautiously, reaching upward to run his fingers through Ilya’s dripping hair, scrunching to wring the soapy water out and encourage his curls.
Ilya’s face falls, his bottom lip jutted out in a pout.
“Do not say this.” Ilya pleads delicately, hands coming up to rest on Shane’s hips. “You are allowed to feel embarrassed, yes? I just want you to know it does not matter, to me or to anyone, even if you do worry about it for the rest of your life.”
Shane lets his forehead fall against Ilya’s shoulder. Maybe tomorrow he will wake up and still cringe when he thinks about it. Perhaps even next week too. But underneath all of that embarrassment sits the consistent buzz of warmth that has been with him since lust turned to love with Ilya.
Nothing has changed.
He’s still drawn toward Ilya’s gravitational pull, the firm comfort of him, of the man he’s watched become a husband, a father.
“I don’t understand how you’re not embarrassed” Shane exhales.
Ilya laughs softly, his lips pressed close to his wet hair.
“Shane,” he murmurs. “Of course I do not care. Everyone already knows how crazy I am for you.”