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Dating Ilya Rozanov meant that Shane's Google search history was completely fucked. He used incognito tabs and cleared it on a regular basis, but he was pretty sure that Google still had that data stored somewhere. He made a mental note to tell Ilya—again, because he didn't take Shane seriously the previous times—to toss all of his devices into the river if he were to suddenly and unexpectedly die. If Shane got in a deadly wreck in the middle of the night on the Trans-Canada Highway between Montreal and Ottawa, he did not want anyone to find out that it was because he had been driving to his long-distance boyfriend's house with a plug in his ass.
Shane had no choice once he saw that photo of Ilya in the gladiator costume. Masturbating was not enough. So here he was crossing the border of Quebec and Ontario, following the route that he had become painfully familiar with over the past several years. He knew how it looked in the dead of night and in the early morning, rain or shine, with snow on the ground or the fields green with geese flying in formations above the plains. He was listening to a Russian language-learning podcast, the usual soundtrack for his trips to Ilya's on this highway.
He had never driven it like this before, though. Not with his cock hard and his hole filled and the growing realization that there was a good chance he would come in his pants before he hit Ottawa city limits.
The Land Rover's GPS, which he had started just to keep track of time, showed that he had about an hour left to drive. When Shane left Montreal a little before 11, he thought that he would make good time over to Ilya's—after all, there would be no traffic this late. And two hours with a plug in would be nothing. Last summer at the cottage, he had gone an entire day. It had been exquisite torture, but Shane had endured, and the way that it had felt when Ilya fucked him that night made it more than worth it.
But on that day at the cottage, Shane had at least tried to go about his normal routines, even with the plug. He worked out, went for a walk with Ilya, read his book on the couch, and cooked dinner. He was never sitting in one position for too long, because as he quickly figured out, putting that kind of sustained pressure on the plug in his hole would result in an orgasm or at least cause him to maintain an erection for a duration of time that was probably not medically advisable.
He had failed to remember that detail until he was twenty minutes away from his house in Montreal and started to feel his precum already soaking through his underwear.
So no, Shane was not making good time. He had permanently relegated himself to the slow lane of the mostly-empty highway with the semi trucks, because his legs were feeling a bit weak and his hands were shaking on the steering wheel. He could feel that the muscles in his back would be sore tomorrow from trying to hold his posture in a way that would not consistently press the plug right against his prostate. Every shift of his weight seemed to push it deeper inside of him, or cause his hard cock to rub against the wet fabric of his boxers.
Shane gritted his teeth as he passed another exit sign. He could do this. It would be worth it when he saw Ilya's surprised face when Shane showed up on his doorstep. It would feel so good when Ilya's cock finally replaced the plug inside of him, when he was finally full and Ilya was thrusting into him and—fuck, Shane couldn't think about this anymore, it would make him come. The Russian podcast wasn't helping either, even though it wasn't Ilya's voice. He haphazardly hit the button on the car's radio to turn it off, and then there was only road noise and the pounding of Shane's pulse in his ears.
He continued to hold out. On the GPS, the time left until he reached Ilya's house slowly ticked down. 56 minutes. 54. 53. 51.
At 48 minutes, Shane shifted again, trying to relieve some of the pressure. It was a mistake. The plug pressed perfectly on that spot inside of him, and the edges of his vision went fuzzy for a moment. He wrenched one hand down from the wheel to squeeze the base of his dick through his sweatpants, gasping. No, no, no. He was not going to come. But the plug was still pressing on that perfect spot and fuck, he needed to pull over, he couldn't do this, it wasn't safe to drive like this anymore.
Somehow, Shane had the wherewithal to take the next exit and pull his car off into the gravel shoulder. Thankfully, it was one of the many middle of nowhere exits along the highway between the two cities. There wasn't even a gas station, just a weak streetlight and a two-lane road that ran under the highway on one side and disappeared into darkness on the other.
As soon as the car was in park, Shane lifted his hips off of the seat and whined low in his throat, the pressure inside him alleviating somewhat. It was a relief, but it didn't actually feel like it, not when his body wanted, needed, to come so badly. Shane breathed through it, waiting for his impending orgasm to recede. He didn't dare turn on a light inside the car, but in the yellow glow of the nearby streetlight, he could see his face partially in the rearview mirror. A dark blush covered his cheeks, and his pupils were blown wide.
He looked desperate, wrecked, depraved. It sobered him a little.
This was so fucking stupid and unsafe, besides. He should take the plug out now and get back on the road. He could even get himself off, quickly. The remainder of the drive would be normal and boring, and even if he did make himself come now, he would be ready to go again by the time he arrived at Ilya's. He would still be loose enough to not require much prep, which was originally his goal in doing this.
But then he thought again of what Ilya's face would look like when Shane showed up and surprised him. What he would do when he reached back to press his fingers into Shane's hole and found it already filled. Ilya loved when Shane did crazy shit like this. He remembered what Ilya had told him on the couch, that first summer together at the cottage, after the phone call with Hayden. You like to be bad.
For Ilya? Yes. Yes he did.
Shane eyed the GPS. 48 minutes was nothing. He was a professional athlete, the best of his fucking generation. He was strong, he was disciplined, he could do this. For Ilya. And for the mind-altering orgasm that he would surely have in about an hour, if everything went according to plan.
So Shane lifted his hips again and reached into his sweatpants. The inside of his boxers was a mess, sticky with lube and precum. Shane was glad he had thought ahead and packed an extra pair, although he could have just borrowed one of Ilya's. He hissed an inhale as he withdrew the plug, the flared head of it stretching his rim deliciously, but he didn't allow himself to enjoy the sensation. He resituated the plug inside of him, moving it around until he found a place where it felt less unbearably intense. Then he adjusted his seat—thank god for his boring, fancy car and its many ergonomic features—until it was at a better angle for him to sit with most of his weight on his thighs instead of his ass. He didn't dare try to handle his cock too much, and just adjusted himself the best he could through his sweatpants. Finally, when he was satisfied that he could make it another hour without incident, he wiped his hands on a tissue, put the Land Rover in drive, and pulled back onto the highway.
It was past midnight when he got into Ottawa. He turned left and right through the barren streets by memory, ignoring the GPS. The sensations from the plug in his ass were more manageable than before, but he could feel himself approaching a point of desperation again. He was pretty sure his cock had leaked fully through his boxers and onto the front of his sweatpants by now.
Finally, once Shane was in Ilya's neighborhood, he pulled the Land Rover to a curb and found his phone. He opened his message thread with Ilya, seeing that photo of him in the gladiator costume and Shane's own message instructing Ilya to not take the costume off. And there was a new text sent from Ilya a while ago, shortly after Shane had left Montreal.
Ilya: How is your night?
Shane smiled. Good, and about to get a lot better, he thought.
Shane: Party still going?
Chewing on his lip, Shane stared at the screen, waiting for Ilya to reply. He was getting close again, squirming in his seat. He glanced around the neighborhood he was parked in. It was nice enough here that an unfamiliar car idling on the curb would probably draw attention, but at this time of night, most of the large houses were dark and quiet. And the window tinting on the Land Rover was the darkest he could get while still being street legal.
He had made it this far, so maybe he could allow himself a small reward. No one would see him, and he'd only be here for a few more minutes, so long as Ilya hurried up and answered his text.
Carefully, he shifted his weight back to grind down on the plug. After a few seconds, he had to lift his hips up again, gasping. Okay, that was enough of that.
Except it felt so good that he couldn't help but do it again. And again. His cock had deflated just slightly during the last half of his drive, but now, he was harder than ever.
His message thread with Ilya was quiet. Shane started to wonder if the party was still going. How much longer would he have to wait here, desperate to see Ilya, desperate to come? How much longer could he wait before it became too much? Succumbing to a moment of weakness, he rubbed the heel of his hand on the ridge in his pants, stopping to squeeze himself roughly again when the threat of orgasm swiftly crested.
Then his phone buzzed. Shane scrambled to pull it out of the cupholder, almost dropping it in the process.
Ilya: No. Everyone is gone.
Shane's heart leapt. He threw his phone aside on the passenger seat and drove the rest of the way to Ilya's house. It took him three tries to put the code in for the gate, and then finally, he was pulling into Ilya's driveway. The cold air bit at his warm cheeks as he hurried up to the front door and hit the doorbell.
Ilya was still wearing the costume when he opened the door. He stared at Shane in pure disbelief.
“Hi,” Shane said, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn't want to use my key and scare the shit out of you.”
Ilya stared at him speechlessly for another moment, and Shane started to worry. Fuck, did Ilya not want him here? Was he too tired after the party and wanted to be alone? Was he mad that Shane didn't tell him that he was coming? And here he was at 12:30 am on Ilya's doorstep with a butt plug in his ass and a raging erection.
“This is stupid, I know,” Shane said, rushing to get the words out. “I have practice in Montreal tomorrow morning, but I—”
Suddenly, he was being hauled through the door, Ilya's lips crashing into his. Within seconds, Ilya had him pressed up against the wall inside, his tongue thick and hot in Shane's mouth. Shane ran his hands up and down Ilya's muscled back, mostly bare in the costume. And somehow, for a moment, he forgot about the plug and how turned on he was, because he was so happy to have Ilya in his arms again.
“You are here,” Ilya breathed, pulling back to look at him.
“Yeah, I am,” Shane said. “You smell like weed, by the way.”
“You'd know.”
“Fuck off, asshole, I've smoked weed before.” Once. Shane rubbed a thumb over the stubble on Ilya's jaw. “Was the party good?”
“Better now that you are here,” Ilya said, grinning widely now, and Shane flushed. He would have thought he'd roll his eyes and scoff if anyone ever said something so corny to him. But with Ilya, it made him feel like he was in one of the rom-coms that Rose starred in.
After so many years of denying and holding back, he still couldn't believe it sometimes when Ilya said things like that to him and meant it. Because it was true for Shane, too. Everything was better when Ilya was here with him.
“I missed you,” Shane said, his throat suddenly feeling tight. “So bad. I had to see you.”
Ilya kissed him again, this time fitting the length of his body more closely against Shane's. His erection, still going strong, bumped against Ilya's hip, and he remembered the other, less wholesome reason why he had come here.
Ilya felt it too, his eyebrows raising when he brought his hand down to Shane's bulge and felt the wet spot in the fabric of his sweatpants. “Holy shit, Hollander. Were you edging yourself on the fucking highway?”
Shane trapped a whine in his throat and dropped his forehead to Ilya's shoulder, the feeling of Ilya's touch on his clothed cock already threatening to overwhelm him. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Really?” Ilya's voice dropped lower.
“Yeah. And—” Shane broke off, suddenly feeling shy. He couldn't think straight, not with Ilya's hand now stroking his length properly over his pants.
“And what?”
“And…” Shane lifted his head slightly, only able to look up at Ilya through his lashes. “And I put a plug in. Before I drove here.”
He watched the words hit Ilya, the revelation washing over his expression. Then he was squeezing Shane's cock, hard and possessively, gripping Shane's hair to lift his head fully to meet his gaze.
“Fuck,” Ilya said raggedly. “Show me. Show me right now.”
They both hurried to strip Shane's clothes off, Shane throwing aside his winter coat and shirt and Ilya yanking down his pants and boxers. Shane moaned when his cock was finally exposed to the air. It did look like he had been edging it for hours, the length flushed dark red and the head slick with precum, and he supposed that he had done that. Ilya was distracted by it for a second, running a finger over Shane's weeping slit. Then he grasped Shane's waist and spun him so that he was facing the wall. Shane braced his hands against the hard surface, his breath sawing in and out of him, as Ilya crouched behind him and spread his asscheeks.
“Holy fucking shit.” Shane felt Ilya's warm exhale against his most sensitive place, and clenched tighter around the plug. “Sweetheart. Look at you.”
Ilya's fingers brushed against the plug, and just that barest amount of pressure almost sent Shane spiraling. He moaned, jutting his hips back into Ilya's touch.
“You drove all the way here with this in,” Ilya said. He sounded almost calm, now. “How long?”
“Two hours and twenty minutes. I had to go slow.”
“Did you.” Ilya massaged one of Shane's asscheeks. “Why?”
“Felt too good. Had to be careful, thought I was gonna come.”
“Oh?” Ilya said, an invitation for Shane to elaborate.
“Yeah.” Shane swallowed the drool that was pooling in his mouth. “Almost came halfway through. Had to pull over and—ah. Readjust.”
“Hm.” Ilya pushed at the plug again, just lightly, and Shane’s legs shuddered. “Why?”
“Why?” Shane repeated. He couldn't follow the question.
“Why did you do this? Drive here with this—” he tapped the plug— “inside you?”
The answer was obvious, but Shane knew Ilya wanted to hear him say it. “For you.”
“For me to what?”
“For you to fuck me.” Shane let the words spill out of him in a rush. “So you can go in with no prep.”
“And?”
Ilya knew him too damn well. “And because I— I like waiting for it.”
“Yes, you do.” Ilya had risen back up now, his chest against Shane's back. He was still in the gladiator costume while Shane was fully naked. He could feel Ilya's cock, hard underneath the skirt of his costume, pressing against his ass. “Very slutty, Hollander. Do you think you have waited for it long enough?”
Both of them knew that wasn't for Shane to decide, now that he was under Ilya's roof. He turned his head to look back at Ilya. This was the part where Shane would beg and plead for Ilya to touch him, to fuck him, to make him come, and Ilya would tease and deny him until they were both out of their minds. It was how he imagined this night would go when he left Montreal hours ago.
Ilya's curls were brassy in the light of the entryway, his eyes clear and shining with a depth of emotion that startled Shane. Then Ilya blinked, his face returning to a heated expression that Shane was more familiar with. Still, as Ilya leaned in to kiss him, Shane could tell that something was different tonight. He remembered the way that Ilya had looked at him when he first opened the door. Like he couldn't believe that Shane was really here, like it was too good to be true.
Shane rotated in Ilya's arms to face him. He cradled Ilya's golden, beautiful face in his hands. “I don't want to wait any longer. I want you to fuck me. Please.”
The corner of Ilya's mouth curled up. “You want to get fucked by a gladiator, Hollander?”
“Yeah, I really do. The costume's really doing it for me.”
Ilya smiled wider. He reached down between them to give Shane's cock a stroke, and Shane's entire body practically convulsed. “Get on the couch.”
Shane obeyed, climbing on with his knees on the seat cushions and his arms braced on the back. Ilya reappeared with a packet of lube, probably taken from one of his stashes that he squirreled away in various places throughout the house. Shane was still finding more of his hiding spots every time he came here.
“I cannot believe you drove here with this in,” Ilya muttered, almost to himself. “Is that safe?”
“It's fine, I Googled it,” Shane informed him. He was trembling, trying his best to ignore the weight of his cock between his legs.
“Really?”
“Yeah. There's a lot of people on Reddit who've done it.”
“Ah, I will not worry then,” Ilya said on a laugh, his hand skimming over Shane's thigh. The position that Shane was in had his hole fully on display for him, and he sucked in a breath when he felt Ilya's fingers on the plug again, moving it around.
“Don't,” he choked out. “I'm too close.”
Ilya didn't stop his movements. “Maybe I will make you come on this first, and then on my cock second.”
“Or I could come on your cock both times,” Shane countered, trying to catch his breath.
“Hm.” Ilya considered. “Not a bad idea, Hollander.”
“I have another one—how about you shut up and fuck me?”
That earned him a slap on the ass, but the pressure on the plug ceased. Then he felt a stretch as Ilya began to pull the toy out.
“Oh.” Shane's jaw went slack as he felt the plug stretch his rim, then suddenly, he was painfully empty. There was a thunk behind him somewhere—probably Ilya throwing the plug on the floor, which was gross, and Shane would have to take extra care in disinfecting it—and then the packet of lube was ripped open and the head of Ilya's cock was at his entrance.
“Condom?” Ilya asked.
Shane turned to give him a baleful glance over his shoulder. He did not drive all the way here at midnight for Ilya to not fuck him raw. “Fuck no, hurry, please.”
“Okay, okay,” Ilya said, sounding relieved, and pushed inside him in one smooth thrust.
Shane had not been exaggerating earlier. He really was too close. He had been on the brink for hours, trying not to think too much about how good it would feel when Ilya was finally inside of him. So it only took three, maybe four thrusts before he was gasping Ilya's name and spurting all over the couch cushions. The orgasm was almost violent, like his body was punishing him for holding out so long, and Shane lost control of his senses for a few seconds.
Ilya paused inside of him, his chin on Shane's shoulder, looking down at the mess Shane had just made on his couch. It was a lot, even for him. “Fuck, you are so beautiful. Feels better now?”
Shane could only moan in response, his cock still twitching out a few last drips of cum.
Ilya's fingers dug into his hips. “Can I keep going?” he asked, clearly trying to suppress the desperation in his voice as he waited for Shane to recover.
“Yeah,” Shane was blinking, trying to clear the spots in his vision. “Yeah, I just—I wanna see you.”
They changed positions so that Shane's ass was on the arm of the couch, his back on the cushions. Ilya hauled his hips up and sank back inside. Now that he had come, the stretch was just on the right side of painful, but Shane didn't care. Ilya needed him, now.
For a few minutes, Shane just floated in a post-orgasm haze and watched Ilya fuck him. Ilya's big hands on Shane's hips, grabbing handfuls of his ass, sliding up to squeeze his pec. He looked so sexy in the cheap gladiator costume, like he was from one of the action movies Shane would watch as a teenager and then wonder why looking at a half-naked man on TV made him feel so weird.
If only teenage Shane could see him now, getting everything he didn't even know he wanted from a man hotter than all of those movie actors combined. He’d probably freak out, but still.
“Harder,” Shane heard himself say to Ilya. “Wanna feel this for days.”
Ilya's hips snapped forward, somehow burying himself even deeper, and Shane's eyes fell closed. “So good. Feels so good, Ilya, baby. Fuck.”
“You going to come again?”
Shane almost answered no, then realized that yeah, he probably was. His cock was fully hard again, leaking against his stomach, and he could feel the pressure building inside him.
“Yeah,” he breathed, opening his eyes. Ilya was watching his face attentively, reverently. Like Shane was the only person in the world. Like he'd disappear if Ilya blinked.
He found Ilya's hand gripping his pec and laced their fingers together. “Are you gonna—?”
“Yes,” Ilya groaned. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come.”
His right hand still entwined with Ilya's, Shane reached his left down to wrap around his cock. It was a bit awkward with it not being his dominant hand, but he wasn't going to let go of Ilya's, and he was close enough to get himself there regardless. He stroked his length, eyes locked on Ilya's. Usually he couldn't stand sustained eye contact, sometimes even with Ilya. But it was different during sex. It grounded him, kept him together.
“Are you close?” Ilya gritted out. “Because I am—”
“Yeah.” Shane squeezed Ilya's fingers tighter. “I'm there, Ilya, give it to me.”
“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya closed his eyes, dropped his head to chest, and buried himself in one last, deep thrust. Feeling Ilya's orgasm was what pushed Shane the rest of the way over the edge. He shot off all over his chest in time with Ilya pulsing inside him. Compared to his first, it felt gentler, but still all-consuming. Shane rolled for a minute under the aftershocks, his hand still loosely holding Ilya's.
Ilya fell forward on top of Shane, landing with a grunt, their chests heaving together.
“Shit,” Shane said. “There's—your costume's gonna get dirty.”
“Shut up.” Ilya said, muffled against Shane's neck. “I will wash it. You will want to see it again, yes?”
Shane bit his lip. “Maybe. Next Halloween?”
“Okay.” Ilya rumbled a laugh.
They lay there for a few minutes like that, Ilya's face in Shane's neck, their hands somehow still clasped against Shane's chest. The angle on the couch was a bit uncomfortable, and Shane knew he would start to feel it in his back if they stayed here for much longer. But he didn't care, because he was warm and content with Ilya's weight on top of him, just as it should be.
Then Ilya inhaled wetly against his throat, his breath shaky, and Shane tensed. He craned his neck down, trying to get a look at Ilya's face. “Should we get up?” He asked carefully.
“Yes.” Ilya pushed himself up a moment later and dragged a hand across his cheeks. He turned away too quickly for Shane to see his expression, and goosebumps pebbled across Shane's bare, sweat-damp skin.
“Ilya?” Shane got to his feet slowly, watching him.
“What?” Ilya looked back at him again, and his face was normal, this time. Shane swallowed, feeling a little hurt. Did Ilya really think that Shane couldn't see through the masks he put on, just as Ilya did with him? It had taken years of close study for Shane to catalog all the different sides of Ilya, and now he could read him as easily as a book. He had to know that he couldn't hide from Shane anymore.
And yet Ilya persisted, vulnerable and open in some moments and stubbornly closed off in others. Shane knew he did it, too; neither of them were perfect. But Ilya had been like this more often lately. It was why Shane had broached the subject of professional help the last time they were together.
He knew Ilya was strong. But his mother had been strong, too, hadn't she? I do not want you to think she was weak, Ilya had said to him in front of the fire, years ago. Shane didn't think that at all, and had told him so. He thought he understood. Sometimes strength only got you so far. You could be the best player in the league, and one bad hit could still be enough to take you down.
Ilya had taken a lot of bad hits in his life. More than he had ever let on to Shane, probably.
But it was late. They were both tired. Shane had to leave early for practice tomorrow, and he didn't want to ruin the small amount of time they had left tonight. So he pushed his worry down, going to Ilya and sliding his arms around his waist. “Nothing. I like the decorations.”
“Thank you.”
“Very spooky. Did you put them all up yourself?”
“Mm-hm.” Ilya dropped a kiss on Shane's shoulder. “You want to shower?”
Shane grimaced, reminded of the stickiness on his stomach. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Shower, then bed, then morning sex.”
“I have to leave at 7 for practice,” Shane sighed. For once, he didn’t want to think about hockey.
“Very early morning sex,” Ilya amended. “5 am.”
“Sure.” Shane smiled, and Ilya took his hand again and led them up the stairs. Shane followed, his eyes on the back of Ilya's head, and tried to tell himself that everything was fine.
Unsurprisingly, they were both too tired in the morning for Ilya's 5 am sex proposition. They only had time to make out for a few minutes before Shane had to get up. He dressed groggily in his clothes from the night before—with a clean pair of boxers—and grabbed a protein bar from the kitchen for the road.
Now, a few minutes before 7, they stood lingering in Ilya's entryway. Weak pre-dawn light filtered through the living room windows, illuminating the evidence of the party from the night before—the party that Shane hadn’t attended. Empty cups, bottles of alcohol, the Halloween decorations tacked to the walls and ceiling. The discarded lube packet on the floor near the couch. Shane had offered to help clean up, but Ilya refused, saying he'd call his usual cleaning service later today. Shane had insisted on wiping his cum off the couch, though.
“So,” Shane said. “I guess I'll see you in a few weeks.”
Ilya nodded tightly, and pulled him for a kiss. They stood for a few minutes, holding onto each other, faces on each other's shoulders. Shane swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat.
He hated this. He hated leaving Ilya's house, hated the fact that Ilya even had a house that was his alone and not theirs together. In these moments, he hated saying goodbye to Ilya even more than he did the thought of retiring from hockey. Could he really stand to do this for another five years? A decade? Fifteen?
He had to. They had no choice.
“I love you,” he said, kissing Ilya again.
“Love you, too.” Ilya's eyes were wet, but Shane knew his were too, so he didn't comment on it.
“I should go,” was all he said.
The sunset was a pale pink on the horizon as Shane climbed in the Land Rover and cranked the heater on. Ilya stood in the open doorway as he pulled out of the driveway—still in his sleeping clothes, feet bare, arms crossed to ward off the chill. Ilya stayed there, watching Shane drive away, until Shane turned a corner and lost sight of him in the rearview mirror.