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The weeks that follow their time at the cottage are busy enough that Ilya only has limited time to miss Shane, a fact that doesn’t manage to make him feel any better about the cruel change in their circumstances.
Now he knows what he could have. What he’s missing.
Shane’s face, lined with marks from the pillow after a heavy sleep. The way he hums to himself in the shower, never comfortable enough to do it in all the years that came before. The singular focus with which he reads one of his boring hockey books, even when Ilya is trying to distract him.
Life. Domesticity.
Love.
Ilya has managed to distract himself from thoughts of Shane for years with anonymous bodies and the life of a playboy and now, here he is, tucked up in bed with his phone in hand at 9pm on a Friday night.
Jane
I miss you
Ilya sighs, taps on Shane’s contact and waits for the call to connect. When it does, Shane’s face filling the screen, something tight and irritable in Ilya’s chest melts away.
“Hi.”
Ilya smiles.
“Hi.” He watches Shane’s eyes blink, slow and heavy, knows that the man he loves is fast approaching sleep. “I should let you rest, you look tired.”
“No, no.” Shane protests, sleepily. “I want to talk to you.”
“I see you in two days.” Ilya says, hovering his finger over the freckles that dot Shane’s cheeks. “I was greedy.”
“I like that.” Shane smiles, his eyes fully closed now. “I can’t wait.”
“Me either.” Ilya admits. “See you night before game?”
Shane frowns, makes a little kitten noise and rubs his nose. “And after.”
“And after.” Ilya chuckles. “Maybe is not just me who is greedy.”
“I'm always greedy.” Shane says, his sleepiness loosening his tongue. “I want you to fuck me so hard.”
Ilya swallows the embarrassing groan that Shane’s honesty inspires, presses a hand down over his cock. He might jerk off over this after but not now, not while Shane is half asleep and needy.
Because it doesn't feel right.
What's fucking happened to him.
“Do you want that?” Shane asks, eyes opening for a moment. “Ilya?“
“I want it so much, Shane.” Ilya says, all in a rush. There's not a part of him that wants Shane to ever doubt that again. “I'm hard just thinking about it.”
Shane's smile grows, his eyes closing once more. “Good. I've been using the dildo. It's not the same.”
“Mm, no?” Ilya says, instead of show me, show me now, I have to see. “Why not?”
“You're bigger.” Shane says, a little line appearing between his brows. “And warmer. And you talk to me.”
Ilya smiles, the ache in his chest returning, duller now, more like… longing. “You like when I talk to you, Shane?”
Shane hums, biting his lip. “You know I do. Don't fish.”
“What sort of things should I say to you, this weekend?”
He waits a breathless moment, watches Shane consider it. “Tell me… tell me everything you want to do to me, while you’re doing it. Tell me when I'm doing good. I want to know how it feels for you.”
“Okay. I do that.” Ilya says, hand suddenly much heavier over his cock. “Anything else?”
Shane yawns, shakes his head. “I don't know. I trust you.”
Ilya resists the urge to take a screenshot, to keep this happy, sleepy Shane in his pocket forever.
“I hang up now, Hollander. Before you fall asleep on me.”
Shane sighs, nods, brings the phone closer to his face. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Shane. Sleep well.”
The call cuts before Shane says anything else, and Ilya sighs for a moment, brings up Google and types in Shane Hollander yoga to get some inspiration.
Bless Shane's rabid fanbase, he thinks, as he shoves his hand in his sweatpants and zooms in on Shane's ass, his shoulders, and remembers how they look covered in teeth marks and bruises.
Yes. This'll do for now.
#
There’s a nervous energy to the night before a big game that gives their evenings together a very different feel to those where they meet up after, one of them victorious, the other with something to prove.
Tonight, Shane opens the door to the stairwell and Ilya can’t help his smile, wishing he had a cigarette to hold between his lips to stop himself betraying how good it feels to be in Shane’s presence once more.
He’s got his hand wrapped around Shane’s wrist before the door is even closed, dragging the man laughing up the stairs, protesting weakly and making no effort to get away. They stumble into Shane’s apartment all tangled up in each other, breathless kisses and groping hands.
“Hi.” Shane says, smiling almost too much to kiss properly.
“Hi.” Ilya echoes, dropping his bag, toeing off his sneakers. “Hi.”
Shane laughs, fingers hooking into his belt. “Hi.”
“I need you in my lap two weeks ago.” Ilya allows himself to be dragged along, Shane’s face lighting up at the admission.
“I think we can do something about that.”
Ilya falls back onto the couch with the barest shove from Shane’s hands, pulls his shirt over his head just before Shane climbs onto the couch to join him, one strong thigh on either side of Ilya’s own. He sits down and Ilya lets his head fall back, groaning at the now-familiar weight of Shane Hollander.
“I missed you.” Shane hums, warm hands settling on his shoulders.
“How much?” Ilya pushes, needs to hear it. Even now they’re here, together.
Shane dips down, kisses him, groans when Ilya’s hand settles on his jaw and holds him in place. “So much. I uh. I thought about getting ready for you but…”
“Mm, no.” Ilya breathes, lips slick against Shane’s own. “Is my favourite part. That would make me very sad.”
Shane’s grin is relieved and pleased, all at once. “I know.”
Ilya kisses the tip of his nose. “When we see each other every day, And we are sick of each other and need to, hm, spice things up. Then you can surprise me.”
From the way his boyfriend reacts to this, you’d think Shane hadn’t woken him up with a hundred crazy plans for their future while they were staying at the cottage. Hadn’t fought sleep to carve out a reason for them to be together, forever.
Ilya peers at him, watches him go all red the longer no one speaks.
“I uh.” Shane says, then clears his throat. “I like hearing you talk about the future.”
Ilya grins, putting his other hand down the front of Shane’s sweatpants. “Yes. Obviously.”
“Ilya.” Shane breathes, pressing forward into the stimulation. “Don’t.. don’t tease me, it’s been so long, I—.”
“Going from ten orgasms a day to none is very hard, yes.” Ilya agrees. “But I have to tease you. I must.”
Shane smiles softly, like he’s not rutting forward into Ilya’s palm like a needy little thing. “Okay.”
“Okay, he says.” Ilya smiles. “Like he doesn’t know how much I think about him. How often.”
“How often?” Shane asks, eyes going wide.
Ilya scoffs, kisses Shane deep and filthy. “All the fucking time.”
It’s not something he would ever have thought himself brave enough to admit. But Shane’s got him doing all kinds of things that he never used to do.
Along with plenty that he did.
Ilya eases his hand out of Shane’s sweats and drops the hold on his jaw, smirking at the grumbling noise Shane lets out at feeling as though he has been cruelly mistreated. Then Ilya stands, both hands fitting under Shane’s ass and holding him steady as they move through to the bedroom.
Shane has got used to being carried by now, got over whatever it was that made him nervous about it in the beginning. He wraps his legs around Ilya’s waist and buries his face in Ilya’s neck, sucking and kissing and doing his best to be as distracting as Ilya’s just admitted he is.
Ilya doesn’t give into the desire to simply drop Shane on the bed, instead topples them over together, landing on top of him with a grunt of effort that Shane’s displeased groan far outshines.
“Fuck, you’re heavy.”
Ilya chuckles, setting his hands at Shane’s hips and pushing up, staring down at him. “You like it.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation, Shane’s lips pursing like he’s going to try and lie. Like he’s ever been any good at it.
“I like it.”
Ilya grins, nods and starts to shove up Shane’s shirt, kissing across all of the smooth warm skin that’s revealed with every inch he moves the material.
Shane submits so easily that Ilya knows he’s going to get everything he wants tonight. He’d come to Shane’s door with a plan, his nights plagued by images of Shane giving himself pleasure without Ilya there to do it for him. Not sure if it was going to come off, he watches Shane set his hands above his head, crossed at the wrist and Ilya knows.
He doesn’t do anything about it yet.
Not when Shane is here, in his hands, under his lips. Wriggling and cursing as Ilya presses his face to the front of Shane’s sweatpants, inhales deeply, growls a bit. It makes Shane laugh and that’s perfect, distracts him enough for Ilya to pull his sweats down and then nuzzle at his briefs, closer to what it is that he wants so badly.
“Ilya…” Shane hums. His eyes are dark, his freckles standing out against flushed cheeks even though Ilya’s barely touched him.
Ilya kisses the tip of his cock through his briefs, then eases them down, eyes fixed on Shane’s face the entire time. He’s missed his boy too much to focus on the way Shane’s cock eases free of the material as Ilya draws them down, the soft noise it makes as it falls back against his belly, heavy with blood.
Not when he can see himself through Shane’s eyes. When Shane’s want is so very, very obvious.
He tears his eyes away from Shane’s face, hopes that he can see how difficult it is to do so and bends to drop soft kisses along his length. It feels so right to be doing this again, so many weeks after a blissful period where he didn’t go a day without Shane in his mouth in some way.
He takes his time over it, no interest in making Shane come like this. He barely takes the tip in his mouth because Shane’s got a hair trigger for oral at the best of times. From the strangled sound that escapes him at Ilya’s intentional restraint, today isn’t going to be any different.
Still. Ilya is a weak, weak man.
Indulging, Ilya moves forward, taking Shane’s cock deeper until he can rub his nose against Shane’s stomach, the stretch of his throat something he melts into for a breath, then two.
Shane whines, arching up under the palm Ilya settles on his belly, muscles strong in search of more pleasure.
Ilya could so easily switch his plans, get Shane coming down his throat with barely any work…
No. Not tonight.
With a mostly-stifled noise of regret Ilya pulls away, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Mm, about what?” Shane asks, sounding like he’s floating somewhere above his body.
“It’s been years, and I’ve never seen your dildo. Show me.”
Shane looks at him for a moment, like he’s not sure Ilya’s serious, like there are far better things to be doing right now. Then he sighs, flops onto his side and fusses around in the side table’s drawer for a moment, sitting back with a bright blue cock in his hand.
Ilya holds his own hand out, palm up, and Shane mutters something unintelligible as he drops it there, covering his eyes with his hands while Ilya inspects it. Nothing fancy, really. It doesn’t even vibrate. But it’s everything Ilya wanted to see, everything he’s been picturing Shane using ever since he first admitted to owning one.
“This is cute.” Ilya says, Shane huffing out an embarrassed breath at his tone. “Not too big. I bet you still struggled at first, yes?”
Shane sighs, running a hand to run it nervously over his chest. “Yeah. I didn't know how to open myself up properly when I started. It sucked. I almost gave up.”
“What made it better, Shane?”
Where there would once have been hesitation, there's now only tentative certainty. Progress.
“You. I used it when I thought about you.”
The thought of it is too much. Eighteen year old Shane Hollander, ass up on his bed in an apartment brought with his brand new wealth. Thinking about Ilya while he was too busy fucking his way through Boston to try and forget a pair of pretty brown eyes.
“Fuck, Shane.”
Shane’s eyes sparkle when he knows he’s got Ilya in the palm of his hand. A terrible thing, really. A weakness. But one that Ilya wouldn’t trust anyone else with.
“Yeah?”
Ilya nods. “Yes I can picture it. That first time you managed it. Did you come with my name on your lips?”
Shane laughs, but he doesn’t deny it. “Fuck off.”
“I will not.” Ilya sighs. “Very sorry, but I have unfinished business with you, Hollander.”
“Ilya.” Shane whines, stretching out on the bed in the most alluring display Ilya’s seen since the cottage. “It’s been weeks. Fuck me already.”
”Mm, yes. I will fuck you.” Ilya says, watching Shane’s entire face light up with relief. “With dildo.”
“What.”
He says it so flat, so unimpressed, that Ilya fights a laugh. It would spoil the mood he’s working to build. He watches Shane watch him, and sees the realisation hit that he’s not joking. Shane pouts, eyes wet, in a way that would feel calculated with anyone else. Sveta has used that move to her advantage a hundred times.
But no. Shane is pouting because he’s disappointed.
How is he fucking real?
“If it had… what you call, suction cup?” He asks, and Shane nods mutely. “I would make you ride it on the floor. This is better, yes?””
Shane’s still pouting when he replies. “Yes. Will you fuck me properly after?”
Ilya drops the dildo on the bed and crawls over Shane, hitches one leg up to spread Shane’s wider. “You are implying I would not fuck you properly with toy? You doubt my skill, or the quality of the dildo you chose?”
“No.” Shane says, too quickly, quickly enough that Ilya’s gut twists. “I don’t doubt you. I’d never… No.”
Ilya groans, leaning in to kiss Shane hard enough that their teeth clash. Hearing it, knowing it. Trusting it even. That Shane wants what he wants. Eagerly, hungrily. Like he was made for Ilya and Ilya alone.
His ego talking, maybe. He trained this man since the day they met. But Ilya didn’t make gold out of dirt. He just polished what was already there.
“So the toy then?” He says, when they part. “Toy is a problem?”
Shane gives a soft, disbelieving laugh. “The problem. Is that I want your dick in me, Ilya.”
Ilya hums. “I could still give you that, Shane.”
He watches Shane work through it, watches him figure out what it is that Ilya’s implying. His cheeks go red the moment it becomes clear and Ilya drinks his embarrassment in like it’s the very best Russian vodka.
“I don’t…” Shane swallows, eyes fixed on Ilya’s smirking mouth. “I don’t think I want that today.”
“Then we will not.” Ilya says, because it really is that simple. “But I still fuck you with dildo. Then maybe when you’ve come all over yourself, you can have my cock.”
With a big, put-upon sigh, Shane nods. “Okay.”
Ilya tuts, pushing back up onto his knees. “You are so ungrateful. I could make you show me how you used it. Make you do all the work. But I am too nice.”
It doesn’t land quite as much like a threat as Ilya thought it might. Shane looks interested before he can even try and hide it, and Ilya files that away for another time. Vegas all over again, only with a Shane Hollander that has overcome most of his aversion to sexual honesty.
Ilya, forced to watch, Shane, able to show off…
“Stop distracting me.” He says and it draws a gentle laugh from Shane, like he’s clever enough to see all of the thoughts that race through Ilya’s mind. “Lube?”
Shane reaches beneath his pillow and pulls out a bottle of the expensive stuff that Ilya had anonymously shipped to Montreal in bulk just to make sure he got an embarrassed phone call out of it. The bottle is half empty and Ilya stifles a groan in Shane’s inner thigh, grinding down onto the bed to try and counteract the sudden throb in his cock.
“Remember when you first had me like this, here?” Shane asks, and Ilya hopes he doesn't see the shudder it inspires for him to have found his voice after pouting. “I do. I think about it all the time.”
“When you are fucking yourself?” Ilya asks, flipping the cap on the lube and drizzling some over Shane's hole. He catches it up and starts to massage it in, watches carefully for Shane’s nod. “What was your favourite part?”
“The bit where you put your dick in me.”
Shane smirks and Ilya can’t fight the cuteness aggression that comes over him, biting hard at Shane’s quad. “Oh I have brat tonight? I leave for few weeks, go earn lots of money, be very famous and good at hockey, then I come back to my boyfriend, the brat?”
Shane laughs and swats at him but it’s lost almost immediately when Ilya eases a finger into him, the lube dripping down between his cheeks when Ilya adds just a bit more.
“I don’t mind.” Ilya says conversationally, as if he’s not judging the precise moment Shane will be relaxed enough for another finger. “I can manage a brat, Shane. Though I think you wanted to be good for me?”
Shane exhales slowly at the first brush of Ilya’s finger over his prostate. He nods, bites his lip.
“So be good, Shane.” He says. “I can feel how much you need it, yes? So tight around my finger. I haven’t been looking after you.”
Shane shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know this.” Ilya nods, and he nuzzles over the pink mark he left on Shane’s thigh. “But I make it better anyway.”
He rambles as he gets Shane ready, knowing that anything and everything is enough to get his boyfriend going. You’re so hot, Shane or That feels good, yes? or even We are going to beat you so easy, ten goals, just me will do, though Shane looks ready to fight at the last one.
By the time he’s ready, flushed and beautiful and open enough for the dildo, if not for Ilya, Shane is gasping at every word that trips off of Ilya’s hungry tongue and it’s all he can do to keep his hands steady as he slicks up the toy.
“Good, Shane.” He says, Shane watching him with eyes made heavy by lust. “You’ve done so well, yes? Done everything I’ve asked?”
Shane’s legs flex anxiously as Ilya works, obviously eager for more but determined, for now, to keep behaving.
“Yeah.”
“Keep it up, and we both get what we want, hm?”
Shane smiles a gentle, pleased smile, the sort that Ilya dreams of when they’re apart. He pauses for a moment to take it in, taps the tip of the toy against Shane’s cock.
“One day.” He says, dragging the slick surface down, probing at the soft skin behind Shane’s balls for a moment. “I will have photo of you like this as my wallpaper. Everywhere. All devices. If anyone looks, will be their problem.”
“Ily-ah!” Shane yelps, his amusement lost instantly in the slow press forward of the dildo, the stretch for his body that must be intimately familiar, by now, even if usually controlled by his own hand. “Fuck.”
“Problem?” He asks, with just enough smugness that he’s surprised he doesn’t get kicked.
“You can’t… you can’t do that.” Shane protests, his body yielding to Ilya’s gentle encouragement. “You can’t risk it.”
“One day.” He says again, very serious, pushing the dildo in all of the way, until his thumb presses to Shane’s skin. “I will have it.”
Shane falls back into the pillows with a needy groan, fingers knitted together above his head now. Keeping himself steady, keeping himself good.
“You can touch me, Shane.” Ilya offers. “You can touch yourself.”
Shane pouts again, but he does drop one hand down to stroke a finger along Ilya’s cheek. “Just not your dick.”
“There are other parts of me that are good.” Ilya says, and Shane’s smile grows. “Hard to believe, maybe.”
“Asshole.” Shane breathes, hips twitching into the particular angle of the toy that Ilya adopts.
“Yes, there is nice too.” Ilya nods. “Not as nice as yours, of course.”
“Of course.“
The moments like this are the ones he treasures most, when he’s in a hotel room on the opposite side of the country to Shane. The moments when he’s doing something unhinged to his boyfriend and Shane still has enough awareness to look at him like he’s the most ridiculous man in the world.
Ilya lives for it.
“Oh, he doubts me. Here I am, looking at it closer than he ever could.” Ilya swipes a finger around the base of the toy, feels Shane’s hole flex needily under his touch. “And he doubts me.”
“I don’t.” Shane grins. “I trust you.”
He fully planned on denying Shane for as long as possible, keeping himself out of reach to avoid temptation on both their parts. But those words, combined with the way his boy is staring at him, amused, frustrated, longing, is too much.
Ilya moves up to lie alongside Shane, letting go of the dildo to take hold of Shane’s leg and fold it up to his chest. Ilya kisses Shane then, half-twisted towards him, contorted and desperate for his attention, reaches back between Shane's legs to catch the toy before it can slip too far out. Shane whimpers softly into the kiss, opens his mouth for Ilya’s tongue and submits again, so perfectly.
“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane pants when they part, staring at Ilya like even after all these years he can’t believe this is happening.
“No no, fuck Shane.” Ilya counters, and considers himself lucky he's wrapped Shane up too tight to be pushed away.
Shane huffs, but importantly doesn’t even try to move away. “I hate you.”
“Mm, no you don't. You love me.”
Shane smiles, eyes fluttering closed when Ilya starts to move the toy again, searching for the right angle.
“Yeah.” He says, his voice tremulous when Ilya nudges his prostate with each stroke. “I do.”
Ilya groans, his own eyes falling shut at Shane’s openness with the words now. With the honesty. He grinds forward against Shane’s ass, then all of a sudden the distance that he’s tried to maintain with his clothes feels like a stupid plan for babies.
He shifts away, realises that he doesn’t have enough hands and brings Shane’s down to the base of the dildo. “Hold. Do not move it.”
Shane does as instructed, of course he does, blinking at Ilya and staying so still that he almost seems not to breathe as he waits for Ilya to shuck his sweatpants and underwear, kicking them off the bed without fully losing skin contact with Shane at any point.
“Very good, Shane.” He says, when he bats his boyfriend’s hand away from the dildo. “See how nice it is when you do as I ask.”
Shane opens his mouth to curse at Ilya once more but it’s lost in a shuddering moan when Ilya starts to fuck him properly, slow, deep, nudging his prostate with each thrust.
It doesn’t take much to get Shane to come when Ilya’s working him this way. He likes the sharp impossibility of the pleasure, the way it gets his cock throbbing and his balls pulling tight quicker than anything else.
And Ilya loves to exploit that, so…
A good deal all round.
“Ilya, fuck.” He breathes. “Fuck, c’mon. More, please.”
“You ask so nicely.” Ilya murmurs, kissing his cheek when it pulls up in a pleased little smile. “Go on.”
It’s not the permission, but it’s not not the permission that does it. Shane stares at him, going a bit cross-eyed as the pleasure crests and Ilya drinks this version of him in too, the way he still looks like he can’t quite believe he gets to feel this good.
Ilya glances down Shane’s body, watches his cock pulse lazy and slow, come pooling across the rise of his belly before it drips down onto the covers. It looks like a good one, and Ilya’s pride flares as a hot, selfish thing in his chest. A beast, purring, sated even without any of his own pleasure.
“Jesus.” Shane breathes, eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, lips curled into a quiet smile. “Fuck.”
“Good?” Ilya presses. Needs to hear it.
“So good.” Shane says, dreamy like he was on the really good pain meds earlier in the year. “Ilya…”
Ilya tucks his face in Shane’s throat, kisses him once, twice. Sucks a little mark, knowing better than to do anything that’ll last but unable to deny himself the pleasure of Shane’s flesh between his lips.
“Mm, what?” He murmurs, licking at the sweat that’s gathered in the curve of his shoulder.
“Fuck me, Ilya.”
“Demanding.” Ilya says, pulling Shane further over, pressing his mouth to Shane’s chest. “Maybe I just suck on your tits for a while instead, yes?”
Shane groans, can’t take his eyes off the way that Ilya watches him, tonguing over his nipple slow and greedy. “Don’t…” He tries. “Don’t call them…”
“Can’t even find the words.” Ilya grins, nips the darker skin and then sits back. “I think you protest too much, Shane Hollander.”
“Come on.” Shane murmurs, and Ilya knows now is not the time to press. He’s planted the seed, he can wait for it to grow. Shane wiggles against him as Ilya eases the toy out and tosses it away to worry about later. “I know you want it.”
“You're not too sensitive?” Ilya frowns, probes a finger around Shane’s entrance and watches his face in anticipation of a lie.
“Maybe.” Shane says, and when Ilya’s frown deepens he leans in to kiss it away. “But I don't care.”
“Shane.” Ilya murmurs. “I don't want… what if tomorrow you can't—.”
Shane rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t look genuinely annoyed when he tuts, “Ilya.”
“Hm?”
“I've played with a sore ass before. I've beaten you with a sore ass before.” Shane speaks with no little amount of amusement.
Then his expression softens, eyes growing big and sad on purpose for once.
“No.” Ilya snaps, no heat in it at all. He can already feel himself folding. “That's not fair.”
“Come on. I did everything you asked.” Shane coaxes. “I was good. Wasn't I?”
Fuck, he's so gone for this man. He’s going to give Shane everything he wants for the rest of their lives and not even try to fight it.
“So good, Shane.” The words escape him all in a rush and he stifles his moan with a kiss. “Fuck. You are so much trouble.”
Shane grins, wickedly pleased with himself. But he also knows not to push his luck, biting his lip as Ilya moves into place, manhandling him into a position that they have considerable experience with. Shane reaches an arm up and Ilya tucks underneath to mouth at Shane’s chest again, reaches down to take hold of his cock and shove it between Shane’s cheeks.
“Fuck.” Shane sighs. “That’s so much better.”
“Yes?” Ilya grins, presses it into his skin. “How much?”
Shane digs his fingers into Ilya’s hair, tugs gently, then not so gently when Ilya moans at the sharp pinch of pleasure. “It’s fucking good, Ilya.” He says. “Feels like it’s meant to.”
Ilya knows if he thinks too hard on the fact that he’s the only one that’s ever had Shane like this, the only one that Shane knows like this, and because of that Shane considers it the way things are meant to be, he will lose his mind.
Simply cease to be capable of any rational thought. Shane is his. Has always been.
Will always be.
“Are you with me?” Shane asks, obviously seeing something going on behind his eyes.
“Yes.” Ilya says, and guides himself home. “Always.”
“What…” Shane trails off, groans softly at the stretch of Ilya's cock, moving inside him slow enough to be cruel to them both. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking… I was thinking that you are everything I've wanted for years.” Ilya says. “And everything I want for the rest of my life.
“Oh.” Shane says, blinking at him. He goes very still, but not in a way that makes Ilya worried. “I uh.”
“I think about it all the time. But especially when you're like this. When you give me everything I want just because I asked.”
“Ilya…”
Ilya moves, starts to fuck Shane quick and deep, barely moving out of him with each thrust. It will hurt tomorrow, but he knows it will be a good ache. Will spur Shane on, even if it absolutely will not help him win.
“The same is true for… for me.” Shane says, filling the silent gap left by Ilya's consideration. “I like the feeling of doing what you ask. I like not having to think.”
“Mm, yes, I know.” He cranes his head up to kiss Shane then, because how is he supposed to not after such a confession. “And that is why I will do it forever.”
Shane shudders, rippling around Ilya all sensitive and desperate from just coming all over himself. Ilya has no idea if he can come again so soon but fuck he wants to see it. Wants to feel it.
“Shane.” He pants, biting gently at the fat of his chest. “Fuck.”
“Tell me.”
It’s not a demand, more of a plea and it guts him, the way Shane’s voice trembles around the words. Shane’s fingers grip tighter in Ilya’s hair, holding their faces close together. His eyes are darting all over Ilya’s face, taking every inch of him in.
“You’re perfect.” He says. “You’re hot, tight, grip me like you are so hungry for my cock. You feel… like no one else, Shane.”
It’s too simple, really. To encompass the whole of what Ilya feels for this man. But he sees it wash over Shane, the admittance soothing something that lingers deep and hidden in Shane’s soul after all these years.
“No one else.” He echoes, voice airy like he’s not entirely aware of speaking.
“I knew you would like that.” Ilya says, squeezing Shane’s thigh tight. “Possessive.”
Shane laughs, gasping when Ilya grinds forward just the right way. “That’s rich.”
“We are, how you say, as bad as each other?” Ilya offers, Shane’s face creasing with obvious pleasure in response.
“Yeah.” Shane says. “Yeah, we are. Come on, fuck me properly.”
Ilya scoffs, pushing until Shane rolls onto his belly. Ilya braces his hands on either side of Shane’s head and leans in very close to whisper in his ear, dark and dangerous. “I was going to be gentle with you. I was going to be nice.”
“Cute.” Shane says, so bold, as if he’s not got his face half-mashed into a pillow. “That’s not what I asked for though.”
Ilya is gentle, because he can’t just give Shane everything. He has to hold onto some control and if that means not being the reason Shane limps across the ice and doesn’t give him a proper fight tomorrow then he’s more than happy.
“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane says. “Fuck, the sheets are gonna be ruined.”
“I will change them.” It feels like the easiest answer in the world. “Do not worry. You shower, I change bed.”
Shane turns to look back at him. “Is this our life now? Talking about chores during sex?”
“Yes.” Ilya says, pretending that the thought of it isn’t enough to make him harder. “This is our life now.”
Shane notices the change in his rhythm, the deepening of his thrusts, the colour that no doubt pinks his cheeks without his permission. But doesn't say anything. Not this time, high on a gorgeous orgasm and chasing one more.
Ilya kisses his back, bites at the knob of his spine, sucks hard just between his shoulder blades where no one will think to look, where a shoulder or elbow might bruise regardless. Shane melts, whining Ilya's name, trying to hitch his hips back despite having no purchase to work with.
Fuck.
“Fuck.” Ilya sighs, the frantic twitching of Shane's ass around him too fucking much. “Shane, I—.”
“Yeah.” Shane says, the word half lost in a moan. “Do it.”
His earlier amusement at Shane coming on command feels misplaced for all of a moment before heat fills his body, his cock jerking deep inside Shane as he comes hard enough to make his vision dance with colour, teeth notched against Shane's shoulder and pressed close enough to feel Shane's grateful fucking groan as Ilya falls apart for him.
“Oh, fuck Ilya.” Shane whines, fingers scrabbling audibly against the sheets. “Fuck.”
When Shane comes too it’s almost too much, the way he squeezes around Ilya’s cock bringing a whole new wave of pleasure mixed with oversensitivity. Ilya rides it out, grinding his hips in needy little circles against Shane’s ass until he sags, wrung out, and Ilya moves with him to flop half-across his back and just…
Breathe.
He stays there, panting, until his cock starts to soften out of Shane, reaches for his boyfriend’s hand and tangles their fingers together in a grip that’s loose but grounding, keeping him present, keeping them both connected as their bodies let each other go.
“I love you.” Shane says, and it’s Ilya’s favourite of the evening yet, his voice a little cracked and shaky, so very full of love.
“Mm. I love you too, Shane Hollander.”
By the time they’ve disentangled themselves from each other it is late, late enough for Ilya to regret his promised chore as Shane wanders away to the bathroom, thighs shining with come and lube. But no. He is a good houseguest. He knows where the washer is, and where Shane keeps the spare sheets.
It will be a quick job.
He’s stifling a yawn in the back of his hand when he opens the cupboard and finds a little scrap of paper on top of one of the ordered piles of bed sheets.
I figured since you’d be here more often you might want something familiar.
Ilya chuckles when he pulls the stack of sheets out and recognises the same deep green that he has in his home in Boston. A little less soft than his, but that’ll come with time. With their body heat and repeated use.
His heart thuds as he brings them to his chest, wondering when Shane did this, which visit he snuck a look at the labels to figure out which store to visit.
It doesn’t matter. And yet he has to know.
Shane is still in the bathroom once he’s done with his task and Ilya joins him with the haste of a very uncool idiot, slipping up behind him and palming his belly.
“You have to tell me.” He breathes, licking water droplets from Shane’s throat. “How long?”
There’s not even a beat of confusion. Shane left the note there knowing he’d find it eventually, even if not tonight.
“Not long. A few months, I checked when I was in Boston the last time.”
“Ah, yes, when we beat you last.” Ilya murmurs, feels Shane take a moment to process his words. “Another thing to repeat, hm?”
“Asshole.” Shane laughs, turning in his arms. “We’re going to win so easy.”
He’s so beautiful. Eyes alive, lips curved into a gleeful smile. Full of certainty in his own skill and that of the men around him. Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter. He’s Shane fucking Hollander, and Ilya loves him.
“Either way.” Ilya says. “You will be mine again after.”
Shane nods, brushes their noses together and lets his head fall back under the spray for a moment, as if that will hide the force of his smile.
“Maybe we should put a towel down though.”
“Oh, yes. Very sexy.” Ilya says, pinching Shane’s ass because he can. “Really heightens the mood.”
Shane pushes at him, not hard at all. “Fuck off, I just want to keep the sheets on for more than a day this time.”
Ilya watches him hesitate for a moment, linking his arms around Ilya’s neck with a small smile. There’s something more to say, and Ilya is happy to wait for his courage to speak.
“I like the reminder that you were here.”
Ilya’s first instinct is to tease. To offer to buy Shane a bottle of his cologne to spray his pillow while they’re apart.
But he likes that Shane was honest so much more. Likes the thought of lingering in this place until the next time they’re lucky enough to be together, properly. Until Ilya is a drive and not a flight away.
“Okay.” He says, instead.
Shane smiles, and it’s like every single worry Ilya has melts away. “Okay. Let me wash your hair.”
Ilya submits to the demand that he knows is actually a request, because he’ll never say no to Shane’s hands all over him. He watches Shane’s concentrating face in what little of the mirror isn’t fogged up and knows with absolute certainty that tomorrow’s win is going to feel so fucking good.
But not, maybe, quite as good as this.