Chapter Text
Montreal
October, 2017
Ilya had Shane exactly where he liked him. Pinned to the bed, ass in the air, back arched obscenely, body clenching and spasming around his cock, fucked past the point of competitiveness and brattiness and back-talk, just moaning and loving everything that Ilya gave him. And fuck if Ilya wasn’t giving him everything he had.
It had been a good game today between Boston and Montreal. Intense and suspenseful right until the end, when Ilya had pulled out his special move, The Rozanov, and got the puck in the net past their goaltender to win the scoring point. Ilya’s favorite kind of game. He loved playing against Shane, who never let him win easily, and he really loved fucking him like this afterwards.
It was raw, which they didn’t usually do. Shane got weird about having cum on him and inside him sometimes, which Ilya could understand. But this time, when Ilya had paused fingering him to try and grab a condom out of his nightstand, Shane had gotten so impatient for it, so slutty for Ilya’s cock and needing to have it right now, that he’d insisted Ilya take him right then, right there, without it. He’d even tried to get back on top and sit on Ilya’s dick, but Ilya – who always loved it when Shane got feisty – wrestled him back down, flipped him over, and sank himself inside him in one long, hard thrust.
He’d maneuvered Shane’s body to the end of the bed, so he could stand while he fucked him, and put all his power into pounding deep into him. When Shane scrambled and scratched at the sheets, Ilya pinned his hands behind his back so the man’s whole weight rested on his shoulders and his knees, keeping his hips up, his face smashed against the mattress with every thrust.
Ilya, who prided himself on his athletic stamina, kept it going on and on and on, reducing Shane to garbled noises and broken moans as sweat gathered on his skin and his breath panted hotly against the sheets. Ilya could feel himself drenched in sweat too, at his brow, down his back, dripping off the ends of his curly hair. Shane was the only person he’d ever slept with who was athletic enough to keep up with him for this long. A ‘Runner’s High’ they called it in English. A ‘Fucker’s High’ Ilya wanted to call it, the way it felt like his blood was singing in his veins and his head was clear of anything but this sweat-drenched moment.
Shane, the way he took Ilya, and the way he gave it back in spades, was a marvel.
“Please,” Shane groaned, pushing back against him in rhythm. “I’m so – ohhh...” he broke off when Ilya nailed his prostate. “Right there.”
Ilya, who had one hand pinning Shane’s arms behind his back, and the other spanning across Shane’s powerful glute to hold him in place, bent over him.
“You want to come?” he asked huskily above Shane’s ear.
“Yes” Shane pleaded. “I need it.”
“Need what?” Ilya always liked to tease, and he liked the way Shane leaned into it when he was this far gone. No fighting Ilya, just fucking wanting him bad.
“Need you so fucking bad.”
Those were always the magic words for him. He released Shane’s wrists and brought his hand around to lightly stroke the man’s rigid length.
“Like this?”
“More, I’m right there,” Shane moaned.
“Oh, like this?” Ilya delivered a strong thrust right against Shane’s prostate at the same time that he squeezed his cock, swiping his thumb over the slit. Shane went off like a fucking rocket, nearly screaming as he finally came. He spurted into the sheets, painting stripes across his own belly, coating Ilya’s hand.
“Fuckkk Hollander,” Ilya let out his own throaty moan, feeling the man’s hot cum, the way he shook and fluttered around him. He fucked him hard through it, feeling his own orgasm building in his spine, rapidly approaching. He heard the way the rough pounding drew out Shane’s orgasm longer, then his guttural groans as it pushed him too far into overstimulation.
He pulled out and fucked up between Shane’s ass cheeks. Shane’s messy, abused entrance felt like it was kissing the underside of his cock, his strong, taught ass hugged him on either side. His rim snagged against his crown on the downstroke, and it toppled him over the edge as he thrust back up, spilling all over Shane’s back.
Angled as he was, ass high in the air, face pressed into the bed, Ilya’s cum shot down Shane’s spine, then ran in a rivulet between his sweaty clenched shoulder blades until it soaked into his dark hair. Ilya watched it, saving the image in his mind for next time they were apart and he needed something to get himself off. What a fucking wet dream.
Shane was thoroughly debauched, ass gaping, covered in cum on all sides, so sweaty his hair looked as wet as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. He was breathing hard as Ilya practically collapsed on top of him and rolled to the side so they could both sprawl out across the crumpled bedding.
For a moment, the two of them could only breathe. Two sweaty, dirty bodies half on top of each other on the dishevelled bed.
Ilya murmured some soothing words as they both came down. “So good. So good for me. I love you. You are so beautiful.” He wanted to stay in this moment forever.
Before long, though, he heard Shane stir. “Eugh, you got it all over me,” Ilya could practically hear the disgusted expression on his face.
Ilya often liked to bask in the post-sex haze, no matter how gross it was, but he knew Shane better. Shane could not stand the feeling of sticky drying cum on his skin and absolutely hated the dirty sheets. He’d thought about getting the man waterproof sheets like his teammates buy for their kids who wet the bed, but he thought Shane would probably be offended by that.
Ilya felt like they’d spent the entire past summer at the cottage doing laundry. It was no different now. Once Shane had shifted out from under him, he muttered something about sheets as he made his way to the bathroom.
It was Ilya’s first night at Shane’s actual Montreal apartment, not his murder-alley investment property. It was one thing to have sex in Shane’s cottage; this was Shane’s real home, where he spent most of the year. He’d fucked Shane in his real bed. Fucking finally. Ilya lay there for a moment, in Shane’s bed, looking at the ceiling, feeling the blankets. He turned his head and sniffed Shane’s pillow, which smelled like sweat and Shane’s shampoo. He thought about stealing the pillowcase. Fuck, he was so in love.
After spending almost the entire summer together, then abruptly spending the better part of a month apart preparing for the hockey season, Ilya was more acutely aware of missing Shane than he’d ever missed anything in his life. Just being here, in the bedroom, while Shane was just one room away in the bathroom, made him feel like he was missing him. God, love had turned him into a sap.
The shower turned on. Ilya wanted to see Shane’s shower. He heaved himself out of bed and found Shane busily conducting a series of tasks in the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” he asked, still naked, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe, as he watched Shane take things out of the medicine cabinet and line them up along the side of the sink. Toothpaste, toothbrush, floss, colorful tubes of skincare products, contact lens solution, a whole series of bottles and jars laid out in a neat line along the counter.
Shane glanced up, as if he’d forgotten Ilya was even here. “Oh. I’m doing my nighttime routine.”
“It’s 9pm, Hollander,” Ilya said teasingly. “You don’t have to get ready for bed. We can have a snack.”
“No, well, I need to take a shower. Someone got jizz all over me. Even in my hair!” he shuddered, but smiled just the same.
“So shower, then we’ll eat and watch TV or something, then you can do your whole thing,” he waved his hand at the sink.
“Well, I,” Shane hesitated, gaze travelling from Ilya, to the shower already running, to the products on the counter. “Once I start my routine, like I start washing my hair, I have to do the whole routine. I have these steps, I can’t stop.”
“Shane,” Ilya reasoned. “We’ve been fucking and showering together for years and you’ve never had to do this.”
“Well that was when I wasn’t at home. When I’m somewhere else, I don’t do the all same steps. But when I’m here at home…” he drifted off, still looking at his little display of products.
Ilya thought about fighting him, but he was exhausted from the game, and their marathon fuck, and he really wanted to eat something.
“Okay, are you hungry?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” Shane said. “You go ahead. I don’t normally eat this late anyway. But honestly, it’s easier for me to do all this stuff, and then if I do eat something later, I can do it again.”
“The whole thing?” Ilya asked incredulously.
“No,” Shane laughed as if that was absurd. But it didn’t seem absurd to Ilya, given the logic system Shane seemed like he was already operating with. “Just part of it.”
“Okay,” Ilya held up his hands and shrugged. “I’m going to get food.”
“Okay,” Shane said, then he turned back to the counter. Ilya paused for a moment, watching him bring a final few things from the cabinet behind the mirror, then turn and step into the shower.
Food didn’t seem that important, actually. He followed Shane into the shower.
Shane smiled at him when he closed the glass door behind himself, and held out a shampoo bottle to him.
Ilya had never been in a relationship like this before. He’d always thought it would be either a constant fuck-fest and if you weren’t fucking you were annoyed with each other – at least that’s what he’d seen with a lot of other couples. A lot of his teammates in Boston seemed like they couldn’t wait to get away from their wives. That wasn’t even to mention the people he knew back in Moscow. He’d always laughed at them, getting tied down to someone.
But he didn’t feel that way with Shane. This past summer at the cottage, Ilya discovered just how much he liked doing things with Shane that weren’t sexual at all. Not just hockey or competition, which, to be honest, was sometimes more like elaborate foreplay for them than anything. Just hanging out. Cooking. Chatting. Driving. Doing things around the house. They could talk, or they could be quiet. Ilya just liked to have Shane around, and Shane didn’t seem to mind it either. In fact, he actually sought Ilya out for no other purpose than to be quiet next to each other. If Ilya was scrolling on his phone on the couch, Shane would come sit next to him with a hockey book and not say a word. There was something so calming about it. He didn’t feel tied down.
They showered together quietly. He watched Shane soap himself up, then rinse himself off. He let Shane rub his bodywash on him and secretly delighted in smelling like him. Jesus Christ, he was a fool in love.
Once they got through with the shower, Shane handed him a big warm towel and wrapped himself in his own. He kept giving Ilya little smiles. They kissed, just a sweet little peck. Ilya, stomach feeling hollow, went to leave but paused in the doorway.
He couldn’t help it. He was curious. “Why do you put them in that order?” He pointed at the products all lined up.
“Oh,” Shane smiled at him in the mirror as he picked up the toothbrush. “Well I put them in the order that I am going to use them, then when I’m done with them I put them back in their spot on the shelf.”
Ilya nodded. That seemed pretty efficient, actually.
“It’s like satisfying to put it away as I go, so when I’m done it’s already clean,” Shane went on. “I go toothbrush first, then floss, then mouthwash, then I wash my face in case any toothpaste got on my face. Then I like to dry my face and take out my contacts. Because I don’t like to take out or put in my contacts while my face is wet.”
He kept going, pointing to each of the things in the line, why he uses them in that order. Shane didn’t usually talk this much. Ilya loved his voice. Without saying anything, Ilya sat on the closed toilet seat and watched Shane talk his way through the whole routine from beginning to end. It didn’t take as long as Ilya thought it might. Shane had this down to a science, as he did many things. Use this serum, put the cap back on just so, it has to be facing this particular direction. Put on this cream like this, rub it in like they showed him at the shop. None of the products were sticky, Shane explained. He didn’t like sticky things on his skin.
Ilya snorted then. “Oh, I know.”
Shane rolled his eyes at him fondly. When he was done, all dewy with different moisturizers and such, Ilya couldn’t help kissing him. His lips were shiny from chapstick. It tasted minty on Ilya’s lips when he peppered kisses all over his mouth and jaw.
Shane fought him a little, saying something about how Ilya was going to wipe it all off. But in the end, he kissed Ilya back, deepened it until the two of them were making out, leaning against the towel rack. Ilya’s stomach made a loud rumble, and they broke apart.
“C’mon, let’s get your snack,” Shane held his hand and dragged him to the kitchen.