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Truthfully, Shane has never really thought about having kids.
Not in any serious way.
Not in the way that most other people do, by making it a goal that they worked for.
Even before he realized that he liked men, kids have never been part of the equation when he imagined the rest of his life stretching out ahead of him.
Then again, to be fair, whenever he imagined the future, all he’d ever thought about was hockey.
From the first time his dad had laced skates onto his feet at five years old, from that very first wobbling push onto the ice, it was like something inside him had locked into place. He lived and breathed hockey from five years old until now. Which was why growing up, whenever he’d imagined the future, Shane never pictured a wife or kids, he’d only ever pictured the ice, the grind, the wins and losses that blur together until suddenly, he’s not young anymore.
Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind there had been a vague, almost compulsory image of how things are supposed to go after that. That eventually, when he was too old to play, he would retire, find a wife, and pop out a kid or two. A kid that Shane could instill in his love of the game early enough to have it pass it on like some sort of inherited gene. It was an outline of the future without any details, a placeholder future borrowed from other people’s expectations, something Shane would reference vaguely if anyone ever brought up the idea of him having kids one day. Though Shane never lingered on the thought of kids long enough to feel particularly attached to the idea.
He certainly never wanted them in the way he wants another Stanley Cup.
Kids exist in that same abstract space as retirement does—something that might happen later, to some version of him that doesn’t exist yet, some version of him that might never exist. And besides, if he ever did suddenly get struck by the urge to imagine what having kids might actually be like, Hayden has more than enough to go around.
Hayden had offered, on more than one occasion, to let Shane borrow anywhere from two to four of them on any given night. Long enough, Hayden says, for Shane to get a real taste of parenthood, and more importantly, long enough for Hayden and Jackie to enjoy a childfree evening.
Right now, they are very much not childfree.
Hayden and Jackie’s backyard is loud in the way that’s become familiar to Shane from the sheer number of times that he’s been over here over the years. And yet, somehow it never fails to catch him off guard just how much energy the little Pikes pack into their bodies. It’s a little terrifying, if he’s being honest with himself.
It’s just them today, Shane, Hayden and Jackie, their four kids and… and Ilya.
Shane feels the small, familiar flutter of nerves in his chest at the thought of it, even now.
He’s not sure when he’s going to stop feeling nervous about people knowing that he and Ilya are together. Maybe by the time he retires he’ll be used to it. Maybe not.
Telling Hayden and Jackie about Ilya hadn't been too bad, he’d brought them over for dinner a few weeks ago to gently break the ice to introduce Ilya to them not as his rival, but as his boyfriend. Jackie had been great about it, because she’s great. She’d asked a few questions but was otherwise supportive. Hayden, on the other hand… He’s Shane’s best friend, so Shane can’t really blame him for being overprotective, especially considering Ilya is well, Ilya, but at least Shane had managed to stop them from actually fighting each other.
This backyard barbeque he thinks is meant to be a peace offering.
Sure, Hayden has spent half the afternoon low key antagonizing Ilya, and Ilya has returned the favor with glee. Earlier when Hayden had insisted loudly that Shane should really just break up with Ilya and let Hayden introduce him to some nice gay guys he knows in Montreal, Ilya had draped himself over Shane’s shoulders and quipped that Hayden was just jealous that Ilya had gotten to Shane first because obviously Hayden was in love with him. Which had set Hayden off sputtering about how he wasn’t gay, but also there wasn’t anything wrong with being gay, unless your name is Ilya then everything you do is wrong, and well… In the end, Jackie had to drag Hayden inside to help her with the baby in order to get the two of them to stop.
But still, all things considered, it’s going well.
And part of that is because Ilya is great with their kids.
Shane doesn’t even know what game they’re currently playing.
Emma and Ruby had dragged some board game out onto the grass a little while ago, and now the board lay sprawled between them, bright plastic pieces scattered everywhere. Shane is pretty sure Ilya has no idea what the actual rules are, or if there even are any anymore, the girls are almost certainly making them up as they go, changing things whenever it suits them.
Ilya doesn’t seem to care.
He’s sitting cross-legged on the grass with a plastic purple necklace hanging around his neck and a pair of clip-on earrings pinched onto his ears. Shane can’t help but smile at the sight of how ridiculous Ilya looks. And yet, despite how ridiculous it is, Ilya accepts every new accessory the girls hands up with exaggerated enthusiasm, nodding along gravely when Emma declares something important Shane can’t quite hear.
On top of that, Arthur is climbing on him like he’s a piece of playground equipment, his small hands grabbing fistfuls of fabric as he hauls himself up on top of Ilya, only to slide back down again. Shane watches as Ilya keeps one steady arm around Arthur, while he reaches across the board to take his turn at the game. The sound of his pleased laughter when Ruby informs him he has to wear one of the little plastic rings, makes Shane’s stomach flutter with fondness.
How he does it, Shane has no idea.
The few times Shane has babysat for the Pikes have been a complete disaster.
He’s tried his best, really, but there’s something about the noise and the way kids seem to need three things at once that made Shane feel so overwhelmed that by the time Hayden and Jackie made it home, Shane had been about to cry from relief.
Shane takes a sip of ginger ale as he watches them, that fluttering feeling in his chest growing stronger with each passing minute.
Ilya is good with kids, he knows this objectively, he’s seen Ilya with kids before. It’s something about the way Ilya listens to them, how patient he is, always letting them talk over him and change the rules and argue amongst themselves without ever losing the thread of what’s happening.
Shane’s seen it before. Back in Florida before their All-Star game, when Ilya had climbed into the hotel pool, crowded with kids clinging to him and splashing water everywhere. Shane remembers noticing back then, how careful Ilya was, how he kept one arm out as a barrier so nobody got dunked by accident, how he let the kids win races even when he could have won easily.
Shane knows that when they establish the foundation next summer, when they start running clinics and programs and bringing hockey to kids who might not otherwise get the chance, Ilya is going to be so good at it.
Not just because he’s good on the ice, though that certainly helps, but because he’ll explain things in ways that make sense, and he’ll notice the quiet ones hanging back, the ones who need an extra word of encouragement.
“What’s with the face?” Hayden says beside him, cutting off Shane’s train of thought.
“Oh,” Shane says, turning back to where Hayden is standing by the grill. Hayden had been saying something, telling him some story, that Shane had tuned out of more than a few minutes ago, too caught up in watching Ilya play with Hayden’s kids. “Nothing. Sorry—what were you saying? Something about your in-laws and the holidays?”
Apparently that had not been what Hayden was talking about anymore, because Hayden squinted at him, clearly not convinced that Shane had been listening at all.
“I was talking for like a full minute, man.”
“Yeah,” Shane admits. “I spaced, sorry.”
“It’s fine. Wasn’t that important anyways,” Hayden shrugs, easy about it, even though Shane can’t help but feel a pang of guilt that he had been caught not paying attention. “What were you thinking about? You had this whole—” Hayden gestures vaguely at his own face, scrunching it up in an imitation of Shane’s face, “—concentrated thing going on.”
“Ah, I…” Shane starts, then stops. Glancing back at over where Ilya and the kids are. Ilya is leaning back on his hands now, Arthur perched on his stomach like a small, wobbly weight, while Emma and Ruby are arguing loudly over the board. “Your kids, they look like they’re having fun.”
“Yeah,” Hayden smiles softly, the way he always does when someone mentions his kids. Then Shane watches as he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t let Rozanov beat you!”
“I am already losing,” he calls back. “Game is rigged.”
“Good!”
Ruby immediately takes the instruction to heart, snatching up a bracelet and slipping it onto her wrist with exaggerated sneakiness.
“Dirty player,” Ilya says, shaking his head, though there’s unmistakable amusement in his voice, the kind that makes Shane smile just hearing it. “Just like your father.”
“Oh, I’m the dirty player?” Hayden shouts back, laughing. “That’s rich coming from you.”
As if on cue, Arthur chooses that exact moment to reach up and tug one of the clip-on earrings right off Ilya’s ear.
“No—hey, not you too,” Ilya groans. “You know what happens to cheaters, yes?”
“What happens?” Ruby asks, eyes going wide.
Ilya straightens, his expression solemn as he replies, “The tickle monster.”
Arthur shrieks with laughter as Ilya swoops in, tickling him until the earring drops to the grass. Ilya crouches to retrieve it, clips it back onto his ear with an exaggerated little flourish, then turns slowly toward the girls.
“You next.”
They dissolve instantly into giggles, abandoning the game as they sprint across the lawn. Shane watches with a fond smile as Ilya takes off after them, mock menacing.
“I mean, yeah. They’re great, when they’re big,” Hayden says, watching with Shane as Ilya chases his kids around the grass, “But you wouldn’t be saying that if you were up all night with the baby.”
“Speaking of the baby,” Jackie says, standing up from the lawn chair she’d been sitting on with Amber, “It’s your turn to hold her. I need to get the girls to wash up before dinner.”
“I’m cooking,” Hayden protests immediately, lifting up the spatula in his hand as his defense, “Shane can hold her.”
“Oh. Uh—yeah,” Shane stammers, his stomach dropping a little at the thought of holding the baby, “Yeah, that’s fine.”
Jackie doesn’t give him a chance to reconsider. A second later, Amber is pressed gently into his arms. Shane goes stiff as he holds her, suddenly terrified of doing something wrong.
He adjusts his grip awkwardly, trying to remember how Hayden and Jackie do it.
“Support the head,” Hayden tells him. Shane shifts, sliding one arm up a little higher. Amber makes a small sound, more of a little huff of breath than anything, but he thinks it’s a satisfied one. “There you go. You’re fine. She’s sturdier than she looks.”
“Yeah, I’ve got her,” Shane says, but the words don't even sound convincing to himself. He bounces slightly, tentative, the way he’s seen people do, though he’s not sure why it works. Amber’s eyes are open, staring at him, her tiny fist curled into the fabric of his shirt, definitely not fully settled, but at least she’s not screaming at him, so that’s a win in Shane’s books.
“She finally slept through the night last week,” Hayden says casually, turning back to the grill. “Jackie cried.”
“I did not cry,” Jackie calls from down on the lawn.
“She cried,” Hayden insists a bit quieter this time.
“She’s so small,” Shane says, his eyes still fixed on Amber’s face.
“Yeah,” Hayden says. “They start that way.”
Shane swallows, adjusts his grip again, terrified of dropping. He’s acutely aware of how unnatural he feels.
Hockey, he gets. Holding a baby, very much less so.
Shane bounces her again, trying to be a little less stiff this time, Amber lets out another gurgle of noise. Not an unhappy noise though… He thinks…
Shane is only vaguely aware of Jackie corralling the girls toward the house, herding them with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before, Arthur goes too, scooped up mid-protest, his attention redirected with promises of snacks.
All he’s aware of is the baby in his arms, the small dissatisfied sounds Amber is letting out now.
“Your mommy will be back soon, don’t worry,” he tries to reassure her, adjusting again, but his hold is still awkward and all wrong.
He’s aware that Hayden is saying something, probably helpful, but the words don’t quite stick.
And then Ilya is there, “You hold her wrong.”
“You hold her, then.”
It’s meant to be defensive, joking.
He certainly doesn’t expect Ilya to agree so easily.
“Okay,” Ilya says, already reaching out.
The transfer is smooth. Ilya scoops Amber up, one arm firm and steady, the other adjusting her position with precise gentleness. He shifts her just slightly, tucking her in closer, supporting her head without looking like he’s thinking too hard about what he’s doing. It’s like he’s done this hundreds of times before. He supposes Ilya probably has some practice from holding his niece.
Amber, who had been fussy in Shane’s arms, settles immediately in Ilya’s. Like a switch flipping. She sighs, tiny and content, her body melting against Ilya’s chest, one small hand curls into the fabric of his shirt, and then her eyes slip shut, finally peaceful.
“See?” Ilya says quietly, glancing up at him. There’s a hint of smugness there, but it’s more muted than normal. Ilya having gone soft with a baby in his arms. “Easy, yes?”
Normally, Shane would roll his eyes, say something about how babies are clearly biased.
He’d feel the familiar flare of rivalry, of irritation at being shown up—even though they’re together, he can’t help himself from always wanting to be better than Ilya. Ilya always brings out his competitive side, even in something as inconsequential as this.
But this time he doesn’t, because all of his attention is laser focused on Ilya and on the way he looks holding Amber. On the way his shoulders curve protectively, on the way his voice drops without effort. On how gentle he is with something so small and fragile.
Shane’s brain stutters.
He’s had the thought before, distantly, that Ilya would be a good father. It floated through his mind as a passing observation, before he’d usually redirect it into thinking about how good of a coach Ilya will be with the kids at their camps next summer.
But now he lets the thought linger in his mind, somehow going from Ilya is great with kids to I want to have a baby with him in the span of a second.
The realization hits him with enough force that for a second, he forgets how to breathe, so consumed by the desire for it to be their baby in Ilya’s arms, not Hayden's.
It feels absurd and completely out of left field.
And yet—the thought lingers as Shane watches Ilya adjust his hold on Amber, murmuring something soft and nonsensical under his breath, Ilya’s thumb brushing gently along her back. Ilya’s entire focus is narrowed down to this one small human in his arms.
Shane wants that.
Not the abstract future he’s always brushed aside.
He wants to start a family with Ilya, and it to be their baby tucked against Ilya’s chest, safe and calm and utterly unbothered by the world.
He’s never imagined kids like this before, not as something real or something that he actively desires. But standing here now, watching Ilya with Amber, the want for them consumes him in a way that should feel terrifying.
The thought lingers, refusing to be pushed away, and Shane carries it with him through the rest of the night.
It’s still there in his mind even when Ilya eventually hands Amber back to Jackie.
It’s still there when they eat, when the conversation drifts back to hockey.
It’s still there when Shane and Ilya leave hours later, long after they’ve said their goodbyes and driven back to Shane’s place in relative silence, both of them tired from the long evening with the Pikes.
Ilya is halfway through toeing off his own shoes when Shane turns and kisses him.
Shane just reaches out, cups the back of Ilya’s neck, and presses their mouths together with all the pent up urgency he’s been carrying since they were standing there in Hayden’s backyard, with Ilya holding their baby.
There’s no real preamble to it, though there hardly needs to be, not with Ilya. Ilya doesn’t question it. He never really does. Ilya likes kissing Shane. He likes fucking him. Sudden enthusiasm is not a problem—it’s a bonus. There’s a moment where Ilya is surprised, just a second, before he makes a pleased sound against Shane’s lips and responds instantly, his hands sliding up Shane’s sides as he kisses him.
They stumble deeper into the house, kissing hard enough that Shane loses himself in the kiss and backs them into the wall by accident. Ilya laughs softly against his mouth, his teeth grazing Shane’s lower lip, while hands tug at the hem of Shane’s shirt rushing to get rid of the layers between them.
“Wow,” Ilya murmurs when Shane drags him toward the bedroom, “Should I be jealous?”
“Jealous?” Shane echoes confused.
“You get all heated up after leaving Pike’s,” Ilya says lightly, letting himself be pulled along. “I should worry, yes? He gets you worked up like this.”
That stops Shane short, just long enough for him to blink and feel heat rush to his face for an entirely different reason. It’s true he had been a bit flustered because of what had happened during the barbeque, but not for the reason Ilya is assuming. No, because seeing Ilya holding a baby had awoken something in him that Shane’s not quite sure he knows how to put into words.
It doesn’t matter, though. Ilya grins, clearly pleased with himself, clearly reading Shane’s sudden flush exactly the wrong way.
“It is fine,” Ilya continues generously. “You can tell me if you are hot for Pike. I do not judge. I only do not understand what his wife sees in him.” He wrinkles his nose. “He is very unattractive and terrible hockey player.”
“That’s not—” Shane splutters, words tripping over each other. “That’s not it.”
Ilya arches a brow, “No?”
“No,” Shane insists. “Jesus—Fuck.”
“Hm,” Ilya hums, unconvinced, fingers tracing lazy, familiar shapes at Shane’s waist. “I do not know. You were very distracted at dinner.”
Shane exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.
He should laugh it off or deflect, but instead, he mutters, “I was just thinking....”
“Thinking,” Ilya repeats, curious now.
“Seeing you with the baby,” Shane says vaguely, his ears burning at the admission. “It just—you know… You looked very fatherly, I guess.”
“Ah, that’s it,” Ilya says, his mouth curving into something slow and knowing. Before Shane can clarify, before he can even fully articulate what that means, Ilya leans in, teasing Shane, “You want me to knock you up, yes? Give you baby.”
“Fuck.”
That isn’t what he’d meant, not exactly, not like that, but now that the idea is in his head, he can’t stop thinking about it. A baby that’s somehow a little perfect combination of the two of them.
He opens his mouth to deny it, then stops. Because the truth is, in some hazy, impossible way… yeah. He does.
Ilya grins smugly when Shane doesn’t immediately argue. “Yeah?”
“Don’t—” Shane huffs out a breath, fingers tightening in the fabric of Ilya’s shirt. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I am not,” Ilya says cheerfully. “Very smart.”
He presses in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Shane’s lips.
“No condom tonight,” Ilya adds when he pulls back, “So we make baby, yes?”
Technically, there’s no reason to say no. They’re exclusive now, and they’ve talked about stopping using protection. They’ve only done it once before without a condom, and only once Shane made them both get tested first, of course—so he knew that they were both clean. There’s really no reason to still use condoms, all things considered, but Shane doesn’t like the mess that comes with not using them, so normally, he still insists upon them.
But tonight—Tonight he wants something else.
Tonight, he wants Ilya to knock him up.
“Yes,” Shane agrees, the word barely more than a whisper as it escapes him.
Ilya’s eyes go dark with arousal, and then they’re kissing again, deeper now, as if he wants to consume Shane. Ilya only breaks the kiss so that he can push Shane down onto the mattress, following him down a moment later and bringing their lips back together.
As they kiss, Ilya rids them of the last few layers between them, Shane dutifully lifting his hips so that Ilya can pull his pants and briefs down in one fluid motion, freeing his painfully hard cock.
They’ve been doing this for so long that Shane isn’t surprised at how Ilya knows exactly how to touch him to get him to fall apart sooner rather than later. Still, his eyes fall shut, a gasp of pleasure slipping from his lips as Ilya’s hand works at his cock, his thumb gathering the wetness at his slit and using it to ease his slide.
Normally, this would be where Shane would be begging Ilya to put his mouth on his cock, but tonight, he needs more than just Ilya’s mouth on his cock. He needs Ilya inside of him, pumping him full of his cum.
“In me, please,” Shane begs, between strokes.
“Needy,” Ilya teases him, but he rolls away from Shane for just a second to grab the half full bottle of lube that Shane keeps on his nightstand, uncapping it with practiced efficiency and slicking up his hand just enough before finally, he presses two fingers right against Shane’s wanting hole.
The first press always gets him, no matter how many times they fuck, and Shane gasps at the pressure of Ilya’s thick fingers working him open, loosening him up enough to take Ilya’s cock.
It’s all going so well, so perfect, his body opening easily for Ilya, easy enough that all too soon, Ilya’s pulling his fingers out of Shane, the emptiness making Shane whine in protest. But the emptiness only lasts a second before Ilya’s cock fills him, knocking the breath right out of Shane’s lungs. There’s something about the feeling of Ilya’s cock inside of him without the usual layer between them that makes Shane even more horny, his hole clenching down around Ilya to feel more of him.
Ilya presses him back into the mattress, his mouth leave wet kisses against Shane’s neck as he fucks into him, the way they both so desperately need it. He mutters praises against Shane’s collarbone as his thrusts become harder, and Shane feels himself melt under the affection, losing himself to the feeling of Ilya drilling into him.
Shane’s hands are in Ilya’s hair holding him in place, keeping him close through it all, not wanting Ilya to stop fucking him or slow down for even a second.
Until, suddenly a thought passes by in his mind, one so jarring that he can’t help but falter.
“Ilya,” Shane blurts, breathless and a little wrecked. “Wait—wait.”
Ilya hums against his skin, not stopping right away, like he thinks this is part of the game, though he slows his thrusts down just a little, gently rocking into Shane as he asks, “What wrong, moya zhena?”
Shane swallows hard trying to focus, trying to be rational here, despite how much he wants to just lose himself to the feeling of Ilya fucking him.
“Ilya, you—you can’t actually get me pregnant,” Shane says in a rush, the words tumbling over each other. “Not—not now. Not until we retire. I can’t afford to take a season off, Ilya. I can’t just—”
Ilya’s hips finally stop, his cock still inside of Shane, but he’s not moving anymore. His forehead wrinkles a little as he looks down at Shane with a slightly confused expression.
“It’s too risky,” Shane continues, because once he starts, he can’t seem to stop. “What if I fell wrong? If something happened and that hurt the baby. If I got pregnant, I’d have to sit out the whole season, and I really want the Cup this year. We’re so close, and I can’t throw that away, and—”
“Shane—”
“And even if we did somehow have a baby, we’re both on the road all the time. We’d need a nanny, probably more than one, and I’d feel awful about that, like we’re not even there, like—like what kind of parents would that make us? And the schedule and the travel and—”
Shane freezes, the words dying in his throat as he hears Ilya laughing. A soft little amused sound that he tries to muffle by burying his face in Shane’s shoulder.
“What?” Shane asks, suddenly self-conscious, his cheeks burning. He tugs a little on Ilya’s hair to pull his face back up, so Shane can look him in the eye as he asks, “What’s so funny?”
“You,” Ilya answers fondly. He presses a kiss just under Shane's jaw, then briefly one to Shane’s lips before he says, “You always do this. Brain goes very fast.”
“I’m being serious.”
“I know,” Ilya says, still smiling, “But… we can’t have baby.”
Shane exhales, relieved that Ilya understands and agrees with him, “Yeah. Because it’s the middle of the season, and that’s too risky, and—”
“Yes, and because,” Ilya agrees easily, one hand coming to rest low on Shane’s stomach, “No womb.”
The word hits Shane like a splash of cold water, waking him up and back to reality.
Oh.
“Oh!”
His whole body burns with embarrassment.
He’d gotten so caught up, first in his imagination, then in the panic, that he’d fully, genuinely forgotten that biologically, he can’t actually get pregnant.
“Oh my god,” Shane groans, mortified, grabbing one of the pillows to cover his face with and hide away from Ilya, as he mutters, “I’m an idiot.”
“No, no,” Ilya insists, laughing again, his arms wrapping around Shane’s waist. “Is cute.”
“It is not cute,” Shane mumbles. “I just gave a whole lecture about parental leave to my boyfriend who literally cannot get me pregnant.”
“You want my baby so bad you forget,” Ilya says, rolling his hips so that he can punctuate his words with the gentle thrust of his cock inside of Shane. “Is very flattering.”
Shane’s embarrassment wars with the warmth spreading through him, and when he finally pulls the pillow away from his face, he nearly melts at how happy and fond Ilya looks.
“I didn’t—I mean, I do, want a kid with you, but—not like right now, and obvious I can’t actually have your baby, but I just—Ilya, I—”
“I know,” Ilya murmurs. “One day.”
He presses closer, his hips moving again, steady and slow as he fucks into Shane, and Shane feels himself drifting again, his thoughts loosening as reality softens at the edges, and he loses himself in the feeling of Ilya’s cock inside of him, and Ilya’s mouth pressing kisses to every inch of him.
“Maybe we try,” Ilya adds lightly, teasing, breath warm against his ear. “Just to see.”
Shane huffs out a shaky laugh, half-buried in the pillow. “Okay, yeah?”
Ilya picks up the pact again, once given permission. Fucking into Shane with a purpose now, and Shane lets himself go, losing himself back into the fantasy, into some other reality where they have all the time in the world, where Ilya really could knock him up.
As Ilya fucks him, Shane’s mind can’t help but wander to the future, to something more than just this, more than just stolen nights and secrecy, he wants something permanent.
A house that is theirs.
A future where they don’t have to hide or rush or pretend this is all it will ever be.
And yeah, one day, a baby, too.
The idea doesn’t scare him the way it used to, it doesn’t linger there in his mind as a sort of abstract eventually that may or may not happen. He wants it now. He knows with every kiss he presses against Ilya’s lips that their future may not be easy or set in stone, but he wants it all, he wants it with Ilya.
When it’s over, when they’re tangled together, breathing slowly, Shane’s own release cooling against his stomach, while Ilya’s release drips out of his hole.
Ilya leans in, kisses him and says, “It is good thing you cannot actually get pregnant.”
“Oh yeah?” Shane asks, breathlessly. “Why’s that?”
“You would look very pretty, all full of my baby,” he says easily. “I would want to keep you pregnant all the time. We would have many kids, Hollander. Much more than Pike.”
Shane lets out a helpless laugh, heat curling low in his stomach—not from embarrassment this time, or panic, just something soft and unfairly fond. He presses his forehead to Ilya’s, eyes closed, and thinks: one day.
Not now.
Not yet.
But one day.
Ilya hums, like he knows exactly what Shane is thinking.
“We could have whole hockey team,” he adds. “Line changes and everything.”
Shane groans, half laughing, half overwhelmed, pressing a kiss into Ilya’s shoulder.
“Fuck, Rozanov. Slow down,” he mutters. “Let’s just start with one, okay?”