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The equipment room was cramped, scattered with spare sticks and skates, but in this moment, none of that mattered to Shane. His back was pressed against the metal shelf with Ilya crowding him, crushing his body against Shane's.
"Someone might walk in," Shane gasped, though his hands betrayed him. They were buried deep in Ilya's hair, pulling him closer, as Shane arched his neck to grant better access to Ilya's mouth.
Ilya hummed against his skin. The low vibration of his voice made Shane's knees threaten to buckle. He bit down on the sensitive spot of Shane's neck, making him inhale sharply.
"You worry too much, sweetheart."
Ilya pecked soft kisses across Shane's collarbone causing him to let out a breathless laugh that quickly melted into a groan as Ilya's thigh shoved its way between his legs, pinning him securely to the shelves.
"Ilya," he managed to choke out, his grip tightening in Ilya's hair. "We have—we need to stop…"
Shane knew he should be pushing Ilya away, should be stopping this before they got caught. But it was impossible to think when Ilya's mouth was on his skin and his hands were gripping Shane's ass, hauling him closer.
God, this was so hot.
It was the middle of the day; practice had just ended, and most of their teammates were still in the building along with the coaches and staff. It was reckless. They were acting like teenagers, sneaking around, addicted to the thrill of possibly getting caught.
Ilya's mouth worked its way up, finally capturing Shane's. Despite himself, Shane kissed him back just as hungrily, parting his lips slightly allowing Ilya's tongue to sweep inside. A soft moan vibrated from Ilya's throat and sent a violent shudder down Shane's spine.
Shane's composure went completely out the window. He drew Ilya closer by the waist, needing the friction. Needing to feel Ilya, to know he was as wrecked as Shane was. He could feel Ilya's heart hammering against his own chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the pulse throbbing in his groin.
Ilya palmed him through his pants, his hand dragging over the hard length of Shane's cock. Shane kissed him harder, bucking and grinding into his hand. He felt Ilya smile against his mouth.
"I thought you wanted me to stop?"
"Shut up." Shane's brain was short-circuiting. "Fuck, Ilya."
Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps thundering down the hall outside. They had about a minute of warning before the door behind Ilya was wrenched open and light burst into the room. Ilya quickly turned around, moving to stand in front of Shane.
"I fucking knew you horn dogs were hiding somewhere," Bood was leaning against the door frame, blocking the exit, grinning wickedly at them. A flush crept up Shane's face, which he hoped was at least covered by Ilya's towering body.
"Well, we were going to ask if you guys wanted to grab lunch," Dykstra grinned, poking his head from behind Bood's shoulder. "Especially since you two look like you're working up an appetite."
Shane closed his eyes and let his head thump back against the metal shelf. He wanted to die. He glanced at Ilya, who, even though he could only see half of his face, looked pretty much unfazed. He always hated how Ilya was able to keep his calm under pressure.
To make matters worse, more people edged their way into the empty spots of the door. Wyatt, followed by Troy and Harris.
Jesus fucking Christ.
"Hey!" Wyatt said brightly. "You found them!"
"Okay, show is over. You leave," Ilya said. "We get back to busin—"
"Ilya!" Shane shoved him. Well, at least all sense of arousal had left his body. He stepped out from behind Ilya, and with as much calm as he could muster, said, "So, where are we going for lunch?"
Everyone laughed and started walking down the hall. Shane was about to follow them when he felt Ilya grab hold of his waist and pull him back. His free hand brushed the stray hairs out of Shane's eyes, and he was looking at Shane with so much intensity and heat in his eyes, Shane felt his heart quicken again. Ilya leaned in to kiss him. It wasn't heated like the way Ilya was looking at him. It was soft, and tender, and it made Shane want more.
"I fucking hate you," Shane said, unwilling to break apart.
Ilya laughed. It was such a beautiful sound that Shane wished he could listen to it forever. He took hold of Shane's hand, and they walked out of the equipment room to join the rest of their team.
They ended up going to a diner down the street from the rink. The team had to be split into two booths for everyone to fit. Shane and Ilya were sitting next to Wyatt with Troy, Harris, and Bood across from them. In the booth behind them, Dykstra and Chouinard sat with Luca, Young, LaPointe, and Holmberg.
"Why are we stuck at the kiddie table?" Dykstra complained, as he nudged Chouinard to move further into the booth.
"Because you act like you belong with them," Bood retorted, making everyone laugh and earning him the middle finger from Dykstra.
Shane had played for the Centaurs for a full season and was starting his second one soon. He had grown quite fond of this team. The amount of love and support they had for each other was incredible, something he'd never thought he'd witness on a hockey team. Even if they all teased each other endlessly, he knew these guys would always have each other's backs.
"So…," Bood's voice was reaching what Shane would deem as a dangerous zone. He gripped his hot chocolate and could see everyone else at the table smirking. "As alternate captain, do I get to hand out punishments for what I had to witness?"
"You can't give punishment to the captain, idiot," Ilya rolled his eyes.
"No, not to… the captain," Bood turned to lock eyes with Shane.
He could feel the heat on his face.
"You punish my husband, I punish you," Ilya said.
"You would make me do a million laps if you ever caught me and Harris anywhere," Troy pointed out.
"He did that one time he walked into my office without knocking, remember?" Harris grumbled next to him.
"Fuck, my legs hurt thinking about that…"
"I did not need to see you defile Harris."
"He wasn't!" Harris protested.
"Who did you learn that word from?" Wyatt asked.
"I defile Shane daily so—"
"Ilya!!"
The table erupted with laughter as Shane punched Ilya on the arm. Thankfully, the waitress arrived at that exact moment and the conversation died as everyone settled with their food. Shane got a turkey sandwich with whole grain toast and a side of fries, which were mostly for Ilya who was always eating off his plate. He had slowly loosened the restriction on his diet over the past year, with a lot of reassurance from Ilya that it was okay for him to enjoy the food he ate. That he didn't have to torture himself for the sake of hockey because he was a great player regardless.
Shane still felt guilty if he ever ate a cookie but his husband, on the other hand, had no shame in ordering a "lumberjack breakfast platter" which consisted of a stack of pancakes, which Ilya smothered in so much syrup that Shane's tooth ached looking at it, and a bunch of sides. How this man maintains his hot body Shane will never understand.
After a few moments of silence as everyone ate, Shane heard from behind them Dykstra telling the kids about him and Ilya before Ilya whipped his head around. Even without looking at him, Shane knew he was giving Evan a death glare from the immediate silence that fell. Bood was the only brave soul who dared to break the silence.
"What, Roz? Don't want the kids to know your dirty business?"
"Careful, Bood. I haven't forgiven you for interrupting."
"Well, excuse me. Where are my manners?" Bood replied, his tone dripping of sarcasm. "So, about that punishment."
Shane groaned. He did not like the gleam that was in the man's eyes.
"Suicides is too easy for Hollander," Wyatt chimed in.
"Shane stamina is not great. He—"
"I swear to God, Ilya," Shane warned.
Ilya faced him with an unconvincing innocent expression. "I was talking about how I always beat you in race." Shane glared. "What were you thinking, kotik?"
"Anyway…," Troy interrupted. "Maybe you should punish him by keeping them apart."
"Oh. please. They wouldn't last a day," Harris said with a snort.
"You clearly underestimate us," Ilya replied.
"Oh, really?" Dykstra interjected. Clearly the table behind them were also listening. "Want to make it interesting?"
"Ooh," Chouinard grinned beside him.
"That is why you are sitting with the kids," Shane mumbled. Everyone laughed.
"Hey!" Dykstra and Chouinard said at the same time.
"I love you," Ilya murmured and gave him a peck on the cheek.
"Gross, your lips are all sticky." Shane wiped his face with a napkin.
"Hm, you didn't complain last—"
"Stop!" It was Wyatt who interrupted this time. "Please. I beg you."
"What, Hazy? Your ears too innocent to hear this?"
"See? Look at how disgusting they are. They'd never last with a no PDA rule," Holmberg said.
"I agree," LaPointe said.
"What is PDA?" Ilya sounded confused.
"Public displays of affection," Shane answered.
"Okay?"
"It means getting freaky in front of other people in public. You would not last," Luca spoke up.
"Haas!" Ilya exclaimed dramatically. "My son! How could you say that about your parents?" Shane rolled his eyes.
Luca simply shrugged. "It's true."
"Alright, it's decided," Bood called to the group. "No PDA from you two for a week. That is Shane's punishment."
"That is not punishment for me," Shane said, pointing at Ilya. "It's punishment for him."
Ilya turned to look at him, eyes flashing. "Oh, really? You think you will be okay not touching me for a week?"
"You touch me, Ilya. At work. All the time."
Silence fell as they both looked at each other with so much intensity that Shane could almost hear the crackle of electricity.
"Are we interrupting again? I feel like we're interrupting again," Wyatt's voice broke the silence.
"I give them three days," Troy said.
"Like I said, not even one day," Harris countered.
"Wait, this is for no touching at work, right?" Shane asked.
Everyone laughed, and Bood said, "You're fucking hopeless, Hollzy."
Ilya was grinning as he leaned in to kiss Shane.
"I told you!" Harris sounded way too thrilled.
"That did not count! We are not starting yet."
"Okay, starting now, then."
The conversation drifted from the ridiculous PDA bet as everyone finished off their meals and Ilya paid. They were in the car driving home when Ilya brought it back up.
"So, you think it is easy? No PDA for a week?"
"It will be for me." Shane could see Ilya's grip on the steering wheel tighten slightly before he relaxed. He couldn't help but smirk. Ilya turned to glare at him. "Eyes on the road, Ilya."
"You think you can last longer than me?"
Shane laughed. "Oh, I know I can."
They drove in silence for a little while. "Okay," Ilya replied.
"Okay?"
Ilya didn't answer him, but instead, turned to look at him again. Shane wasn't sure if he liked the glint behind his husband's eyes.
Shane would consider himself to be someone who had a lot of self discipline in most things in his life. His biggest weakness? Ilya fucking Rozanov. It had always been Ilya, even at nineteen years old, who always broke his resolve. That man was like a drug, and Shane Hollander was not a fucking quitter.
But he was about to be forced to quit cold turkey for this stupid bet because Ilya had barely touched him since before lunch. Apparently, World War III fucking broke out in the Hollander-Rozanov household, because Ilya "Can't-Keep-His-Hands-Off-Shane-Hollander" Rozanov was doing exactly that, not touching Shane.
That night, they had gone to bed like normal, but when Shane had started nibbling on Ilya's shoulder, the man actually pushed him away and gently laid him down onto Shane's side of the bed. He had given Shane a quick, chaste kiss on the lips and settled onto his own side of the bed.
"Good night, my love," he had said sweetly. Too sweetly.
Shane propped himself up on his elbow, looking at Ilya, who was smiling up at him, in disbelief.
What a fucking asshole.
"Good night," Shane grunted.
He had slept with his back turned to his husband, something he had not done in the almost two years since they've been married. If Ilya wanted a war, he was going to fucking get one.
The next day at practice, Shane could feel the team's focus on him and Ilya. He knew they were expecting one of them to slip up soon, so Shane chose to ignore their gazes and sly smiles as he skated his own warm-up lap around the rink. He could see Ilya standing at center ice as he circled around him. He was talking to Coach, eyes focused, without a lingering glance at Shane. Shane frowned.
"Alright," Ilya called suddenly, his voice carrying easily across the rink. Conversations died as everyone began to gather at the center and practice started.
During one of the drills, they had to partner up because, of course, it was already established that Shane would be paired with Ilya like they always were during practice. Shane could see all of their grins as he stood next to Ilya, who was shouting instructions. He wanted to cross check every one of them.
Ilya blew the whistle and the drill started. Shane and Ilya moved back and forth across the ice, quick passes snapping between their sticks as they skated in parallel lines. Their timing was perfect, as usual. The difference was there was no flirtatious smirk on Ilya's face today. The man was focused on his skating and his passes. Any eye contact he made with Shane had no heat, lacking its usual teasing glint.
Sure, after almost thirteen years together, not once did Ilya ever refrain from flirting with him, but all of a sudden, the man had become the master of a poker face. Shane gripped his stick tight, he was absolutely going to be normal about this.
Fine, Rozanov. Fine.
Later, when Shane settled back with the group, he heard Wyatt and Luca whispering.
"What is happening?" Luca asked, sounding slightly bewildered.
"Kid, I don't even know."
The locker room was unusually quiet. Shane chose to ignore, focusing on getting his gear off and went into the shower. After he had gotten dressed, he sat down at his stall to wait for Ilya, who had just come out of the shower and sat down next to him. Shane was extremely aware of his husband's wet naked body covered only by the towel around his waist. He was also very aware of the fact that Ilya's knee was deliberately not touching his own. He glanced over and saw Ilya looking at him, the corner of his mouth was twitching. Shane glared.
At home, they moved around like normal as they made dinner, ate, and enjoyed time together before bed. It was more or less the same as it always was. Ilya spoke to Shane the same; he made the same jokes, called him the same pet names. The only change was that now Ilya was doing all of that with a considerable distance between them. Later, Ilya had given him a quick kiss on the lips before bed.
"I love you, moy lyubimyy."
"I love you, too…"
You fucking asshole.
By day three, Shane's tolerance was waning. He was quieter than usual, walking around practice with a low simmering irritation that threatened to snap at anyone in his path. He glowered as he watched Ilya move around the team, perfectly composed, completely unshakable. Shane knew his focus on hockey was faltering. His passes weren't as sharp and more of his shots were missing their marks. With every mistake, his irritation grew.
What was worse was that he was sure Ilya noticed. He had caught Ilya smirking more than once at Shane's mistakes during practice. It was always gone too quick, but Shane knew he saw it flash across the man's face. It irritated him more every time.
"Hey, Hollzy."
Shane took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable teasing he expected from Bood.
"Yeah?" he muttered, trying to keep his voice even.
"You good?"
"Sure."
Bood clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You seem tense, man."
"I'm fine," Shane lied.
Dykstra, Troy, and Luca drifted over to join them.
"Listen," Bood said, voice dropping low. "None of us thought Roz would actually keep this up."
"Seriously," Dykstra added, "the man really can do anything he set his mind to."
"I know," Shane gritted out.
"We had our bet on you, Hollander," Troy said, shaking his head. "But I can't believe we might lose this one."
Shane glared at him. "It's only day three, Barrett. Relax."
"Exactly," Bood grinned mischievously.
"We can crack him," Luca chimed in.
"You bet Ilya would lose?" Shane stared at Luca with amazement. The kid practically worshiped Ilya.
"The kid's got the right idea. We still have four days to make him crack."
"This feels like cheating," Shane said, a little uncomfortable.
"Hollander," Dykstra looked at him with such intensity. "The faster we crack him, the sooner this is over.
Shane looked at all of them for a few moments. "So, what's the plan?"
The plan was stupid. Mostly because Shane knew it would probably make him break before it made Ilya break. He was supposed to casually brush up on Ilya every chance he got. A hand, a shoulder, a knee. Anything. It wasn't exactly PDA, so, technically, he wouldn't "lose" the bet. But it was still really fucking stupid.
He kept his eyes on Ilya, who was a few feet away, calling out instructions to one of the younger players. He watched the man move with effortless ease, completely normal. Smooth passes, sharp turns, clear voice. Shane's jaw tightened.
Alright, Hollander. You got this.
He, Bood, and Troy were going to skate laps together, under the guise of practicing their flow. After the fifth lap where Shane's shoulder brushed into Ilya's for the third time, he saw Ilya's eyes flash over to him for a split second. Shane skated away, smirking at the other two.
He tried again during the next drill, nudging just a little closer when their sticks crossed. Ilya's eyes met his for half a heartbeat longer than usual, but still maintained his neutral expression. Shane's stomach knotted, but he didn't look away.
Ilya kept skating, kept shouting instructions, kept passing. And Shane kept up with him as best he could while his heart was hammering. He let his shoulder graze Ilya's as they pivoted around a cone. He was sure he saw a twitch on the man's lips. Shane's chest tightened.
Yeah, this plan was fucking stupid. It's been two hours and all Shane had done was touch Ilya's goddamn shoulder about five times.
"This is not going to fucking do anything," he murmured to Dykstra. They were standing the furthest away, which he hoped meant Ilya couldn't hear them.
"You gotta up ramp it up, Hollander."
"How the fuck am I supposed to do that without actually losing?"
Troy leaned in on the other side of Evan. "You know Rozanov better than anyone. What's his weakness?"
Shane thought about that for a long moment. Four days ago, he would've answered that Shane was Ilya's weakness. But clearly, that was not the case. Well, maybe if Shane was wearing his glasses. Then he turned to look at the both of them, grinning.
The next day at practice, Shane made sure he was the last one to get on the ice.
"Hollander, you're la—," Ilya stopped when he finally looked up at Shane.
"Whoa, Hollzy," Chouinard whistled. "You look good in glasses."
Ilya whipped his head, eyes flashing dangerously at Nick. Shane suppressed a grin.
"Oh, uh, thanks? I couldn't find my contacts this morning," Shane replied, untruthfully. Because he had, in fact, hidden his stash of contacts last night. Maybe he was overthinking, but he couldn't risk Ilya accidentally finding them.
"Focus," Ilya's voice rang out sharply.
Practice was more intense than it had been all week. More than once, Shane had looked up during a drill or a lap and seen Ilya looking at him closely. He would quickly look away, and Shane couldn't help smirking every time. He also caught Bood and Dykstra's smiling at him a few times as they gave him encouraging thumbs up.
"Chouinard!" Ilya barked suddenly, causing Shane to flinch slightly. "Eyes on your stick. Focus or everyone's doing laps."
Jesus.
Shane glanced at Nick, who, wide-eyed and flustered, clearly had no idea what he did to trigger that reaction. He bit back a laugh. Was their captain's cool exterior finally slipping because Nick had whistled at Shane wearing glasses? He should feel bad for Nick being in the line of fire, but Shane felt a little too giddy over this reaction. That is, until Ilya actually did make them run laps because Nick had missed an easy pass.
Fuck you, Rozanov.
By day six, the whole team was clearly on edge. Shane was frustrated because wearing his glasses during practice was fucking annoying. And because he hadn't been properly touched by his husband in almost a fucking week. Shane had been used to not having sex on a daily basis, but that was before he was living with Ilya. It was killing him to be in the same house, in the same bed as Ilya and not get to touch him.
He was fucking dying. And he could tell Ilya was fucking dying. Because he was getting on everyone's nerves during practice as each day went on. He was barking orders at all of them, giving harsher critique than he normally would. He wasn't being mean or unfair, but still harsh.
"Shane," Troy said at the end of practice with so much defeat in his voice. "I think you gotta take one for the team."
"What?!" Shane practically shouted.
"Hollander, please," Chouinard said, breathlessly. He was leaning on a bench, practically draping his entire body over it.
"You guys started this!" Shane hissed at them. "If you and Evan hadn't said anything about a stupid bet, Bood wouldn't have challenged us. Then Ilya wouldn't have taken it this far!"
"We get it. But please. My legs are jelly at the end of the day. I can't go on like this," Dykstra groaned. "Caitlin's getting concerned."
"Yeah, Cassie said she might call Roz herself," Bood said. "Apparently, the WAGs are not happy."
"Oh, really?" Shane replied, sarcastically. "Gee, it must be so hard for you guys." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I have no sympathy. None of you live with him."
"Hollander, I'm begging, okay?" Shane glared at Troy. "If I had feeling in my legs, I would be on my knees begging you."
"Why are you begging my husband, Barrett?"
They all jumped. Nick quickly got off the bench.
"Uh, nothing… just…," Troy stammered. Shane was sure that even if they hadn't just finished practice, he'd still be sweating just as much. "Just asking if he had any tips on some leg stretches."
Bood, Dykstra, and Chouinard were all slowly retreating, leaving Shane and Troy alone with Ilya. Shane glared at them.
Cowards.
"Well… see ya, guys." Troy quickly followed after the other three.
Coward.
He looked at Ilya, suddenly aware that he had moved closer to Shane. Shane tensed slightly. He wanted so badly to reach out to touch him.
"Why are you wearing your glasses to practice?"
"I told you. I couldn't find my contacts."
Ilya didn't reply. He simply held Shane's gaze. Shane felt himself inching closer to him, not breaking their eye contact. He moved his stick to graze up and down Ilya's leg.
"Really? You couldn't find your contacts for three days and you didn't think to order more?"
"Two."
"No, Hollander. Day four, five, and six. Three days."
Shane smirked. Ilya reached out to grab Shane's wrist, stopping him from moving his stick. The heat radiating from the touch could melt the entire ice rink. Shane's breath hitched.
Fuck.
He missed his touch so fucking bad.
"Three days, Hollander. You've been messing with me for three fucking days with your glasses."
Shane scoffed. "Me?!" He couldn't believe the nerve of this man. "What about you?!"
The corner of Ilya's mouth twitched.
"You with your stupid chaste kisses in bed. And your stupid… 'good night, my love,'" his Russian accent was horrible and he knew it. "You with your fucking three feet apart bullshit even when we're home."
Ilya was grinning at him now.
"Stop fucking smiling at me like that," Shane grumbled.
"Did you miss me, moy solnyshko?"
Shane could feel himself deflate.
Yes, I fucking missed you, you idiot.
Over the last week, Shane had come to realize how much contact Ilya gave him throughout the day. He had felt like something was missing from his mornings, but couldn't place what it was. He had realized, on the third day of their bet, that Ilya usually stroked his back and gave him a quick kiss on the head when they headed out the door to go to practice in the morning. He'd never noticed that it was something his husband did every day because, well, because he did it every day.
Ilya touched him a lot. Not just in a sexual way, but also in simpler ways throughout their normal daily routine. The brushing of his knee against Shane's when they sat close together. The touch of their fingers intertwined when they walked together. The way he sometimes wrapped his arm around Shane's shoulder or waist when they stood close. Shane was aching for him.
He took a deep breath, their eyes were still locked on each other.
"So much, moy lyubimyy," Shane admitted. His voice was so soft, it was almost a whisper.
Suddenly, they were crashing into each other, lips finally meeting after days apart. Shane threw his stick on the floor and wrapped his arms tight around Ilya, pulling him closer. He could hear cheering and whooping from their teammates.
"Thank fucking God!" Wyatt shouted with relief.
The drive home was quiet, but the weight between them had lightened significantly. Shane was holding Ilya's hand as he drove, tracing lines onto his palm, and smiling to himself. When they got home, Ilya had put the car in park, and before Shane knew it, he was pulling him into a kiss again. Shane laughed against his lips.
"Ilya… Let's go inside."
"Mm," Ilya hummed, not breaking their kiss. "Not yet."
"Hm, where did all your discipline go?"
Ilya groaned and pulled away. "You're ruining the moment, Hollander."
They made their way up the lawn in a tangled mess with Ilya's arms wrapped tightly around Shane's waist causing them to stumble slightly. Shane couldn't help giggling as he fumbled with the key in the lock. Ilya was trailing kisses from his shoulder to the soft spot behind his ear.
"Ilya," he whined. "I can't focus."
"Yes, I know. You are very bad at multitasking."
"No, you are a distraction."
Shane finally managed to open the door and the moment they were inside, Ilya crowded him until his back hit the wall with a heavy thud. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping in to take claim on every inch of Shane's mouth. Shane was reeling, overwhelmed by the ferocity of Ilya's kiss.
One of Ilya's hand was ruthlessly tangled in Shane's hair, tilting his head back to deepen the angle, while the other gripped Shane's hip, fingers digging hard enough to leave a bruise. Shane let out a low moan. He could feel the hard line of Ilya's erection pressing against his thigh, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. Ilya bit Shane's lower lip, pulling a gasp from him before soothing the sting with his tongue. He pulled back, breathing hard and resting his forehead against Shane's.
"Missed this," Ilya ground out. "Missed you."
"Me too," Shane was just as breathless as Ilya. "Missed you so much."
"Bedroom," Ilya commanded, his voice rough. "Now."
Ilya's lips were back on his and he was pulling Shane, practically hauling him, down the hall. Shane stumbled, clutching onto Ilya's jacket in an attempt to steady himself. They bumped lightly into the railing of the stairs, Ilya taking most of the impact with a soft grunt that didn't slow him down.
They finally made it to the bedroom before they broke apart. Shane turned toward the bed and stopped dead in his tracks. Because laid across the bed was his contacts. Boxes of them. The same boxes that he thought he had hid carefully from Ilya.
"I thought I be good husband and help you find your missing contacts."