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Ilya’s most recent obsession has made him into an absolute menace to text with.
Shane has searched high and low, and there just doesn’t seem to be a function for it, but he wishes like hell that he could turn off photos loading automatically in his text chains. He’d ask Hayden, but then he’d have to explain and just- no.
His recently acquired boyfriend will just have to wait longer on getting responses to his messages, since he’s made it impossible for Shane to be able to open his text chain safely in public.
Because Ilya, after years of sparse messages and the occasional nude, has decided that Shane ‘deserves’ a copy of every nude and dick pic that Ilya takes that he finds passable.
It’s a lot of pictures.
But they also usually come with messages that are… sweet. It’s nice, feeling wanted like this, where he knows he’s the only one that Ilya gets off to anymore. And really, Shane doesn’t want to get a reputation as a bad boyfriend; it’s not like Ilya’s the only one with a camera and a dick, why shouldn’t Shane reciprocate?
He refuses point blank to send an actual dick pic, but there are other parts of his body that Ilya has expressed an appreciation for. Of course, Ilya is shameless and would have no compunctions against opening his messages in public; but it’s the challenge of it that makes Shane send the first shot.
The rest… he’s just trying to improve his technique, okay?
1️⃣
Shane Hollander is a cruel, cruel man, and if Ilya did not love him so much, he would hate him.
Because his Shane knows that he is on a bus right now; that the team has loaded their bags, and that he is packed shoulder to shoulder with two dozen other men and as such cannot take full advantage of the image he has just been blessed with by his very cruel boyfriend.
The photo had taken a while to load, filling in from the top and driving Ilya slowly insane as the high definition image trickled in.
It’s Shane’s shoulder, cropped to hide his face but still showing the sweet curve of a smile as he looks back towards the camera. His freckles are on prominent display, dusting across his shoulders and looking oh so biteable; the special ones that only bloom on his skin after he’s been running around shirtless in the summertime.
Ilya hadn’t even known about these super secret stealthy freckles until just recently, because they usually faded to obscurity by the time hockey season was deep enough for them to meet up.
He loves these illicit, fleeting freckles.
So despite not being able to do more than adjust himself in the cramped bus seat, Ilya makes sure to let his cruel, cruel boyfriend know just how much he appreciates the effort… if not the timing.
2️⃣
Ilya’s response to the first shot had been so overwhelmingly positive that Shane had felt a little braver sending the next one. This time though, as a special treat, he waits until Ilya can fully appreciate it.
Panting and sweating on his bed at home, high thread count sheets mussed and in need of changing after the mess he’s currently making, Shane frantically grinds his hips down on the thick toy buried in his hole. He spares a thought then, that he could certainly get a reaction out of Ilya with a shot of that, but no; he’s on a mission here.
With his orgasm swiftly approaching, Shane flexes; pulling his lower body into an inversion pose, legs raising up in a half-mimicry of the ‘plow pose’. The change in angle has the toy shifting inside of him, touching him just right-
Mouth dropping open in a startled gasp, Shane has to whip his head to the side to keep his release from landing in his own mouth. Body shuddering with pleasure, he holds the pose until his cock has finally dribbled out the final drops. He’s waited a couple of days, just for this shot, and he’s pleased with the sheer amount of seed cooling on his skin.
Dropping his legs back to the mattress with care, Shane grabs his phone. Mindful to keep his face out of the shot, he snaps a photo of his chest and neck; wet lines of cum streak across his pecs and throat, pooling in the shallow hollow at the base of his throat. He sends it before all of his braincells have escaped the mire of happy hormones still flooding his body.
The reply comes before Shane’s even manages to wipe himself off with the topsheet; he has to wash the sheet set together, so he might as well save himself a washcloth while he’s at it.
Shane: <image sent>
Lily: Боже мой! Ты убил
Lily: Oh my god. You have killed me. Please,
what did I do to earn this, I MUST AGAIN.
Shane: Did you seriously forget to change
your keyboard over before texting me?
Shane: I’m still learning Russian
curse words, alphabet is next.
Lily: JANE. Focus!!!!
3️⃣
Ilya has a perfectly reasonable reaction to seeing the notification pop up on his phone screen that his boyfriend has texted him. If he forcibly shoves Cliff out of their shared hotel room when the following notification of an image receipt comes through, that’s also, probably, yes, reasonable.
Cliff laughs, calls him whipped, and steals his credit card to cover his tab at the bar, but Ilya does not give a single fuck about that right now.
He’s back on the hotel bed and reaching for his phone the second after the privacy latch slides into place on the door.
Jane: Let me know if this loads okay?
Jane: <forilya.gif>
The image loads, grainy at first, and Ilya frowns at it; the last two shots Shane had sent had taken a while to load, because he insisted on using the HQ setting on his camera. This one also takes a while to load, but is still grainy, with a ▶PLAY symbol in the center when it finally comes through.
Ilya taps at his screen to make the image full sized before pressing it, though it takes his brain a minute to catch on to what, exactly, he’s looking at.
It’s clearly a side view of Shane’s throat; the profile of his Adam’s apple familiar to Ilya after spending hours in the car to and from the cottage, staring at Shane and grinning so hard his face ached for days afterwards. But the gif kicks into gear, and suddenly Ilya is no longer concerned about whether the image is identifiable as Shane, because of course it isn’t, but dear god-
The gif is slow, but unmistakably shows the shape of Shane’s throat shift, changing to accommodate something thick and long easing deeper and deeper-
A flash of purple shows as the recording wobbles briefly, the bold color of Shane’s ‘thing’ visible for only a heartbeat before the gif loops back on itself.
In and out, in and out, Shane’s throat bulging and shifting on an endless loop, right there on Ilya’s phone.
He comes embarrassingly fast, lounge pants barely shoved down past his cock as he furiously jerks himself to the looping image.
Ilya: Loaded great.
Ilya: <image of Ilya’s hand, held in a ‘thumbs up’ pose,
knuckles coated in thick dribbles of cum.>
Jane: Oh. Good. 😳
4️⃣
If anyone asks, which no one will, Shane will blame his next snapshot sent to Ilya on the fact that it’s his boyfriend's birthday, and he's hundreds of miles out of reach because Ilya is at some sponsorship function that he couldn’t get out of.
And Ilya has always been very, very vocal about his appreciation for having Shane on his knees.
The jersey might’ve been a step too far; but it helped with the anonymity aspect, didn’t it? Who would think that Shane Hollander, Captain of the Metros, would be sending illicit nudes to Ilya Rozanov… wearing a Boston Raiders jersey, of all things?
And because it’s another thing that Ilya has expressed undying love for, and Shane is an overachiever at heart, he brings himself off just by riding his second favorite toy. Kneeling on his dark blue sheets now streaked with white, Shane grabs his phone with his off hand and snaps the photo.
Lens pointed down at his chest and bent knees, cock still mostly hard with a lingering dribble of cum welled up at the tip, Ilya’s 81 on full display; his right hand is palm up on his thigh as if to say ‘See? Hands free. Neat trick.’
Shane’s only just hit Send when his phone buzzes an alert in his hand from his security app-
Motion Detected: Front Door
There’s also a half dozen missed messages from Ilya; to be fair, Shane had been pretty distracted.
-followed shortly by the sound of said door closing, excited Russian cursing in a very familiar voice, and footsteps thundering up the stairs.
Lily: What are you doing now?
Lily: You are at home, yes?
Lily: Jaaaaaaane
Lily: Is my birthday, stop ignoring me
Lily: You are making birthday surprise very difficult
Lily: 🥺
Shane: <image sent>
5️⃣
When Ilya first sees Shane’s next picture, the first thing he notices is of course, the freckles. Shane is sitting somewhere sunlit and bright, based off of the sunglasses he is wearing, and the light sheen of sweat on his skin.
The second thing Ilya thinks he sees is a cigarette hanging out of Shane’s mouth; his brain immediately rejects this, and that’s when he sees the rounded bump of Shane’s be-speckled cheek.
A second image comes through, offering clarification in the sexiest way possible; Shane’s lips, spread in an obscene O shape, stretched around the broad bulb of a cherry-red lollipop, stick poking out from his mouth as he holds the lolli in place with suction alone.
Ilya’s pulse sky rockets, even as his blood rushes south.
It’s just so very Shane, to send him something so conceptually innocent, but deeply, deeply filthy at the same time.
Even though they’re snapshots of Shane’s face, they’re close up shots; impossible to tell who’s freckled cheek that is, unless you’ve personally counted each precious spot yourself.
Which Ilya has, many times.
This is also why he doesn’t feel even a teensy bit of guilt when he saves the first picture as his lock screen, and the second one as his home screen, and then locks himself in the hotel bathroom for the next fifteen minutes; flipping a laughing Marleau the bird as he goes.
“You have a fuckin’ problem, Roz!”
➕1️⃣
It is sweet of Ilyusha and his Jane to let her stay in their guestroom, but the water pressure here is shit. She knows for a fact that the best room in the house for a shower is Ilya’s en suite, and she’s not about to let some potential nip-slips on the lover boys’ part keep her from having a decent morning.
So with the sun breaking through the open windows of the master suite, Svetlana slips into the room, wrapped in a towel and clutching her toiletry bag, stepping lightly to prevent waking her hosts.
Except.
The sunlight is shining, dawn breaking outside, and the lighting in here is casting beautiful colors across the two very nude bodies in the over sized bed that Ilya insisted he had to have. Both of them are still entirely asleep, cuddled up together, Ilyusha draped across Hollander’s back, one arm draped possessively over the muscular plane of his lover's belly.
Svetlana knows hockey best, cars second best; but she definitely knows art when she sees it.
Plucking her phone from her toiletries bag, she takes the time to adjust the settings and snaps a photo to capture the perfectly lit moment. She sends it off, ducking for the bathroom when both phones ping with the incoming message.
If she does manage to wake them with the texted photo, she still wants first dibs at the shower.
📸
“You cannot hang that in our living room.” Shane fumes for the third time that morning.
“This is fucking art.” Ilya argues, waving his phone in Shane’s face like it wasn’t the first thing he’d seen this morning upon waking. “Belongs in the fucking Loofa, Shane!”
“The Louvre, and I know you know that.” Shane counters, fighting back a smile; which is, quite possibly, why Ilya had said it wrong in the first place.
“Fine. If not living room, then the cottage.” he barters, hands on his bare hips, sweatpants slung low and enticing.
It’s a dirty bargaining tool.
“No, my parents visit there.”
“The bedroom then, over fireplace.” Ilya pleads.
“I’m not staring at my own naked ass every morning when I wake up!” Shane denies, shaking his head; even if the idea of waking up to Ilya’s naked ass every morning was pretty fucking tempting.
“The trophy room. Final offer. With promise I turn frame down before camera interviews.” Ilya tries, desperate; the fact that he’s considered that they host interviews from that room sometimes tells Shane he’s taking this seriously.
If he doesn’t give him somewhere to put that damned, albeit admittedly sexy photo, who knows where it will turn up?
“Fine.” Shane concedes.
Ilya’s victorious shout feels good against Shane’s lips as he’s pulled in for a kiss.