Archive of Our Own

Boston University, Fall

Shane Hollander: Junior, 21, player for the Boston University Terriers, and majoring in Human Physiology. He is Canadian but was recruited to play for Boston. He is the team captain, and everyone knows he is intense about hockey, but it was important for him to have a degree as a backup.

Ilya Rozanov: Junior, 21, player for the Boston University Terriers, and majoring in finance. He was scouted by several NHL teams, but wants a finance degree. He is great at hockey, but he wants the option to do something else too.

Shane and Ilya work well together on the ice, but there is no confusion that they aren't fans of each other. Shane is constantly fed up with Ilya showing up late and not taking things as seriously as him. Ilya likes to tease him, but he always puts his all in during games. It’s been like this since they started two and half years ago.

Midway through the fall semester, Ilya takes a bad hit and is taken off the ice during the game.

Two Days Later

The Next Day

The Next Day

Tuesday Evening

Ilya gets the text from Shane that he’s outside his apartment at promptly seven in the evening. He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and stands, using the arm of the couch to support him before he grabs his crutches.

He’s been wearing nothing but sweatpants and loungewear since the injury, finding putting jeans on over the knee brace too difficult. The brace keeps his knee stable while the muscle recovers, and the crutches keep the weight off of it, but God, is it frustrating. What he wouldn’t do just to move freely and without pain.

Tonight, he’s in a black tank top and grey sweats. He’d managed to shower earlier, putting plastic wrap over the brace because he’d been too worried about taking it off and then slipping or somehow further hurting his knee. His hair is a little fluffier than normal, but at least he’s clean. There’s textbooks and papers strewn about his apartment, some takeout containers on the counter, a few cans of beer laying around. Look, he hasn’t felt like cooking or cleaning, so this is as good as it’s gonna get for Shane, who probably has a pristine and sterile environment he lives in.

Whatever. Shane didn’t hurt his ACL.

Ilya hits the buzzer by his front door and waits by it until he hears two quick knocks. He sighs and opens the door, awkwardly stepping back with his crutches.

Shane also looks freshly showered and is also in athleisure; some track pants and a hoodie. So at least he’s not under dressed or anything.

Shane gives him a once over, and Ilya thinks maybe his eyes linger, but he ignores that.

“Hi,” Ilya says, because Shane hasn’t said anything yet.

“Hey.”

“Come in,” he says, and moves away from the door, gently lowering himself back onto the couch, resting his crutches against it. The Simpsons play in the background, a show Ilya has found to be one of the funnier American shows, and also very helpful with English.

Shane steps into the space, but hesitates at the couch.

“There are drinks in the fridge. Water, soda, Gatorade,” Ilya offers.

“Sure. You want something too?”

Ilya shrugs, then answers. “Coke.”

Shane returns to the sofa a moment later with a can of Coke and a bottle of water, and this time he sits, handing Ilya the can and settling into the furthest spot on the sofa.

“Do you think I bite? You aren’t going to be helpful with my stretching if you can’t be near me,” Ilya quips, smirking a little, especially when Shane blushes.

Shane doesn’t answer, but he does move closer on the sofa and he sets his bag on the ground, pulling out a laptop. He opens it up while Ilya cracks open his Coke and watches his hands move across the keyboard.

“Wow,” Ilya says, looking at the screen. Shane pulls out a spreadsheet, a schedule, a list of exercises, logs and check ins. It’s methodical and a little overwhelming. “Hollander, I’m not going to do worksheets for you.”

“No, I know. They’re for me. I’m just… thorough. I need to make sure this saves my grade. It’s just a lot of tracking stuff for me.”

Ilya nods. “Okay. Where do we begin?”

From there, Shane talks. Oh, does Shane talk. Ilya zones out a few minutes in, when he goes over the plan. It’s more in depth than the physical therapists had been. Shane goes over the stretches, the goals, the checkpoints. He goes over the questions he’ll ask, the logs. Ilya is quiet, sipping his Coke and nodding as Shane points at the different tabs on his computer.

“Rozanov?” Shane says, in a tone that’s clear it’s not his first time saying Ilya’s name.

“Yes? Sorry,” Ilya says a little sheepishly. “What was the question?”

“Will you be able to share the documents and write ups from physical therapy? So I don’t do anything to contradict them?”

Ilya can’t remember what contradict means, but he nods. “Mm, yes. Sure,” he says.

“Great. So. How does that all sound?”

Ilya doesn't know. “Fine. Good. Just once a week, yes?”

Shane shrugs a little noncommittal.

“Hollander.”

“Sure. But, since you won’t have your regular strength training and stuff, maybe we can supplement a bit,” he says.

Ilya frowns. “I’ll still be doing arms, back, abs, chest. You don’t want me all skinny for next season,” he says.

Shane looks away. “No. Right.”

“Once a week. I still have classes, practices, modified training, and physical therapy. Okay?” Ilya reminds him.

“Yeah. Of course,” Shane nods.

“Is that all?”

“What?” Shane looks confused. “Were you even listening? We have to do the initial assessment today, so I can get an idea of what you can do, and so we can communicate how things feel,” he says, a little frustrated.

“Hollander,” Ilya groans. “You talked so long. I’m tired. Come on.”

“It’s been a half hour. If you lay on the floor, do you think you’d be able to get up, or do you want to stay on the couch?”

Alright. Well. Shane isn’t taking no for an answer. “Couch,” Ilya says.

“Okay,” Shane nods, and then he’s standing, pushing the coffee table away and… getting on his knees on the floor in front of Ilya, between his legs.

Ilya can’t help the way his eyebrows raise, and he certainly ignores the way his stomach flips.

“Can I touch you?”

Jesus Christ. Ilya swallows, and reverts to what he knows; teasing. “Usually when people get on their knees and ask to touch me, they don’t look so serious,” he says.

Oh, and that’s interesting. Shane sputters, at a loss for words, his face going a pretty shade of pink that makes Ilya’s eyes focus on his freckles. “I… Fuck off,” Shane finally manages to get out.

“Yes, captain. You can touch. Thank you for asking so politely.”

Shane keeps his head down as he reaches his hands up and gently feels along Ilya’s knee, his fingers grazing over the edge of the brace beneath his sweatpants.

Ilya’s eyes are locked onto Shane’s hands, careful and hesitant.

“Is okay. I will say if it hurts,” Ilya says softly.

Shane nods. “Okay. I’m just gonna… uh. Bend your leg straight, okay?”

“Okay.”

Shane goes slowly, one hand going down to cup Ilya’s calf, the other holding beneath his knee for added stability. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Ilya nods. “Sore, but not painful to straighten. Bending hurts more,” he says. “Is weird feeling. Like, uh. Loose. Like my knee is floating. Feels scary when I move, like it will just… I don’t know,” he thinks of the right words. “Buckle, yes?”

Shane grimaces a little at that. “Yeah. Okay. This is good, though. The range of motion without pain is good. It gives me a good log to start with, and then by next week, once you work with the physical therapists, we can figure out what sort of things we’ll start on,” he says.

Ilya nods, because he really doesn’t know much about this, but he trusts his physical therapists, and for some reason, he also trusts Shane. Probably because Shane has a vested interest in wanting Ilya to play next season.

“Uh, I can get going now. I’ll email you the notes and stuff,” he says, still kneeling on the ground as he gently lowers Ilya’s leg back down. Ilya frowns a little at the sensation of it bending, and Shane catches it. “Sorry,” he says softly.

“Is okay. This is nice view of you,” he says for some stupid reason, maybe because he wants to tease Shane, to see him blush again. He does, standing up.

“Thanks for doing this. Seriously.”

Ilya nods again. “Sure.”

“Okay, uh,” Shane says, packing up his laptop. “I’ll see you at practice.”

“I’m not putting on the uniform,” Ilya says.

“I know. Okay. Uh. Goodnight. Take it easy,” Shane says, but then he pauses, looking at Ilya on the couch. “I’m just gonna…” he says, and then inexplicably and incredibly confusingly, he picks up Ilya’s mess. Ilya is too shocked to even tell him not to, as he picks up the beer cans and puts them in the paper bag by the trash, and scoops up the few takeout containers, tossing them in the trash.

Ilya can’t even contain the expression on his face, slightly terrified and very confused.

“Just uh… so you don’t have to pick up with crutches,” Shane says, looking at Ilya. His face looks equally confused, like he’s not sure why he did that, or if he overstepped, or why he felt comfortable cleaning up after his teammate he’s had an entirely strained relationship with.

“Right,” Ilya says.

“Um. Night,” Shane says, heading to the door quickly.

“Goodnight, Hollander.”

He waits until he hears the door click before he jerks off on the sofa, frantic and too dry and rushed, entirely quiet besides his quickened breathing.

“Fuck,” he hisses after he cums over his hand.

What the fuck?

An Hour Later

A Few Days Later, Post Practice that Ilya Watched

The Next Morning

Tuesday Evening

Ilya isn’t super sure what Shane eats, but he has overheard him turn down post-practice invites for pizza or burgers, and he’d asked for something light, so Ilya imagines he likes to be healthy. In the end, he orders him a papaya salad and some fresh spring rolls with shrimp and vegetables. He gets himself chicken pad Thai and some crispy spring rolls, and when the buzzer goes off, he isn’t sure if it’ll be Shane or the food delivery first.

It turns out to be both, because Shane knocks on the door a minute later with the delivery in his hands.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you for bringing it up,” he says.

“No problem,” Shane says, looking Ilya over. “Go sit. Can I get forks, napkins, whatever from your kitchen?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you,” Ilya says, smiling a little because at least this time Shane offered to help instead of just doing it, and also because… well. It’s nice to have someone help out. The other day he’d just forgone a fork because he’d settled into the couch and didn’t want to deal with standing or pain or crutches or any of it. “Get drinks from the fridge, please. Coke for me,” he says to Shane as he sits on the sofa and turns the TV on to some dumb action movie .

Shane comes back to the living room, and he sets down napkins and forks, opening a Coke for Ilya, and setting a Gatorade in front of his own spot. He takes food from the bags and looks at each item, as if deducing whose is whose. He gets it right. Of course he does. He doesn’t even ask, just looks at the noodles and the fried rolls and sets them by Ilya, before sitting down and opening his own salad and unfried rolls.

Ilya stares at him, an eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Ilya says, smirking as he takes a bite from the crispy, fried spring roll.

“Thanks, uh… Thank you. For dinner,” Shane says.

“Yes. Is no problem. I cancelled my plans for you, so… you know. Price you pay for making me lonely. You have to eat dinner with me.”

Ilya watches as Shane smiles a little, rolls his eyes, and takes a bite of the papaya salad. “Holy shit. This is so good,” he says.

Ilya shouldn’t be as happy about that as he is. “Good,” he says.

They eat in relative silence, though a few times Ilya speaks, maybe with food in his mouth, asking Shane about how he thinks other players are doing, or what he thinks about certain NHL players.

When their food is finished, Ilya moves to stand, but Shane waves him off. “Stay, it’s fine. I’ll clean up and then we can get to work, yeah?”

Ilya feels warm, and maybe a little guilty. “Hollander,” he says as Shane stacks containers. “I can do things. You know that, right?”

Shane looks at him, a little startled. “I know. It’s just… It’s no problem,” he says, so Ilya nods.

Shane comes back shortly after, and pulls out his laptop. “So,” he starts. “I filled out some initial logs and I looked over the stuff you sent me from your therapist. I have a few exercises I wanted to practice today. They’re really easy, nothing that should cause any strain or stretch, just some mobility stuff, really,” he says.

Ilya looks over to him. “Okay.”

Shane chews his lip a little, uncertain. It’s cute.

“What?”

“Just…” Shane sighs. “We’d be better off doing this at a gym, you know. With benches and stuff. Since the couch doesn’t give me good access to you if you’re laying down, and you shouldn’t be getting up from the floor yet-”

“No,” Ilya interrupts him. “I have to leave for classes, practice, therapy. It’s hard,” he says, a little whinier than he means to be. It’s just, it really is such a pain to use the crutches, especially in the winter, on the icy sidewalks.

“I know,” Shane says, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying we have to go to a gym, okay? I’m just saying, there’s only so many options here that work, and uh…” Shane blushes then, a soft pink spreading across his cheeks as he refuses to make eye contact. “Maybe your bed would make the most sense.”

Ilya’s eyebrows must shoot up at that, because really, of all the things he expected Shane to say, suggesting they move to Ilya’s bed was not one of them. Fuck, is it even made? There are probably dirty socks and discarded boxers thrown all over the place. He was gonna clean, especially if his original plan of having the cute senior girl from his economics class over hadn’t been derailed. It’s just, the plans changed and he never got around to it, and now Shane is finally looking at him expectantly, and fuck, he has to come up with something clever to say or else it’s gonna be weird.

“Captain taking me to bed?” Ilya says, regaining composure. “I feel special.”

“Shut up,” Shane snaps back, standing up and picking up his laptop. “It’s just the only place I’m not gonna be blocked by a couch, okay?”

“Okay,” Ilya says, and now he’s grinning as he stands, bracing himself on the couch before he gets his crutches under his arms and leads the way to his room. He gets inside of it and looks it over and… okay. It’s not a complete disaster. He at least pulled his comforter up so the bed is made, and there’s only a few stray items of clothing thrown about, and none of them are boxers.

Shane is behind him as Ilya moves into the space.

“You can uh… Get on the bed. On your back. Don’t say anything,” Shane warns.

Ilya smirks, but he does as he’s directed to, resting his crutches against the nightstand as he gets onto the bed, his uninjured knee first, before he slowly guides his other knee onto the bed, and then he lays back, his shoulders propped up against the pillows.

Shane stands at the end of the bed, looking a little frozen. “Stretches,” Ilya reminds him.

“Right. Yeah. Can I…” he gestures to the bed.

“Yes, Hollander,” Ilya grins. “You can get into my bed with me. And you can touch me,” he says, ignoring the way his voice sounds a little breathier than he means it to.

So, Shane does. He climbs into bed, kneeling between Ilya’s legs, and he gently guides the uninjured one away, spreading Ilya’s legs a little wider to make room for himself.

Fuck. This isn’t good. Or it is good, and that’s the problem. Ilya feels that familiar warmth in the base of his gut, a pooling feeling, nerves waking up, a soft but unignorable feeling of pleasure but a need for more. He takes a steadying inhale and nods, watching Shane’s hands as they go to his injured knee and trace up it like they did last time, feeling for the brace, just gently making themselves familiar with the area.

“Okay. I’m just going to start by getting a feel for the full range of motion and waking the muscles up a little, alright? You tell me if anything hurts,” Shane says.

Ilya nods, a little jerky with his movement.

One of Shane’s hands goes to Ilya’s socked ankle, and the other goes to his knee over his sweatpants, supporting it as he slowly lifts it, guiding Ilya’s foot back on the bed as he bends his knee.

Shane starts to speak then, quietly, more to himself than to Ilya. “That’s good, okay,” he says. He lists some muscles, Ilya thinks, comments on the range of motion as he bends Ilya’s leg.

Ilya can’t really focus, because his brain is saying one thing on repeat, rather loudly: don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner-

Look. It’s been a while. Well. It’s been longer than normal. It’s been two weeks, and he was supposed to break his dryspell tonight, but now he’s here, in bed, with a pretty good looking guy, and his wires are getting a little crossed, that’s all.

“Ah,” Ilya hisses a little when the bend is deep enough that it hurts. Shane retracts instantly but carefully, straightening Ilya’s leg back out. “Sorry,” he says. “That was good, though. Really good starting point. Let’s try it again, but elevated. I’m gonna lift your leg up and bend it back toward your chest, okay?”

“Okay,” Ilya nods, his voice sounding far too strained. Don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner, only then Shane’s hand is on the underside of Ilya’s thigh as he pushes his leg up, and fuck, it’s not even like Ilya likes being manhandled or manuevered during sex, it’s just, there are warm hands on him, warm hands attached to a pretty man who is speaking to him gently, and Ilya can’t help it. No amount of willing it away stops his cock from hardening, and what is he supposed to do? If he could kick Shane, he would, but his leg can’t exactly do that right now, and he just has to hope his half hard cock settles down before Shane lowers his leg back down.

No such luck. “That’s it,” Shane says softly as Ilya’s knee gets closer to his chest.

Ilya chances a glance down at his crotch, and there’s no mistaking it. He’s hard. He’s fully hard in his stupidly light grey sweatpants, leaving a sizable bulge in them that is wholly unmistakeable.

Shane starts to straighten his leg out as he lowers it, which will, of course, reveal what he desperately wants to hide. “Hollander,” Ilya says tersely.

“Yeah? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Ilya says. “Just…” Fuck. What the fuck is he supposed to say? Sorry I have a boner? Could you please avert your eyes? I’m not a creep? Please, also, if you’d like to blow me, I’d really appreciate it?

Words don’t come out, so Shane straightens Ilya’s leg out, and looks up at him, or at least, Ilya thinks that’s what he goes for, but then Ilya watches in sickening slow motion as his eyes land right on the bulge which conveniently bobs once against Ilya’s sweatpants like his dick is fucking saying hi to the new set of eyes on it.

Ilya turns his head to half bury it into the pillow. “I am sorry,” he grumbles, utterly mortified.

Shane is quiet for a moment before his hand lands on Ilya’s uninjured knee. “No, hey. Uh. It’s okay. That’s… uh. A really common thing. In physical therapy. Like, they told us about it in class, that’s how common it is, just, you know. Reaction to a stimuli, to being touched, it’s fine, it’s-”

“God, even now, so professional, so serious,” Ilya groans, still refusing to look at Shane. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry. We’re in bed, and I was gonna have a date, you know, and just… yes,” he nods. “Like you said. Reaction to being touched.” At least Shane isn’t laughing at him. At least Shane is giving him an out.

“No big deal,” Shane says. “Um… I still have some stretches, or do you want a break?”

Ilya’s head snaps to Shane then, his eyebrows knitted together. “What? You want to keep doing this while I’m hard?”

“I’m being professional,” Shane says.

“Fuck,” Ilya groans, shutting his eyes. “I am in hell. This is hell. I died on the ice, and now I’m in hell.”

“Shut up. Being in bed with me is hell?” Shane bites back, a little bit of amusement in his tone, and isn’t that something?

Ilya opens his eyes. “Yes,” he nods, like it’s obvious. “Being in bed with you, while I’m fucking hard,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “is fucking hell.”

Shane’s thumb is rubbing over Ilya’s knee, and Ilya wonders if he even notices he’s doing it. It’s certainly not helping the situation at hand.

“Um. Look, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. That’s sort of the opposite of what a physical therapist wants. Is there anything I can do to help?” He asks.

Ilya can’t stop his eyebrows from shooting up again. “What?” He asks, sounding a little manic, high pitched and thready. “Help? With…” he gestures dismissively to his boner.

“Oh, um.. I meant..” Shane stammers, then looks up to Ilya, locking eyes with him, something crossing his face that Ilya can’t quite recognize. “Yeah,” he settles on. “I could… help. With that,” Shane says, mirroring Ilya’s previous motion, and gesturing toward the bulge in his sweats.

Holy shit. Maybe this isn’t hell afterall.

“Hollander,” Ilya says quietly, searching Shane’s face for anything, for regret or fear. He finds neither. Shane looks a little nervous maybe, but also soft, maybe eager? His cheeks are pink and his pupils are blown wide, and his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

“If you want,” Shane says, as if there’s any universe where Ilya would turn this down. “Then we can focus on stretching after. Probably easier to focus when you aren’t… um. Hard,” he says, like it’s the logical solution to the problem between Ilya’s legs.

“Probably,” Ilya agrees because his brain can’t come up with anything else.

“So…”

“Yes,” Ilya nods quickly, finally catching up to what’s in front of him, what’s being offered. “Fuck. Hollander. Yes.”

Shane smiles then, a soft of relieved chuckle escaping him. “Cool. Seems fair since you cancelled your date, right? This way you get what you want, and I know you aren’t exerting yourself.”

“Ah,” Ilya nods. “Sounds like a fair trade,” he says, going for sarcastic and not quite hitting the mark.

“Shut up,” Shane says, rolling his eyes.

“You’ve done this before? With a man?” Ilya asks.

“No,” Shane says simply, definitively enough that Ilya doesn’t push. Okay. So Shane wants to get him off, and he’s never been with a man. He wants his first time with a man to be with Ilya. That’s fine. Sure. Yeah. That’s nothing to freak out over.

“You want to…” Ilya starts, then exhales shakily. “What do you want to do?”

Shane thinks for a moment, as if Ilya’s just asked him what he wants to drink. “What do you want?”

“I want you to suck my cock,” Ilya says, blunt and direct because he thinks all the blood from his brain is now in his cock, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to formulate words.

“Okay,” Shane says, like it’s that easy. How is he not completely losing his mind like Ilya is right now? Ilya always pegged Shane as sort of private, confident on the ice but shy off of it. The Shane reaching for Ilya’s waistband doesn’t look shy. “Uh… tell me if I’m bad,” Shane says, and then his hands are pulling down Ilya’s sweats until they’re bunched up at his thighs, and Ilya’s cock is straining against the boxers.

Usually he goes for briefs, because they look better on him, and he likes the tightness, the support, but boxers have been easier to put on since his injury, so… Whatever. Shane probably isn’t judging his choice in underwear. Fuck, when did he get so self concious? He’s Ilya Rozanov. He can get anyone, he reminds himself. He’s also done this before with a man, which gives him another leg up.

It’s just, then he looks back down to Hollander, his pretty brown eyes, his slightly parted lips, his freckles, the way his hands move to pull down Ilya’s boxers, and the way his eyes widen and settle on Ilya’s cock, hard and exposed and-

“Big,” Shane says softly.

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “Just, ah… Whatever you can fit. I will like it,” he says. He thinks Shane could gently blow next to Ilya’s cock right now and he’d like it.

Shane lowers himself down a bit, settling in between Ilya’s legs, and he braces himself on one elbow while his other hand moves up to touch, finally. He wraps his hand around the base of Ilya’s cock, and then he leans in. Ilya watches in silence, barely even breathing as Shane’s tongue darts out and softly licks over the head of Ilya’s cock, tonguing the slit before he pulls back.

“Jesus, Hollander. No teasing. I’m not gonna last,” he tells him.

“Aw,” Shane says, a bit of mock pity in his tone. “Alright. I’ll put you out of your misery,” he says, and then his lips are wrapped around Ilya’s cock, his wet, warm mouth suctioning around the first few inches.

It feels so good Ilya wants to let his head fall back, but he can’t stop staring at Shane, the way his lips stretch, the way his brow furrows just a bit, a look of concentration as he bobs his head. Even with this, he seems calculated, gauging how much he can take before he pulls up again, and then starts to bob his head.

“Holy shit,” Ilya gasps. Shane’s hand strokes over the length he can’t get in his mouth, and he slurps and sucks, wet and a little messier than Ilya would have predicted, really. Ilya is groaning, breathing heavily, grunting out little sounds and curses as Shane works. He brings a hand that’s been white knuckling the comforter up to Shane’s head, tangling with his hair. He doesn’t push down, but there’s a slight weight to his hand, and Shane moans around Ilya’s cock the second his hand is in his hair.

“You like that?” Ilya manages to get out, voice low and breathy.

“Mhm,” Shane agrees, bobbing his head, after a particularly filthy slurping sound echoes in the room.

“Fuck,” Ilya hisses, and he pushes down a little, not much, not anything Shane couldn’t push back against, but just enough pressure to guide him down more. Shane’s response is instant, another moan caught in his throat, vibrating against Ilya’s cock as he takes him deeper. Fuck. He’s dizzy with it, and he feels it building.

“Hollander,” he grunts, pulling up on Shane’s hair, pulling him off before he replaces Shane’s mouth with his hand and gives himself a few quick strokes before he’s cumming, spilling over his hand and shooting up onto his shirt as well. He watches Shane, his lips slick, cheeks pink, eyes glazed over yet watching intensely as Ilya’s orgasm winds down, as his hand loosens, and his chest rises and falls quickly while he tries to catch his breath.

Shane laughs then, a little wrecked sounding. “Holy shit,” he says, grinning as he looks at Ilya.

So, Ilya laughs too. “Yes,” he agrees. “Um…” he says, looking over Shane. “You want me to return the favor?” He can’t exactly get on his knees, but he could jerk Shane off, or if Shane feels adventurous, he could straddle Ilya’s chest so Ilya can blow him.

Instead, Shane shakes his head. “Nah, I’m okay. Wasn’t a favor. It was fair trade, yeah? Like you said.”

Ilya doesn’t exactly understand, because he had just been sarcastic, making fun of Shane’s insinuation that it was fair because he’d cancelled his date. But, he’s coming down from a really good orgasm, and Shane just sucked his cock, so he doesn’t push.

Instead, Shane brings him some wet washcloths and lets Ilya wipe off his hand and his shirt and pull his sweats back up, before he gets back on the bed and goes to resume the previous stretching exercises.

“There,” Shane says with a smile, once he has Ilya’s leg up in the air. “Much better, right? No more distractions.”

Ilya stares at him a little incredulously. “Yes, Hollander. A blowjob really cleared my head. Jesus Christ,” he says, but then he can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation anyway, and Shane laughs too, so… it’s fine. It’s probably fine. Close to an hour must go by of stretching and questions and Shane being incredibly thorough before he’s saying his goodbyes, thanking Ilya for meeting with him.

“Yeah,” Ilya nods. “Any time.”

An Hour After Shane Leaves

After Their Next Practice

After Boston University Beats Harvard

True to his word, Shane is knocking on Ilya’s door in twenty minutes, looking a little flustered. His hair is windswept and his face is flushed, but he’s here, eager and pretty, and Ilya has to remind himself of that. Shane thought this up and chose it, he’s not being a dick for following through, for taking Shane up on his offer. Sure, Ilya could’ve said no to the entire deal, but… well. Why would he do that? It’s nice to have someone regular around. Ilya hasn’t had that for a while.

“Hi,” Ilya says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Hey,” Shane answers, a little breathless as he hangs up his jacket.

“Do you want water? Sit? Catch your breath?” Ilya asks, a little amused.

“No. I’m good.”

Ilya’s lip quirks at that. “Okay. Eager. Bedroom,” he says, nodding toward the open door, and he follows Shane into the room on his crutches.

“How are we going to-“ Shane trails off, watching as Ilya sits on the end of the bed and pulls his shirt off over his head.

“Two ideas. Your decision,” Ilya says with a shrug.

Shane looks at him expectantly, and Ilya makes him wait with it for a few moments. He’s cute when he’s impatient.

“I lay on the bed. You straddle my chest, I suck you off. Maybe, if you feel generous, you reach back and jerk me off,” Ilya says. It’s a good option. He likes this option. But…

“Okay. Yeah,” Shane nods. “And, option two?”

Ilya grins, wide, a flash of his teeth before he speaks. “I bet you’ve never sixty-nine’d.”

Shane blushes, and then he surprises Ilya, pulling his own shirt over his head and folding it.

“Well? Have you made a decision?” Ilya asks. Maybe Shane is playing with him? Making him wait the same way he had done to Shane? Ilya really needs to stop underestimating him.

“I think,” Shane says, leaning down to help with Ilya’s sweatpants, giving him enough support to lift his hips so Shane can pull them off, “that from a physical therapist perspective, sixty-nine is better,” he says with a grin.

“Oh, yeah?” Ilya laughs. “Is that your professional opinion?”

Shane is crawling over him onto the bed then, pushing him back until he’s splayed out. “Maybe I just want to suck your cock too,” he says, once he’s straddling Ilya, the two of them still in their underwear.

“Okay,” Ilya nods. “I can allow that.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Should I-“ he starts, gesturing a circle with his fingers, like he’s motioning turning around.

“We should probably kiss first, no? We didn’t before. Just… you know. I like to kiss someone before their dick goes in my mouth. I guess you didn’t mind,” Ilya says, teasing at the end.

“Oh shut up,” Shane says, smacking Ilya on the shoulder.

“This is patient abuse! My doctor is hitting me,” Ilya cries out in mock distress, until both of them are laughing and Shane is half collapsed on top of Ilya’s chest, his mouth inches from Ilya’s. Ilya’s eyes flick down to Shane’s lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Shane answers softly, his expression softening, and then they’re kissing, a soft wet slide of their lips together. Ilya can’t help himself from deepening it, his tongue sliding between Shane’s lips. Only when Shane is hard and starting to grind against Ilya’s hip does he break the kiss.

“Okay, okay,” he breathes. “Don’t cum in your underwear. Get on top of me,” he says.

Shane stands, taking his underwear off, and he helps Ilya with his. Not that Ilya can’t alone, but it’s easier to not have to bend his knee, and it’s nice that Shane just helps.

“Okay,” Shane says, inhaling like he’s steadying himself. “I just…” Ilya takes his moment of hesitancy to look over Shane. He’s seen him in the locker room, but here, in the dim light of Ilya’s bedroom, hard and beautiful… shit. Ilya might be a little fucked when it comes to this whole situation.

Ilya lowers himself down a bit on the bed. “Yep. Elbows by my hips, knees more by my head,” he says. He actually hasn’t done this particular position with a man before, but he’s done it with women. He just has to hope he won’t gag with Shane thrusting into his mouth from above him.

In the end, this is the best idea Ilya’s had to date. He’s able to squeeze Shane’s ass, to cup it with his hands while Shane lowers himself down enough. Ilya just has to tilt his chin up to get Shane’s cock in his mouth. He listens to Shane react, and then when his moans are muffled by Ilya’s own cock in Shane’s mouth.

Fuck, it’s perfect. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure of Shane’s warm mouth, the flicks of his tongue, the soft vibrations as he moans around Ilya’s cock. Then there’s the weight of Shane’s cock on his tongue. The angle is a little harder than normal, and he has a little less control, but he takes it, sucks Shane down and guides his ass to let him know it’s okay for him to thrust forward, to grind his hips and fuck into Ilya’s mouth a bit.

“Mm-clothe,” Shane mumbles around Ilya’s cock, which he thinks is supposed to be a warning that he’s close. So, Ilya holds down on Shane’s ass, even when Shane tries to pull out a bit, Ilya holds him and sucks and hollows his cheeks until Shane is moaning around his cock, spilling down Ilya’s throat.

Only when he’s swallowed it all does Ilya pop his mouth off. He’s so close, and Shane had stopped sucking or moving much while he came, overwhelmed, probably. But now Ilya is aching and on the edge in Shane’s mouth, so he speaks, his voice a little raw.

“Hollander. Please. I’m close, get me off,” he says. Maybe it sounds demanding but his voice is whiny enough, desperate as he asks.

Shane gives him a few more firm, deep sucks, bobbing his head until Ilya thinks he can feel the back of Shane’s throat, before he pulls off. It only takes a half dozen strokes of Shane’s hand before Ilya is cumming hard, moaning, his abdomen clenching as he spills over Shane’s hand and as some hits his leg.

“Holy fuck,” Ilya exhales as Shane rolls over, off of his hands and elbows and onto his back, his feet near Ilya’s head.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. “Shit.”

“You are a natural. Really,” Ilya says, and he relishes in the sound of Shane laughing softly.

“Thanks. You’re… yeah. You’re really good at sucking dick,” Shane says.

Ilya smiles at him. “You want something to drink? Did you bring your study things? You can stay, if you want. Pretty late to head home,” Ilya says, because he’s polite. Because Shane is doing this so Ilya doesn’t get his dick wet with someone else, and if it were someone else, he’d of course offer them to stay.

Shane stands instead. “Nah. I gotta get going, my stuff is at home and I have a quiz tomorrow. Gonna wash up in your bathroom a bit then head home,” he says.

“Sure,” Ilya shrugs, like it doesn’t matter.

“Night,” he says to Shane a few minutes later.

“Night, Rozanov. See you at practice.”

Six Days Later

On the bus to UConn, Ilya is sat in back, alone, so he can stretch his leg across a seat, while Shane is closer to the front with Hayden.

Ilya wakes up an hour and a half later to the bus pulling up to the hotel. His is leg stiff, his neck is sore, and a couple of his teammates are laughing, teasing him for falling asleep so deeply. He’s a bit groggy as he straightens up.

“Okay, okay. Shut up,” he grumbles. “No one drew a penis on my face, right?”

His teammates laugh and tell him they’ll catch him later, one of them joking about how Hollander probably has a curfew for him. Then, Hollander is squeezing past people until it’s just him and Ilya toward the back of the bus.

“Hi Captain,” Ilya says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Hi,” Shane says quietly.

“What?” Ilya asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“”Nothing, you’re just…” Shane smiles a little. “Really fucking cute like this. Never seen you all sleepy,” he says, teasing a little, but it still affects Ilya.

He ducks his head, hiding his face a little. “Okay, alright. Shush. Help with my bag, yes?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Shane says, offering his hand so Ilya can get to his feet. He can mostly use the bus seats to support himself off the bus, and Shane supports him down the stairs, until the bus driver hands him his crutches and gives both his bag and Shane’s bag over to Shane.

“Thank you,” Ilya says, nodding to Shane. They’re behind everyone else, so the hotel lobby is fairly empty, and they have the elevator to themselves. Ilya feels Shane’s eyes on him, raking over his body.

“Yes?” Ilya says, snapping Shane out of it. He looks a little embarrassed to be caught.

“Nothing.”

Ilya nods. “Okay.”

Shane is quiet then, as the elevator stops, and they walk to their room in silence. Ilya collapses onto the bed closer to the door as Shane sets their bags down. The equipment manager will handle bringing their uniforms and gear down to the visiting team locker rooms, so it’s really just the things they need for overnight and the next morning.

Shane sighs, a heavy sound, and goes to sit on the other bed. Ilya clicks his tongue in disapproval. “No. We share,” he says.

“That’s…” Shane starts, but he doesn’t even finish it before he’s laying down on the bed, parallel to Ilya.

“You will win tonight,” Ilya says simply. He thinks they will. They’ve looked good at practice. Also, he thinks Shane needs to hear it.

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“You will,” Ilya says, and then Shane’s hands are intertwining with his.

“Thanks. Can’t wait for you to heal,” he says.

Ilya shifts, turning to face him, his brows knitted. “I didn’t realize…. I don’t know.”

“How much I like having you on the team?” Shane asks.

Ilya nods.

“I didn’t either. You pissed me off, you know? Showing up late, going out partying, doing whatever and being just as good as me. I put everything into this. But… I need you. None of that other stuff matters when we’re on the ice together. We’re fucking… we’re unstoppable together. So I need you to be playing next season. Top form,” Shane explains.

Ilya’s not sure why all of this makes him sad. Maybe because Shane seems sad. Ilya wants to take all of that away from him. “I’m not as good as you,” Ilya says simply. “You are very, very good. Good captain too. I will play next season,” Ilya says.

Shane looks a little surprised, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You want to make out until you have to go?” Ilya offers.

“Shit,” Shane says, and then he’s half climbing onto Ilya, avoiding his injured knee. He straddles Ilya’s thigh and his mouth is on Ilya’s, kissing him deeply, needy and a little desperate. Ilya doesn’t mind. His hands go to cup Shane’s ass, and he lets him lead, lets him push his tongue into Ilya’s mouth and take and take anything he needs from the kiss, until his phone alarm goes off and he’s heading to the locker room to change.

Ilya shows up later, in time to hear Shane’s pep talk, to wish his teammates good luck. He sits and he cheers and he watches his team play. He grabs the barrier to hoist himself up, standing on one leg, and he roars when Shane scores the game winning goal, locking eyes with him. He looks so fucking happy, so Ilya feels happy too.

Two Hours Later

“Hi,” Ilya says, leaning back on the headboard of the bed they’d made out in before the game. Shane shuts the door behind himself and kicks his shoes off. He looks happy, a little glowing. Maybe it was from the win or maybe from a few drinks. Ilya’s had a few drinks of his own from the bottle he’d packed with him. He’s feeling a little looser which is good. He realized a little earlier, while Shane was out, that he’d been nervous. He’s never been nervous for sex. He’s Ilya fucking Rozanov. He’s confident and smooth, he knows what he’s doing. Yet, he can’t deny, in the last two hours, he’s been nursing some liquid courage and staring at his phone, wondering how long it would be until Shane would return. He hadn’t felt like celebrating, maybe because he hadn’t played. It just had felt weird. He knows he could’ve, but… Well. He hadn’t. And now he’s here, a few drinks deep, and Shane is looking at him with pretty, slightly bewildered eyes.

“Hey,” Shane says, crossing the room.

“Hi,” Ilya repeats, sitting up a bit more. “Take your clothes off,” he says, pleased with how the words come out. He doesn’t sound nervous. Shane’s breath hitches slightly, and he nods, so Ilya picks up the half empty glass of vodka on the nightstand and takes a sip as he watches Shane. He watches the way his muscular body moves as he pulls the sweater off over his head. He watches the thick muscles of his thighs as he slips his pants off and folds them. Then, he watches a naked Shane go into his bag and pull out a bottle of lube and a condom, and toss them onto the bed.

“You came prepared,” Ilya says, pleased. He’d also come prepared, but it’s nice to see Shane was just as eager, or maybe just a meticulous planner. He’s pleased either way.

“Yeah,” Shane shrugs.

“Do you want to get on top of me? I can finger you like that?” Ilya offers.

Shane seems to think about it for a moment, but shakes his head. “You can watch. I can do it quicker,” he says.

Well. Ilya likes that option too, as evidenced by the way he’s hard in his shorts. He pulls his tank top over his head before leaning back again and nodding. “Go on,” he directs.

Shane is quicker with it, but it’s not rushed. It’s precise and efficient in a way that makes Ilya’s head swim as he imagines Shane doing this alone, to himself, to get off. Maybe thinking about getting fucked. Maybe thinking about getting fucked by Ilya.

Ilya only realizes he’s palming his cock through his shorts when Shane’s hand reaches over to swat it away. “Be patient,” Shane chastizes, so Ilya nods, swallowing thickly. “I want you to last.”

Fuck. Ilya likes that. He likes knowing he’ll fill Shane up, but that Shane will be on top, riding him, controlling the movements, taking what he wants. Ilya watches as Shane’s fingers pump in and out of him, as his breathing picks up and he lets out a few soft moans.

“Fuck, Hollander. I want to be inside you, please,” Ilya says, a little whinier than he means it to come out.

Shane pulls his hand away and then he pulls Ilya’s shorts down, lifting an eyebrow when he finds that he’s not wearing anything beneath them. It hadn’t seemed worth it after he’d showered in the hotel.

Ilya takes the condom off the bed and slides it on before he lays back, his eyes tracking Shane as he moves, as he climbs on top of Ilya. Ilya grips his own cock, helping him line himself up as Shane lowers himself down slowly.

Shane’s mouth falls open around a silent moan, and his eyes are shut, as he slowly takes in Ilya’s cock. He’s so tight, so hot, taking Ilya in, his cock hard and dripping down on Ilya’s abs. When he’s fully seated, Ilya brings his hands up and gently holds Shane’s hips.

“Is it okay?” he asks gently.

Shane nods slowly. “Yeah. Just a lot. It’s good,” he says, and then he starts to move.

He’s slow at first, more rolling his hips, grinding them in slow circles rather than lifting and lowering himself. It’s a wonderful torture, Ilya thinks. It feels good but he needs more, and he doesn’t even have to ask before Shane picks up the pace. He takes control of it, lifting himself up before lowering himself down slowly, and it’s only a few movements like that before he’s ramping it up again. Shane starts to slam himself down on Ilya’s cock, one of his hands going down to squeeze Ilya’s chest for leverage.

Ilya realizes he isn’t gripping Shane’s hips so much for leverage or control as he is to just have a grip on something. He feels so good, squeezing around Ilya, taking him so well.

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya gasps, interrupting the soft litany of breaths and moans pouring from Shane’s mouth. “That’s it, fuck. You’re so good at this. So good at riding me,” Ilya praises. Shane moans louder in response.

If Ilya were more coherent now, less awed, maybe he’d grip Shane’s hips and fuck up into him hard, but there’s no need. He’s already so close to cumming, watching the beautiful sight on top of him. Shane’s cock jerks in the air, and he lets out a broken moan.

“Fuck, right there, there,” Shane gasps, before his body jolts and he’s cumming, completely untouched, all over Ilya’s chest. His head is thrown back, his neck bared, and Ilya can’t stop himself from following Shane right over the edge, his cock pulsing inside of Shane as he brings a fist up to his own mouth to stop what would be far too loud of a groan.

“Fuck,” Ilya says after a few seconds of catching his breath. “Wow. You are good at that,” he says.

Shane looks down at Ilya, maybe for the first time since he’s climbed on top of him, and grins. “Good. Uh, I’m gonna-” he says, nodding toward the bathroom.

“Yes, okay. Bring me back a washcloth,” Ilya asks.

When both of them are cleaned up and ready for bed, Ilya is happy to find he doesn’t need to ask Shane to join him in his bed. Shane climbs into it, on the side of Ilya’s unhurt knee, and rests his leg on Ilya’s thigh, nuzzling his face against Ilya’s neck. Ilya falls asleep almost immediately.

On The Bus Ride Home

A Few Days Later, Before Their Next Session

After The Session

Friday Night

Several Weeks Later

They have continued to meet and hook after sessions, and Ilya attends games and practices, watching from the sidelines.

The Following Monday

The Next Morning

After the Following Practice

A Week Later, Following a Game

Later That Night

The Next Morning

The Weekend Before Their Next Session

Ilya lets Shane in, avoiding eye contact. He’s been off his crutches for around a month now, but he still uses the soft knee brace during the day. He can bear weight, but he’s cautious with anything other than walking. Really, he was told he didn’t even need the brace anymore, and most of the healing now was just about time until he could return to hockey. Still, it feels like a safety blanket, something he’s grown comfortable with, so he keeps it on.

Ilya steps aside and moves back to the kitchen where he’s finishing his cooking. “You can grab a drink, sit,” Ilya says quietly.

“Okay. Need help with anything?”

“No,” Ilya says simply, then adds on, “get me a sparkling water. Please.”

He plates up two portions of brown rice and stir fried shrimp and vegetables, setting them on the coffee table before he sits beside Shane. The Simpsons are on again. He’s grown rather fond of them since being home bound.

That’s another thing; Ilya doesn’t have to be as home bound as he is. He can go out and party now, as long as he isn’t doing much dancing. He can have sex that isn’t on his back, if he feels like it. He can do pretty much anything that isn’t strenuous, it’s just… he hasn’t really felt like it. The only thing he’s felt like doing lately is sitting next to him, picking up a fork.

“Thanks for making dinner,” Shane says.

“No problem. Thanks for… you know. Helping the last few months,” he answers, keeping his head facing the TV, even as he feels Shane turn to look at him.

“For the…”

“The stretching,” Ilya clarifies. He’s not about to thank Shane for the sex right now.

“Yeah. I mean, thank you, really. I showed my advisor what I have so far and she said it was great, so… you’ll be the reason I get through the semester.”

Ilya nods.

“This is really good,” Shane says when Ilya doesn’t reply.

“It’s shrimp and vegetables,” Ilya says, because he feels slightly combative and sort of tired.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees.

They finish their meal in silence, and Ilya dismisses Shane’s attempts to help him clear the table. He’s being colder than he needs to be, but he feels a slight sense of satisfaction when Shane looks slightly hurt by it. Good. He can get a taste of what Ilya’s been feeling

He’s gotten a yoga mat since they started doing this, so he lays it out on the floor of the living room and lowers himself down on it, looking up at Shane.

Shane stares back, long enough to be awkward. Ilya can deal with awkward, but he can’t deal with Shane’s face, the sort of lost, helpless look on it, so he steps in, saving him.

“Hollander. It’s fine. Like how we did before…” he gestures between them. “I know you will be a big shot hockey star, but I imagine if anything changes and you end up as a physical therapist, you will have to work with patients who don’t fuck you. This is good practice,” Ilya says.

At the least, it seems to annoy Shane enough that he rolls his eyes and steps into action.

From there, they’re quiet, Shane asking simple questions like “how’s that?” and “a little further,” as he works with Ilya.

The sessions are shorter now, usually because Ilya ends up kissing Shane or making some sort of dirty joke, but also because Ilya isn’t in as much pain anymore, and there’s really not too much more to be done. It’s twenty minutes before Shane is straightening up.

“Alright, uh. That seemed good, so…”

Ilya stays on the ground, looking up at Shane and cursing the way his chest aches a little. Fuck. Maybe he should just fuck someone else. Svetlana is visiting this weekend, and she’d be down. Also, just seeing her will be nice anyway. It’s been too long and he just wants to feel a little normal again. He’s realized that even though he might not have the obsession that Shane does, most of his friends are from hockey, and he is feeling a little lonely, a little isolated not playing and practicing with them. It’ll be good to see her, to let off some steam, to just feel like himself again.

Two months of Shane Hollander as something more than a rival, and he’s fucking ruined.

“Yes,” Ilya agrees after far too long. “See you at practice.”

“See you,” Shane say, looking at Ilya for a moment before he turns his head away quickly, making it look like Ilya is almost painful to look at.

Saturday, Following a Game Boston Lost, Before Their Final Session

Sunday

Tuesday Morning

Ilya can’t exactly help himself when he opens the door to Shane. That’s an understatement, really. The second the door is closed, he has Shane pinned against it, his entire body pressed against him. Shane lets out a soft grunt as his back hits the door, and then Ilya’s mouth is on him, kissing his neck, wild and open mouthed and a little biting.

Shane groans and tilts his head back, giving Ilya access. He takes full advantage of this, licking up the length of Shane’s neck before he takes his earlobe into his mouth and sucks on it. This draws a whimper from Shane who is now hardening against Ilya’s hip.

Then, before Ilya can process it, Shane’s hands are on his chest, pushing him away. He stands a few feet into the apartment, looking at Shane a little breathlessly. “What?” He asks, terrified Shane has changed his mind.

“After your final session. That’s what you said,” Shane says.

Ilya’s jaw falls open. “Come on. We can stretch after, I’ll do your final assessment, whatever. You want this too,” Ilya says, nodding toward where Shane is hard in his trackpants.

Shane’s face does something Ilya’s seen it do before; a sort of steadying, a glint in his eye. He loves a challenge.

“I do,” Shane agrees. “But I can be patient. Can you?”

Ilya frowns. “Of course. But why? I want this, you want this. Why suffer?”

Shane seems to like that answer, because he pushes off the door and steps closer to Ilya, into his space, and then he fucking cups Ilya through his shorts. “I won’t be suffering,” he says. “Do you trust me?”

Ilya isn’t sure he knows the answer to that. “Yes?”

“Good,” Shane grins triumphantly. “We’ll do our final session, but with no clothes. If you can get through it, and be patient, and let me do everything I want to do,” he says, before stroking Ilya’s cock through his shorts, drawing a gasp from him, “then you can fuck me bent over your bed, into the mattress.”

“Fuck,” Ilya hisses as Shane pulls his hand away. He didn’t know Shane had it in him.

There’s a good bit of whining from Ilya, a few times he tries to chase friction during their stretching, once or twice that Shane has to smack his hand away from trying to grab Shane’s ass or stroke his cock, but in the end, he gets through it. He answers Shane’s questions and waits until the moment he closes his laptop before he practically drags Shane to the bedroom.

He fucks him hard, his injured knee bent and resting on the bed next to Shane, his other leg planted firmly on the floor, giving him the strength and leverage he needs to fuck Shane hard.

Shane takes it, gasping and moaning, pushing back onto Ilya’s cock. When Ilya plants a hand between Shane’s shoulders and pushes him into the mattress, he groans, his mouth open and drooling onto Ilya’s sheets.

“Touch yourself,” Ilya orders when he feels himself getting close.

Shane complies immediately, shifting his hips up so he can get his hand beneath himself.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” he gasps.

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “Me too. Fuck, Hollander, cum for me,” Ilya groans.

They cum together, Ilya’s hands gripping Shane’s hips hard as he slams into him before stilling, spilling inside of the condom. Shane lets out punched out little sounds at each thrust before he too cums all over Ilya’s sheets.

“Holy shit,” Shane says quietly as Ilya pulls out slowly, gently, tying off the condom. Shane at least has the foresight to move over before he collapses onto the bed, avoiding the mess.

“Good?” Ilya asks the back of Shane’s head, and he chuckles at the way Shane nods against the bed.

Ilya showers first, and by the time Shane is done showering, he’s ordered from his favorite Thai place and has a movie queued up and Shane has changed into the shorts and t-shirt he brought to sleep in.

Shane pauses in the doorway, looking from where Ilya is setting up food to the TV, and he smiles softly.

“What?” Ilya asks, trying to read him.

“Nothing,” Shane says, but he crosses the room and kisses Ilya. It’s softer, gentler, almost chaste before Shane pulls away and ducks his head a little, like he’s embarrassed he did it.

Ilya has to actually cover his mouth as he sits down on the couch, hiding the way he’s smiling as Shane joins him.

The First Day of Winter Break

It’s shorter for student athletes, going from just before Christmas, to just after New Years.

A few hours later

An Hour Later

Christmas

New Years Eve

The Next Morning

That Evening

The Next Morning

Ilya spends most of his morning cleaning, showering, and cooking. He wants Shane to feel special, cared for; he wants him to know Ilya cares. Shane lets him know when he lands, and it’s perfect timing because by the time he gets to campus and stops off at his place before arriving to Ilya’s, Ilya has just finished preparing what he needs for dinner later: an assortment of fish, vegetables, rice, and seaweed to make their own handrolls. Ilya thought that would be romantic - not just a dinner, but something to do together.

His gift for Shane is in a small wrapped box on a side table. He was proud of that too. It’s a leather bound planner with Shane’s initials engraved in it, something he’d found from a leatherworker in New York. He wanted something to show he sees Shane, he knows him, and he likes him. He likes his organization, his meticulousness, his passion.

Ilya lights a candle and dims the lights, he sprays on cologne and he pulls on a cashmere sweater and some khakis, and waits by the door like an overexcited dog until he hears the telltale buzz that Shane is here. He lets him in, and okay, maybe he’s a little overeager, because Shane is laughing at the way Ilya mauls him the moment he opens the door. He pins Shane up against the wall, attacking his neck with wet, desperate kisses, frantic, like he needs to taste him, to mark him. Shane drops his bag on the floor, and his laughs turn to moans and heavy breaths as Ilya’s kisses turn more biting, sucking marks into the soft skin and hard muscles of his neck.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane gasps, and Ilya grins against his neck when he feels Shane buck his hips against him.

“Sorry,” Ilya groans. “Maybe I missed you.”

“Maybe?” Shane laughs, but he pushes Ilya back enough so that he can kiss his mouth. Ilya takes advantage of this too, sliding his tongue between Shane’s lips, and he nearly feels his knees give out when Shane sucks his tongue in deeper, the wet heat of his mouth engulfing it. Ilya feels it throughout him, imagining that same mouth around his cock.

“Mmf,” Shane groans when Ilya pulls back. “I maybe missed you too,” he says with a slightly dazed smile.

“I need you. Now. Please,” Ilya says breathlessly.

“You have me.”

“Bedroom.”

Ilya fucks Shane slowly at first, because he does want to be romantic, affectionate. He wants to show Shane that he wants much more than rough, desperate sex. They might have sexted about Shane being his to use, to claim, to take when he feels like it, but Shane has to know it’s more than that. It’s just, Shane is so tight, so hot, writhing and moaning beneath him, squirming and grinding like he’s desperate for more.

“Is that how you want it? You need more?” Ilya growls against Shane’s ear.

“Fuck, yes. Please,” Shane gasps.

What is Ilya to do then, besides give Shane exactly what he wants. He fucks him hard, then, jackrabbiting into him, skin slapping, his hips thrusting, and Shane makes beautiful little punched out gasps and moans.

Ilya takes Shane in his hand between them, jerking him off. “I want to cum together,” Ilya gasps. “I’m close. Cum with me, please, c-” his words are cut off by a choked off moan, and he starts to spill inside of Shane just as Shane cums between them, splattering both of their chests in his release.

They clean up and get dressed, and Ilya directs Shane to the couch so he can start laying out dinner. He opens a white wine, and is pleasantly surprised when Shane agrees to a glass.

“You really, uh. You know, you didn’t have to do all this,” Shane says, assembling a handroll of tuna and avocado.

“Have to?” Ilya asks. “I want to.”

Shane blushes a little. “I didn’t know you’d be like this, you know? All this time we’ve played together, and I thought… I just didn’t know.”

Ilya smiles at him, and now it’s his turn to feel a little bashful. “Maybe I wasn’t like this until you. Hm?”

Shane insists on cleaning up, and for once Ilya allows it, putting some movie on TV and pouring them more wine. He brings a wrapped present to the living room, so Ilya brings his in too, and then Shane is getting on the couch beside Ilya, snuggling into him, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya kisses the top of his head. “You are a very fun sex toy,” he says, teasing.

Shane snorts against his chest. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, you don’t like that now? You are,” he says, and leans down to kiss Shane’s ear. “So ready for me, so eager, always wanting more.” He tilts Shane’s jaw up to kiss his neck. “So tight and hot,” he breaths.

Shane lets out a soft breath. “Okay, yeah, I like it.”

“Good,” Ilya says, straightening up. “But I think, maybe…” He steadies himself. “It would be good if you were more than that too.”

“More?”

“Mm.” Ilya’s so fucking nervous suddenly. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s rehearsed this in his head, he’s nervous. He doesn’t even think Shane will say no, though, he can’t be sure. It’s just, this is big, asking for something, confessing he needs something more than sex. “Maybe like… boyfriends,” he settles on.

Shane straightens up too, his eyes on Ilya, and he’s frustratingly unreadable before he speaks. He nods once. “I think that would be good too.”

“Fuck,” Ilya says, and he’s laughing despite the way his voice cracks. “Okay. Maybe, this week, it’s just for us, yes? You will stay here with me? Before classes start again?”

Shane nods. “I’ll stay.”

“Okay. Then we can talk, um… you know. About if we want to tell people or… We can talk later,” Ilya says.

“Later is good.”

“Good. Now give me present,” Ilya says, making grabby hands.

Shane laughs, but he hands Ilya the gift. His only Christmas gift, and the only one he’d want anyway. He tears open the paper. On top are a box of maple leaf shaped candies which he laughs at. Underneath is a fleece, white and fluffy, with a bright red maple leaf on it. Ilya holds it up, smiling at it.

“You’ll look like you’re mine, when you wear it,” Shane says softly.

“Mm. Okay. I will wear Canadian fleece if it means I’m yours,” he says, then cups Shane’s jaw to kiss him softly.

He hands Shane his present, and Shane opens it, gently unfolding the paper instead of tearing into it. He’s quiet as he looks at it, turning the leather planner over in his hands, tracing his initials with his finger. “Thank you. I love it.”

Ilya remembers something and smiles. “You remember after the game where I got hurt, what I texted you?”

Shane shakes his head.

“I said you must be happy. I thought you would be glad, I’d be off the ice and you would get to be the star, all by yourself.”

Shane rolls his eyes at the memory.

“I am very happy I tore my ACL,” he says. “It hurt, but… You know. Was worth it,” he says with a shrug.

“I guess it was worth it. Don’t fucking do it again,” Shane says before kissing Ilya again.