Archive of Our Own

Strong arms wrapped around Shane’s waist from behind, his husband’s scent filling his senses as a familiar weight pressed against his back. It would normally be a very welcome situation…if Shane wasn’t in the middle of doing the dishes. 

They’d spent a very relaxing, domestic day off together, and it had ended with Ilya cooking dinner for the two of them. Since Ilya had cooked, Shane offered to clean, waving off his husband’s offers of help partially because he’d already done enough but also because the dishwasher was due to be run and Shane could be a little…peculiar about the setup. 

"What are you doing?" Shane asked, even as he melted back into Ilya's warm, solid chest.

"Can I not show my husband affection?"

"You can't wait until after I'm done with the dishes?"

"You are almost done," Ilya said. "And you look so cute wearing my shirt I could not resist."

"Our wardrobes have practically combined, I can hardly tell what's mine or yours anymore," Shane lied. He knew the shirt was Ilya's. He also knew how much Ilya loved the casual intimacy of sharing clothes. Ilya especially loved it when Shane wore his clothes, which Shane often used to his advantage. 

Which was why he’d purposefully chosen to change into it after their pre-dinner run with Anya. A full day off meant it was practically a guarantee that he got well and truly laid before bed. They’d already fucked earlier that day, tender and lazy in the soft morning light, but they were both feeling a little on edge about the game against Washington - who was currently the top of the Metropolitan division - so he knew their anticipatory energy was bound to boil over to something more productive for the both of them.  

"I can tell what’s mine or yours because my shirts are always slightly too big on you."

"Asshole," Shane muttered.

Ilya only hummed in agreement, kissing right where the collar of his shirt sat against Shane's neck.

"You're distracting me," Shane complained half-heartedly.

"I do not understand why you need to wash the plates that you are just going to put in the dishwasher. It is a good dishwasher. Expensive. It does the washing for you.“

"I have -"

"A system, yes. I know," Ilya said, placing another kiss to the spot just behind Shane's ear that always made him a little weak in the knees.

It seemed the more he studiously ignored his husband’s obvious come-ons while he cleared the rest of the sink, the harder Ilya worked to gain his attention. His hands traced a path up to skim over Shane’s chest, then back down his abs to play with the hem of his borrowed t-shirt, fingers sneaking under the soft fabric to tease at the bare skin just above his jeans. 

"You’re such a horndog," Shane muttered, even as his heart rate picked up and his blood started to run south.

 "If I am a horndog, then what does that make you, hmm?" Ilya asked, squeezing Shane's pec. He really wasn't helping his case with that. 

"What do you mean?" Shane questioned. 

"Oh, please," Ilya huffed. "You are just as bad as me. Maybe worse." 

He broke away from Ilya's hold to put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, then turned to face his husband, arms crossed stubbornly across his chest. 

"I've definitely gone way longer than you without sex."

"Obviously," Ilya said.  

"You, on the other hand…”

Ilya shrugged. "True. But the months without sex for you were not really by choice, right? If we had seen each other more, things would have been different.”

"Fuck you," was Shane’s only rebuttal, because Ilya was technically right. “At least I can go more than, like, three days without coming. You’re the one who had to jerk off practically every day when we were long-distance.” 

“True,” Ilya agreed. “But we are not long-distance anymore. When was the last time you went more than a day or two without coming since we got married?”

Thinking back on it, he honestly couldn’t recall. They'd obviously gone far longer than a week without sex before, when they were long-distance. They'd even gone a similar amount of time without it while together the summer before last, when Shane's mom had stayed with them during the Montreal camps. 

Even then, there’d been phone sex and even just regular old jerking off. Now…Shane couldn't remember the last time they'd gone more than a day or two without getting their hands on each other one way or another. Even if it wasn't always a full-blown ordeal, it was very rare that they fell asleep at the end of the day without getting each other off at some point. 

Ilya was right, even if Shane was loath to admit it. They’d practically spent every second together since their wedding, and truthfully, even before that. When they were apart, Shane could go days without an orgasm and be totally fine. But when Ilya was around, and he was around all the time now, obviously, it was a different story.

Without the stress of their secret weighing the both of them down and their improved communication, he felt closer to Ilya than ever before. He'd remembered thinking during that summer at the cottage, at the real start of their relationship, that he could never love anyone more than he’d loved Ilya in that moment. It was laughable, looking back, because every time he thought he'd hit the limit of how much he could love Ilya, he was proved wrong.

Sure, being sickeningly in love and feeling lighter than he had in his whole entire life and spending every moment of every day with the man he loved, playing together, winning together made Shane insurmountably horny and specifically insurmountably horny for Ilya. If Shane had been worried things would grow stale between them or that they'd get sick of each other, it was completely unfounded. 

Ilya was also doing very well. It had taken some trial and error, but he’d finally found an antidepressant that worked well for him before the hockey season had started, and being medicated had done him wonders. The good days far outweighed the bad, and when he did have bad days or needed extra support, he’d gotten a much at communicating that to Shane. Of course, things weren’t perfect, but they were pretty damn close, and Shane was really proud of how far he’d come, how far they’d both come. And weirdly, nothing got him going more than seeing his husband happy and carefree. 

“Okay, so we have been having a lot of sex lately,” Shane finally admitted. “But we’re newlyweds! And we’re very happy, and things are better than they’ve ever been. And for the for the first time, we can just be…together, be us and not have to hide. Of course, we’re having a lot of sex.”

“Yes. That is all very true,” Ilya agreed, softening at Shane’s words and stepping closer to put his hands on Shane’s waist, and for one foolish moment, Shane thought he was going to drop it.  “Still does not change that you could maybe go months without sex, but only if I am not around to tempt you.”

"You really think that highly of yourself?"

"I think the only thing you love almost as much as hockey is having sex with me," Ilya said. 

"Hey! I thought we established that I love you more than I love hockey," Shane defended. 

"Yes,"  Ilya agreed. "Number one is me, number two is hockey, number three is having sex with me." 

 Shane rolled his eyes.

"What I am saying is that you are obsessed with having sex with me," Ilya finished smugly.

"You’re just as bad as I am," Shane countered.

"Probably," Ilya said. "But I have more self-control."  

"Says the guy who was just feeling me up while I was washing dishes!" Shane said. "You make me sound like some sort of sex-fiend!"

 "Shane. We have had sex almost every day since we moved in together.  Sometimes multiple times a day," Ilya said. "Much of it initiated by you."

"Are you saying I'm easy?" Shane asked. 

"In general, no. For me, yes," Ilya replied. 

"Oh, please. You wouldn't survive one week of me not touching your dick," he shot back.  

Shane realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. Ilya's eyes sharpened in the way they always did whenever he was challenged. 

"You really think so?" Ilya inquired.

"Yes," Shane responded, indignantly, refusing to falter his ground.

"Wanna bet?" Ilya asked, gaze sparking with provocation. 

Now that they were no longer on-ice rivals and were playing for the same team, it meant they had to find new and creative ways to compete with each other. Seeing as they'd both always gotten off on it, it was never exactly hard. They'd been playing games like this for some time, even more so since they'd gotten together, and Ilya knew that making it a competition would ensnare Shane.

“You’re on,” Shane said. “What are the terms?”

“Simple enough. You said I would not survive one week without sex, so we will see if that is the truth or if you break first,” Ilya said.

Shane considered for a moment. 

 "We can still…touch each other, right?" 

“Yes. Regular affection is okay, but nothing below the belt.”

"Okay, good. I don't think I can go an entire week without kissing you," Shane admitted. Heat rose in his cheeks at the admission, which was stupid. They were literally married. 

Ilya's face softened. "Yes. Of course. That is something I will admit that I can not go a week without."

“Glad we’re on the same page about that.” 

"Also, the team is so used to seeing us be affectionate, they will think something is wrong if we suddenly stop," Ilya explained. 

"Well, we can't have that," Shane said, bemused.

"Troy is already a child of divorce. Do not want to traumatize him even more,” Ilya explained with faux seriousness, which made Shane laugh.   

It had taken Shane a little bit of time to feel comfortable enough around the Centaurs to partake in any sort of PDA with Ilya. Everyone had been so incredible and supportive, but it was hard programming to untangle within himself after over a decade of hiding who he was, and who he and Ilya were to each other. Having Troy and Harris around had been rather helpful, especially the way no one on the team batted an eye when they were openly affectionate in front of the entire team.

Ilya had said to him once, before everything happened, that maybe they were bad at showing people they were in love when they were allowed. It was a simple observation, but it had buried itself in Shane’s conscience and whispered darkly to him every time he fell into old habits and hesitated in showing Ilya affection around other people. 

Shane still ran a strict program, one that he knew Ilya was agreeable to. Even if they were married and very out now, it was still technically their workplace before anything else. It didn’t mean that Ilya didn’t try to fluster him every now and then, but they still kept everything very PG.

"No touching yourself," Ilya said suddenly. "That goes for both of us." 

 "What about...nocturnal emissions?" Shane asked. 

Ilya's brow furrowed for a moment before he chuckled. "Hollander, only you could make wet dreams sound boring."

"I'm being serious!"

"Wet dreams don't count. They are involuntary,” Ilya said. “But if you come at all before the bet ends, even untouched you lose. We call the bet off at any time, but whoever gives in first loses. You jerk off, you lose. If you come just from us kissing without me actually touching your dick - ” 

“Oh fuck you, that hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“ - you lose,” Ilya finished. 

"Well then, all of the same goes for you," Shane countered. 

“Obviously. But it will not be a problem. Like I said, I have more self-control,” Ilya said. 

“I guess we’ll see.”

“We will,” Ilya agreed. And he sounded so sure, so smug. "If you can make it until this time next Sunday night, you win." 

 Shane stole a glance at the stove's digital clock. It was just past eight p.m.

"What do you want, if you win?" Shane inquired.

"Who said there has to be a prize?" Ilya asked innocently. 

Shane just gave him a look. He knew better by now, there was no way he’d started this without some kind of trade-off in mind. And Ilya knew that Shane thrived off being rewarded when they made these kinds of challenges surrounding sex. 

"Fine. When I win, I want you to take me on a date to that Italian restaurant we like. The one with the really good chicken parm."

"Really?" Shane asked skeptically. "That's all you want."

"Yes. What were you thinking?"

Shane went silent, unwilling to admit exactly where his brain had gone at the idea of a prize. Unfortunately for him, his husband also knew him far too well. He watched Ilya put the pieces together, a knowing grin spreading over his face. If there was one thing Shane loved more than a challenge when it came to sex, it was being rewarded for meeting that challenge, for being good. 

"Oh, you wanted it to be a sex thing, huh, pervert?" Ilya asked, brows raised.  

"Shut up," Shane muttered.

"Fine. Like I said, loser has to take the winner on a date and pay for dinner -"

“Come on, I know that’s not all you want.“

"-and, winner also gets to tie the loser to our bed and do whatever they want to them. Within reason, of course."

“Jesus,” Shane huffed, his brain already working overtime at just the thought. Fuck, it was going to be a long week. 

“Most importantly, they will get the satisfaction of winning. We have won so much together lately, I think it will be fun for us to have some friendly competition again.”

"Friendly competition," Shane repeated with a snort. 

"You know, we do not have to do this," Ilya said.

And Shane almost, almost called it all off. Mostly because he didn't actually want to go a week without having sex with Ilya. So he'd considered it, until his husband continued talking. 

"Just admit that you are wrong and are obsessed with having sex with me."

"Oh fuck off, not a chance," Shane said. 

"Suit yourself," Ilya said with a shrug. "We will find out by the end of the week."

"You mind if I shower first?” Ilya asked him later that night.

They showered together quite often, even if it never led to anything else, more so just because they both loved the domesticity of it. Shane knew if he wanted any chance of winning this, he'd have to pause that until the week was over. 

Shane shook his head. “Go for it.”

They always changed the sheets every Sunday, and while it’s something they’d typically do after a round or two of sex, that clearly wasn’t happening tonight. It was, however, the perfect distraction while his husband was naked and wet only a wall away from him, so he got started. He stripped the sheets first, with the exception of the duvet cover, which could probably wait another week or two, and grabbed another set from the closet. 

He’d just put the comforter and fresh pillows back on the bed when the shower cut off, giving him the perfect opportunity to grab the dirty linens and run them downstairs to the laundry room. Tossing them in the wash - he’d wait to run it until morning because he’d definitely be asleep before it was time to switch it to the dryer - Shane took his time making his way back upstairs, hoping his husband would be fully clothed and tucked away in bed before he made it back upstairs.  

Either Ilya had been listening out for him or the universe was truly testing him because as soon as he stepped through the threshold of their bedroom, Ilya was exiting the bathroom, the sight of him making Shane’s mouth go dry. He should have known that Ilya was up to something, that he wouldn’t make this easy on Shane, not by a long shot. 

Steam billowed behind him as he walked into the bedroom. His towel was slung low on his hips, drawing attention to his pronounced v-lines. It reminded Shane of a locker room, well over a decade ago by now, and the first time he’d seen his now-husband naked. That memory always brought back a myriad of mixed feelings within Shane, mostly desire with a twinge of embarrassment, but also the overwhelming sensation of thankfulness that things happened the way they did that day. That each of them was brave enough to take those first steps together, because in the end, it led them here, with matching rings on their fingers and a very full, happy life.

And also his husband’s bare, wet abs flexing under his gaze. 

"Because I am the world's most generous husband, I am willing to call this off now," Ilya said, magnanimously, distracting Shane from his ogling. 

A bead of water dripped down onto his flushed skin from his wet curls. Shane's eyes followed as it rolled from his shoulder to his pec and down the seam of his abs, only stopping when it reached the dark trail of hair that led down to the towel.

Shane considered giving in, only for a moment. When he looked up to meet Ilya's eyes, he was met with his husband's beautiful, smug smirk, and he knew he had to stand his ground.

"No need," Shane said, attempting to edge past his husband so that he could take a shower himself

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," Ilya cooed. "Oh, and make sure you stick to the rules. I'll be listening."

He brushed against Shane ever so slightly as he passed him to head deeper into the bedroom to presumably change into sleep clothes. The brief contact made Shane practically scurry into the bathroom in surrender, closing the door behind him quickly, needing as much of a barrier between himself and a naked Ilya as he could get. 

Once he was actually in the bathroom, he realized he’d made a grave mistake. Not only was the room still warm and steamy, but it smelled like Ilya’s body wash, a scent that his brain had programmed itself into associating with a wet, naked Ilya and everything he’d done in this every shower with said wet, naked Ilya.

Shaking his head to rid his brain of that train of thought before it went too far, Shane took a moment to remind himself that he was very good at exercising self-control. He could do this. He would do this, and he would win, and he would wipe that smug expression from his husband’s face. And then he’d spend an entire day doing whatever he wanted to him as a reward, as well as bragging rights, probably forever. 

The two of them had a pretty jam-packed week ahead, which was something Shane had never been more grateful for. The Centaurs had a stretch of home games Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with a quick evening away game on Saturday. It was late March, which meant playoffs were just weeks away. Even if they were currently very comfortably at the top spot in the Atlantic division, every game still mattered. 

Shane started his Monday as he usually did, waking just before their alarm and inching closer to his husband’s sleep-warm body under the covers to soak in the last quiet moments before a busy day. Winding his arm over Ilya’s waist to hold him from behind, he pressed a kiss to his mole-dappled shoulder, then another to the back of his neck, finally making his husband stir from sleep.

“You are cheating,” Ilya murmured. 

For a moment, in the haze of being freshly awake, Shane had forgotten all about the bet from the night before. 

“Am not,” Shane countered. “Just kissing my husband’s neck.” 

Ilya hummed in answer, and then their alarm was blaring, waking Anya up as well and effectively ending any slow morning moments between them.

They fell into their usual morning routine from there, taking Anya on a run through the neighborhood together before coming home and feeding both her and themselves and heading out for their morning skate.

Monday’s game was a win, which meant those who wanted to partake headed to Monk’s after to celebrate. It had taken a bit of time for Shane to find his place amongst his new team, as welcoming as everyone had been, but he already felt more comfortable with the Centaurs than he ever had with the Voyageurs. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t Captain anymore, or maybe it was just the more easygoing vibe of the whole team. Montreal had expected perfection, something that Shane had strived for nearly to his detriment. Ottawa just seemed ecstatic to have him as part of the team, even if some of them had clearly been a bit starstruck by him at first. 

Now, he sat with Wyatt and Luca Haas, trying to keep up while they discussed their theories for one of the upcoming comic book movie adaptations. It was part of the franchise that Rose starred in, which meant they kept grilling Shane, trying to get spoilers out of him. He lied and told him he didn’t know anything (he did, Rose always accidentally let plot points slip to him), much to their disappointment. He liked the movies and watched them because Rose was in them, but he didn’t have nearly the depth of knowledge about them that the other guys did, especially Wyatt, so he couldn’t really keep up. 

His focus was also partially on where Ilya was playing pool with Bood, and namely on how great Ilya’s ass looked in his jeans every time he bent over the pool table. He was joking and laughing and clearly happy, and it made Shane’s heart swell nearly enough to burst. 

Ilya caught him staring and shot him a wink, causing a wave of desire to course through his veins. Any other night, and Shane would be looking forward to the promise of post-win sex as soon as they got home. Instead, he had nothing but a night of self-imposed celibacy ahead for both of them. Shane was coping by drowning his sorrows in a Corona Light.

Shane and Ilya were some of the last to linger at the bar, which wasn’t the norm for them, but they knew they couldn’t avoid going home forever. Shane was typically their DD, but he’d had three beers that night to try to take the edge off, and Ilya had only one beer at the start of the night, so Shane wordlessly handed over the keys once it was finally time to go.  

“Your goal in the first period was a really good one,” Ilya said, voice honey-sweet halfway through the drive home. 

“If you’re trying to butter me up by complimenting my game, it’s not going to work,” Shane lied. 

They both knew Shane loved praise, and they’d both quickly learned very early into the season that he especially loved when Ilya praised him about a game they’d won together. 

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Ilya said, feigning innocence. “Maybe I just want to compliment my very talented husband on what an amazing player he is.”

“You know exactly what complimenting your husband on his hockey prowess does,” Shane said. “You’re cheating.”

“We agreed no touching below the belt,” Ilya said. “But made no such rules for verbal foreplay.” 

“Still cheating,” Shane muttered. 

“Fine,” Ilya sighed. “I will be on my best behavior for the rest of the week.”

He could hear the lie in Ilya’s voice, but at least for the rest of the night, Ilya did behave. If Shane thought that would be the end of it, he was sorely mistaken.

The next day at practice, Ilya and Shane’s lines scrimmaged against each other. As much as he loved playing with Ilya, sometimes he did miss playing against him, so scrimmages always gave Shane a bit of a rush. Even if it wasn’t a real game, it was still fun and reminded him of the thrill of playing against Ilya in years past. 

“Hollander, face off with me,” Ilya called from center ice.

Shane narrowed his eyes as he approached, but was met with a shit-eating grin from his husband before they crouched into their face-off positions. 

“This is fun, just like old times,” Ilya chirped. 

“You’re playing dirty,” Shane muttered.

“Who, me? We both know I always play a clean game,” Ilya said with a wink, and then the puck dropped, and he won the face-off and was speeding off. 

Shane took off after him, ready to take his irritation at his husband out on the ice. 

Their second home game of the week on Wednesday was a loss. No matter how long he played in the league, losing still came with a certain sting, something that was only intensified when it happened at home.  

The only positive was that they were both so bummed about it, it was the only time all week that the tension between them eased. Even Ilya's rousing post-game locker room speech about how they'd make a comeback in their next set of games didn't get Shane going like it usually did. 

It probably helped that they were having an incredible season, but they both did a fairly good job of not allowing the team’s losses to carry over into their home life. It didn’t really surprise Shane; they’d always been pretty good at leaving their work at the door, even far before they were an official couple. They still had a pleasant night, chatting idly while snuggled up in bed as they caught up on the newest episode of the TV show they’d been watching together weekly. 

Thursday was a full day off, seeing as they were about to play another game at home on Friday and then immediately hop on a plane to Columbus bright and early the next morning. It was also a rare morning when Ilya woke up before Shane.  

Shane had roused earlier that day to a kiss being placed on his shoulder and his husband's familiar voice murmuring something to him.

"Hmmmm?” he'd asked, sleepily. 

"I am taking Anya on a run. Be back in an hour."

Shane remembered mumbling his acknowledgement before falling back asleep.  He wasn't sure what time that had been, but judging by the time, Ilya was likely to be home soon. 

He'd be lounging in bed for some time, texting back and forth with Hayden and scrolling aimlessly when he heard the front door close downstairs and the telltale pitter-patter of Anya's excited paws against the hardwood. 

Normally, Shane looked forward to an entire free day with his husband. Today, he wasn't exactly dreading it per se, but he was also nervous that he'd fold. His fears were validated when the door to their bedroom opened to reveal Ilya shirtless and glistening with perspiration, his sweat-soaked shirt hanging around his neck. 

Even if Shane knew Ilya ran in shorts practically year-round, it was still far too cold out for him to be outside shirtless, which meant he’d purposefully taken whatever outerwear he’d worn and his shirt off before coming upstairs. 

"Morning, handsome," Ilya said casually, leaning against the open doorframe.  

"Good morning," Shane replied, mouth dry. 

"I am going to take a quick shower before breakfast if you want to join. You know, to save water and all that," Ilya continued silkily, voice dipping low and slow in the way he knew always got Shane going. 

Shane huffed and crossed his arms. "In your dreams."

"In many of them, yes," Ilya confirmed. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

He then tossed the shirt from around his neck directly at Shane, purposefully hitting him in the face. Shane sputtered as he yanked it off his head, only to see Ilya dropping his running shorts as well.

He was grateful Ilya had tossed those into the hamper, because if he'd thrown them at Shane like his shirt, Shane was pretty sure he would've come on the spot.  

He did get a prime view of his husband's perfect, naked body - a sight he'd been actively and successfully avoiding for the last week. Quickly averting his eyes, like a blushing maiden, only made Ilya laugh at him. When he braved a look back to glare at his husband, Ilya simply winked at him, then headed to their ensuite without another word. 

Once he heard the water running and the telltale sound of Ilya humming to himself while he showered, Shane slowly brought Ilya's shirt to his nose, breathing in the clean musk of his sweat. A thunk as Ilya dropped something in the shower jolted him out of his trance, and he tossed the offending garment in the direction of the hamper with an embarrassing swiftness.

Scrambling out of bed, he donned his own workout attire, then quickly headed downstairs to make himself a smoothie. There was no way he'd also survive seeing Ilya fresh out of the shower again, not in the current state he was in. 

Smoothie in hand, he made his way into their home gym and began a workout that was maybe a little too punishing for a day off circuit. It worked, though, most of his frustration easing out of him by the time he was done. Cooling down with some yoga seemed the best idea to fully soothe his mind. 

Shane was in frog pose, eyes closed and breathing through the pleasant stretch to his hips and thighs, when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He should've kept his eyes closed and ignored the feeling, but he'd never been able to ignore that pull when it came to Ilya, and he wasn't going to stop now. 

Their eyes met in the mirror. Shane had set the dimmers to a low medium setting in the gym before starting his flow, which only heightened the tension. His traitorous mind immediately flashed between other moments in this very room with the exact same tension, but a lot less clothing. 

He refused to break first, deciding it was time for a bit of payback before deepening his pose as much as he could, then slowly shifting into a seated middle split.  If Ilya wanted to play dirty, Shane could, too. 

Even as Ilya held his outward composure, his ragged exhale was audible in the silence of the gym. Shane knew that Ilya loved how flexible he was and that he had a weird fixation on watching Shane do yoga. They continued to hold eye contact for just a moment longer until Ilya finally broke, fleeing from the doorway like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  

The surge of triumph that rushed through him over finally getting one up over Ilya was only momentary. Soon enough, Shane was back at square one. If anything, the little exchange had made him hornier than when he'd started his workout. They were due at his parents' too soon for Shane’s liking, which meant he’d have to compose himself again here soon. 

Well, if the ice-cold shower he was about to take wasn’t enough of a boner killer, then at least having to behave in front of his parents would be. 

By Friday, Shane was fucking dying. 

Maybe, maybe if he'd been allowed to at least jerk off, he wouldn't feel as pent-up and borderline insane as he currently did. There had, of course, been times before when they'd been in each other's proximity and couldn't touch the way they wanted to for a number of reasons, but now it was different. They could touch, they could've been touching and having incredible sex all week, but no, Shane had to take Ilya's bait and say yes to this stupid bet. In all fairness, his own stubbornness and pride were also to blame. Even if he'd chilled out quite a bit in the last year as compared to before turning thirty, the innate need to win was something so ingrained within him that he didn't think it would ever change.  

He did his best to channel his frustration into his play on the ice, and while it did kind of work, it also landed him in the penalty box. Twice. 

Shane rarely ended up in the box once in a handful of games, sometimes shit happened on the ice, and it was unavoidable, but twice in one game was definitely out of character for him. Weibe was definitely shooting him worried looks when he came back to the bench. However, he’d also scored a goal in each of the first two periods, so seeing as the rest of his game wasn’t affected, the coaches seemed okay to let it slide.

Then, in the third period, one of Shane’s favorite things happened. A penalty was called against the other team, and Shane and Ilya hit the ice together on their power play line. Not only did their fans always go crazy, but they both loved the chance to play on the same line, however brief.

Strategically, it made more sense to keep them on separate lines for regulation play - it meant they had very strong first and second lines - and it made the few minutes of time playing together that much more electric. A decent chunk of each of their goals this season (Shane was leading Ilya by two) had been scored with an assist from the other while on a power play. 

The rush of being the one to assist his husband, or vice versa, for a goal had yet to even come close to losing its novelty. There was once a time he wouldn't even let himself fantasize about something like playing on the same team as Ilya, and now he got to live it. 

He’d made a pass to Ilya, and for just a moment, it looked like Ilya wouldn’t be able to make a shot on goal. Until Ilya slid the puck back between his own legs as he swept by the crease, shooting the puck just over the opposing goalie’s right shoulder and into the net. 

The goal happened so fast, Ilya was crashing into him in celebration before Shane could fully appreciate what had just happened. 

“Holy shit, that was incredible!” Shane exclaimed, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd and the resounding goal horn.

 “Thanks for the assist,” Ilya replied with a wink.

It was a beautiful fucking goal, one that Shane was sure would make those YouTube compilations, and one that was probably on replay on the broadcast as the play ended. They knocked their helmets together affectionately before skating in tandem back to the Centaurs' bench, who were still in uproarious celebration over the goal.

On top of being not only a beautiful display of Ilya’s skill and talent, the goal also ended up being the tiebreaker that won them the game. Following their loss on Wednesday, it was a much-needed morale booster before their away game the next day. 

Later in the locker room, they were all ordered to go straight home and to bed, no celebratory drinks at Monk’s due to their early flight to Columbus the next day. Even with the high of the win still fresh, the majority of the team seemed more than fine with that. It had already been a long week for all of them. 

Unfortunately for Shane, assisting Ilya on a power play goal, or vice-versa, made him inexplicably horny. Which meant he was fighting for his life the entire drive home from the arena. Which also meant he had a moment of weakness when Ilya excitedly brought the goal up again as soon as they were in the foyer of their house. Before Shane really knew what was happening, he was kissing Ilya breathless. 

"Oh my god, that goal was beautiful," Shane murmured into Ilya's mouth.  

"Only because your pass was perfect," Ilya said before distracting him with another kiss. 

Shane shook his head, "Uh uh, that was all you."

"Tell me more," Ilya encouraged, pulling their hips flush as Shane crowded him against the foyer wall. 

"I love playing with you," Shane said. "Every single time we're on the ice together, I feel like the luckiest man alive."

"Me too," Ilya said, voice soft and eyes so tender, Shane's heart squeezed inside his chest.

“Fuck, I love you,” Shane gasped before diving in for another kiss. 

 God, it was so nice to be kissing Ilya like this again. Most of their kisses through the week had been sweet and chaste and careful, both of them trying their best not to get too worked up. But he’d missed kissing Ilya like this, filthy and frenzied, with Ilya’s tongue licking into his mouth greedily with every pass of their lips. 

Ilya was kissing him back just as desperately, encouraging Shane's hips with his hands as Shane thrusted against his thigh. It made Shane want to cry out in relief. Maybe they could just drop the whole thing. Ilya clearly wanted Shane just as badly as Shane wanted him. And as much as he’d kept a pretty good facade of control all week, he was hard against Shane’s hip. 

Which was why Shane was so caught off guard when Ilya suddenly pulled away with a gasp, stopping Shane when he tried to initiate another round. 

"Say it," Ilya demanded breathlessly.

"Wh - say what?" Shane asked, trying to dive back in for another kiss, only to be stopped again by Ilya's adamant hand on his chin. 

"Say that I won the bet," Ilya murmured enticingly, tracing his nose along the line of Shane's jaw to whisper in his ear. "Say that I won and that you're obsessed with having sex with me. That you can't go a week without me touching your dick." 

Shane froze.  Fuck, he should've known better than to think that Ilya would just let this all go. Shane sure as hell wouldn't have, and it wasn't in Ilya's nature to give in any more than it was in Shane's.

At his silence, Ilya switched their positions with ease, shifting so that Shane was against the wall, only to take a step back. He was clearly just as affected, cheeks flushed and pupils blown, chest still heaving with quickened breath, but he’d had the self-discipline to put a stop to things. 

Shane set his jaw stubbornly. He hadn’t come this far, tortured himself for this long just to give in now. He kept his mouth shut, mostly because he was afraid if he did allow himself to say anything, a concession and subsequent round of begging Ilya to please just touch me oh god please would ensue.

“We should get some sleep. We have to be up early tomorrow,” Ilya said levelly at Shane’s continued silence. 

Before he left Shane alone and embarrassingly hard in the foyer, he gave him a look, letting Shane know that he was fully aware that he was currently winning, that he knew Shane’s resolve was faltering more with each day they went without.

Thunking his head back against the wall, Shane took a deep breath, reminding himself that there were less than forty-eight hours to go. If nothing else, he needed to hone his stubbornness and self-discipline to outweigh his horniness and push through the final hours of this needlessly hellish week.

Tomorrow would pass quickly, between travel, the game, and everything leading up to the game. Soon enough, it would be Sunday, and Shane would lock himself away in their gym if he had to in order to avoid the walking temptation that was Ilya Rozanov. 

He was going to win this. At this point, he had to win this. 

Morning came far too soon and quickly turned into a mad dash of both a travel and a game day.

They’d left their gear bags in the trunk of Shane’s SUV the night before and already had their travel bags ready to go, per Shane’s insistence that they pack them before the Friday afternoon game. Anya had also been dropped off at the pet hotel that afternoon before yesterday’s game, so really, they just had to roll out of bed and show up to the plane.

Occasionally, on road trips, depending on the hotel and availability, they were given a room with two beds. Most times when that happened,  they'd get one bed dirty and sleep in the other.  When they’d checked into their room before the game, Shane had never been so thankful for a room with a second bed in his life. Maybe the universe was finally on his side. The only downside was that he'd gotten so used to sharing a bed with Ilya, sleeping alone felt odd. 

Earlier in the year, he'd spent the night at Hayden's to watch the kids so Hayden and Jackie could have a well-deserved (at least for Jackie) night away at a hotel and spa just outside Montreal. Ilya stayed back in Ottawa with Anya, even if she was great with the kids, they'd both agreed it would be too much for them all to be there together overnight. 

It was a little daunting and overwhelming to be in charge of that many children, but it had also been kind of fun. He'd spent the entire night half wishing Ilya was there with him and half dreaming about a future where the two of them had kids of their own. Just…definitely not four.  

Later that night, with all the kids tucked away in bed, Shane tossed and turned in the Pike's guest room. He attributed it to nerves at first, telling himself it was the idea of being responsible for the lives of four small humans that he loved very much, but as the evening wore on, he realized it was because the usual comfort of having the person he loved and trusted most next to him was gone. 

It was stupid, they'd spent more of their relationship apart from one another than actually together.  But now that they were together nearly all the time, something had shifted within Shane where being apart from Ilya felt like he was missing a limb.

Shane considered calling him, thinking maybe his voice would help soothe the ache a little and let him finally rest. But it was late, and he didn't want to disturb Ilya if he was asleep. 

As if their brains were linked, and sometimes he swore they were, not even moments after this consideration, Shane's phone lit up with a text. 

Ilya: i miss you :( 

It was all Shane needed. He'd FaceTimed Ilya immediately, and they'd talked until Shane fell asleep, bedside lamp still on. He woke the next morning to a screenshot of his face, slack with sleep, while Ilya grinned in the corner, accompanied by another text.

Ilya: next time i am coming with you

 Tonight would be different, though. Even if he was in a different bed, Ilya would still be in the same room as him, which hopefully would be enough to let him sleep peacefully. They’d won again, the two of them had each had great games, and Shane was still so keyed up from the night before, he was afraid that simply lying in the same bed as Ilya would have him coming in his pajama bottoms. 

Ilya's eyes tracked his movement through the room as he grabbed his glasses and book off the desk. He studiously ignored the burn of Ilya's gaze on the side of his face as he settled into the other bed, opening his book as a feeble attempt at distracting himself.  

"Oh, so you hate me," Ilya said, petulantly.

"I don't hate you," Shane countered, refusing to look up from the page he was on.  

"Hard to believe when you are sleeping in another bed."

"Stop being such a baby. You know why I'm over here." 

"Yes. Because you hate me," Ilya repeated. 

Shane refused to take the bait. Ilya was silent for some time after that, but finally released a defeated sigh, which caused Shane to make the vital mistake of stealing a glance at him. He looked genuinely upset, shoulders hunched and expression dejected. 

 Maybe he was playing Shane for a fool. After everything they'd been through the year before, Ilya knew how sensitive Shane was now when it came to making Ilya feel rejected or upset. He obviously knew he couldn't be the sole source of Ilya's happiness and well-being, but he also hated the thought of purposefully doing something that hurt Ilya's feelings. 

"Ugh, fine," Shane sighed, throwing the covers back. Ilya grinned giddily, scooting over in the opposite bed to make space for him. "But you'd better behave."

"I will be a perfect angel," Ilya lied, batting his long lashes. 

Shane didn’t even grace that with a reply, he simply pretended to continue to read his book as Ilya snuggled up to him and focused back on the sitcom rerun playing quietly on the TV. Ilya’s fingers idly traced the buttons on Shane’s pajama top, occasionally slipping in the gaps between them and grazing Shane’s skin beneath. Before Shane could really register it, he’d managed to undo the top button of his sleep shirt with one hand, skimming his palm under the soft fabric against his bare chest.

“Quit that,” Shane chastised, batting Ilya’s hand away. 

Ilya retracted his hand for just a moment before he started creeping it back down toward the next button in the row. 

“If you don’t behave, I will go to the other bed, no matter how hard you pout this time,” Shane warned. 

Ilya sighed dramatically but acquiesced, and soon enough, he fell into an easy sleep against Shane’s side. Turning off both the bedside lamp and the TV and putting his book aside, he settled into a more comfortable position for bed. Ilya intuitively curled around him, half-asleep and murmuring something soft and sweet in Russian, and the comforting familiarity of being next to his husband in bed, as well as the exhaustion from a busy week, dragged him into a peaceful sleep.

Shane woke to strong arms around his waist, warm breath on his neck, and his husband’s morning wood pressed against his ass. Which was exactly why Shane should have slept in the other bed last night. The urge to grind back against what would have been a very welcome intrusion just about any other morning was so strong, it almost won out. Instead, Shane tried extricating himself from Ilya’s arms as carefully as possible while trying not to wake the other man.

The movement made Ilya rouse behind him, and he instinctively pulled Shane closer before stiffening as his mind cleared. 

"That’s cheating!" Shane complained, trying to put as much distance between himself and Ilya as possible.

"It's morning! I don't control it!" Ilya grumbled behind him.

Shane leapt from the bed, much to Ilya's dismay, grabbing his phone from the bedside table and rushing to the bathroom to take what felt like his millionth cold shower of the week before his body betrayed him. 

 It was just before eight a.m. per the clock on his phone, which meant there were fewer than twelve hours left in the bet. He took a deep, steadying breath. 

"You can do this," he whispered to himself for the umpteenth time that week.

The cold water was a shock to his system, waking him up fully, but it still did little to tamp down his angry, neglected dick. Each unsexy thing he tried to think of to will his dick into submission somehow morphed into thoughts of Ilya. He contemplated cheating, just for a moment, it would only take three strokes of his hand max to get him over the edge. 

But if he cheated now by jerking off, it meant that when he won, and he would win this, it would be a hollow victory. And when he won, he wanted to win for real and with dignity. So, instead, he let the icy spray of the shower clear his mind. 

He had finally calmed both himself and his dick when the door cracked open just enough for Ilya to poke his head in.

"Remember…no touching!" Ilya said.

Shane was barely able to grit out a fuck off before Ilya was closing the door again and cackling on the other side of it. As annoyed as Shane was, he did love hearing Ilya's laugh. 

"Really?" He hissed down at his dick, which had started to plump back up again just by Ilya's brief presence.

Even if he made it to the deadline tonight, all this week had proven to Shane was that Ilya had been right. Shane was obsessed with him and maybe even obsessed with having sex with him. Still, he’d sooner let his dick fall off from lack of use than ever admit it to him.

The flight home from Columbus to Ottawa was hardly an hour and a half long, so even after picking up Anya from the dog hotel and grabbing a quick lunch on the way home, they were still back at a decent time on Sunday. 

They spent the majority of the afternoon lounging on the couch. Anya was happily passed out on the fancy memory foam dog bed that Ilya had bought her. The nice thing about the pet hotel was that she always came home exhausted.

Shane was going through his email inbox, clearing away trivial messages and bookmarking the important ones that needed replies. Ilya was splayed across the couch, laughing at some silly reality TV show he loved about a bunch of hot people on an island, his hand resting casually on Shane’s ankle.  As much as Shane pretended he didn't care about these shows, he always paid attention, even if it was just listening while he did another task. Partially because it was actually incredibly entertaining, but mostly because Ilya liked to gossip about it after every episode.  

He stole a glance at his husband and immediately regretted that decision. 

The soft, late-winter afternoon light filtered through the windows behind Ilya, illuminating his golden curls into a halo. He was completely relaxed, the bulk of his body sprawled across their plush couch, his eyes illuminated with joy.

Shane had always prided himself on his incredible self-control when it came to just about everything in his life, but for a long time, Ilya had been the only outlier to that. The one thing he just couldn't resist, no matter how hard he tried. He'd thought maybe the level of commitment they'd reached and the newfound stability in their relationship in the last year would have changed that. It seemed like Ilya would always be the one exception to all of Shane's structure and self-imposed rules.  

Perhaps it was a little pathetic that the final nail in the coffin, with mere hours left in their bet, was just the sight of his husband laughing - happy and carefree, framed seraphically in the unassuming afternoon sunlight of their home. Fuck, Shane loved him, and fuck, Shane wanted him.

"I can't do this anymore," Shane gasped, leaping up from the couch. 

Ilya's expression twisted into bewilderment as he sat up a bit, but Shane was already in his lap, kissing him the way he'd been dying to do all week, before Ilya could question his sudden outburst.

Ilya returned the kiss happily, if a little bemused, at first, but when his brain finally seemed to catch up to what was going on, he pulled back. Shane chased his mouth, he couldn't help it, letting out a whine that would have embarrassed him beyond belief, only just years ago at the loss of contact.

Ilya gazed up at him, pupils blown and clearly happy with the turn of events, but with an edge of trepidation. 

"There is, like," he grabbed Shane's wrist to check the time on his watch, "six hours to the bet left. You are sure you want to give in now?"

"I really don't care about winning or losing at this point. If I don't get you naked immediately, I'm going to explode."

Shane only caught a glimpse of Ilya's obnoxious, triumphant grin (the one that always seemed to only turn him on more) before he was diving in for another kiss.  Ilya only let it go on for so long before he was pulling back with a hand to the middle of Shane's chest to keep him from leaning back in again. 

"Say it first," Ilya demanded. 

 Shane glared, but he knew Ilya wasn't going to relent. 

"I'm waiting, Hollander."

All of his resolve from that morning had faded as his neglected dick had officially taken the wheel. What did it matter if he admitted it to Ilya? It was just confirmation of something they both already knew. It would just be the first time he said it out loud. 

"Fine. You win. I'm obsessed with having sex with you. You have more self-control than I do. I'm clearly the bigger horndog in this relationship. Happy?"

"Very," Ilya confirmed. "Now, was that so hard?"   

"Oh fuck off, Rozanov."

"Mmmm, no. But now I will finally fuck you."

"Oh, thank god," Shane moaned, and Ilya finally, finally leaned back in to kiss him again.

He didn't even care that Ilya was being a smug asshole right now. If anything, it was just making him crazier. Even if much of it was just a facade, Ilya’s assholish exterior had always been one of Shane’s favorite things about him.

They broke apart to remove their shirts, tossing them somewhere to the side on the couch.

"Fuck I missed this," Ilya groaned, gripping Shane’s ass in his large hands and squeezing. 

Shane leaned back in for another kiss, grinding desperately against Ilya in search of any friction he could get. The pressure of Ilya’s body against his felt good, but it wasn’t quite enough. He internally cursed himself for not changing out of his jeans and into something more comfortable like Ilya had. He undid his zipper, but his pants were too tight. If he wanted to get his dick out, he’d have to take them fully off. Shane threw his head back with a groan of frustration. The last thing he wanted was to leave Ilya’s lap, even just for a second, to rid himself of his pants, but it seemed like if he wanted to come, that was his only option. 

“You are so beautiful,” Ilya gasped, expression fervent as he gazed up at Shane, oblivious to his inner torment. “And you were so fucking good for me all week.”

The praise was accompanied by a perfectly timed roll of Shane's hips against Ilya's, guided by Ilya's hands on his ass, which was probably why Shane came immediately and virtually untouched. 

 A startled moan was torn from him as he nearly blacked out with the relief and pleasure of finally coming after a week of feeling like a horny time bomb. It all happened so quickly that Ilya took a moment to catch up. 

"Oh my god…did you?" Ilya asked, eyes honing in on the very clear wet spot at the front of Shane's briefs that peeked through his open zipper. 

He didn't even have it in himself to be embarrassed. Ilya was looking up at him, stunned, in the way he often did when Shane did something that Ilya registered as inexplicably hot. 

"I can't believe I just came in my pants," Shane said, thunking his forehead against Ilya's.

Ilya, who was still hard, shook with laughter beneath him. 

"Wow, Hollander. Been a long time since you did that," Ilya quipped.  

“Fuck off,” Shane said, making a show of pretending to climb off Ilya’s lap. 

"Nooo, Shane. I was just teasing," he whined, holding Shane in place. "Touch me, please? I miss your hands on me."

And, fuck, how was Shane supposed to say no to that?

"My hands are on you," he said, squeezing where he was braced against Ilya's chest for emphasis. 

“You know what I mean,” he groaned.

"Do I? I think you need to be more specific,” Shane said, feigning confusion. 

"I want your hands on my dick, Hollander. It's been a week, I'm going crazy, I need you to touch my dick."

 It was a request Shane had never been able to resist. 

He quickly got to work, aiding Ilya in shimmying his track pants awkwardly down, just enough to pull his rigid cock from the confines of his pants and underwear. 

  It definitely made Shane feel much better that all it took for Ilya to follow him over was a bit of spit and half a dozen strokes of Shane's hand. As much as Ilya liked to tease Shane about how fast he came, he hardly lasted much longer than Shane did. 

“Well, that was quick,” Ilya finally said once they’d both caught their breath.

“Not my finest moment,” Shane admitted, grimacing down at the cooling wet spot in his pants. 

“Mmm, maybe, but it was hot,” Ilya said, pulling Shane down for a kiss that was far too chaste. “Besides, that was only to take the edge off. That way, the next round where I finally fuck you, we will last longer. 

"We do have the rest of the day and all of tomorrow off,” Shane agreed, mind reeling at all the possibilities. He fully planned to make up for all the sex they didn’t have all week during the next day and a half. 

“Tomorrow I get to cash in on our bet,” Ilya reminded him, voice dripping with promise. “I think I will start with keeping you tied to our bed all day. See how many times I can make you come. Then untie you just long enough for you to take me out to dinner.” 

“Jesus,” was all Shane could say in reply, cheeks heating. He knew Ilya was serious, too. They’d be lucky if Shane even had the energy to make it out of the house for dinner by the end of the day. 

“After dinner, if you can still move, we will come home and do it all over again.”

“If this past week didn’t kill me, then tomorrow might just do me in,” Shane said, even as the prospect of everything Ilya wanted to do to him was incredibly exciting and almost enough to start getting him hard again. 

Ilya laughed beneath him. “There will be no dying from sex. I love you too much for that.”

“Love you,” Shane said, topping the statement off with a kiss. 

"I was dying all week, too," Ilya conceded. 

"Really? It didn't seem like it. You seemed so…composed all week. Minus the yoga incident, that is."

"I'm Russian," Ilya shrugged. "We can be hard to read, you know this. A few times this week, you looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive, and I almost broke. When we got home from the game Friday night, and you kissed me like that, I was ready to lose the bet then and there." 

"So you are just as bad as I am!" Shane exclaimed.

"I am," Ilya agreed. "You drive me crazy, Shane. I clearly just have more self-control, like I have said.” 

He ended that last sentence with a smug smile. 

"Whatever," Shane grumbled, knowing he was right.

"Come on. Let's get you upstairs and out of your soiled pants," Ilya said, patting him on the thigh. "If you can get it up again, I will fuck you however you want after we shower."  

Shane's dick twitched valiantly at the promise.  

 "Seems you like that idea," Ilya said, waggling his brows. 

Shane swatted at his chest as they both got up - slightly awkwardly, thanks to the state of their half-removed pants. While Ilya grabbed their discarded shirts, Shane took a moment to take the rest of his clothes off. The cum in his briefs was now cold and sticky, which was far from a pleasant sensation. 

Ilya followed suit, motioning for Shane to hand over his soiled garments. He made a quick pit stop on the way up to their primary suite to toss both sets of clothes into the wash for later, then followed Shane dutifully upstairs and into their bathroom.

"Let's never go that long without sex again if we can help it," Shane said as he turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm. 

He was sure extraneous circumstances would pop up in the future - illness, injuries, busy schedules, maybe even kids if they were lucky -  but the idea of willfully being celibate again when they didn't need to be sounded like torture. 

“Agreed,” Ilya said.

"The bet part was fun though," Shane admitted as he stepped into the shower, pulling Ilya along with him. 

"Yes," Ilya agreed. 

"I wouldn't be opposed to doing something like it again," he admitted. 

"Oh, I am sure we can think of something," Ilya said, and by the glint in his eyes, Shane was certain he already had.