Work Text:
Shane doesn’t think he’s ever been so desperate.
Moving to the Centaurs and being closer to Ilya was supposed to make things easier. While, yes, life has become infinitely better now that he lives with his husband, and plays hockey with his husband, and gets to see his husband every single day—in some ways, it really isn’t easier at all.
Somehow, this newfound proximity only makes Shane want Ilya more.
It’s suddenly all Shane can think about—kissing Ilya, sucking his cock, fucking him. Shane doesn’t want to call it torture but, well, he thinks waterboarding might be less painful.
Because it’s embarrassing.
Shane has always prided himself on being professional and respectful in the locker room, has always made it a point to give other players space, even if they hadn’t known about his sexuality at the time. That wasn’t about being gay, it was about being decent.
Now though, it feels like borderline obsession.
It takes everything Shane has not to ogle his husband in the showers, or watch him as he strips out of his gear while they’re still surrounded by their team. Shane refuses to shower alongside him, opts to stay at his stall until Ilya finishes or just wait until they get home altogether; and Shane has never been one to skip out on a locker room shower. It's not so much about cleanliness as it is about the way his clothes feel against his skin after being on the ice. His senses become overloaded if he doesn't shower before changing; but he'll do it if it means he maintains his professionalism in front of the team
Their relationship had been kept hidden for so long, kisses spaced out between months and unsaid I love yous spanning years—always double checking for any marks the other may have left behind the night before.
Shane doesn’t want that anymore. He wants the constant reminder of Ilya bruised into his skin, and to see the answering bloom of his own reflected back on his husband’s.
They shouldn’t—they’ll never hear the end of it from the team—but it’s all Shane can think about.
He imagines what it would be like to look over at his husband while he strips out of his uniform, chest mottled purple and back lined with red. It would be gorgeous, Shane thinks, to see Ilya all scratched and bruised with marks made by his hands and mouth.
Some fucked up part of Shane also wants to know how their teammates would react, and wonders if they’d be shocked at just how vicious he and Ilya can be with each other given the chance.
***
He’s glorious, Shane thinks as he looks up at Ilya from where he kneels on the floor.
Ilya sits on the bed, clad only in a pair of gray sweats and the chain around his neck, gold cross and ring on display. He looks down at Shane like he wants to devour him and Shane is sure his own expression matches. Ilya is all golden skin and beauty marks with a hung cock and sly smile.
Shane doesn’t think he will ever get enough.
Ilya stands and lazily walks over to Shane but doesn’t touch him, hovering just out of reach. Shane thinks he can already see the faint outline of Ilya’s dick through his sweats, and—embarrassingly—he can’t help that his first thought is how he hopes to get his mouth around it soon.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Ilya says in a low voice and Shane shivers at the sound.
He blinks up at him before responding with a simple, “Ilya.”
It never takes long for Shane to go under, and Ilya took his time while undressing him tonight, so he’s already halfway there. Ilya’s fingers always apply pressure in just the right places, and he knows exactly what to say to make the edges of Shane’s brain go fuzzy.
Shane waits for Ilya’s instruction, hands facedown on his thighs as he rests back on his calves.
Ilya steps toward him until he stands just a hairsbreadth away from Shane’s face. He reaches a hand down to palm the entire right side of Shane’s head, guiding him forward to rest against Ilya’s thigh. Shane’s eyes drift closed when he feels the sweats against his cheek, rubbing against the fabric.
“You want it that bad?” Ilya teases.
Shane just hums in reply, inhaling deeply as Ilya’s thumb smooths over his eyebrow once, and then again a second time.
“Oh, he can’t speak?” This time, Ilya’s fingers tug lightly at Shane’s hair.
Shane’s eyes open at that, and all he can get out is a simple, “Um.”
"Cолнышко (Sunshine), we have not even started yet. Cannot be cockdumb this soon," Ilya chastises, lips pulling up into a quirk.
But he doesn’t give Shane the chance to speak again, not when Shane’s face is suddenly pressed against his cock, Ilya’s hand firmly holding him in place. The fabric of Ilya’s sweats scratches roughly against Shane’s skin and he struggles not to close his eyes.
There isn’t enough space for Shane to get his mouth open like he wants, can’t press his tongue to the line of Ilya’s dick through the fabric. There isn’t even enough space to breathe, not really. Shane’s nose and mouth are held so tightly to the base of Ilya’s cock that he worries it might be painful for him. Ilya must be enjoying it though, if how hard he’s getting is anything to go by. He has to find the perfect angle to make it work, to fuck Shane’s face without actually using his mouth.
Shane would never think to do something like this while they’re fucking; but then again, Shane usually doesn’t have to think at all.
Ilya’s hips start grinding down, not letting up even when it’s clear that Shane can’t breathe. The lack of air does something funny to his brain, makes him see static and nonsensical shapes behind his closed eyes. It surprises him how much it turns him on, not needing to do anything but allow Ilya to use him, and Shane likes knowing Ilya loves it just as much.
Ilya uses one hand to hold him steady, the other arm hanging limply at his side. It’s hot that one arm is all it takes to keep Shane in place, but even hotter to know that Shane is strong enough to break free if he really wanted to.
Ilya uses him like that for a minute—no desire to make it pleasurable or even comfortable for Shane, just takes what he wants.
Then it’s gone, and Shane gasps for air. He looks up and watches the way Ilya’s chest heaves, eyes hard and focused on Shane’s face.
“Look so good. My patient boy.” Ilya smooths a hand over Shane’s jaw as he says it.
Shane makes an embarrassing keening sound, high in the back of his throat.
“Can I—?” Shane wouldn’t call it begging, but Ilya probably would.
The hand on Shane’s face pulls away the tiniest bit and pats his cheek twice, just on the side of rough, and Shane’s breath hitches.
Ilya hums thoughtfully and brings both hands down to hold his face. Shane’s eyes close as Ilya turns his head this way and that, like he’s molding clay into whatever shape he wants Shane to take next.
Then two fingers are pressing inside Shane’s mouth.
“Open,” and so he does.
The pads of Ilya’s fingers press down on Shane’s tongue, then move to tug one side of his mouth open wider. The air hits his teeth and gums and he can only wonder what he looks like to Ilya—probably like a slut.
“Pretty lips, always look so good around my cock. You want it already?”
Shane nods, eyes starting to water at the stretch of his mouth. Ilya uses his other hand to pull his waistband down, revealing no briefs, nothing but his hard dick.
Shane thinks he feels himself drool a bit.
He wants to surge forward, take it all in his mouth and stay there for hours. He wouldn’t even need to do anything, just let Ilya use him to keep his cock warm. He hopes that’s how tonight will end.
Ilya’s fingers are still in his mouth as he guides himself to Shane’s lips. He rests the tip there, dips inside just enough to get it wet before pulling out again. Shane loves the taste, loves the feeling and the warmth of Ilya on his tongue, but it’s gone just as quick.
Ilya slips his fingers out of Shane's mouth, smearing spit against his chin as he does. Shane knows the way he must look: eyes glassy and red-rimmed, mouth wet and still open wide, flushed from his cheeks down to his chest. He doesn’t care, just likes knowing Ilya can see how turned on he is.
“Doesn’t even want to kiss me, my Shane. He only wants my cock. How rude,” Ilya pouts as he taps his cock against Shane’s cheek, sliding against his skin.
“No, no,” Shane says quickly. “Want to kiss you, can I kiss you?” He stumbles quickly over the words and Ilya laughs at him.
“But I thought you wanted to suck my dick?”
Asshole, Shane thinks. But then, Yeah.
Ilya is still pressing himself against Shane’s face, dragging his cock over his cheeks and nose like it’s fun.
“But I want—want to kiss you too,” Shane replies, a little desperate now.
Ilya purses his lips, considers it for a moment. He lets go of his cock and it slaps back against his stomach. He moves so both of his hands hold Shane’s face again, angling his head up with his thumbs.
“You know I will never say no to a kiss from Shane Hollander,” he murmurs.
Ilya bends down and presses his mouth to Shane’s. His mouth is already open, sliding his tongue inside and tilting Shane’s head back even further. Ilya groans and Shane swallows it, giving back just as much as he takes.
“He is so eager,” Ilya says into the kiss, “мой тигрёнок (my little tiger).”
“Yeah, you make me fucking—crazy,” Shane breathes back into him, accepting another kiss that has Ilya’s tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth.
It’s not enough for Shane, he wants to hold Ilya down and kiss him for hours, ruin him for anyone else. He wants everyone to see how good they are together, how well they know each other’s bodies and tells.
“Okay, enough.” Ilya straightens up and takes a step back. Shane has to catch himself from almost falling forward, breath already starting to go ragged.
“On the bed, Hollander.”
Shane looks at him for a moment before slowly rising to his feet. He runs his tongue over his teeth, already missing the feeling of Ilya’s tongue against them, and takes a step closer.
“Hollander?” he asks, eyes lowered to focus on Ilya’s mouth.
Ilya considers this for a moment, adjusting his waistband so his cock is hidden from view again.
“That is your name, yes?” Ilya quirks an eyebrow.
Shane doesn’t say anything for a moment, eyes roaming around the room in a daze. He lets out a hum, frowning. He’s spent too many years hearing the name Hollander, he wants to hear something nicer on Rozanov’s lips now.
Shane shrugs, lips turned down in the corners, “Maybe Shane, or husband. Those work too,” he complains, but the words come out slower than they normally would. It’s getting hard for him to think in complete sentences.
“Ah,” Ilya nods with a knowing smile. “Well, then maybe my husband can remind me.”
Shane stumbles forward at that, nosing into Ilya’s neck and inhaling deeply. There’s a hint of his natural musk, but Ilya mostly just smells clean. Shane’s hands slide up to rest on Ilya’s waist, feeling the bare skin and digging his fingers in.
“Wanna,” Shane slurs. “Here.” He presses a kiss where Ilya’s neck meets his shoulder.
Ilya’s hands start at Shane’s hips, trailing slowly up Shane’s sides, over his biceps, and up to his neck until he can cradle Shane’s head. Ilya holds him there, petting at Shane’s hair.
“You want everyone to see, Hollander? Want everyone to know who I belong to?
Shane can hear the smile in Ilya’s voice, calling him Hollander again just because he knows it’ll piss Shane off.
“Yeah,” he says, breathing against Ilya’s skin.
“Okay, sweetheart. Go ahead.”
Ilya nudges Shane’s face further into his neck. Closing his eyes, he opens his mouth and sucks on the skin until it feels warm under his tongue. He uses his teeth, biting and scraping as he goes, and by the time he’s finished, Ilya’s neck looks like fucking art.
Shane’s hard dick rubs desperately against Ilya’s hip. He tries to get more friction but fails, hunching over to sink his teeth into Ilya’s bicep out of frustration.
“Ah—” Ilya gasps at the bite. “You really are мой тигрёнок (my little tiger),” he grins as he pulls Shane off of him.
“What’s that?” Shane asks, unfocused.
Ilya walks Shane back to the bed, and he falls when his knees hit the mattress. The marks along the left side of Ilya’s neck look painful, different hues of red and pink a stark contrast against his skin. Ilya lifts a hand up to them, moaning when he presses his fingers into the indentions of Shane’s teeth along his collarbones.
“Little tiger,” Ilya says and then stalks toward him like Shane is his prey.
Ilya pushes Shane back and he takes the hint, crawling backwards on his forearms to the head of the bed. He’s all too aware of how naked he is, bare skin on display for Ilya. He wants Ilya to take his sweats off so Shane can look at his hard cock again, maybe suck bruises into his hips too.
“Can I, now? Suck you?”
Shane hates asking, but loves what the words do to Ilya’s face. His eyes glaze over and his lips part, throat bobbing as he swallows. Ilya slides his sweats off smoothly before climbing onto the bed.
“You ask so nicely,” he says, and Shane looks down to see his dick bobbing between his legs as he crawls.
Shane yelps in surprise when Ilya grabs his ankles and yanks him down until he’s flat on the mattress. He’s facing the ceiling but can feel as Ilya starts to climb over him, crawling over his legs and torso until his weight rests on Shane’s chest.
Shane spreads his fingers out over Ilya’s thighs, looking up at him and taking in the sight. Ilya’s hand comes down to rest on his cheek, thumb rubbing under his eye, and Shane leans into the touch.
Ilya takes one of Shane’s hands and moves it to his hip, dragging it across the sharp V of his waist.
“You want to leave your mark here too?”
Shane looks down to where his hand is being held and imagines the skin there angry and red from his mouth.
“Mmm,” Shane agrees, massaging the skin there. “Want to.”
“Okay, baby.”
Ilya pushes forward onto his knees, bracing one hand against the headboard, and leans down until his hip hovers over Shane’s mouth. Shane brings a hand up to press Ilya’s cock flat up against his stomach, holding it out of the way there so he can get his mouth on the skin beside it.
Ilya lets out a groan and Shane feels his cock twitch under his hand. Shane’s tongue laves over the thin skin, sucking harsh bruises and leaving the imprint of his teeth behind as he goes. He slowly makes his way over to Ilya’s sac, sucking them into his mouth one at a time.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moans and his hips move forward to chase the feeling of Shane’s mouth.
The palm of Shane’s hand rubs against Ilya’s cock, pressing it into his abdomen, and it’s already wet but not wet enough for the slide to be good.
Shane travels higher, tongue tracing along the vein on the underside of Ilya’s dick and following the trail to its tip. He angles Ilya down, holding the head of his cock against his tongue. Shane looks up to meet Ilya’s eyes and lets go of Ilya’s cock, letting it rest there for a moment.
He doesn’t have to say a word—not after all the years they’ve spent learning each other’s tells.
Ilya leans back, just barely resting his weight on Shane’s chest again, and his cock slips from Shane’s tongue. Ilya uses a few fingers to coax his mouth back open, guiding himself up to Shane’s lips and feeding it to him.
The head of Ilya’s dick slides further into his mouth, and Shane gags when it hits the back of his throat. Ilya reaches down and closes Shane’s left hand into a fist, tucking Shane’s thumb tightly inside.
“Squeeze,” Ilya says.
Shane tightens his fist and the distraction relaxes him, allowing his throat to open wider and Ilya to push deeper.
It’s a simple trick Shane found years ago after Googling How not to gag during oral. When he tried it for the first time, he was afraid Ilya would laugh at him, mock him for being a boring virgin, but it had the opposite effect. It drove Ilya crazy—the idea of Shane wanting to be better for him, turning to Reddit of all places for blowjob tips.
“Good,” Ilya says and Shane’s eyelashes flutter at the praise.
“мой малыш (My baby),” Ilya adds as he starts to move in and out of Shane’s mouth.
“Always so good for me. Wears my ring around his neck and sucks my cock so well. What else could I need?”
He pushes Shane’s arms above his head and holds his wrists there, leaning over him to get a better angle as he starts to fuck Shane’s mouth in earnest. Shane hums around him, using his tongue where he can and trying to breathe through his nose. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes into his hairline, and Ilya brings one hand down to swipe them away.
“My poor crybaby,” he says, fingers slipping into Shane’s hair and tugging at the strands. Shane can’t help but groan at that, another tear falling as his eyes slip closed again.
He loves it—loves being held down and made to take it, loves knowing that if he really wanted to, he could push Ilya off. They’re almost the same size, both of them big and strong, professionally trained athletes. They play a full-contact sport that practically begs its players to fight.
He doesn’t push Ilya off though, just hands control over to his husband and trusts that he’ll know what to do with it.
Ilya pulls out, and Shane immediately gulps in air, gasping. He’s only given a brief moment before Ilya releases his wrists and surges down to kiss him, pulling Shane up by the neck to meet him halfway. Shane’s hands instantly fly up to grab at Ilya’s back, feeling each of Ilya’s ribs beneath his fingers.
It’s all open-mouthed and gnashing teeth, half of the kisses landing nowhere near the other’s lips. Ilya moves to kiss Shane’s chin next and then his neck, moving down Shane’s body as he finds more skin to get his mouth on.
Shane feels the first mark being sucked into his skin and thinks he might come then and there. He jerks up into Ilya’s hip while Ilya works at his neck, sucking so hard Shane hears a pop when he comes up for air.
“Fuck, fuck,” Shane gasps, but Ilya’s already moved on to the next spot.
All Shane can think about is what the other players will say when they see the marks, how they’ll give him shit for being so rough in bed. He has always been considered a prude to former teammates, always unwilling to divulge details about his sex life or engage in locker room talk. Shane has never cared about any of that, not really, but there’s a thrill that comes with people knowing how desired you are.
Shane feels a dopey smile take over his face while he cradles Ilya’s head, holding him as he sucks more marks into Shane’s skin.
Ilya breaks away, mouth wet and shiny with spit, and he slaps a hand down on Shane’s chest. Shane gasps more out of surprise than actual pain.
“Ow, fuck Ilya,” Shane complains, rubbing over the spot.
“Did not hurt you. You are too big and tough,” Ilya says slyly and Shane recenters himself, trying to focus on his breathing.
He looks down to watch as Ilya pillows his head on Shane’s thigh, looking up at him from under his lashes.
This stunning, gorgeous man.
Ilya’s curls have grown out and Shane wants to tug on them, wants to feel how soft they are against his skin. Shane spots one of the bruises he left on Ilya’s neck and already wants to leave more, wants to stake a claim he knows he already has.
He feels crazy, and unabashed, and in love.
Ilya grins at him before licking a fat stripe along Shane’s thigh, ending it by sucking another slobbery kiss into the skin. The spot blooms a bright pink before settling into a more muted tone and Shane sighs happily at the sight.
Then Ilya takes Shane’s cock into his mouth and his back arches involuntarily. It’s almost like he’d forgotten about himself altogether—just wanted Ilya to feel good despite his own pleasure.
“Oh my god, Ilya. Oh fuck you can’t—I’m not gonna last—” Shane can barely choke the words out, nails scratching where they dig into Ilya’s shoulders.
Ilya’s hands hold Shane’s hips down as he swallows around him, never looking away from Shane’s face. Shane can’t focus, eyes flitting from Ilya’s eyes to his nose to where he disappears into Ilya’s mouth. It’s all too much but still somehow not enough, and Shane’s body can’t decide if it wants more or less.
“Fuck, Ilya—I’m gonna—”
Ilya pulls off and Shane cries out at the loss.
“Gimme lube,” Ilya says, but Shane can’t bring himself to move.
Ilya gives him a moment to steady his breathing before he reaches over to the nightstand, fumbling around in the drawer for the open bottle they keep there. When Shane passes it over, Ilya leans up to kiss him as he takes it. It’s the only sweet kiss they’ve shared all night, and Shane can’t help it when his eyelashes flutter again.
“Lay back,” Ilya instructs, and he does.
Shane’s cock is hard and leaking where it rests against his hip. He looks up to see Ilya taking in the sight of him as he grabs a pillow to put under Shane’s back, tilting his hips up when he does. Ilya settles between his legs like it’s where he belongs and Shane swallows audibly at the sight.
Hickeys litter his skin and there are already scratch marks visible along his hips—Shane doesn’t even remember doing that. Shane can even see the indention his teeth left on Ilya’s bicep and he feels proud in a way, knowing they’ll sit on his skin for days. Even prouder to know that, when they disappear, Shane can just replace them with more.
Shane feels Ilya’s fingers on his hole, petting lightly to coax the muscles there into relaxing, and Shane settles back into the pillows. He raises both arms above his head and folds them across one another, hands wrapping lightly around his elbows.
Shane tries to relax his body as Ilya slides the first finger in. Ilya doesn’t touch Shane’s cock, knowing that even the slightest pressure would be enough to take Shane over the edge. He holds still at first, then begins to rock back and forth as his other hand rubs circles into Shane’s thigh.
“Is surprising,” Ilya says as he works in and out of Shane.
“Hmm?” It takes everything he has to respond.
“Mой тигрёнок (My little tiger) is not begging yet. He is usually so loud.” Ilya presses a second finger in and Shane whines.
“Nngh, Ilya—fuck baby,” he gasps out, shoving his face into one of his arms.
Ilya reaches forward and grabs Shane by the jaw, pulling his face away from where he was hiding.
“No,” he says. “Want to hear you.”
Shane can already feel his eyes starting to get wet again, can’t help it when he feels so overwhelmed. His hips rock against Ilya’s hand, trying to match his rhythm.
“More,” he says pathetically.
Ilya picks up the bottle of lube again and squeezes more directly onto Shane’s hole. Shane gasps at the cold, and then again as Ilya presses a third finger into him.
“Jesus,” Shane cries out. “Fuck that’s cold!”
Ilya grins at him. “I will warm you up with my big hands. Is what you want, yes?”
Shane wants to roll his eyes at that, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep them open at all. He sniffs, nose starting to run from tearing up, and he brings his hands down to rub over his chest. His nipples are sensitive, so he can’t do too much, but he squeezes himself for something for something else to focus on.
“Fucking—” He hears from Ilya, and then Ilya has a hand cupping Shane’s pec as well. “Tits—so fucking pretty.”
The touch is nearly unbearable, and when Shane looks down at Ilya he sees that his entire chest is flushed a rosy pink. Ilya leans down to drop kisses on any body part he can reach—Shane’s thigh, stomach, nipples.
“More,” Shane requests again and he can tell what Ilya is going to say before he says it. “Please,” he adds in a mumble.
“Oh, so you can say please.”
“Shut up,” Shane says, lashes damp now.
Shane feels the loss of Ilya’s fingers as he slicks up his cock. Then he’s sliding against Shane’s hole, letting the head of his cock catch on the rim. It’s torture but then Ilya suddenly presses inside and Shane just—short-circuits.
Ilya is big, is the thing, and Shane has been taking his cock for years but every time feels like the first. The curve of it is just enough to have Ilya dragging along Shane’s walls, opening him up and making him take every inch.
“Yeah,” Ilya breathes. “Just like that.”
Ilya watches the space where his dick slides into Shane, one hand guiding it in slowly, while the other steadies himself on Shane’s stomach.
Ilya looks up at him. “Breathe,” he says, and Shane doesn’t even realize that he hadn’t been.
He takes a deep breath and wills himself to relax, but it hurts. Then again, Shane has never loved any pain more than this specific kind—his body fighting to make room for his husband’s cock inside of him.
Shane isn’t sure how but Ilya is still pressing in, still creating a space inside Shane that is distinctly Ilya-shaped. When he finally feels Ilya’s hips flush against him, Shane brings a hand down to his stomach to press against where he knows Ilya should be.
He shifts his hips, only a bit, just to see how much he can take. Once he finds that it feels good, Shane starts to roll them in earnest, and Ilya takes that as his cue to match pace.
“Oh my god,” Shane says and throws his head back against the pillows.
Ilya thrusts into him harshly and Shane isn’t sure how long he’ll last, cock already leaking and flushed. He lifts his hips from the bed to meet Ilya the best that he can, but he’s so overstimulated that it’s hard to keep up.
Ilya leans over him then and sucks a bruise into Shane’s chest right where the ring on his necklace usually falls, and Shane’s eyes roll back at that. Once Ilya lets go, Shane presses his fingers into the tender skin there and moans. Then he raises his hands to clutch at Ilya’s back, digging in wherever he finds purchase and clawing harder with each thrust.
“You want everyone to see I am yours? Well I am the same. Everyone will see that you’re mine, and that you always have been.” Ilya thrusts harder and Shane can feel every inch of him. “And they will see your ring and know that you always will be.”
Ilya pulls out of him abruptly and Shane cries out at the loss. He’s flipped over then, ass in the air with his shoulders and face pressed into the mattress. Then Ilya is fucking back inside of him and Shane can’t help the sob that’s ripped from his chest.
The new angle has Ilya pressing against Shane’s prostate every few thrusts, and Shane babbles into the sheets nonsensically each time it happens. Ilya’s hand rests on the side of Shane’s face, holding him down as he fucks him into the mattress. The sheets under him are wet with his tears and Shane knows he’s going to come soon.
“Touch me, please Ilya. Touch me,” Shane begs in a muffled voice.
“You can come like this, sweetheart. I know you can,” Ilya says with a groan and Shane sobs again.
He tries to drop his hips, searching for friction against the bed, but Ilya won’t let him. He pulls Shane’s hips back up and picks up his pace, determined to get Shane off like this.
It works.
“Baby—fuck—can I?” Shane barely has the wherewithal to ask.
Ilya drops his weight against Shane’s back to bite the back of his neck and it changes the angle entirely.
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
Shane wails as he comes, spurting all over the mattress below him. His body goes limp and he can no longer hold his weight up off the bed. Ilya does it for him, continues to fuck into him even after he’s spent, and Shane goes pliant beneath him.
Ilya spreads his cheeks apart and Shane knows it’s to watch as he fucks into Shane, admire how his cock disappears completely inside of Shane’s body. He hears it when Ilya spits on his dick and pulls out enough to let the head catch on Shane’s rim again.
It’s too much, but Shane loves the idea of Ilya using him to get off. Shane doesn’t even need to do anything, just needs to lay there and take it.
“Love you,” he mumbles into the mattress, not even sure if Ilya can hear him.
He feels Ilya drape himself over Shane’s back again, necklace pooling at the base of his neck while Ilya continues to fuck into him.
It’s warm, and fuzzy, and Shane doesn’t need to think. He just relishes the feeling of Ilya’s skin against his own, in knowing that he gets to have this forever. It’s silly, Shane thinks, that he ever pretended he could go without.
Ilya’s body suddenly goes taut and he pulls out, finishing all over Shane’s back and smearing it into the dimples at the base of his spine. Shane is exhausted, face still wet with tears and saliva, and he tenses as soon as he feels Ilya’s mouth on his spine.
“Noo,” he whines, still sniffling.
But Ilya pays him no mind, continues sucking marks into the skin on his back, down his spine and in the divots of his dimples. Shane feels Ilya sit back on his calves, admiring his work before he brings a hand down on Shane’s ass.
Shane yelps weakly. “Ah fuck, Ilya. You asshole.”
Shane tries to sound stern, but he’s floating too high for it to come out as anything but pathetic and fragile.
Ilya leans back down to press a kiss to Shane’s asscheek.
“No, your asshole.”
***
No one notices at first, too busy changing out of their sweaty gear and talking amongst themselves.
Shane tries to act casual, but knows it’s just a matter of time. He’d seen himself in the bathroom mirror this morning—and he is intimately familiar with the way Ilya’s body looks too—so there is really no chance either of them would go unnoticed.
“Damn Hollzy, Cap really did a number on you, huh?” Bood says from across the locker room.
Shane tries to suppress the smile on his face, doesn’t respond out of fear he’ll give himself away. He just shrugs noncommittally and continues stripping off at his stall, getting ready to hop into the shower.
The other guys begin to notice too, catcalls and whistles echoing off the walls as they do. Shane has never been on the receiving end like this—other than the time his team congratulated him for bagging Rose Landry but, well, he wasn’t exactly proud of that.
“Holy fuck, Cap. What the hell did Hollzy do to you?”
It’s Barrett this time, looking more scandalized by the second. Shane looks over to where Ilya stands. He’s shirtless and his back is covered in scratches, a necklace of bruises line his collarbones, and Shane can’t help but notice the indention his teeth left on Ilya’s bicep. Ilya wears them all like a badge of honor.
He looks proud.
“I married a champion, boys.” Ilya catches his eye and throws a grin in his direction.
Luca Haas flounders in Shane’s peripheral, and it’s like he can’t decide where to look. His gaze flicks rapidly between Ilya and Shane and then to the floor, a deep blush staining his cheeks as he takes in the sight of them. It’s endearing.
Shane turns back around to his stall, digging his fingers gently into a bruise at his waist. A private smile touches his mouth as the pain blooms beneath his fingertips.