Archive of Our Own

October 31st 

“Roz…” Wyatt began, shaking his head with a chuckle that felt mocking. “There is no way in hell you could get through an entire month without coming.”

Ilya felt slightly offended that his teammate saw him as this unruly nymphomaniac. He crossed his arms in defiance. “I could.” 

“Bro. Shane only needs to show a sliver of ankle and you’re already behaving like a feral dog,” Wyatt said, lowering into a weird goalie stretching exercise. They were still the only two in the arena’s gym, warming up before their mandatory strength training session. 

“Not true,” Ilya replied, more so to convince himself of the fact. Ilya had gone months without touching Shane when they were both playing for Boston and Montreal, so he didn’t see why he couldn’t do it again. He dipped into a forward lunge and Wyatt raised his brows at him. “Well, maybe,” he relented. “But one month is nothing. It will be easy, I think.” 

“Easy!” Wyatt let out a disbelieving laugh. “What is it with you and trying to accomplish the impossible? There’s no shame in needing to get off—just own up to it.” 

Ilya huffed, resembling a scoff. “I am! Is just… I think it won’t be hard is all. I want to join.”

Also the thought of a mindblowing orgasm definitely helped. 

When Wyatt came to practice yesterday evening, he told Ilya about participating in No Nut November. “I do it every year,” he had said, a dreamy look in his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how good the sex is when you finally relent. Lisa loves it.” 

That was the thing that made Ilya’s ears perk up. Sex with Shane was mind blowing, each time as electrifying as the last. But the promise of something even better made Ilya shudder. He wanted that. He wanted Shane to beg him to fuck him, even when he couldn’t. And when it was finally time, he could fuck him into oblivion. 

Wyatt’s voice drew him back to reality where he stood in a musty gym instead of balls deep into his husband's ass. “Want to make a bet?” Wyatt said with a conniving smirk—like he had already won before the bet was even in place. 

Ilya didn’t need another incentive. He loved proving others they were wrong about him, so he nodded. “If I win…” Ilya thought of something that would embarrass him, which was hard, because goalies didn’t tend to be embarrassed of anything. “You have to dye your hair bright pink for a month.” 

“My luscious blonde locks!” Wyatt whined, dramatically toppling over on the ground. “Lisa will divorce me.” 

“I thought you said I could not do it?” Ilya said. “Nothing to worry about, right?” 

Wyatt looked up at him from where he laid on the rubber mats. “Okay well, same goes for you then.” 

Ilya held out his hand, Wyatt looked at it as though it were a virus. “Scared you will lose?” 

Wyatt scoffed, his reluctance replaced by adamance. He took Ilya’s hand and shook it. “You’re gonna wish you never agreed to this.” 

But then Wyatt looked over Ilya’s shoulder, a smile spread across his face. 

The door opened and Shane walked in with Luca. Wyatt got to his feet faster than he would have saved the puck from entering the net. “Hollander!” he bellowed jovially. 

It took a split second for Ilya to realize what he was doing, and spun on his heels. 

“He did what?” Shane’s voice echoed through the gym. Shane looked away from Wyatt, his face split by a frown and thunderous eyes. Wyatt just stood there, holding in his laughter and watching the storm cloud that was Shane move through the gym. Luca scampered off to the treadmill, no doubt wanting to stay as far away from this situation as he could. 

Ilya had intended to gently ease the idea into Shane’s brain with the understanding that he wouldn’t take it well, or at least had to prepare for the sexless month that followed. Wyatt completely bulldozed those plans. Asshole.

Shane fisted the collar of Ilya’s shirt and dragged him out of the gym, through the hall, and into a storage closet. He turned around with a look on his face Ilya had never seen before. His expression was illuminated by the meagre daylight streaming through the tiny window: incredulous, exasperated, with a tinge of anger that resembled a kitten. The smell of cleaning supplies and the proximity to this version of Shane made him feel dizzy. 

“Why are you doing this? Do you think our sex life is boring? Do I bore you?” Shane asked, his eyes fell ever so slightly, and from that sight alone Ilya considered buying a box of pink hair-dye right this second. 

Ilya took Shane’s chin into his index and thumb, angling him so he looked into his eyes. “Sex with you is never boring. I swear.” 

Shane turned his cheek trying to get out of Ilya’s grasp, but Ilya held him firmly, keeping him where he was—grounding him. “Then what?” Shane asked with a tightness to the words. Ilya thought back to the moment in the bathroom after presenting the NHL Awards—a similar look in his eyes, a similar wanting between the two of them. 

“Wyatt said I could never do it. I want to prove him wrong.” 

Shane’s eyes bounced between his own, his frown deepening as the gears in his head turned. “You’re doing this because of Wyatt?” Shane spat. “What about me? What about what I need?” 

Ilya exhaled deeply, letting his husband's words linger in the small space, letting them settle into his own bones. Shane needed him just like Ilya needed him back.

The urge to fuck his husband right this second overcame him. “Turn around,” Ilya said, his voice hoarse with wanting. 

Shane heaved, a spark returning to his irises. “Here? Are you crazy?” 

Ilya trailed his hands through his husband's hair, relishing in the softness, wanting to pull on it until he whimpered. “When it comes to you, yes. I am.” 

“What about the bet?” 

“Bet starts tomorrow. Need you. Now.” 

“You know what,” Shane said, pulling away and Ilya’s hands lamely fell to his sides. “No.” Ilya’s breaths came quickly, his eyes dazed at the words, at the rejection. “I won’t touch you—not today. But tomorrow, when your bet starts, I’m going to make sure you lose it,” he said tentatively, his voice trembling slightly around his newfound boldness. Shane walked closer again, stopping when he was only a centimeter away from his ear. “I’ll do what ever it takes to make you fuck me,” Shane said, his warm breath sending painful signals to his nerves he didn’t even know he had—electrifying them.

Ilya swallowed, unsure how to deal with this.  Normally Shane couldn’t resist him, which meant that he really struck a nerve this time. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“Hollander.”

Annoyance had returned to Shane’s features. “We’re late,” he said, and left Ilya behind in the dingy closet like a heaving, confused mess. 

Shane acted as if nothing had happened between them in that closet. After a normal practice, a normal drive home, and a normal dinner, they were now getting ready for the Halloween party they were hosting tonight. They were going as Achilles and Patroclus from a book Shane had read over the summer, and Ilya thought the costumes were hot, so he obliged. Shane told him he was to be Achilles. 

After Shane had put on the red chiton with golden details while they were getting dressed in their bedroom, he inched the fabric up over his hip, ducked down to grab his knee high sandals from the closet which exposed his bare ass. Ilya bit the inside of his cheek at the sight of his asshole and sack between his thick thighs, not able to look away when Shane took his sweet time to collect his footwear. 

Ilya grew hard under his own chiton, imagining the ways he would fuck him like they were Greek Gods drunk on red wine—pulling up the fabric to expose his beautiful hole, getting him down on all fours to slide his tongue over it, until he begged to be filled with something bigger and harder. 

When Shane turned around, Ilya was sweating and breathing profusely. 

“Something wrong?” Shane asked innocently. 

Ilya closed his eyes and swore in Russian under his breath. “Are you not putting on underwear?”

Shane made a show of thinking it over. “I don’t think I will. The Greeks didn’t.” 

“Good thing you are not.” Ilya tossed a pair of underwear at Shane’s head, which Shane caught and then threw on the bed just as quickly. 

“I’m going to put out the snacks. They’ll be here soon.” Shane gave Ilya a quick, cheerful peck on his cheek before leaving him behind in their bedroom, his heart hammering in his ears and wondering how the hell he was going to survive this month. 

After screaming into his pillow, Ilya fed Anya her dinner and helped Shane set up the snacks. 

Luca was the first to arrive. He wore a Captain America suit, along with a man roughly the same age as him on his arm that wore a metal arm. “I hope it’s okay that I brought a…” He blushed, looking at his plus one. “Friend. This is James.” 

“Coincidentally,” James said, laughing. 

Ilya didn’t get the joke, and assumed Shane didn’t either by his awkward laugh, but Ilya stretched out a hand, which James shook firmly. “Of course. Nice to meet you,” Ilya said. 

“I made you watch all the Marvel movies?” Luca looked at Ilya inquisitively, until he sighed and said, “Nevermind.”

Not long after, Bood followed with his wife in a Fred and Daphne costume, then Troy and Harris as Ennis and Jack, until the whole team filed in. 

“Did you get some ass before our month of abstinence?” Wyatt asked, smacking Ilya on his bare shoulder and then putting an arm around it. Somehow, Wyatt became even more insufferable wearing a Peter Pan costume. Ilya didn’t think that was possible. 

Ilya shot him a look. “No.” 

Wyatt laughed in his ear, an annoying sound on an annoying night. “Dude,” he wheezed. “You’re so screwed!”

And screwed he was. The entire night Shane had looked at him with submissive eyes, occasionally drawing attention to his groin where Ilya knew he was completely bare, practically putting up a sign that said ‘touch me here’. Ilya had tried multiple times during the night to indeed touch him, but Shane was adamant—surely waiting until the clock struck twelve to start touching Ilya at the spots that made him cave. The spots Shane knew all too well. 

Ilya wanted to cry. Or scream. Either one would work. He decided to seek some distraction, and spotted Luca on the couch with his date. 

“So how did you meet,” Ilya said quickly as he propped down next to them on the couch. 

Luca smirked, drawing his attention away from James. “Hello to you too.” 

Ilya nodded curtly. “Yes, hello. How did you meet?” He willed his eyes to stay put on the guys next to him, but a force on the opposite end of the room was tugging at him, beckoning him to look. He resisted, grappling onto the last strings of his sanity. 

James spoke first, “We met on the ice actually. I was practically a deer learning to walk for the first time. And he helped me.” He looked at Luca, who blushed when James squeezed his thigh.

Ilya didn’t hear a thing he said, but he smiled weakly, the muscles in his cheek felt like lead. “Very cute. Are you a hockey fan?” 

“Gotta tell you man, not really.”

“Great.” 

“Are you okay?” Luca asked, and Ilya realized he was holding eye contact with James like a psychopath. 

Ilya blinked. “Yes, sorry.”

Luca laughed. “Does it have anything to do with the bet? How’d Shane—” Ilya stood up, walking away from them suddenly feeling inclined to take Anya out for a walk. Being anywhere was better than being here. 

He found Anya at Shane’s feet in the deserted kitchen gnawing at a bone. He approached them carefully. “Can we talk?” Ilya asked, his breath hitching in his throat. 

“About?” 

“You know what.” 

Shane blew out a puff of air through his lips, his brows rising up. “I’m actually in the middle of something right now.” He gestured towards Bood with whom he’d been talking to. Ilya didn’t even see him there. 

Ilya glanced at the clock next to the refrigerator. 11pm. The team would leave soon anyways, being the bunch of old farts that they were. 

Bood looked between the two of them awkwardly. “I could leave?”

“Stay,” Shane said, keeping his eyes on Ilya. 

“Yeah I’m just gonna—” And he was gone. 

Shane cocked an eyebrow, waiting for Ilya to speak but no sound came out. 

“I’m not mad at you. I swear,” Shane said, filling up the silence. 

Ilya was just about to reply when Shane lifted himself up on the counter, exposing his cock as he pulled up the fabric past his upper thigh. 

Ilya’s eyes fell shut in exasperation. “I’m walking Anya. I can not do this right now.” 

When he moved, Shane’s hand grabbed his arm, keeping him in place. “Don’t go.” 

“Shane,” Ilya began, “you don’t want me to touch you. So what do you want from me?”

Shane considered that, pulling his chiton down so his cock was concealed yet again. Thank fuck for that. 

“I don’t want anything from you. Not right now, at least,” he ended up saying.

Ilya wondered if this was payback for all the times he had playfully called him ‘boring’. He leaned in, giving Shane a soft kiss that he couldn’t fully enjoy knowing Shane’s cock had free rein under his chiton, and pulled back. 

“Okay,” Ilya relented. “I deserve this.” 

Shane nodded. “Yes, you do.” 

Ilya had walked Anya around the block, taking more time than he usually did, and after he came back, tried to be a good host for his teammates. He tried to ignore Shane’s presence as much as he could. 

November 1st 

After saying goodbye to the team, Ilya went upstairs desperate to get some sleep. When he opened the door, he found on the bed in his costume, his legs spread wide. His cock was rock hard, lying flat on the red fabric of his chiton—his balls tight around the base. Ilya stood rigid in the doorway, the only sign of life came from his own cock twitching involuntarily at the sight of his husband. He tried to swallow, a basic thing he usually did without thinking. 

The golden laurel wreath on Shane’s head glistened in the dim, orange light, the flickering beckoning Ilya over like a siren. He looked magnificent, like an actual Greek God. His firm, muscular thighs, his sharp jaw and soft cheeks. He now understood why they used to go to war for such beauty. 

Shane caressed the inside of his thigh, making slow circle movements with his fingertips, whimpering softly and pressing his head into the pillow at his own touch. 

“Stop,” Ilya bit out. He didn’t want it to stop—he wanted to look at Shane for eternity. But if he didn’t stop, it would mean losing the bet within the first ten minutes since it had started. Ilya didn’t think Wyatt would ever let him live it down.

Shane didn’t stop. He slowly moved from his thigh to his balls, then the base of his cock, then the tip, massaging in the precum that collected there, looking at Ilya as he did with those eyes that made Ilya’s chest ache. 

What was wrong with him? He had seen Shane exposed and bare and waiting for him many times before. So why was he reacting so strongly to the sight of him? It must have been the fact that he could not give into the desires, he concluded. 

Shane’s mouth opened slightly, exactly the way he would when Ilya pressed into him. “No one is forcing you to look,” he said timidly, moving one hand around his hip, angling himself better to insert a lubed plug into his ass. 

What the actual fuck. 

Ilya’s throat went dry and all he wanted was for Shane’s cum to wet it. “I’m taking shower,” he said—or whispered—or whimpered. Thinking was hard right now. So many hard things in such a small space messed with his brain.

With an exertion that felt like he was benching a thousand kilos with his neck, he turned away from Shane. Ilya’s balls ached from robbing them of the precious sight. 

“I’ll join you,” Shane said, trailing him into the adjoining bathroom.  

In no universe could Ilya currently get into a wet shower with a wet Shane with a plug up his ass. Ilya turned around and bumped into Shane. He grimaced at the touch, the place where skin touched skin radiated heat through his entire body. “Shane.” Shane’s gaze was firm and  biddable and Ilya couldn’t take it. “Please. Let me shower.” 

“I’ll help you get clean,” Shane whispered, fingering the bottom of Ilya’s white chiton.  

“I can do it myself.” 

Shane pulled on the hem—Ilya winced when his warm hands slid over Ilya’s ribs as he helped him out of the costume. When it dropped to the floor, Ilya let his forehead fall against Shane’s in exhaustion. Already feeling this close to fucking up the bet. Shane slid his hands over Ilya’s arms, moving up and down, making Ilya writhe at the gentle touch. 

“Shane, please,” Ilya begged. 

Shane pressed a tender kiss right below his eye, a sensitive spot that made his cock twitch and his skin scream for more. “Okay. I will see you in a bit.” 

Ilya didn’t want to know what else he had in store for Ilya for him to relent so easily. He thought about dumping a load down the shower drain, but Ilya wasn’t a cheater. He could do this. Just thirty more days of this. 

The next morning, Ilya came downstairs to the smell of eggs and bacon and the sounds of someone fumbling around the kitchen. The sight that met him when he came downstairs made him want to crawl back into bed and not reemerge until the first day of December. Shane was wearing a skimpy red apron tied to his bare back. His firm ass and thick thighs were painfully visible in the morning light. 

God have mercy. 

Shane turned around, the tip of his dick peeking out underneath the apron, smiling warmly. “Good morning.” 

Ilya bit his lip, not hungry for the food sitting atop the counter, but for something else entirely. This was getting dangerous.

He had gotten a text from Wyatt this morning. 

Wyatt: Godspeed to you, my brother. 

Ilya: suck my dick 

Wyatt: Can’t. Neither can Shane, not for another month at least. 

He had walked right into that one. Seeing Shane now, he couldn’t wait until the month was up. He decided on a strategy for the day: don’t engage with Shane’s tempting yet futile attempts at making him lose the bet. Two could play the game of seduction. 

Ilya walked over to Shane, pressing his back against the counter and kissed him deeply and sloppily. He felt Shane’s dick harden on his thigh, something he decided to ignore with all the strength he could muster in his apparent caveman brain. When Ilya broke the kiss, Shane looked at him dizzily, swallowing tightly. 

“Thank you for breakfast,” Ilya said, his voice raspy. He curled his palms around Shane’s thighs and lifted him onto the marble countertop, kissing him from his neck to the space between his thighs. Shane whimpered, running his hands through Ilya’s hair. He bit the inside of his thigh, then licked over it to ease the burn, until he came up to Shane’s balls, licking once, and sucking on it softly. 

Shane’s hands dropped to the counter when Ilya moved away from him, his husband looking at him through a daze of pleasure and confusion. 

“Let’s eat,” Ilya said, and Shane scowled in return. 

November 4th 

Shane: Where are you? 

Ilya chuckled when he read the text. The previous days they were on an away game. Ilya was steadfast in getting a separate hotel room to give himself some respite from his husband's attempts. Now that they had gotten back during the evening, Ilya decided to stay the night at Yuna and David’s—without telling Shane. He didn’t feel bad about it, either. The erotic ideas Shane had concocted to make him lose control were bordering his wildest fantasies. The displays of Shane touching himself, walking around naked through the house at every hour of the day, or even the way he said Ilya’s name right after sucking on his earlobe were his current, prisonous reality. Shane was relentless.

Ilya: is secret sorry

He saw the dots come and go for five minutes, grinning at the idea of Shane typing angrily on his phone. Ilya thankfully remembered to turn his location off after dropping Shane off at home and hitting the road immediately with screeching tires. 

“What are you smiling at?” Yuna asked, setting down a cup of mango tea on the dining table for him. 

“Thank you,” Ilya said. “Shane is trying to get me to come home.” 

Yuna laughed, her eyes twinkling. “I’m not getting in the middle of that.” 

His phone pinged again. 

Shane: We have practice in the morning. 

Ilya: i know i will be there

Shane: You’re being irresponsible. 

“Yuna,” Ilya said. Yuna looked up from the deck of cards she was shuffling. “What is word for someone that wants to touch you a lot and be around you a lot?” 

Yuna snorted a little. “Clingy.” 

Ilya smirked in lieu of a thanks and typed his response. 

Ilya: and you are clingy

Shane: I just miss you. 

Ilya: no you miss my dick 

Shane: Don’t you miss mine? 

Ilya did. Very much. He put his phone away, refusing to engage in another attempt to make him cave and got ready for a round of Halli Galli with his parents in law. 

Another ping came from his phone.

“My…” David said, joining them at the head of the table. “...he really is clingy.” 

Ilya smiled. “I love it.” 

He opened the text message—a picture of Shane’s rock hard dick with a bead of precum on the tip attacked his vision, and he slammed the phone hard on the table, trying not to breathe like he had just ran a marathon. 

Yuna sighed, distributing the cards. “Do we even want to know? 

Ilya blushed and smiled awkwardly. “No.” He adjusted himself, annoyed that Shane could make him hard so easily and shifted in the chair as inconspicuous as possible.

He retrieved his phone and quickly sent out one last text. 

Ilya: i will fjck yiu so hard decrmber 1

November 7th

The Centaurs were on a winning streak. The locker room—after the game that ended 3-2 against the Admirals—was a mess in celebration as beers were cracked open and Dykstra’s painful country music turned to full volume. Shane had scored two goals and Ilya one, so the team awarded them with slaps on the back and a ruffle through their hair. 

“Since no one is saying this, I will,” Bood bellowed over the chatter and music. “If we keep up this winning streak, Hollander and Roz will have to abstain a little longer.” The team roared in agreement, Wyatt snorting next to Ilya. 

Hockey players and their fucking superstitions.

Shane laughed weakly, glancing at Ilya with a frown that said ‘we’re not actually doing that, right?’ 

Ilya shook his head and Shane nodded gratefully, beginning to undress himself. Ilya turned around quickly, like it was his first time seeing a naked man in the locker room. He had been avoiding Naked Shane like the plague ever since he had sent him that nude. Wyatt wasn’t lying when he said that the attraction would only grow the more you denied it. They had gone longer without having sex, but that was when they didn’t see each other every day. Now Ilya was constantly, and a little agonizingly, confronted with Shane in his line of sight wherever he looked. He couldn’t escape Shane at home when he got out of the shower looking all adorable with his long, wet hair Ilya wanted to pull on and fuck him until it airdried, or when his morning wood pressed against Ilya’s thigh when they just woke up, or when he wore his glasses at night when he read his boring book about some famous hockey player. 

Wyatt slapped Ilya’s thigh with his sweaty undershirt. “Are you feeling it yet?” 

Ilya sighed. “What, Hayes?” 

“Your dick begging you to unload?” 

Ilya grimaced, scrunching up his nose. “You are gross.” 

But of course he felt it. He only had to look at his husband's freckles to feel like he could combust on the spot. 

“I’m not feeling it yet. But then again, I don’t have a partner that’s making my life a living hell.”

Ilya’s face contorted into a fake smile that he hoped looked more menacing than he felt. “Yes. Thank you for reminding me.” 

“Well,” Wyatt said, one corner of his mouth tugging up, “better shower.” 

Ilya took off his jersey and reached for the velcro securing the shoulder pads around his waist, but it didn’t give. He tugged and pulled on the strip to no avail. When he turned around, the whole team had hit the showers already except for Shane, who was looking at him with amusement. 

“Are you stuck?” he asked, sitting on the bench in just his gray underwear. A couple of sweaty spots turned the fabric a darker gray, particularly around his thighs, and Ilya tried his best to retain eye contact. 

Ilya tried tugging on it again, frowning. “Yes. Help please?” he said, walking over to Shane who didn’t move. “Why are you not helping?” 

“Sorry,” Shane said calmly and pressed a firm hand on the dip in Ilya’s waist, the other tugging on the strip of velcro. “Weird.” But Shane’s voice didn’t sound like he found it weird at all. 

Ilya turned around to look at him, spotting some of the team returning from their shower already. Shane looked up at him innocently, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. 

“Why are you pulling that face?” Ilya demanded. 

Shane’s eyebrows shot up slightly. “What face?”

Ilya waved a hand in Shane’s face. “That face.”

“I’ll see if Coach has some scissors in his office.” 

Realisation dawned, and Ilya had one wish: that Shane would stab him with the scissors.

This was a trick. 

Wyatt walked out of the showers, a menacing grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Trouble getting out of your pads, Roz?” 

Ilya sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “What did you do?” 

Wyatt feigned confusion, lifting his hand to his chest, “Me?” he said. “I didn’t do anything. I just bought the glue.” 

“Glue?” Ilya yelled, and some of the rookies winced. 

“Relax! Nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix. Ah…” Shane returned with the pair of scissors, his expression coy, “...there you have it.” 

Bood walked past them, shaking his head with a grin. “I suggest you all leave as fast as you can.”

The team dressed quickly and headed out, but before Wyatt left, he looked back once, “Good luck Roz. You’re gonna need it.” 

It was just Shane and him now. Shane in his boxers, Ilya stuck inside his shoulder pads. He maybe liked too much where this was going. But he also felt betrayed by his team. The team he had joined first. And they were all siding with Hollander. 

Ilya held out his palm, wanting to get through this as fast as possible. “Give me the scissors.” 

Shane shook his head, walking over to him. He cut the straps on both sides, freeing him—but he felt far from free. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

Shane helped him out of his armor, then his undershirt, and Ilya couldn’t help but stand still as Shane undressed him slowly, his warm hands on his skin leaving behind a trail of goosebumps where he grazed it. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Because,” Shane said and gave him a kiss on his chest after unclothing him to his sweatsoaked boxers, “I don’t appreciate you going behind my back.” He looked up at Ilya in submission, his expression speaking in erotic volumes. “Especially not when it comes to this.” 

Ilya sighed, leaning into Shane’s touch. “Is just one month.”

“One month is too long.” 

Shane kissed him, soft, like asking for permission. The tenderness of it made Ilya melt. 

“Hollander.” He tried to sound firm, because if he didn’t he would show Shane how much he was able to make him come undone. 

“Rozanov,” Shane whispered against his lips. “Let me get down on my knees.” 

Ilya winced, and so did his cock. He nearly gave in. He wanted to so badly. 

Why was it so hard to deny him? Why did he think he could abstain for an entire month when his husband looked like this? Took care of him like this? And most of all, understood what he needed and wanted better than anyone ever had? 

He broke away, but didn’t sever the connection. “Let’s just shower together,” Ilya said, desperate to spend some time with his husband, skin to skin, without anything sexual. “Just us, nothing more. You can go back to making me crazy tomorrow.” 

Shane’s face softened, and nodded, taking Ilya’s hand and following him into the showers that were always either too hot or too cold. 

Ilya twisted the handle, keeping his hand under the water until it turned warmer, then gently guided Shane under the stream. Ilya squeezed some shower gel into his hands, rubbing them together before coating Shane in a layer of foam. His skin was slick and soft, hard around the edges of his muscles. Ilya moved closer so they were chest to chest under the stream, kissing Shane on his neck whilst soaping his back. 

But then… 

Shane moaned. It was soft, barely audible. But Ilya knew the sound. Ten years of hearing just that in his ear when he would thrust into him, the tensing and relaxing of his muscles. 

“What are you doing?” Ilya mumbled. 

Another moan paired with hitched breaths and involuntary jerks. 

“Stop touching your dick, Hollander.” 

Shane stopped, but his arm didn’t move away. He turned around, his cock sat firm and hard and slick in his right hand—the tip aimed right at Ilya’s face. 

The pulse in his neck quickened. 

He felt betrayed and so fucking turned on at the same time. 

“Why?” Shane asked, tilting his head up slightly. His thumb circled the head. 

It was either the fog from the showers or the sight that made Ilya’s head swim. A want so strong attacked him, the cure for his ailment stood right there, pleasing himself gloriously and unabashedly. 

“You make me go insane.” 

He couldn’t look away. 

“I want you to fuck me. Right here.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Remember the CCM shoot? Ten years ago?”

“Dumb question.”

Shane laughed. “You wanted to fuck me in the showers then, didn’t you?” 

Ilya nodded. When he saw Shane’s cock harden slowly as he soaped his body, when he caught him staring at his ass and dick, his own shot up faster than he could say ‘Hollander’. He wanted to do everything he would ask and didn’t care about the consequences. That happened—in a way. But Hollander made him wait, and he was grateful he did. More privacy that way. But privacy wasn’t an issue now. The whole team was in on it. They were probably outside with their ears to the door listening in on them. Bunch of perverts. 

“Now’s your chance,” Shane said, and his voice was so sexy and needy that Ilya lost control of his legs. They moved him forward over the wet tiles like they had a mind of their own and kissed Shane hard, shoving him against the wall.

The sound that escaped both of them was unruly and had Ilya possessed a little more sense he would’ve been embarrassed to be overheard. Well, not embarrassed, just slightly weirded out. 

Their tongues circled around each other in perfect strokes, something so effortless yet completely intoxicating. They knew each other's bodies and the way they moved and didn’t even need to adjust themselves anymore. They just moved seamlessly and flawlessly together like a dance they’d had over a decade to rehearse. 

The soft, slick head of Shane’s cock pressed against Ilya’s abs and glided over the skin from Shane’s jerks. It felt so soft, so good that it was almost painful. 

“Fuck me,” Shane begged into his ear. 

Ilya let out a strained grunt, waging a war with the desires inside him. He reasoned with himself that he would look great with pink hair. He could pull it off, no doubt. But his ego would not survive. It was just one month.

“No.” 

“Please.” 

“Come for me.” Ilya bit Shane’s neck, and felt Shane’s strokes grow more frantic, searching for purchase on his own slick cock. “Paint my abs with it.” 

Shane mumbled some profanity into his ear and Ilya considered looking up later if a dick could explode from being too horny. 

He stole another deep kiss from Shane, biting on his lip a little harder than necessary (that was for all the tricks he’d pulled and will pull in the near future), and felt warm spurts of cum hit his stomach. Ilya released an involuntary moan, wishing he could press Shane down and have his way with him. 

Shane’s head leaned against Ilya’s torso, his back heaving up and down after the haze of pure pleasure. Must be nice, Ilya thought. 

His balls hurt and his cock was still as hard as iron. 

“You will kill me,” he said over the stream of the shower. 

“Not before you fuck me again.” 

November 9th

The cold air reminded Ilya of his old home. 

What he did not have then was a man chopping wood in the freezing yard to warm him up by the fire. 

Ilya sat on the couch, petting Anya lazily on her head, hot cocoa steaming in his other hand, and watched as Shane acted out what Ilya assumed was a scene from a lumberjack fantasy film: his husband in tight jeans and a flannel shirt, hacking the wooden chunks with ease. The lines on his forehead from concentration glistened with sweat in the morning sunlight. 

Shane lifted the axe up above his head, took in a big inhale, and barreled it down. The wood split in half on his exhale—a puffy cloud of steam exiting his mouth. He heaved, setting down another block on the stump. Another bead of sweat trickled down his temple, right next to the vein that traveled from his eyebrow to his hairline, and Ilya could notice the bottom of Shane’s hair turning wet from the exertion. He wanted to lick it. 

On a regular day of any month, the sight of Shane being a hot lumberjack would be enough to drag him back inside and do unspeakable things to Shane’s wood. But it was November. 

Ilya had come to hate November. And he hated Wyatt for coercing him into this stupid bet. 

The obvious fact was that Ilya could just look away. Or go anywhere else until Shane was finished being hot and lumberjacky. But his eyes were glued to the sight. He was mesmerised by Shane’s swift movements and by his quads bulging out of his jeans when he got into position. 

The previously hot cacao turned lukewarm in his hands, having forgotten he was even holding it, and Anya had left in the meantime. He took a sip, but it was tepid and flavorless compared to the hot sight on the other side of the glass sliding doors. He put down his mug without taking his eyes off Shane who stripped off his jacket with ease. The white shirt clung to his chest the way Ilya wanted to and he couldn’t believe he was jealous of a t-shirt. 

Shane found Ilya’s gaze through the glass, smirking with a teasing glint in his eyes, and took his shirt off.

Ilya swallowed. Shane’s chest, abs, biceps—hell, every muscle visible was pumped up from the exercise and Ilya could feel something pumping up in his pants as well. 

“You will get a cold,” Ilya yelled, trying to sound bothered but not quite managing it. 

Shane frowned. “What?” his muffled voice shouted back. 

“Put your shirt back on!” Ilya tried to mime it, but Shane pretended he didn’t hear it, smirked, and resumed hacking. 

The sunlight on Shane’s skin, enhancing every bump and line of his firm muscles, was the most beautiful thing Ilya had ever seen. It made him dizzy and hungry. The need to trace his fingers over Shane’s chest made him lose all sense and he had to hold himself back from rising from the couch and doing whatever his treacherous mind supplied. 

But Ilya was frozen in place, just looking and admiring him—worshipping him as he would God. Whispering silent prayers as he collected the logs, wiped off the perspiration from his forehead with the shirt he’d previously worn, and resisting the urge to drop to his knees and beg for even the flimsiest caress to sustain him a little longer. 

The spell broke when Shane opened the sliding doors and carried the basket with logs inside, taking the cold November air with him which acted like a splash of cold water to Ilya’s face. 

Ilya started shivering and he didn’t know whether it was from the cold or the view. He noticed Shane was trembling, too. 

Rising from the couch, Ilya said, “Put something on. I will start the fire.” Ilya placed a hand between Shane’s shoulder blades who crouched in front of the fireplace, finding slick skin and a firmness that made his mouth go dry. 

“It’s okay,” Shane replied, assembling the logs into position inside the hearth. “I can do it.” His voice trembled, but Ilya didn’t think it was because of the cold, either. 

Ilya made soft strokes up and down along his spine and over the gooseflesh that started to form the trail. “Shane. Please sit down. I will do it.” 

Shane obeyed, starting to put back on his shirt, but Ilya stopped him. Shane stared at him quizzically, but sat down. 

Ilya fumbled with the match, making quick work of lighting the fire. It started to catch slowly, before taking hold on the pieces of kindling and engulfing them in heat. 

The fire felt nice, warm, but could not heat him up the way his husband did when he looked up at him like that. 

“If you want,” Ilya said, licking his lips, “I can please you, this once.” 

It would kill Ilya, probably make him go insane and lose his restraints. He also knew that once he gave Shane a taste, he would make it even harder for him the next time. 

His eyes caught on Shane’s Adam’s apple that bobbed as he swallowed, his dark eyes intensified by the flickering of the flames. He nodded, once, so Ilya walked over to him slowly, taking in every part of his husband's body. 

This was his favorite sight in the world: Shane waiting for him, slightly trembling with restrained anticipation, before sending him some place heavenly with his tongue. A place where he could let go. 

Ilya felt his cock grow hard in his sweatpants, the sensitive flesh of his tip rubbing against the fabric of his boxers and readjusted himself so he wouldn’t add more friction to it lest he come. He released an involuntary, shaky breath and got to his knees in front of him. Ilya leaned over slightly to kiss Shane soft and deep and felt Shane’s hands dangle in his curls, pulling slightly on the strands he took hold of. 

A moan escaped his own lips when his tongue circled around Shane’s, tasting salt and something sweet. One of his hands found Shane’s cock, which sat rock-hard in his pants and began moving up and down the shaft with his fingertips. Shane moaned, anchoring himself on Ilya’s neck, squeezing hard. 

“Please,” Shane whispered. 

“What?” Ilya replied, caught in Shane’s neck and inhaling his scent. He heard him. But Shane begging was like a melody he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Please,” Shane said again. “Please touch me harder.” 

Ilya smiled, leaving a bite mark on Shane’s shoulder and made sure to ease the burn with a soft stroke of his tongue before making his way down. 

He was going to drag this out for as long as Shane could hold on. 

“Need to taste you.” Ilya’s voice sounded ragged against Shane’s abs. He unbuttoned his jeans, tugged them down and threw them literally anywhere. Shane was now completely naked, safe for his socks, and it almost hurt Ilya how beautiful he was. How much trust you needed to have in another person to be splayed out in such vulnerability. And he did that for Ilya; gave him access to all the exposed parts of him without a second thought. That trust had grown between them over the years and rooted itself deep inside their veins like second nature. 

Ilya mumbled sweet nothings as he kissed the base of Shane’s cock. 

Shane moaned in return. “Don’t stop,” Shane muttered. “Don’t ever stop.” 

Ilya’s hands traveled down to the inside of Shane’s knees and angled them up, exposing Shane’s beautiful ass. Ilya looked up one more time at Shane, who gazed back at him; his pupils blown wide and his mouth hanging slightly open before moving down to taste him. 

At the impact of Ilya’s tongue, Shane sucked in a deep breath, writhing against the strong hold on his legs. He placed one hand on Ilya’s head, tangling his fingers through the curls. He moaned and gasped as Ilya made soft circles around his hole that spasmed at every stroke of his tongue.

Ilya made a path from his asshole up his perineum, up the shaft of his cock, and back down. 

“Fucking fuck,” he heard Shane grit out as he pulled on Ilya’s hair a little harder. 

The warmth of the fire on Ilya’s back, Shane’s warm body spread out in front of him, made Ilya think if this is what heaven felt like. Warmth, pleasure, mind-numbing desire filled the living room and Ilya wanted to live in this state forever. The only conversation being strained words and moans and involuntary jerks when a sensitive spot was hit. 

Ilya nudged his tongue a little further inside Shane’s relishing in the feeling as Shane clasped down on it. Feeling like he could probably hold himself up on his own, he grabbed one of Shane’s hands and placed them under his own legs to keep him in position. Shane took the hint and held his other leg too. Ilya’s hands, now with free reign, made its way to Shane’s cock so easily like a road he had travelled a million times before. With soft strokes with his tongue on Shane’s hole, one hand on his dick stroking softly, and the other cupping his balls, Shane lost all the composure he had left. He trashed and moaned so loudly there was no chance the neighbors couldn’t hear his pleasure through the walls. 

“Ilya.” Shane’s strained, husky voice attacked his senses. 

All he wanted to do right now was take his dick out of its contraption and place it inside of this man with loving, savoring thrusts. 

He banished the thought from his mind, knowing he couldn’t keep it locked away for more than a couple of minutes, so he took Shane into his mouth. Ilya moaned when Shane’s tip hit the back of his throat. He moved up and down the shaft like a man hungry and disheveled, one finger inside his hole angling up against his prostate and massaging the spot with tenderness. 

Shane said something in Russian, then. 

More, he said. 

More. More. More. 

So Ilya gave him all he had, black spots swimming around his vision. There was no one on this earth that could make him feel this uncomposed, this otherworldly with a moan in his mother tongue. 

Ilya gave him all he had until Shane moaned louder, his body twitched in preparation to release, and pulled away. 

“Why are you stopping?” Shane cried, frowning down at him. 

Because Ilya never intended to let Shane come. 

“So needy,” Ilya breathed as he kissed his torso, then bit his nipple to which Shane sucked in a deep breath. 

He planned to bring Shane close to the brink, a little further, before taking away his orgasm. And he was going to do it more than once. 

“I—” Shane heaved, “—Please.” 

Beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

The control he had over Shane’s orgasm cleared his haze and he treated this more like a cat toying with its dinner before deigning it unworthy of its time and leaving it to writhe. 

Trailing his fingertips along Shane’s inner thighs, he returned to circling his hole with soft strokes, matching his own breathing with the man completely at his mercy. 

“Are you going to come if I go back?” 

“I—fuck. Maybe. Probably not.” 

Good enough. 

Ilya moved down in a trail of kisses and licks of his tongue, then taking Shane back into his mouth. He circled the head slowly, at the same time tracing one finger along his perineum. Shane squirmed, but it didn’t look like he was going to come yet, so Ilya moved down the shaft slowly, pressing his tongue to the slick skin of Shane’s cock and moving back up just as unhurried. 

He picked up the pace a little, loving the way Shane tasted, but tried to drag it out as long as he could. 

“Faster,” Shane yelled with a ferocity that made the hairs on Ilya’s neck rise. “Please, Ilya.” He was practically whining now. 

A good husband would heed his partners commands, make sure he released his orgasm into the back of his throat and lick him clean just the way he likes it. 

So what he did instead was stop all together. 

Ilya took his cock out of his mouth, returning it gently to lay on top of his own stomach, and moved away. Shane, who a few seconds ago had his eyes closed and his eyebrows scrunched in pleasure, now looked at him with wide eyes and a furious scowl. 

“Where are you going?” Shane asked.

Ilya shrugged, trying not to smile. “I think Anya wants to go for a walk.”

Shane’s expression turned livid. “You are such an asshole!”

“I know. Have fun with yourself.” 

November 11th

Ilya’s balls were seriously starting to hurt. 

Edging Shane and then leaving him hanging didn’t quell his attempts at seduction. If all, Shane tried even harder, and Ilya thought the feeling wasn’t all that different from being trapped in a medieval torture device. 

They were out of town for a game, the Centaurs vs. Buffalo, and Wyatt made sure that Ilya and Shane got to share a room. 

“I heard you weren’t sleeping in your own bed, Roz,” Wyatt said in the lobby, clicking his tongue. “Can’t let you off that easy.” 

He wanted to hurt Wyatt as badly as his own balls were hurting right now. How could he even play a game when setting one step radiated the pain from his groin down to his legs?

“There is nothing easy about any of this.” 

“My sweet, summer child. That is the whole point. No pain, no gain, brother.” Ilya punched him hard in the gut, and Wyatt toppled over clutching his stomach. “What the fuck?” he wheezed. 

“No pain, no gain.” Ilya walked away. 

“What is there to gain?” Wyatt yelled after him.  

“My happiness from seeing you hurt.” 

“Asshole!”

Later, Wyatt shot daggers at him during the entirety of the game, which made Ilya laugh. They’d won against Buffalo, thankfully. 

After a mandatory dinner with the team and saying yes to get some drinks with Luca and Harris to avoid Shane as long as possible, Ilya returned to their shared hotel room with great hopes that his husband was already asleep. 

But no. Of course not. He found Shane in the Queen sized bed wearing his glasses while reading a book and Ilya felt his heart stutter. 

He dropped the keycard on the dresser and plopped down face first onto his husband.

“I was reading that!” Shane said, but put his arms around Ilya’s limp body. 

“Was boring book anyways.” Ilya’s voice was muffled by the pillows. Maybe he could choke himself to death on it, seeing as this month had been an endless misery of aching balls and a menacing husband. 

“You don’t even know which book it was.” 

“Can not be more exciting than me.” 

“Well, this month it sure is.” 

Ilya’s phone buzzed in his back pocket, but didn’t move to pick it up. 

Shane sighed, probably annoyed by his lack of urgency and snaked his hand into the pocket, lingering around his ass longer than he needed to. That was his own fault. 

“It’s Svetlana,” Shane said, nudging his arm. 

Ilya groaned into the pillow, but slid off Shane and held out his hand. He took the call whilst splayed out on his back with his legs hanging over Shane’s. 

“Svetlana, hi.” He eased back into his Russian like a jacket perfectly tailored to his measurements. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was just calling to see if you still had my number. You know, seeing as you haven’t called in a while,” she said playfully, but Ilya winced nonetheless. 

It wasn’t that he had been ignoring her. Life was just a little busy at the moment. Hockey, making it to the playoffs with the Centaurs, and Shane, or the lack of Shane, occupied his mind constantly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Well, ever since you left the Bears we’ve been playing like shit. But I’ve been watching practice and they actually listen to me sometimes.” 

Svetlana said something else, but Ilya didn’t catch it because Shane was trailing his finger tips on his stomach. He swatted Shane’s hand away, looking at him with a stern look. He didn’t get up yet, he was quite comfortable.

“Sorry, what was the last thing you said?” 

“Oh just that they implemented my play and scored a goal with it. They’re starting to take me more seriously.” 

“That’s—” Shane’s fingers found their way to the bulge in Ilya’s joggers, “—that’s really great to hear.” Ilya put the phone on mute and turned to Shane. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes.” No. “You can touch me just—not there.” Please touch me there. 

Ilya unmuted the call. “Sorry, bad service here. Buffalo is a dump.” 

Svetlana laughed on the other end, a sound he missed a lot. “I watched the game. You and Hollander have been working well together. How does he feel not being a captain anymore?” 

A high pitched yelp escaped Ilya’s throat when Shane pinched his nipple. 

“What was that?” Svetlana asked. 

“Nothing. A mouse.” 

“A…mouse?” 

“Yes. But he’s been fine with it, I think.” 

“You and I both know you’d resign your captaincy if only he’d ask.”

It was true. “He wishes. But no he—” The words died in his throat, because now Shane was circling his nipple with his hot, soft tongue. “—he is happy. Or getting there.” 

“Are you okay?” 

Ilya realized he could move away. He could get up and sit on the cuckchair on the other end of the room away from Shane’s touch. But something told him he’d follow him there. Maybe he could hide out in Bood’s room, maybe even trade places with Dykstra. 

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?” 

“You sound…occupied?” she said, but it sounded more like a question. 

A nervous laugh escaped Ilya’s throat. He supposed he had it coming from that one time at the cottage while Shane was calling with Hayden. It seemed as though Shane was reusing all the things Ilya had done to him, and making him go crazy in the process. He liked it, sure. Maybe a little too much. 

Shane straddled him now, moving his hands up and down Ilya’s torso, looking at him with those dark eyes—mouth slightly agape. Ilya’s hardening dick perched right between Shane’s ass through his joggers.

“I’m not occupied. I said the service is bad.” 

“Right. So anything new from your side?” 

Ilya sighed and explained the NNN thing and the bet, to which Svetlana cackled in his ear, and Shane looked at him with a thunderous glare. 

“You’re not telling her I’m on top of you right now, right?” he hissed. 

Ilya shook his head reassuringly and Shane relaxed a little, grinding his hips back and forward. 

“Ilya, that might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

Ilya did his best to grit out, “So I’ve been told.” But he was sure it sounded restrained, just like he was right now. If Shane kept this up, he would come in no time. And if he went down, he did not want to go down like this. He wanted to go down fucking. 

Svetlana's laughter eased, and she sounded like she was contemplating something. She sounded nervous when she spoke. “I met someone.” 

“What?” Ilya said. “That’s great. What’s his name?” 

“It’s—” Svetlana began, “—it’s a she, actually.” 

Ilya scolded himself for just assuming it was a ‘he’, and tried to sit up straight, lifting Shane higher up in the process. 

“Her name’s Rose—Landry,” Svetlana continued. 

Ilya nearly dropped the phone. He swatted Shane away from licking his ear. “One second,” he said to her and muted the call again. 

“What?” Shane asked, his eyes dazed from seducing Ilya. 

“You need to leave. Or I do.” He made to get up. He didn’t want to be the one to out either Svetlana or Rose. If Rose wanted Shane to know, she would tell him of her own accord. 

Shane gaped at him, puzzled, and a little disoriented now that he wasn’t on top of him anymore. “Everything okay?” 

“Yes. Just… I explain later.” He left the room, adjusting his cock in his trousers and left behind a confused Shane. 

Svetlana and Ilya talked for a little bit. Her and Rose ran into each other at a bar in Montreal (Ilya got some war flashbacks from hearing that, but pushed the thought away to be a good friend and not make it all about himself) and got to talking and eventually… other things. She sounded really happy. 

“Are you not weirded out?” she asked. 

Ilya’s brows screwed together in confusion. “Why would I be? I’m really happy for you. For you both. Shane is going to be so confused—but he’ll be happy, too.” 

When he returned to the room, Shane had resumed reading his book. “I’m wearing a plug,” he said, not looking up. 

Ilya rolled his eyes. “You are a horndog.” 

To that, Shane looked up. “How do you know that word?”

One word. “Wyatt.” 

“Want to replace the plug with something else?” he asked sweetly, to which Ilya bit his knuckles. 

“I am sleeping on the floor.” 

November 15th

Shane had been… relatively behaving himself over the last couple of days. No more trapping him in the shower, no more walking around the house naked or pleasing himself in front of Ilya’s eyes.

And in a way this made Ilya feel even more on edge. Because something was brewing under the surface, under this docile facade Shane had put up. He might be going insane (could one go insane from having blue balls?), constantly finding a hidden agenda behind Shane’s demeanor or words. But everything seemed fine enough for now. He was waiting for the ball to drop.

The bright, afternoon sunlight spilled into the kitchen with Shane at the center of the room like he was an angel. He wrote something in a notebook, one hand in his hair twirling a strand of black, his face scrunched in concentration. He looked adorable if you didn’t consider the fact that he was making this month a living hell. 

“Do you want lunch?” Ilya asked. 

Shane looked up, his eyes droopy and unfocused. “Tuna melt?” And resumed his writing. He didn’t stir or lose his focus when Ilya toasted the bread in the pan, but when Ilya came to deliver his lunch he slapped the notebook shut. 

“Thank you, moy lyubimyy,” Shane said and Ilya’s insides turned warm, melting like the cheese Shane bit into. Thinking back to it, that should have been the first warning sign of what was to come. 

They ate their lunch, talking about hockey and the book Shane was reading. They talked about Yuna and her nagging them to do a Pride commercial, which Ilya was excited to do but Shane was still on the fence. There wasn’t anything weird about this conversation at all. Not until they both finished their food and Ilya put away the plates. 

Shane spoke from behind him, leaning back against the counter. He looked at the ceiling, trying to puzzle the words into the right order, “I miss you a lot,” he said in Russian, and Ilya froze. “I really need you to fuck me.” 

All in Russian. 

Ilya closed his eyes, a certain pain you only get from denying yourself something spread across his body. The accent with which Shane spoke the words echoed in his mind and he now realized how hot he must sound to Shane talking with an accent. Over the years, Shane had been learning more Russian, he knew that, but he had never managed to form a full sentence until now. And what a sentence it was. 

Ilya couldn’t think in English anymore. Even thinking in Russian was hard now. 

“You—” Ilya said, slurring his words and squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, “—you will be the death of me.” 

Shane probably didn’t understand him, but he advanced forward slowly like a hunter seeking out its prey. “I want your dick in my mouth,” he said, gaining a little more confidence with every syllable. “I want you to make me see stars and forget my own name.” 

So this is what he had been working on, scribbling on his notebook, trying to murder Ilya with his pen. “I—” Ilya tried to find the right words, heaving, walking back and stopping when he felt the other end of the counter at his back.  

This was a dream. Or a nightmare. Maybe both and maybe neither. He swallowed thickly when Shane came closer, the expression on his face searching for something, and laughing softly when he found it. 

“You can not do this to me,” Ilya whined. 

“I’m not doing anything. I’m just talking.” 

“Who teached you those words?” 

Shane ignored him. “Please, please, put your dick in me.” 

Ilya clasped the counter to steady himself, feeling his knees buckle. His whole body trembled, screaming at him to give in to Shane’s pleading. He was close. Really close. 

The gap between them was a flimsy thing, something that could be bridged by just angling his head a little down to kiss those pouty lips. He shouldn’t have taken the bet. He shouldn’t have humored Wyatt. Fuck his own ego and fuck himself for thinking he could do this. 

Like a powerful magnet stuck to its opposite, he stepped aside dizzily and reluctantly. 

“You need to repeat all of that when the month is over,” Ilya whispered, unable to bring his voice up to a normal decibel. 

“This is a one time thing. Take it or leave it,” Shane said, shrugging awkwardly and trying to look adamant. Ilya softened at this. Shane was putting himself out there, albeit to get under Ilya’s skin, but still. This must be hard for him. 

“Then I will just try to remember it.” Ilya gave Shane a soft kiss on his cheek and walked away. He was going for a run. 

When Ilya stepped outside with a leashed Anya on his right hand, the cold wind bit the exposed skin of his face and Bad Bunny blasting in his ears. He relished in it, feeling something else than pure horniness all the time. Even his balls started to lose their tightness with every step. 

Anya matched his pace, occasionally looking up at Ilya with eyes full of love and Ilya imagined he looked at her just the same. 

At the park Ilya grabbed a stick and threw it far away. Anya barrelled after it, her hair bobbing up and down every time she hit the ground. She needed a haircut. Not too much, just a little cut so she didn’t look like a mop. Maybe a shower, too. 

Ilya was really glad to be out of the house for a minute and spend some time with Anya. Any echoes of the previous vulgar Russian words on Shane’s tongue completely banished from his brain as his dog ran back up to him, the stick hanging off kilter between her teeth. 

“Good girl,” he chirped, scratching her behind the ears and below her chin. “Want to get a haircut?” 

Anya growled in response. 

“Is fine. I don’t like it either. Neither does Shane.” 

Anya’s tail wagged at the mention of her other dad. She had been ecstatic when Shane moved in permanently, completely forgetting Ilya was even there for a day or two. Ilya couldn’t blame her. He had been pretty happy too. 

His moods were getting more and more stable. A little help from something called ‘lexapro’ his psychiatrist had prescribed him. The medicine didn’t take it all away though, but it neutralised most of it. And with Shane home, he barely fell into a depressive episode. Or at least, not as much as he used to.

On his bad days, Shane would let him stay in bed for as long as he wanted (only when they didn’t have practice or a game). Making him something to eat if he was hungry, and just being there for him, or near him if Ilya just wanted to be alone. 

Ilya didn’t think that it was only the medicine that helped him get to where he was now. It was the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore. He now had Shane, two amazing parents in law he considered family, and a team that accepted him wholeheartedly. There was light at the end of the tunnel, and since a while, he had been willing to walk towards it. 

He considered today to be a good day. Even if he didn’t get a happy ending with his apparently Russian husband.

November 17th 

“Can you make the popcorn?” Shane asked. “I’ll set up the movie.” 

“The disgusting non-fat unsalted protein popcorn? You want me to eat that?” 

Shane scowled at him. “No one is forcing you to eat it.” 

“But you are forcing me to make it.” Ilya didn’t mind, he just liked to get under his skin. 

“I’m not forcing you,” Shane clipped. “I’m asking you in a polite manner.” 

Ilya chuckled, walking toward the kitchen to make the gross popped corn and got himself some sour candies he hid in a cereal box on the top shelf. He wanted to avoid Shane’s lectures about whatever chemicals he decided to put into his body. On movie nights, he generally kept his quips to himself. 

“Here’s your boring corn.” He placed the bowl on the coffee table and plopped down next to Shane. “Where’s Anya?”

“She’s upstairs napping.” 

Ilya hummed. She shouldn’t be napping now, or she won’t sleep tonight. But oh well. 

“What movie are we watching?” Ilya asked, trying one of Shane’s popcorn and tasting literally nothing and chased it down with the sour candy. 

Shane blushed and searched for something on his phone. “You’ll see. I thought you’d like it.” 

“Keanu Reeves is in a new movie?” 

Keanu was Ilya’s celebrity crush, a fact that made Shane slightly jealous. Shane had been a little jealous of Svetlana at first, but that had passed pretty quickly. He was never jealous of Sasha, to Ilya’s annoyance. So when he found out it was Keanu Reeves that grinded his gears, Ilya made sure to mention him every now and then to see the expression on his face. 

“No,” Shane said. There it was—the expression Ilya had aimed for. “It’s something else.” 

Shane pressed something on his phone and the tv turned on. 

“No HBO Max? Or Crave?” Ilya asked, because it looked like this video came from Shane’s camera roll. 

“I downloaded it.” 

“Okay. Press play?” 

Shane did. The frame shook a little, and Ilya couldn’t place what he was looking at exactly. Until the person recording backed away to lay down on the bed at the center of the screen. 

It was Shane wearing only underwear. An array of toys surrounded him on the bed. 

“Shane, what is this?” Ilya asked, unable to look away. 

“Just something I thought you would like,” he said again, shifting on the couch beside him as though he were a little uncomfortable. 

TV Shane looked into the camera, a slight unease laced into his body language, but once he started trailing his fingertips down his chest he relaxed into his own touch. 

It was like their facetime calls back in the day. The only thing they could do to be close to each other when miles stretched between them. There was something incredibly erotic about someone filming themselves getting off, especially looking at the other person doing the exact same thing. 

Real Life Shane moved closer to him, moving his hand up and down Ilya’s tense arm whilst TV Shane cupped his hard cock in his boxers—a wet spot appeared where his cock ended.  

Why couldn’t he look away? Or move away? He was completely entranced. Enamored by the visuals on screen and the soft touches on his arm and neck. 

He felt himself grow harder in his shorts, his cock practically screaming to be let out and be touched. 

You would think that after all these attempts of Shane, Ilya would have adapted to it or become desensitised to it. But seeing him touch himself for the viewing pleasure of Ilya was nothing less than intoxicating. 

Shane nibbed on his ear, then brushed his tongue inside the shell sending chills down Ilya’s spine. On the TV, Shane had already tossed his boxers away so there would be nothing standing in between his hand and his erection. He moved along the shaft with slow strokes, spreading out his legs while his knees were up so you could see every mindnumbing part of him. 

“Do you want me to turn it off?” Shane whispered into his ear. Ilya shook his head. “Okay. Do you like the movie?” 

Ilya tried to laugh, but he just nodded. He had entirely lost his voice and his ability to function. If this was the moment he would die, he would die a happy man. 

The moans from the TV sounded in tandem with his own and the man sitting beside him. He got full body chills, his eyes unfocusing and focusing on the hard cock in 4K on his flat-screen TV. His hand moved to the bulge in Shane’s pants, gauging if he were as hard as Ilya was. Affirmative. 

“Shane,” Ilya rasped. 

“Hm?”

“You are the most handsome man in whole world.” 

Shane stopped kissing his neck and pressed his lips on Ilya’s cheek. “You make me feel bold.” 

“I can see that.” 

“Do you…” Shane said tentatively. “Are you sure you like it?” 

Ilya let out an involuntary scoff. “Like it?” he said, taking Shane’s hand and placing it on his erect cock. “You have no idea.” He stopped Shane just in time to stop him moving his hand up and down on it. He couldn’t come. He just couldn’t. Not yet. Just thirteen more days, which felt like an eternity right about now. 

Movie Star Shane inched his hips a little further up to position himself just right for the small lubed buttplug. Upon inserting it, he teased his hole a little, his head falling back into the pillow while his eyes rolled back, and then pressed it inside himself. The moan that escaped his lips in surround sound audio made Ilya’s heart stutter and his cock twitch. Shane cringed a little beside him, but ever since showing him how sexy he was in front of their home gym mirror, he had grown more comfortable with looking at himself. There was still work to do, Ilya decided. 

“Look at yourself,” Ilya demanded, his voice thick, and Shane listened. He put his head on Ilya’s shoulder, and they watched as Shane lubed a dildo and inserted it into himself, his other hand playing with his cock.

Shane’s pulse hammered on Ilya’s shoulder, but he didn’t look away. Maybe he tried looking at himself from Ilya’s point of view. Either way, he wasn’t backing down. 

Shane touched himself, moving the dildo in and out of him until he came undone on his own chest, his cum spurting everywhere as he lost control. 

They were both heaving beside each other as the video stopped, staring at the black screen, trying to put the pieces of what just happened back together. 

“Please tell me you will not delete that,” Ilya said between breaths.

“I won’t. Promise.” Shane kissed him deeply, then pulled away. “So there’s still no chance you’re fucking me tonight?” 

Ilya laughed, raking a hand over his face. “Trust me, there is nothing else I would rather be doing right now. Just a little longer, moy solnyshko.” And gave Shane a peck on his cheek. 

“I’ll go get Anya and we can watch John Wick 3.”

“I love you!” Ilya yelled after him with a grin so wide he felt his cheeks ache. 

November 21st

They were finally back home after four days on the road. They stopped at Yuna and David’s to pick up Anya, who looked annoyed because her grandparents were her favorite people, and got into the car by way of ransoming her with treats. 

They’d won both games, one against Montreal, which got them both in high spirits, and the other against Detroit. This season was treating them exceptionally well. They put in the hard work and it showed once they were on the ice. 

“Maybe we’ll win the cup this year,” Ilya said as he unlocked the front door. It was still morning, so they had the entire day to chill until practice later. 

“If we keep this up. Last year we were on a winning streak during the season and ended up being kicked out in the first round.” 

“That will not happen this year.”

“Let’s hope so.” 

Shane wanted to win the cup on the Centaurs, mostly to shove it in the Voyageur’s faces. And Ilya wanted that for him, too. 

Shane seemed on edge: he fidgeted with the sleeves of his coat and his brow furrowed like he was trying not to snap. He had learned it was best to let Shane decompress by himself instead of helping. 

“I need to do some yoga,” he said, leaving him at the door with the bags and Ilya let him go without another word. 

Anya trailed after him like he had peanut butter on his ass as he put away their clean clothes and tossed the rest of it into the washing machine. 

Ilya cocked an eyebrow at her. “You hungry or something?” 

Her tail wagged. Little liar. David always sneakily gave her way too much to eat. But Ilya couldn’t resist those puppy dog eyes of hers and gave her a couple of treats. 

His phone buzzed in his back pocket. 

Shane: Please come down. I need your help. 

Ilya: everything ok?

Shane: Yes. Just come down. 

Ilya placed his phone on the kitchen counter and walked towards the gym downstairs. 

The beige, sheer curtains were drawn. In a downward dog pose on the far end of the room was Shane. Completely naked. With his ass aimed at Ilya. 

“You need help?” Ilya gritted out, zeroing in on Shane’s hole like a target. 

Shane looked at him through his legs. “I need help with this Yoga pose I saw recently.” 

Ilya sighed, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “And you could not do that with clothes on?” 

“Being naked gives me more movement. It’s nice.” 

Shane had never done Yoga naked. Never in the years they had lived together. 

“Put on some clothes and I will help.” 

“What?” Shane cocked a brow. “Scared you’ll fuck me?” 

As a matter of fact, yes. He was scared. He had barely been hanging on this month, and Nude Yoga was maybe the hottest thing Shane has ever done. 

“I’m not scared,” Ilya parried. 

“Then help me,” Shane said, moving back up into a standing position. “Please.” 

Ilya swallowed, trying to keep his eyes trained on Shane’s—but something tall and hard perked up a little lower in his periphery and it only took one treacherous glance to be glued to the sight. He took a couple of steps forward. 

“What is position?” Ilya asked. 

Shane beckoned him closer, taking his hand and guiding him in place. “It’s called the Forearm Hollow Back Pose.” He pulled up a picture on his phone. Some sort of handstand with his legs spread out—one leg tucked in so the shin sat horizontally, the other angling down toward the ground. “I need you to keep one hand on my back and the other on my thigh.” 

Ilya nodded once. 

Shane sat down on his knees, then moved forward, placing his forearms down at shoulder width, put his feet on the mat and pushed up his ass. The curve of his glutes backlit by the faint morning light streaming through the thin curtains made Ilya’s knees weaken. He didn’t think he’d have the strength to help Shane at all. 

“Now help my legs up,” Shane said through a deep breath. 

Ilya took his thighs into his hands while Shane pushed himself up into a handstand. Shane’s hard dick faced downward in front of Ilya, his full balls on display. 

llya swallowed again, practically salivating at the sight. “Now what?” he asked. 

“Keep one hand on my thigh, the other on the small of my back.” 

Ilya moved into position, bending his own legs slightly. Shane angled his legs effortlessly, exactly like the photo showed. One knee tucked in, while the other leg hung down, nearly touching his foot to his hands. 

“Can I let go now?” The way he was positioned gave him an unobscured view of his cock, his face hovering right above it. 

“Not yet.” Shane’s voice was strained. 

His cock lay hard against his stomach and Ilya didn’t know what possessed him. He leaned down, gliding his tongue along the hard skin. Shane moaned, but he didn’t fall or shake. He was locked into position. 

Ilya moved his hand away from Shane’s back and took his dick into it, leaning down to take it into his mouth. The taste of his hard cock banished all thoughts from Ilya’s mind and took him deeper until there was no more room in the back of his throat. He moaned around the base, eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

“Fuck me like this,” Shane said. 

The words swam around Ilya’s mind, latching onto him and dragging him under water. With the hand keeping Shane’s dick in place, he moved to take off his pants, unbuttoning it and pushing it down his knees. 

He stopped for a second, his lips still tight around Shane’s head, his own cock throbbing agonizingly between his legs. It was still November, right? Something about a bet… A reason he couldn’t do this. Couldn’t give in. The hesitance was overpowered by a need greater than his ego or a bet he couldn’t remember why he made it. 

The lube was so far away, stashed into a box in the corner of the room. Ilya had placed a bottle in every room in the house, just to make sure. 

His voice was gravelly when he spoke, “Can you stay like this if I move?” 

Shane nodded. 

Ilya made sure Shane was steady and strong enough to hold himself up before racing across the room and grabbing the bottle. He spurted a generous amount into his hand before tossing the bottle next to Shane. His cock grew harder with every stroke of lube, and his balls hurt more than he could register at the moment. They begged for release. 

Shane, exactly how Ilya had left him, was heaving as he pulled his other leg up to give Ilya more room to pound into him. Ilya realized Shane probably couldn’t stay in this position for very long, so took his hips into both his hands, removing some of the tension off Shane’s arms. 

“I have not stretched you yet,” Ilya said, just realizing it now. 

“I did before I told you to come down.” 

Holy fucking shit. 

Ilya pressed the tip of his cock to Shane’s hole, leaning further down to check if he was wide enough to take him yet. His cock slipped in effortlessly and they both moaned. Shane’s arms weakened as Ilya slowly moved into him, so Ilya made sure to keep him up just a little longer, straining his own muscles in the process. 

“Fuck, Shane,” he groaned. 

“Don’t stop,” Shane moaned. “Deeper.” 

So Ilya moved deeper. He wished he had a third arm to take Shane’s cock into his hand, stroking it simultaneously with his thrusts. Ilya was practically holding up Shane now, 

Shane had done it. After a month of abstaining he had driven Ilya to the point of no return. He could still pull out, he could still walk away. But he was sure he would die if he did such a thing. 

Ilya thrust in as deep as he could a couple of times before pulling out, helping Shane down onto his back. His face was a little red and his eyes were wide. Ilya angled his legs up against his chest, placed his dick at his entrance, and thrust into him hard. Shane’s features exhibited pleasure beyond comprehension and he moaned and groaned each time Ilya hit his prostate. 

There was nothing between them now. No ploys or schemes—no more holding back.

Ilya hated to admit it… but Wyatt was right. It hadn’t been a month yet, but the feeling of finally letting go was indescribable. He did his best to hold on longer, savoring his thrusts, kissing Shane’s neck and circling their tongues in perfect strokes. 

But he was getting close. And he needed something he didn’t usually want. 

“I can’t hold on long,” Ilya rasped, letting his cock lay still deep inside Shane. 

Shane searched his face, realising something. “Can I?” 

And Ilya nodded, pulling out his cock and getting on all fours. Shane moved around him slowly, settling himself between his thighs. 

When the first stroke of his tongue hit, Ilya swore he saw stars. Shane’s hands gripped his thighs, massaging the muscle as he circled his way around Ilya. 

He needed this, he needed to relax before coming undone inside Shane. He also knew that Shane didn’t mind doing this for him—savoring his time, moaning when Ilya did. 

Ilya felt himself settle against the soft strokes, then said, “Lay down next to me. On your side.” 

Shane obeyed immediately, the warmth of his tongue replaced by the cold air of the room and Ilya shuddered, blinking away stars. 

The bottle of lube was just within Ilya’s reach, so he squeezed out some more and rubbed some on Shane’s ass, then his own cock. 

Shane raised one leg up, holding it in place, spreading himself open for entry when Ilya nudged the tip against it. He sunk in deeply on his exhale, grateful for the brief intermission, and began thrusting while kissing Shane on his neck, sucking hard on his weak spot which earned him a staggering moan. 

“Fuck,” Shane groaned. The sound hit Ilya like a shot of espresso, moving in deeper and harder. One of his hands moved to Shane’s cock, granting him slow jerks with his lubed hand. 

The view Ilya had of his own dick pounding inside Shane, whilst also looking at Shane’s cock sent him nearly over the edge. 

“Shane,” he whispered into his ear. “You feel heavenly.” He said the last word in Russian. 

Shane grasped onto Ilya’s upper arm, squeezing hard as his mouth hung open, the sound fucked out of him by an unrelenting Ilya. 

The friction, Shane’s narrow hole, and the twitching of his cock told him Shane would come any second now. Shane whimpered and writhed against Ilya, preparing for his undoing.

With a final twitch of Shane’s cock they both came undone. His own release was magnified by the warm cum that hit his hands, by the moans that echoed through the gym. Ilya’s thrusts slowed as he released more than he ever thought he could, and when he pulled out slowly, his cum dripped out of him. 

“Holy fuck,” Shane said, his chest heaving as he released the final spurts of his load. 

They were both sweating—their bodies slithering against each other as Ilya hugged his husband from the side, showering him with kisses. 

“You are everything,” Ilya said. 

Shane laughed. “I’m dirty.” 

“Just let me hug you a little longer. I can not feel my legs.”

Shane kissed his hand. “Okay.” 

They laid together in a heap of cum and sweat, their legs and arms tangled together as they rode the high of the aftermath. 

“Will you come with me?” Ilya asked. 

“Where?”

“To buy stupid pink hair dye.” Ilya didn’t even care. It was so worth it. 

They both chuckled. It started slow before turning into uncontrollable laughter. They laughed until they couldn’t breathe. 

December 1st

Shane had hidden all the caps they owned, so Ilya had no choice but to enter the arena with bright, pink locks for the whole world to see. 

Usually, there weren’t any photographers outside on practice days, but today the entire entrance was swarmed with them snapping pictures of Ilya’s new haircut. 

Whistles followed him as he stepped into the locker room with Shane by his side. Ilya had decided to just own it. He still looked good. It was just Wyatt’s taunts that made him want to retire altogether. 

Ilya lost the bet, and Wyatt’s respect along with it. 

“You actually held out much longer than I initially thought you would,” Wyatt said. “What made you cave?” 

The last thing Ilya wanted to do was humor Wyatt, but he would give credit where credit was due. “Nude Yoga.”

“Fuck off.” Wyatt’s eyes grew wide, a big grin plastered on his face. “Hollander, you are a genius!” He walked over to Shane, shoving a thick packet of cash into his hands. 

“You made a double bet?” Ilya asked and Shane blushed.  

“It’s for the Irina Foundation,” Shane said, putting the cash into his locker. “If I could get you to have sex with me, he promised to make a generous donation.”

The words slapped Ilya in the face—he felt himself soften. On the verge of tears, he took Shane into his arms and hugged him tightly. 

“I thought you just did it because you were mad at me.”

Shane chuckled. “Well, yes. That too. This was just another incentive to not back down.”

Ilya cried into his husband’s embrace. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

They broke apart when Coach Wiebe entered the locker room with a clipboard under his arm. His eyes landed on Ilya’s hair and said, “Do I even want to know?”

“Trust me Coach, you don’t,” Luca supplied. The rest of the team chuckled. 

Later that day, when they came back home and Shane showed him all the pictures of him on social media, he fucked him agonisingly slow on the couch as punishment. 

There was no way in hell he was going to put himself through a month like that again.