Archive of Our Own

When the final buzzer sounded to end the Boston Vs Montreal game at the Centre Bell Arena on Tuesday, the 6th of February 2018, it was to raucous cheers from the Boston Raiders and an uncomfortable ripple amongst the crowd, who were mainly Montreal Fans. 

As Ilya was swamped by his excited teammates crowding around him, piling up in an enormous group hug, sweaty and tired but full of adrenaline from the buzz of a win against their enemy, he made brief eye contact with Shane from across the rink. The Montreal Captain was staring at him, clearly trying to keep a straight face, but the ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, even as Pike skated up behind him, patting him on the back. Ilya shot Shane a wink over Marleau’s shoulder as the Alternate engulfed him in celebration. 

Even at this distance, he could see the pink creeping across Hollander’s cheeks. Hollander knew what this win meant. They’d had a bet going into this game, and Ilya winning meant… well. That was for later. If he thought about it too much right now, he’d end up with a hard-on in the locker room, and as sexy as he knows he is, it’s not something the rest of his team deserve to see, even after a win. That’s something for Shane’s eyes only.

Ilya could feel his own face being split open in a wide, answering grin.

“Let’s go, Rozy!” Someone roars, drawing him back to the moment, laughing as the group drifts apart like a dandelion, scattering and spreading over the ice. People are starting to move towards the tunnels, to change out of their uniforms and get ready to move the celebrations elsewhere.

Ilya can still feel Shane’s eyes on him as he starts moving too. He glances around, briefly assessing, before deciding it’s worth it anyway and risks blowing a kiss in his direction, pleased when he is rewarded by an even darker blush. Shane rips his gaze away frantically, turning to follow his team off the ice.

That’s okay. He’ll see him soon enough.

The energy in the locker room is electric. Someone has a bluetooth speaker and is blaring music, people are jumping around, sweaty and half naked. Ilya strips off his jersey and grabs his phone, opening his messages with ‘Jane’. One comes through as he watches.

Congrats

Ilya smirks, sending back a winky emoji in reply. He’ll save the rest of the teasing for later.

“Yo, Roz!” Connors is in front of him now. “You gonna come out with us tonight?”

“We’re in Montreal, dumbass.” Marleau drawls, slinging a sweaty arm around his neck. “He’s definitely got plans with his girl.”

Ilya smirks, shrugging him off, putting his phone back on the shelf. “We will see. Where are you going to go?”

Connors and Marleau exchange a completely unsubtle glance, eyebrows raised. This never happened. Everyone knew that after Montreal games, Roz was a complete write off. It’s the way it’s been almost every time they’ve played for years.

“... Everything okay with Jane, Cap?” Marleau asks, carefully. Last time things were NOT okay with Jane, the atmosphere in the locker room and on the ice had been almost unbearable due to Ilya’s foul mood. It remained a sore point and a stark reminder for the entire team that Rozanov was serious about Jane, and whatever they had going on should probably not be taken lightly.

“Fine.” Ilya dismisses him, doubling down despite the sudden tension. “Where are we going?” Part of him wanted to see how much they were going to overreact. He used to party with them all the time, after all - was it so crazy that he might want to join them once more? Okay, yes - he could probably admit that it was. He hadn’t joined them after a Montreal game in just over a year now. Probably a long time before that, years even, if you didn’t count the incidents in question, which were clearly on the team’s minds. Ilya didn’t even want to think about them.

Connors looks at Marleau again before answering. “Ciel?” He tells Ilya, but it sounds more like a question. He remembers the last time Ilya joined them there, during The Big Jane Crisis™.

Ilya remembers too. He’d watched Shane dance with Rose Landry and then gone home, alone, and so jealous he’d felt sick. Well, tonight, he would be going home to Shane.

Ilya nods. “I’ll see you there then.”

Connors pales slightly. Marleau winces, but doesn’t push anything.

Ilya turns back to his locker, taking note of the way they immediately start gossiping in a hushed whisper, throwing glances his way. He hides a grin as he focuses on getting undressed, schooling his features into a blank expression as he moves to the showers. He rinses himself off and steps back out, trying not to show his amusement as half of the team quickly look away from him. 

Oh, they’re all stressing. This shouldn’t be as entertaining as Ilya is finding it, but he can’t help how amusing he’s finding their reactions. All of this is just because he said he would meet them at the club.

Well. Would it really be so bad of him to let them suffer a little more? It’s FUNNY.

He dresses quickly, shoving his kit into his bag and shouldering it.

“See you tonight, Marly.” He says casually as he walks past him, letting himself smile only as he hears the door shut behind him and the rumble of voices immediately pick back up.

Maybe he’ll drag this out even longer just to watch them panic over nothing.

—--------------------------------

Shane is waiting for him in his Montreal apartment - the real one, not the sex condo, which has already been sold and had the profits pushed straight into the set-up of the Irina Foundation. Ilya has never felt happier than when Shane gave him the keys to the real apartment. It made everything between them seem so much more tangible. The fact that he was still stuck in Boston until the summer had made things so tough - they were still reduced to sneaking around after the odd game, but at least it was in a place that was home. No more hotel rooms. No more stupid sex condo.

The moment Ilya opens the door, he sees Shane appear at the end of the hallway. He’s wearing a soft blue sweater and grey sweatpants, barefooted on the floorboards, hair still damp from the showers and spiked up. It reminds him of a baby bird. Ilya wants to run his hands through it.

“Took you long enough,” Shane says, with a soft smile. Ilya is already dropping his bag and the door and drifting towards him, pulled by an invisible force. It’s like they’re magnets with the way they naturally gravitate towards each other.

“I got here as fast as I could.” Ilya replies, a teasing growl to his voice, one hand already on Shane’s waist and the other creeping up to card his fingers through the shorter hair at the back of Shane’s head.

“It’s never fast enough.”

Ilya doesn’t reply because Shane has already dragged him down into a kiss, slow and hot and filthy. It’s the kind of kiss that makes him want to forget the rest of the night’s plans and spend the next few hours in bed, especially with the way Shane is currently biting Ilya’s lower lip.

“You are trying to distract me,” accuses Ilya, pulling back slightly. He doesn’t get far due to the hand on the back of his neck, but he can feel Shane smirking against his lips. He lets the distraction continue for a few more moments until Shane slides a hand under his shirt.

“Ah ah ah,” He chastises, pulling back more firmly this time, enough for Shane to see his face. It takes a great deal of effort; his cock is rapidly hardening. “It's my win, Hollander, we had a deal.”

“Fuck you,” Shane says, letting himself be pushed towards the bedroom.

“Mmm no, was not part of deal,” grins Ilya, walking him backwards with a hand on his chest, “maybe later on, if you’re good boy.”

Shane flushes red. His mouth opens wordlessly, and Ilya wants to bite him. He resists the urge for now.

As they enter the bedroom, Ilya keeps walking Shane back until his calves hit the side of the bed and he sits down automatically. Shane’s eyes lift to Ilya’s as Ilya palms the top of his head, carding his fingers over and through his hair before tugging at the nape of his neck. His other hand rises to cup Shane’s chin, thumbing over his bottom lip. When Shane flicks the tip of his tongue against his thumb, Ilya lets him draw it into his hot, wet mouth, feeling his tongue curl around the digit. Shane keeps watching him the entire time, eyes dark and wanting.

This time, Ilya does not resist the urge to bite him. He leans down, attaching his mouth to the side of Shane’s neck, nipping gently at the skin before laving his tongue over it. They are usually very careful to not leave marks on each other, but Ilya is beginning to lose his grip on why that even matters. He wants to mark him. Wants everyone to know Shane belongs to him. Still, he won’t. For now.

Shane tilts his head to the side, giving Ilya more space to suck a red mark onto the side of his neck - it won’t last more than a couple of minutes. He doesn’t protest, just moans. Ilya slips his thumb out of Shane’s mouth, dragging it down his chin before curling his fingers around his throat as he straightens up again. He doesn’t squeeze, just rests his hand there, possessive. He can feel Shane’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows, holding his breath.

Shane pulls his eyes away from Ilya’s, sliding his hands up under the hem of his shirt. Ilya lets go of Shane to oblige, pulling it off so that Shane’s hands can roam free across his stomach. He drops it behind him as Shane lets out his breath, leaning forward to press his lips to a mole just above Ilya’s bellybutton.

“Fuck, любимый.” Ilya says, threading his fingers back into Shane’s hair again as he noses at his belly, scattering it with kisses.

“Want you so bad.” Murmurs Shane, looking up at him again. His lips are shiny and pink. Ilya growls without meaning to and pushes Shane back onto the bed, climbing on top of him. He lowers himself to bite at them, before sliding his tongue into Shane’s mouth.

He melts into his boyfriend, almost tempted to stay here all night instead of going to the club and following through with his plans. It would be all too easy to forget the time and his teammates and just fuck Shane into the mattress over and over again for the next few hours.

But he had won that bet. And he intended to use it to its full advantage.

With great difficulty, Ilya lifts himself off Shane, after allowing himself to indulge in his mouth for a few minutes. Shane makes a keening sound low in his throat and holds onto his shoulders, trying to keep him there. He’s not going to make this easy for Ilya.

“Come on now.” Ilya clicks his tongue at him, sitting up, straddling his lap. “Was my win tonight, Hollander. I want my prize.”

Shane pouts at him, but acquiesces. He’s wearing too many clothes for Ilya’s liking. That needs to change.

He starts with Shane’s sweater, rucking up the bottom of it until Shane lifts his arms and lets Ilya lift it over his head. He wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. Ilya trails a hand down his chest, squeezing at a pec as he passes, dragging down towards Shane’s lower half.

“So obedient, малыш.” Ilya hums approvingly as Shane lifts his hips, letting him shimmy down his sweatpants and boxers in one go. Ilya rewards him with a few kisses on his hip, nipping gently at the skin over the bone.

Shane tangles his hands into Ilya’s hair, and when Ilya licks a stripe up his cock, he hisses through his teeth. “Fuck, Ilya.”

Ilya smirks at him, taking the head of it into his mouth for just a minute, just enough to get Shane all worked up, before he sits back on his heels and admires the naked athlete stretched out in front of him, skin flushed and chest heaving as he pants heavily.

“Not yet, beautiful.” Ilya tells him, leaning down to slide a box out from under the bed. It’s filled with all sorts of interesting sex toys, but Ilya knows exactly what he’s looking for. He selects a black silicone buttplug and a package which has yet to be opened. Ilya ordered it specifically for this - he’d seen it in a video a few weeks ago and Shane had agreed it could be fun to try, which is how the bet had been started in the first place.

It’s this package that he opens now, setting aside the plug for the time being. He pulls out some rolled up lengths of soft material, letting them unroll into his lap and grinning at Shane, who visibly swallows. Ilya softens slightly.

“You are still okay with this?” He checks, hand on Shane’s knee.

Shane nods. “Yes. You won the bet fair and square.”

Ilya shakes his head. “Does not matter, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to do anything. I can just stay here tonight.”

“No.” Shane chews on his lip, more in thought than in a sexy way. Ilya finds it sexy anyway. “Tie me up already, Rozanov.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice. 

He starts with Shane’s ankles, wrapping the length of the strap around the endboard of the bed and slipping the loops over his feet. They’re only fastened with Velcro; Ilya wanted to make sure they could be unfastened in a hurry, just in case. 

“All good?” He asks over his shoulder as Shane wiggles his toes and nods. Ilya turns fully and kisses his back way up Shane’s body, catching Shane’s wrists when he goes to touch him and pinning them above his head with one hand.

Shane groans at this, and although he’s definitely strong enough to fight his way out if he wanted to, he surrenders himself completely to Ilya, letting him take complete control.

Ilya bites at Shane’s lower lip, catching it between his teeth and gently tugging at it before letting go and bringing up the second strap to fasten Shane’s wrists to the headboard.

“Can you reach them?” He asks huskily, and Shane tugs at them experimentally - he can just get them close enough to undo the velcro with his mouth in an emergency. Ilya wanted to make sure that Shane was safe; he trusts him to not undo them unless he absolutely has to.

“Yeah.” Shane rolls his wrists, looking up at Ilya. His pupils are blown - it looks like the pressure around his limbs is having more of an effect on him than either of them had predicted. Ilya can’t resist claiming his lips again, leaning forward so quickly that their teeth click together and it almost hurts. They both forget the pain quickly, absorbed in a mess of tongue and spit and slick heat. Ilya’s hand smooths up Shane’s abs towards his pec, groping at it whilst he hungrily devours his mouth. Shane moans into the kiss and tries to get his hands on his boyfriend, letting out a noise of frustration when he is quickly reminded of his restraints. 

A chuckle bubbles up out of Ilya’s throat and he pulls back, laughing harder when Shane tries to chase his lips and doesn’t get far. Shane glares at him. “It’s not funny.”

“But it is, солнышко,” Ilya grins, pressing his lips to Shane’s nipple now. Shane glares harder which makes it even better. “You look like angry kitten.”

Shane sighs, pushing his head back into the pillow and staring at the ceiling, pointedly refusing to look at Ilya as he shifts his weight around. This doesn’t last long - he hears the click of plastic and suddenly feels a cold, slick finger circling his hole. He inhales sharply through his nose as Ilya kisses his inner thigh.

Shane can’t keep quiet anymore as Ilya carefully pushes his first finger inside him, murmuring praise and encouragement into his skin. It’s the perfect harmony to the melody of Shane’s hitched moans. “More?” Ilya asks, biting gently at soft flesh, then dragging the flat of his tongue over the mark. 

“More.” Shane repeats, tilting his head back up to watch Ilya. He instinctively goes to touch him and once again has his attempts frustrated as his wrists jerk to a stop, drawing a groan out from deep inside him. “Fuck, Ilya, please.”

“So greedy.” Ilya hums, adding another finger. He can’t decide whether to focus on watching his digits glide in and out of Shane’s ass, or where Shane’s dick is rock hard, lying on his stomach and leaking with want.

He takes his time working Shane open, talking him through it all the way. Once Shane is good and relaxed, Ilya removes his fingers, making Shane whine in protest, and reaches for the plug. It’s harder to do than it should be. He could just slick himself up and slide home inside his boyfriend, where he belongs, knows he’d be hot and tight around his achingly hard dick, but if he did that he wouldn’t be able to make himself leave. And he really does want to go through with his plan.

He liberally drizzles lube over the tip of the black silicone in his hand, before rubbing the tip back and forth over Shane’s hole, which twitches at him in response like it’s trying to suck the plug in. Ilya complies, biting his lip at the sight as he pushes it in, slowly, steadily, a tiny bit at a time. Once it’s fully seated, he fucks it backwards and forwards a bit, drawing a gorgeous slick noise from Shane’s ass and a cascade of delicious sounds from his mouth. Ilya presses down on the end of the base of the plug, feels a gentle click as the button under the silicone gives way. A small light flickers on, just barely bright enough to be seen, letting Ilya know it’s on.

Reaching for his phone, Ilya pulls up an app, which declares itself connected to the device now inside Shane. He smiles at this, crawling up the bed to kiss Shane again. He decides he can also use this time for a quick test run, gropes for his phone again and taps blindly at the screen. By the way Shane tenses instantly underneath him and gasps into his mouth, he knows he’s been successful - the plug is now vibrating against Shane’s prostate.

“I can feel you smiling, asshole.” Shane mutters against his lips. Ilya pulls back, not bothering to hide the fact he’s right. His plan is coming together now and there’s only one element left to complete the set up.

“But of course I smile, I have big sexy man with beautiful freckles all tied up, helpless and at my mercy.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Shane, who now looks like he can’t decide if he wants to punch him or beg Ilya to let him suck his cock, which is causing a very obvious bulge in his pants. Ilya would probably let him do both at this point.

He stops the vibrations. Shane makes a desperate sound and then looks pissed off that he has.

“What was that?” Ilya asks, innocently. Shane glowers.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“No, no, it is me who will fuck your asshole.” Ilya tells him, pulling up Shane’s contact on his phone. On the nightstand, Shane’s begins to ring - the name Lily is blazoned across the screen. Ilya picks it up, swiping to answer and setting it down by Shane’s head. He holds out his own phone, letting Shane watch as he presses the mute button. “But first, I am going to go and meet my teammates at club. I am going to dance, drink, party with them all night, and I am going to control that plug in your ass, drive you crazy with it.” He bends down, putting his lips right next to Shane’s ear and speaking now in a low, gravelly tone. “And I am going to listen to you whine and beg for it the entire night like the slutty little mess you are, before I finally come home and give you want you really want.”

Shane gulps.

—--------------------------------

The music at Ciel is loud and blaring when Ilya enters. He has to turn the volume up on his phone the moment he steps in, to make sure he can still hear Shane in his ear, grateful that his airpod is hidden in his growing curls. Explaining why he’s wearing it might be a challenge if anyone is to see.

Now that he’s on his phone, he takes the opportunity to open the app that controls the toy Shane is wearing. He slides the power all the way up to the top, and holds it there for a few seconds, satisfied with the surprised and very loud moan which he is rewarded with in his ear.

“A little warning would have been nice.” Shane pants. Ilya can imagine the way his jaw is tensing, wrists flexing at the restraints. He has to take a moment to breathe, attempting to wish away his growing erection, turning his attention back to the club to find a distraction.

He sees some of the Raiders over on the dance floor. Hammersmith and St-Simon’s wives are both here, having come along for the trip, dancing with their respective men, whilst Marleau has found a girl to dance with too. Others are sitting in a private booth off to the side, and it’s these guys that Ilya heads towards. He slides in next to Connors, grinning at everyone when he grabs a pint of beer from the tray in the centre of the table, as if his boyfriend isn’t making the most erotic noises he’s ever heard in his ear right now.

Connors eyes him warily as he sips from his glass, unspeaking. Sebbins, who has been speaking to a blonde woman next to him, does an honest to god spit take when he notices who has arrived right as he takes a swig of whatever he’s drinking. The woman pulls a face as some of the spray gets on her bag, which she gingerly picks up off the table as she wriggles out of the booth, disappearing into the crowd with a disgusted glance over her shoulder.

Ilya flips his phone out of his pocket, quickly glancing at the little pink circle on the screen. He slides it up a little, hearing a little gasp through his airpod, before randomly selecting one of the buttons at the bottom of the screen, setting a rhythm to the vibrations he knows Shane is currently experiencing.

Cliff Marleau suddenly materialises at the table next to Ilya. The girl he was with before is still on the floor, now dancing with some other girls, probably the friends she came here with. “You’re actually here?” He asks, disbelieving.

“Hello, Ilya. How are you, Ilya. It’s so nice to see you, Ilya.” Ilya responds, sarcasm dripping off every word, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. But like, you’re here.” Marleau dismisses him with a wave of his hand, leaning over him to reach for one of the beers. “Thought for sure you’d be with Jane, man.”

In Ilya’s ear, Shane moans, all drawn out and breathy. “Fuck, Ilya.”

Ilya smirks at Marleau. “Jane is busy at the moment, Marly.”

Sebbins, who has recovered from his spit take, but who’s grey shirt is now speckled and sticky, raises an eyebrow. “Are you getting cucked right now, Rozy?”

Connors, getting drawn in now, rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that’s how cucking works, Seb, I think you have to be in the room watching.”

“Are you cuck now, Connors?” Ilya asks, turning fully to face him. “Why do you know so much about this?”

Connors turns bright red. “I’m not a - I don’t - that’s not -”

Ilya claps him on the back. “Is joke. Chill out.”

“Unless it’s not a joke?” Marly says, narrowing his eyes and raising his glass in Connor’s direction. “Do you have something you want to tell us, Conny?”

“Hey no wait, this was about Roz and Jane.”

“Nice deflection, Conny.” Sebbins raises his glass in his direction. “I respect it, even if you do like to watch your girls fuck other men.”

“You didn’t bring Jane with you, did you Roz?” Cliff asks, suddenly. “Do we finally get to meet her?”

Ilya snorts.

Shane starts begging in his ear, gabbling almost nonsensically as he reaches an edge.

Ilya has to surreptitiously adjust his pants as he casually gets his phone out again, bringing the slider right down to the bottom. The vibrations stop, and Shane whines, long and drawn out.

Fuck.

All of the blood in Ilya’s body is going right to his dick.

Distract. Divert.

“Don’t be stupid, Marly,” Ilya says, taking a sip of his beer, “Jane is too good for all of you. I do not want to hear you say her name again tonight.”

Marly blanches. 

Good.

Ilya takes another sip of his beer to hide his smirk, and to try to keep his mind on something else as he gently and slowly increases the vibrations on Shane’s plug again, making him pant and groan.

“So, um…” Sebbins clearly wants to change the topic, and is floundering for something else. “Good win today, huh?”

“...Yeah…” Connors says, nervously, looking sideways at Ilya. “You got such a good goal in the third period, Rozy. Hollander must think you’re a right pain in the ass.”

Ilya almost chokes. You have no idea.

“Was nasty surprise for him, huh?” He says coolly. His left hand is under the table, pushing the slider on his phone upwards again. Shane has resumed his begging. “Probably he especially does not like losing last minute, when he is so confident he has won.”

“Reckon he’s moping around at home?” Cliff hops onto this new subject eagerly.

“Bet he is.” Sebbins nods conspiratorially. “The guy’s basically a hockey robot.”

Shane is definitely not moping. It sounds like Shane is in fact about to come. He’s fucking whining in Ilya’s ear.

“Please Ilya, so fucking close. Need to come so bad.”

Fuck. Well, who is Ilya to deny him?

He turns the vibrations up to the maximum, tuning out of the conversation around the table completely as Shane chants Please Please Please Please in his ear, before coming with a choked cry.

Ilya forgets how to breathe for a minute. He has to turn the volume on his phone right down as Shane pants his way through the aftershocks, feels lightheaded with how rapidly he gets hard as he imagines Shane painting his abs with streaks of cum, cock twitching uselessly on his belly.

Oh my god, he’s in danger.

The others seem to all be absorbed in some other conversation now. Ilya can’t quite process what they’re saying, turned on as much as he is right now, so he just turns off the toy to give Shane a break and sits quietly, sipping his beer and nodding at the appropriate time until he regains some clarity.

“...Right, Roz?” Connors asks.

Ilya has no idea what he just said.

“You are all so boring.” He says, to get out of this corner he has trapped himself in. “I want to dance now.”

Standing abruptly, he downs the rest of his beer in one go and slams the glass down on the table a little harder than necessary, pushing his way past Marly and stalking towards the dance floor. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the three behind him exchanging nervous glances, and knows they are once again back on the ‘trouble in paradise’ theory.

His amusement has somewhat dampened his arousal, enough for him to get right back to teasing Shane without coming right then and there in the crowded room. He takes the opportunity of the distance between the booth and the floor to turn the volume on his phone back up, louder now as he gets closer to the heavy bass of the speakers. This is quickly followed by setting a pacy rhythm to the plug in Shane’s ass, restarting the vibrations but keeping them low - for now.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane hisses in his ear. “I’m so sensitive. That’s so - fuck. Fuck. I can’t even -”

Yes you can, Ilya thinks. He’s glad it’s dark in here - hopefully nobody will be able to see how hard he is. He adjusts himself as nonchalantly as he can when he puts his phone back in his pocket.

St-Simon claps Ilya on the shoulder when he approaches, Hammersmith offering him a fist bump. Both of their wives wave at him.

“No Montreal Girl tonight?” Hammy asks, shouting to make himself heard above the loud music. 

St-Simon instantly smacks him in the arm.

“What the fuck, Vicky?” He scowls, rubbing his arm. Both wives raise their eyebrows at each other, biting back smiles, and take the opportunity to slip off towards the bar together. Clearly this has been a topic of discussion tonight, even for the WAGs.

“Good to see you Cap!” Vicky says, plastering a large grin on his face, ignoring Hammersmith and turning towards Ilya.

Ilya sees the best way to continue making them panic here.

“Hammy.” He fixes the forward with a flat stare, electing to not respond to Vicky’s greeting. He almost has the decency to feel a tiny bit bad about this. “Do you see her here.” It’s not a real question, and Hammy looks as though he suddenly realises he’s made a terrible mistake.

If the music wasn’t so loud and Shane wasn’t still making delicious noises in his ear, Hammy’s gulp would probably be audible. It’s certainly visible.

“...No?” He answers, with all the hesitancy of someone who thinks looks can kill and knows they have about twenty seconds before it’s their turn to die.

Vicky drops his head into his hands.

“Why would you ask me that then?” Ilya says, keeping his expression perfectly cool. It’s a struggle. He is feeling a lot of things right now, and none of them are unbothered.

Especially as Shane moans “Fuck Ilya, I love you,” in his ear.

Ilya somehow stays straightfaced. Hammy practically breaks out in a sweat. Vicky looks around wildly for help.

Luckily, their wives pick that moment to appear again, each carrying a tray of shots. A cheer goes up from the booth when someone spots them and a few of the guys begin to make their way down through the crowd towards them.

Ilya grabs two and downs them one after the other, setting the empty glasses back onto the tray. The song changes to something fast and bouncy and he lets himself move to the beat, quickly pulling out his phone to increase both the pace and intensity of Shane’s vibrator. The moaning turns into desperate gabbling.

Vicky and Hammy appear to be telling the others about the conversation which had happened right before they moved down to join them. He sees Sebbin looking over at him, whilst Marly is leaning down so that Vicky can speak directly into his ear, gesticulating wildly. Connors is taking shots with Hammy, whose hands are close to trembling as he sets down the shot glass. His wife pats his shoulder consolingly.

A blonde with a small, sequinned dress has made eye contact with Ilya and seems to be dancing towards him. She is beautiful, but he’s really not interested in her. After all, the love of his life is putting on quite the show for him right now.

However, he does see the potential in this scenario.

He allows the girl to get closer to him and dances with her, keeping a healthy distance, but maneuvering so that her back is to the rest of the Raiders. They can see what he’s doing, but to them, Ilya and this woman appear closer together than they really are.

As predicted, this seems to cause a bit of a commotion.

Another girl, absolutely stunningly gorgeous, is completely ignored by Marly as he jabs Connors in the side, jaw dropped comically low. All of them are staring now. Ilya pretends not to notice. It’s like they’re all getting jealous on Jane’s behalf, and this is perhaps the funniest thing that has happened tonight yet.

He lets it continue for a few minutes. All of the Raiders are dancing and pretending that they’re not glued to the scene in front of them. The blonde girl tries to get a little too touchy, ’accidentally’ grazing his chest with her hand, and Ilya takes the opportunity to detach himself. Shane has been getting progressively louder and more desperate in his ear, and it’s making his head spin more and more with every shaky chant of Please.

Mumbling an excuse, he makes his way to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall and leaning with his forehead against the wall. He makes his airpod louder, turning his attention to the app and letting Shane’s noises fill his thoughts.

He stops the vibrations completely, and when Shane cries out, begging him to restart them, he puts it onto a powerful continuous buzz.

“Oh, god.” Shane moans, and Ilya palms himself over his pants. “Ilya. Wish it was you. Need you filling me up.”

Ilya gives up trying to be coy about it and pulls his dick out right there in the bathroom stall, spitting roughly into his hand and jerking himself off furiously. He’s already rock hard and aching and he needs this, needs friction, needs release. Needs Shane.
“Fuck, gonna come again.” Shane’s breath hitches for a moment before he cries out, and Ilya can picture a second load joining the first one already decorating his abdomen. It’s enough to send him over the precipice that he’s been precariously balanced on the whole evening and he bites the side of his hand to try to keep himself quiet as he spills into his fist right there in the bathroom.

Shane’s shaky breathing is still echoing in his ear as Ilya stops the vibrator again, wiping up the mess with a wad of toilet paper and trying to regain some composure before stepping out.

He sets his phone down next to the sink whilst he washes his hands, lathering them up with soap, and he’s just rinsing them off when Cliff Marleau walks in.

“Oh, hey Roz!” He says, making a beeline for the captain when he spots him, making eye contact in the mirror. “I wanted to ask if -” He stops suddenly, staring. Ilya turns around to see what he’s looking at and follows his eyeline directly to Ilya’s open, unlocked phone on the counter, a large pink circle in the centre of the screen.

The world freezes for a moment. Ilya feels like there is ice trickling down his spine. Then - 

“Yo, is that a fucking vibrator app?”

He’s laughing. Marly is laughing. Ilya is bewildered.

“Well, I told you Jane was a little tied up at the moment.”

Cliff doubles over, slapping his knee. Ilya feels his own mouth pulling up into a smile too. His laughter is almost infectious.

Finally Marleau calms down, wiping tears from his eyes and straightening up when he can finally breathe again. “So all of this - “

“Was just to fuck with you, yes.” Ilya claps him on the shoulder, retrieving his phone from the counter. “Jane is at home. More than fine.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and tucks his curls behind his ear to show off his airpod.

“Rozy, you fucking legend. The whole night?”

Rozanov nods, fixing his hair again in the mirror. “Whole night. But keep this between us, okay Marly? Is more fun this way. They all panic over nothing.”

Marly is immediately in on this idea. “Can I start a rumour about that girl you were dancing with?”

“Mmm, nothing too crazy. Don’t want my Jane thinking I was bad boy whilst she is having so much fun without me.” He holds up his phone, letting Marly watch him increase the slider. Shane gasps on cue in his ear as the restart of the vibrations catch him by surprise.

“Hold on, can she hear us?” Marly finally remembers what he actually came in for and goes to the urinal to pee. Ilya thinks this is odd, given the question he’s just asked, but figures this is not atypical of Marleau.

“No, is call but am muted. I can hear her very well though.” He smirks, increasing the vibrations to maximum again to prove a point.

“Fucking hell, Rozanov.” Shane says through gritted teeth.

“Fucking hell, Rozanov.” Marleau says, both surprised and impressed.

Ilya lets up on the vibrations, setting them back to a long, sporadic pattern and putting his phone back in his pocket, waiting for Marly to finish up and wash his hands before they head back out into the noisy club.

When they approach the group again, Ilya settles his face into something serious, bordering on annoyed. “I told you not to bring up Jane again, Marly.” He says loudly. Marleau catches on quickly, having the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry Roz, I just thought - “

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong.” Ilya snaps. The rest of the Raiders look positively traumatised. Marly has a wicked glint in his eye. “I want to do something else, I’m sick of this club now. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“There’s a karaoke bar down the road.” Someone suggests eagerly, and Ilya turns to see Sebbin. He points a finger at him.

“Yes, Good. Sebby has bright idea for once.”

Sebby looks like he can’t decide whether to be offended or proud.

—--------------------------------

The karaoke bar is busy, but there’s a private room free. Ilya steps up to the bar to pay for it and to buy the first round of drinks, making Marly carry the second tray of beers whilst he gets his phone out. It’s been a good ten or fifteen minutes since he stopped the vibrator, and whilst Shane has mostly recovered, he’s been starting to get restless in Ilya’s ear.

“Ugh, I can feel it drying on me.” Shane complains, right as Ilya turns the vibrator on again, turning the end of his sentence into a choked sound. It’s low and steady for now. Ilya intends to let it build gradually.

When he glances up, Marly is staring at him with a look in his eyes he can’t quite place.

“What?” Ilya asks, jutting his chin out at him, putting his phone away again.

Marly shrugs, shouldering the door open and depositing his tray on the table. It gets swarmed by Raiders. “Didn’t think you were the type, is all.”

“The type for what?” Ilya prods, putting his tray down next to it.

Carmichael and Connors are already up at the front, squabbling over what song to pick. Hammersmith pushes them both out of the way, jabbing the screen, and the opening notes of the Y.M.C.A. fill the room as he grabs the microphone.

“Just… you know.” Marly takes one of the beers, sipping it. “Torturing.”

“I would not call this torture.” Ilya smirks, as Shane keens in his ear. “I can assure you, Jane likes this very much.”

Marleau’s eyebrows look like they’re trying to crawl off his face.

“It’s so much.” Ilya knows exactly what Shane looks like right now, pushing his head back into the pillow and arching his back up off the bed. “Fuck, it’s too much. Give me more.”

Fucking masochist, Ilya thinks, so needy for me. He can feel his dick twitch in interest and knows it won’t be long until he’s hard again. He’s going to have to take it easy for a moment.

St-Simon is looking at him expectantly, and Ilya realises he’s waiting for an answer to something. What that could be, he has absolutely no idea. Marly is smirking at him, knowing exactly why he was distracted.

“Yes?” Ilya says, unsure, looking at Marly out of the corner of his eye.

“Great!” Vicky says brightly, raising his glass. “You can do a duet with Marly!”

Marly’s smirk drops. “Wait, I never-”

“What a good idea, Vicky!” Ilya says, face lighting up. “What a good idea.”

“Excellent.” Vicky claps his hand on Cliff’s shoulder as he moves past, already heading over to sit by his and Hammy’s wives. “You’ll do fine.”

“But -”

“No buts now, Marly, Captain’s orders.” Ilya beams at him. “We will sing the greatest duet these fuckers have ever heard. Now think of a good song please. I am going to be busy.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and Marly gapes at him, flopping backwards onto the cushioned bench with all the aura of a petulant toddler, which is ridiculous for a 6’3”, muscly, bearded, professional athlete. He sloshes his beer over his hand as he does so, which makes him swear and does not help his image.

Ilya tries not to laugh, turning his attention back to Shane, who is becoming desperate and it’s making him whiny. Since Ilya is such a kind and loving boyfriend, he takes pity on him and switches the vibration pattern to a low, slow pulse.

“Fuck.” Shane says with an exhale, breathing deeply. He’s clearly trying to keep himself under control. Ilya knows he’s shaking, wonders if he’s bucking his hips yet. “Can’t you come home already? Want you in me.”

Ilya squeezes his thighs together, trying to calm his dick down. It does not help.

Carmy and Connors have finally got their turn on the karaoke machine and they have, for some reason unbeknownst to Ilya, decided to pick something from ‘Musical High School’, or something like that. He’s not entirely sure of what that is. They’re dancing with each other and it looks choreographed. Ilya doesn’t know if he wants to know what is happening. He’s so confused. Carmy and Connors are harmonizing and doing a corny fucking dance and he is sat here with a secret boner listening to his secret boyfriend moan secretly in his ear.

This night is so weird.

The song ends and Carmy and Connors are replaced by Hammy and Vicky’s wives, who are now singing Wannabe.

Ilya knows what he wants, what he really really wants. But he can’t tell anyone here.

He feels a sudden tightness in his chest. He just wants to go home to Shane now. The time they can spend together is few and far between, and as much as he’s enjoying this teasing, this is valuable time he could be using to draw these sounds out of Shane in person, swallowing them down as he fucks into him.

He’s suddenly feeling a lot of things all at once, so he focuses on his beer for a moment. Sips it slowly. It’s average, but it’s familiar. Grounding.

Hammersmith seems to have noticed Ilya getting a bit distant, and suddenly becomes chummy. It’s like he’s trying to distract him from - ah, yes.

“See, we don’t need women to have fun!” Hammy is saying, supportively.

“Your wife is literally singing.” Ilya says, fixing him with a stare.

Hammersmith nods once and backs away.

Marly is scrolling through Spotify next to him, and seems to have made a decision on what they’ll sing. He tilts his phone towards Ilya to show him.

“Bring Me to Life by Evanescence.” Marly says, loudly, over the sounds of the Spice Girls. “I want to show them how good I am at singing, I’m going to knock it out of the park with this. You can do the other bits.”

Ilya rolls his eyes at this, but is secretly pleased he won’t have to do too much singing. His part is basically just growling, and he is more than capable of this. He doesn’t think he could concentrate on holding a tune very much right now anyway.

They’re up next.

Ilya has a sudden brainwave as they’re going up, fumbles with his phone to put the slider to maximum power and sets a hard, fast, relentless rhythm. Shane groans.

“Oh, fuck you. Fucking christ.”

Ilya bites his lip hard. Luckily, he doesn’t have to participate in the song for a minute, so he just watches the screen as Shane’s noises blend with the music.

It’s fine. He can chime in with his part, which barely takes any effort, without having to think too much.

It goes off the rails right after the second chorus.

Marly wraps an arm around Ilya’s shoulders, putting their heads close together, right as there’s a lull in the music.

Unfortunately, Shane picks this particular moment for his third orgasm of the night to hit him like a truck.

Loudly.

“Fuck, Ilya, I’m coming.” He garbles, followed by a long drawn out moan which makes Ilya’s pants tighten uncomfortably.

By the way Marly’s arm freezes around his shoulder, Ilya knows he heard every word.

To his credit, Marleau doesn’t waver in his singing, doesn’t visibly react, just keeps going as if he hasn’t just accidentally listened to Shane Hollander come.

Ilya’s brain is torn between wanting to jerk off right there in front of everyone and panicking that he’s just fucked up everything. Instead, he takes a leaf out of Marleau’s book and just finishes the song like nothing’s happened, turning down the volume on his phone whilst it’s in his pocket to give his budding erection a chance to go down. Nobody else is any the wiser.

He hands his microphone off to Sebbin as he goes back to his seat, grabbing his jacket off the chair. He wants to leave.

“Roz.”

Marleau has stopped him with a hand on his arm. Ilya feels his heart rate increase.

“It’s all good man.” Marly is smiling at him. He doesn’t specify what’s good. He doesn’t have to. “Go show your Jane a good time.”

“Thank you, Marly.” Ilya tells him, a lump in his throat. “I will.”

He leaves the karaoke bar, and doesn’t look back.

—--------------------------------

As soon as he’s in the door, Ilya is shrugging off his coat and kicking off his shoes, entire body pulsing with an urgent need to get to Shane.

He pushes the door to the bedroom open. Shane looks positively wrecked. Ilya sweeps his gaze across his body, taking in his reddened, engorged cock, still weeping even now onto his stomach, where a pool of pearly liquid has run down off his abs and settled into his belly button. There are streaks of it further up his chest, in various states of drying now, and whilst Ilya knows this will bother Shane as soon as he snaps out of this state, he is currently too far gone to care. Shane’s eyes are half lidded, locked onto Ilya as he unbuttons his shirt in the doorway. 

“Ilya.” The moan drips from Shane’s lips like honey, and Ilya can’t help it, it’s pulling him across the room, losing his shirt along the way. He curls a hand around the back of Shane’s neck as he crashes their mouths together and Shane whimpers, pulling helplessly against the restraints around his wrists. 

“So good for me, малыш.” Ilya mumbles, catching Shane’s bottom lip between his teeth. Shane can only tug at the straps again.

“Get them off, wanna touch you.” He pants, flexing his fingers.

Ilya considers this, and as tempting as it is, he decides against it. “Not yet, baby. Later. As your reward.”

Shane groans, letting his head loll to the side. Ilya strokes the side of his face, catching his chin between his thumb and forefinger and bringing it round to look at him again. 

“How many times did you come whilst I was gone?” Ilya asks, as if he didn’t know. As if he didn’t keep count in his head whilst he could hear Shane moaning in his ear. As if he hadn’t had to turn the volume down for a few minutes after each time, just to prevent himself from coming untouched in his pants in the middle of the club.

“Three,” pants Shane, hips bucking automatically. “M’ so sensitive, Ilya, please.”

“Such a good boy,” Ilya praises, running his fingers through the mess on Shane’s abs, “think you can manage one more for me?”

Shane nods, and Ilya smiles and shakes his head. “Use your words, малыш, I need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck you,” Shane moans, but his pupils are blown with want, and there’s no real anger behind his words. “I want one more and…”

“And what, мой маленький веревочный кролик?” Asks Ilya, bringing his cum-covered fingers up towards Shane’s mouth. 

Shane whimpers as he opens up, cleaning his own mess off Ilya’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth and running his tongue over the digits. Ilya feels his own heart skip a beat and his cock throb with want. He pulls his hand back, a string of saliva and cum still connecting it to Shane’s lips. Ilya thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“I want to come on your cock.” Shane rasps, cheeks darkening at the admission.

“Хороший мальчик. Good boy.” Ilya praises. He trails his hand back down Shane’s body again, wrapping his fingers firmly around Shane’s erection and giving it a couple of strokes. Shane makes a whiny sound at the contact, biting his lip to try to hide it.

“Ah ah ah.” Ilya uses his free hand to tug at Shane’s chin. “Let go. You can be loud for me.”

“Fuck, Ilya, feels so fucking good.” Shane is struggling to get the words out. Everything is just so much for him now. “Please.”

“Please what, малыш?” Coaxes Ilya, still stroking Shane’s cock in long, slow strokes. He’s swung a leg over Shane’s thighs, straddling him now, leaning forward over his body. His lips hover half an inch away from Shane’s.

“Please fuck me already.” Shane pants, neck straining upwards to try to meet Ilya’s mouth. Ilya keeps the distance between them. “Been waiting for this all night. Need you inside me.”

Ilya closes the gap, kissing Shane hard, letting him relax his head back onto the pillow. It’s a mess of teeth and tongue and spit and it is delicious.

“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya’s voice is low when he pulls back, admiring his boyfriend’s sex-drunk face. “So good for me.”

“Hurry up.” Shane complains, and for the first time that night Ilya does not want to keep him waiting any longer.

Leaning back, he rips the velcro from around Shane’s ankles, letting his legs free from where they’ve been spread out all night. Shane flexes his feet and then his knees, enjoying his new found freedom. Ilya climbs off him, getting between his thighs instead, patting Shane’s hip with his hand.

“Legs up for me, любимый.”

Shane complies, bending his knees and raising them back towards his chest, exposing himself to Ilya. The smooth, black base of the plug follows the curve of Shane’s ass. Ilya reaches out, pushing on it and wiggling a bit before gently tugging on it. Shane makes a helpless, needy noise as the ring of muscle resists for a moment, but the plug is already sliding out with a very faint slick sound.

If Ilya hadn’t been hard already, he would be now.

When he leans forward and presses his lips against Shane’s open hole, Shane sounds like he is about to start sobbing, unable to form words. Ilya licks into him and Shane’s legs come to rest on his shoulders. He can tell Shane is pulling at the straps around his wrists again, feels him straining against them, trying to put his hands in Ilya’s hair.

Ilya hums as he pulls back, reaching over to put the plug on a clean tissue on the nightstand so Shane doesn’t freak out about that mess later, and grabs the bottle of lube and a condom.

“Noo,” whines Shane, gesturing with his fingers as much as he can. “No condom.”

“You are sure about this?” Ilya checks, flipping it between his fingers.

“Want to feel you,” Shane says, words slurring together. “Didn’t wait all night for you to not come inside me.”

“Fuck, Hollander. You will kill me,” growls Ilya, shedding the rest of his clothes as fast as he possibly can and getting back between his boyfriend’s thighs.

He doesn’t draw it out any longer, doesn't think he physically could. He feels as though he might explode if he doesn’t get inside Shane in the next 30 seconds. He pours a liberal amount of lube into his hand, slicking himself up with a couple of strokes and lining up carefully before pushing in in one smooth move. Shane cries out, throwing his head back and locking his legs around Ilya’s waist as he begins to move, slow at first but speeding up. He’s been waiting for this for what feels like forever, and being here, inside him like this, feels like finally coming home.

“Oh, fuck, Shane.” He says through gritted teeth, letting go of Shane’s thigh to lean forward, hand scrabbling at the strap around Shane’s wrist. When Shane’s hand is finally free he immediately moves it to the back of Ilya’s head, tugging at his hair, joined shortly by his second hand as Ilya switches arms to free that one too. Both hands slide down Ilya’s back, nails digging in. It feels like Shane is trying to keep his grip on reality as the overstimulation kicks in, even more so as Ilya moves his hand down to stroke his poor, untouched cock between them. His knuckles drag through the remaining cum on Shane’s stomach as he does, smearing it even further.

For hours now, Ilya has been desperate for this. He knows he isn’t going to last long - he’s been on edge the whole time, but he knows Shane is right there with him.

His steady rhythm is starting to stutter as he draws closer and closer to his orgasm. He can’t hold on anymore and shoves his face into the side of Shane’s neck, burying his teeth into the muscle near his shoulder as he fills him up, sucking a dark bruise into the skin. The feeling of Ilya pulsing inside him sends Shane over too, crying out in ecstasy as his fourth orgasm of the night washes over him. Ilya can feel his cock twitching in his hand, nothing left to give after so many in just a few hours.

Both of them are breathing heavily as Ilya pulls out and collapses bonelessly onto the bed next to Shane, resting his head on his chest and gazing up at him. “You have actually killed me this time, Hollander.” He says, voice hoarse. “You are sex god and you have taken me as a sacrifice.”

Shane grins at him fondly, taking a long slow blink as the exhaustion of coming four times in a row sets in. He brings up a hand to Ilya’s head, running his fingers through his hair. “Worth taking the win from me, then?”

“Of course, моя любовь.” Ilya can’t help but grin back, propping himself up to steal a kiss. “But perhaps next time I will stay with you. Missed you too much when we were apart.”

“Oh, you think it’s going to happen again?” Shane jokes, sleepily. “Next time it’s my turn.”

“Mmm, you are going to do this to me?” Ilya asks, sitting up more fully. He doesn’t really want to move, but he knows the mess is going to get to Shane very shortly and he wants to clean up the worst of it before it does. He reaches for the packet of wipes they keep in the bedside table for this exact purpose, starts gently mopping up Shane’s chest and stomach. “You are Mr Big-in-Charge, now?”

Shane shrugs, a soft smile lighting up his face as he watches Ilya work. “I don’t know, I thought it might be nice. Not to go out clubbing or anything, because I don’t like that anyway, but…” He trails off, losing the nerve to voice his fantasy.

“But what?” Ilya asks, pausing to fix his eyes on Shane’s. “You were not so embarrassed two minutes ago when you were moaning on my cock, you cannot go shy now.” Shane shakes his head, turning away and rolling his eyes and Ilya scoots up to pepper kisses all over his face. “Come onnnnn, tell me.”

“I was just thinking -” Shane laughs, trying to push him off

“Thinking what?” Ilya grabs his chin and makes Shane look at him again. “Малыш.”

“It might be nice to have you tied up like that whilst I ride you.” Shane is bright red as he says this.

“Мой помидор!” Ilya grins, approvingly. “This is fantastic idea. Maybe you do not even have to beat me at hockey to do this.”

Shane shoves him lightly, laughing, but his blush is beginning to fade. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Ilya kisses his lips again, longer this time but still light, cupping his face and pulling back to look at him whilst he rubs his thumb along Shane’s cheek. He feels gooey inside, warm and adoring, and he needs to let his boyfriend know this. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too.” Shane melts into the touch, pulling him down to kiss him again, stroking through his hair. “I really did have fun today.”

“Me too, sweetheart, me too.” Ilya replies, removing the dirty wipes and sliding his hand up Shane’s now clean stomach, reclaiming his rightful place on his boyfriend’s chest. “Maybe we do another bet after all.”

“You have something in mind already?” Shane asks, kissing the top of his head.

Ilya peeks up at him. “Of course. If I lose, my sexy boyfriend ties me up and has his way with me, what’s the downside in that?”

Shane grins at Ilya, tugging gently at his curls. “And if you win?”

“Well,” Ilya starts, a wicked gleam in his eye, “if I win, I get to fuck you, fill you up with my cum, put in plug and take you with me to club to celebrate while I make it buzz pretty patterns in your needy little hole.”

Shane swallows, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. His eyes are dark, and his cheeks are pink. Ilya notices all of this as he leans in to kiss him, and files it away in his brain under interesting.

He’s going to win that bet.

—--------------------------------

The morning of Wednesday, the 7th of February 2018, a very hungover Cliff Marleau realises that he has managed to leave his very important lucky hat in the guest locker room at the Centre Bell Arena. He’d worn it into the game, as usual, but on his way out he’d been so baffled by Rozanov’s behaviour that he’d left it in the cubby above the bench and forgotten it completely. He can’t possibly be expected to continue the rest of the roadie without it, it would be awful for everyone and mean that they would be 100% guaranteed to lose every other game.

And he can’t have that on his shoulders.

So, he calls an uber to the hotel. He should have just enough time to get to the arena and back before the bus leaves, and he’s already all packed anyway.

The journey goes without a hitch. The traffic seems to be relatively fine - it’s already past the early morning rush hour and there is nothing out of the ordinary to hold them up. The driver agrees to wait in the car park whilst Cliff runs in. There are only a few other cars around, probably just arena staff, and he’s managed to get a good spot next to a black Land Rover, right by the doors, so it won’t take long.

The corridors are empty. Cliff retraces his steps from the night before, finding his hat exactly where he thought it would be, jamming it firmly onto his head as if it would otherwise run away and ducking out of the door again. He passes a janitor this time, mopping a corridor, and gives him a wide berth to avoid messing up the clean floor.

Unfortunately, this means he misses the door he meant to take, and sends him down a different way he doesn’t recognise. He makes it a fair way before he realises he’s not where he’s meant to be, and turns back the way he came.

A door opens in front of him, and Shane Hollander comes through in the opposite direction. He looks like he’s just come from the gym, wearing a long sleeved compression shirt and a pair of shorts, white socks pulled up high around his ankles.

He looks surprised to see Marleau there, but gives him a friendly nod, stopping to hold the door open for him. As he does so, his sleeve pulls up a bit and Cliff can see an unmistakable ring of reddened skin around his wrist. He blinks, registering the sight, but he’s already level with Hollander.

Cliff feels like he’s processing everything at lightning speed. It’s like he’s being haunted.

The app.

The airpod.

The deep moan.

The ghost of Ilya Rozanov’s echoing around him - I told you Jane was a little tied up at the moment.

The mark on Hollander’s wrist.

Cliff turns to stare backwards as Hollander walks off down the corridor behind him, and there, on the back of Shane’s neck, where it meets his shoulder - it’s unmistakably a hickey.

A slow smile spreads across Marly’s face as he connects the dots and he shakes his head, chuckling, turning back to continue on his way.

Rozanov, you sly dog.