Archive of Our Own

Besides hockey, Shane Hollander’s favorite activity in the world might be spooning.

It gave him a chance to burrow into Ilya’s neck, breathe him in. Get lost in the soft curls of his hair and enjoy the broad expanse of his back. And yeah, visually check his moles to make sure none of them were raised. Ilya wasn’t aware of that last ritual, though. Melanoma risk factors were on the long list of topics he deemed too serious or depressing to discuss.

Also on that list was the fast-approaching start of the season. Their official relationship was only a few weeks old, and whenever Shane got to thinking about it, he had trouble trusting that things could be this good. Up until this summer, he'd only gotten Ilya in bits and pieces. This past month, they'd been sequestered off in their own perfect fantasy world. What if things just went back to the way they were when they resumed their lives?

He had no idea if Ilya shared that fear, but at least they were on the same page about making the most of their final days together. Shane even refrained from telling Ilya to get off his phone in bed, despite it being horrible sleep hygiene. During spooning time, no less.

He watched idly as Ilya scrolled through Instagram. Every once and awhile, Ilya would stop and chuckle to himself or purse his lips in thought. It would've been enough to give Shane a terrible case of cuteness aggression if he wasn't so tired. He'd just starting to doze off when a clear, haunting voice floated from Ilya’s phone. It took effort to re-focus his blurry vision, but when he did, he was greeted by a sight that shocked him right back awake.

A beautiful man, all lean lines and golden-brown skin, was singing to a hushed crowd. He was wearing dark eyeshadow and some sort of… shimmery stuff. He was stunning, anyone could see that, even someone with Shane’s preference for masculine men.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“Fabian Salah. Singer from Toronto. Very good. I think he will be big name soon.”

Shane was only half-listening- he was too entranced by the gentle sway of Fabian’s hips. His waist was so tiny. And now he seemed to be shrugging out of his satin shawl. He let it cling to his shoulders for a second before dropping it to the ground.

“Oh. Wow,” Shane breathed. Fabian was wearing lingerie underneath. It was dark green, a perfect compliment to his skin and makeup. It hugged him in all the right places, emphasizing the masculine shape of his torso. It had never even crossed Shane’s mind that men could wear lingerie.

“You’re drooling, Hollander.”

He shook his head, the denial automatic. But Ilya didn’t seem angry that he was checking out another man. In fact, he looked amused, and maybe a little smug. Like always, the combination was both irritating and sexy. He shuffled around so they were facing each other, and Shane felt weirdly exposed.

“So. Are you finally interested in music now?” Ilya teased.

“Fuck off.”

“Mmmm. No." He leaned in close enough to brush Shane’s mouth lightly against his. Even when they were just playing like this, Ilya could still make him dizzy. He’d just decided to deepen the kiss when Ilya whispered into his lips.

“Didn’t know you liked men wearing things like that.” He kissed up the side of Shane’s neck, melting him from the inside out. “Maybe I should get dressed up all pretty for you…”

It took a moment for Ilya’s words to sink in, but when they did, Shane was hit with a heady vision. Girls had worn lingerie for him in the past, mostly in misguided attempts to increase his non-existent interest. It never really did anything for him, so he didn’t think about it all that much. But now he was.

Ilya’s body would test the limits of a matching set. It would stretch across his wide shoulders. Cup his ass. Do a terrible job of hiding his big cock. He would look good like that, if he was actually serious about the idea. He liked to tease though, liked to get Shane riled up about all kinds of stuff. Still, the thought was… something.

“Would you like that?” Ilya murmured against his neck. He traced a hand down Shane’s torso and palmed at his cock. It was all Shane could do to keep from bucking up into the touch. He didn't even realize how hard he’d gotten.

“I… d-on’t know." Lie. He was a liar, and they both knew it. Ilya didn’t call him out on it, though, because this was embarrassing, and not something Shane felt equipped to unpack.

In an effort to derail the conversation, he pushed himself harder against Ilya. He knew it worked the second Ilya reached around to grope his ass. Good. Discussion over. He didn’t want to think about this anymore, he just wanted to feel Ilya’s big hands roam along his back. Besides, he liked the way Ilya dressed. All laid-back and stylish and masculine. No need to change that, especially for sex reasons.

Still, he thought about it a little bit afterward. Mostly by accident, and just as he was falling asleep. He was curled into Ilya's chest, listening to the reverberations of his soft snores. With an idle hand, he traced along Ilya’s spine and wondered what lace might feel like over his skin.

***

Shane kept thinking about it.

It’s not like he’d had a lot of spare time during the past few weeks. The preseason had flown by, and now that the real games had started, Shane only got a handful of moments to himself throughout the day. Most of those moments happened to be in the shower. After a workout, when his body was extra activated. That’s what he blamed it on, at least. That, and Shane slowly loosing his mind from sex deprivation.

His body was used to waking up next to Ilya every morning, and his dick definitely hadn't gotten the memo that summer was over. He used to be able to go long periods between releases, but lately he'd been so needy for it. Like right now- he ached all over, even as the warm steam of the shower should have relaxed him. It was the opposite of relaxing, because he couldn't stop thinking about the way Ilya would kiss him if he were here. Slow and filthy. He'd press Shane against the cool tile. He'd hold him there, slide their bodies together, say you're so fucking pretty like this, Hollander.

The first drag of Shane's hand against his cock made his teeth clench. He probably looked like a mess right now, all blushed-out and dazed. Ilya would like that too, if he was here. Then again, if he was here, Shane would’ve already been well-fucked, showered, and asleep.

Instead, he was embarrassingly close from just a few touches. It was less humiliating than it had been before they were together- at least he didn’t feel guilty about his fantasies anymore. So, he fell back on one of the reliable classics and tried not to let it get weird this time.

It was twenty months from now, the end of Ilya's debut season playing for Ottawa. He'd just won them their first cup in decades. Shane was out of the playoffs on a very minor injury, otherwise the Metros would’ve taken it. Obviously. And even if Ilya won it in this scenario, he’d still have one less cup than Shane. Not like that kind of thing mattered for a sex fantasy, but it was worth noting.

He’d played like a demon on the ice- all the raw, focused power he was known for. It was a tough game, but Rosanov was untouchable. He’d earned it, and he'd looked like a fucking god hoisting that cup into the air. His golden hair stuck to his temples. His eyes were full of wild energy. When he turned to say something to a teammate, Shane watched a strong tendon in the side of his neck flex. If it was possible, he'd crawl right through the TV and get on his knees for Ilya.

They'd have to wait, though. Ilya would need to talk to the press. Go out with his teammates, celebrate. Then it would be a two hour drive from Ottawa to Montreal. More than likely, they wouldn’t even see each other until the next day. It didn’t matter that Shane was pent up, he’d have to be patient. Disciplined.

Do I get a reward for winning? Ilya would ask. And normally Shane was better at pacing his fantasies, but fuck, he was desperate. In an instant, he imagined Ilya was on top of him, grinding in a rhythm that made it hard to breathe.

“Fuck,” Ilya moaned, “missed you. All day, I fantasized about this. My prize, and I’m going to take my fucking time.”

In the real world, Shane’s breath came a little faster. The tension in his core started to build. It felt good, but he would do anything to actually have Ilya inside him right now.

“You want it bad, hm?”

Shane nodded, head knocking lightly against the cold tile of the shower. “Hurry up."

Ilya pulled his eyebrows together in mock concern. “What do you want me to do? I don’t understand.”

“Fucking- take your clothes off and fuck me already,” he snapped.

This was his fantasy, why was Ilya still being so goddamn annoying?

“Like this?” Ilya smirked, rucking his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. And- oh, Jesus.

It was happening again.

Under his post-game dress shirt, Ilya was wearing a fucking… one of those things Keira Knightly wore in the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Shane couldn’t remember what it was called, only that it hugged the shape of Ilya’s body like it was made for him. It pushed his pecs up so high they were spilling out the top. Once Shane was able to tear his gaze from that hypnotic sight, he noticed how the material cinched the sharp 'v' of Ilya’s waist. Fuck, he was going to pass out.

Immediately, Shane stopped stroking himself, because maybe that could save this situation. It was different each time- sometimes Ilya was in a night slip, sometimes he was in a full set. Sometimes he was dressed like Elizabeth fucking Swan, apparently. It never mattered- the images came to Shane, unbidden, throwing him off balance. Making him want something he shouldn’t. Always right before he was about to come. It was fucking torture.

“You want to touch?” Ilya murmured. He leaned closer, showing off the delicious curve of his muscular chest. Shane had never understood the appeal of tits before, but… damn. He shook his head. He shouldn’t touch, right? That would be a step too far.

Ilya just smirked and brought his own hands up and started kneading his chest. He held Shane’s gaze, daring him to take what he wanted.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Shane had stopped touching himself. One accidental brush of his cock against the cold shower wall, and his entire core was seizing.

At first, his mind barely registered what was happening. Wave after wave of pleasure wracked through his body, so intense his knees trembled. He moaned in shock as thick gushes of cum hit the shower wall. By the time it dripped down to join the water, Shane’s vision was spotty.

“What the fuck?” he huffed. He turned the shower head off and just stood there for a minute. “What the actual fuck?”

Well, okay. That went farther than it usually did. Most of the time, he could force himself to pivot back to the tried-and-true fantasies, like Ilya pounding into him, normal gay sex style. Nothing fancy.

It was one thing for Shane to be gay. That took him decades to figure out, and he was still learning the rules. But what if, on top of being gay, he was also some sort of pervert? Even worse, what if Ilya realized it and left him? This fantasy needed to stay locked in his own brain, forever. After years of dancing around each other, they were finally together. Shane wasn't about to endanger something so new and precious with this weird fixation. It would pass. It had to. 

Ilya must have a sixth sense for when he was having a sexuality crisis. As Shane finished toweling off, 2 missed Facetime calls appeared on his lock screen.

He gave himself a few more minutes to get dressed and cool down before dialing back. And maybe he shouldn’t be cozied up in bed with his glasses on, because Ilya would probably say something obscene about it. But fuck it. If he had to be erotically tortured while they were apart, so did Ilya.

Predictably, Ilya picked up on the first ring. As he took in Shane’s appearance- mussed hair, flushed skin- a slow, hungry grin spread across his face.

“What have you gotten up to tonight, Hollander?” he murmured.

Oh, god. Could he tell? Shane felt a momentary flash of panic. He checked his face in the corner of the phone screen. Yeah, he had a bit of an after-glow, but nothing across his forehead that read I came hands-free imagining my boyfriend feeling himself up in a renaissance outfit.

Shane cleared his throat. “The usual. Nothing interesting.”

“You want to know what I did?”

Despite just getting off, that tone sent a lick of heat up Shane’s spine.

“I thought of you. I fucked my hand, but…” Ilya shrugged. Even with the casual movement, the desire in his gaze was blatant. “It was not the same. I miss how you feel. So fucking-”

“Okay. Well, that’s good,” Shane interrupted. He could see himself going red in the corner screen. He really didn’t need to get worked up again.

Ilya blinked, momentarily confused. “Are you feeling alright? Do you not want to talk about how warm and perfect your greedy little hole is?”

“Jesus Christ! You can’t just say things like that with no lead up!”

“No lead up!? You are wearing the glasses. What am I supposed to do? And that blush, moy lyubimyy. It goes all the way down to your fucking nipples. You are actually going to kill me.”

Shane shifted his weight, felt his skin grow hot and tight.

“It’s been three weeks, Hollander. I don't know how we ever went so long before. I literally get hard every day at practice thinking about you.”

Shane made a face. “At practice?”

Ilya continued, undeterred. “When I close my eyes and try to fall asleep at night, I am haunted by visions of your beautiful ass cheeks. The way they bounce and jiggle when I fuck you. And those stretch marks- it is like someone sank their claws into you. I need to bite.”

“Miss you too,” Shane said dryly. God, he was actually starting to get hard again, all for this ridiculous man.

“Enough to touch yourself?”

“I can’t go a second time.”

“I think we both know this is not true.” Ilya flashed him a cocky grin. “What was I doing to you in your daydream?”

“You were… um, teasing me.” That was close enough to the truth, and nothing abnormal for them.

“About what?”

Fuck.

Shane’s throat felt dry. He saw Ilya start to stroke himself off screen, his eyes going heavy-lidded. Did he know? Why did it seem like he knew?

“The… the usual stuff.”

“You are terrible at phone sex,” Ilya sighed. “Details, please.”

“You were dressed up for me.”

Ilya stopped moving.

“In a suit,” Shane rushed to explain. He hadn’t meant to admit something so close to the truth.

The way Ilya looked at him then… it brought him right back to that first night. Like they were standing side by side in the showers, sizing each other up for the first time. Like Ilya was trying to calculate exactly how to take him apart.

“What is it?”

Ilya’s answering grin was slow and predatory. Fuck, he knew. He remembered their conversation. He’d read Shane like a book, then and now and always.

“You,” Ilya trailed a hand down his chest again. The slow, languid motion of his arm left little room for doubt as to what he was doing.

“...are so fucking boring.”

The knot of anxiety in Shane’s chest loosened, even as a small part of him was disappointed to not be caught. It was better that Ilya didn’t realize, anyway. And no one could deny he loved his boyfriend in well-fitted formal wear. This bizarre obsession would pass. Shane was probably just pent up- it had been too long since they’d been together.

As he touched himself and watched Ilya through the screen, he only thought of how good it would be once they were together again. Seven days, and Ilya could fuck this fantasy right out of his brain. He reminded himself of that truth as he tumbled over the edge and watched the man he loved do the same. This was all he wanted.

***

Shane had thought they'd be able to handle long-distance better, what with nearly a decade of practice. Nope. When Ilya was far away, every doubt Shane had about their new relationship got dialed up to 11. Nothing about their start was normal, healthy, or easy. Neither of them had every really had a meaningful romantic relationship before. Ilya would most certainly grow to resent him- how could he not? He was a generational talent, and he'd happily tank his career just to be closer to Shane. He'd realize Shane wasn't worth it, and he'd transfer to a new team, far away from Montreal.

Selfishly, that was one of the reasons Shane was excited to see him tonight. When they were actually talking to each other, all of his worries got quiet enough to handle again. It was even better when they were touching. The last time they did that was 34 fucking days ago.

All those factors culminated in Shane feeling extra wired. It was late, and he was alone, sitting in his mostly-silent house. The TV was on, but it was quiet enough to ensure he’d hear the sound of a car turning into his driveway. He tried, so badly, to focus on anything else. It was difficult, though- Ilya had left the airport 18 minutes ago. Boston had one earlier that night, and just watching him on the ice had Shane hopelessly turned on. When he arrived, Shane wasn’t even going to play coy. He would leap into Ilya’s arms and drag him right to the bedroom.

Crunch.

The headlights shining through the open living room window made Shane’s heart pick up. He heard the slam of the rental car door, then Ilya’s footfalls up the gravel path.

Ilya had a key, but Shane was at the door before he even put it into the lock. He swung it open and didn’t spare a single thought to how desperate it made him look.

“Hi.” He swayed on his feet, smiling like a maniac.

Ilya stepped close, almost chest to chest. He looked so fucking good. He was huge like this, taking up Shane’s entire field of vision.

“Hi,” Ilya murmured. His eyes were locked in on Shane’s mouth.

“H-ow was your flight?” Shane asked. He stepped back a pace, because in the span of 34 days, he’d somehow forgotten how overwhelming it was to have Ilya Rosanov look at him like that.

“You want to know how my flight was?” Ilya’s lips barely moved, save for a twitch of amusement at the end of his question. He looked hungry, pupils blown wide.

“Yea-”

And then Shane was being pressed against the wall, brought to life again after sleepwalking for weeks. Ilya palmed his jaw up, guiding their mouths together.

Shane moaned right into the kiss. He needed this like he needed air- the hot slide of Ilya’s tongue, the firm press of his warmth. When Ilya angled his hips just right, Shane’s entire body lit up. He was starving for it, already unraveling from this simple touch.

“Poor zaychik,” Ilya purred. “All alone in this big house. No one to fuck you like you need.”

Shane couldn’t do anything besides whine into Ilya’s parted lips. He used to hide how badly he needed it, and he was still getting used to expressing his desire so openly. It made him feel all hot and embarrassed and so, so cherished.

“I have something special planned for us tonight. Get undressed, and I will meet you in your room.”

Shane paused. In all honesty, he wanted to keep making out, but the expression on Ilya’s face left no room for argument. And he was curious, and fucking horny, and he would probably do anything Ilya asked, forever.

Instead of admitting all that out loud, he pulled away and nodded.

Ilya patted his cheek. “Mm. Good boy.”

“Asshole.”

His boyfriend just shrugged and threw a smug look over his shoulder as he sauntered off to the guest room, overnight bag in hand.

To his credit, Shane didn’t start to get anxious until he was all alone upstairs. He felt kind of ridiculous, sprawled out naked on his bed. What could Ilya possibly have planned? Maybe he bought a really giant dildo or something, and he was going to talk Shane though how to take it all. That would be real treat.

Whatever it was, Shane was fucking ready. He didn’t want to get too far without Ilya, but he needed to touch himself. Even the slight brush of his thumb against the tip of his cock had his toes curling. He was so hot and worked up he couldn’t think straight. Ilya needed to hurry the fuck up, or this would be the shortest reunion they ever had.

Shane’s entire body went taught as a bowstring when he heard Ilya make his way up the hall. About fucking time.

His relief was temporary. Lightning-quick, Ilya slipped into the room and killed the lights. Everything went dim, and Shane’s eyes took a few long seconds to adjust to the solitary glow of the dresser lamp. When he finally saw what Ilya was wearing, his brain short-circuited.

“Oh my God, Ilya.”

“You like?”

Shane liked. Christ, he liked. He liked so fucking much.

Ilya prowled towards the bed. “How do I look in red? Ottawa colors. Our secret. Do not tell Boston.”

Shane didn’t trust himself to form a clear response, other than maybe that’s not red, Ilya. It was richer than that, inky and deep like oxblood. The lace was clinging like someone had painted it right onto Ilya's skin. Just looking at him made Shane’s body pound hot and cold, chest twisting with arousal and confusion and maybe a little bit of shame.

He couldn’t even figure out where to stare. He remembered, distantly, how good Fabian had looked in lingerie. Ilya, though? Ilya looked good in an entirely different way. His body wasn’t lean and willowy. He was all confident strength, big and bulky everywhere, enough to stretch the lace tight in all of Shane’s favorite places.

Anyone else would have looked insecure, but Ilya’s confidence was deadly. As he got closer, Shane realized there was a soft smudge of black liner around his eyes. And his lipstick matched the lace- a stain of dark red.

Shane had so many questions, like- when the fuck did he learn to do makeup that well? But that was only the thinking part of him. The animal part of him reached out, grasping at Ilya to make sure this was real and not another fantasy.

Embarrassingly, he felt himself mouth the word ‘wow’ as his fingers brushed the firm swell of Ilya’s pecs. The fabric barely contained him.

“This is way better than Pirates of the Caribbean,” Shane whispered.

“You flatter me.” The weight of the mattress dipped as Ilya slunk towards him. There was no way Shane looked like that when he crawled over the bed. Ilya was a fucking panther with a fawn caught in its sights. He leaned in close. Even that millimeter of open space between them had Shane’s entire spine tingling. Somehow, he felt like he was the one on display.

“All for you, lisichka." Ilya's eyes swept over him, full of lust and perception. Once again, he was re-writing everything Shane thought he knew about himself.

Before he could even process what was happening, he had a lapful of beefy hockey player. Ilya was straddling him, one hand resting lightly around his throat and the other knotted through his hair. Each little tug lit his body with a new jolt of arousal. He swallowed down Ilya’s sigh as their mouths finally found each other.

“Easy, Shanya.” Ilya teased. Usually, he was the one in Ilya’s lap. But Ilya didn’t look uncomfortable right now. He looked smug as he settled deeper, slowly dragging himself over Shane’s bare cock.

“Goddamn,” Shane groaned. The lace was already slick with their precum. 

“Always so wet for me,” Ilya mused. “You like how my tits look in this?” He cupped himself, running his thumbs over the hardened peaks of his nipples. Shane could see their outline through the lace, and it made his tongue feel numb.

“Fuck, yes.”

Before his self-consciousness caught up, he moved Ilya’s hands aside and replaced them with his own. Somehow, he’d never really taken the time to appreciate the weight of Ilya’s chest in his palms, which was fucking tragic. They were solid and warm and a little too big for his hands. That was frustrating, because all Shane wanted right now was to touch every bit of Ilya that he could.

Ilya seemed similarly affected. He arched into Shane’s grasp, sliding the heat of their cocks together. Even as Shane's mind staggered to catch up, his body reacted. In one smooth motion, he rolled Ilya onto his back and started mouthing at his cock.

"Jesus, Hollander."

This was fucking insane. Ilya Rosanov was was coming apart underneath him, looking like a wet dream wrapped in lace. All for you. That was the most unbelievable part. Ilya had always been shameless in the best way, but like this, he was vulnerable. He was finally showing his soft underbelly. He was asking Shane to sink his teeth in, knowing full well they'd stay there.

He was probably pinning Ilya too tight, groaning too loud as he drenched his boyfriend's cock. The fabric was rough and salty under his tongue, and it looked even darker soaked through. He’d needed this- 34 fucking days- but Ilya might need it even more. Both of his hands were knotted in Shane's hair, and his thrusts were already getting messy. All Shane could do was hold on tighter, gripping Ilya’s ass like a lifeline. God, it was so fucking fat.

“Lemme see it,” he slurred into the inside of Ilya’s thigh.

Ilya started to get his dick out, but Shane caught his wrists.

“Your ass,” Shane clarified. “In those. Please.”

Instead of poking fun at him, Ilya grinned, all smeared lipstick and sharp canines. He motioned for Shane to lay on his back. He obeyed without question and was rewarded when Ilya straddled him again, this time facing away.

The dark lace cut across his hips and stretched tight around the heavy curve of his ass. Shane ran his thumb along the seam, watching in fascination as Ilya canted his hips up. And down, and up again. The sight of their bodies rolling together fried Shane's brain in a way he didn't expect.

“S'nice." How was Ilya this good at grinding on his lap?

Ilya’s answering laugh morphed into a shriek when Shane hauled him closer by the hips. It was one of those moments that felt jarring in its clarity. Ilya was his. Really his, after all these years. The realization lit a flare of possessiveness deep in his body. Their relationship had officially survived beyond the perimeters of the cottage. How could he show Ilya that they'd made the right choice? That the wait had been worth it?

As he watched Ilya's hips move back and forth, he finally understood that maybe Ilya wanted something special tonight, too. He must, right? He'd gone to the trouble of buying what had to be custom-made luxury lingerie. He'd wrapped himself up like a present, and now he was on top of Shane. He wanted to be torn into.

“Hollander? Did I break you?” Ilya’s lashes cast a shadow on his face as he looked over his shoulder at Shane.

Shane realized, with detached amazement, that he wanted to eat Ilya out. And Ilya might want that too, with the way his hips were still moving in tight little circles. Shane tried to plead with his eyes, because he didn’t know how to ask for this. It wasn’t something they ever did. Ilya did it to him, and he fucking loved it, but it was always a prelude to opening him up. There just wasn’t a need for him to reciprocate, and Ilya never asked. Maybe he’d assumed Shane would never want to.

“I want to,” Shane said.

Except he had no idea how to do it. He couldn’t base it on his disastrous history with girls. Then again, he’d never felt like this when he was about to go down on a woman.

“You want to…?”

God, Ilya was going to make him say it.

“I want to make you feel good.”

Ilya just inclined his head, waiting.

“I want to eat your… butt.” Shane cringed. What the fuck?

“Oh my God, Hollander.”

“I meant… a-ass. I want to eat your ass. Hole.”

He braced himself for more teasing, or the likely reality that he'd misread the situation entirely. Ilya didn't look uncomfortable, though. He looked curious.

“You would need to start slow. I am not used to it.”

Shane’s heart thudded in his ribcage. Ilya was actually considering this. Fuck, he had to do it right.

“I can go slow." He rubbed Ilya’s hips in what he hoped was a soothing motion. This decision felt monumental, for some reason. More intimate, since it was so outside their regular dynamic. Even though they were boyfriends now. Shane was still getting used to that word and what it meant, but he was fairly certain doing new sex acts was a good boyfriend activity.

Finally, Ilya shrugged. “You can try. Many people seem to like when I have done it.”

Ilya was doing the thing he always did when he was secretly nervous, which was to act unbothered. Shane didn’t buy it, but he’d play along for now.

“Oh, yeah? Many people?”

“Yes. I've been eating it from the back since before you were born, Hollander.”

“That makes no sense.” Shane kneaded his ass again and watched it mold to his hands. “Like, mathematically.”

“You are very concerned with math right now?”

“Maybe.” Shane hovered Ilya above his face, pausing just long enough to give him another chance to stop this. Except he didn’t stop, he pulled his fucking panties to the side and showed Shane the only place he'd never gotten to appreciate before.

He felt 18 again, like he was dropping to his knees in that hotel room for the first time. After all these years, Ilya was still making him crave things he'd never realized he'd wanted.

He licked a thick stripe over Ilya’s hole, and he wasn’t 18 anymore. He was a fully grown man, and he knew what the fuck he wanted.

Ilya trembled silently, body coiled tight. He wasn’t letting go, so Shane got messy, open-mouthed as he moved over that tight ring of muscle. He wanted to find the exact spot that unwound Ilya from the inside out. He wanted to know this part of Ilya too, because they no longer needed to subsist on stolen moments. They could take their time.

Slowly, the cautious roll of Ilya’s hips turned into a full-body shiver as Shane worked his tongue. He felt the moment Ilya started to melt.

“Bozhe moy,” he groaned.

Ilya deserved to feel good. He was always doing this for Shane. He was always doing everything for Shane, even promising to move to a boring city with a terrible hockey team. Shane would thank him for it, and he would keep thanking him for it, and he'd learn to eat ass so well that Ilya would never regret his decision.

Still, it wasn’t altruism guiding him as he manhandled Ilya into a new position. He also wanted this- he needed Ilya laid back on the bed, eyes dazed and fuck-drunk in a way he rarely got to enjoy. He made Ilya feel like that. What a fucking miracle.

“Want me to keep going?”

Ilya’s expression was priceless- the perfect mixture of desperate and too proud to say so. Shane had been in the same position a thousand times. Maybe Ilya would enjoy being taunted as much as he did.

“You’ve never looked like this for anyone else, huh? All done up with your legs open?” Shane stroked up his thighs, loving the way he fidgeted.

“Just you,” Ilya said softly. For the first time all night, maybe in his whole life, he looked vulnerable.

Shane’s belly glowed with heat. All mine. “Gonna take care of you, okay?”

He lowered himself to his stomach, pushing Ilya’s legs higher with one hand and shoving his panties to the side with the other. He moaned, low and feral, when Ilya's hole immediately relaxed under his tongue.

“Oh. Fuck, Shane-”

The sensual glide of his hips might be rewiring Shane's brain. How had they never done this before? How was Ilya perfect here, too? Shane had never even thought to try this, and now that it was happening, he felt like a fucking idiot. Of course it would be good. Of course it wouldn't be like how it was with girls. Of course he would get off on bringing Ilya pleasure. Shane ground his own hips into the mattress, desperate to relieve some of the tension building in the core of his body. He knew he could get off like this, but he wanted Ilya to come first. So he ignored the heavy ache of his cock and leaned in deeper.

The flat of his tongue teased at Ilya's rim, sliding over and over, getting it so wet that it dripped down Shane's chin. The mess made it impossible to tell the exact moment his tongue slipped inside, but Ilya tangled a hand into his hair and shoved him deeper.

"Don't stop," Ilya gasped. This was fucking new, and it lit Shane on fire. Fuck, he wanted to make Ilya feel so good. Wanted him to keep twisting in the sheets like this, chest heaving, eyes rolled back. It was like Ilya was using Shane's tongue to fuck himself. That gave Shane some ideas.

More. Ilya needed more, and he could have anything he wanted, forever. Shane's only regret was that he'd have to stop eating ass in order to have that conversation. He pulled away, and tried not to let Ilya's answering whine go to his head.

“I think I know what would help.”

For a moment, Ilya just stared at him. Shane saw the moment the realization hit him, a dark blush blooming from his chest to his temples. This was also something they never did. Their positions had felt natural from the start, but Shane was starting to realize that this felt natural too. It felt fucking incredible, actually.

"It's okay to want it," Shane said, because that's exactly what he'd needed to hear all those years ago. Slowly, traced his hand up the inside of Ilya's leg. He watched Ilya's face, searching for any hint of discomfort. Finding none, he let the pad of his thumb rest gently against Ilya's rim.

One soft brush of his finger, and Ilya's hips twitched forward. "Oh."

“Have you ever…?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

Shane would have to wait until later to unpack just how much that turned him on. For now, he just hoped a handful of heterosexual disasters and a decade of getting fingered by an expert would be enough to make this good for Ilya. He leaned over to search the bedside drawer for the bottle he always kept there. It was cool to the touch, but he had warm hands and all the time in the world.

He circled Ilya's hole, slow and light so the sensations had somewhere to go. Ilya's jaw still went slack, because no one had ever touched him here before. He was sensitive, a raw nerve exposed to the open air for the first time. Shane liked that, liked it even more when Ilya made some new noises. Breathy little whimpers torn right from the back of his throat. Sounds that no one else would ever get to hear.

Something had changed between them, even if it was just for tonight. Ilya's body was warm and open, completely unguarded for once. So Shane slid his finger in and watched his eyes flutter shut.

“Shane-”

And, God, is that what Ilya sounded like when he got his ass played with? And he was so hot inside, drawn tight like his body couldn't decide whether to lock up or invite Shane deeper.

“Okay?" he breathed.

Ilya jerked his chin. “Mm-hm.”

In quiet stages, Ilya started to relax. He breathed through it, in and out, and Shane gave him a steady rhythm in return. The smooth motions off his hand must have plucked something raw, though, because Ilya's entire body jerked when he curled his finger.

“Holy shit,” Ilya choked out. “I can see why you’re a whore for that.”

Shane bit back a smile, because he was whore for it, and he suspected he could turn Ilya into a whore for it, too.

“Be nice to me, Rosanov.”

Never one to surrender control, Ilya spread his legs wider. He leveled his hungry gaze right at Shane.

“Make me.”

Shane slid another finger in and moaned at the tight fit. “Okay?”

“Shanya, yes. Stop asking.”

So Shane closed his mouth and let his body take over. He finally understood why Ilya was always staring at where they were joined. His hole was stretched nice and wide around Shane’s thick fingers. As he slid out, Ilya’s taut rim caught on his knuckles, snagging in a way that Shane was fucking obsessed with. And every time he went back in, he stroked over the spot that had Ilya jolting.

“Think you can come for me like this, lubimiy?” Shane murmured. The nickname was a dirty blow, but he loved the way it made Ilya tremble.

“I don’t know,” Ilya huffed. “Am… ‘m not like you.”

“I think you are. So fucking sensitive. 's that why we've never done this before? Afraid you'll get addicted?”

Ilya’s head fell back onto the pillow and he mouthed something in Russian. This was so different from their usual dynamic, but the electric desperation was familiar enough. Shane might not recognize himself right now, but he certainly recognized how he felt. He felt like he'd found a new way to love his boyfriend.

“You’re perfect here. Look so fuckin' pretty, too.” And the crazy thing was, he really did look pretty in a way Shane had never seen before. His thighs were shaking, and his eyes were glossed over. He was molten hot, speared out on Shane's fingers.

“I remember the first time you ever did this to me."

God, could he fit a third finger in? Just imagining it made his dick ache, but he dismissed the thought. The energy between them was coiling into something frantic, and he wasn't about to risk disrupting it.

“I was so nervous,” Shane continued. “But once you started, I was gone. I’d never felt that good in my life, til you fucked me later.”

Ilya arched up, as though the thin lace of the panties could offer the friction he clearly needed. It seemed like the thought of touching his own cock hadn’t even occurred to him. Either that, or he wanted to see what his body could do just as much as Shane did.

“You always fuck me so well, Ilya. Can you let go for me? Wanna know what you feel like, coming around my fingers. Bet you'd squeeze me nice and tight, huh?”

Ilya was close, tangling his hands in the sheets and rocking his pelvis. His swollen cock twitched under the lace every time Shane passed his sweet spot. He aimed for that place, over and over, in the same steady rhythm he liked for himself. He got lost in it, because how could he not? He was the only one who'd ever seen Ilya like this, and he's the only one who ever would.

“Shane. Shane. ‘M gonna fucking come.”

“I know, baby. Love how you're sucking me in. You gonna make a mess all over those panties?”

“Oh-”

The cords of muscle in Ilya’s neck strained as he threw his head back. It really did feel like he was pulling Shane in, like his body wanted more. It was fucking hypnotic, just like the first time he’d watched Ilya come. Streams of white stained the deep red of the lace, and it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

After another minute of uncontrolled twitching, Ilya finally settled down. Shane slid his fingers out and tried not to go weak in the knees when Ilya keened one last time.

With each passing moment, Ilya turned back into the man he recognized. Even if his grin was wilder than usual as he raked his gaze over Shane. He was smug and relaxed, still sitting with his legs spread open. That predatory look came back in slow pieces, and Shane found himself welcoming it.

“Your turn.”

It was times like this that reminded Shane he was dating a man with the reflexes and mobility of a professional athlete. He almost doubled over when Ilya darted forward and wrapped a fist around his leaking cock.

“Ilya-"

“Perfect, solnyshko. Let me hear you. You earned it, touching me so good.”

Shane was caught between wanting to make this last and knowing it would be over soon, especially with Ilya talking like that. Just when he was about to tip over the edge, Ilya slowed to a liquid pace. Fuck. He wasn't about to get any mercy.

“You know what I was thinking about while I was wrapped around your fingers?”

“Ilya, please-”

“I was wondering what your cock would feel like. So fucking big, and you never get to use it.” Ilya squeezed him at the base, cutting off the wave of pleasure Shane was trying to ride. “Look. My fingers barely touch. Maybe we should not risk, actually. I like my guts where they are.”

“Fuck off,” Shane mumbled. It was more of a reflex than a dismissal, because he’d had all the self-discovery he could handle for one night. Right now, he just needed release. He started thrusting into Ilya’s hand, desperate and needy again.

“Okay, Hollander. Chill out. I will jerk off your giant dick now, because I am nice guy.”

“Fucking finally.”

“Even though I am very tired from getting my hole abused.”

Shane huffed out a laugh, but it turned into a whimper when Ilya started moving again. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, and Ilya seemed to know too, so he aimed Shane’s dick right where he wanted it.

He barely had the chance to choke out an Oh my God before he was coming all over Ilya’s tits. Maybe that was actually the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Ilya drained him dry, guiding pump after pump of cum onto his chest. Every time he thought it was done, his balls would seize up and Ilya would coax more out. It was a razor-thin line between bliss and sensory overload, and Shane rode it out for all it was worth. By the time it was over, the bra was even filthier than the panties.

Shane fell beside him on the bed, completely spent. He watched the ceiling fan turn in a slow circle and wondered if anyone in human history had ever been better at sex than them. Probably not. He felt like his bones were made of jello.

“So,” Shane finally said. “Those probably need to go on the delicate setting.”

He felt Ilya shrug beside him. “I was just going to take them to the dry cleaner.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Could just tell them Shane Hollander shot his load all over my huge naturals.”

Shane tugged one of the bra straps and let it snap lightly against Ilya’s skin.

“OW!”

“Oh, come on.”

Ilya rubbed his chest theatrically. “You are trying to get me benched with sex injury. This is the only way for you to beat Boston. Well played, Hollander. You forget something, though.”

“What’s that?”

And then Ilya was straddling him again, pinning his wrists to the bed. There was a blush high on his cheeks, and he looked more calm and satisfied than Shane had ever seen him. He was so fucking beautiful.

“I will always find a way to get what I want.” He shifted his weight, pinning Shane’s softened cock between them. It was overstimulating, almost painful, but it still sent flickers of heat through his body.

They kissed like that, with Ilya’s weight pressing him into the mattress. It was warm and lazy, more of a way to relax than start anything again. Shane loved it just the same.

"Thanks," he mumbled into Ilya's lips.

"Yes. I am very generous to let you eat my butt."

"Shuddup. I'm being serious. "

"So am I."

"I know it was new for you, is all I'm saying," Shane smiled. "I'm glad you trusted me."

Ilya nuzzled into his neck, suddenly shy. "Is something I only let boyfriends do."

Shane's heart did a funny little flip in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yes. My boyfriend and I, we are very serious. We have only been together a few months, but he is totally obsessed with me."

No matter how many times Shane heard that sentiment, the doubts never quite settled. He always assumed that would come with time. That usual uncertainty was nowhere to be found tonight, though. They could do this. They were already doing this.

"Sounds like a keeper."

Ilya sat back up, grinning ear to ear. "He is."