Chapter Text
Ilya had a rare two entire days off, and had driven straight to Montreal, Anya in tow, making himself comfortable in Shane’s house, familiar enough with it now that he no longer asked Shane where to find things or for permission to grab something from the fridge or a cupboard.
Shane smiled to himself as he watched him navigate the kitchen confidently, making one of those smoothies that Shane liked and Ilya tolerated. As he watched him, though, he couldn’t help but notice an undercurrent of tension, something in the set of his jaw and the curling in of his shoulders telling Shane that his boyfriend was in his head about something.
Hiding was hard on him. Ilya was fitting in so well with his new team, and Shane knew that lying to them rankled him. Shane hated it, too. It felt like a stormcloud, sometimes, hanging over their time, a loud clock ticking in the back of his mind each time they managed to steal a day or two together.
He wasn’t eager for his retirement, but he was certainly looking forward to the freedom it would give them.
Shane fought the urge to let his worry crease his forehead. He wanted to help, but he didn’t want to smother him, either. Ilya would talk to him eventually, if Shane was just patient.
Still, he couldn’t help but lean over the counter and drop a soft kiss of thanks to Ilya’s lips as he slid him his smoothie, which Ilya returned with an unusually sweet smile in return. Not that Ilya wasn’t sweet, it was just that he was more likely to flirt or chirp at him than be all soft and mushy, especially after having been apart for a while.
Its rarity only made it sweeter, though.
Love warmed Shane’s chest, and so he let Ilya turn away and putter around, tidying up after himself, while he sipped at his healthy green smoothie and watched his boyfriend with hearts in his eyes.
After he’d finished cleaning, Ilya seemed to be at a bit of a loss, his eyes searching Shane’s house for something to do, his hands clasped together with the thumbs rubbing over each other in a nervous tic that was very unlike him.
But Shane always got his cleaner to come around when he knew Ilya would be visiting, and the house was spotless. Not that Shane was a particularly untidy person to begin with.
Finally, Ilya turned to Shane, his expression hopeful. “Want to work out or something?” he asked him.
Shane had to reluctantly shake his head. “I have practice in a few hours,” he said. Ilya’s face fell and Shane’s heart clenched. “What about if we take Anya for a walk?” Shane suggested instead.
Ilya nodded immediately, and he scooped Anya up from where she had been worrying at a bone he’d given her, pressing a kiss to her snout. “Anya, let’s go walk, yes?”
Immediately, the puppy was wiggling like a maniac, licking Ilya’s cheek and then scarpering for the door as she was placed down, looking back at them with her doggy grin.
The walk, while short, seemed to help slightly, although as soon as they returned, Ilya still seemed to be almost jumping out of his skin.
Shane watched him helplessly, wracking his brain for what might help. Fucking him, probably, getting him out of his head, but he didn’t have time for that. He’d need to leave within the hour, and he wouldn’t have time to fuck, get a shower and changed and over to the rink. And it looked like Ilya needed something more than just a rushed handjob.
“Ilya,” Shane said, walking over to him and placing a hand on the tense line of his back. Ilya glanced back at him and his eyes were shuttered, a closed book.
He kept playing with his hands, Shane noted. It reminded him, abruptly, of some of their video calls recently, where Ilya’s attention had been distracted as he worked at something off screen. He’d show him afterwards, often some strange, intricate knot he’d tied around his other arm, or his thigh. He’d smile brightly, all happy and proud, and then his expression would turn smug as Shane would swallow thickly, his eyes tracking the way those long, deft fingers would slide between the rope and Ilya’s skin.
Realisation dawned. Making Shane horny was just a side benefit. The rope thing actually helped him, somehow.
He slid his arms around Ilya, cuddling into his back and capturing his hands, sliding his own into them.
“Will you let me help?” he asked, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.
Ilya shook his head. “You have practice. Is fine, Shane. Go.”
“There’s enough time,” Shane said. “Come on.”
He’d been curious, ever since he’d rushed to Ilya’s house and found him tied up all those months ago. When Ilya hadn’t been looking, he’d put one of the ropes into his bag, hoping to practice, too. He was woeful at it, but then he hadn’t practiced it much, content instead to watch Ilya.
Still, it was helpful now, and he brought Ilya to the bedroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bed while Shane fetched the pool of rope from his closet.
Ilya’s eyes lit up, finally, at the sight. “I wondered where that had gone,” he said drily, raising an eyebrow at him.
Shane flushed but ignored the obvious bait, instead passing it to him and sitting down beside him.
“It helps you,” he said quietly. “We don’t have time for much, but I want to help. So, go for it,” he said. “Do one of your ties on me.”
Ilya studied him thoughtfully, his eyes flicking from the rope in his hand, to Shane’s face and then down his body. He looked at Shane like he was a particularly frustrating goalie, his evaluative, intense gaze making Shane squirm. He loved Ilya’s game face on the ice, and it was no different here and now.
“You sure?” Ilya checked in. “Might not be time to take it off before you leave.”
Shane didn’t care. He was dying to know what it felt like.
“Then don’t put it anywhere visible.”
Ilya’s eyes darkened at that, his head tilting to the side as his lips melted into that crooked grin.
It had an immediate effect on him, like it always did. Shane gave a long, suffering sigh, already knowing he’d be heading into practice with an over-large hoodie and his dick tucked into the waistband of his CCM athletic tights.
For right now, though, he was only wearing a pair of shorts, and Ilya took full advantage as he moved to kneel between Shane’s knees, pushing them apart to make room for himself. He looked up at Shane, chin crooking up in a silent plea, and Shane ducked down to kiss him, cradling his chin with his hands and smoothing his thumbs over his cheeks.
It was soft and sweet, and it made Shane want to cry, just a little bit.
This, more than the sex, was what he missed when one or both of them were away. Nothing lit him up inside more than Ilya’s mouth pressing insistently against his own, chasing his lips for always one more kiss, always one more taste. Nothing made him sadder than the last one before one of them really, really had to leave.
With a sigh, Ilya leaned back, and picked up the rope. He kept his gaze down as he unwound it, considering his canvas.
Shane tensed slightly and Ilya glanced up. His smile was simple, immediate.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “Relax. Won’t take long.”
He nodded and forced himself to take a shaky breath. Nerves fluttered in his stomach, along with a healthy dose of lust. Ilya’s hand on his thigh made him shiver, his head tilting back as he tried to stay still and quiet. As he tried to be good.
Somehow, though, not watching was worse, and so he looked back down, watching Ilya through lidded eyes, knowing that he was being unnaturally silent but completely unable to say a word. Something had robbed him of the ability to speak.
It amazed him how after all these years, Ilya’s hands on him still felt so intimate, so precious. His fingers were sure, confident as they moved up his thigh, twisting the rope around his skin into an intricate pattern, checking carefully that each knot was not too tight. Shane had to bite back a curse as his fingers slid between the rope and his skin, making the room feel suddenly much warmer.
As he tied, Ilya worked with a focused intensity, his brow furrowed in concentration. Yet, there was also a hint of tenderness in his touch, a silent acknowledgement of the intimacy they were sharing.
For all that this whole situation was both literally and figuratively tying him up in knots, Shane was glad he’d suggested it. Who else could Ilya be his entire self with but him? Who else could sit here and feel the devotion in every light brush of his fingers and treat Ilya as carefully and lovingly as he deserved in return?
It was difficult to feel Ilya’s hands on him and not beg him to move them higher, to touch him properly. But they didn’t have time, and Shane didn’t want to break the spell.
As the final knot was secured with a gentle tug, it felt like the two of them were suspended in time - a moment of quiet connection - with Ilya kneeling between his legs, one tied and one free, looking up at him with open admiration.
The moment stretched, and then, suddenly, it was over, with Ilya dropping his eyes with an easy smile and turning away. He gave an exaggerated groan as he pushed up from the ground, making Shane laugh as he dropped back onto the bed beside him.
Both of them looked down at Ilya’s handiwork.
Shane swallowed thickly. The dark rope against his skin looked lascivious in a way that had his heart rabbiting in his chest. He jumped as Ilya’s hand smoothed over his thigh, fingers travelling over the pattern, a simple diamond shape held in place at each point.
As hot as it was, it also felt... grounding, somehow. Like when Ilya took his hand away, that he was still there, still with him.
Shane blinked back tears at that and chanced a look at Ilya’s face. He was looking back at him, this utterly besotted look on his face. Better than that, the tension seemed to have eased, as well.
“You will have me with you the whole time,” Ilya said, mirroring Shane's thoughts. His smile turned devilish. “And then when you get home, you will be so horny you cannot think.”
Home. Yes. He would come home to Ilya.
But first, he would have to leave him. To go to the rink and skate with his team and do drills and pat the rookies on the head and have conversations with the coaching staff and pretend like he wasn't crawling out of his own skin.
“You're still an asshole,” he said, but he was smiling, and Ilya just chuckled, ducking down to press a soft, teasing kiss against his lips.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Go practice, Hollander. You need it.”
He pushed Ilya away, rolling his eyes, though he knew his own expression was doing something fond and adorable.
Shane stood up, and Ilya’s eyes tracked him around the room as he got ready, a smile dancing on his lips as he leaned back on his hands, looking like a Renaissance painting or something equally rare and precious and beautiful.
This was the man he would be coming home to. This was the man who had chosen him.
Once he was ready, his secret hidden behind his tights, a loose pair of sweats (likely Ilya’s) and an over-sized hoodie, Shane dropped one last kiss on Ilya’s lips and headed out.
Despite the fire racing in his veins from how absolutely rock hard he was, Shane was able to get to practice in one piece. He was hyper aware of the rope, the way it tightened and moved with his body, keeping him present, keeping him focused.
It was a strange feeling, but not unwelcome. Shane had a reputation for his tunnel vision, demanding perfection from himself, and in turn, everyone around him. For some reason, today, a little of that self-imposed pressure eased away, and instead he was skating with a fluidity and speed that made him feel like lightning as he completed a drill, batting the puck into the back of the net like their goalie wasn't even there.
“Fuck you, Hollander,” the goalie called out.
Shane shook his head, laughing. “You wish.”
There was no other word for it. He was showing off. And no one knew it was all for Ilya Rozanov.
Normally, that would have felt like a burden, like chains around his neck, a debilitating secret that dragged him down, making him hyper-aware of every look, every whispered comment, every laugh.
But today, it was like a huge weight had lifted. It was freeing.
He belonged to Ilya. And it was incredible.
“Great practice, Hollander,” Coach said, patting him on the shoulder. “Way to fire everyone up.”
Hayden agreed, skating up and bumping into his side. “Holy shit, Shane,” he said. “You were on fire today.”
“Thanks,” Shane said with a proud smile.
He listened with half an ear, smiling in all the right places as Hayden joked around and told him some story about what his girls had gotten up to that morning, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
It had been a few hours since he’d left Ilya sitting at the end of his bed, looking up at him with those twinkling hazel eyes Shane loved so much. He’d been at least half hard the entire time, and it was starting to grate on him. He needed release.
Practice over, he trailed his teammates to the locker room and kept his gaze averted as they all stripped out of their gear, heading for the showers.
Once the coast was mostly clear, he scrambled out of his gear to pull his sweatpants back on over his athletic tights, before quickly swapping his jersey for the hoodie he’d left draped over his cubicle.
“In a hurry today?” Hayden asked, shooting him a knowing grin.
While he still didn't like Ilya, he liked teasing Shane more, and he wasn't exactly hiding his eagerness to get back home. Shane was dying for a shower, but he knew that it wasn't an option just then. And it would be more fun with Ilya, regardless.
“Maybe,” Shane admitted, feeling his cheeks heat, though his lips couldn't help the smile that kept tugging at them.
He was excited to go home to Ilya. As always, he wished fervently that this was their life, that he could always go home to him like this.
Shaking off the daydream, he stood, offering Hayden a fist bump. “Say hi to Jackie for me,” he said cheerfully.
Hayden just smiled and shooed him out the door.