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i. hotel room
When he and Ilya look at each other like this, Shane thinks the whole world stops. It’s just the two of them, together, in a cocoon away from the world. Ilya’s above him, gold cross necklace dangling in such a way that calls him to bite his lover’s neck.
Ilya’s staring at him with an emotion Shane can’t name, but they’ve done this plenty of times—the hook up thing. And yet, Ilya always looks at him like this. Like he’s something. Like he could be everything.
One of Ilya’s hands leave a searing trail on his skin, coming up to cup his pec. He squeezes, thumbing at the nipple and Shane closes his eyes, body arching into the touch. Fuck, it feels good.
Even when they kiss, when Shane wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck, the man doesn’t stop squeezing his pec. The stimulation feels like electrical zaps down his body, each one going straight to his hard dick.
“Rozanov—“ He moans, but Ilya kisses him to shush him.
”Your chest, Hollander, fuck. So gorgeous, yes?” Ilya finally moves his hand, leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth. Shane whines, a bit embarrassed the sound came out like that. Ilya’s grinding into his thigh, and Shane meets him thrust for thrust.
”Roz—shit—“ Shane stutters, and this feels better than he thought. He might come from this, wait, he really might.
“Hey, ease up. This could end p-pretty soon—fuck!” Shane yells, legs twitching. Ilya’s bitten his nipple, it resting between his teeth. He lets it go, soothing it over with his tongue and spit in a way that makes Shane gasp, then a sound so obscene leaves his mouth he’ll take it to the grave as he comes all over himself, untouched.
Ilya’s eyes are filled with glee, and he sucks his pec hard while Shane bucks, the aftershocks toeing that delicious line of pleasure-pain.
“Hollander, you came from that? I love it, shit, I’m so hard right now.” Ilya pants, looking fucked himself. He’s slicking precome on his thigh like a snail, and Shane can feel his heartbeat in his ears.
“Asshole.” Shane mumbles, chest sensitive. Ilya smirks, coming up to lean over him. He cups the bottom of his pec, and Shane jolts.
“Maybe. But you look so pretty, I could not resist.” Ilya’s dick is rock hard, and Shane can already guess what he wants. He opens his mouth, letting it hang while Ilya scoots up the bed, smiling.
“You’re too good to me, solnyshko.” Shane thinks it’s the other way around, but then Ilya shoves himself so far down his throat he can’t think of much at all.
ii. the couch
So, Shane has a little…feeling about Ilya. Ever since that raunchy moment in the hotel he came hands-free from just playing with his pecs (your gorgeous tits, Ilya’s voice in his head supplies), he’s noticed a growing pattern of behavior.
Ilya won’t leave his chest the hell alone.
He currently has him pinned to the couch, fucking him viciously from behind. The pace is fast and rough, and Shane can do nothing but moan like he’s in heat or something into the cushions of the couch, loving every second.
”You’re so tight, Hollander. You like it?”
”Yesssss—“ Shane hisses, trying to take in lungfuls of air. Ilya grips onto his hips like Shane’s trying to float away, and he’s really not. He’s lying there and taking it like the good boy Ilya calls him, but his soul is trying to float away. Maybe Ilya grips so hard so he can hold onto that, too.
Whatever it is, it physically takes his breath away when Ilya (still inside him, that bastard) shifts them so they’re sitting up, Ilya’a chest to his back. He sets a deep grind that’s right on his prostate, and Shane chokes a bit, making a noise that’s half-trapped in his throat.
”Il—“ is all he gets out before one hand snakes around his torso, gripping his pec. Shane’s mind is on alert, because Ilya’s nothing short of himself, so Shane can already guess what he’s going to do.
Ilya’s going firm and deep, so it’s a semi-fast pace, and one of Shane’s hands go to clamp around Ilya’s, the other holding onto the side of the couch with an iron-tight grip.
“What are—you doing?” He asks, having to swallow the spit in his mouth. He’s close to drooling.
“I know you like this, Hollander. Do not lie.” Ilya cups his pec like a tit, squeezes it hard, purposefully rubbing against his nipple. Shane feels himself moan, he knows he tightens around Ilya involuntarily. Ilya groans into his neck, squeezing harder.
“Ah! Ilya, fuck, please—“ Shane stammers, Ilya kissing his neck. God, he’s close. He’s fucking close, and Ilya squeezing his stupid pec is going to get him there. His body is a traitor to his own mind.
”If only I could twist you around, suck on them. They get so hard just for me.” Ilya whispers dirtily into his ear, squeezing hard enough to hurt, and Shane can distantly hear himself whining as he spills all over his couch.
He ruts into it as he does, he squeezing along with Ilya, pulling every drop of his orgasm from his body. Ilya groans into his neck, speeding up a bit.
”Bend over.” He commands. Shane goes willingly, moaning a bit as he hears the slick sounds of Ilya removing the condom and jerking off behind him, and then the warm splatters of come on his back.
“Your arch is so gorgeous. You refuse to send pictures.” Ilya mumbles, fingertips running over the stretch marks on his sides. Shane rolls his eyes even though Ilya can’t see him.
“We are not sending pictures.”
“You are not. I’ve sent you plenty.”
”You have, Mr. Boob Man.” Ilya smiles a bit, it wicked in nature. Shane doesn’t know whether he wants to punch Ilya in his teeth or kiss him. He turns around and does the latter.
“Hey, Hollander.” Ilya goads while they leave the couch and wash up in the shower. Shane’s pissed off about coming on his cushions, but luckily it won’t take a lot for the stains to come out. He has to stop listening to Ilya’s horny suggestions. He should send the man his cleaning bill out of spite.
“Yeah?” Ilya’s hands rake down his back and he shivers.
“You came untouched. Again.” Shane blinks, the words true. He feels himself blush from head to toe, and he pushes Ilya a bit, turning away from him.
“So what?”
“Is nothing. I like it.” Shane snorts.
“Of course you do, you freak.”
“You love me being a freak. When your legs are to the ceiling and you moan oh, Rozanov—“
He doesn’t move fast enough to miss Shane’s punch to his arm.
iii. interview (bathroom)
Part of being an athlete as popular as them meant being pulled into rooms and asked questions by reporters. If Shane was being honest, he hated these interviews. Of course he has responses ready: his mother had drilled into him since he was a gangly little teen that the image was just as important as the talent.
That didn’t mean he enjoyed any of this. He felt awkward, like if he didn’t give the reporters what they wanted then he wasn’t worth anything. His playing always spoke for him better than his own words. But here he and Ilya were, in a room full of reporters with cameras and notepads, and Ilya’s looking at them, but he’s glancing at…his chest.
Shane knows he leaves much to be desired in the fashion department, but they had just gotten out of practice, so he still has on a long sleeve black compression top and sweats. He’s freshly showered, hair still a bit wet and sticking to his forehead. He’s as presentable as can be with how spontaneous this interview was.
Ilya has him beat with a plain white t-shirt, black leather jacket, and dark wash jeans. His curly hair is slicked back, and he looks dangerous. But Shane’s seen him in softer light, knows this is a bit of a character Ilya plays. To what degree, Shane hasn’t cracked yet.
What the Russian man can’t hide is desire, which is written all over his face. Shane’s aware the compression shirt is tight, it’s supposed to be. But even he can concede that it does make his chest look the tiniest bit…obscene. His pecs are defined (he thinks to himself Ilya has great pecs too, even more defined than his, but he’s not the boob man) and since it’s so damn cold in here his nipples are hard.
They’re athletes, coursing with adrenaline and testosterone—these things happen. But as Ilya finds artful ways to get around answering the questions too deeply, he knows what Ilya’s thinking. He fights the blush that wants to spread across his body, crossing his arms to cover his own chest. Like—a woman would. This is ridiculous.
Ilya taps his foot underneath the table, and Shane instinctually taps it back. Unspoken but powerful—I’m with you.
When the interviews are over, Ilya doesn’t hesitate to send him a glance, head ever so subtly gesturing to the men’s bathroom. Shane agrees, and they head there one after the other as to not raise suspicion. When Shane shuts the door behind him, Ilya locks it, staring at him with wild eyes.
“You wear this to turn me on, da?” Ilya asks, eyes roaming over his form. Shane hunches in on himself as he’s pressed against the door.
“No. Practice is over, but I just grabbed the first thing in my bag. You know it’s cold.”
”You cross your arms, push your chest up like that…you know just how to turn me on, solnyshko.” Shane blushes then, shaking his head.
“You’re just a freak, not everything is meant to turn you on.” Ilya leans down, puts himself face to face with his chest. His nipples are still hard, and his breath hitches with anticipation. He knows Ilya heard it, but other man doesn’t comment on it.
“Be quiet for me. You are loud.” Shane scoffs, retort on his tongue, but it shrivels away as Ilya latches into his left pec, tonguing him through his shirt. His hand immediately snaps towards his mouth, covering it to muffle his moan.
“Good boy.” Ilya praises, kissing his nipple. Shane shakes against the door. Ilya cups him, bouncing his hands up and down while he gently squeezes.
“One day we get you a bra, yes? You’d look so fucking good, Hollander.” Shane tsks at him as Ilya begins to motorboat his chest as if he actually has tits.
“Fuck off, I’m not a girl.” Ilya bites his right nipple in retaliation to his words, Shane’s hips bucking up for friction he won’t find.
“You do not have to be a girl to be pretty. You know this, I always tell you you’re pretty.” Ilya gently rolls his nipples with his fingers as he comes up, connecting his lips with Shane’s. Shane whines in his mouth, Ilya finally giving him some friction to grind on.
“You will come like this, okay?” Shane nods, tears on his waterline.
“Okay, yes, fuck—“ He’s trying to be quiet. He’s trying so hard, and Ilya looks so proud that he’s trying. He pinches a bit harder, speeds up, and the sensation is so strong he wraps his arms around Ilya and kisses him like he needs it to live.
“My beautiful baby boy, so good for me.”
”Yes, I’m good—I’m—“ Ilya places a thigh firmly between his legs, and forces Shane to opt for a slow, dirty grind, hips moving so fluidly against him. The compression shirt has ridden up a bit, Shane’s waist on display. He hopes he looks good to Ilya, back dimples prominent as he keeps grinding, keeps taking from a man that loves to give.
“I’m gonna—Rozanov—“
“On my leg, yes, just like that…” Ilya whispers, licking into his mouth right as he runs his thumbs over his nipples so gently he damn near squirts in his underwear, body vibrating from how good the orgasm is.
“Oh my god.” Shane breathes out, the tears finally falling. Each time Ilya does this, fucks with his chest, the orgasm is more sensitive than the last. The bastard is changing him.
“Fuck, can I—“ Ilya asks, practically humping Shane. He wants to get on his knees, but instead he takes his hand and unbuttons Ilya’s jeans, gripping the man’s dick with a tight fist. Ilya groans, biting it off at the last minute. He tucks his head into Shane’s neck, fucking into his hand.
“So good, Hollander. So fucking good.” Ikya mumbles. And when he comes, he’ll lick it up from his hand, and he’ll let Ilya run his hands through his hair even though his underwear is sticky with his own come.
And they won’t talk about the chest thing. They won’t mention it at all.
iv. boston
It all comes to a head in Boston for many reasons. He tries to treat these things as a one-off ever since fucking Vegas. Sure, he’s mostly over it and he knows it’s a bit of fun, but he can’t be more invested than that. Ilya made it clear it’s nothing more than simple fun. They’ve done this for years, they know each other now. It’s easy.
But Ilya asks him to stay, so he does. Because Ilya always gets him there, and he feels so floaty and good. It’s always a shame he or Ilya have to get up and go, leaving that feeling in the bed for only one of them to have. So he says yeah, okay and stays over.
Ilya makes him a tuna melt, gives him cold ginger ale, and talks way too much about girls. Svetlana, I fuck girls, I love fucking girls—that’s all Shane hears. Then he answers a phone call, tense Russian spilling from his lips, the words so harsh Shane can feel his shoulders close to his ears.
Ilya’s stressed, and he’s being weird. Shane should be angry at him (bringing up all this shit about girls) but more than anything he’s worried about Ilya. That sounded intense.
“Is your dad okay?” He hesitantly asks. Ilya looks at him with a bit of disbelief.
“You speak Russian now?” Shane scoffs, shaking his head.
“I know the word for father.” And soon enough, he finds himself in Ilya’s lap, the other man looking at him with that gaze, but deeper. It makes the back of his neck heat, because Ilya’s looking at him like…like he could love him.
He dips his head to kiss Ilya, tasting tuna melt, and something that’s distinctly him. It makes him throb in the stolen sweats he wears, and Ilya’s tugging at the bottom of his shirt.
”Off. Now.” He commands, voice more needy than dominant. Shane listens (he always listens) Ilya‘s hands snapping to his pecs like they belong there. He pulls his pants down a bit, back dimples on display, stretch marks like spider webs across his hips as they begin to grind into each other.
”Fuck, you do not understand what you do to me.” Ilya whispers, leaning into his chest. He slowly kisses from one side to the other, Shane already shaking in anticipation for when that sinful mouth wraps around him.
And when Ilya wraps a soft, wet, mouth around his nipple, he can’t hold the moan that leaves his mouth. He has to come, he needs this. Fuck, he needs to feel close to Ilya in this space they’ve created. He decided to stay, and he knows that means something.
He pulls Ilya out of his pants, leans into Ilya as he wraps a hand around the both of them, stroking up and down at a fast pace. Ilya falls apart underneath him, Shane’s other hand holding him at his shoulder.
“Oh, Rozanov—“ Shane mumbles, the feeling too good. Ilya comes up for a reprieve, the two of them knocking heads together and Shane goes faster and faster, both breathing into each other’s faces.
”I pulled away because I know how fast you come if I play with you here.” Ilya snakes a hand up, kneads at his chest like dough. It’s just the right amount of pressure, and Shane huffs out a laugh.
”It’s all your fault.” He whispers into Ilya’s mouth, he feeling his orgasm creep on him. Ilya’s no better. He’s had enough sex with the man to know when he’s about to lose his mind.
“You gonna come for me, Rozanov?” Ilya growls, bucking his hips into Shane’s hand. He abruptly stops Shane from moving, taking his hand and spitting in it, placing it back, moving his own hand with Shane’s hand. Shane’s eyes roll back. They just might come together.
”Keep going and I will, shit…” Ilya groans, body shaking. The sex they’re having right now feels different. It has a different weight than other times they’ve been together, and Shane can’t really explain why that is.
But then Ilya does it, he says Shane, fuck, as they come together like they’re…lovers or something. Like they do this all the time, like they’re madly in love and can’t get enough of each other.
And he’s the idiot that breathes Ilya, oh God, in the man’s mouth, Ilya’s hand gently thumbing his chest as they come down from their high.
It’s gotten too real. His body is alive with anxiety, and Ilya’s face is pained as he jumps up from the couch.
”Hollander.” Ilya begs, and Shane acts like he can’t tell it’s begging. Some distant part wants to stay, wants to say I love you, but he’s too scared. It’s been a tit-for-tat thing between them for so long, real feelings being involved is a whole new territory. One he’s too afraid to explore.
“I’m sorry.” Shane tells him, gathering his things and leaving. He swears his chest stings from where Ilya gripped it, and he softly touches it in the car as he peels away from Ilya’s apartment, head fuzzy but heart empty.
v. the cottage
They’ve finally gotten over themselves, and funnily enough, he has to thank Scott Hunter for it. He kisses a man on live television, and Ilya calls him, telling him he’s coming to the cottage. So much has happened between them. The All-Stars game, Ilya’s father passing, he getting that nasty fracture and concussion—so much. But now, they’re going to take a step together. And that step feels good.
His cottage is sleek, nice, and most of all discreet. It’s the off-season, and it’s just the two of them here. They immediately get busy, touching each other without abandon, enjoying the uninterrupted time they possess. For two whole weeks, Shane will have Ilya all to himself.
And the lines begin to blur as they spend time at the cottage. Or have they always been blurred, but Shane finally accepts it now? Well, it really doesn’t matter. He and Ilya fuck all day, play all evening, and cuddle in each other’s arms all night.
And when he and Ilya finally talk, finally tell each other they love each other—Ilya saying ya tebya lyublyu: I love you in Russian—Shane cries. Ilya cries too, and they grasp each other as if they’re going to die in that bed. Because it feels that way, like the world could cave in on them after they’ve finally admitted what they’ve felt for years on end.
But it doesn’t. The world is still and calm as they fall asleep, and night becomes day.
Ilya tells Shane to stay in the bed. They opt for a slow kiss, it becoming more heated as they get lost in each other. Shane finds himself on his side, Ilya wrapped around him from behind as he slips two lubed fingers inside, touching that spot that feels like heaven.
”We do not have anymore condoms. We’ve used them all.” Ilya mumbles, voice hazy as he keeps fingering Shane. He looks like he wants to devour Shane, like he’s starving. Shane shakes his head fast.
“We don’t need it.” Ilya pauses, glancing at Shane with wide eyes, shock as plain as day on his face.
“Are you sure?” Shane groans. They’re talking too much.
”Yes. Now please fuck me. Please.” Shane begs, hitching his leg up a bit more so Ilya can gain access. And Ilya doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t make him wait. He shifts, plastering himself to Shane’s back as he slides in with nothing between them. It is just Ilya inside of Shane, and Shane moans loudly at how heavy Ilya feels inside of him.
Ilya had always gone a fast pace when it comes to sex, and half of the reason was due to the limited time they had with each other (aside from it being fun). Now that they have no worries, Ilya takes his time. His thrusts are slow but powerful. He rocks into Shane, and Shane rocks back, legs shaking.
“Oh God, yes. Yes, yes, yes, Ilya—“ Ilya looks lost in Shane, utterly gone. Fuck drunk. His gold cross necklace thumps against his chest as he thrusts, Shane’s hand snaking up to grab onto Ilya’s curls tight. He grips so tight Ilya groans a bit in pain, but he doesn’t stop. He just holds Shane, eyes zeroing in on the nipple so close to his face.
Shane should’ve seen it coming, but Ilya’s dick is hitting the spot that makes his toes curl with startling accuracy.
Ilya leans down, wrapping his lips around his nipple and sucking so softly Shane keens, body jumping as he grinds back into Ilya. The object of all his desires pulls away for a second, smirking at Shane.
“Wonder what your tits would look like if I were to knock you up. You’d be so gorgeous. You’d glow, solnyshko.”
And that’s—fucking crazy. Yet Shane’s dick twitches, and his hole tightens at Ilya’s words. He can’t get pregnant. They have careers, there’s so much going on, and it just isn’t possible.
But he whines, he allows Ilya to squeeze his pec like it’s a tit, and Ilya licks at it like something could come from it. Milk, his horny mind supplies.
“You’d be so beautiful, letting me fuck your cunt like this. Tell me, baby. You’d let me drink from you, wouldn’t you?”
”Yes! Ilya, keep going, don’t stop—“
”Won’t stop until I breed you. Fill you up, then make your tits leak, too, hmm?” Ilya stutters at the end, hips slapping into Shane. He thinks of himself a bit round, a bit bloated, and a bit spread for Ilya. He would hate not being able to play hockey. His dick leaks pre-come at the image anyways, betraying him. He finds he doesn’t mind it much.
”Ilya! I’m close.” He sucks from him again, and Shane’s going to get there from this. Ilya always makes it so good for him. Always.
“Yes, you’d be the prettiest mommy. All gorgeous and full of me. I’ll fuck you everyday until it happens.” Shane knows Ilya’s a man of his word, and as he bites his ear, thumbing over his nipple, Shane shouts to the ceiling, come leaking out of him like a geyser. He clenches around Ilya so tight the other man shouts a curse in Russian, spilling inside of him. It’s wet, warm, and perfect, Shane milking everything from Ilya.
Ilya pushes himself in deeper, pressing hard on his prostate. He keeps thumbing at his nipple, and the stimulation is too much. It hurts so good when semi-clear liquid dribbles from his cock, Shane crying on the bed.
“Fuck! Ilya—I can’t—“
”Yes, malyshka.” Ilya whispers to him, giving him a tongue kiss to the neck. “Squirt for me. Just like that.” Shane’s trembling when the pulses of the orgasm wash away, Ilya leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“That was…”
”Life-changing. The most amazing sex you’ve ever had, thank you Ilya Rozanov…” Ilya says, Shane giggling at him. He leans in and kisses Ilya so softly the other man sighs in content.
”Yeah. All of the above, actually.”
+1 (backyard patio)
Shane’s grilling some burgers, breathing in the fresh air while listening to the caws of birds in the area. He thinks Ilya will enjoy going out to the lake again. Shane gets cold out there easily, but he could stay for hours watching the smile on Ilya’s face.
He feels rather than sees Ilya come up behind him, leaning in and kissing him sweetly on his cheek.
Then, the sly bastard reaches a hand and cups his pec, causing Shane to fumble with his spatula, almost dropping it. Ilya chuckles a bit at Shane, squeezing the pec in his hand.
“Careful. Wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.”
”You have some nerve. What’s up with you and my chest, anyways?” Ilya steps back a bit, Shane finally turning to face the man. Ilya’s trying to look cool, but he can see a bit of red on his cheeks. He would call that out, too, but he’ll spare Ilya this one time.
“Is no big deal. You’re just very beautiful there. Can a man not appreciate?”
“Sure. But your appreciation borders on obsession.”
”You have a nice rack! It calls to me!” Shane sputters, wanting to whack Ilya with the spatula, but ultimately deciding against it.
“I’m not a fucking girl! Jesus!”
”You only say that for women?” Shane nods, Ilya humming.
“I stand by what I said. Is very nice.” Shane rolls his eyes, flipping the burgers.
“You think it took yesterday?” Ilya asks, pressing back against Shane and rubbing his belly. Shane shakes his head, letting the smell of spiced meat waft slowly into his nose. He might need a bit more dry rub.
“You wish. Now go to the kitchen and get some plates.” Ilya slaps his ass, Shane jumping from the impact while Ilya runs off, cheshire grin on his face.
“Little shit.” He mumbles to himself, smiling. The burgers are almost done, and Ilya comes outside too fast, glass plates in his arms.
“Don’t drop the plates trying to be funny!” Shane yells at him, Ilya snapping back with something that makes him grip his stomach from how hard he laughs.