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Speed. Precision. Focus. Control.
Words Shane Hollander has lived by for the last 25 years. Words that have led him to Rookie of the Year, three Stanley Cups and a Conn Smythe trophy. Words he’s repeated to himself as he stares longingly at the cookies in the grocery store aisle before moving toward the produce section to grab his usual selection of ‘bird food’ as Hayden likes to tease him. Words that soothe the ache in his chest when he’s the last one in on a joke or fumbles his way through a conversation. Nothing else matters more than hockey.
For the first six years of his life, Shane studied the world as if it were a rulebook everyone else had already memorized. It made his dad happy when Shane played with his toys. So, Shane would play with his toys. He would line up his stuffed animals from biggest to smallest. He would organize his building blocks by colour. He would sort through his mother’s button collection for hours. Speaking Japanese made his mother proud. So, Shane exclusively spoke Japanese at home. From the first night he was brought home from the hospital, Shane slept through the night. As the Hollander family settled into their new routine, he rarely cried. He rarely threw a tantrum. Relatives commented on how he was such an easy baby. Yuna and David never voiced their concerns that Shane was almost too easy. What parent would complain that their baby slept through the night and doesn’t scream at the top of their lungs when they’re upset?
“Are we missing something?” David asks his wife one night as they slide into bed. “Missing what exactly?” Yuna responds with a frown, taking off her glasses. “Shane…he’s…different,” David says slowly, carefully. Yuna shrugs noncommittally, “He’s a five-year-old boy. He’s still figuring himself out.”
David shakes his head as he looks at his wife, “You and I both know it’s more than that. He doesn’t engage with kids his age. He can never make eye contact with anyone. Yesterday, I pretended to use a banana as a telephone, and it was like he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Asked me if I was okay and told me that it’s a banana. That a banana cannot be a phone.”
“I just want to connect with our son,” David’s voice is thick with emotion. Before Shane was brought into the world, David had never laid eyes on something so perfect, minus his wife. David made a silent vow as he took his son into his arms for the first time. A promise that his love will always be unconditional. That he would protect him until his dying breath. Nothing mattered more to him than his son and his wife.
Yuna’s face softens as she rests her head on her husband’s shoulder. “It’ll happen when it’s meant to.” David exhales softly before pressing a kiss to the top of Yuna’s head. David can only hope she’s right.
On his six birthday, Shane’s parents sign him up for the Timbits Minor League hockey team in Ottawa and for the first time in his six years of life, Shane could breathe. With its strict rules and guidelines, hockey brought order to the innate chaos of Shane’s world. Each practice was an hour in which Shane didn’t have to guess what was expected of him. Shane didn’t have to pretend to have fun so his parents would worry less. He didn’t have to exhaust himself trying to mold himself into that never quite fit. Stepping onto the ice felt like coming home.
It wasn’t long before Shane was eating, breathing and sleeping hockey. His room now filled with posters of the Ottawa Centaurs team and his bookshelf stuffed with hockey books and memorabilia. Yuna and David almost started sobbing at the pure delight on their son’s face as he unwrapped his first hockey stick.
As Shane progressed from Timbits to House League to Rep A, Rep AA and eventually Rep AAA, Yuna threw herself into becoming like a secondary coach. They would review game tape after game tape. Team stats were discussed over the dinner table. Dissecting each play became routine.
David would never admit the acidic jealousy that burns brightly despite of himself. He is thrilled that his wife and son found something to bond over. Truly he was. But a small, selfish part of him wondered if he would ever have that with Shane. That isn’t to say David wasn’t involved in Shane’s career. He went to every game he could when he wasn’t working. Always the loudest cheerer in the crowd. They would watch re-runs of old games like the New York Admirals vs the Boston Raiders and Tampa vs Florida. It was enough. It had to be. And yet that flame never quite burnt out.
When Shane turned 15, his focus and determination reached a level neither Yuna nor David expected. His coaches were thoroughly impressed by Shane’s skills, even saying that he could make it to the NHL soon. A dream Shane had since he felt his skates touch the ice. David and Yuna would stop at nothing to see their son achieve his dream. And so, when Shane turned 16, he joined the Junior Hockey League.
Nerves had settled deep in his ribcage as he approached his first ever International Prospect Cup at the age of 17. Everything was riding on this game in Regina, Saskatchewan. Failure has never been an option, and it wasn’t going to start now.
If you had told Shane that there was more to life than hockey, he would never believe you.
That was until a certain brown-eyed Russian with soft blonde curls and a cigarette hanging between his lips told Shane he wouldn’t be so nice when they beat him.
Looking back, Shane never stood a chance.
Shane had to begrudgingly admit Ilya Rozanov was good. Really good. In fact, he may be the only player that’s on par with Shane himself. They are no longer rookies. Both have become captains of their respected teams. He’s also the world’s biggest asshole. Rozanov lives to chirp at Shane during the games Montreal found themselves against Boston.
“Shane Hollander,” a familiar accented drawl sends a shiver down Shane’s spine. The Russian stands a couple feet away; a smirk permanently stamped on his face. “Rozanov,” Shane grits out as he finishes his warmup stretches. This was their first game of the 2012 season.
Screams and shouts can be heard from the stands. Montreal fans booing those in black and yellow jerseys. Boston fans flipping off the Canadians. There was no rivalry like that between the Montreal Metros and the Boston Raiders. When Ilya was recruited to Boston and Shane to Montreal, the rivalry reached an all-time fever.
“You ready to lose Hollander?” The Russian leans against his stick as he stares down at Shane. Shane rolls his eyes, “You don’t have anything better to do Rozanov?” Shane has never been the best at chirping, preferring to let his teammates do it. “And miss you on your knees? Never.”
A flush starts at the base of Shane’s neck and over the sprinkle of freckles across his face. “Fuck you,” but for some reason it lacks its normal bite. “Later,” Rozanov mouths with a wink before gliding away to join Cliff Marleau. Shane hates the way his stomach coils with heat at Rozanov’s promise. At least that’s what he tells himself.
Montreal wins 5-2 and Shane can’t help the smirk that appears on his own face as he shakes his hand down the line of players until he reaches Rozanov. “What was that about losing Rozanov? I should have some time this summer to teach you some skills. Your backhand is a little weak.” Rozanov’s face contorts in anger before smoothing back out to his usual cocky mask. “My backhand is fine,” Rozanov bites out. Shane shrugs, “Well the offer stands,” he replies before skating off the ice.
The moment the hotel door swings open, Shane is pushed up against the wall beside the door, Rozanov’s hand wrapped carefully around his throat. “Hollander,” Rozanov’s voice is soft. Like a tiger padding silently through the trees. “Rozanov,” Shane’s voice trembles in spite of himself. “How do you want it?” Rozanov trails his hand down and across Shane’s chest. He pinches Shane’s nipples hard through his shirt.
“I asked you a question Hollander.”
“W-Whatever you want.”
“Who knew Canada’s golden boy was such a little slut?”
A wanton moan falls from Shane’s lips. This is what he has been craving. It’s been three weeks and Shane is nearly delirious with need. There are two places Shane never has to pretend. Never has to try. On the ice and in hotel rooms. Though it could be more likely because of the body more attuned to his own than the rooms themselves. Shane doesn’t think too hard about it because if he does, he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.
Before the draft pick four years ago, the two partnered to do a campaign shoot. Shane didn’t know how to respond when he found out Rozanov was the one to arrange it. Neither could he tear his eyes away from the way the Russian played with himself in the communal shower. His own cock swelling at the brazen display. He still remembers 1410. His room number that Rozanov showed up to later that night.
The sex was good. It was better than good. It was mind blowing. The ache left between Shane’s legs stays for days. A semi permanent reminder of what happened and with who. It was meant to be simple. No strings attached sex. Solely a way to work out some much-needed stress. But what started as late nights, and rushed goodbyes turned into whispered love confessions and waking up wrapped around each other.
If you told a 17-year-old Shane Hollander that he would one day be openly gay, playing on the same team as his husband and with the Ottawa Centaurs no less, he would likely have an aneurysm.
If you asked a 26-year-old Shane whether he would go through all of this again, the heartache, the confusion, the anxiety, the love, his answered would be yes with a small, private smile on his face. Always. Because the thing is? They were always meant to fit.
Unlike his husband, Shane’s social media presence is scarce. An inconspicuous post here and a retweet there. Privacy is Shane’s most prized possession. While he understands there is a certain obligation as a famous hockey player, he doesn’t believe strangers need to see every aspect of his life. Shane has spent so long crafting his image as Canada’s golden boy. The embodiment of what it means to be Canadian. Polite. Tolerant. Respectful. Apologetic to a fault.
Shane Hollander belongs to the world, but Shane has to belong to himself or else…he’ll vanish.
At times, Shane envies how easily Ilya interacts with the world. Cocky, self-assured, the life of the party. Unapologetic. The persona Ilya plays up for the cameras. Shane has never wondered if Ilya grew up like him, without a rulebook. Ilya Rozanov makes his own rulebook. A rulebook he has slowly been teaching Shane.
Shane did try. He tried really hard, but he’s come to terms with the fact that his husband is inherently more interesting than him. Ilya loves to tease Shane about how boring he is and while most of the time Shane knows it’s meant to be harmless, the words still land heavy and sharp in his gut anyways.
Shane knows he isn’t the most exciting person in the world. Much preferring to be curled up on the couch with a cup of tea, a book and a blanket than out clubbing. He eats the same foods every day to maintain his physique (and if he kisses Ilya after he’s eaten a cookie just to savour the melted chocolate on his tongue that’s between Shane and himself). He’s predictable. Mundane. Unlike his husband, Shane’s interests outside of hockey are rare.
Ilya has always been so good to him. Never making a fuss when Shane needs to leave an event early because he’s overstimulated. Never making a big deal about lowering the lights because he knows Shane won’t ask. Never complaining when Shane tells him that smoking is bad for him. Never second guessing their relationship.
Ilya Rozanov was an inevitability Shane never saw coming. But that doesn’t stop the persistent thoughts of not being good enough for his husband. Worthy enough to keep. To love. That one day Shane’s boring personality becomes the reason Ilya falls out of love.
Maybe that’s why he’s surfing Twitter tonight instead of out with their team celebrating yet another win. Currently, Ilya is out with the Ottawa Centaurs at Sky Lounge after their victory against Montreal. Ilya had promised he wouldn’t be out late, but Shan reassured him that it’s fine. He knows Ilya needs this. Needs to blow off steam in a way that can’t always be satisfied with binging The Great British Bakeoff and couch sex. Even if it’s great couch sex.
This also gives him time to do what he does best. Research.
He starts with a simple Google search. ‘How to keep your partner interested in you?’ which leads Shane to become a mortifying shade of red at some of the suggestions. A Twitter link pops up and Shane clicks on it before he can think too much about it.
Simon @hollanovmyloves
Shane Hollander is stronger than I am because if I was married to Ilya Rozanov I’d never let him leave the house.
#Hollanov #SimonSays #WheresMyIlya
15 Retweets 3 Quote Tweets 122 Likes
Shane frowns as he reads the tweet. Why would Shane never let him leave the house? Shane isn’t the boss of Ilya. God knows Ilya wouldn’t listen anyways. Shane shakes his head. He goes to exit the page before pausing. Curiosity gets the better of him as he watches himself tap on the #Hollanov hashtag.
Immediately Shane’s feed is filled with various tweets surrounding Shane and Ilya. Some tweets share photos of the two at the Irina Foundation or at their hockey camp in the summer. Some tweets share updates about both him and Ilya which Shane finds a little creepy. Why does anyone want to know that he went to the dentist this week? Do people really care what he bought at the farmer’s market?
A fanart slides into Shane’s view and Shane isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore. The artist’s, @chaosandfoxes, tweet contains a digital print of Shane and Ilya.
Najie @chaosandfoxes
Had this idea in my drafts for over two weeks and finally got around to finishing it yesterday. These two live in my head rent free istg. Let me know your thoughts!
#Hollanov #ShaneHollander #IlyaRozanov #artistsoftwitter
4 Retweets 1 Quote Tweet 75 Likes
Ilya is gazing up at Shane with a look of pure reverence and devotion. Hands placed possessively on each of Shane’s hips. That isn’t what catches Shane’s attention though. No.
It’s the silk silver dress draped over Shane’s body that’s being held together solely by the stringed laces on the sides of the dress.
Now, Shane has never once in his life questioned his gender nor his masculinity. He’s comfortable in his identity and his sexuality. Yet Shane feels the familiar pool of heat in his stomach and his cock growing with interest at the brazen display in front of him.
A voice in his head whispers that this isn’t who he is. That this is the opposite of who he’s supposed to be. Shane is tired of being who he’s supposed to be.
Gathering the courage to look at the image again, Shane admires the way the artist captures his muscles. Despite being in the best physical shape of his life, Shane looks soft. Graceful. Feminine. Shane thinks back to the campaign he and Ilya did all those years ago. Shane thinks he’s finally starting to understand why Ilya called him pretty.
The slam of the front door startles Shane to the point where he drops his phone on the floor. Shane quickly scrambles for it, fumbling the device in his hands before throwing himself back into bed. Shane quickly exits out of the browser as Ilya walks into their bedroom.
“Hi moya lyubov,” Ilya says with a smile. Shane drinks his husband in. Ilya’s face is flushed. His Cheetah-print shirt nearly undone all the way. Jeans cling sinfully to his legs. Ilya’s chest glistens with sweat. Shane wants to devour him.
“Y-You’re uh home early,” Shane replies. A light blush appears on his cheeks as Ilya raises an eyebrow. “I miss my husband. So I come home. Now is crime?” There’s a glint in Ilya’s eye that proves to Shane that he isn’t really offended. Shane shakes his head as he reaches towards him. “I missed you too.” Ilya presses his lips against Shane’s with a contented sigh. The kiss is languid and slow. Neither in a hurry. They never have to hurry again.
Regretfully Ilya pulls away first much to Shane’s dismay. Ilya chuckles, “Need to shower. Then I join you.” Shane has half a mind to tell Ilya to hell with the sheets because Shane needs Ilya now. But he refrains. Once again Shane is blown away by the simple ways Ilya shows him love. Ilya knows how much Shane despises outside clothes on their bed. Refuses to get into bed without at least a quick shower at the end of the day. So, Ilya does the same.
“Hurry back,” Shane says as he bites his lip.
2 minutes and 17 seconds later (Shane counted) Ilya is on top of him and the rest of the world falls away.
Shane doesn’t think about that fanart. He doesn’t. Except that’s exactly what he does. Two weeks. For two weeks it’s taken over a concerning amount of his brain. Ilya can tell something is up but knows that after 9 years together Shane will come to him when he’s ready and the more he pushes the more Shane pulls away.
It’s a month later when Shane finds an excuse to be alone again. Ilya is at an event for…Shit Shane can’t remember. But in his defense, Ilya told him while showing him the preview photos where all Shane could think about was how much he wanted to ride his husband in that dark navy blue pinstripe suit.
The point is, Shane is alone for the next few hours and he is determined to make the most of them. With trembling fingers, Shane opens Twitter on his laptop and slowly types in the Hollanov hashtag.
There it is. Unlike the last time, the fanart of Shane in a dress is only a few tweets from the top. Shane’s eyes widen at the traction the post got since he first saw.
408 Retweets 20 Quote Tweets 1,695 Likes
A mix of humiliation and morbid fascination curl in Shane’s stomach. Gingerly Shane scrolls down to see the replies.
Ali @shaneshockeystick
God, I wish this was real
12 Retweets 1 Quote Tweet 89 Likes
Ben @ilyasjockstrap
Imagine being worshipped by the god himself!!!
#Whenisitmyturn #HollanovSupremacy #Westaywinning
20 Retweets 4 Quote Tweets 102 Likes
Nicky @ilyascurlsaregorgeous
OH MY GOD. Give me 14 of those right now!!!
#Hollanov #DatAss #DoingtheLordswork
136 Retweets 5 Quote Tweets 747 Likes
Steph @hockeyhusbands1410
This unlocked something in me I never knew I needed
56 Retweets 2 Quote Tweets 281 Likes
Shane can’t help but agree with this comment. Before he can talk himself out of it, Shane spends the next several minutes creating a secret account. Shame can’t even catch up to him before he hits ‘Create Account’
Jane @tunameltsandhandjobs
Replying to @hockeyhusbands1410
Agreed. It’s stunning.
16 Retweets 45 Likes
Shane opens a new incognito window in his browser. He looks around as if Ilya will pop out at any second. In the search bar, Shane types in dresses and hits enter. His screen fills with images of brightly coloured dresses in various styles and links to articles showcasing ‘The Best 25 Dresses for Summer’ or ‘Classy Dresses for Every Occasion.’
Hesitantly Shane clicks on the prettylittlething website and is overwhelmed with the amount of dress options. As Shane scrolls through the pages of dresses, his cock twitches. Shane squirms slightly as his breath gets shallower.
Shane almost misses the dress because he’s trying to tamp down on his growing arousal. But Shane’s jaw nearly hits the mattress because that’s the exact same dress that is in the artist’s picture. A deep ache settles in his bones the longer he stares at the dress. The dress is made of silk and has a shimmery texture to it. Shane chews his bottom lip as he hits ‘Add to Cart’
He’s about to check out when his eye catches something lace. Shane’s face burns molten red as he realizes he’s looking at lingerie. Rows of panties in different materials fill his screen. Shane doesn’t understand the difference between thongs, bikini, boyshort, cheeky or hiphugger.
The longer he stays on the website the more comfortable he becomes. More specifically, the harder he gets. Looking through the photos of each type of pantie left Shane trembling in excitement. His imagination running wild at what he would look like in each of these. Shane wonders what Ilya would think. Would he think Shane was sexy? Would he think that Shane is a freak? Shane swallows hard and puts 2 different pairs of panties in his cart before checking out and slams his laptop shut with a loud click.
Shane nearly jumps out of his skin as Ilya pads into the room. Ilya looks at him with a raised eyebrow, but his eyes are filled with concern. “You are feeling better, yes?” Ilya asks as he crosses over to Shane’s side of the bed.
Right. Shane told Ilya he wasn’t feeling well before he went out. “I’m good. Rest definitely helped.” Shane internally winces at how high his voice is. Ilya frowns and presses his hand against Shane’s forehead. “Solnishko, you are very warm. You should have told me. I would stay home.”
If it was possible, Shane’s face turns redder. There is no way he can tell Ilya what he was looking at. “Um…I should shower. Feel sweaty.” Well at least that isn’t a lie. Ilya nods and before Shane can argue, Ilya picks him up and carries him into the bathroom. “I can walk,” Shane grumbles. Ilya hums in agreement, “But I am your husband. Is my duty to help you.” Shane really doesn’t deserve him.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane says softly. Despite still stumbling occasionally over the words, Ilya’s smile when Shane speaks Russian makes it all worth it.
“Ya tebya lyublyu.”
A month flies by in the blink of an eye. The Ottawa Centaurs are burning a direct path to the Stanley Cup. Back-to-back games in different cities have the team exhausted with the time zone changes. Thankfully, the team has a three-day break before going against the New York Admirals.
Dragging his body into the house, Shane feels his shoulders sag in relief. Clearly Ilya feels the same way as he watches his husband drop his bag by the front door and heads to the kitchen. Shane rolls his eyes lightly but grabs Ilya’s bag before taking them to their laundry room. He quickly throws a load into the washing machine before heading back to the kitchen.
“Shane, you got a package,” Ilya calls from the kitchen. Shane frowns as he comes into view. “What? I didn’t order anything.” Ilya shrugs and points to the brown box sitting innocently on the counter. Shane walks over and looks down to the packing slip and freezes.
“Hollander, you look like you have seen a ghost,” Ilya says with a light chuckle. “Um, it’s nothing,” Shane squeaks and mentally smacks himself. Ilya narrows his eyes as he gazes at his husband. “Shane…” Ilya’s voice dropped and Shane grips the kitchen island to keep himself from falling to his knees.
“It’s just something for my mom. We’ve been so busy I forgot I ordered it.” Ilya looks like he doesn’t believe him but lets it go. While Ilya grabs ingredients for dinner, Shane takes the opportunity to hide the box in their guest room. In the closet. Behind several other boxes.
Shane wakes up to the sunlight streaming through the curtains and his husband’s arm wrapped tightly around his waist. “Good morning malysh,” Ilya whispers against his ear, “Happy anniversary.” Shane rolls over so they’re face to face. “Happy anniversary baby,” Shane says as he pushes a curl out of Ilya’s face. While it isn’t their official wedding anniversary, it is the anniversary of meeting each other at their first International Prospect Cup.
“I cannot believe I won’t be here for our anniversary. Is bullshit,” Ilya grumbles. Ilya was contractually summoned to a last-minute photoshoot for Vanity Fair. The photographer was only in Toronto for two days before needing to fly to Europe. Shane doesn’t quite understand why celebrating on the exact date is so important but if it’s important to his husband it’s important to him. “I know. But we’ll have the whole weekend together when you get home,” Shane tries to soothe his distraught husband.
Not that he would ever tell Ilya this, but Shane was looking forward to some alone time. He had a plan but that meant his husband had to leave.
An hour and a half later, Shane is kissing Ilya goodbye at the front door. Ilya is so lost in the kiss he doesn’t feel Shane slipping something into the side pocket of his bag. “I will see you in two days moya lyubov,” Ilya promises before slipping out the front door. Shane is counting the seconds.
Ilya lets him know that he got to Toronto safely. Shane tries to distract himself throughout the day but it’s no use. Anxiety courses through him at what he hid in Ilya’s bag. Shane knew Ilya would find it but the day moves on and Ilya doesn’t mention it.
Shane is reading in bed when his phone starts to ring. Ilya. Shane swallows hard before answering the Facetime call.
Ilya’s face fills the screen and Shane smiles despite of his nerves. “Hi baby, how did the shoot go?” Shane aims for casual. He knows he missed it by a mile when Ilya looks at him blankly. “Ilya?” Ilya’s expression is unreadable and Shane’s stomach twists uncomfortably.
“You are not going to ask what I found while unpacking?” Ilya finally asks. Shane squirms under the weight of his husband’s gaze. This was it. “W-What uh did you find?” Shane asks shakily.
“Well, we did not have time to stop by the hotel before the shoot so naturally I bring my bag with me.” Oh no. “I dropped my phone in the bag before shoot. On break I go to text my husband when something falls to the ground.” Shane’s finger is hovering over the hang up button. “I pick up what I thought was a note. Was not a note. Was picture.” The polaroid is a snapshot of Shane on his knees in the dress, accentuating his chest on display as he leans toward the mirror that Shane had slipped into Ilya’s bag before he left.
“And?” Shane asks breathlessly. Shane is already mentally making plans to move to Antarctica.
“Ty menya lishish zhizni. U menya ushli vse sily, chtoby ne vernut'sya pryamo togda i ne sodrat' eto plate zubami.” Ilya growls lowly.‘You are going to be the death of me. It took all my power not to fly back right then and rip that dress off with my teeth.’
Shane squeezes his legs together as his head falls back against the wall. A burst of relief courses through him. While he may not know exactly what Ilya is saying, the look on his husband’s face tells him enough. Speaking with their bodies has never needed any translation.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me malysh?” Ilya’s voice is strained. Shane tilts his head forward and looks shyly at Ilya. “If it’s anything like what you do to me, I think I get the idea,” Shane replies. Ilya curses in Russian as he lets his gaze roam over every inch of Shane’s body he could see. “You’re beautiful,” Ilya says fervently. Shane can’t stop the snort that rises in his throat.
“You disagree?” Ilya’s voice is deadly quiet and Shane knows his husband is less than pleased. Ilya hates how negative Shane talks about himself. Has made it a point to remind him just how loved and treasured he is. “When did you take this?” Ilya is letting him off the hook, for now.
“Last weekend when you went to go help my mom.” Ilya hums but stays quiet. “I was scared about how you would react…” Shane admits quietly. He averts his gaze and instead looks at the duvet he’s currently underneath.
“Solnishko, look at me,” Ilya says. Shane keeps his eyes glued to the bedspread. “Look at me,” Ilya says, firmer now. Shane feels heat crawl up his neck as he looks up at Ilya. “No words exist to say how beautiful you are. No words come close to tell you how much I love you. What you mean to me.”
“Damn it, Rozanov,” Shane laughs wetly. Leave it to Shane to cry during what he was hoping to be a sexy video call. A small smirk tugs at Ilya’s mouth, “Hm yes I am quite the poet, da?” Shane rolls his eyes fondly but nods anyways.
“You really liked it?” Shane needs the reassurance. Ilya’s eyes darken, “Let me say this sweetheart. You better get a goodnight’s sleep because I have every intention of fucking you in every square inch of our house when I get home while you wear that slutty fucking dress.” Shane whimpers as his cock starts to leak.
“Don’t touch yourself,” Ilya orders. A petulant whine falls from Shane’s lips. “But-” Ilya shakes his head. “Is fair da? You would not disobey me hm?” As aroused as Shane is, he knows he’ll be in more trouble with his husband if he found out Shane had indeed touched himself. So he nods.
“Good girl.”
For the fifth time, Shane readjusts his dress while he waits for Ilya to come home. Ilya had texted him 20 minutes ago that he just left the airport meaning he had less than 10 minutes until his husband walks through that door and makes good on his promise. Shane hears a car pull up and his body thrums in anticipation. Like a siren call meant for Shane alone.
“Welcome home…Captain,” Shane says softly as Ilya steps inside. Ilya’s bag falls on the floor while the Russian takes in the sight in front of him. Ilya prowls over to Shane, whose leaning against the window.
“Look at you,” Ilya marvels as his gaze roams over Shane’s body. He backs Shane directly against the cool glass and leans in, “Waiting for me to come home. My perfect little wife.” Shane nearly orgasms from that alone.
Wife. Ilya’s wife.
All Shane could do was nod helplessly. Ilya’s smirk on his face was positively indecent as he ghosts his lips across Shane’s neck. “Did you get dolled up just for me sweetheart?” Shane moans shamelessly. “Yes,” Shane replies breathlessly, “Wanted to look pretty for you.” Ilya forces his knee between Shane’s legs, “You do. Always do. So fucking pretty malysh,” Ilya murmurs as he presses wet kisses along Shane’s collarbone.
“Such a good girl,” Ilya says as he grinds his knee against Shane’s cock. Shane’s knees nearly give out. Shane nearly had a panic attack and an orgasm when he heard Ilya say it over the phone. But it’s nothing like hearing it in person. Ilya has hardly done anything, and Shane feels like he’s been fucked three times already. “Is okay da?” Ilya says more seriously as he looks Shane in the eyes. Shane pauses as he considers the question. Both have made it a rule to take each other’s questions seriously when engaging in new dynamics or kinks.
Shane opens his mouth and then closes it. “I…I’m not like a girl or want to be or anything…” Shane stammers awkwardly. Ilya nods, his eyes never leaving Shane’s face, “I did not think you wanted to be.” Shane wracks his brain to try and come up with some explanation, but he barely understands it himself. “May I?” Ilya asks softly, stepping closer to Shane, who agrees with a slight nod.
“Here is what I think,” Ilya says as he cradles Shane’s face in his hands. “You are used to control. To being in control. Before as captain. As second favourite son. As ambassador. You make decisions every day. You are strong. Independent. Stubborn as hell,” they both laugh at that, “But there is part of you who does not want to make decisions. Who wants to let go and give in. To not have to think about every single detail. To have the opportunity to turn your brain off. So is not so much you want to be a woman but more so you want to be taken care of instead of having to take care of everyone else. You know there is nothing to worry about when I am here. I will always keep you safe. I will follow your crazy laundry routine and cook your boring food because is what makes you happy. I see how happy you are when things are done so I do them. Is part of being a good husband. Is that close?” Shane doesn’t know why he’s surprised by how well Ilya can read him. Ilya has always known him better than he knows himself.
“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane sniffles as he drops his head onto Ilya’s shoulder. They stand their wrapped up in each other until their heartbeats synchronize. Shane pulls back enough to look at Ilya’s face. “Yeah I…I think that makes sense.” Shane feels shy all of a sudden. While he really only agreed to Ilya’s sentiment, the fact that he agreed at all is a miracle. Because Shane Hollander is a leader. He does what’s asked without question. He’s polite but distant. Personable but hidden.
But here, in their home, bound together by the titanium on their fingers and the marks on their souls, Shane can himself just be.
Ilya stares at Shane a second longer, assessing his state. “What colour?”
“Green. So green.” and it’s true. There is no part of Shane that isn’t Ilya’s to command.
“You will tell me if it is too much.” It’s not a request. “Why of course sir,” Shane says breathlessly, a small smirk tugs at his lips.
Ilya runs his hands up and down Shane’s sides. “Do you know how many times I got off to that picture? Felt like a teenager again.” A sense of pride fills Shane that after all these years his husband still finds him desirable. “Give me your hands please,” Ilya requests and Shane willingly holds his wrists out toward him. In one swift move, Ilya raises Shane’s arms above his head, “Keep them there. If they drop, this ends.”
Ilya painstakingly slow kisses down Shane’s body, mouthing at Shane’s nipples through the dress. Shane lets out a cry as Ilya bites down before he soothes it over with his tongue. “Fuck Ilya!” Ilya continues his torturous journey across Shane’s stomach. Shane is pretty sure he’s embarrassingly close already. Ilya kneels down in front of Shane, running his hands over Shane’s upper thighs.
Ilya makes a small noise of surprise. “What do we have here?” A coy smile graces Ilya’s lips. Ilya pushes the dress past Shane’s hips to reveal Shane’s second surprise. The baby pink silk panties that hug Shane’s hips are damp with arousal. “My poor wife. So neglected.” Shane shouldn’t find the condescension dripping from Ilya’s voice so hot but he’s always been a weak man.
Shane gasps, arching into Ilya’s touch as his husband palms him over the front of his panties. Ilya shakes his head in mock disappointment, “So wet for me. Ruining the nice panties I bought you.” Shane is going to die. “I-I’m sorry,” Shane chokes out.
Ilya shrugs as he stands up, “My fault. I forget my wife cannot go longer than a few hours without my cock.” Shane glares at him, “Fuck you.” Ilya smirks, “Soon sweetheart.” It sounds like a promise and a threat all at once. “But it looks like your clit has other plans,” Ilya says, gazing down at Shane’s twitching cock.
Shane nearly blacks out at the phrasing. His clit. Jesus Christ.
“Is okay?” Ilya wants confirmation before they continue. Shane nods frantically, “Good. So good Ilya. Need you so bad.”
Shane looks down as Ilya slides back down to his knees. Ilya licks a fat strip over the wet spot on Shane’s soaked panties. “Oh god,” Shane whimpers. He lifts his hips trying to chase the sensation. Ilya’s hands pin him against the window. “Stay still,” Ilya commands.
Ilya’s warm breath over his panties is almost enough for Shane to come untouched. “That’s my good girl,” Ilya groans before mouthing at Shane’s clit. Ilya memorizes every whimper, moan, whisper and cry as he pulls the panties down around Shane’s knees and engulfs him in his mouth.
“Oh-Oh fuck! Ilya please yes just like that!” Shane desperately wants to have his hands in Ilya’s curls but he’s trying to be a good girl for his husband. Ilya sucks him off as his hands grab at Shane’s ass. “Please Ilya please. I’m gonna come,” Shane whines.
Ilya pulls off with an obscene pop. “Hold it.” Shane squirms in place, panting heavily. “C-Can’t Ilya please need it so bad.” Ilya stares him down, “My pleasure comes first. You want to be good and make your husband happy da?” Shane lets out a sob at the denial but nods nonetheless.
“Get on your knees.”
Shane knows he’s going to regret the sudden drop to his knees tomorrow. But that’s future Shane’s problem.
“Get my cock ready,” Ilya orders as he guides Shane’s face directly in front of his clothed cock. Shane fumbles with the belt on Ilya’s pants. Tears spring into the corner of his eyes in pure frustration. “Oh sweetheart. Already so ruined you can’t even follow simple instructions.” Ilya undoes his belt and pulls down his pants and briefs in one motion. Shane is already too far gone to make a snarky comeback.
What Shane currently lacks in technique, he makes up with enthusiasm. Shane, drunk on Ilya’s scent, sloppily sucks on Ilya’s cock. Shane moves his hands so he can play with Ilya’s balls, rolling them around in his palm. “Fuck solnishko you’re doing so good for me. Taking my cock so well. Like you were made for it,” Ilya rambles as he runs his hand through Shane’s hair. Shane moans his agreement around Ilya’s cock. Shane takes Ilya all the way in his mouth and looks up at him with pleading eyes. Someone had once said he had bottom eyes whatever that means.
Ilya gets the hint and tightens his grip on Shane’s hair before thrusting into his mouth. Shane chokes but Ilya holds him there. Ilya slowly starts moving again. Shane whines. He doesn’t want slow. He wants what his husband promised. Shane nips at the head of Ilya’s cock.
Shane’s eyes are glazed over as Ilya pulls him back, “Be a good girl and behave,” Ilya reprimands him before sliding his cock back down Shane’s throat. Ilya sets a brutal pace and Shane barely has anytime to savour the moment because Ilya spills down his throat.
“Was that okay?” Shane rasps. Ilya pulls Shane up and smashes their lips together, tasting himself on Shane’s tongue. “Fucking perfect sweetheart. So obedient.” Shane’s hole clenches painfully around nothing. Aching. Empty. Wet. “Need your cock Ilya please. Been so long. So empty,” Shane whimpers, nuzzling his face into Ilya’s neck.
It’s been less than 72 hours. They have gone much longer than this. But that was because they had to. They don’t have to anymore and Ilya is more than on board with making up for lost time. Ilya easily picks Shane up and heads toward their bedroom.
Ilya unceremoniously dumps him on the bed and Shane glares at him. Ilya tries not to laugh. His husband looks like an angry puppy. An adorable, non-threatening in the slightest, puppy. “Stand up. End of the bed,” Ilya says as he sits down on the edge of the bed and his chest glows with pride at how quickly Shane obeys. Shane slots himself in between Ilya’s legs.
At this height, Ilya is eye level with Shane’s chest. Ilya runs his hands up the sides of the dress before pinching Shane’s nipples. Shane’s breath quickens. “Your tits look gorgeous in this dress moya lyubov,” Ilya feels Shane’s full body shiver. “My tits?” Shane’s voice betrays the humiliation and arousal he’s feeling. Ilya takes another second to ensure his husband is alright. While Shane has been getting better at telling Ilya what he wants, it’s still a work in progress. Ilya knows Shane will override his own discomfort if it pleases Ilya.
Shane’s pupils are blown so wide they’re nearly black. The wet spot on the front of his panties has nearly doubled in size. “Yes sweetheart. I am luckiest man in the world.” It’s a bit of an overkill but no less untrue. Ilya Rozanov was gone for Shane Hollander as soon as he saw the smattering of freckles across his face. Like little individual stars mapping out constellations only Ilya has the privilege of seeing.
Ilya squeezes his hands possessively over Shane’s tits. Ilya drags his fingers across Shane’s collarbone and down to the top of his dress and pulls. The left strap snaps and the dress exposes most of Shane’s tits. “Ilya!” Shane complains, a pout forming on his lips.
“Oops. Sorry.” Ilya is not the least bit sorry. In fact, he would drain his bank account if it meant he could ruin every single dress on his husband’s body. “I will buy you many more dresses for you to show off for me.” Shane’s body trembles at the thrill in realizing they will be indulging in this again. Shane guides Ilya’s head up to look at him, “I almost bought some lace bras.” Ilya curses in Russian again before surging up and smashing their lips together.
They fall back onto the bed with Shane on top. Shane can’t help but grind himself against Ilya’s leg to relieve some pressure. A petulant whine can be heard and it takes Shane a second to realize it’s him. “Patience malysh. Now get on your hands and knees.”
Shane scrambles off Ilya before shakily bracing himself on top of the sheets. The dress rides up, exposing the curve of his ass. The smack to his ass has Shane falling forward onto his forearms with a surprised gasp. “I love my marks on you,” Ilya murmurs. Shane feels the same. Even though he pretends to hate them when they’re visible, he secretly loves it. Loves the possessiveness and ownership of what the marks represent. That he belongs to Ilya. Shane has a sneaking suspicion Ilya knows that he likes them which is why he continues to do it.
Another slap, this time to his right ass cheek, brings Shane back to the present. “Oh fuck,” he groans. Ilya soothes him with light strokes with his palm. “We should get you red panties and see if we can match the shade of your ass to them,” Ilya says mildly as if he didn’t just make Shane almost blackout at the possibility. “Please.”
Ilya squeezes Shane’s ass with both hands. He drops a kiss to Shane’s left cheek before moving to the right. “Mark me,” Shane begs in desperation. The marks from their last session already beginning to fade. Ilya growls lowly before biting Shane’s right ass cheek before making a matching bite on the left. “You’re dripping sweetheart.” Ilya reaches around and slips his right hand into Shane’s panties. Ilya smears two of his fingers with precum before moving back between Shane’s legs.
Shane involuntarily clenches his hole, dropping his head against the mattress. Ilya rubs his two fingers over Shane’s hole, earning a near sob from his husband. “Please Ilya. Need it. Give it to me please,” Shane babbles. Ilya presses the tip of his middle finger inside. Shane lets out a frustrated cry. “Can take it. I can take it baby please,” and who is Ilya to deny his wife?
Ilya presses both fingers in slowly. “Colour malysh,” Ilya nudges Shane’s hip. “Green. So green I’m a neon fucking sign.” Ilya snorts and Shane is about to retort when Ilya starts to move his fingers. “Oh fuck. Feels so good. Your fingers stretch me so good,” Shane sighs in contentment. This is where he belongs.
After a few minutes, Ilya nudges a third finger inside. “Uhhnnn,” Shane cries out. “God that’s amazing. You always make me feel amazing. So fucking good holy shit.” Shane isn’t even aware of what he’s saying anymore. Ilya’s heart warms nonetheless.
“Are you ready for my cock Angel?” Ilya doesn’t know where that nickname came from but he thinks its apt. Shane is the epitome of holy. Innocent. Pure. Ilya, on the other hand, is sin in its purest form and he has his eyes set on Shane. Shane nods desperately, “Yes yes please need you so bad. Want you all the time,” Shane moans loudly.
Ilya reaches over to their dresser and grabs the lube. Pouring a generous amount on his cock, he strokes himself slowly. His own cock, red and hard, dripping heavily on the sheets. “Colour?” Ilya asks as he lines himself up.
“Yellow.”
Ilya freezes and quickly moves off of Shane and toward the top of the bed. “Come here sweetheart,” Ilya murmurs and Shane falls into his arms. Shane hides his face in Ilya’s neck. It doesn’t stop Ilya from feeling the tears. Ilya’s concern morphs into panic. Did he go too far? He should’ve checked in more. He should have noticed.
“Talk to me, solnishko,” Ilya whispers urgently as he rubs Shane’s back slowly. “Are you hurt?” Shane shakes his head no. “Do you need a break?” Again, Shane shakes his head no. Ilya disagrees. “Shane…” Shane sniffles, “It’s stupid.” Shane’s voice is muffled but Ilya hears him anyways. “No. Never. You used your safeword and I am so incredibly proud of you. You did so good,” Ilya praises.
“I…I just wanted to see you. I don’t like not seeing you.” If it were possible, Ilya’s heart would be a pile of goop on the floor. Ilya wonders briefly if he can marry his husband again. Ilya will find a way. Ilya peppers kisses all over Shane’s face. “Thank you for telling me. I am more than happy to see the pleasure I put on my wife’s face,” Ilya says with a smirk. Shane rolls his eyes fondly and presses a soft kiss to Ilya’s lips.
“Lie back sweetheart,” Ilya says as he rubs Shane’s hip. Ilya crawls on top of him and kisses down his chest and stomach until Shane can feel his breath against his panties. Ilya moves the dress out of the way and grabs the front waistband of the panties and pulls them down with his teeth. A whimper escapes Shane’s mouth. Ilya tosses the ruined panties on the floor.
Ilya rubs a little more lube, to be safe, on his cock before guiding Shane’s legs over his shoulders. “I love you,” Shane says softly. Ilya presses a kiss to the corner of Shane’s mouth. “I love you more,” Ilya says as he presses his cock inside Shane. “Jesus Christ!” Shane cries out. No matter how often they do it Shane will never get used to just how good the stretch of Ilya’s cock is.
“No is not Jesus. Just Ilya,” Ilya says with a grin. Shane lets out a choked laugh followed by a moan as Ilya presses deeper into him. Ilya lets himself bottom out and sighs happily. If Ilya was going to die. This is how he wanted it to happen. Enveloped by his husband. Ilya starts moving slowly, teasingly slow. Shane tries to grind himself further on Ilya’s cock but Ilya grips his hips in a bruising hold.
“You feel fucking heavenly,” Ilya groans. The wet, warm heat of Shane’s hole is enough to drive sailors to their deaths and armies to go off to war and it’s all Ilya’s. “Please Ilya please. I need more. I can take it please,” Shane begs. Ilya pauses as he pretends to think. A pathetic whimper falls from Shane’s lips. Ilya leans down right against Shane’s right ear.
“Beg.”
“What do you think I was doing asshole?” Shane glares at him.
“We both know you can do better.”
Shane lets out a deep breath. “Please will you fuck me baby? I’ve been aching for you all day. Don’t you want to make your wife feel good? Fuck her like a husband should?” Shane asks innocently but there is nothing innocent on his face.
Ilya pulls out before slamming back in. “Ilya! Oh my God! Yes that’s it!” Shane moans loudly. Ilya sets a brutal pace. Ilya is practically folding Shane in half with how hard he’s slamming into him. Thank God for yoga. “This is what you wanted da? Cannot last even three days. I would need to quit my job and be here for your use.” Shane keens at that. “I knew you would like that. My wife is such a pretty whore.” The grin on Ilya’s face is feral.
“Yes yours! I’m yours!” Shane cries out. “Again,” Ilya groans. “I’m yours. Only yours. My body my mind my soul are yours. You own me.” Ilya nearly orgasms on the spot. “Fuck moya lyubov,” Ilya kisses Shane’s inner thighs. “Touch me please,” Shane half-sobs. “I am touching you,” Ilya says with a grin. “Oh get fucked Rozanov,” Shane growls. “Nah. I much prefer fucking you,” Ilya replies as he hits Shane’s prostate. “Shit! Right there!” Shane cries out. “Ask nicely and maybe, just maybe, I will touch you.”
A high-pitched whine rips itself out of Shane’s throat. “Please Ilya I…I need you to touch me. Hurts so bad. Need you to make it better please.” Ilya runs a hand along Shane’s inner right thigh. “Touch you where?” Tears prick the corners of Shane’s eyes. “M-My cock.” Ilya tsks while shaking his head. “You know what to call it sweetheart.”
“My clit! Fuck. Please touch my clit. I can’t…I need…Ilya.” Shane wails. Tears are flowing freely down Shane’s face. “You look so beautiful when you cry for me malysh,” Ilya wraps his hand tightly around Shane’s cock and jerks him off in time with his thrusts. Shane is an incoherent mess underneath him. Words slurring together. His eyes hooded as they stare into Ilya’s own. Whimpers and moans are like a melody Ilya will never get tired of hearing.
“I…I need to cum!” Shane gasps as he throws his head back against the pillow. “Make me cum baby please. I’ll be so good for you. Yours only yours. Your good girl.” Ilya’s hips stutter as he falls forward. Shane is going to be the death of him and what a glorious death that will be.
“Mine,” Ilya says possessively as he leaves hickeys on Shane’s neck and chest. “All mine.” Shane nods frantically, eyes fluttering closed at the overwhelming pleasure. “Yes yours don’t want anyone else. Never needed anyone else but you.” Ilya groans as he presses his lips against Shane’s.
“You are mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to use as I please. Mine to love,” Ilya moans into Shane’s mouth. “My good girl. My perfect fucking wife. Come for me sweetheart.” Shane’s back arches off the bed as his orgasm explodes through him. Thick ropes of cum land on both of their chests and Shane’s face.
“You going to come for me baby? Love feeling your cum inside me. Want to keep it there. Wear a plug every day. Keep you with me. Please fill me up. Need it so bad.” Shane clenches hard around Ilya’s cock and Ilya is gone. Ilya comes with a loud shout as he spills inside of his husband.
Ilya collapses on top of Shane’s chest. “You kill me Hollander. I am dead now.” Shane laughs quietly and presses a kiss to Ilya’s curls. “Feelings mutual Rozanov.”
The two lie against each other as they catch their breath. “Was that okay?” Shane asks timidly. “I know I didn’t really discuss it with you be-” Ilya kisses him deeply. “I have never come that hard in my life. It was more than okay. Was the best. I am going to buy you every dress that exists.” Shane laughs again and Ilya melts a little more. Shane’s laugh is his second favourite sound in the world.
“You never do anything halfway do you?” Shane’s eyes are filled with mirth. “Not when it comes to you,” Ilya replies honestly. “God, I love you so much,” Shane whispers before he connects their lips again. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
And if Ilya already has a cart full of matching lingerie sets, skirts and dresses that’s between him and his credit card.