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It was hot, one of those days where Shane would like to spend most of it in the lake, floating on the surface of the cool water, not thinking about anything but the warm presence beside him and what they were going to cook for dinner.
Unfortunately, Ilya had been booked for an interview. A fucking interview in the middle of the fucking summer.
“Who is this for?”
“I already told you,” he grinned at him lazily, “The Athletic wants to speak to me about moving from Boston to Ottawa.”
“How are you not at all nervous right now?” Shane asked incredulously. He hated speaking to the press. It was a necessary evil given his career, but he still hated it. It put him on edge, and he found himself rehearsing imaginary lines to imaginary questions for days before, trying to be ready for anything.
Ilya on the other hand looked quite at ease, setting up his laptop in front of the neutral white wall at the dining table, careful not to give away where exactly he was staying.
He wore a maroon Ottawa Centaurs t shirt, that strained slightly along his broad shoulders and his chest.
Shane wanted to take a bite out of him.
“Why would I be nervous?” he asked, stretching his arms behind his head, “I have done this a thousand times.”
“You don’t worry you’re going to say the wrong thing?”
“Not really.”
Shane stood, rocking slightly from side to side, shifting his weight. Ilya watched him, amused.
“What? Are you going to watch me?”
“No, asshole,” his tone had no real heat behind it, “Just- Can you see anything? In the background?”
“No,” he turned behind him, looking at the blank white wall, “See? There is nothing.”
“Okay,” he breathed a sigh of relief, “Well, have a good interview.”
“Thanks,” he waggled his eyebrows at him, “You can suck my dick after. As a reward for such a good job.”
Shane bit down on his lip to hide his smile.
“If you do a good job.”
Ilya’s eyes trailed down his body for a moment, before he answered the call that came through the laptop’s speakers.
Quietly, Shane settled down on the couch, scrolling idly through his phone.
But his mind kept wandering to what Ilya had said…and what he had done to Shane last summer…
Shane had touched himself to that memory more than once. It had been so hot, trying to hold it together as Hayden talked about his family problems, with Ilya’s beautiful mouth wrapped around his cock, making him come so fast it made him dizzy.
He had thought about revenge, dropping to his knees when Ilya was on the phone, talking to his coach or his agent or Svetlana. It would be so fun to see him come apart, his fist in his mouth and his cock down Shane’s throat.
It had never come to pass. Shane had always been too nervous to try.
But today Shane was feeling loose, relaxed, maybe a little bad.
And he wanted to get him back.
Was it a little mean? A little imbalanced? Sure, but Shane didn’t really care, and he knew that Ilya didn’t either.
He stood up from the couch, and padded silently back to the dining room, where Ilya was answering a question with that playfully arrogant tone that he always used with the press.
Ilya’s eyes flicked from the screen to Shane, the ghost of a question there. Silently, without giving himself room to be nervous or back out, he pulled his t shirt over his head, and trailed his hand down his chest, towards the bulge already growing in his shorts.
Ilya followed his hand, and licked his lips, eyes moving back up to his face.
Shane arched an eyebrow at him. He shook his head imperceptibly, and he looked back at the screen, nodding at whatever the interviewer had just said, a false smile spreading his mouth.
Slowly, Shane lowered himself down onto the floor, crawling under the dining table, careful not to disturb the chairs that were neatly pushed in. As much as he wanted to pay Ilya back, he didn’t actually want the very nice, innocent interviewer to get wise to what was happening.
Ilya was pushed back from the table, leaning forward as he always did. Normally, Shane would chide him for it, tell him to sit up straight. Not today though. Today, he was exactly where Shane wanted him to be.
He settled himself between Ilya’s legs, taking care not to bump his head on the table, and slid a palm up Ilya’s thigh, along the seam of his shorts.
His eyes flicked down again, and he widened them slightly, a silent warning.
Don’t, they said, don’t push me.
But Shane grinned, fingers skating along Ilya’s already hard cock.
He shrugged.
I don’t think it’s what you want, was the silent taunt he gave him.
Ilya’s teeth gritted together, and Shane could tell that he was trying not to smile, and he took that as the invitation he needed to continue forward.
“You’ve talked a lot about your disappointment with Boston’s season ending last year,” the interviewer’s bright voice cut through their silent conversation, “Knocked out in the first round of the playoffs, how are you approaching the move to Ottawa, which is projected to be last in the league this year?”
“Well,” Ilya’s muscles were taut as he answered the question, and as Shane took him out of his shorts, admiring him.
God, Shane loved Ilya’s cock. He loved the way it looked, the way it felt inside him. He loved the prominent vein on the underside of it, and the way his jaw ached when he opened his mouth wide to accommodate him. He loved it all, every inch of it, of him, of Ilya.
He cast his eyes upward again, smiling as he saw the red flush creeping slowly up Ilya’s neck. The webcam was shitty enough that it wouldn’t be picked up there, but Shane could see it, and he knew that Ilya could feel it.
“Can you talk more about your training process in the offseason?” the interviewer asked, “What’s a typical day look like for you?”
Wake up, fuck, make a colossally unhealthy breakfast, fuck, go for a run, fuck, eat lunch and complain about what Shane made for them, fuck, swim in the lake, fuck, make dinner and ignore Shane’s protestations of how much butter he was using, fuck, shower, and take Shane to bed to fuck him one more time.
They were pretty consistent during the summer, drinking each other in while they had the time, the space, the privacy.
“Ah,” Ilya’s voice came out slightly strained as Shane’s tongue traced along his shaft; one long, slow line, “It- Varies, day to day.”
Liar, Shane wanted to tell him. He took him in his mouth instead. Ilya sucked in a breath that he somehow managed to turn into a cough.
“Just one day, then, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”
His fingers had threaded through Shane’s hair. He could have easily pulled him off. But Shane knew that he wouldn’t.
“I usually,” his voice shook as Shane relaxed his throat, swallowing around him as he took him further, sighing at the feeling of fullness that only Ilya’s cock could ever really give him, “Go running. A lot of- Ah- A lot of running. And swimming. Exercise is- I exercise.”
Shane hummed quietly, and Ilya’s hand tightened in his hair, pushing him down farther, so that his nose was nearly pressed flat against his pubic bone. Shane would be happy to stay there, just like that. Hold Ilya’s cock in his mouth forever, his jaw aching and his knees sore, but his chest light and floaty, making everything else insignificant.
“And diet, I’d love to know what that looks like for you.”
If he could have, he would have laughed. Ilya ate terribly all the time, unless Shane was cooking for them both.
“Nothing,” Shane chose this moment to start bobbing up and down, fighting down his own moan that was threatening to claw its way out of his chest, “Nothing specific.”
“Okay,” the interviewer chirped, completely oblivious as to what was going on on the other side of the screen, “Let’s move into-”
Shane stopped listening, tuning everything else out that wasn’t the feeling of Ilya’s cock in his mouth, and his hand in his hair.
He tried to keep quiet, but he loved sucking dick, and he especially loved sucking Ilya’s dick, so tiny noises kept escaping from the back of his throat, and his free hand had slipped inside his own briefs, relieving the pressure from his own aching hardness.
Ilya was getting close, Shane could feel it. He could be nice, let up, let him finish his call and wait for him in the bedroom.
But then again, Ilya hadn’t done that for him, and wasn’t that what this was all for?
Grinning to himself, he took him as far as he could, breathing through his nose to stop himself from gagging, and hollowed his cheeks as he pulled almost all the way off.
“Fuck,” Ilya hissed, and Shane heard the telltale noise of his microphone being muted, “Fuck Shane, I’m gonna-”
Shane moaned around him, begging for it without words, and Ilya was coming, holding onto Shane’s hair like a life raft in a storm.
Slowly, Shane guided himself off of his softening cock, and placed a delicate kiss to the tip. Ilya whined brokenly. Their eyes met, and Shane made a show of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ilya shook his head, eyes dark and warning, and Shane knew he was about to get put through the mattress.
He couldn’t fucking wait.
“Sorry,” he heard Ilya say as Shane maneuvered out from under the table carefully, his voice still a little ragged, “Bad connection, I think. Yes, my camera too, sorry.”
Shane stifled his laugh behind his hands, and went into the bedroom to wait for Ilya to finish his call.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, Ilya strode into the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, and taking in Shane, who was sitting on the bed with his arms folded tightly across his chest, doing everything in his power not to touch himself.
“What am I always saying?” Ilya said, inspected his nail beds, looking bored, “That you like to be bad.”
“You liked it though?” he asked, somewhat anxiously, “It didn’t- I mean you sounded fine in- In your interview.”
“How would you know?” he pushed off from the wood of the frame and moved into the room, standing at the foot of the bed, watching Shane, “Is not like you were listening to what I was saying.”
His mouth curled up into a smirk which Shane mirrored unconsciously.
“I know you’re good at them,” he finally said, his eyes trailing down Ilya’s body, down to his strong, thick thighs, “I don’t have to listen.”
Ilya hummed, and leaned down to press a kiss to Shane’s ankle.
“That could have been embarrassing,” he murmured against his skin, “If I were not so good at hiding.”
“But you are, so.”
“How often have you thought about that?” Ilya asked, pressing kisses up Shane’s calf, to his knee, to his thigh, dodging around exactly where he wanted him most, “Ever since last summer?”
“I thought-” Shane’s voice was breathy, almost high-pitched, “I thought you deserved some payback.”
“For making you come?”
“For making me come while I was on the phone.”
“Ah,” Ilya was bracketing Shane’s thighs, and he pulled his shirt over his head. Jesus, Shane could look at him forever and it wouldn’t be enough, “So this was you getting revenge on me?”
“Yes.”
“But now,” he kissed Shane’s lower stomach, “You are the one that’s hard, and you need me to help you. How is that fair?”
“I could have just jerked myself off,” Shane grumbled, arching his hips up, desperate for Ilya to touch him. Ilya ignored him instead, kissing up his stomach towards his chest.
“You didn’t though. You wouldn’t.”
No, he wouldn’t, and they both knew it.
“Please,” he sounded pathetic and still, Ilya ignored him. He let his teeth graze Shane’s nipple, and he smiled as Shane moaned, bucking up again for some kind of friction.
“I like you like this,” Ilya said unnecessarily, one hand on either side of his ribs, holding him down against the mattress, “So desperate for it. You should blow me under the table more often.”
“Fuck you.”
“No,” he murmured, kissing the side of Shane’s neck, sucking a bruise into his collarbone. Shane loved the summer; he loved when Ilya could mark him up without worrying who was going to see it, “Opposite.”
“Do it, then,” Shane begged, reaching down towards his own cock in desperation, but Ilya caught him, pinning his wrists above his head, “God Ilya, please.”
“So sweet when you beg,” Ilya’s lips were an inch from his own, but he drew back as Shane lifted his head up, trying to kiss him, “No, don’t be greedy.”
“Fuck,” he let out a puff of air with the word, his head falling back on the pillow.
“You were the one that decided to tease me,” Ilya said, his thigh coming up to rub Shane’s hard cock through his briefs, “Make me come with an audience. What if I hadn’t turned the camera off in time? Or the sound? You would have liked that, wouldn’t you? Someone else listening to you sucking my cock, being so perfect for me, all mine?”
A strangled noise was torn from deep within Shane’s chest. It was all too much, between Ilya’s thigh rubbing him in slow, torturous strokes, and his hands pinning Shane to the bed by his wrists, and the filthy things he was saying, Shane felt that he was pooling into molten lava.
“Please fuck me,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his desire, “Please.”
“Do you think you deserve to be fucked?” Ilya asked, cocking his head to the side, looking at him patronizingly, “After what you did to me?”
“No,” he widened his eyes, making sure he looked as pathetic as he felt, knowing how it turned Ilya on, “But please. I need it. So bad.”
Ilya’s teeth dragged along his bottom lip. This was just another face off, and Shane intended to win.
“Ilya,” he whispered again, “Need you inside me. Only way I can come.”
“Fuck,” the word was punched out of his chest, “So good like this, telling me what you need.”
He kissed him, and Shane whimpered, opening his mouth so that Ilya could slide his tongue behind his teeth, spit covering his lips in an obscene way.
Ilya’s hand left his wrists, but Shane kept them where they were. He trailed his fingers down, pushing against his lower stomach.
“So fucking perfect,” he muttered, running his tongue between Shane’s pectorals, “Needy and eager and always perfect for me, Hollander.”
He reached towards the bedside table, where Shane had dutifully placed a bottle of lube, and spread some over his fingers, pushing his knees to his chest and-
“Jesus,” Shane breathed, his head swimming from trying not to come as Ilya’s fingers pushed into him, “Oh fuck, Ilya.”
“Do you think you could come just from this?” he asked, pushing in farther, curling his fingers so he hit just the right spot, “Without me even fucking you?”
“Shit-” he ground his teeth together, determined, “Yes but- I don’t want to-”
“But I could make you, yes?” his voice was smooth as silk and sweet as honey, dripping all over Shane, “If I wanted to.”
“Yes- Yes you could.”
“Is a good thing I won’t then,” he added another finger, working Shane open while his words sent him sinking down into that place that was just theirs, and theirs alone, “Good thing I’m good to you.”
“So good,” Shane repeated, “So good to me, Ilya.”
“Okay baby,” he pulled his fingers out of him, and Shane whined at the loss, “Ready for me?”
“Yeah,” he nodded eagerly, “Please-”
Ilya kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip, trapping it between his teeth as he pushed himself slowly into him.
Shane arched back, shutting his eyes so tight he saw stars.
He was not going to last.
The stretch and burn was momentary, replaced by that heady feeling of fullness, of Ilya in and all around him. Shane inhaled deeply, finally lifting his hand up from above his head, tangling it in his curls, pulling him down for another messy kiss.
“Ilya,” he sighed, pushing himself down to meet him with every thrust, “Right there, fuck.”
“Such a slut for it,” Ilya said, his voice tight as he picked up the pace, pulling one of Shane’s legs up, shifting the angle, and Shane was going to die. His heart was rabbiting in his chest, threatening to burst out of its cavity, “My sweet, pretty whore.”
Shane couldn’t speak. His nails dragged down Ilya’s back, marking him, claiming him as Shane’s.
“Look how wet you are,” he continued, his eyes wide open as he reached down, running a thumb over Shane’s slit, leaking precum onto his stomach, “Love how wet you get for me always, makes it so easy to-”
He gave Shane’s cock one long stroke, and Shane whimpered, meeting him halfway, and halfway to losing his goddamn mind.
“Tell me how good I fuck you,” he said, keeping Shane right there, so close to coming that he could taste it, “Tell me how no one else could ever fuck you like I can.”
“Yeah,” Shane babbled at once, willing to say anything, do anything just to keep Ilya fucking into him, “No one like you, Ilya. You’re the only one who can fuck me like this, fuck, please- Please I need it- I need you-”
Ilya moaned, his thrusts becoming wilder and less contained, and he kissed Shane, talking while he did,
“Give it to me, baby, wanna feel you come around me.”
Shane tipped his head back, and came hard as Ilya kept stroking him, kept thrusting into him, kept kissing every inch of him he could reach.
Moments later, Ilya’s movements stuttered, and his hips stilled. He dropped his forehead against Shane’s shoulder, each of them panting, struggling to catch their breath.
Shane didn’t even care about the sticky mess on his stomach, but brought his arms up, looping them around Ilya’s neck, and pulled him down so that they were flush, chest to chest, Ilya still inside him.
Ilya’s hands carded gently through his hair, and his lips pressed against his forehead. Shane loved this, being held by him after they fucked. He had no idea how they went for so many years without it.
“I love you,” he said quietly, fingers trailing up his ribs, tracing the invisible lines between the moles and freckles on his skin.
“I love you,” Ilya echoed, and Shane could hear the smile in his voice, “That was very hot.”
“I don’t know why I-” he blushed, “It just- I wanted to so-”
“I liked it, I like you like that.”
They kissed, languidly and slowly, soft around the edges in the aftermath of sex.
“We should shower,” Shane said eventually, smiling against Ilya’s chest as he groaned theatrically.
“Will you blow me in there too?” he asked, making no move to release his grip on Shane.
“I don’t know,” he lifted his head, eyes sparkling, “Are you going to take a call in there?”
Ilya laughed, and tilted Shane’s chin, kissing him again.
“You are not telling me you are only going to suck my dick when I am on the phone.”
“Maybe I am.”
“No, you aren’t,” he said with finality, and Shane scoffed, offended even though what he said wasn’t even close to true.
“How do you know?”
“Because,” they both groaned as Ilya pulled out of him, “You like sucking cock too much to only do it when I’m on the phone.”
“I-” Shane knew he had no defense, but it wasn’t going to stop him from trying, “That’s not-”
“It is true,” Ilya cut him off, pressing a delicate kiss to his mouth, “You love it, you are a slut for it.”
Shane was still too drunk off good sex to really argue back. Instead, he splayed back against the pillows, smiling dopily,
“Not my fault you taste so good.”
Ilya’s eyes narrowed, and Shane was dragged off to the shower, where Ilya kept him until the hot water ran out.