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Ilya liked Shane’s parents. He really did. David and Yuna Hollander were entirely devoted to their only child–maybe sometimes a bit intense, if not a little overbearing, in Yuna’s case–and their attentiveness had moulded him into a kind, hardworking, and thoughtful man. Truly, their son was a testament to the quality of both their character’s–Shane’s soft underbelly nurtured by his father’s patient tone and earnest gaze and his shrewdness and talent sharpened by his mother’s fierce mettle. Shane was the sum of his parent’s parts, yet entirely his own, and Ilya was very grateful to the tender, yet firm, hands that had shaped the man he loved. But right now, well, right now Ilya was not their biggest fan.

After their blissful, sun-soaked summer at the cottage, Ilya had returned to Boston with an aching bruise at the centre of his being. When he thought of lazy kisses exchanged by the fire pit, or possessive fingers tangled in his curls, or soft breaths puffed against his back as he slept, Ilya felt his whole body throb with want. There was a dark, Shane-shaped bruise pressed into his skin, and no one had invented a balm to soothe it.

It had been weeks, almost two months actually, since Ilya had last seen Shane. They’d said goodbye, at three in the morning, in a half-empty carpark at the Ottawa airport in early August. Ilya had extended his stay as long as possible but pre-season training, and the demands of Shane’s endless brand deals, could only be held at bay for so long. Summer had come to an end with Shane’s forehead pressed to the steering wheel and Ilya’s fingers slipping out from his grip. Shane couldn’t walk him to the gate, couldn’t carry his bags to check-in whilst Ilya protested, couldn’t kiss him goodbye at the terminal. No, instead they had to kiss goodbye at the cottage and Ilya just had to get out of Shane’s terrible car and walk away at the airport.

The ride to the airport had been tense. They’d held hands the whole way and spoken quietly about the upcoming season, rehashing plans they’d formulated when nestled in bed together over the last few days. Plans to see each other as often as the season would allow. About ten minutes out from the airport Shane had pulled over on the side of the road and grabbed Ilya’s face and had kissed him so hard it had split his lip. Ilya had sucked on the sore the whole flight home.

Now Ilya sat, in the Raider’s gym, a mere forty-eight hours away from seeing his boyfriend again, and Shane had just sent him the worst text imaginable.

                Jane:

                My parents are going to be staying at my place after the game on Friday.

Ilya pulled his cap off and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew this couldn’t have been Shane’s idea. Shane was as desperate to see Ilya as Ilya was to see him. They spoke on the phone at least once a day but if time really was scarce, they would text back and forth between sets at the gym or on bus rides to rinks or whilst they brushed their teeth. It was never quite enough. Time zones. Training. Games. Teammates. All these things were obstacles to their limited time together. Now Ilya had to add parents to that list.

                Jane:

                Dad has a conference in town and mum wanted to tag along to visit me and see the game.

                I’m sorry. You are completely allowed to be upset with me.

Ilya wasn’t upset with Shane. If he knew Shane, and he liked to think he did after more than eight years spent sneaking around with him and, yes, obsessing over him, then he knew that Shane had probably tried his best to dissuade his parents from coming over and in the end had been bulldozed by their well-meaning yet poorly timed intentions.

                Ilya:

                Is okay. I imagine this was not your idea.

                Jane:

               Nope. I tried to explain that I wanted to see you after the game. Alone. But they insisted they ‘didn’t mind’ if you came to dinner.

Ilya snorted. No doubt his boyfriend had struggled to articulate just how important the alone part was to their post-game plans. Look, Ilya was very happy to be a taken man. He was so completely, deliriously in love and so wildly attracted to Shane that the idea of casual sex with a stranger seemed hollow in a way it had never felt when he was younger. But fuck. Phone sex could only satiate a man for so long and Ilya desperately needed to fuck his boyfriend. Preferably within the next forty-eight hours. He might die otherwise. That would be a horrible gravestone inscription.

‘Here lies Ilya Rozanov. He died in his prime because his boyfriend’s parents cock-blocked him.’

                Ilya:

                Dinner at your apartment with your parents after the game?

                Jane:

                Yes. Is that okay? I still want to see you. Please come.

As if he wouldn’t go. Even if sex was off the table–though Ilya would certainly find a way to have sex with Shane this weekend–Ilya would take any chance to see him.

                Ilya:

                Will your parents want to see me after Boston wins though?

                Jane:

                Ha. Right. They’ll be fine because Montreal will win.

                Ilya:

                Guess you’ll have to train extra hard this week. Don’t want family dinner to be awkward.

Shane just replied with a middle finger emoji. Ilya grinned to himself and ‘hearted’ Shane’s message.

“Roz!” Marleau snapped his fingers beside him. Ilya had completely forgotten that his teammate was working in between his sets. “Stop blushing at your fucking phone and finish your set.”

“I told you I do not blush,” He grouched and pocketed his phone.

“Yeah, yeah, Rozy,” Marleau rolled his eyes as Ilya laid back on the vinyl bench. “You don’t blush and there’s no girl in Montreal. Okay.”

“There is no girl in Montreal,” Ilya glared back at his friend. It was the truth. There was no girl in Montreal. It felt like a dangerous admission, like he was hiding in plain sight by just skirting around the truth, and it was a little thrilling. What he really wanted to say though…

There’s no girl in Montreal, Marly. But my boyfriend is there and I am so fucking in love with him, but I can’t tell anyone because no one would understand it because we are meant to be archrivals. Oh and if the NHL did find out about us, I think I would very likely lose my job and consequently get deported, which would be catastrophic because I am still a Russian citizen and would get arrested–probably worse–in my home country if anyone knew the truth.

“Why do you bring up Montreal anyway?” Ilya asked instead.

“Because we are playing there in two days and you were grinning at your phone like a schoolgirl,” Marleau smirked. “That can only mean one thing, Roz.”

“It means nothing, Marly,” Ilya bit back as he turned to focus on the heavy barbell.

In the end, Ilya conceded to Marleau that he did in fact have plans with his ‘Montreal girl.’ He had to. It was the only way he was going to be able to spend the night at Shane’s instead of in the hotel with the rest of the team. He needed Marleau onboard to cover for him. Marleau had teased him, relentlessly, for hours after the admission. Cooing about Ilya getting locked down by a Canadian girl of all people. Even if the genders and conditions surrounding the end of his bachelor life were mixed up, Ilya was kind of pleased that his closest friend on the team knew that he was taken. That someone knew he was taken.

Svetlana still didn’t know. Well, she obviously knew something. She was far too smart to be fooled by Ilya’s evasive answers and dismissive tone every time Jane, the Metros, or Ilya’s last minute change in summer plans were brought up. Ilya wanted to tell her, but he hadn’t figured out how to approach Shane about it yet. He’d admittedly fucked the dog, or whatever the fuck the saying was, every time he’d brought up his childhood best friend to Shane previously. He didn’t know how to bring her up, again, without pressing on a sore spot and causing Shane’s beautiful brown eyes to turn all watery and sad. There would be a way. Shane would certainly listen. Ilya just had to plan out the conversation before he opened his mouth this time.

        Svetlana:

        Good luck, tonight!

        And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do 😉

        Ilya:

        Is there anything you wouldn’t do?

        Svetlana:

        No. There isn’t.

Ilya snorted at the text and leaned against the bus window. The glass rattled where he rested his head against it, the vibrations making his teeth clench. The bus was crawling through the crowded streets of Montreal at an agonising pace. Centre Bell was not that far from the hotel the team was staying at, but the city’s traffic had extended the ten minute drive into a fucking ordeal. They’d been stuck on the same street for nearly twenty minutes. He could hear his team getting increasingly rowdier around him, chirping the city of Montreal and its ‘stupid, hard to pronounce French street names’ as the bus idled at yet another stoplight. Ilya tuned it out by imagining how Shane would pronounce the street name, Rue de la Montagne, in his lovely mouth. God, how was Ilya going to handle seeing him on the ice without kissing him?

          Ilya:

          I might just kiss you at the first face-off tonight.

He didn’t expect Shane to respond–Shane was probably already busy pulling his focus into his body in preparation for the night–but he wanted to fluster his boyfriend a bit. It was fun to tease him before a game. Anytime really. But especially before a game when he was particularly feisty, but also a little needy. Shane responded less than a minute later.

          Jane:

          Considering the way I want you right now I might just let you.

Ilya did not flush or smile mushily at his phone at that. He did not.

Obviously, Shane was only teasing but Ilya was thrilled that his boyfriend was feeling as unhinged with want as he was. This was going to be the hardest hockey game of his career.

Even harder than that last playoff game before hauling the Stanley Cup over his head. That gruelling final against San Francisco was nothing compared to this, nothing compared to facing off against his rival-turned-lover-turned-boyfriend. Not because he suddenly felt conflicted about giving his all against Shane and his team. If anything Ilya was just as, if not more than ever, thrilled to be playing the Metros. He liked beating Shane, and he liked when Shane beat him – though he’d never admit it. No, the competition between them was still as exhilarating as it had been when they were rookies. Shane was the only player that really challenged Ilya, that made him better. So playing against Shane was not the problem – win or lose. No, it was going to be hard because he hadn’t seen his gorgeous boyfriend in seven and a half weeks and he wasn’t going to be able to kiss the man for hours after the match. Maybe even longer than originally anticipated now that the Hollanders were coming for dinner.

Ilya had warmed to the idea of seeing David and Yuna over the last forty-eight hours. They were kind people and Shane loved them, and it was nice to feel like a normal couple for once. It was nice to sit at the table with them and listen to Yuna’s insights into hockey–she was as clued into the rhythms of the game as Svetlana and was certainly more knowledgeable than any of the players Ilya knew, himself and Shane included–and drink David’s expensive Russian vodka. They were good people and they were trying to make up for years of missing this fundamental thing about their son. David had even texted Ilya yesterday to ask him what he wanted for dinner after the game, asking if Ilya had any season-specific dietary requirements like his son–Ilya didn’t–and if Ilya wanted David to bring him some vodka–he did. So, Ilya was perfectly fine with seeing them for dinner after the game.

It was the staying in Shane’s guest bedroom overnight part that Ilya was less than thrilled with.

As if sharing his wavelength, Shane texted again.

             Jane:

             I am so annoyed with my parents right now. I have never wanted to see them less.

             Ilya:

             This is what you get for being boring and Canadian. Next time have Russian parents.

             Jane:

             Ilya, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain about them wanting to see me to you.

             Ilya:

             No. No. Nothing to be sorry about.

             I am also complaining about your parents cock-blocking me.

             Jane:

            Okay, no texting about cock before the game.

            Ilya:

            Why? Are you hard?

            Jane:

            Okay. Goodbye, Rozanov. Try not to embarrass yourself on the ice tonight.

            Ilya:

            Try not to cum when you see me 😘

Shane left him on read but Ilya knew his boyfriend was probably frowning at his phone, tamping down the twitch of his lips, and pretending not to notice his face flushing. Ilya was so ready to bite Shane’s cheeks. Just a few more hours.

The bus finally started to move a little smoother through the busy streets of Montreal, inching closer to Centre Bell, and Ilya tucked his phone away and took a deep breath. It was time to focus on the game.

In the end Boston won 4-3. It had been a close game, tying in the third period and running into overtime. Ilya had scored the winning goal as the last seconds of overtime had ticked down. In the handshake line he had smirked at Shane and his boyfriend had levelled him with a sharp look, but it was tempered by the lust simmering beneath the frustration. There was fondness there too. Ilya knew Shane delighted in the challenge they posed each other on the ice as much as he did. Knew that Shane would take out his frustration on Ilya’s body later, smother his smugness with searing kisses and demanding fingers, and Ilya was excited to be at his mercy.

But first, he had to behave himself at dinner with the Hollanders.

Over the summer Ilya had spent a handful of hours with Shane’s parents and, somehow, they had managed to form an easy rapport by the end of Ilya’s stay. After they’d all gotten over the initial shock and stumbled through that difficult conversation at the Hollanders’ dining table, Yuna and David had turned their attention to getting to know Ilya. Ilya not Rozanov. There had been several awkward, painful, conversations about Ilya’s family–or lack thereof–and about Russia. But once the Hollanders realised that asking Ilya about family and ‘home’ was… complicated… they’d managed to find space to bond on more neutral topics. They asked questions about how Ilya found Boston and what he liked to do there, expressed curiosity about Ilya’s collection of sportscars–mostly David because Yuna seemed as concerned as Shane regarding Ilya’s love of fast vehicles–and even managed to civilly debate hockey and the merits of Canadian versus Russian training protocols.

By the end of the trip Ilya had been comfortable to tease and chirp Shane in front of his parents. Their competitiveness on full display during a very intense afternoon of cards. David and Yuna seemed to be charmed by the way they bickered if the shared fond looks between them were anything to go by. And on his last visit to their cottage they’d taken his number down, given him theirs, and Yuna and David both had texted Ilya ‘good luck’ before each of his games this season.

They hadn’t texted him ‘good luck’ tonight though. But they had both sent him messages expressing their enthusiasm to see him at dinner later. Ilya supposed that was fair. How were they supposed navigate supporting their son and his secret boyfriend when they played against each other?

With Marleau’s help, Ilya had managed to slip away from the rink and into a cab relatively unnoticed after the game and media scrum. Marleau had not been subtle to the team but had kept coach firmly off Ilya’s trail and would definitely ensure that Ilya was not disturbed tonight. Ilya was grateful to him, if not a little annoyed that his team would probably tease him about his ‘Montreal girl’ the whole flight to Dallas late tomorrow morning.

Before the season had started Ilya and Shane had discussed logistics. Well, Shane had laid out plans and Ilya had nodded along agreeably as he’d kneaded his knuckles into Shane’s naked thighs. They had agreed that when they met up in their respective cities it was probably safest to leave their luggage at their hotels to avoid excessive fuss about their overnight disappearances post-game. If they tried to leave their hotels or rinks with bags in tow, then there would be an onslaught of questions neither could answer. And so, Shane and Ilya would both have essentials for the other at their apartments. Shane had requested a list of essentials from Ilya last week, specifically requesting an itemised list of Ilya’s toiletries and his favourite brand of briefs and clothing sizes so Shane could get him some spare outfits. It warmed Ilya to know that there was a space in Shane’s apartment–probably a nice, neat box in his closet–with stuff he’d bought for when Ilya came over. A little part of him kept tucked away in Shane’s space at all times.

          Jane:

          How far away are you?

          Ilya:

          About two blocks. Be there soon.

          Jane hearted ‘About two blocks. Be there soon.’

Ilya felt a buzz at his core, warm and eager. Finally, finally, he was moments away from touching Shane. On the ice their anticipation had crackled between them each time they’d bent for a face-off. Their gazes catching, lips twitching. At the last face-off Ilya really had thought he was going to tackle Shane to the ice and kiss him breathless. Shane had caught his gaze and the fondness twinkling in his eyes had been so overwhelming it had almost knocked him over. He’d had to shake his head and lock his gaze firmly on the puck. Ending the game had suddenly become about kissing Shane rather than winning.

The cab pulled up to the curb about a block from Shane’s condo and Ilya practically flung the driver his fare before jumping out onto the sidewalk. Once the cab took off again, back towards Montreal’s downtown, Ilya swung his gym bag over his shoulder and walked the rest of the distance to Shane’s building.

Shane had given him the code to his building at the end of last season and Ilya had memorised the numbers almost immediately. 1919. He punched them in now and buzzed himself into the warm lobby. It was early November and the Montreal air was turning frigid at night. The warmth of the lobby soothed his freezing fingers. Ilya hurried across the brightly lit lobby and ducked his head as a couple exited an elevator ahead of him. Ilya’s hood was up and his nose was tucked into his collar to keep his mouth warm so they probably wouldn’t recognise him, but it was better to be cautious. He caught the departing elevator just as the doors began to slide shut and slipped inside before hitting the button for the top floor.

The walls of the elevator were mirrored and Ilya pulled off his hood to adjust his hair. He was wearing a black hoodie with the Boston Raiders logo embroidered in yellow over his right pec and overtop he wore a dark-wash denim jacket. He’d paired the hoodie and jacket with a pair of black, straight-legged jeans and his black and white Adidas Superstars. The outfit was casual enough but nice enough to spend the evening with his boyfriend’s parents. Apart from the stubborn curl above his left ear that refused to lay flat Ilya felt he looked perfectly poised and respectable and not at all like he was crazed with a mad lust for his boyfriend. Nope, no insane sexual tension here. Very cool. Very collected.

The elevator doors opened with a chime and Ilya stepped out into the quiet hallway. The apartment across from Shane’s was dark; Shane’s most recent tenants had moved out last month, and he had told Ilya he was thinking of selling both places and getting a stand-alone house somewhere a little more private.

There was warm light filtering from beneath the bottom of Shane’s door; he could hear soft music beneath the clatter of dishes and could just make out the low murmurs of the Hollander family chatting. Ilya took a deep breath and hesitated. He had the code for the door, he could let himself in, but maybe it was better to knock. He hadn’t been to Shane’s Montreal place since they’d admitted they had feelings for each other. Suddenly, inexplicably, he was self-conscious about the whole thing… letting himself into the building, going up the lift instead of the back stairs, opening the front door.

Ilya knocked.

Inside he heard Shane call ‘I’ll get it!’ and the fall of his hurried footsteps down the hall. Ilya tried for casual but the second the door swung open his face split into a broad, lovestruck grin. Luckily, Shane’s face lit up just as brightly the second their eyes met.

Shane looked gorgeous. His dark hair was longer than it had been in the summer and was styled back from his face in soft waves. It was longer than Ilya had ever seen it. He was wearing a pair of nice jeans and a soft looking crewneck sweater. The deep navy of the sweater made Shane’s brown eyes look richer and his fair skin starker, beautiful freckles dusting his cheeks and mesmerising Ilya even after all these years. So stunning, his Shane.

Ilya didn’t even get a chance to open his mouth and say hello before Shane was hauling him inside and into his embrace. He dropped his bag at the front door as it swung shut behind him and brought his arms up to circle Shane’s waist. A sigh escaped his lips, unbidden, as he buried his nose into Shane’s neck just above the collar of his sweater. Shane smelt so good.

All the tension in his body melted away. The ache of missing Shane that he’d been carrying around for weeks was soothed, finally, simply, by the tight hold Shane had around his shoulders. In his arms he felt Shane’s body loosen as well. His boyfriend’s tense shoulders fell, the muscles in his back relaxed, and Shane sighed contentedly as they pressed impossibly closer. Shane was making that little, pleased sound Ilya had heard a hundred times before. It was something like a purr, vibrating up from his chest, and settling inside Ilya’s.

“Fuck,” Shane whispered, somehow the word sounded reverent. “I missed you.”

Ilya had to swallow down the urge to cry. He pressed his face fully against the side of Shane’s throat and took a deep, grounding breath. Shane’s scent always calmed his dysregulated system even before he’d realised how much he loved him.

“I missed you so much,” Ilya said, eventually, when he felt he had control over his voice again.

Shane pulled back, Ilya had to control the urge to whine, but his boyfriend quickly grabbed his face and brought their mouths together. It was a relatively chaste kiss. Ilya was vaguely aware that Shane’s parents were in the kitchen just a few feet away. The entry was only slightly blocked from view and so he really should pull away from Shane as quickly as he could. If he started kissing Shane too deeply, he’d end up doing something unspeakable in front of the man’s parents.

When Shane huffed into his mouth and tilted his head to slide his tongue into Ilya’s mouth, Ilya’s brain short circuited. He gripped at Shane’s hips and kissed his boyfriend harder. Shane let out a pleased sigh and wound his fingers into Ilya’s curls. The familiar sensation of Shane’s strong hands gripping his head made Ilya feel dizzy. God, he’d really fucking missed Shane. Was it usually this difficult? How had he gone the last eight years only having this a few times a season? The kiss became impossibly deeper as Shane sucked Ilya’s tongue into his mouth. Okay, he really was in danger of getting an erection in front of Shane’s parents now.

Just as Ilya was about to push Shane back, for both their sakes, his boyfriend pulled their lips apart and pressed their foreheads together. They both took several, steadying breaths into the space between them. Shane played with the disobedient curl sticking out over Ilya’s ear. His fingers were so reassuring, so gentle, so loving. Ilya’s head tilted into the touch and his body completely melted. He was finally home.

With what seemed like a monumental effort, Shane pulled away. There was frustration in the crease of his brow, and he worried on his bottom lip with his teeth. Ilya smiled back at Shane’s dismayed expression. It was nice to be wanted as much as Shane wanted him.

“Okay,” Shane whispered and took a step back whilst he shook his head. Ilya let out a shaky exhale and rolled his shoulders. “Fuck, okay.”

Ilya laughed a little and Shane’s brow softened as he smiled back. He extended his hand and Ilya took it. Ilya toed off his shoes as Shane ran his thumb over his knuckles then he bent to pick up his abandoned gym bag from the floor before he let Shane lead him into the open living space of the condo.

“Ilya!” David exclaimed and waved, a peeler in his hand. He was standing in the kitchen over the sink with a pile of potatoes at his side. Yuna was on the other side of the kitchen island, elbows on the bench as she bent over her phone. She looked up and pulled off her reading glasses with a smile.

“Hi, honey,” She greeted, warm and familiar. Ilya was still a little taken aback by her pet names. “You played fantastic tonight.”

“Oh,” Ilya absolutely did not blush. Shane chuckled and nudged his ribs with a teasing elbow. “Thank you.”

“That goal right at the end of overtime was really something,” David agreed. “I think Yuna was even conflicted about her loyalty to Montreal.”

Yuna scoffed and turned back to her phone, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “I can appreciate a good goal and still be loyal to Montreal.”

David gave a warm laugh at his wife’s indignant tone and rinsed off the potatoes.

“I would never doubt your loyalty to Montreal, Yuna,” Ilya said mildly and Yuna looked back up to smile at him.

She had asked him to use her first name about a dozen times over the summer, and Ilya had only managed it a couple of times. Now he used it easily, familiarly. The Hollanders had put in a lot of effort to make Ilya feel welcomed, maybe overcompensating a little bit for their ignorance to their son’s years of silent internal struggle. Ilya appreciated the effort regardless and Shane’s eyes were so soft when he glanced sideways that he knew his boyfriend was delighted by the kindness his parents had extended to Ilya.

“Yes, yes, your goal was very good,” Shane rolled his eyes, though his lips were split into a wide grin. “Enjoy the win. It’ll be your last against Montreal this season.”

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Ilya poked out his tongue and Shane mouthed ‘fuck off’ at him before reaching out and taking Ilya’s bag from his shoulder.

“Mum, dad, I’m just going to show Ilya where to put his stuff,” Shane told them and the pair waved them off. Shane squeezed Ilya’s hand and led him up the stairs to his bedroom.

Once they were in his room, Shane released Ilya’s hand–much to his dismay–and dumped the gym bag on the ottoman at the foot of his bed. Shane quickly turned back to him and took one long stride forward before he pulled Ilya against him and was kissing him again. Ilya let out a startled laugh and wrapped his hands around Shane’s hips, holding his boyfriend close. The kiss was tame, well, tame for Shane. It was all light pecks and soft nips and happy sighs. Eventually it turned into delicate presses of smiling mouths and little giggles.

“You just brought me up here to kiss me,” Ilya teased.

“Yes, obviously,” Shane acquiesced. He was carding his fingers tenderly through Ilya’s hair and his brown eyes were fond as he held Ilya’s gaze. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Mm, sorry?” Ilya raised his brows. Shane stilled his ministrations and leaned in to press a kiss between Ilya’s brows.

“My parents,” He murmured into Ilya’s skin. Instead of pulling back he kissed down the bridge of Ilya’s nose then kissed the tip, the side of Ilya’s nose, the corner of his mouth, before pressing a chaste kiss to Ilya’s top lip.

“Is okay,” Ilya shrugged. “We will have a nice dinner with them. Then we can have sex later.”

Shane let out a disbelieving sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

“My parents are spending the night here,” Shane reminded him with a serious look, though his lips were curving into a grin.

“In guest bedroom downstairs,” Ilya said. “Your bedroom is upstairs.”

“Ilya,” Shane shook his head.

“What?” Ilya asked. “You cannot be quiet just this once? Surely you can manage for one night.”

“Oh, it’s just me that needs to be quiet?” Shane tugged on Ilya’s hair and Ilya gave him a smug look. “Shut up. Okay. Fine.”

Shane knew he was loud. It was obvious from the way his cheeks were slowly heating under Ilya’s amused gaze. Shane also knew that Ilya liked to hear him, that Ilya liked to egg him on, liked to hear just how loud he could get. It was going to be a challenge to both of them to keep it confined to the privacy of Shane’s bedroom.

“If you’re really worried, we can just not have sex,” Ilya aimed his tone for casual, but Shane saw right through him and was shaking his head.

“Obviously we are having sex later,” Shane said. Ilya gave an exaggerated ‘phew’ and wiped his brow dramatically.

“That is good to hear,” he teased. “I was going to leave after dinner if there was no dessert.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Really. I was. What good is seeing my boyfriend if sex isn’t on the table?”

“Right.”

“Speaking of sex on the table-”

“Okay, shut up right now,” Shane clamped a hand over Ilya’s mouth and tried not to laugh. “We have to go back downstairs.”

Ilya flicked his tongue out and licked Shane’s palm. His boyfriend cursed and yanked his hand away before scowling and wiping his palm on Ilya’s face. Ilya laughed as Shane muttered something about him being filthy and inappropriate. With a huff and an admonishing shake of his head, Shane turned to go back down to his parents in the kitchen. Ilya hurried after him and caught Shane’s hand on the landing, twining their fingers together and grinning at the exaggerated annoyed expression Shane threw over his shoulder at him as they took the rest of the stairs together into the living area.

When they reached Shane’s parents Shane pulled away and went to wash his hands in the sink before joining his father at the stove to help with whatever protein David had grilling in the pan. The space smelt like lemon and rosemary with a lovely savoury note underneath. David was an excellent cook, Ilya had learnt, and the man seemed happiest when preparing food for his family. Shane fell into place easily beside David and took over the grilling so that his father could check on the dishes in the oven and finish preparing the half-made salad on the bench. There was a separate bowl on the bench with a mix of brown rice and quinoa cooked specifically for Shane.

Something bitter tinged at the core of Ilya. Not jealousy. Maybe envy. His mother had loved him, deeply and unconditionally, but it had been so long since a parent had shown any sort of consideration for what he might like to eat. He couldn’t help but poke at the hollowness of his childhood every time he was around the Hollanders. They were a peaceful unit, and Ilya had never known familial harmony. Even when his mother had been alive the barbs of his father’s ire had still been penetrating. Irina’s tenderness could only cushion the keen sting of Grigori’s cruelty so much.

“Look at this,” Yuna laughed as Ilya slid onto the kitchen stool beside her.

Yuna leaned over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, as she showed him her phone screen. It was open on some silly Buzzfeed article about the best chirps of his career, opening with the one he’d thrown at the Montreal goalie just tonight. They scrolled the list and Yuna read them aloud with amusement as David offered his commentary on his favourites. Shane was smiling to himself at the stove and laughed when the article mentioned a few Ilya had thrown his way. Some of them were barely concealed flirtations. Yuna and David seemed to be even more amused by those ones now that they were in on the secret.

“I can’t believe some of these,” Yuna smacked Ilya’s shoulder and then leaned back in her chair.

“He’s a menace on the ice,” David grinned and Ilya shrugged.

“Not just on the ice,” Shane piped in as he turned off the stove and piled the cooked chicken breasts onto a tray. He covered them with alfoil then turned his attention to the dish in the oven. Ilya could smell cheese wafting out from the oven. His stomach growled.

“You boys must be starving,” David said and smiled apologetically at Ilya. “It’ll be ready soon, I promise.”

“Is okay,” Ilya waved a hand dismissively. “Thank you for cooking.”

“You’re welcome,” David beamed.

It was a little disconcerting. Ilya was not used to fathers being so… gentle. Sometimes being around David made him feel a little apprehensive, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the moment when he would need to step in and defend Shane–not that Shane needed protecting–when David would inevitably snap. It would be such a quick, startling moment, that maybe no one else would see it coming but Ilya would feel it. He’d feel it shift in the air before it even manifested in words. Maybe Shane would drop something or get in David’s way, and his father would yell at him and call him names. But no, that moment was not going to come, because David was not Grigori. Instead, he just moved easily around his son when Shane got in his way and gave him instructions for the salad dressing with a patient tone.

Ilya felt a little silly. The tense feeling rolling around his chest was unnecessary. He knew this. Shane was okay here. Ilya was okay here. He took a breath.

“Are you enjoying your season, Ilya?” Yuna asked him. She had pocketed her phone, taken off her glasses, and turned to face him on her stool. “I can imagine it must be a little bittersweet since it’s your last with Boston.”

“Ah,” Ilya gave her a warm smile. “Yes. I feel perhaps a little… um…”

Ilya looked over at Shane who had turned away from his task to look back at Ilya when he’d heard Ilya struggling with the right words to explain his feelings. Shane always noticed, even when they were rookies, he’d noticed. Shane raised his eyebrows in a question, a gentle offer of help.

“Word meaning happy but also sad over memories,” Ilya prompted and Shane pursed his lips in thought.

“Nostalgic? Sentimental?” He offered.

“Yes, sentimental,” Ilya nodded and turned back to Yuna. “I am happy to go to Ottawa, but I will miss Boston. It was the first place I lived outside Russia.”

“Of course,” Yuna said sympathetically and patted Ilya’s hand where it rested on the kitchen countertop. “It has been your home for a long time.”

“Not really,” Ilya shook his head. “It has been where I lived for a long time. Shane is home.”

Shane flushed a brilliant red at that and ducked his head to hide the goofy grin spreading across his face. Beside him, David chuckled at his son and nudged him gently with an elbow to his ribs. Shane muttered something and turned back around to stare at the oven.

“So really, leaving Boston means I am closer to home,” Ilya shrugged. He wasn’t going to let a chance to fluster his boyfriend go so easily. Shane made a strangled sound and his parents grinned at Ilya.

“Well, we are excited to have you in Ottawa,” David took mercy on his blushing son and drew the conversation away from Ilya’s romantic declaration.

“Yes,” Yuna nodded. “We went to a little Russian café the other day and the owner told us about a local market downtown with all sorts of Russian treats. So, we have a few places to take you.”

It was Ilya’s turn to get flustered now. He smiled, feeling a little overwhelmed. Realistically there was no way he could be seen wandering around Ottawa with Shane’s parents, at least not until they announced the foundation and that they were friends, but the thought they had put into finding him some pockets of familiarity and comfort in Ottawa before he even got there made Ilya feel a little winded. Cared for.

“That sounds very nice,” Ilya said unsteadily and Yuna patted his cheek.

Twenty minutes later they were sat comfortably at Shane’s dining table; Yuna and David on one side, Shane and Ilya on the other. David had served Ilya a heaping pile of cheesy, baked potatoes–Ilya’s favourite dish he’d had over the summer at the Hollanders’ house–and given him a large piece of chicken. He’d even made Ilya add more salad to his plate when he’d initially only served himself a conservative portion. Yuna and David had smaller, not-professional-athlete-sized portions of potato and chicken and salad, and Shane’s bowl of grains was strictly potato and cheese free.

Chatter flowed around him easily, Ilya interjecting when he felt particularly interested in the topic of conversation, but otherwise he just stuffed his face and let the gentle lull of warm voices ground him in the space. Beside him Shane was poking around at his dinner and talking in a focused tone about one of his brand deals. Ilya mostly tuned the conversation out, enamoured with his food and firmly uninterested in talking about Shane’s endless stream of commercials. Unless, of course, they were thinking of doing another underwear gig. Ilya would have to encourage that. Or maybe he shouldn’t. The last time he’d seen Shane in his briefs on television Ilya had nearly face-planted in the Raider’s gym. It was a workplace safety risk to Ilya if Shane shot more underwear commercials. He’d have to dissuade his boyfriend. Maybe he could do private underwear commercials just for Ilya.

When Shane’s tone grew tense Ilya locked back into the conversation. He skimmed his gaze over Yuna, who seemed unaware of her son’s increasing discomfort, and then over to Shane who was tense around his eyes and mouth. Ilya wanted to kiss the tension right off of his beautiful face.

“I think it would be a good opportunity,” Yuna was saying animatedly.

“Mom,” Shane sighed.

“They’re a really good brand, Shane,” Yuna continued in her best momager voice. 

Ilya paused his eating and reached a hand under the table to grab Shane’s thigh. He squeezed gently and Shane dropped his knife to grasp Ilya’s hand in his lap. Shane’s grip on him was tight, but Ilya didn’t mind. He picked up his fork with his free hand and kept eating when Shane gave him a thin smile.

“I just want to focus on the ongoing partnerships I have for now,” Shane said diplomatically as he played with Ilya’s hand under the table. He’d put his fork down now, too, and was rubbing his thumb around the rim of his water glass. Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand harder in an attempt to soothe his brimming anxiety.

As much as Ilya liked Shane’s parents, and he really did, there was a part of him that felt protective over his boyfriend when it came to his mother managing his career. Shane had confessed to Ilya, at the cottage, that all the things he felt the pressure to represent had made realising he was in love with Ilya so much harder. All the ‘hopes and dreams of budding Asian athletes across Canada’ had been stacked upon his shoulders from a very young age. Not just by the brands that used his Asian-Canadian identity as some kind of inclusivity tagline, but also by his mother who had reminded him at every juncture who he was a role model for. Shane had told him, one night as they’d laid on the couch, snuggled and sleepy, that being gay was so much scarier when he thought of all the things the world had come to expect from him. All the people and ideals he was supposed to represent. But when he just thought of them, of Ilya and Shane, there was nothing scary about that at all.

Ilya may not ever completely understand exactly what that pressure felt like, but he would do anything to lessen Shane’s burden.

“Is a new brand really so important?” Ilya asked, casually. “I see Shane on TV more than I do in person.”

“I just want Shane to think about it,” Yuna insisted and Shane pursed his lips.

“Mom,” he began slowly. “I don’t want to think about it. I’m saying no.”

Yuna looked a little shocked. Ilya turned his face down so he wouldn’t smile too smugly.

“Ilya’s right,” Shane continued. “He sees me on TV more than in person and right now…”

The grip Shane had on Ilya’s hand tightened then turned gentle as he pulled their hands up to rest on the table. Shane looked down at their intertwined fingers and smiled softly. Ilya watched him curiously as Shane took a deep breath.

“Right now I have to spend so much time focusing on hockey,” Shane was looking firmly at his mother. “Whatever free time I have, I want to spend as much of it with Ilya as I can. So the brand deals will have to become less of a priority.”

Ilya felt a little giddy at that and swayed towards Shane in his chair. He nudged his socked-foot against Shane’s under the table.

“I am not going to stop doing stuff with Rolex or Reebok,” Shane assured. “I just don’t want to add more things to my schedule that would interfere with me getting to just… live a bit.”

After a moment of silence Ilya chanced a glance across the table at Yuna and David. David looked equal parts proud and surprised, his lips quirked up as he took a sip from his glass of vodka. Something complicated was happening on Yuna’s face but it eventually settled and she tilted her head with a nod.

“Of course, honey,” she said gently. “You’re right. Your priorities are different now.”

Shane nodded and some of the tension left his body.

After dinner Ilya stood in the kitchen and rinsed off the dishes to be stacked in the dishwasher. He couldn’t actually stack them, Shane had a system, and if Ilya tried Shane would just take everything out and start over. Shane was currently arranging the smaller items on the top level of the machine with way too much focus than was necessary. But, at least, the task seemed to calm Shane. There was something about routine little tasks that always soothed his boyfriend. Ilya thought it was cute as much as it was confusing to him. He, personally, couldn’t imagine anything more frustrating than arranging a dishwasher so meticulously.

Yuna was cleaning up the benchtop and stacking the dishes that couldn’t go in the machine beside the sink and David was relaxing on the couch nursing another glass of vodka. He’d done most of the cooking, so Ilya had insisted he sit. Once Ilya handed Shane the last dish to go in the machine he turned to filling the sink with warm, soapy water. He was scrubbing away at an oven dish when Yuna came over and shooed him out of the way.

“You played tonight, please go sit,” she insisted and took the sponge from Ilya’s hand. “I will do this. Shane stop fussing with the dishwasher and go sit down!”

Shane straightened himself and shut the machine, muttering that he was done anyway and handing Ilya a dishtowel to dry his hands. His boyfriend wandered off to join his father on the couch, and they chatted quietly as Ilya carefully hung the dishtowel back over the oven handle.

“You’re really good for him, you know?” Yuna said suddenly and Ilya turned to her with raised brows. “He told me what he wanted, directly, tonight for the first time in a long time.”

“Ah,” Ilya nodded. “He can have trouble with that.”

“Yes,” Yuna sighed as she began cleaning the frypan. “Maybe I am also bad at listening to him when he tries to.”

Ilya didn’t know what to say to that. Her and David were only here tonight because they hadn’t listened to Shane when he had told them he’d wanted to be alone with Ilya after the game. Instead of pointing this out to the woman he crossed him arms loosely over his chest and leaned against the bench next to Yuna. She looked up at him and smiled a little sadly.

“I am very glad he has you,” she said. Ilya swallowed and suddenly felt shy. “When we first found out, in the summer, I was a little worried about what kind of partner you’d be but that was all based on reputation and this idea I had in my head about your rivalry.”

Ilya grimaced, his reputation preceded him. Before meeting Shane’s parents his media image had amused him, and he’d been unbothered by what people thought of him. Playboy, asshole, flirt, cocky. All true to varying degrees. The labels slapped on his public persona had been inconsequential to him until he was staring down Shane’s parents trying to explain that, yes, he had slept with his fair share of women, but he was completely devoted to Shane and, in fact, had never given his heart to a single other person.

“You are a good man, Ilya,” Yuna said gently, and it hit something deep in Ilya. Something wounded and self-conscious. “I am very happy that my son fell in love with you.”

Ilya was absolutely not going to cry. He cleared his throat, stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, and then turned back to look at Yuna. She was looking at him with an abundance of warmth and fondness. His mother used to look at him like that.

“Thank you, Yuna,” Ilya whispered because he certainly couldn’t get himself to talk any louder or steadier. “I am very happy that he fell in love with me, too.”

“Go sit with him,” Yuna nodded over to the lounge area. Ilya went.

Shane was sitting on the opposite end of the lounge to his father, but he wasn’t pressed up against the end. He’d left a little space between himself and the armrest for Ilya. Ilya tucked himself into the space easily and Shane leaned back into him, still chatting with David, as Ilya wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his chest. The casual intimacy, in the presence of others, made Ilya feel real and whole. He dropped his forehead to rest on the back of Shane’s neck and shut his eyes. The low rumble of Shane’s voice soothing Ilya to sleep.

When he woke, his head was in Shane’s lap. The room was dark apart from the soft yellow glow emanating from the table lamps at either end of the couch. Yuna was leaning down to press a kiss to Shane’s cheek and whispering goodnight. Then David walked past and patted his son’s shoulder affectionately before following his wife to the guest bedroom. Ilya blinked up at Shane blearily as his boyfriend watched his parents go. When the guest bedroom door shut with a click, Shane turned his attention down to Ilya in his lap. He smiled when their eyes met.

“You’re awake,” Shane stroked a thumb delicately under his eye.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Ilya mumbled and rubbed at his cheek to dislodge the fuzzy, sleepy feeling weighing down his head.

“It’s okay,” Shane said and moved his hand to run his fingers through Ilya’s curls. He bent his head over Ilya and pressed a kiss to his lips. Ilya stretched up into the kiss and wrapped a hand firmly around Shane’s neck when the man tried to pull away. Shane laughed and kissed him again, a little firmer.

The angle was awkward and their kisses were messy. Their teeth knocked, their noses bumped into chins and cheeks, but they both sighed into the kiss happily. Ilya released his grip on Shane’s neck and his boyfriend pulled back. This time, Ilya didn’t mind, because Shane pulled Ilya up off the couch with him and led him towards the stairs.

At the top of the stairs Ilya pushed Shane against the wall and crowded up into his space. They kissed again, the angle was so much better, and Ilya hummed in appreciation as Shane’s mouth opened under his. He pressed his tongue into Shane’s mouth and pushed his hands up under Shane’s sweater. His boyfriend was arching into him, pressing their hips together, and breathing hotly into Ilya’s mouth.

“God, I missed you,” Ilya told him and Shane moaned, perhaps in agreement, and pushed on Ilya’s shoulders until they were stumbling towards the bedroom.

They kissed the whole way down the hall, pausing a few times against the doorframes of other rooms on their way to Shane’s room. Their kisses were getting hotter and sloppier by the second and soon Ilya felt a feral heat crawling up his spine and tingling his scalp. Ilya ground his erection into Shane’s hip and his boyfriend gasped as he finally yanked them into the bedroom. As soon as the door slammed shut Shane was pushing Ilya down onto the mattress and climbing into his lap.

Shane straddled his thighs and Ilya ran his hands up his boyfriend’s legs and around to his ass where he gripped the other man firmly and dragged him closer. Shane ground down into his lap and Ilya yanked on Shane’s hair until their mouths were pressed together hotly. He could feel Shane’s erection, grinding into his own, but it was not enough. Too many clothes were in the way.

Ilya shoved his hands under Shane’s sweater again and paused their kisses so he could tug it up and over his head. He almost sulked when he saw the t-shirt underneath. Shane chuckled at his expression and reached down to pull the shirt over his head and Ilya hummed appreciatively when Shane’s bare chest was finally under his mouth. The feel of Shane’s warm skin against his lips set him on fire. He licked and kissed and sucked greedily at the flesh available to him as Shane sunk his fingers into Ilya’s curls and cradled his head close.

“Ilya,” Shane sighed, his voice was deep with lust, and it shot pleasure straight to Ilya’s dick.

In one, fluid motion, Ilya flipped them around and pressed Shane into the mattress. There was a delighted glint in Shane’s eyes as Ilya held him down firmly and Ilya kissed him about it. After a few long, deep kisses, Ilya pulled away and knelt between Shane’s legs. Shane watched him with hooded lids, chest rising and falling heavily. Ilya yanked his own hoodie and shirt off in one go and chucked them to the floor. Shane reached out and ran his nails down Ilya’s ribs to his hips. It made Ilya shiver.

Ilya sunk to his elbows over Shane, gripping his boyfriend’s hair and pulling his head back so he could kiss him again, deep and hot and possessive. Shane arched up beneath him as Ilya bowed his back and pressed his hips down. They rocked against each other as they kissed, and Ilya felt like a horny teenager. It felt like the first time in that Ilya was worried he was going to come in his pants before they even got anywhere interesting. If the way Shane’s mouth was turning sloppy and his breaths were turning desperate were any indication, then it was clear he was feeling just as needy.

It had been way too long. Way too long without this. Ilya didn’t know how he’d spent months without this before. Well, he did. By having sex with the beautiful anonymous women–and sometimes men–that he met at nightclubs and in seedy bars. It had been years since that kind of sex had fully satisfied him though. And no one, not one person, had ever set Ilya on fire like Shane did. Now Shane was all his and he was all Shane’s and Ilya couldn’t believe they only had this for tonight before they had to part again.

Ilya pulled himself back up onto his knees and undid Shane’s pants. He stepped off the end of the bed as Shane raised his hips helpfully and Ilya tugged Shane’s jeans down his legs. The jeans went to the floor and Ilya gripped Shane’s left ankle and pulled off his sock. Shane laughed and kicked his leg but relented when Ilya pressed an open-mouth kiss to his inner ankle and he let Ilya grab his other foot and pull his right sock off. Ilya removed his own jeans, and socks, before crawling back onto the bed and pressing himself down into Shane. With only their briefs between them now, Shane let out a low moan and reached out greedily to grip at Ilya’s skin.

“Shh, shh,” Ilya laughed but went easily as Shane pulled at him. Their erections were grinding together again, and Ilya was struggling to stifle a moan of his own. “We have to be quiet.”

“I want you closer,” Shane whispered and dragged his nails down Ilya’s back. “I want you in me.”

“Can you be quiet?” Ilya asked, going for teasing, but he was breathing a little too heavy.

“Keep me quiet,” Shane replied. “Just fuck me, please.”

Ilya nearly just about died at that. How could he refuse such a polite request?

“You will do whatever I tell you to, mm?” Ilya asked, he held Shane’s chin in his firm grip. Shane’s eyes were shining up at him. “Be a good boy, yes? Keep quiet.”

“Yes, whatever you tell me,” Shane breathed. “Anything.”

“Roll over,” Ilya growled, releasing his hold on the man, and Shane shuddered before turning over.

The room was lit only by a standing lamp in the corner, the soft light casting shadows over Shane’s lovely, muscular back as the man pressed his face into the mattress and pushed his hips up towards Ilya. He was a fucking sight to behold. It was almost unfair that only Ilya got to witness the beauty of this impossible, stunning man. Shane was so gorgeous. The world was missing out. But Ilya was so grateful that Shane was only his. The world couldn’t have this, this was his.

Ilya pressed a hand between Shane’s shoulder blades and held him down as he began trailing hot kisses along the bumps of his boyfriend’s spine. Every so often he nipped harshly at the meat of Shane’s muscle. Beneath him, Shane was squirming, trying to press the curve of his ass up into Ilya’s erection to get him to hurry up. They only had tonight to touch, to kiss, to fuck, so Ilya refused to hurry and snaked his other hand around his boyfriend’s hip to push him down into the mattress. Shane could grind into the mattress like this, but Ilya wouldn’t let him come from the friction. No, Shane was going to come on his dick.

“Ilya,” Shane whined, his voice was straining with clear effort to control his volume. Ilya sucked on the dimples at the base of Shane’s spine in response.

“Bite the pillow,” Ilya instructed. “Hush.”

A shiver spread throughout Shane, Ilya could feel it beneath his mouth. He flicked his gaze up the bed and watched as Shane dragged a pillow beneath his head and pressed his face into it. Ilya gave Shane’s ass a light slap, an encouraging gesture, and pulled Shane’s underwear down his thighs when the man finally pressed his teeth into the pillow. He watched Shane for a moment, watched his cheeks darken and his nostrils flare as he breathed through his nose. So pretty.

Ilya massaged Shane’s ass cheeks with firm fingers and then spread his boyfriend. Shane jolted and even the pillow between his teeth could barely muffle the moan he let out when Ilya licked a languid, wet stripe over his entrance. Eating Shane out was one of Ilya’s favourite things to do in bed. Not just because it made Shane feel so, so, so good, but also because it made Ilya feel wildly powerful. The way Shane melted as he became increasingly desperate and needy was indescribably arousing. His proud, stubborn, strong boyfriend reduced to needy whimpers on his tongue.

“Mngh, ffuckk, mnghore,” Shane was muffled by the pillow, but Ilya understood him. He was familiar with the whines and demands Shane made when Ilya would do this. Familiarity did not dampen the feverish wanting that was clawing at Ilya’s chest as he sucked on his boyfriend’s entrance. If anything it made it more intense. He knew this man. He loved this man.

As always, Shane’s entrance loosened easily at his touch and soon Ilya was fucking his tongue into his boyfriend. Shane was trying his best to keep still, as he knew that was how Ilya usually liked him, but Ilya was feeling generous and slowly guided Shane’s hips with his hands to rock up into his face. He wanted Shane to take what he needed from him. Fuck his face until he was on the verge of orgasm. Shane’s legs were trembling as he moved and his breathing was ragged. When his entrance was slick with spit, Ilya slipped a finger in beside his tongue. Shane’s whole body spasmed when Ilya’s finger found his prostate and then he went very still.

Ilya pulled his mouth away but kept his finger inside, pulsing it against the spot that made Shane keen and whine like a man possessed. Shane’s cock was dribbling precum between his legs and Ilya reached around to stroke him. The touch sent another spasm up Shane’s spine, and he moaned into the pillow. The fabric around Shane’s mouth was soaked in saliva and the arch of his spine was taut and tantalising. Ilya needed to fuck him right now.

Ilya pulled out his finger and leaned over the edge of the bed to grab the lube he knew was stored in Shane’s left beside table. Beneath him Shane was breathing heavily, obviously focused on keeping his orgasm at bay. Ilya kissed the back of his neck fondly as he positioned himself behind Shane’s arched hips again.

“Roll over, I want to look at you,” Ilya said gently and Shane, with great effort, got himself onto his back.

Shane’s lips were red and slick, and his cheeks were flushed a brilliant pink. He was, already, thoroughly wrecked as he looked up at Ilya with heavy, wet, brown eyes.

“You’re so pretty,” Ilya told him and Shane rocked his hips up at the praise. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Please,” he said, nodding his head towards Ilya’s still-clothed cock.

“Since you asked nicely,” Ilya shrugged and stood to remove his briefs. Shane eyed him hungrily and his mouth dropped open. Always so keen to have Ilya in his throat.

“Come here, please,” Shane spread his legs and Ilya settled between them.

Ilya slicked his fingers with lube, dropped the bottle on the bed beside them, and then hooked the fingers of his clean hand behind Shane’s knee to gently guide Shane’s ankle around onto his back. From this angle he could easily slip his fingers into Shane again. Shane let out a pleased sigh and tilted his hips up into the sensation as he bent his other leg at Ilya’s hip. His eyes were overflowing with affection, and Ilya had to kiss him.

As he fucked his fingers gently into his boyfriend’s pliant entrance, he kissed him tenderly and deeply. Shane’s hands had found their way back into Ilya’s hair and he was gripping tightly at Ilya’s curls. Their noses crushed into each other’s cheeks and the kiss became filthy when Ilya’s fingers found Shane’s prostate again. Shane’s breath hitched against Ilya’s mouth and their tongues tangled.

Shane gave a strangled moan, still managing to remember to keep his voice quiet, then threw his head back at a particularly brutal thrust of Ilya’s fingers. Ilya took the opportunity to ravish Shane’s throat with his lips and tongue. He sucked at Shane’s Adam’s apple and then nipped at the hollow of his throat.

“Fuck me, fuck me, now,” Shane hissed.

The way Shane had started to voice his desires with more confidence since they’d spent their summer at the cottage thrilled Ilya beyond words. There had always been something heady and uninhibited about Shane during sex that Ilya found dizzyingly arousing. From the first time they’d hooked up Shane had unravelled easily before Ilya. The serious, restrained boy that dominated his peers on the ice and smiled politely for cameras and coaches would sink to his knees and beg his pleasure from Ilya without reticence. There was never any performing when Shane was spread out on Ilya’s sheets; he was all earnest wanting and eager sensuality. Ilya swore there was nothing quite like Shane Hollander, wiped of his glossy PR veneer, demanding to be fucked. Since the cottage, Shane had become even more vocally wanton and distractingly tantalising.

Shane trusted Ilya with the needy, wanting parts of himself. And Ilya gave his own back to Shane in spades.

“Yes, любовь,” Ilya said soothingly and slowly removed his fingers from his boyfriend. Shane gave a soft whine at the loss. Ilya kissed him tenderly between his brows in reassurance.

He pulled back, just enough to reach for the lube and pop the lid. Shane was watching him with a fierce glint in his dark eyes.

“Condom?” Ilya had to check, he hoped Shane said no. He really, really, wanted to feel his boyfriend tonight.

They’d gone without a condom for the first time at the cottage, the morning after they’d said ‘I love you’ for the first time and Ilya had never felt so close to another person before. He’d felt a little unhinged at the sensation. They’d fucked alternatively with and without a condom since. Sometimes Shane wanted an easy clean-up.

“No, wanna feel you,” Shane echoed Ilya’s thoughts and wound his arms loosely around Ilya’s neck.

Ilya let out a hitched breath, squeezed lube into his hand before he threw the bottle off the bed and reached between them to slick his cock. The touch was a little overwhelming as he was already teetering on the edge of orgasm just from listening to the man trying so obediently to restrain his pleasured noises. He vaguely wondered if the rest of the season would feel like this. Would he feel so jittery and fragile with need every time? Until he could have Shane as often as he wanted, which was all the time, was he going to be shaking apart with desire whenever the man was in his vicinity?

With firm fingers he gripped the back of Shane’s thigh and guided his knee up to his chest, Shane’s ankle still resting on Ilya’s back. Ilya pressed searing kisses to Shane’s jaw as he pushed himself inside his boyfriend slowly. Shane gasped, fingers grasping at Ilya’s shoulders and hair shakily. When he was fully inside, Ilya took a steadying breath and nibbled at Shane’s ear to direct his attention away from the warm, almost unbearable sensation of Shane’s lovely body around his cock. It never failed to astound him how good this felt. Condom or not. Shane’s body welcomed Ilya so readily, so needily, and there was nothing on earth like it.

“You feel so good, fuck,” Shane whimpered and buried his nose into the curls just above Ilya’s ear.

“You are incredible, Shane,” Ilya murmured back and slowly rocked his hips into Shane.

“Yes, move,” Shane breathed.

“Be quiet,” Ilya reminded him and then pulled out before thrusting hard back into him.

Shane threw his head back and slammed a hand over his mouth, a low whine muffled by his fingers. Ilya chuckled into Shane’s neck and then hauled himself up so he could fuck into his boyfriend properly.

The bed creaked under the weight of their movements. It wasn’t exactly loud but the steady groan of the frame made it obvious what was happening in the room. Ilya just hoped that the guest bedroom was far enough away.

Beneath him Shane was rolling his hips to meet Ilya’s thrusts steadily and holding his hand firmly over his mouth. His deep, brown eyes were glistening wetly as he watched Ilya above him. When Ilya adjusted his hips and hit him dead-on his prostate Shane shouted against his fingers and squeezed his eyes shut tight. His body spasmed and Ilya looked down between them, watching raptly as his cock entered into the beautiful man beneath him over and over, relentless and steady. There was nothing quite like the sight of Shane’s body taking Ilya in so greedily, perfectly.

Shane was tugging on his hair then, pulling Ilya’s gaze from between them so they could make eye contact. Shakily, Shane removed his hand from his mouth and pulled Ilya’s face closer until they were kissing. When Ilya ground his hips into Shane again, driving himself right into the man’s prostate, Shane moaned into his mouth and sucked on Ilya’s tongue. Apparently, he was now using Ilya’s lips to stifle his needy sounds. Ilya was more than willing to be of assistance.

“More, Ilya, I want more,” Shane mumbled against his mouth then let out a soft gasp on the next thrust.

Ilya moved down the bed a fraction, dragging Shane with him so his head slipped off the pillows to lay flat on the mattress. He gripped Shane’s wrist in a commanding hold and guided Shane’s fingers to hold his knee firm against his chest. Shane’s other knee was still bent at Ilya’s hip and so he guided it up until Shane was folded, so prettily, in half beneath him. This time he didn’t need to guide Shane’s fingers to hold himself apart. Shane’s other hand moved to hold his knee to his chest, already anticipating and obeying Ilya’s silent directions. Ilya’s chest was bursting with need.

“You can be quiet if I fuck you like this?” Ilya demanded as he snapped his hips in a particularly harsh thrust. Shane choked out a gasp and nodded his head vigorously. Ilya steadied himself above his boyfriend with one hand beside Shane’s head and with the other he ran his fore and middle fingers over Shane’s lips. “Open, любимый.”

Shane’s lips parted and his tongue pressed on his bottom lip. Ilya slipped his fingers into his mouth. Ilya kept up a hard, punishing pace with his hips as Shane sucked on his fingers and stifled his moans around the digits. When he found Shane’s prostate again the man jolted and bit down on Ilya’s fingers then soothed the sting of his teeth with his warm, wet tongue. Something animalistic growled deep in Ilya’s chest and he pulled his fingers out–Shane whimpered in dismay at the action–so he could brace himself properly on both hands and fuck Shane harder.

Ilya was alight with pleasure as he watched the man beneath him take him so desperately. Shane’s chest was heaving and his lips were bitten red with the effort to keep his whines to a minimum. The bedhead was rattling loudly against the wall. The smooth glide of his cock in and out of Shane was a fucking mesmerising sight. Ilya was torn between staring at where they were joined and swallowing Shane’s aborted sounds with his mouth, but when Shane choked on a moan again and his eyes rolled back, Ilya found he had no choice but to kiss him.

It didn’t take long for their movements to become sloppy. Their hips grinding filthily and mouths pressing wetly but not really kissing. Ilya was doing his best to keep his own sounds muffled in the press of their lips. Then he felt Shane tighten around him, felt Shane’s body shiver, and he moaned as Shane released between them in hot pulses. Ilya followed him over the edge a moment later, panting into Shane’s mouth and shuddering at the feel of himself filling Shane up. No barriers between them.

They kissed for long minutes after they came, breaths hitching between wet presses of their mouths, and gripping at each other’s skin greedily. When they finally managed to pull apart, they rested their foreheads together and breathed into the intimate space between their bodies. Ilya slowly guided Shane’s legs back onto the bed, running soothing palms over his trembling thighs, but didn’t make a move to remove himself from Shane’s body.

“Holy shit,” Shane murmured. “Surely it is impossible for that to be so good every time.”

“Not impossible,” Ilya nuzzled his nose against Shane’s. “I am sex god.”

“Fuck off,” Shane shoved Ilya’s chest.

“You disagree?” Ilya raised his brows. “I am still in you, you came hands-free, and you disagree?”

“I’m not calling you a god, asshole,” Shane bit back as he reached up and cradled Ilya’s face tenderly between his palms. “But you feel fucking amazing inside me, and I love you so much.”

“Sounds godlike to me,” Ilya mumbled and then let out a delighted laugh when Shane rolled them over and pinned Ilya to the bed. Shane leaned down and kissed him.

“You” a kiss to Ilya’s bottom lip “are” a kiss to the corner of his mouth “a menace” a nip on his chin.

“Your menace,” Ilya beamed.

“Mine, yes,” Shane hummed and kissed him once more, soundly. “Okay, shower.”

“Ugh, can you not relax for two minutes,” Ilya groaned.

“I relaxed for plenty of minutes,” Shane argued and grunted as he gently separated them. Ilya tilted his head down to watch. A little trail of cum was sliding down Shane’s inner thigh. Ilya wanted to eat it all out of him.

Ilya rolled languidly onto his side to watch Shane walk across the room to the ensuite, his eyes glued firmly to his boyfriend’s ass. He heard a scoff and flicked his gaze up to see Shane rolling his eyes over his shoulder at him. Ilya grinned and hopped off the bed, capturing Shane from behind around the waist and sinking his teeth into Shane’s neck affectionately. He was careful not to bite too hard or suck or leave a mark, they couldn’t do that during the season. Shane swatted at him, but it was half-hearted at best.

In the ensuite Ilya plastered himself to Shane’s back as he fiddled with the shower taps. As the water heated and the room slowly filled with steam Shane held his hand in the spray, carefully checking the temperature. Ilya nuzzled into his boyfriend’s neck as he waited patiently for him to be satisfied. When the water was perfect Shane rested his hands over Ilya’s and eased them apart so he could pull them both under the spray. The shower door shut softly behind them, sealing them in the intimate space together.

Ilya always enjoyed showering with Shane. It was almost more intimate than the sex. Shane would lather a cloth with some lovely, subtly aromatic soap and tenderly scrub Ilya’s skin until Ilya felt raw and warm and clean. Sometimes Shane would wash his hair, too. When Shane would tilt his head into the spray and dig his fingers into Ilya’s scalp he would feel overcome with love and devotion and something a little like grief. It was unfair to be given this, so tenderly, then be denied access to it almost every day.

“What are you thinking about?” Shane asked him now as he ran a cloth over Ilya’s pecs.

“Just that I love you,” Ilya said. “And that I miss you.”

Shane gave him a soft, sad look at that, and replaced the cloth with his hand. He caressed Ilya’s chest and then thumbed at the cross resting at the hollow of Ilya’s throat. The water was cascading down his hair and catching on his lovely lashes.

“I know this is hard and…” Shane trailed off and scrunched his brows in search of the right words. “… and unfair but… I want you. I want us. I think we’re worth it. No, I know you’re worth it.”

Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane’s middle and pulled him close. In the circle of his arms, Shane’s body melted, his expression softened, and his hands moved to hold Ilya’s neck. The water slid between their bodies and washed away the suds from Shane’s careful ministrations. Ilya felt clean down to his bones.

“We are, you are,” Ilya agreed, he raised one hand to tilt Shane’s head back and kiss his lips. “Ты — любовь всей моей жизни.”

“Do you think we can do this?” Shane whispered when they parted.

“Yes, it will be hard but,” Ilya shrugged. “I think we will figure it out. Probably.”

“And it’ll be easier when you’re in Ottawa,” Shane said. “Right?”

Ilya wanted to believe it would be easier. Looking at Shane’s hopeful expression he decided he would make it easier, even if it fucking killed him.

“Right,” Ilya murmured and stroked Shane’s wet hair back from his forehead. “It’ll be easier when I am in Ottawa.”

Once they were out of the shower, and after Shane had towelled them both dry, Shane showed Ilya the space in the bathroom cabinet he’d made for Ilya’s hygiene products and the drawer he’d set aside for Ilya’s clothes in his wardrobe. There was space for Ilya, carved out in Shane’s home. Ilya had a drawer in Shane’s wardrobe and a shelf in the bathroom. Shane explained that no one came into his room but him anyway so it wasn’t necessary to hide evidence of them–within reason–in here. They could exist within the four walls of Shane’s bedroom just as they could exist at Shane’s cottage.

Ilya picked out a pair of briefs and Adidas trackpants from the drawer and dressed in the walk-in closet before padding back into the bedroom to find his boyfriend. Shane was folding Ilya’s clothes that he’d flung to the ground and was placing them carefully next to his gym bag on the ottoman – Shane had already thrown his own clothes in the hamper in the ensuite and pulled the dirty comforter off the bed to be replaced. Dressed in only a pair of briefs and a Metros hoodie, Shane was a vision of domesticity, and it made Ilya want to do laundry and talk about boring shit like health insurance or property tax.

“I’m hungry,” Ilya announced as he flung himself onto the bed. Shane frowned, as Ilya knew he would, at Ilya splayed out on the half unmade bed.

“You ate like a pound of potato at dinner,” Shane teased and walked around the edge of the bed to tug at Ilya’s pant leg.

“I played hockey and had sex,” Ilya let himself be dragged to his feet and moved out of the way by his boyfriend. “Is natural to be hungry.”

“I’m not hungry,” Shane said. He disappeared into the walk-in momentarily then came back with a new duvet cover that was an exact replica of the dirty one he’d removed. Ilya smiled at the knowledge that Shane probably had several identical duvet covers.

“I did most of the work,” Ilya smirked and sat himself on the ottoman. Shane shot him a glare as he stuffed the comforter into the new cover. “And I won the game.”

“Asshole.”

Shane settled the comforter back on the bed and then moved to stand between Ilya’s legs where he sat on the ottoman. Ilya’s hands went, by instinct, to rest on Shane’s hips and pull the man closer. He dropped his head to rest on Shane’s stomach and nuzzled into the soft fabric of his hoodie when Shane began dragging his fingers through his curls.

“What do you want to eat?” Shane asked. “More potato?”

“No, something sweet,” Ilya shook his head and tilted his head up. He rested his chin on Shane’s stomach as he looked up at his boyfriend. Shane was shaking his head down at him.

“I don’t know if I have anything,” he replied and traced a thumb over Ilya’s cheekbone. “But we can have a look if you like. Maybe I can make you something or we can order something.”

“You’re not tired?” Ilya asked.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” Shane shrugged. “I don’t have you to myself for very long.”

“Mm, who’s fault is that?” Ilya hummed.

“My parents,” Shane grouched and Ilya laughed and pinched his butt. “Or maybe mine. I wasn’t firm enough about it with them.”

“You did well tonight,” Ilya reassured, pursing his lips as he searched for his next words carefully. “Told them your… boundaries. About the commercials.”

“Yeah, well,” Shane sighed. “I don’t want next summer to be interrupted or whatever because I have to film some new campaign.”

“You already have summer plans?” Ilya pouted, his tone all tease. Shane rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you do too.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“I was not told about these plans. What if I am busy?”

“Okay, well, then I can always change my summer plans,” Shane smirked as he began to pull away. “Find some other hot Russian to spend the summer with.”

“No, no,” Ilya pulled him back with a playful whine and pressed his face into Shane’s hip. “I am the only hot Russian you need.”

Shane laughed and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s head, cradling him close.

“Yes, you are the only one I need.”

Ilya pushed at the material of Shane’s hoodie, moving it up Shane’s waist until so could press his nose into the warm skin above Shane’s briefs. He dug his fingers into Shane’s hips; thumbs pressing hard into the jut of his pelvic bone as he parted his lips to press wet kisses along the waistband of Shane’s briefs. Shane shivered under his touch and swayed closer until his shins pressed against the edge of the ottoman.

Ilya slid his hands down Shane’s hips to his legs where he curled his fingers around the backs of his thighs. He tugged until Shane got the hint and climbed into his lap. When they were face to face, with Shane’s thighs bracketing his hips, Ilya locked their lips together in a searing kiss.

Kissing Shane was Ilya’s favourite thing to do. He liked blowing Shane, fingering him, rimming him, he loved fucking him, but kissing Shane was a luxury. Before they became boyfriends the sex between them had always been frantic, passionate, a little aggressive. Spending time just kissing, leisurely making out, was not something they did until the cottage. Both because they were usually too horny to go slow and because, for Ilya at least, if he had of let himself kiss Shane how he’d wanted he would have ended up confessing his undying devotion to the man. He’d been right, of course. Once he got to kiss Shane how he really wanted, slow and deep and affectionate, he had crumbled and told him he loved him. Luckily, Shane had said it back. Now that it was all out in the open, and they were together and in love, Ilya was determined to indulge in the sweet press of Shane’s mouth to his as often as possible.

“Didn’t you want food?” Shane mumbled against Ilya’s lips, though he made no move to extricate himself from Ilya’s hold.

“Mm,” Ilya shook his head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Ilya,” Shane frowned. “You said-”

“Just kiss me,” Ilya instructed and Shane, ever obedient, huffed a breath and surged forward to press their mouths together.

The ottoman was too small to hold them both comfortably, too small for what Ilya wanted to do to his boyfriend, so he dragged his hands down under Shane’s ass and lifted him up. Shane sucked in a startled breath but quickly locked his legs around Ilya’s waist to keep himself steady. Ilya didn’t take him far. His boyfriend clung to him when Ilya attempted to deposit him on the bed and so they tumbled onto the clean comforter together, still kissing.

“I just changed the duvet cover,” Shane said when Ilya’s hands travelled back under his hoodie and began kneading at his pecs.

“Oh, you want me to stop?” Ilya raised his brows as he sucked his way across Shane’s sharp jawline.

“No…” Shane’s breath hitched when one of Ilya’s hands left his pec and travelled down between his legs. “I just don’t want to change the cover again.”

Ilya pulled back to look Shane in the eyes. There was plain arousal in the needy way his body was pressing up into Ilya’s and in the misty sheen to his beautiful brown eyes. But Ilya knew his boyfriend was serious about not wanting to make another mess.

“Okay,” Ilya nudged their noses together. “I will blow you. No mess.”

“That is a very sensible solution,” Shane breathed as he tilted his chin up and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s top lip.

“I am very sensible,” Ilya caught Shane’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. “Next time maybe we put out a tarp, so you don’t have to change the sheets so much.”

“Shut up,” Shane laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

Shane’s indignant tone turned heated and breathy when Ilya slid down his body to settle between his legs.

Ilya woke in the grey light of early morning curled around the curve of Shane’s spine. His right arm was numb, caught between Shane and the pillow they were sharing, and his left arm was tucked securely around Shane’s ribcage. Shane was nestled into the cushion of Ilya’s chest, breathing softly, and Ilya found his gaze transfixed by the steady thrum of Shane’s heartbeat where it fluttered at his throat.

He stroked a hand down Shane’s chest and pressed his palm to the man’s stomach, pulling Shane deeper into his embrace. Ilya buried his nose at the nape of his neck. Shane smelt like shampoo and eucalyptus soap and home.

After a few deep inhales Ilya pulled back a bit to squint at the alarm clock on the bedside table over Shane’s shoulder. It was just past six in the morning. He would have to leave in a couple hours and head back to the hotel so he could take the bus with the team to the airport. Then it would be another three weeks until he saw Shane again. They would talk on the phone–as they had every day of the last seven and a half weeks–and most likely have sex over FaceTime. But it wouldn’t be like this. He wouldn’t wake up with Shane in his arms. Though, holding him now, Ilya believed he could cope with the rest of the season if he got to have this for the rest of his life.

Shane stirred in his arms, making a soft, sleepy sound. The elegant curve of his spine stretched as he nuzzled his cheek languidly into the pillow beneath his head. Ilya rubbed soothing circles with his thumb over Shane’s stomach as the man unfurled his sleep-heavy limbs.

A pleased hum vibrated in Shane’s chest as he registered Ilya’s embrace around him. He turned over in Ilya’s arms until they were pressed nose to nose on the pillow. A lazy smile slowly spread across Shane’s lovely, sleepy face. Shane’s eyes and lips were always a little puffy in the morning, his lids a little heavy, and his mouth so sweetly pink. His thick, dark hair was mussed handsomely, and Ilya couldn’t help but tilt his head and press a kiss to Shane’s lips.

Shane must have been feeling particularly affectionate and syrupy because he didn’t pull back from Ilya’s kiss or make a fuss about morning breath. Instead, Shane was warm and pliant beneath Ilya’s touch, and he opened his mouth to Ilya easily. Their tongues brushed, their noses pressed into each other’s cheeks, and their kisses turned from languid and lazy to deep and demanding almost immediately.

They were naked under the covers. Ilya could feel Shane’s skin brushing against every inch of his own. His palms travelled down the smooth skin of Shane’s back and then further to the warm flesh of his lovely, muscular thighs. The hair on Shane’s legs was soft, and Ilya felt goosebumps shiver to the surface of the man’s flesh as he trailed featherlight fingers down his thighs.

There were hands on Ilya’s back. Strong fingers gripping at his shoulders, rough palms sliding down his spine and pulling him closer. The hold Shane had on him was possessive and reverent and it sent all the blood in Ilya’s body straight to his cock.

Ilya wrapped a hand around the back of Shane’s thigh and hiked the man’s leg up to wrap around his own hip. The movement brought them flush, chest to chest and hip to hip, and Ilya hummed at the hot press of Shane’s erection to his own. Shane moaned softly and dragged a hand up Ilya’s spine to the base of his neck to grasp at his hair and tug.

The kisses between them grew sloppy when Ilya snaked a hand between their tightly pressed bodies to wrap his fingers around both their aching cocks. Shane shivered and pushed his pelvis forward, slowly setting a rhythm between them with each languid roll of hips. Ilya pulled his hand away to fumble blindly behind him over the bedside table for the lube they’d left out last night. When he found it, he popped the lid and drizzled the cool lotion into his palm before wrapping his hand back around them both. He met each of Shane’s careful thrusts with firm strokes over the hot flesh of their cocks. They kept kissing as they moved against each other.

Eventually, their kisses turned to heavy breathing into each other’s mouths. Shane was letting out soft, needy little moans and occasionally nipping at Ilya’s bottom lip. For his part Ilya was watching Shane’s blissed-out expression and tracking the way his boyfriend’s eyelids squeezed tight then fluttered open when he dragged his hand over their flush cocks like this, like that. Shane was so gorgeous in the early morning light, lost in pleasure.

Shane’s leg tightened around Ilya, his hips faltering in their steady pace, and Ilya worked his hand over their cocks sloppily, desperate to bring them off together. When Shane tugged at his curls harder and his chest began to hitch, Ilya knew he was so close, and he moved his fist tighter and faster until they were both moaning into the wet press of their mouths and spilling onto each other’s naked chests.

For a while they just breathed into each other, hot and heavy, as they came down from their orgasms. Ilya eventually pulled back to stare intently at Shane’s face. The man was flushed, his freckles stark against the pink of his cheeks, and his eyes were hazy with pleasure. It was the best sight Ilya could imagine waking up to. Ilya leaned forward and kissed Shane’s perfect mouth.

“Good morning,” Shane laughed when Ilya pulled back to press kisses along his boyfriend’s blushing cheeks.

“Good morning,” Ilya murmured.

“I love you,” Shane sighed as he pressed their foreheads together. “That was a nice way to wake up.”

“Mm,” Ilya nodded as he blinked against the warm sleepiness muddling his brain. “I love you too.”

Shane smiled at him and ran his fingers through the curls at his hairline. Ilya could easily fall back asleep, sated and pleasantly fuzzy, in the tenderness of his boyfriend’s embrace.

Unfortunately, his phone chimed loudly at that exact moment, and Ilya let out a frustrated groan. That was the ringtone he’d set for Marleau. His teammate was probably telling him to hurry back to the hotel.

“Marleau?” Shane guessed, raising a brow. Ilya frowned and rolled out of Shane’s arms.

With his clean hand he scooped up his phone off the nightstand and checked his messages. Sure enough, Marleau was texting him.

           Marleau:

           Hey Roz, coach is looking for you already.

           He wants you back within the hour.

“You have to go,” Shane said. It wasn’t a question.

Ilya dropped the phone to the nightstand and rolled back into Shane’s embrace. He kissed the man, deep and hard, as if trying to brand the gentle curve of his boyfriend’s lips into his own.

“Let’s shower,” Shane suggested as he pushed his hands through Ilya’s curls to wrap his fingers firmly around the back of Ilya’s neck. “How long do we have?”

“Maybe half an hour, a little longer,” Ilya sighed.

“Then come on,” Shane gently pulled himself from Ilya’s grasp. “We can make out in the shower for a bit.”

“You are full of wonderful ideas,” Ilya hummed and rolled out of bed to follow Shane into the ensuite.

Forty five minutes later they were wrapped up in a tight embrace in the stairwell that led to the alley behind Shane’s building. Shane had walked him down the stairs, hand twined with Ilya’s, insisting that they go this way because it meant they got to spend a little more time together. At the base of the stairs Shane had pulled Ilya into a crushing hug, burying his nose in Ilya’s neck. Ilya’s grip on Shane’s waist was so tight he would be worried about hurting the man if he wasn’t a two hundred pound hockey player.

Ilya’s phone rang, the obnoxious ringtone echoing in the stairwell. It was probably his taxi calling, wondering where the hell he was. Ilya squeezed Shane tighter and took one last deep inhale of Shane’s scent before pulling away and pressing a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Three weeks,” Ilya told him.

“Three weeks,” Shane nodded.

“Я тебя люблю,” Ilya said.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane echoed. His pronunciation was getting better.

Ilya kissed him once more, deep and consuming, and then pulled away reluctantly.

He watched Shane smile sadly as the door swung shut between them.

At the airport, a couple hours later, Ilya got a text from Shane.

           Jane:

           We are never having sex with my parents in the apartment again.

Ilya frowned at the message and settled further into the uncomfortable airport bench. He was exhausted. They hadn’t slept much last night. Obviously, they’d kept each other awake with sex, but they’d also spent hours just talking and laughing about the silly things they hadn’t mentioned over the phone. They’d both saved up anecdotes and stories to tell each other in person just so they could see the other’s face when they shared something particularly dumb a teammate had done, or something weird that had made them think of the other. Ilya had felt like a kid on a sleepover, determined to stay awake all night just to laugh a bit more, just to spend a little more time talking. He was so tired now, but he could sleep on the plane.

Marleau had been teasing him for the last hour about the bags under his eyes and the heavy drooping of his eyelids. Ilya had put his sunglasses on just so Marleau would stop smirking at him.

He pulled his sunglasses off now and opened his messages with Shane. There were three little dots at the bottom of the thread indicating Shane was typing something else.

           Jane:

           My parents just apologised to me for a solid twenty minutes for staying over last night. They kept blushing and staring at the floor.

           Ilya:

           Do you think they heard us?

          Jane:

          Mom could barely look at me when she came out for breakfast. She won’t stop cleaning the kitchen. It’s already clean.

          Dad is avoiding eye contact and talking about the weather. He only does that when he feels embarrassed about something. Oh my god.

          Ilya:

          I told you to be quiet.

          Jane:

          I thought I was!

          Ilya:

          They totally heard us.

           Jane:

           I want to die.

Ilya snorted a laugh and shook his head. Marleau raised an eyebrow at him and Ilya flipped him off.

Ilya was a little–okay, maybe a lot–mortified by the thought of Shane’s parents hearing them fuck but he also felt like it was at least somewhat a good thing. Okay, not a good thing. But at least next time, when Shane said he wanted to see Ilya alone, his parents might get the hint.

            Ilya:

            Next time they won’t stay over after game. It’s better they understand.

            Jane:

            It is absolutely NOT better!

            Ilya:

            They know we have sex, Shane.

            Now they will respect your boundaries more probably too.

            Also, is a bit funny.

            Jane:

            You did not see the way they looked at me over breakfast, Ilya. I have scarred my father for life, and I think my mother is never going to look me in the eye again.

            Ilya:

            It will be fine. Just give them a few days to forget.

            Jane:

            We are never having sex again.

            Ilya:

            Wow. Wow. Wow. Okay. No need to make threats. Is fine. They will get over it.

Shane replied with a long string of curses and Ilya smiled fondly at his phone. He would have to call Shane later tonight from Dallas, talk his anxious boyfriend off the ledge, and convince him that becoming abstinent would in fact not mend the situation. Yes, it was embarrassing. No, Ilya absolutely did not want his boyfriend’s parents to be uncomfortable around him. But…

             Ilya:

             I’m not going to apologise for having sex with my boyfriend. I missed you. I needed last night. I also had a nice night with your parents. I love you.

It took a while for Shane to reply. He kept typing and retyping a message. Ilya watched the little text dots appear and disappear.

It wasn’t until Ilya was sat in his seat on the plane that Shane finally sent a response.

             Jane:

            I needed last night too. I love you too. Please text me when you land. I already miss you.

Ilya hearted the message, sent Shane a kissy face emoji, and switched his phone to airplane mode.

Three weeks until they were together again. He could totally handle three weeks.