Archive of Our Own

”It was my turn to decide
I knew this was our time
No one else will have me like you do
No one else will have me, only you

You'll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?

I'm here I'm now I'm ready
Holding on tight
Don't give away the end
The one thing that stays mine”

–23 by Jimmy Eat World

Shane walks at a quick pace with his head down, sunglasses on and hoodie up. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets and he thinks maybe choosing to walk wasn't a great idea.

Despite playing in all these different cities and towns all the time, he rarely gets time to explore them. He knows the arenas, which all have a predictable layout, for the most part. Aside from that he typically knows the block his hotel is on, which cafes are nearby and which gym is the best if the one at the hotel is too sparse with equipment.

He has his headphones in and his GPS gives him the occasional reminder to cross a street, each direction jarring him out of his head for a second, even though he should expect that it's coming by now.

He'd thought walking would be a good idea because it'd give him time to clear his head and maybe think through what he wants to do.

All he knows is that he left Rozanov’s home earlier this afternoon because he'd freaked the fuck out. He hadn't known what it meant, or if it meant anything at all.

When Ilya had asked him to stay the night, he'd been surprised. He'd panicked and tried to say that Hayden would be expecting him, but Ilya had been lying next to him, shirtless and beautiful, and had acted like Shane was behaving like a child needing to check in with a grown up. He'd reminded Shane that he doesn't owe anything to anyone, let alone Hayden Pike, but it had been the soft way Ilya had looked at him and said “Stay” that did him in.

The proposition was too tempting to resist. An entire night with Ilya was something scary and uncharted, but Shane had wanted it. He hadn't known how much he'd wanted it until the option had been presented to him. He then realized he had wanted it for a long time. He'd just stuffed and packed that desire so deep down, knowing it could never be entertained.

But then Ilya had asked him to stay, so he stayed.

Ilya had made them tuna melts. He'd handed Shane a ginger ale from his fridge even though he didn't drink them himself. That had made Shane think that Ilya had been planning this. Or maybe he just had someone else in his life who drank ginger ale. Maybe Shane is suffering from main character syndrome thinking he's the reason Ilya's fridge was stocked.

And after Ilya had gotten that phone call and came back down to sit on the couch, Shane had just wanted so badly to heal whatever hurt was there. He didn't like the way Ilya came back with his guard up, his eyes looking tired and dull, and he wanted to make it better.

So they'd started kissing and Shane had climbed into Ilya's lap and it had felt so fucking good. Ilya had looked at him like Shane was some otherworldly precious thing, and they'd cum and said each other's names.

Ilya had tried to fix it, had tried to downplay the significance. Shane knew better. He'd scurried out of there so fast he'd forgotten he was still wearing Ilya's clothes.

And then he'd gone back to the hotel and wallowed. Hayden kept asking him what was wrong and Shane waved him off. He'd taken a shower because they'd cum all over each other's stomachs and even though he'd wiped himself quickly before he left Ilya's house, he was still sticky and ashamed.

He'd washed away the traces of Ilya and had felt sad as he watched it all swirl down the drain. He didn't want to wash away Ilya's smell, he realized.

His feelings are confusing. He doesn't know what he is doing. They can't ever be anything. Why set them both up for this when they know they can't be anything?

Ilya may underplay it sometimes, but he's not a stupid man, especially when it comes to practicality. Shane is sure Ilya does the same thing he does whenever they meet up. They probably both have a thousand reasons for why this is a stupid idea, and each time they meet they know that it should be the last time they do this.

But then once he sees Ilya's playful blue eyes, always sarcastic and joking and being an asshole, those reasons melt away until he can't remember a single one. As the night progresses he always tells himself that if he can think of even one reason why they should continue, he won't break it off.

And he always does. He always thinks of a reason, and it's always the same. Because it's Ilya.

If anything, that should be on the list of reasons not to do this. But the feeling of Ilya's mouth sliding on his, being wrapped up in those strong arms, being stretched out and pliant underneath him; he knows that will never make it to the list of negatives.

Maybe it's a phase, a stupid holdover from immature, arrogant boyhood that makes him want Ilya so much. He shouldn't want what he'll never have. It's childish.

But bigger than that, he's tired of the mental exhaustion of trying to convince himself he doesn't want Ilya.

He turns past a produce stand and he wonders if Ilya ever turns down the same block. Has he ever bought carrots or apples from here? Has he ever sat down on this bench with a coffee, just to people watch?

What does Ilya actually do when he's not in Russia or playing hockey? They never really talk about it.

And isn't that the real childish, immature thought? That he wants someone so badly who he doesn't actually know at all? He doesn't know how Ilya takes his coffee or tea. He doesn't know what he looks like first thing in the morning. He doesn't know if he likes Thai food or if he prefers mustard or mayonnaise.

How stupid is it to risk everything for someone he doesn't really know all that well? Someone who he only sees a handful or two times a year?

So then the doubt creeps in. He wonders how it's possible to feel this strong pang of wanting when he doesn't know the fundamentals of Ilya.

But then maybe he does. He does know that when he acts bitchy towards Ilya, Ilya looks charmed and endeared even though he tries to hide it. He knows his every move on the ice. He knows what sound Ilya makes when he's trying to keep from cumming, and the sound he lets out when he gives up and lets go. He knows that Ilya smells like cigarettes, leather jackets, and spice.

But then again, so do many others. Countless people probably know all those same things about Ilya. He's not so special in that regard.

When his GPS tells him he's close to his destination, he halts in his tracks. He gives a good Canadian apology when someone shouts “Hey!” Because he stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk and blocked their path like an asshole.

He looks around and makes a split second decision to detour. He pushes open the door of a little bakery. Has Ilya been here? Maybe he comes in on each day off, making it a special treat.

Shane doesn't know what he should get, so he picks something that has soft, pillowy frosting with strawberries. They pack it in a small paper bag and then he sees a ginger ale in their drink cooler and decides to get one of those too.

All in all, it only stalls him for three minutes.

When he gets to Ilya's house, he has broken out into a sweat. It took him an hour to walk here from his hotel. He feels the perspiration settle uncomfortably in the soft material of his sweatshirt.

He rings the doorbell and waits. This was a stupid idea. Of course it's stupid. Shane had just ran out like a fucking asshole. Ilya had put himself out there, had bought ginger ale, and Shane had just left him feeling stupid probably.

Or maybe Ilya doesn't care at all. Maybe Ilya keeps ginger ale stocked for his best friend Svetlana and it's just a coincidence he had some in the fridge today. Maybe Ilya is pissed because he'd wanted to fuck again later and Shane foiled that plan. Maybe that's all he cares about. Maybe he's already invited someone else over to quell that need.

When Ilya answers, he looks like shit. Still beautiful because he's still Ilya Rozanov, but his eyes are rimmed with red and his hair is sticking out every which way. He looks like he's showered also so there's that. But his eyes look so, so tired. Just like after he'd gotten off the phone.

“Hollander? What do you want?” Ilya asks, voice hard like iron, like he'd armored up before he answered the door. Apparently they're also back to a last name basis. That's fair, probably. Ilya is looking at Shane expectantly, gesturing his hand out as if to say ‘what the fuck do you want?’

“I brought you these,” Shane says stupidly, thrusting the bag and the ginger ale towards Ilya.

Ilya raises his eyebrow and looks like he doesn't have time for Shane's bullshit right now.

Shane shrugs uncertainly, knowing that he looks like a fucking idiot right now. He definitely feels like one. He'd had an hour to rehearse what he'd say, and this was the best he could do? Mortifying.

“You run away like scared little puppy, and then come back to bring me a–” Ilya stops, rustling the paper bag open to check what's inside. “--Some sort of strawberry flaky thing and a can of ginger ale?”

Even Ilya's voice sounds tired. He doesn't sound amused. He doesn't laugh or seem enamored by this quirky, surprise gesture.

“I was thinking. I'm not sure who you keep ginger ale around for but I took one so I should probably replace it, and then I just saw the pastry and thought maybe you'd like it,” Shane rambles, and he didn't think things could get more embarrassing but he somehow managed to do just that.

Ilya looks down at the bag and the can of ginger ale that's already becoming lukewarm from having been in the pocket of Shane's sweatshirt.

“You think I can't afford more ginger ale?” Ilya asks skeptically, looking mildly offended.

Shane's eyes widen in mortification. How is he fucking this up so badly?

“Look, can I come inside?” Shane asks, fidgeting nervously as he looks around. Ilya seems to notice Shane's anxiety at being seen standing at his front door. Shane can almost physically see the way Ilya bristles.

Fuck, even when he's not talking he's fucking this up.

Ilya sighs and runs a hand through his wild nest of curls. “What do you want, Hollander? I am very busy.”

Shane knows that's not true. He'd invited Shane to stay the night, so what plans could he possibly have? But he doesn't point that out.

“I don't know,” Shane admits, deciding that dishonesty only seems to keep fucking him over so he'll try the truth for right now. “I just know that when I went back to the hotel I realized I regretted leaving like I did. I really, really wanted to stay the night.”

“What about your team meeting?” Ilya asks coldly, still not opening his door all the way, still keeping Shane firmly outside. Of course Ilya knows there is no team meeting. That he had lied.

He considers lying again, saying it got cancelled or he’ll just skip it, but lying really does seem to be yielding him some poor results today.

“I lied about that. Um, there's no team meeting.”

“Wow, are you serious?!” Ilya says in mock disbelief, confirming that he'd never bought that excuse for even a second.

“Look, I'm sorry. I was an asshole. I shouldn't have left like I did. Can you just– can I come inside and talk?” Shane looks at Ilya with pleading eyes. Ilya's face remains stoic and indifferent.

“There's nothing to talk about,” Ilya shrugs, and with a panic Shane realizes that Ilya is going to shut the door. Suddenly that sounds like the absolute worst thing that can ever happened in the world. He can't let Ilya shut the door.

“Ilya!” Shane pleads. Ilya stops the door just as it's about to click shut. He opens it back up a bit, eyes searching Shane for something but he's not quite sure what.

It feels like a secret test that Shane didn't know about and therefore could not prepare for. But the use of his first name seems to work, and he opens the door, stepping aside to let Shane in.

Everything is still in the same place, which of course it is. It was only a few hours ago. Their dishes are still in the sink. The couch cushions are still crumpled from where they'd been sitting and doing other things.

“Make it quick, Hollander,” Ilya says, placing unnecessary emphasis on the use of his last name. Letting Shane know he is keeping him at arms length. “I was just about to smoke.”

Shane falters, confused. “Oh, you can go ahead and smoke. I don't mind,” Shane says, restlessly wringing his hands together now that Ilya had taken the ginger ale and the pastry and he has nothing to occupy himself with.

“I know. Is my house. I don't need your permission,” Ilya replies, which makes Shane’s cheeks flush red because of course he doesn't. That was a stupid thing to say. “But I was not going to smoke a cigarette. And I don't want you to ruin my high.”

“Oh,” Shane says in surprise, although he's not sure why that is. Everyone smokes pot. If anything, Shane not smoking pot is the outlier. But Ilya has never talked about any substances other than alcohol, so he has never really imagined Ilya doing any sort of drug, even one as harmless as pot.

Ilya gestures towards the coffee table which Shane hadn't noticed until now had some rolling papers and herb splayed out of a plastic baggie. He feels dumb because he doesn't know what it's called before it's rolled. Grass? Flower? God, he is so embarrassing.

He almost asks if that's why Ilya's eyes are so red, but he doesn't, because he's afraid that the answer will be no. Which means that Ilya had been crying after Shane left. And if that's the case, he'd rather not know or make Ilya have to shamefully admit to crying over what Shane had done.

“Can I… can I join you?” Shane asks, surprising even himself. Ilya looks surprised too, eyebrows raising quizzically.

“Hollander, you want to smoke pot with me? Have you ever smoked pot before?” Ilya questions, but he is sure Ilya knows that the answer to that is no.

Shane is stubborn though, and he doesn't want to feel underestimated. “No, obviously. But I think I'd like to. I'd like to just… not be in my head,” he admits, which in turns causes Ilya's eyes to soften in understanding.

He must know what that's like.

“Ilya Rozanov getting Shane Hollander high. I do not know if I want to be responsible for corrupting innocence of Canada's golden boy.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Shane points out. This causes Ilya to chuckle quietly to himself and shake his head in a way that betrays some level of fondness.

“Okay, Mr. Stoner. I will roll joint and you can take a hit. How about that?” Ilya asks, taking a seat on the couch.

Shane nods silently and moves to sit next to him. Back on the couch where Shane had just fucked up so massively hours earlier. The pang of guilt and regret is so strong he feels dizzy from it, so instead he focuses on the practiced and effortless way Ilya's hands move as he rolls his joint. It shouldn't be that attractive.

“I really am sorry for earlier,” Shane says, wanting to be sure he apologizes properly before they're both high. He wants Ilya to know he means it sober too. “I freaked out and that's not fair. I don't want to be such a mess. I just want–”

Ilya lights the joint silently, taking a puff and staring at Shane as he blows the smoke out. Shane isn't so sheltered he doesn't know what weed smells like, but he hadn't considered what he'll do if he has to return to his hotel smelling like a skunk. What will Hayden say?

“--I want you,” Shane finishes simply. “I don't want to look back on this day regretting that I left. I want to stay the night with you, if I still can. If that's still an offer on the table.”

Ilya seems to consider this and takes another hit. It's actually kind of annoying how hot Ilya looks doing literally everything. He can only imagine what would happen if the anti-marijuana and anti-tobacco campaigns saw Ilya look so stunning when he smokes. It'd be all over. Because Ilya makes it looks fucking cool and beautiful and all the things they try to convince you as a kid won't happen if you indulge in vices.

“It's still on the table,” is all Ilya replies at first, but his guard still seems up. He's not as loose and gooey as he was before Shane freaked out. Not yet, anyway.

Shane will need to earn that privilege back, probably. He can do that.

Ilya tells him to watch, and demonstrates slowly and methodically how to take a hit. Then he passes it over to Shane, eyes watching him carefully.

Shane has never been opposed to smoking pot, or well, he'd always considered that he'd probably try an edible before he'd compromise his lungs by smoking. He's not against it per se. He knows the guys on his team do it sometimes at team BBQs when it gets later, or before going to the bar.

He's never cared for anything that alters his senses too much. He's also never had anyone who he felt safe enough to do it with. It's not that he doesn't feel safe with his teammates. He knows they'll tease and holler about it good-naturedly, but he doesn't want that attention on him. He doesn't want it to be a big deal that it's his first time.

Ilya seems to understand this and doesn't make it one.

Ilya seems to handle all of Shane’s firsts just how he needs.

Ilya helps pat Shane on the back when he sputters and coughs. Ilya asks if he's okay with mild concern, but for the most part he gives Shane space to navigate the new experience without feeling too perceived and self conscious.

“Take a few minutes with it before you take another hit,” Ilya advises, passing the can of ginger ale to Shane. Shane accepts it gratefully, his mouth feeling a bit dry and scratchy.

He allows himself to relax on the couch next to Ilya for a while. The distance between them feels vast even though they're side by side, but they're not touching.

“Can I try something?” Ilya asks, those piercing eyes staring into Shane's, a little more bloodshot now. Shane nods.

Ilya takes a hit off the joint but holds the smoke in, leaning close to Shane as if he's going to kiss him. Shane feels his heart beating faster in his chest as he follows Ilya's cue and opens his mouth, allowing Ilya to exhale and blow the smoke past Shane's eager lips.

Shane feels himself getting hard at the proximity, at the closeness of it all. Ilya allows his lips to linger close to Shane's for a few beats before pulling away, causing Shane to whimper softly at the loss.

He at least gives Shane the dignity of ignoring how pathetic and aching he sounds in that one whimper.

“How do you feel?” Ilya asks after a few minutes.

Shane checks in with himself. He kind of naively thought he'd be super far gone, like when he sees people who are blackout drunk at the bar.

But it's not like that at all. He still feels in control of himself and his body. He just feels more relaxed, a little more floaty.

“Good,” Shane says. He doesn't elaborate or mention that he thinks he's also getting hornier. But to be fair he's not sure if that's the weed or just Ilya's presence in general. “It's nice.”

“Good,” Ilya says, relaxing into the couch and allowing Shane to press his back into his chest. Ilya wraps a loose arm around Shane, like he may run off again.

“I really am sorry. I don't know why I freaked out before,” Shane says, realizing he also feels more chatty now too, just a little less inhibited. “That was so fucking hot. I loved it and I loved your tuna melts,” Shane says, closing his eyes softly.

He's not sleepy, just relaxed. He so rarely lets himself truly relax. He always feels like he needs to be on guard and in control, and he can't really remember why that is right now.

Or maybe it's just that with Ilya, he feels safe enough to relinquish control. He mulls that idea over in his mind.

Ilya used to represent danger. He used to intimidate Shane with his experience, both with hockey and sexually. Despite being the same age, Ilya always felt more grown up than him at first. Ilya had to come to North America alone and navigate everything himself.

Shane always had his mother there hovering, keeping a watchful eye. He's grateful for her love and protection, but he's always felt managed. It probably stunted him a bit, keeping him sheltered. Ilya had to go to a country where he knew nobody and barely even knew the language and navigate this all on his own.

Suddenly Shane feels so proud of Ilya, but also so sad for him. This whole time he'd felt so intimidated by Rozanov while he was probably hiding how scared he felt as he figured everything out. They were so young when they first met.

“You're so brave,” Shane says, which probably feels random because Ilya isn't privy to his internal monologue. “With everything. Moving here, playing professional hockey, learning English, fucking me despite the consequences, inviting me to stay the night. So brave.”

Ilya chuckles a bit, shifts around awkwardly. It's not often Ilya comes across awkward. He always has this facade of confidence.

“I like to feel good. I do what feels good. Playing hockey feels good. Not living in Russia feels good. Being with you feels good,” Ilya answers, acting like it's all so simple.

Maybe it is all so simple. Maybe Shane has just been overcomplicating it the whole time.

Shane opens his eyes and sees that Ilya has been studying him carefully. Ilya lets his gaze drift across Shane's body openly without shame, lingering on where Shane is half hard in his joggers.

“I keep waiting for the right time,” Shane admits, for once not worried and panicked over what he's saying. “But maybe there is no right time. I don't want to regret waiting and wanting and never acting.”

Ilya's arm across his body is smug and warm. Ilya allows his hand to splay across Shane's stomach and then under his hoodie, not doing anything more suggestive, just caressing back and forth over his belly button. It feels like an anchor, and a bit possessive in a way Shane wants more of.

“The right time for what?” Ilya asks, taking one last hit before offering a final one to Shane, then stubbing it out in the ash tray.

They lay back on the couch, legs intertwined, Shane’s head on Ilya's chest. Ilya's arm is still pulled tight over him, fingers skimming Shane's skin.

Shane hums in contentment, just happy to be here.

“To tell you how much I like you. It's scary sometimes. But other times it just feels so obvious, like breathing or skating,” Shane answers.

He briefly feels Ilya's fingers still across his stomach, but only for a moment before he's back to drawing invisible patterns across Shane's abs.

“What are you hoping for, Shane?” Ilya asks, and the use of his first name again feels like a hit of dopamine. Like he's earned a piece of lost trust back.

Shane considers the question. What is he hoping for? What does this mean? But he is tired of asking himself that question. He's tired of all the second guesses and insecurities.

“Just hoping for you,” Shane confesses. He feels a bit emboldened by the high and Ilya's use of his first name again. “I'm here and I'm ready. For whatever. Whatever you want. Whatever you can give me. I just want you. I'm tired of pretending I don't.”

He turns around in Ilya's lap to face him, their bodies lining up together. Ilya can surely feel how Shane is getting hard, and knows his erection is digging into his hip. He doesn't care.

“Do you want me? Because I'm not running away again,” Shane asks, fisting his hands into Ilya's shirt.

Ilya doesn't speak but he nods vigorously before capturing Shane's lips with his own.

The high helps everything feel intensified, like time is a bit slow and he's more aware of his body.

Ilya's lips feel so soft and hungry on his own. He loves the sound of their lips kissing over and over. It feels like Ilya is trying to devour his face, his nose pressing hard into Shane's cheek.

He would let Ilya devour him whole if he wanted.

He feels the stubble of Ilya's jaw scratch against his own in a way that feels like home. He feels Ilya's hands roaming under his hoodie before they part so he can take it off.

Ilya briefly pulls apart and just stares at him, close enough to share breaths. Like when Ilya had blown smoke in his mouth, except this time he's calculating, evaluating something.

“You are not just saying this because you're high?” Ilya finally asks, and Shane is struck by how vulnerable Ilya looks at this moment.

His eyes are bloodshot red but it's so obvious he'd been crying before Shane showed back up here. He hates that Ilya was crying, but there's nothing he can do now but apologize and try to make it better. Ilya still looks a bit fearful, like if he moves too much too fast that Shane will spook and take off like a dog in a thunderstorm.

Shane brushes his thumb over Ilya's stubble, loving the way it catches and scratches against his skin.

“No, not because I'm high. I walked an hour here from my hotel. I had plenty of opportunities to turn back around, but I didn't want to. I don't want to,” Shane says.

Ilya seems to trust enough in this answer because he kisses Shane again, his mouth hot and insistent.

Ilya's hands are hot and firm on Shane's skin as they explore under his shirt now, mapping across Shane's back until he has it all shoved up at Shane's armpits so Shane just takes it off.

Once the shirt is off it's like a dam breaks and Ilya is all over him until Shane feels his warmth everywhere.

Everywhere, Ilya's hands feel safe. He can still feel the ghost of his touches wherever they move.

Ilya is sprawled out lengthwise across the couch and Shane straddles his lap, shoving his shirt over his head.

“Bedroom,” Ilya demands, each shoving their pants down.

Ilya laughs when Shane nearly trips trying to hop out of his left pants leg. He holds out an arm for Shane to use for balance. Shane laughs too, and then he can't stop.

Okay, he might be a little high.

They laugh until they're both in tears, and Shane feels oddly euphoric after, like a different kind of release he didn't know he needed. He watches as Ilya's necklace swings across his chest as he laughs. He never sees Ilya so giggly and carefree like this. He wants to see it all the time.

But then he rights himself and accidentally presses into Ilya, their hips aligning. Shane gasps and grinds into Ilya, and the air shifts between them again.

Once they're upstairs and naked, Ilya presses him down into the mattress on his stomach, his dick hard and wet against his ass.

“Hands and knees,” Ilya orders, tapping Shane gently on his back. He listens immediately, looking back when Ilya is silent and hasn't touched him.

He doesn't expect to see the look of reverence on Ilya's face. His breath catches in his throat and he hopes Ilya never stops looking at him that way ever.

He will do anything to keep Ilya looking at him this way.

Shane makes a whining sound in his throat which seems to break Ilya out of whatever spell he's under. Ilya climbs behind him and grips Shane’s ass in both of his hands, moaning and parting his cheeks.

“Wanna eat you out,” Ilya mumbles, smacking Shane's ass gently.

Shane would also like that very much.

Ilya presses his tongue against Shane's hole, causing him to let out a shuddering breath.

He's maybe a little insecure because he did walk for an hour here and he's probably a little sweatier than he'd prefer, but the high seems to dull that pang of self-doubt.

He decides to focus on what Ilya is doing to him instead, which feels amplified right now. Ilya must be pretty gone too, because he's not quite as precise and methodical as usual.

It's even hotter though, how sloppy he is right now. He can hear Ilya's deep breathing as he frantically licks and kisses over his hole, pushing his tongue inside past the tight muscle.

“Ilya, fuck,” Shane moans, pushing back against his mouth.

He notices the way the bedding feels underneath his hands maybe more than he would if he was sober, but he also notices more how the goosebumps erupt across his skin, shivering when Ilya presses a lube slicked finger inside along with his mouth.

His arms start to shake from the difficulty in keeping himself up. It's too much. Feels too good.

He finally gives up and falls down to his elbows, which seems to spur Ilya on because he pulls his hips back, making him stick his ass out more.

Just when he thinks he's going to have to tell Ilya to stop before he cums and before they get to the fucking part, Ilya stops, placing a kiss on his hole that is bizarrely delicate and filthy simultaneously. It's absurd and Shane almost starts giggling again.

“Ride me, da? I want to look at you,” Ilya says on an exhale, panting to catch his breath.

Shane turns around and sees Ilya's face all slick and shiny and red. He looks obscene. He has drool on his face and he looks elated about it.

Ilya sits up against the headboard and shakes the bottle of lube at Shane suggestively.

They both start laughing but this time Shane gets the bright idea to kiss Ilya stupid so they don't devolve into another long cry laughing fit.

He bumbles a bit as he puts the condom on Ilya, his fingers feeling all fidgety and too eager. Ilya laughs at him in a way that feels maybe affectionate and Shane flips him off in a way that is definitely affectionate.

Once Ilya is slicked up with lube, Shane settles over his cock and uses one hand to hold the base of Ilya's dick steady, the other on Ilya's shoulder.

“Fuuuuck,” Ilya groans, looking at Shane through heavy eyelids. “You feel fucking fantastic, Shane.”

“I love it when you call me Shane,” he admits as he adjusts to the feeling of being so full. “I think that's why I bailed. I liked it too much, maybe.”

“You can let yourself enjoy things, Shane. Is normal. Good even,” Ilya says, and then he's holding Shane by his hips, guiding him while Shane bounces up and down.

He enjoys Ilya, a whole fucking lot.

He's not sure when he decided that depriving himself of things he enjoys or wants was a good thing. Somewhere along the way he thinks maybe he convinced himself that being the most disciplined means restricting. That joy and pleasure are indulgences that distract from his progress.

He's not supposed to be gay, so what better way to punish himself for enjoying being fucked than by self-sabotaging and restricting any chance at enjoyment?

Well damn. That's what he's been doing?

When he looks at Ilya's beautiful fucking face, he knows that it's the stupidest idea he's ever had, trying to convince himself he doesn't want this.

“You're so hot,” Shane groans, loving the arrogant smile that slides on Ilya's face at the compliment.

Ilya grabs Shane's jaw with a firm hand, moving his face at the angle he wants before kissing him hard.

Okay, being forthcoming about Ilya's hotness feels great, confirmed.

Kissing Ilya and still tasting himself on his tongue feels great confirmed.

The sound of their heavy breathing and Ilya moaning into the kiss feels fucking perfect, fucking confirmed.

Shane plants both hands on Ilya's shoulders now, using him to get more leverage so he can ride him faster and harder.

“Love when you use me,” Ilya gasps, smacking Shane on the ass. “Use me to feel good. Use my cock,” he croons, mouth falling open in a gasp as Shane does as he's told.

Shane can feel the pleasure building and he's dizzy with it. He's not sure if he's dizzy from pleasure or being high or both.

The air feels knocked out of his lungs when Ilya growls and rolls them around so he's on top, slamming his hips in harder, coaxing loud punchy moans out of Shane.

Fuck, he loves when Ilya just loses it and fucks him like he's rabid and feral for it.

He leans forward to bite and kiss along Ilya's neck. Ilya moans, spreading Shane's legs further to get in deeper.

Shane feels like he's being split open in the best way. Ilya's necklace swings side to side and he feels hypnotized by it. He wants to take it in his teeth so he does.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ilya moans, and then he's cumming hard inside Shane, fucking him through it.

Ilya looks gorgeous like this. Shane usually cums first so he doesn't always get to truly appreciate what Ilya's face does when he orgasms. He's usually still working on coming out of his own haze when Ilya cums.

But Ilya's skin is blotchy and damp with sweat, his eyes are focused and desperate, and his pink defined lips are parted and swollen from kissing and probably from eating Shane out earlier. His golden curls are a halo on his head. He's ethereal.

Shane strokes himself a few times and then he's cumming too, eyes still trained on Ilya's face until he can't keep them open anymore. He sees bursts of colors and dots behind his eyes, making incoherent noises until he's spent.

“You kill me, Shane,” Ilya gasps, pulling out and rolling over onto his back beside him.

Between this and the fucking and frotting earlier, he doesn't disagree. Jesus, they've cum three times today.

“I'm glad I came back,” Shane grins, moving on his side to kiss Ilya softly.

“Me too,” Ilya agrees, kissing his cheekbone, his nose, his forehead.

When they wake up, it's their first time waking up together after spending the night. Yesterday was a nap and didn't count.

They don't have terribly long today. There's an afternoon game.

“You have morning breath,” Ilya says sleepily, a tired and dazed smile on his face.

Shane responds by pretending to smother him with a pillow.

“What! I love it!” Ilya laughs when he wriggles out from underneath Shane's murderous rampage.

“How do you possibly have morning wood after cumming so much yesterday?” Shane asks, baffled when he feels Ilya's dick poking him.

“I'm a machine,” Ilya brags. “But I do have to piss.” He smacks Shane’s ass to cue him to get off of him.

It's wild, honestly, to wake up in Ilya's arms and then see what he looks like in the morning (spoiler alert: stupidly gorgeous). Now he's listening as Ilya takes a piss in the ensuite bathroom.

He wants this all the time. He knows that he shouldn't but he doesn't care. And he's not even high anymore, so he can't blame it on that.

They brush their teeth side by side, and now he knows how Ilya brushes. He starts with the top right side, then the top left, bottom right, then bottom left. Then he saves the roof of his mouth and tongue for last. He doesn't rinse after he spits because he says he read an article once about how you're not supposed to do that, but upon further pressing, he only ever read the headline and never clicked the article. But Ilya is confident that this is the correct way so Shane decides he won't rinse his mouth either.

Yeah, he knows how Ilya brushes his teeth now and he files it away in a little Ilya Rozanov folder in his brain.

He learns that Ilya is surprisingly diligent about his dental hygiene, for a smoker anyway. How have they been doing this for so long and he's never really seen Ilya eat much?

It was always just flirting and chirping and fucking.

But Ilya keeps those little floss picks around so he can floss after he eats anything. Sometimes he doesn't immediately throw them away after he uses them, which is gross. Shane doesn't mind, strangely.

“Fucking gross, throw away your floss!” He says anyway, because it's fun giving Ilya shit, and it's a disgusting habit. Leave it to Rozanov to take a healthy habit and make it gross.

“I put it on my plate so when I'm done eating I can throw it away. What, that's normal!” Ilya argues.

He also smokes after each meal, which seems contradictory to the flossing.

Shane follows Ilya outside as he smokes, taking the throw blanket from the couch with him to block against the cold.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” Shane asks, trying to make conversation. Trying not to seem like he's following Ilya around like a puppy, even though he sort of is. It's just that he has to leave soon, and he doesn't want to lose out on time.

“Ah, no. In Russia we celebrate during New Years. League does not give days off for that. I usually just stay in Boston,” he shrugs. “Not worth flying all the way home for, with the flight and time change.”

It shouldn't feel so sad, imagining Ilya at his home all alone on Christmas. It shouldn't. It's a holiday he doesn't even really celebrate. He's probably just grateful for the days off. It's probably even better that way. He gets the days off without the holiday hassle.

“What about you?” Ilya asks. “Do you celebrate in Ottawa with your parents?”

“Usually, yeah. But I booked them this Christmas trip in France months ago as an anniversary present. They’ve always wanted to go to Europe for Christmas.”

Ilya frowns at him, looking confused. “But you are not going with them?”

“Nah, not this time. I'm going over to Hayden’s. Jacki always makes a nice spread, and it's fun watching their kids open presents.”

“Ah yes, Pike and his army of babies.”

“They’re not an army,” Shane laughs, though Ilya may be on to something there.

By the look on Ilya's face, he clearly doesn't believe him.

He suddenly wonders what Ilya would look like surrounded by a swarm of tiny children. He thinks he would be amazing. He can picture him chasing Hayden's kids around, playing dress up, the whole thing.

Nobody else would probably see it in Ilya, but Shane does. Nobody knows that part of him. Svetlana does, maybe, but that's okay. He used to be jealous about that, but now he's kind of glad Ilya has someone else. Especially since his family doesn't seem too great.

“Why are you smiling?” Ilya asks, finishing his cigarette.

He didn't realize he was smiling. But he's picturing Ilya pretending to be taken down by Hayden’s kids tackling him to the floor, so it must have slipped out.

“Just thinking about kicking your ass at the game this afternoon,” Shane lies, but this lie feels a little more harmless at least.

When it's time for Shane to leave, Ilya walks him to the front door.

“Wow, so romantic,” Shane jokes, except he's actually kind of serious.

It does leave him feeling a bit breathless when Ilya kisses him against the front door, one hand on Shane's cheek and the other on the nape of his neck.

He absentmindedly thinks about how if they'll be seeing more of each other, he probably needs to buy more chapstick.

Which, will they be seeing more of each other? That's probably a stupid assumption. Even though things feel more settled between them, it doesn't change their schedules.

“Thanks for coming back,” Ilya says softly, his accent wrapping around the words like a hug. Shane sighs in contentment but also because he doesn't want to leave.

“Thanks for giving me a do over,” Shane says, placing a chaste kiss near Ilya's mouth.

“I will not be so nice during game tonight,” Ilya smirks.

“You fucking better not be,” Shane smiles.

***

“It's how I've often felt
When I find myself
Oh, on nights like these
Like Christmas Eve

From the empty office window
To the street outside
It's everything not to call
And find out why

It's just a little thing
Buried in the other things
Burning away from inside
Would you stay with me tonight?

And there's a quiet dream
I'm not supposed to think
Eating away at my mind
Could you be with me tonight?

On the cab ride you said nothing
Just hair all in your face
But I was scared to name it
And nothing changed

So, I walked 'til I just couldn't
Too late I understood
It was always half invented
But the other half was good”

–Littlething by Jimmy Eat World

Ilya truly didn't think this one through.

And isn't that just like him? To be impulsive and do what feels good without thinking of the wider implications?

He's rash and selfish and greedy. It's what his father and brother always tell him, and he's not sure they're wrong. And not even in a ‘sad, boo hoo, my family is mean to me’ kind of way.

Ilya has always chosen the more destructive path. Hockey is probably the only good thing he's ever done. Hockey, and Shane Hollander.

He only became disciplined in hockey because it was his ticket out of Russia. He enjoyed the game, the aggressiveness of it, the way he feels slicing through the ice, reading his opponents. So it's incredibly convenient that he's so good at it. It's always felt like fate, in that way. Sure, he works hard at it, but being a tall, athletic man with big muscles also helps.

And Shane, well, Shane is something he's probably less disciplined in.

Ilya has probably snorted, swallowed, or smoked most drugs out there. Yet Hollander is easily his most dangerous vice.

Because getting found out could mean getting ejected from the league. That's probably the less likely scenario. The more likely outcome is that they will punish him by trading him to a shitty team where they'll eventually put him out to pasture and he'll return to Russia in disgrace, and with a target on his back.

At first the danger of being with Shane was exciting and hot, and it still is, honestly. But the real danger is that it's more than that now. Has been for a long time.

That's why he's pacing back and forth on the snowy Montreal sidewalk, wondering what the fuck he is doing.

It's Christmas Eve and he'd miraculously found a ticket from Boston to Montreal at the last minute. That, too, had felt like fate. At least it had in the moment. He'd paid an absolutely stupid amount of money for that ticket, the last seat on the plane, worried that his sports car couldn't make it up here in the winter weather.

It's cold, and snow is falling down and blanketing everything in white. It's a picturesque holiday. He's used to brutal winters, this is not too bad.

But this is maybe a little more than he bargained for. The plane had almost not flown at all because of incoming snow storms, but thankfully it was probably the last flight tonight before all the planes become grounded.

The airport had been eerie. Normally on Christmas Eve it's bustling and crowded with people making their last minute flights to see family. But with so many flights becoming grounded, it had been strangely emptier, with people dozing on bags and sweatshirts while they waited to hear when they could leave.

Ilya couldn't find a taxi or Uber willing to pick him up in this weather, so he'd started walking, thankful for his winter coat and his snow boots, and also his waterproof backpack.

The thing of it is, Shane doesn't know he's here.

He's not sure what he expected. When they'd been at Ilya's house in Boston, after Shane had actually come back, Shane had mentioned Christmas.

And maybe the idea of Christmas with Shane sounded nice and too good to pass up. He'd assumed Shane's parents would be celebrating with him, being a close family and all. But they're in France. And Shane will be with Hayden Pike, so he's not sure what he actually thought would happen here.

Obviously he's not joining the Pike family Christmas. So what the fuck?

He'd made an impulsive decision without thinking it through, just like he always does. He wanted something, so he took it, regardless of how stupid or selfish it was. Fuck.

There's nobody else on the streets really. He passes a man visibly irritated as he tries to get his dog to piss so they can go back inside. Aside from that, everyone else is smart and is hunkering down indoors.

When he slips and falls on his ass he finally thinks fuck this and texts Shane asking if he can talk. Shane doesn't respond by text but within seconds Ilya's phone is ringing.

He dislodges it from his pocket and wipes off the wet snow that's already splattering across the screen before he answers.

“Shane,” he says, sounding as miserable as he feels.

“Ilya? Why do you sound like shit? Are you okay?” Shane asks, sounding concerned even though he'd also just insulted him sort of.

Ilya laughs bitterly at how ludicrous this entire situation is. This is what Hollander does to him, apparently. He makes even dumber choices than usual. Thinking with his heart is even worse than thinking with his dick. Who knew?

“I am fine. Just feeling stupid,” Ilya admits, leaning against the wall of a building underneath a little alcove for reprieve from the snow.

“What?” Shane sounds surprised. “I didn't know Ilya Rozanov could feel stupid. Did you get too drunk at a club or something?”

He should just lie and say yes and go to his hotel and never even tell Shane he was here. He doesn't have to know.

But he also came all this way, and he really, really wants to see Shane.

“Ah, I wish. That would be better, probably. I'm, um, I'm in Montreal.” He winces as he says it, his embarrassment almost physically painful. He glances around even though he knows it's secluded, just in case a camera crew pops up to mock him.

Shane doesn't say anything for a beat or two and Ilya feels his heart fall to his feet. He closes his eyes and lights a cigarette. Fuck.

Game over. He's fucked up. This is too much. He'd scared Hollander away by just saying his first name. Of fucking course Shane is freaked out by this too.

“Where? Let me just– let me get my keys. Where are you staying?” Shane says, sounding… decidedly not freaked out. He sounds breathless and hopeful, maybe.

“You are not with Pike?” Ilya asks, taking a drag off his cigarette, letting it calm his jumpy nerves.

“I didn't plan to go there until tomorrow morning. I can come over.” He hears Shane hesitate briefly. “I mean, if you'd like that.”

“I'd like that,” Ilya answers, before he has a chance to wimp out. “But I am not at hotel yet. And I'm not sure it's safe for you to drive on roads tonight.”

There are no other cars on the road right now, which is usually a bad sign.

“I have a boring car, remember?” Shane says, and Ilya can tell he's smiling through the phone. “It's good in the snow. It's not an impractical Lamborghini. Just share your location and I'll pick you up.”

Ilya shares his location, which feels stupid too. It will expire after 24 hours, but still.

He heads towards the hotel again, hoping to close some distance between them so Shane doesn't have to risk driving as far to find him.

Ilya walks until he just can't anymore. The snow is bearing down hard and he's sopping wet and shivering, but somehow he is also sweating from the exertion of walking with the snow as added resistance. It all adds up to feeling itchy and uncomfortable all over.

It feels like a dream he shouldn't even be allowed to have, spending Christmas Eve night with Shane in Montreal.

He takes refuge in a small alleyway with an overhang. According to his phone, he's still a fifteen minute walk from the hotel, but it may be double that with the weather.

He lights another cigarette and waits, watching as the Christmas lights on all the windows and shops glisten and twinkle. He pulls his toque lower over his ears, blowing on his hands for warmth.

When he was a little kid his mom read him this old fairytale from Hans Christian Anderson where a little girl is poor and selling matches on the street around Christmas or New Year's or something like that, he can't remember exactly. She's afraid to go home before selling her matches, so she stays in the freezing cold, slowly lighting each match for warmth. She sees splendid visions of feasts and her deceased grandmother. Those end up being her visions before she freezes to death.

It was horrifying like many fairytales are when they are not remade by Walt Disney. It had stuck with him for all these years, for some reason.

And he's not that cold. He's not afraid he's going to freeze to death. Not by a long shot. But the morbid thought enters his brain anyway, and he wonders what visions he'd see if he was in a similar circumstance.

His mother, for sure. How she'd kiss his scrapes before bandaging them up, and how light and airy her sweet voice sounded. There'd be his teacher he had after his mom died, who was always so kind to him. He'd see himself hoisting the cup over his head, surrounded by his teammates. He'd see Sveta probably, not any of the times they fucked, but the times they'd just laze around afterwards and talk about nothing and giggle like schoolgirls.

And Shane, he'd see Shane. He'd see Shane on the ice, smirking as they try to speed past the other or chirp before a faceoff. He'd see Shane in the gym on draft day, all sweaty and pouty because he was second pick. He'd see him in the showers and pressed up against walls. He'd see his smile and his laugh and that bitchy look he gets sometimes when Ilya says something annoying. He'd see the sad yet hopeful look on Shane's face standing outside his front door after he'd come back to Ilya's after leaving when they said their first names.

“Ilya?” He hears shouted out into the evening air, barely heard over the snow and wind.

Ilya steps out of the alleyway to see a bundled up figure walking towards him. He frowns.

“Shane? I thought you were in boring jeep,” Ilya says, bounding quickly towards him to make sure he's okay.

“It’s not a jeep. And yeah, about that. It got stuck a few blocks back. I don't think it's going anywhere tonight,” Shane says.

Fuck. Now he's inconvenienced everything. It'll probably be impossible to get a tow until after Christmas. Now Shane has been brought into his poor decisions.

He finally gets close enough to Shane to see him, barely illuminated by the Christmas lights on the shop behind them. He expects to see that bitchy face of annoyance, from being so put out like this.

But it's just Shane, looking at him fondly. And then Shane is walking backwards, pressing Ilya up against the brick wall of a building, and then kisses him as snow falls like confetti around them.

It shouldn't feel this thrilling, but it does. They're kissing outside in public. There's nobody around, and even if they were, it's too dark to make out details, barely visible in the glow of lights.

Shane's lips feel warm and rosy on his own cold mouth, and he feels the heat spread through his body to his fingertips as he kisses him back hungrily.

“I know how we can warm up,” Ilya says suggestively, just to see that irritated look on Shane's face, which shows up right on cue.

He's not serious, of course. At least not right now. Pretty sure it's too cold for him to get his dick up anyway.

“You're impossible, and you're fucking freezing. Let's go before you die of hypothermia and a bunch of angry Boston fans riot,” Shane says with rolled eyes, tugging Ilya's hand in his own.

“Let me hear your, what is word, death speech for me. Your eulogy. It would probably go like ‘Most sexiest man I've ever met in life. Best number one hockey player. Most spectacular cock,’ Ilya drawls on, the journey already much more tolerable with Shane at his side.

“In your fucking dreams,” Shane laughs, shoving into him playfully.

Yes, in his dreams.

By the time they get to the hotel they're both soaked and cold and they should probably feel miserable but they don't. At least Ilya doesn't, and he doesn't think Shane does either.

Shane hangs back a bit while Ilya checks in, just in case they're recognized, but it turns out they need not worry.

The woman at the register is older and completely nonplussed. She is fixated on her book. She has the unbothered look of someone who was unlucky enough to start their shift before the snowpocalypse and she doesn't get paid enough to deal with it.

The lobby is completely deserted and quiet. He checks in without fanfare.

Once they trudge to their room Ilya groans from the warmth, immediately going to the thermostat to turn up the heat.

“Aren’t you used to like the frozen Russian tundra or something?” Shane smirks. He seems endlessly amused at Ilya's pain and suffering.

“Fuck you,” Ilya says without any heat in it, putting his hands above the heater vent like he's warming them above a fire.

He is shaking and shivering like a little bitch, so Shane has a point. Fuck, he'll never live this down. In all fairness, he'd been outside much longer than Shane.

He supposes the one good thing about them having to be a dirty secret is that Shane can't share any stories like this with others. He has a reputation as a stoic Russian to uphold.

“Seriously, take a hot shower,” Shane says, the mirth no longer in his voice. He sounds serious and concerned so Ilya doesn't argue. “I'm going to see if I can find any food. Maybe the hotel has a gift shop or cafe or something.”

Ilya nods. He strips out of his wet clothes and hangs them up by the heater to dry. He groans long and low when the hot water hits his body, stinging his cold skin.

He's not sure how long he stands under the warm spray but he's there for a long time, until he finally feels warm in his bones again.

And once he's warm, his cock is immediately back in action and reminded that Shane is with him tonight. He's not sure if he has him the whole night, but probably if he doesn't have his car. Maybe he'll want to try to call an Uber or car service.

Is it needy if he asks Shane to stay the night twice now? Back in Boston and then here again in Montreal? Shane probably wants to stay in the comfort of his own home while he can. Who wants to spend their Christmas Eve in a hotel?

Besides Ilya, apparently.

Ilya hears Shane come back in the room and he's about to turn off the water when Shane enters the bathroom.

“Any hot water left?” Shane asks, pulling his shirt up over his head.

Oh.

“Yes,” Ilya replies, trying not to sound too hungry or eager.

Shane opens the shower door and fuck, any pretense there was to try to seem cool or chill lasts approximately 0.3 seconds when he sees Shane all wet and naked in front of him.

“Fuck, Hollander,” he praises, looking Shane up and down. “Merry Christmas to me.”

He lunges forward to kiss Shane, his mouth wet and determined. He licks his way inside, grabbing Shane's chin to turn his face where he wants.

Shane kisses him back just as fervently, bringing his hands up Ilya's abs to his collarbone, one lingering on the back of his neck and the other in Ilya's wet hair.

Ilya presses their hips together, wrapping a hand around both their dicks and stroking.

They both moan into the kiss. Ilya feels himself harden more as his cock slides against Shane's.

He's definitely not cold anymore.

When their lips part, Ilya moves his mouth to Shane's throat, licking and kissing the wet skin. He feels Shane’s pulse thrumming under his lips and he bites down softly, not hard enough to leave a mark, unfortunately.

Leaving marks is another impossible dream, but he doesn't dwell because he's already doing something he previously thought was unattainable and he's not in the business of being ungrateful when presented with a miracle. He just always wants to take more. He wonders if it'll ever feel like enough of Shane Hollander, or if he'll want to take, take, take until he consumes him completely.

“Can I fuck you?” Ilya asks desperately, sliding his mouth over Shane’s again before he can answer.

Shane shudders, bucking his hips up into his hand. Ilya curses as he continues to stroke their cocks together.

He takes that as an affirmative, turning the water off and grabbing a towel to hastily dry them off until he's deemed it good enough.

“Bed,” Ilya orders. Then impatiently adds, “Go, go, go,” smacking Shane’s ass restlessly to urge him to move faster.

“Fuck, I'm going as fast as I can!” Shane laughs, intertwining their fingers together to lead them both to the bed.

As soon as they're in proximity to the mattress, Ilya groans and shoves Shane down, tackling him to the bed.

“How long do I have you for?” Ilya asks, licking and kissing his neck again.

It occurs to him that they haven't talked about it yet. They haven't even discussed why Ilya is here. They should probably do that. He's not sure what to say though.

How does he say that he's here because he can't stop thinking about Shane? Especially since Boston a few weeks ago. He'd never expected Shane to come back after freaking out, but he had.

Ilya had tried so hard to take it back. To take the vulnerability in their first names back and just rewind everything. But Shane had been brave and came back. He had wanted to come back. That had to mean something.

But Ilya hasn't quite figured out what he wants it to mean.

“How long are you here for? Or… why are you here, exactly?” Shane asks, staring up at Ilya with those chocolate brown eyes. “You haven't said.”

“I don't know,” Ilya admits, nuzzling into the curve of Shane's neck partly as a convenient hiding spot. “I am here until day after tomorrow. But I do not know why I am here.”

He pauses and tilts his head to look up at Shane through his lashes, feeling disconcertingly bashful.

“I just wanted to see you.” He feels his cheeks heat up so he hides in the crook of Shane’s neck again.

Shane chuckles, but not in a way that feels like he's making fun of him. Still, just to save some face, he bites down on Shane's shoulder, causing him to hiss.

“Ow! Fuck off,” Shane grumbles, but he ruffles Ilya's curls affectionately. “I'm glad you're here. I didn't like the idea of you spending Christmas alone.”

He doesn't know what to do with that, so he kisses Shane instead of talking. He kisses Shane stupid until he's moaning and writhing into it.

Ilya shimmies down Shane's body until he's nestled between his legs. He places soft kisses into his right thigh and then nuzzles his face into the soft skin there.

He grabs the lube that he hadn't even seen Shane set aside earlier, squeezing some onto his fingers and pressing them to Shane's hole. He teases a bit, sliding them around his rim, feeling Shane clench and unclench his hole helplessly.

He gives Shane a devious smile before pressing one finger inside. Shane moans loudly and hooks his hands under his thighs to keep himself nice and open for Ilya.

Ilya hums in approval, placing kisses on Shane’s body as he thrusts his finger in and out.

“Oh God,” Shane groans, his breathing thin and labored.

“Did you miss me?” Ilya asks indulgently, licking and kissing his way closer to his dick.

Even if Shane just pretends to indulge in his fantasies, he'll take it.

Shane gasps and bows his back off the bed when Ilya quickly adds a second lubed up finger. Shane's whole body feels like an indulgence, honestly. His skin is so plush and soft under Ilya's lips.

“Yes,” Shane exhales, legs trembling.

The answer goes straight to Ilya's cock, whether it's true or not. Maybe Shane is only saying that because he's horny and wants to get laid. Maybe he's saying it because it's the truth. Maybe right now it doesn't matter because they're here together and everything else just fades away.

Ilya kisses the crease of Shane’s inner thigh and looks up at Shane, who already looks so far gone.

“Can I leave a mark here?” Ilya asks, pressing the thumb of his free hand into the spot he wants to suck.

It should be okay. It's discreet. Nobody should be looking there anyway.

Shane nods enthusiastically. Ilya grins and then starts sucking on the flesh there, moaning as he slurps the skin and nibbles. He shouldn't be this turned on just from leaving a mark, but he's never been allowed to do it before.

“Fuck!” Shane cries when Ilya bites down harder, then laps at the spot with his tongue to soothe it over.

Shane's cock leaks more precum at the sting. Ilya removes his mouth and presses his thumb into the spot on Shane's inner thigh that's now red, where he's left little teeth marks. It should make such a pretty bruise later. He wants it tattooed onto Shane’s skin forever.

It feels like a Christmas present, being able to leave a hickey.

He crooks his fingers into Shane's prostate, causing him to cry out again. Ilya licks his lips before sticking his tongue out obscenely and lapping the precum on Shane's tip.

“Please fuck me now,” Shane begs, his eyes so wide and glassy.

Ilya considers this proposition, inserting a third finger while he thinks it over. He wants Shane so nice and open for him. He knows he won't be able to slow down once he starts, and he doesn't want it to hurt.

He licks up the length of Shane’s cock, suckling at the head to taste more of his precum.

Shane whines when he removes his fingers to go in search of a condom.

“Patience, milyy,” Ilya coos, holding up the condom foil once he finds it in his bag.

Ilya hops on the bed once he's got it, the mattress creaking in protest under his sudden weight. He's maybe a bit too eager himself, actually.

Once he's got the condom on he slathers himself in lube, giving himself a few lazy strokes to disperse it.

“Look at this perfect hole. It must have missed this cock so bad,” Ilya sighs, teasing the head of his dick over Shane's hole, sliding it around but not inserting it yet. “It is begging to be stuffed full.”

Shane groans and Ilya sees how his hole desperately clenches around nothing.

He can't bear to think of Shane's sad little lonely hole any longer so he pushes inside, a long groan as he slides inside inch by inch.

Shane just arches and gasps, eyes squeezed shut. Ilya pauses when he bottoms out, focusing all his willpower on letting Shane adjust.

Fuck, he really did miss this. How does Shane just feel so much better than anyone else? It would be so much easier to get his fill and move on if he could get it anywhere else. Even if it could feel half as good with anyone else as it does with Shane.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Ilya confesses in a moment of weakness. It's true, but vague enough it could mean anything.

When Shane lets out a little mewling sound, Ilya begins thrusting. He's shallow and slow at first, but once Shane starts to whimper he quickens his pace.

For a while the room is just filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin as Ilya fucks him.

He wants to claim Shane's hole as his own. He wants to plant a flag there. He doesn't want anyone else but him to have it, which he knows is unreasonable but he's already losing himself in enough fantasies tonight so what's really one more?

“Want this perfect, pretty hole for myself,” Ilya moans filthily, watching as his cock slides in and out of Shane. “Can I have it? For Christmas?”

Shane cries out and moans loudly, pushing back against Ilya's thrusts.

“It already takes me so well, like it's made for me,” Ilya adds when Shane doesn't answer. It's possible that Shane can't answer. He's a mess of moans and incoherent noises right now.

Shane's eyes drift open and he looks at Ilya with such longing and lust that his breath momentarily catches in his throat.

“‘s yours, Ilya,” Shane answers, sounding fucked out and like his brain is in another realm of space and time or something. He slurs the words like he's drunk even though Ilya knows he isn't.

Ilya moans at the confirmation, because of course Shane's words go straight to his aching cock.

“All mine?” Ilya asks, because he's pretty sure he could cum from Shane's confirmation all on its own. “pink and puffy and open just for me, da? Like perfect present.”

He's already so fucking gone, holy shit. He fucks Shane with reckless abandon, moaning loudly because he fucking can.

There's not a hotel full of hockey players to whisper around tonight. The other rooms are filled with strangers but they don't matter. It's just them.

Shane doesn't look like he's faring any better than Ilya. His perfect lips are parted in an endless silent moan, so Ilya messily captures them in his own until they're blushed pink and slick with spit.

“So hot,” Ilya praises, leaning down and kissing Shane wherever his lips happen to land.

“My hole good for you?” Shane asks between ragged breaths. Like there's any universe where it wouldn't be fucking flawless.

“It's fucking perfect,” Ilya growls, and to underscore his point he pulls all the way out and leans down to spit on Shane's hole obscenely before throwing Shane’s legs over his shoulders and thrusting back in hard and deep.

Shane lets out a guttural moan at the change in position, his red, aching cock bobbing between them.

Ilya doesn't know where the lube has gone so he spits in his hand and grasps Shane's cock firmly, stroking in time with his thrusts. Shane is so wet he doesn't really need the extra glide.

“Ilya, fuck, can I cum?” Shane asks, even though Ilya never said he couldn't. He's just so fucking good that he wants to be perfect for Ilya, which Ilya appreciates thoroughly.

“Yeah, fuck, krasivyy. Cum for me like a good boy,” Ilya urges, his English sounding slurred and imperfect in the height of his pleasure.

He can't help it. Shane just fucks the English right out of him.

Shane cries out as his back curls off the bed. “Ilya!” He whimpers so beautifully, his eyes urgent and desperate as he cums all over Ilya's fist.

Ilya slams in hard a few more times as he feels his own orgasm creeping up. He wishes he could cum inside Shane bare and fill him all the way up. He wants to watch his release dripping out of him.

That idea alone pushes him over the edge and his eyes roll in the back of his head, cumming hard with Shane's name on his lips, riding it out.

“Fuuuuck,” Ilya groans once he finds his voice again. His hand is still messy with Shane's cum so he brings it up to his own mouth and licks it clean.

Shane just hums happily, looking at Ilya with such reverence that he's not sure what to do with it. He doesn't feel worthy of that look and it knocks the wind out of him. He breaks the contact to grab a washcloth from the bathroom.

“You are staring,” Ilya remarks when he feels Shane’s eyes linger on his body as he walks away, feeling relieved that he can tease Shane about something because that feels like safe territory.

“Have you ever been fucked? Like the way you fuck me?” Shane asks curiously.

Ilya cocks his head in surprise at the question as he wipes Shane's stomach clean. He doesn't detect any jealousy in it, not sensing a trap or anything.

“Nobody fucks like the way I fuck you,” he replies arrogantly, equipping a smirk. He can't help it. He just wants to remind Shane of this indisputable fact.

“Shut up. You know what I mean,” Shane says, rolling over on his side to face him after Ilya cleans the lube from between his thighs and ass.

“Yes, once or twice,” Ilya shrugs, tossing the washcloth on the nightstand. He sighs in satisfaction as he stretches out on the bed like a cat. “I did not care too much for it. Always prefer to be the one doing the fucking.”

Shane curls into his side so Ilya throws an arm around him to bring him in tighter. He brings the duvet across them and places a kiss on Shane's forehead.

“Why do you want to know?” He asks, yawning, not sure where the question came from.

“Your ass is just so fucking big,” Shane answers earnestly which causes Ilya to bark out a laugh. “I'm sure men would line up to be inside of you.”

“Ah, yes. This is true,” Ilya smirks. He knows he has a great ass. No need to pretend otherwise. He looks into Shane's eyes and tries searching for the thought process there. “... Do you want to…?” He asks uncertainly.

“God, no!” Shane quickly answers, before Ilya barely has a chance to get the question out. “I think I like being fucked too much.”

Ilya regards Shane so fucking fondly because he's always so sincere. He's not trying to engage in dirty talk or turn him on. He is just being his earnest fucking self and it's the best.

“You can play with my ass sometime if you'd like, Shane,” Ilya says with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows. Because he's not as brave about being sincere and it's easier to hide it behind bravado.

“Can I? Just finger you sometime?” Shane asks, like Ilya would ever say no to him. Especially when it comes with a promise of sometimes and this happening again.

“Yes, of course. I do not blame you for wanting to tap this ass.”

“God, you're such an asshole. I hate you.”

He knows that's not true. He thinks Shane likes it.

“Can you stay the night?” Ilya asks needier than he'd prefer, even though it's obvious Shane will. That he's already falling asleep in his arms.

“I'm stuck. Don't have my car,” Shane replies, but Ilya bristles a bit at that. That's not what he meant. He doesn't want Shane here just because he's stuck here. Shane seems to sense it because he places a kiss on the corner of Ilya's mouth and continues. “But I would stay even if I did.”

Ilya relaxes again.

The next morning when Ilya wakes up he expects to see Shane getting ready to leave and packing up, but he's pleasantly surprised when he's still laying down beside him, warm and snuggly.

“Merry Christmas,” Shane yawns, pressing his lips softly to Ilya's pec. Ilya lets himself luxuriate in Shane's coziness for a little while.

“Merry Christmas. When do you need to get to Hayden's?” Ilya asks, trying not to let his resentment seep into his tone.

It's not that he's resentful Shane is going over to Pike's. Ilya is the one who barged into Shane's life unannounced. He is happy Shane has somewhere to be for the holiday, even though Pike is so fucking boring, and not in the charming way that Shane is.

He just doesn't want their time to be over already. It's always so fleeting and up so fast.

“I already text him to let him know I won't be able to make it. That the roads are too bad and my car got stuck. I just didn't tell him the specific details,” Shane explains but Ilya stopped listening when Shane says he told Hayden he won't be able to make it.

“So you will stay here?” Ilya asks, trying and failing not to sound too happy about this development.

Maybe the shitty Montreal weather isn't so bad after all.

Shane nods and Ilya pounces, kissing him hard until they're both smiling too much and it forces them to break it.

“I will shower and then I will fuck you again,” Ilya grins.

“That's presumptuous.”

“I do not know what that means but if it means ‘that sounds great I'd love to be pounded by your great big cock, Ilya,’ then yes, it is.”

Shane joins him in the shower a while later.

He can definitely get used to Shane interrupting him in the shower. They blow each other in the shower and Shane cums shouting Ilya's name and it's hands down the best Christmas he's ever had. Which is a low bar since he doesn't normally celebrate it really, but he will if the shower blowjobs become a Christmas tradition.

“I, um, need to do a deeper clean,” Shane says awkwardly afterward.

Ilya is a very willing volunteer to aid in this process but Shane shoos him out. He's had his mouth inside Shane’s ass more times than he can count so he's not sure what the big deal is.

His clothes are dry by this time so he puts them back on and figures he'll rummage around the hotel to see if he can find any food.

He doesn't find much, but the gift shop in the hotel lobby is open and being manned by the same bored looking employee from the front desk yesterday. It looks like she actually gets to cover both the gift shop and the front desk today while they're likely short staffed from the weather.

The gift shop doesn't really have a wide array of snacks but he does his best. The hotel restaurant is closed so this is as good as it's going to get.

Shane will probably still be a while in the shower because he takes for-fucking-ever when he does prep which is cute but he also hopes that Shane knows he doesn't need to do all that.

Ilya browses the gift shop to kill time. It's about what you'd expect to see at a tourist gift shop in Montreal.

He also takes the opportunity to duck into a back alley to smoke a cigarette.

When he reenters the hotel room, Shane is laying on the bed in his boxer briefs looking like a fucking snack as he scrolls on his phone. Jesus Christ. He's not sure what he expected to see when he first walked in the room but it's not that.

He is pretty sure his brain short circuits for a second and he just sort of gapes like an idiot.

The thing about Shane is that he knows he's attractive. He models for enough brands and gets stopped by enough enthusiastic fans to know that. But unless Shane is actively trying to be hot for one reason or another, he doesn't seem to realize the effect he has.

And right now he isn't trying to be hot. He just is hot.

He's laying on the bed with only his underwear. He's not arching his back seductively or preening. He's just laying there with one ankle crossed over the other as he looks down at his phone. If it were Ilya, he'd be all sprawled out starfishing over the entire fucking bed like a neanderthal, but Shane is polite even when Ilya isn't there and only takes up his little half of the bed.

“Jesus Christ, Shane,” Ilya says approvingly, bringing his little shopping bag over to the end table by the bed before he flips down next to Shane. “Warn a guy before you look like a fucking porn ad.

Shane looks genuinely surprised before he scowls at him. “I'm just looking at my phone.”

“Yeah, all sexy like Calvin Klein model,” Ilya shoots back. He doesn't even care that he's half hard as he strips down to his underwear as well.

It's not his fault. He's only a man.

“I got Christmas feast,” Ilya says, changing the subject and shaking the gift shop bag at Shane.

He takes each item out one by one on the bed between them. He pulls out a bag of ketchup crisps, several candy bars, a bottle of wine, a stick of beef jerky, and with a little “ta da!” He presents the one he thinks Shane will be most excited about, a protein bar.

“Wow, impressive,” Shane laughs. “We also have the alcohol in the mini bar.”

“Shane Hollander, are you going to be bad and drink alcohol during season?” Ilya mocks, an exaggerated look of horror on his face.

“It's Christmas,” Shane shrugs, getting up to empty the mini fridge. “And it's on you since it's your room. Thanks for the 500% marked up drinks.”

Shane gently tosses the drinks between them to join the snacks and wine.

Ilya goes for a candy bar and Shane predictably chooses the protein bar, which if the way he's chewing is anything to go by, is at least partly stale.

Ilya opens up the bottle of wine and Shane sends him a look. “What? Like you said, is Christmas, Hollander.”

He convinces Shane to pass the bottle of wine back and forth between them as they lay back against the headboard side by side and eat through their bounty.

“Oh, I got you a present,” Shane says, walking over to the closet Ilya hadn't paid any mind to and digging something out from the back.

He presents Ilya with a perfectly wrapped Christmas box. Where the fuck had he gotten that? He hadn't even known Ilya was coming, and there was no wrapping paper in the gift shop. He'd looked.

“How did you get this?” Ilya asks, impressed. Shane puts the bottle of wine up to his lips and finishes off the bottle before setting it down and answering.

“Well, the present is from the gift shop. The wrapped box…” Shane hesitates and bites his lips like he doesn't want to say. Ilya raises his eyebrows in a look to say ‘go on.’ “I stole it from under the giant Christmas tree in the lobby. It was just an empty prop box.”

Ilya can't help but bust out laughing. The idea of Shane Hollander sneaking around the lobby and stealing a gift box from under the tree like the fucking green Grinch man is hilarious.

He wishes he could request the lobby camera footage. He absentmindedly wonders if he can pay off security for it without drawing attention to themselves. Probably not.

“I got you something too. But I did not pull heist for gift wrapper. It is just in here,” Ilya says.

And here he thought he was being so fucking original. Leave it to Hollander to outdo him somehow.

“Open them at the same time?” Shane suggests, and Ilya nods in agreement.

Except he goes a little slowly so he can see the look on Shane's face when he opens his. Since Shane was wandering around the gift shop too he probably saw everything they sold.

“Jane?” Shane asks with a grin, holding up a keychain that says I <3 Montreal in red glittery, tacky letters with the name Jane underneath.

“They did not have any left with the name Shane. And I almost bought one that said Sean because it was next closest, but then I saw Jane,” Ilya explains with a wide grin.

Shane looks at it closely, turning it over a few times in his palm.

“What?” Ilya asks, starting to feel a little uneasy about what Shane might be thinking.

“Shouldn't it be the other way around?” Shane asks, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“What? Shut up. You are Montreal Jane so you have the keychain,” Ilya argues.

“But it says ‘I heart Montreal Jane.’ Shouldn't you have it if you heart me?” Shane counters.

“Hollander, it is ‘I heart Montreal’ and then also says Jane. You are Jane. So you have keychain.”

“But then it makes it seem like I heart myself. Shouldn't you have the ‘I heart Montreal Jane’ keychain and then I have a ‘I heart Boston Lily’ one?”

“... What?” Ilya asks like Shane is speaking a different language he doesn't understand.

“What?” Shane shrugs like it's simple.

“How drunk are you?” Ilya laughs, shoving their feast wrappers away so he can straddle Shane's hips and pin him down.

“Pretty fucking drunk because I haven't drank all season and we're professional athletes who need a fuckton of calories and we've eaten almost nothing,” Shane smiles, hiccuping.

Ilya licks a stripe up Shane's cheek just to be obnoxious. “How dare you, Shane. I brought you this feast and you're so ungrateful. How would your pilgrim ancestors feel?”

“That's Thanksgiving and I'm not American.”

“Whatever. Same thing,” Ilya grins, delighting in Shane's offended expression.

“You haven't opened your gift yet,” Shane points out.

Ilya forgot he has a gift too and he rolls off of Shane to open it eagerly.

It's from the same gift shop Ilya checked out so he already knows it'll be some kitschy Montreal deal or overpriced maple syrup or whatever the fuck.

“Oh fuck you, motherfucker!” Ilya shouts, tackling Shane to the bed.

“Is this how you treat someone who got you a thoughtful gift?!” Shane giggles, putting up a half-assed effort to fight against Ilya's hold.

“Montreal Metro's sweat suit is not a thoughtful gift!” Ilya insists, keeping his hold on Shane tight.

“It's what they had in the gift store! Not my fault my team just happens to be one of the best sports franchises. No, no–!” Shane giggles with laughter as Ilya moves quickly to tickle him.

The sound is so fucking beautiful Ilya keeps tickling him until they're crying with laughter and then he reaches down to kiss the tears from his cheeks.

“I love it. Now Metro's gear can finally be worn by number one player for a change,” Ilya smirks, grinding his hips down onto Shane's.

And then Shane's phone rings.”It's my parents. I need to take this. It's Christmas…” Shane sighs. “I'll be right back.”

Ilya groans like a child but lets Shane up so he can be reasonable and talk to his family on Christmas Day. He opens a mini fridge bottle of beer.

As he's drinking his second beer bored as fuck while Shane is still gone on the phone, he gets an amazing idea for another Christmas gift for Shane.

After all, he got Shane one gift and Shane got him two, technically, since the sweat suit has a top and a bottom.

By the time Shane returns, Ilya is maybe a little drunk now too, having gotten more into the mini bar stash. But unlike Shane, he can hold his liquor.

“Oh,” is all Shane says when he comes back inside.

“You like?” Ilya grins.

He's sitting up against the headboard wearing the Metro's sweatshirt but naked from the waist down with his dick in his hand, the crowning touch being the bow on his forehead that he stole off the gift box that Shane stole from the lobby tree.

“I was not supposed to touch myself yet but you took very long time,” Ilya explains, fisting his half hard cock.

“What if I was housekeeping?” Shane grins, taking his shirt off on the way to the bed.

“Relax, I put do not disturb sign on the door. Unless you want to be sexy maid? We can do that too,” Ilya smirks. Adding an “aw, fuck,” when the bow unsticks from his forehead and lands on the bed.

“You drunk?”

“Tipsy. There is difference. Now come have your real Christmas feast, Hollander.”

“Oh my God. Shut up,” Shane says, but he pulls his sweats off anyway and climbs on top of Ilya.

Shane knocks Ilya's hand away from his cock and replaces it with his own. Ilya sighs happily as Shane strokes him. Fucking finally.

“Mmm missed you,” Ilya gasps, grinning wide as Shane kisses his neck and continues to stroke him.

Everything feels better when Shane is here. He's warm and cozy and sexy and smells so good. He's so soft and firm at the same time somehow.

“You're ridiculous,” Shane chides, which is when Ilya realizes he's been talking aloud. “I'm not taking advantage of you if you fuck me, right?”

Ilya cackles and Shane makes that silly angry face where it's all scrunched up. Then Ilya gets serious and pulls Shane flush with him.

“Take advantage of me, Shane.”

“Jesus,” Shane moans and kisses him hungrily.

Ilya can't help but take control of the kiss because there's no actual universe where Shane Hollander could take advantage of him. He's always so fucking willing and wanting.

As much as he makes fun of Shane for always being so wet and needy, Ilya isn't dumb and knows he's the needier of the two.

When Shane had left in a panicked rush back in Boston, Ilya had fucking cried afterwards. Cried like a fucking loser. But then Shane had come back and they'd gotten high together which is a crazy sentence to even think because Shane Hollander doesn't get high.

Ilya has probably ruined them both.

Now Ilya is someone who cries, and Shane is someone who gets high and begs to get fucked. It is all backwards.

“You're so hot,” Shane moans, corrupted. “Best fucking Christmas ever.”

And Ilya should go back to feeling bad about ruining Shane and being unworthy of this but he's greedy and Shane is rutting against him and he already knows he won't be doing the right thing here.

Shane shoves off the Metro’s sweatshirt which Ilya is grateful for because as hot as it would be to fuck Shane in it, he's actually getting really sweaty with Shane all warm and pliant all over him and he isn't even doing anything strenuous yet.

“I thought maybe you could finger me, play with my ass, like we talked about…” Ilya suggests, breathless, as he moves to turn around. Shane lifts up so he can move onto his stomach. Ilya preens as he arches and sticks his ass out invitingly.

Shane straddles Ilya's ass and flattens his tongue to lick down the length of Ilya's back.

Ilya moans and grinds his hips into the mattress.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Shane asks adoringly.

Ilya gets it, he really does. He's asked himself the same thing about Shane countless times.

He's not sure where Shane came from, he's just happy he's here now.

Shane grabs handfuls of Ilya's ass and jiggles it all around before smacking it, watching the flesh wriggle all around.

Ilya is already so hard and aching. Shane has worshiped his dick countless times, but he's never really just sat back and played around with Ilya's body before.

It's turns out it feels fucking fantastic.

It's hard for Ilya not to take control. He's used to growling and flipping them over to maneuver and manhandle Shane where he wants him. He's not used to being the one at his mercy. It's vulnerable in a way, but Ilya is so fucking horny for him he doesn't mind.

He tenses when he hears Shane open the bottle of lube, but it doesn't take much for Shane to soothe him back down. The alcohol helps, but it's mostly the way Shane shushes him softly and kisses all over his back with reassurance.

Ilya whimpers when Shane circles around his hole with his lubed finger. His whimper turns into a satisfied groan when he presses his long finger inside.

Like everything else he tries, Shane is a quick learner.

“Fuuuuuck, Shaaane,” Ilya groans low and long when Shane’s finger crooks up against his prostate.

Ilya doesn't need to turn his head to know that Shane is extremely pleased with himself.

He's always liked his ass played with a bit when he needs to get out of his own head. He didn't really enjoy being fucked much, but fingers and mouths are pleasant.

But he should have known with Shane it would be better, like everything is always better.

“So hot,” Shane groans, kissing Ilya's back. “Okay if I add one more?”

“Yes, fuck,” Ilya exhales. He wills himself to relax, sighing contentedly when Shane places soft little kisses all over wherever he can reach.

He shudders and groans as Shane's second finger slides in. He's not a little bitch. He can take it. If Shane can take Ilya's big cock all eager and greedy, Ilya can take two fucking fingers.

Once Ilya adjusts, Shane gently makes shallow thrusts with his fingers. He feels so stuffed full. The idea of him being full of Shane is so hot.

When Shane finds his prostate with two fingers, Ilya moans all high and reedy, his ass instinctively pushing back towards him to chase the pleasure.

A sharp smack echoes off the walls. “Fuck!” Ilya cries out, his ass cheek stinging in the best way after Shane smacks it.

“This okay?” Shane asks, like Ilya isn't fucking putty in his hands.

“Fuck, yes, Shane. Do whatever the fuck you want with me,” Ilya babbles. He moans out again when Shane smacks his ass a second time, harder than the first.

All the while his fingers are thrusting and hitting Ilya's prostate each time. His limbs feel gooey and he's melting into the bed under Shane's touch.

Shane kisses and licks over Ilya's hot, stinging skin where he'd slapped him. It feels soothing and perfect and God he wants to fuck Shane stupid.

“You're so sexy,” Shane coos. “But fuck this makes me want you. I want it to be my ass,” Shane admits, like he's read Ilya's mind.

“Jealous of your own fingers?” Ilya smirks. “Love taking it so much you can't stand it?”

Shane only nods and slowly takes his fingers out. Ilya feels slick and empty from the absence, but as soon as Shane’s fingers are out of him he rolls them both over and straddles the back of Shane’s thighs.

“Poor Hollander. Can't handle it when anyone else's ass gets any attention,” Ilya teases. He moves down and parts Shane's ass so he can lick over his hole. “Such a diva “

Shane mumbles something that Ilya can't quite make out. Maybe “shut the fuck up,” but he can't be sure. Doesn't matter because he does shut the fuck up so he can bury his face in Shane's ass.

He doesn't blame Shane for being a little princess because Shane does have a great ass and he moans and shoves back like he was made to take it.

And fuck, he wants to cum inside of Shane so badly. He wants to watch it slide down Shane’s thighs and claim him. He's on prep and his most recent test came back clean. He's never fucked without a condom before, and he's light-headed with the idea of being inside of Shane bare.

When Ilya comes up for air, he rests his cheek on Shane's plump ass, letting his fingers take over the work his tongue had been doing. Shane whines and trembles and his eyes are all glazed and pretty.

He's not sure how to bring this up tactfully so he decides to do just come out with it plainly.

“Can I fuck you bare?” He asks, nuzzling his face into Shane's ass, placing kisses there.

“Wh-what? Without a condom?” Shane asks dumbly, trying to talk through his fucked out haze. Ilya shows mercy and slows his fingers to help Shane out.

“That is typically what bare means, Hollander,” Ilya taunts, kissing Shane's ass again so he knows he's not being an asshole.

Shane visibly tightens and clenches around his fingers but doesn't say anything right away.

“I have been tested. I'm clean and on prep. It was just a thought. We don't have to,” Ilya adds. He doesn't want to pressure Shane, but holy shit he hopes he says yes.

He actually might just ruin it and cum on the spot if he says yes. Doesn't matter. He'll be patient and wait to get hard again to get to cum inside Shane. It'll be worth it.

“Oh,” Shane says, sounding relieved. “I'm on prep too. When was your last test?”

Ilya tries not to sound too excited because Shane hasn't said yes but he also hasn't said no. “Team doctor tests me every three months. Last result was two weeks ago. I always use condom. This would be first time not.”

He waits for Shane to chirp him for being a slut and sleeping around so often. It's not like Shane doesn't know. But they've never really discussed the frequency of those encounters or really talk about them at all. It's always unspoken understanding.

But Shane doesn't. He just turns around, Ilya's fingers slipping out of him. Shane moves so he's on his back and propped up on the pillows. He then spreads his legs in a way that's fucking filthy. An invitation.

Ilya is pretty sure he's drooling as he crawls between Shane's legs without hesitation, hypnotized, maintaining eye contact like Shane will disappear if he looks away for even a moment.

Shane's hole is still slick and shiny with lube and spit and it's practically begging for Ilya to fuck it.

“I want you to go bare too,” Shane says, his voice all breathy, going straight to Ilya's cock.

Ilya's mouth suddenly goes dry so he doesn't give a verbal response and just nods dumbly. He's in a stupor and Shane has to chuck the lube at him because otherwise he's going to just keep staring.

“Earth to Ilya,” Shane says deadpan, waving a hand in front of his face.

“What? I am on Earth. Sorry, was distracted by this perfect fucking hole,” Ilya finally responds, running his thumb over where it puckers, waiting for him.

Shane's breathing speeds up and Ilya has the presence of mind to squirt lube out on his cock. He moans as he strokes himself to distribute the lube, continuing to rub his other thumb over Shane’s hole.

The way his bare, slicked up cock looks next to Shane's hole is an erotic sight in itself and Ilya bites back a moan.

Shane holds his legs up all spread out, his hands anchored under his knees. Ilya rubs his cock over Shane’s hole, eyes momentarily slipping closed at the sensation. Shane seems affected too, enough for Ilya to practically feel Shane's skin buzzing in anticipation.

When he starts pushing in, he feels his own body shaking a little. “Gospodi,” Ilya moans out, overwhelmed by the sensation of feeling absolutely fucking everything as his cock glides inside.

Shane moans out when Ilya gets all the way in. Ilya usually gives Shane a minute to adjust, but this time he needs a minute so he doesn't blow his load too soon, which would feel fucking fantastic but he'd also probably cry if he didn't get to really fuck Shane.

Once he's sure he's not going to cum right away he starts picking up a rhythm, his jaw dropping slightly in a silent moan.

He feels every shift of Shane's body, every reaction to his cock inside him. He feels the perfect slip of Shane's ass, a new appreciation for how well he preps himself now that he can feel it all without a barrier.

“Good?” Shane asks with a smile, clearly noticing how fucking gone Ilya is right now.

Good? That's a fucking understatement.

“Fucking fantastic, Shane,” Ilya praises, his eyes heavy and reverent. “This fucking hole is going to ruin me. Ruin me for anyone else.”

And it's true. Now that he's had this he can't imagine going back.

“Jesus, the way I can feel your ass gripping my cock. Fucking heaven,” Ilya moans, picking up the pace.

And better than all that, is the closeness. It's intimate in a way that Ilya didn't expect. He's not sure if it's the physical proximity, the trust involved, or the vulnerability of it being his first time fucking anyone without a latex barrier. Maybe it's all of these things combined. Whatever it is, Ilya is already so achingly close.

Shane arches his back and moans out Ilya's name when he shifts his position to get in deeper. Now that he's found a quick rhythm he can't stop.

Shane throws an arm behind himself to grasp the headboard to keep from hitting his head from the urgent motion of Ilya's thrusting.

Ilya leans forward to kiss Shane’s soft mouth until kissing takes too much coordination, and then he places open mouth wet kisses all over Shane's jaw and down to his neck.

He extends his hand out to Shane's mouth. He gets the hint and spits so Ilya can jerk him off with some slip.

“Can you feel my cock throbbing inside you?” Ilya asks desperately. He fucks Shane hard, slamming into his prostate and grinding his hips in a figure eight at the bottom out of each thrust.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane moans, letting go of his legs to slide his hands down Ilya's back that's now sheened with sweat. “Right there. Feels so good. Holy shit!”

He pounds in velvety smooth, not the usual drag from the condom. He chases the feeling of pleasure and heat, moaning loudly when he's so fucking close.

“Want you to cum,” Ilya slurs, although he doesn't feel drunk from the alcohol anymore. “Want to feel your hole strangle my bare fucking cock.”

It doesn't take much more than those words before Shane is cumming with a shout. Ilya moans at the feel of Shane's ass gripping him tight and he loses it then.

“Oh fuck, Shane!” Ilya cries, making moans and gasps he is pretty sure have never fallen out of his mouth before, ever.

The knowledge that he's cumming directly inside Shane intensifies his orgasm and he feels like he'll never stop until Shane is overflowing.

When he is spent he watches as he slowly pulls out.

“Krasivyy,” Ilya whispers, watching as his cum spills down Shane's legs. “You want?”

He drags his fingers through it to get them wet and then presses them to Shane's lips, groaning when Shane eagerly licks and sucks Ilya's cum from his fingers.

When he's satisfied that Shane has had enough he gets up to grab a washcloth and clean him up.

The one downside to going bare is the wet puddle now on the sheets. But then it ends up being great because Ilya lays on the dry end of the bed and can pull Shane on top of him, closer.

“That was so hot,” Shane says, awestruck.

“I think I got you totally fucking pregnant, Hollander,” Ilya grins, still catching his breath.

“Oh my God, shut up,” Shane scowls, but Ilya knows he's pretending. “Merry Christmas, Ilya,” he adds softly.

“Merry Christmas, Shane.”

When they wake up from their nap, the snow is melting away outside. The roads are visible again and there are more cars on the road too.

Ilya sighs, feeling their cozy Christmas cocoon coming to a close.

He walks out to the balcony in his (non Metro) sweats, watching as the people mill about below. Real life is now coming back clearly. It doesn't feel like just a world for the two of them anymore.

He lights a cigarette, wondering what the fuck he's supposed to do now. Now that he's so much more fucking gone for Shane than he'd ever been before. He's not sure what to do with that. And he is sure Shane likes him too. He must, probably. Hopefully.

Hopefully, though? Because what would that even mean for them?

“Hey,” Shane smiles, walking out to join him with a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He sits by Ilya and wraps it around them both.

“Hey,” Ilya says back, not sure what else to do now but not wanting to seem unsure, so he takes another drag of his cigarette.

Shane looks down at his phone and groans before typing furiously. “Sorry, it's Hayden. He and my parents feel bad for me. They think I spent Christmas alone. He wants me to come over soon.”

“Okay. I leave for flight soon too,” Ilya nods, which is true, but still disappointing.

“Where do you guys play next? Florida?” Shane asks, acting like he doesn't have Ilya's schedule memorized, which Ilya can't help but smile about.

“Yes,” Ilya confirms, figuring he'll give Shane a break and not chirp him about it this time. Not like he has any right. He knows Shane plays in New York next. “Very excited to be away from this fucking cold snow.”

He feels Shane nod and burrow closer beside him. The cold isn't so bad actually.

“I am glad I came,” Ilya says quietly. Something has been weighing a bit on him and he doesn't know how to say the right words. “It was nice, seeing you. Last time I saw you we got high. This time we got a little drunk. I don't want you to think…” he trails off, not sure what he's trying to say.

“Think what?” Shane asks with those big brown eyes that make Ilya's breath catch in his throat for a second.

He fiddles with his cigarette as a distraction. “I don't know. That I need to be drunk or high or something to be able to be real around you. I don't. Nobody else knows me like you, Shane. Not even Sveta. I don't know what to think about that. I just don't want you to think I am coward. I am sometimes, maybe, but I am trying to be brave like you.”

Shane takes in a deep, shaky breath. “Oh. Wow. I, um, I didn't think that. It’s kind of nice. I liked smoking and drinking with you. I don't usually feel comfortable doing that around other people. I don't like to give up control. But I like that I can let go with you and know that you'll take good care of me,” Shane admits, blushing.

He looks precious with his pink cheeks. Ilya wants to fuck him again, but he's not sure how Shane's ass would feel about another round. But he'd also be just as fine not fucking him and hanging out and bullshitting until they have to leave, which is also very off-putting.

He settles for kissing Shane chaste on the corner of his lips, knowing he probably won't want a deeper ashy cigarette kiss.

“I like you,” Ilya mumbles against his lips.

“I like you too,” Shane smiles.

“We’re so fucking stupid,” Ilya sighs. Seriously. How did they get themselves into this?

“The stupidest. So irresponsible,” Shane agrees. “Now brush your teeth so you can kiss me.”

Ilya does, and when he flashes his clean teeth at Shane he laughs, allowing Ilya to pull him in for a deep minty kiss.

“I need to shower before going to Hayden’s,” Shane murmurs, sounding reluctant to part. “And I have to stop home first to get the presents for his kids.”

“Lemme blow you in shower. It will be very good multi-tasking. Very efficient,” Ilya insists, backing Shane up to the glass shower wall.

Shane lets him. He takes Shane deep in his throat, knees digging into the shower floor. Unable to help himself, Ilya uses one hand to cradle Shane’s balls and the other to jerk himself off.

He remembers how close Shane had felt without the condom last night. He wonders if Shane's hole is still swollen and puffy and sloppy just waiting for him to be back inside.

Fuck, what if he gets a plug and shoves it up Shane’s ass after he cums inside of him, keeping it all there? He wishes he could do that and make Shane wear it all fucking day at Hayden's house. Except Hayden doesn't deserve to see Shane trying not to act all turned on and needy. And it'd probably traumatize his children. But then Shane could take it out after and describe it all to Ilya over the phone since he won't be there to see it himself.

With a startled moan around Shane's cock, Ilya bucks into his hand and cums.

Fuck, he just came solely from sucking Shane off and fantasizing about him. What the fuck?

“Did you just–?” Shane asks, and then his eyes widen in confirmation when Ilya sheepishly holds his hand under the spray to wash off the cum. “God, that's so fucking hot!” Shane cries before he's cumming down Ilya's throat.

Ilya greedily swallows it all down, wanting to taste Shane on his tongue for his entire flight back to Boston.

Shane stares down at him the entire time, even after he's cum and he's trying to catch his breath.

“What if you miss your flight?” Shane asks suddenly.

Ilya's knees are hurting from the tile digging into them so he stands up, holding a hand out to the shower wall to steady his shaky legs.

Fuck, he'd cum way too hard from just that.

“What time is your flight?” Shane questions, even though he'd already told him earlier, twice.

“Noon,” Ilya says, confused.

What is Shane talking about? He has to fly out to Florida early tomorrow morning. And Shane is going to Hayden's and then flying out with his team to New York tomorrow afternoon.

“What if hypothetically you lose track of time?”

“I do lose things very often…” Ilya says slowly. This is a fucking stupid and reckless idea.

“Not your fault. We are just dumb hockey boys. Very stupid and irresponsible. Always losing things,” Shane reassures, patting him gently on the cheek.

Ilya decides to be very generous and kiss Shane, his tongue sliding in, sharing the taste of him when he'd originally planned to keep it all to himself.

After they get out of the shower Ilya finds a red eye flight. It'll be exhausting. He'll get home late and then barely sleep before having to get up for his flight to Florida.

“Hotel is busier now for Boxing Day. Is risky,” Ilya reminds him, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“So you'll stay at my house. I will only be gone for a couple hours. Fuck, wait. That's selfish. Making you rebook your flight just to wait around for me to get back and get a few more hours together. That's stupid,” Shane remarks, looking much more unsure now.

Except that sounds even better. He wants to make himself at home at Shane's. He wants to root through the cupboards for food like it's his own. He wants to open all the drawers and see where Shane hides his messes. Does he have a secret shameful drawer in his kitchen where he hides all the things he has no place for? His single batteries, half empty pens, and worn pads of old hotel stationery?

“I would like that,” Ilya admits. Shane grins wide and toothy. “Maybe we take separate Ubers. I get dropped off near your home and you can be dropped off at your car?” Ilya suggests, not looking up from his phone as he purchases his new tickets.

They pack up their stuff and are now eager to leave the hotel, a complete change from how solemn they were before.

“I'll stop home to get the presents and then let you know when I am on my way back from Hayden's,” Shane says, kissing Ilya long and passionately. It stirs his dick but since he'd just cum in the shower, it doesn't get hard like it normally would. Which is maybe good. They don't have time.

“Perfect. I will wait for you in slutty maid costume, like good little housewife,” Ilya smirks.

“You watch too much porn,” Shane chides with a roll of his eyes.

But Ilya gives him a look of determination. “Yes, maybe. But it would be hot.”

Shane messes with his keyring and then smirks and hands him his house key, attaching his I <3 Montreal Jane keychain to it first.

Ilya doesn't dress up in a slutty maid costume, but he's not opposed to the idea and logs it away for the future.

Instead, he explores Shane's home. He's been here before, but never without Shane. Never without being perceived. It's usually sex, shower, gone.

He finds himself subtly adjusting things, barely turning them or moving them over an undetectable amount. Small ways to prove that he was here long after he leaves.

Shane is imbued in the apartment in small ways. It's hard to find his personality among the perfectly curated interior design. But maybe that is what is distinctly Shane about it. A very polished, perfect exterior that leaves you searching for the real him under all the varnish.

He childishly pockets a scrap of paper with a short grocery list on it, long forgotten under the carefully selected pile of coffee table books. He is selfish and wants a little piece of Hollander, a little sample of his handwriting to keep.

He finds Shane's dildo in a box shoved in the back of his nightstand drawer. It is not as big as Ilya's dick, which he appreciates.

Shane had encouraged him to make himself at home and do laundry if he needed to, so he does, washing the few clothes he brought, having packed light. He pulls on a pair of Shane's sweats and his hoodie which smells like him. He already knows he's going to smuggle this hoodie home with him too.

When Shane finally returns home a few hours later Ilya has fallen asleep on the living room sofa, still wearing his clothes.

He wakes up to Shane straddling his hips and adorning his neck with kisses.

Ilya wants to wake up like this all the time. He sighs happily before meeting his lips in a deep kiss. He runs his hands up and down Shane’s sides as he does. Shane feels solid and real and perfect.

Shane eventually rests his forehead against Ilya's and murmurs, “Missed you.” Ilya tugs Shane's shirt up over his head.

“Missed you too,” Ilya whispers as they part again to fumble out of their clothing.

“Coming home to see you wearing my clothes and sleeping on my couch is so fucking hot,” Shane praises, bringing their lips together again.

He hadn't even meant to be hot, but noted.

“How's your ass?” Ilya asks, pressing a finger near Shane’s hole in a questioning way. Shane nods so Ilya pops his finger in his mouth to get it wet before running it along his hole.

“Hungry for you,” Shane responds.

Jesus Christ.

His hole still feels a bit stretched out from last night so he doesn't take as long to prep him, which is good because he's pretty sure his dick is going to explode.

“Can I ride you?” Shane asks, and it's a ridiculous question. Like Ilya would ever be capable of saying no. Like he'd ever want to.

Ilya nods enthusiastically. Shane lowers himself to spit on Ilya's cock. He just about dies from the visual alone, and then Shane is spitting on him again and stroking his aching cock and fucking fuck.

His back arcs off the couch when Shane lowers himself onto his dick. He breathes hard through his nose, trying to control himself.

“You miss this cock?” Ilya asks, trying to take back control, moaning once Shane starts slowly bouncing on him.

Shane nods. “Missed you.”

Fuck.

Shane rides him in earnest and Ilya can only grasp onto his hips and be at his mercy. There's more drag on his dick without the glide of lube but he doesn't care; it still feels fucking amazing.

“Your hole already miss being filled with my cum?” Ilya asks frantically, helping guide Shane’s movements on his dick.

“Yes. Feels so empty without you inside me,” Shane whimpers. Ilya feels every grip and clench when Shane's hole flutters around his cock and he's already about to lose it.

He takes one hand off Shane's hip to reach around and slap his ass hard, causing Shane to moan and jolt his hips forward, taking him deeper.

So he does it again. And again. Until the flesh feels hot under his palm and he knows it's cherry red, if he could see it. It will look so pretty contrasted with his cum leaking out in a few minutes.

Shane is a whining, whimpering mess on his dick.

“Gonna get your ass so pretty and full and wet with my cum,” Ilya groans, taking Shane's leaking dick and stroking quickly. “You want that?”

“It's all I've wanted all day,” Shane confesses desperately, bouncing so good on Ilya's dick that he knows he's going to cum any minute now.

“Good cause you're gonna fucking take it all,” Ilya demands.

Shane nods obediently. God, it's going to look so sexy sliding out of Shane with him on top like this.

“Fuck! Oh fuck!” Shane sobs, and then his cum is spilling over Ilya's fist as he orgasms. His face is a work of art with his mouth hanging open, his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

Ilya feels every clench and squeeze, and he only makes it a few more thrusts before he's gripping Shane's hips hard, fingers digging into the flesh deep to keep Shane right where he needs him as he thrusts up into him. His right hand is still sticky and slick with Shane's release.

Ilya feels his orgasm slam into him with a gasp and then he's cumming hard, grinding his hips up into Shane as he rides it out.

He feels like he got hit by a fucking truck when he's done. In a good way, if possible. His body feels exhausted but satisfied and liquid gooey.

“Turn around,” Ilya rasps, voice hoarse. Shane does as he's told, lifting off of Ilya's dick with a whine. He turns around and straddles Ilya's stomach, bending forward to present his ass.

His ass that's still beautiful, bright red and looks just as wonderful as he'd imagined with his cum seeping out.

They both clean up and then Shane makes them a quick meal. Ilya sits on the countertop and watches Shane with what he can only imagine are heart eyes.

Fuck. He's not sure how he'll look at Shane in front of others or on the ice and not look like a lovesick puppy.

It'll be a long time before they see each other again. He doesn't want it to end. He wants to say something but he doesn't know what. He wants to tell Shane he is going to miss him so badly he'll probably be a pissy motherfucker and his team will get annoyed with him.

He wants to say he wishes he didn't have to go. That leaving is always the hardest part of this, even when he convinced himself it was easy.

“I think I will stop fucking other people,” is what he says instead, nervously.

Shane looks over at him from across their now empty plates. Shane is leaning against the counter opposite the island Ilya is sitting on.

“Yeah?” Shane asks, expression frustratingly neutral.

“Yes. I want to keep fucking you bare so makes sense, yes? To be safe,” Ilya shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

Shane doesn't buy it but he doesn't call him out. He just smiles knowingly at him. “Mmhmm, yes. For safety.”

Then Shane closes the distance and kisses him hard and sweet.

He kisses him while Ilya puts on his jacket. He kisses him again once he hands Ilya his clean laundry. He kisses him again at the door when they say goodbye.

It's not until Ilya is emptying his pockets at airport security when he feels the solid metal key wedged down in his pocket. He'd forgotten to give it back. He takes it out and rubs the keychain between his fingers before he carefully places it in his bag so it doesn't get lost.

I <3 Montreal Jane.

Shane was right. That is how it reads, what it means.

When he lands back in Boston he looks through the corny trinkets and souvenirs at the airport gift shop until he finds what he's looking for. It's the last one with this name. Fate, again at work. The font is slightly different than the Montreal one, but clearly still made in the same spirit of the other kitschy keychain.

It'll be something to hang onto until he sees Shane next and can give it to him.

I <3 Boston Lily