Ilya was spiraling, which was a new first for him. Ilya Rozanov did not spiral —that was Shane's specialty— but the circumstances made for a pretty good reason for Ilya to spiral. It was the first time Shane would come to his place since he freaked out and ran away, when Ilya had been sure he'd lost Shane forever. Not that Shane was his to begin with. They weren't together, but they were something. A dangerous something that threatened to swallow him whole if he wasn't careful.
Later, he would blame the pre-game jitters, but right now he had no excuse for the text he typed. Ilya needed to see him, needed to rewrite the memories of their last time in this place.
Lily: What time do you leave tomorrow?
Shane didn't take long to reply.
Jane: Early. Why?
Ilya thought it was obvious, but maybe Shane was busy and that's why he was avoiding Ilya's very obvious invitation.
Lily: What are you doing right now?
The reply came immediately.
Jane: Nothing. At the hotel.
That was promising.
Lily: Come over?
Ilya saw the bubble that meant Shane was typing pop up less than a second after he wrote his message.
Jane: I can't! We have a game tonight!
Which was why Ilya needed to see Shane today. If he had an early flight, then their next encounter would be in over a month. Ilya's skin was itching for release.
Lily: Come over. Not for long. An hour?
Shane could probably come twice, maybe even three times in an hour. It was enough to keep Ilya going for another month. He wasn't going to dwell on the fact that he could find a perfectly adequate woman to get his release during that month. Not that he wanted to. All he could think about was dark hair and freckles and a weak backhand.
Jane: No! Come on, it's a terrible idea.
Ilya secretly hoped Shane was only arguing because it was what he was supposed to do. Otherwise, Ilya was close enough to resort to begging.
Lily: Everything we do is a bad idea.
He watched his message go from Delivered to Read, but there was no response on Shane's part. Ilya sighed and threw himself on the bed, letting his phone fall somewhere beside him. He stared at the ceiling for a good ten minutes before his phone vibrated with a message.
Jane: Here
Fuck.
Shane came.
Why did his heart start beating faster at the idea of Shane rushing to Ilya's place. That's what he wanted, right? Then why was he not running to the door?
Ilya sat up and looked around his room. It wasn't messy exactly, but he still picked up a pair of pants from the floor and threw them in the hamper on his way to the living room. He took off his t-shirt, and walked to the door, barefoot and shirtless to save some time.
When he opened the door, Shane barely let himself in before he was pushing Ilya against a wall, kissing him as if he had been thinking about this as much as Ilya had. (Statistically impossible. This thing between them, Shane, was all Ilya could think about in a good day.)
They kissed hungrily, all teeth and tongues, almost as if Ilya could eat Shane raw. Shane slid his hands down Ilya's bare chest, sending shivers down his spine, and Ilya mumbled something that sounded like not fair as he pulled Shane's sweater up. They made their way to Ilya's room still kissing, leaving a trail of clothes all the way through the living room and the hallway. By the time they reached Ilya's bedroom, they were both naked and hard.
Ilya pushed Shane gently towards the bed until Shane took the hint and lied down. Ilya took a moment to admire Shane's beautiful body: strong thighs, toned stomach, broad shoulders, the flush going down from his face all the way down to his collarbone. Delicious.
He knelt on the bed and kissed Shane's thighs, separating them to position himself between them. Shane moaned when Ilya's lips continued to kiss up the inside of his thigh until he were hovering over his untouched dick. He ran his tongue up the length of Shane's cock, drawing something that sounded ridiculously like a whimper from Shane's lips.
"How do you want it?" Ilya asked, kissing Shane's hip hard enough to suck a hickey on it. Luckily, they had a game tonight. Shane could pass it for a hockey bruise if he needed.
"I want you to fuck me," Shane panted. "Don't leave marks."
"We have a game tonight," Ilya said, sucking a second bruise right under the first one.
"That's exactly why you shouldn't," Shane said, squirming against Ilya's mouth.
"No one will know," Ilya said, sucking another bruise closer to Shane's dick. "Puck hit you in a weird spot."
"Ilya…" Shane moaned.
God. The way Shane said his name was making it harder to bite down the words he had felt scratching the surface before ever since their All Stars game. Maybe even before. Maybe those three words had been lodged in his throat the whole time. Ilya swallowed Shane's dick to shut himself up, and he was rewarded with a filthy moan that went directly to Ilya's cock.
Shane felt like putty in his hands, malleable and soft, yet still all firm muscle that Ilya wanted to press his fingers into, leaving marks that would last long after the game so Shane would remember him and this fucked up thing they kept falling into.
Ilya sucked his cheeks in and Shane mumbled, "fuck, Ilya, I'm close."
He pulled back from Shane's cock, reveling on the whine that left Shane's beautiful mouth. He slid up the bed to kiss Shane on the mouth, quick and full of fire, before pulling back to grab the lube from his bedside table. He coated two of his fingers and got to work between Shane's legs, slowly probing and twisting one finger inside until Shane spoke up. "Will you hurry up already? We don't have all day."
The reminder stung. The last time they had the whole day to themselves, Shane had run away when Ilya said his name. It was the start of the most tortuous two months in Ilya's life so far. He didn't want to get caught up in his own head, so he pushed a second finger into Shane, deep and fast, enough to make Shane's control dissolve in tiny keening sounds.
An idea formed in Ilya's head with Shane's desperate grinding against his fingers. He pulled them out, wiped them on his duvet, and sat down on his hunches, admiring his handiwork. Shane looked ravished already, but it was not enough.
"How many times can you come in an hour, Hollander?"
"What?" He frowned, still panting. "I don't know. We've never done more than twice."
"Let's go for three then."
"Ilya—"
"Shhh, I've got you, Shane. Let me do this for you."
And Shane, whose trust in Ilya seemed infinite, threw his head back in against the cushions and sighed. He nodded once, but closed his eyes when Ilya positioned himself between Shane's legs. Ilya rolled on a condom swiftly, then he pushed only the tip inside Shane, reveling in the sounds coming out of Shane's mouth, as if the sensation was too much. Ilya didn't let him hide.
"Hey, hey, look at me," he said.
Shane opened his eyes, bright and glassy, and Ilya knew that if Ilya wanted him to, Shane would come with just the tip of his dick in his ass. He leaned forward and whispered against Shane's lips. "I'm not gonna fuck you yet."
"What?"
"I'm gonna stay right here, without moving, until you beg."
"Ilya, please—"
And Ilya's resolve could have broken right there, but he wanted Shane to cry for it. He gently slid himself in, barely another inch, so the head of his cock was engulfed by Shane's warmth.
Shane tried to rock his hips down, but Ilya held him in place, pressing his strong hands against Shane's hips. "Stay," he said, pitching his voice lower.
Shane looked at him, determined, and nodded.
"You're so good for me, Shane." Shane bit his lip, then swallowed.
Ilya's hands caressed all the way up Shane's body, grabbing his pecs firmly, stroking his nipple as he fought for the control to keep his own hips still. He kissed Shane on the mouth, long and filthy, holding his face as he deepened the kiss. It went on for a long time, long, urgent kisses that threatened to break Ilya's resolve to make it good for Shane.
They were still kissing when Ilya slid his right hand between their bodies and wrapped it around Shane's cock, stroking him slowly. Shane panted against his mouth, breaking the kiss to curse softly.
Ilya pulled his upper body up and sat on his hunches, careful not to move inside of Shane. He jerked Shane off slow and firm, sliding his thumb over the slit to spread more precome down his shaft. Shane squirmed and Ilya's dick went further inside, so Ilya stopped his hand.
"Shane," he warned, sliding his cock out just enough.
"God, Rozanov, what do you want from me?"
Ilya frowned. "Not what I wanna hear."
"Ilya," Shane panted, "Ilya, please, fuck me."
And because Ilya was weak when it came to Shane, he almost did. Then he remembered his initial intent. He spat on his hand and went back to jerking Shane off. Ilya sped up his right hand, while he used his left to keep Shane pinned at the hip.
It didn't take long for Shane to fall over the edge, painting his stomach with his spend. "Fuck you," he spat.
Ilya slid the rest of his cock inside, slow and deliberate. Shane groaned long and deep as Ilya bottomed out. "Okay?" Ilya asked.
"Jesus Christ, Ilya," Shane moaned.
"Good?"
"Yes, God, fuck."
Ilya pulled out slightly then thrust in again, leaning down to kiss Shane. Their tongues pushed and prodded in between panting and cursing. Ilya loved it. He loved this. This moment when they were so impossibly close together, touching every where that was possible, breathing the same air, one step closer to mesh their atoms together.
He keeps his thrusts deep and slow, feeling Shane's cock slowly harden with the friction against Ilya's abs. Ilya ran one of his hands down Shane's side, all the way to his thigh and wraps it around Ilya's waist, deepening his angle just enough to brush against Shane's prostate repeatedly.
Shane's mumbling dissolved in a litany of broken curses and needy keening sounds. Ilya kissed the side of Shane's face, pressing his nose to his pulse point, inhaling his scent with the sole intent of memorizing it for the weeks they'd be away. Ilya felt desperate with the need to be surrounded by Shane's heady smell at all times. He gently bit Shane's neck, not hard enough to bruise, but it was enough for Shane to gasp, "I'm gonna come, fuck, Ilya…"
Ilya pressed stomach harder against Shane's erection, using Shane's precome to smooth the glide. Shane groaned when he came, and Ilya felt a drop of Shane's come splash his chin that made him feel borderline feral. He pulled back slightly, admiring his work on Shane's messy chest. Ilya used two fingers to scoop some on Shane's come and sucked it into his mouth, keeping eye contact with Shane the whole time.
Then, feeling almost lightheaded about it, Ilya pressed the two fingers that had been in his mouth to Shane's lips. Shane sucked both fingers into his mouth, sucking his cheeks in, keeping his eyes fixed on Ilya's.
Ilya thrust his hips inside and Shane winced. "Do you want me to stop?" Ilya asked.
"I— I want you to come fucking me."
"Not if it's gonna hurt," Ilya found himself saying.
"I want— Maybe I want to feel it during the game."
Ilya almost shot his load right then, but he gripped the base of his dick to delay the inevitable.
"Think you can come again?" Ilya asked to distract himself a moment longer.
"I don't know," said Shane, looking at his spent dick.
Ilya pulled out slowly, then came down to the level of Shane's cock, and licked.
It twitched.
"Fucker," said Shane.
Ilya huffed a laugh before he licked it again, cleaning the remnants of come from Shane's previous orgasm. Once he was satisfied, his cock had filled in enough for Ilya to mouth at the head, tonguing the slit.
"Ilya. Ilya you gotta get off. I'm—"
But Shane's protests died when Ilya took his dick into his mouth in a fluid movement. Ilya sucked, content to give Shane another orgasm before his loss tonight.
But then Shane leaned down and pushed Ilya off him, until Ilya was on his back. Shane straddled him, positioning Ilya's cock right inside him.
"Come on, Rozanov. I want to feel it on the ice," Shane said.
What could Ilya do but comply?
Shane rode him voraciously, chasing his own pleasure while Ilya tried to hold on to Shane's hips, his thighs, his arms, anything to feel him closer. The most delicious symphony of sounds played in his room: the sounds of skin against skin and Shane's desperate moans. He looked like he was right on the edge of coming again, but he didn't have the right angle for it.
Ilya grabbed both of his thighs and flipped them over, fucking into him with abandon, chasing his own release. Shane cried when he came, tears springing from his eyes from overstimulation. Ilya used his thumb to wipe his face as he thrust one, two more times and came with Shane's name in his lips.
Ilya collapsed against Shane's chest, spreading come between their bodies in a way that was frankly disgusting but turned Ilya on. He slowly pulled his cock out of Shane, got rid of the condom, then went back to Shane's side, sticking to his sweaty skin.
"That was so fucking hot," said Shane, still sex-loopy.
"Hmm."
Ilya would have given up everything —well, almost everything— for the ability to stay in this moment: post orgasm, before either of them had to go. Things felt simple then. Or at least, as simple as they could ever be between them.
He had to end this. This was not fun anymore. Ilya's heart had entered the game and now heartache was a real possibility. But how could he give up the warmth Shane brought with him whenever he entered a room? How could he give up everything Shane gave him whenever they were together? Why did Ilya have to give something up? Couldn't he keep both hockey and Shane?
It was impossible—
Ilya's phone rang, breaking Ilya's spiral. He glanced at his phone, saw his brother's name and cursed.
Shane said, "you can take it if you want."
"No. I don't want," said Ilya, shaking his head.
"Is everything okay? Your father?"
"Enough."
"What?"
"Questions. You have too many of them." He put his hand on Shane's knee.
"I'm sorry."
"Is okay."
"I wasn't clear. I meant I'm sorry we're gonna destroy you guys tonight."
"Oh, I see," Ilya smiled at Shane's chirp. "So you are the asshole."
"It's still you."
"No, no. Everybody must know this." He put his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. "Shane Hollander is an asshole."
Shane dissolved in laughter as he tickled Ilya. Ilya started laughing as well and they wrestled in the bed for a few minutes until Ilya found himself in between Shane's thighs, panting as his body reacted to Shane. They kissed, long and deep, as if trying to savor the moment longer than they were allowed.
When Ilya pulled away to look at Shane, he saw the man was flushed and sweaty, his lips puffy and red from kissing so long. Shane looked debauched. Ilya wanted to take a picture to tide him over the next three weeks.
He didn't know how to ask Shane about next time without scaring him away, but he needed to know if he could have one more night with him before—
Ilya didn't feel like ending things today. Just a little longer. If Shane even wanted.
"So," Shane said, "I'll text you after the game, okay?"
Ilya tried to sound his most nonchalant when he said, "I'll text you. We'll be busy celebrating our win."
"You wish."
Shane slid a hand behind Ilya's neck and pulled him down into a kiss, deep and filthy, that promised more for that night.
After Shane took a quick shower, Ilya watched him get dressed and check his hair for the fourth time in the mirror. Ilya wanted to tell him that he looked like he had been fucked, only to see him blush one more time, but he feared that would make them both late for the game.
"Have a terrible game, Hollander."
"See you on the ice, Rozanov."
Ilya thought to himself that the only thing that could improve this day would be scoring a hat trick. Hopefully after taking the puck from Hollander.
At the locker room, he got ready for the game with his skin buzzing and he promised his teammates $1,000 for every goal scored tonight.
"Montreal goes home crying! Okay?"
Ilya lead his team out.