Work Text:
Ilya is playing like shit.
Well that’s not entirely true.
He’s playing great. Fuck what the refs have to say.
Just maybe…… a touch more aggressive than is strictly necessary.
He’s one more stint in the penalty box away from being benched for the rest of this game.
He can’t afford that. This is the fucking Metros. In fucking Boston.
He huffs at the sound of the buzzer. It’s the end of the second period and that he thought his anger would have dulled into more of a simmer by now. Gotten his head deep enough into the game that he was only worried about the ice.
But even this far in he’s stuck at his boiling point because every time the jumbotron pans over to the crowd, it’s to see what Rose fucking Landry is doing this time.
Like she’s been doing anything other than sitting there pissing Ilya off for the last hour.
Who gives a fuck anyway?
Ilya knows that he may be the only person in this arena that doesn’t actually. Especially if the roaring crowd and the noise from his own bench is anything to go by.
It’s just…
She’s in his fucking jersey.
Rose fucking Landry is in Shane’s fucking jersey.
In Ilya’s fucking city. His fucking arena.
What else would he be other than pissed?
Shane’s glowing. Is the thing.
He looks so pleased with himself and everytime the camera cuts back to him he’s smiling at the ice and laughing with Pike and Ilya can’t watch. He’s liable to do something really fucking stupid if he does.
He’s back on the ice for the last period, but it’s honestly all a blur. His actual gameplay left up to muscle memory since his brain is just caught in a loop of “Mine” and “Not yours Ilya, get it the fuck together.”
They win.
Somehow.
Ilya’s honestly not sure how they pulled it off.
Was it a good game? He honestly doesn’t even know. Too far in his head to remember half of it.
He’s not like this. He’s never like this.
He’s back in the locker room shucking off his gear when coach calls.
“Rozanov, press in ten!”
He groans and knocks his head against his locker.
Hears a voice he doesn’t even care to decipher tell him, “Hey Roz, you should ask around and see if they brought Rose Landry back. See if she’s more interested in a winning team than those losers.” It’s met with a raucous laugh but Ilya just rolls his eyes.
He’s not doing that because he respects women enough to not treat them like objects.
No other reason.
*****
It’s way too late by the time Ilya makes it back to his place.
He didn’t even go out with the guys, couldn’t bring himself to care. He’s exhausted and it has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the comedown from a bout of unwarranted rage.
He reminds himself it’s not unwarranted.
Shane walked out on him.
Shane was a pussy when things got a little real and he left.
Who the fuck is he to come to Boston with his new girlfriend when the last time he left it was in Ilya’s t-shirt with his heart sewn onto the sleeve?
He drops his keys on the countertop and groans when they slide right off onto the floor.
He doesn’t startle when it happens but it’s a near thing.
“1410? Really?”
Ilya’s eyes flick up, frozen at the sight of Shane Hollander, arms crossed over his chest and head cocked like he’s the one that’s angry.
He doesn’t ask how he got in here. He just told him.
Ilya shrugs, nonchalant as if his heart rate hadn’t doubled in the last ten seconds. Fear first, adrenaline second.
“First thing that came to mind.”
Shane huffs, annoyed. Ilya can see it all over his face.
“Bullshit. Why.”
It’s not a question. But Ilya wasn’t going to answer anyway. Wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that using that number as his door code was the only way he could stop himself from getting it tattooed. Had to put the memory somewhere, too big for his heart to hold on its own.
“You are lost Hollander?” He asks. Sure to only use his last name since that’s what set him off last time. Fights the urge to call him anything else that’s running through his brain. “The Four Seasons is downtown. You need cab?”
Shane is rolling his eyes and Ilya all but watches the fight physically drain from his body.
“Ilya-“ he starts.
“No.”
Shane stiffens. His cheeks flush a pink that before today, Ilya would’ve complimented as pretty.
“Rozanov-“
“No.” He cuts off again. “Why are you here Hollander?” He asks. Crosses his arms over his chest and leans against his kitchen counter.
The lights aren’t even on.
Shane flounders. Ilya would laugh at his discomfort if he had anything left to give. Unfortunately when Shane decided to break and enter into his home he didn’t bring back the t-shirt he stole or Ilya’s heart along with it. They must both still be in Montreal shoved in a closet somewhere never to be seen again.
“I wanted to see you.” He fidgets with his fingers by his sides, uncomfortable but not backing down.
Ilya scoffs. “Me?”
Shane straightens his posture. Shoves his hands in his pockets. Nods, resolute. “Yes. You always give me what I want.”
Ilya’s stomach turns. He does, doesn't he? Can never say no to those pretty eyes and that breathy voice in his ear. That’s the whole problem.
He tries to physically bite his tongue to not show his hand.
Fails.
“So she wears your number back there, but you show up here because I have what you like?” He bites out.
Shane’s pretty mouth pops open like he’s surprised.
Why? Ilya can’t imagine. He looks surprised as if the fury wasn’t practically rolling off of him in waves, during the game and even now. As if everything Ilya wanted hadn’t been written all over him the day he walked out. As if it wasn’t still there now in the tension of his shoulders, the shake in his voice.
“You get to leave me hanging for weeks and then show up here with her?” He’s spiraling now, he knows. But he can’t stop now that he’s started.
Shane steps forward cautious, like Ilya is a spooked animal. He guesses in some ways he kind of is.
“Ilya, I-“
“You what? You want me to bend you over the couch and hit it from behind? You want to kiss me and tell me it’s mine?” His breath is coming faster and the words are too, he’s not even sure if he’s still speaking in English or not but he can’t bring himself to care. “You want to walk out again and go back to Rose Landry and pretend like she has what you need?”
Shane finally snaps out of his stupor and grabs both sides of Ilya’s face.
“Ilya I want you.”
And Ilya crumples because he knows.
He shakes his head and looks at the floor. Resigns himself.
He knows himself well enough to know he can’t deny Shane anything. Even if it’ll kill him in the process.
His hand fumbles with his belt buckle.
“Okay. How do you want me?” He asks. Spares a glance up to Shane’s face and sees tear tracks and horror.
Shane’s grabbing at his hands and wrapping them around his own waist.
“No. No Ilya, fuck ‘m sorry.” He drops his forehead to Ilya’s shoulder and heaves a breath.
Ilya’s hands hover and he can only imagine the confusion on his face.
“Is not what you want?” He asks.
Shane lifts his head and their eyes meet and Ilya’s heart might split in two.
Shane kisses him.
Shane kisses him.
That hardly ever happens.
And isn’t this just the crux of the issue because Ilya’s head goes blissfully silent when Shane’s lips are on him. His hands grip tight at his hips and he can’t even remember why he was angry mere seconds ago.
Shane pulls away and rests their foreheads together. Breathes and waits for Ilya’s brain to come back to him.
“I’m sorry. I’m terrible at this.” A deep breath. “I want you, Ilya.”
He blinks, confused.
“Okay…”
Shane’s smile might be his favorite thing in the world.
“I want you to kiss me. And I want to wake up here in the morning. In your arms. In your bed. In your clothes. I want to sit around and do nothing and laugh at stupid shit on tv. I want to crawl into your lap and touch you whenever I feel like it. I want to make you come but I also want to make you laugh. I want you Ilya. I’m sorry I ran off last time. I was scared of how much I wanted. How bad I wanted it. But I can’t just want you from afar. I can’t.”
Ilya just blinks at him. His brain nothing but the sound of static.
“But. But you have girlfriend. Rose fucking Landry was wearing your number and blowing kiss at you all night.”
Shane’s pretty cheeks dust pink and he laughs.
“She’s not my girlfriend.” And Ilya might get whiplash. “She was. But not now. I can’t wait to tell her she was right.” He giggles and leans back towards Ilya but he’s stopped with a hand to the chest.
“Right about what?” Ilya asks.
Shane has the nerve to look shy. “That night in Montreal, the club,” Ilya remembers. He tries not to, but it never works. “When we left, Rose told me you looked like you wanted to kill her all night. I just froze because how do you respond to that? But she just laughed and told me it was okay. And that she was a little jealous if anything because we would be hot together.”
Ilya snorts. “She is right about that. You are very hot.”
Shane shoves at his chest. “She pitched the idea of wearing my jersey to try and make you jealous because I wouldn’t shut up about how much I missed you. I didn’t know how else to get your attention again. I knew I fucked up. I know I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
Ilya strokes a hand down his cheek, thumbs at his lip. “I know.”
Those pretty brown eyes meet his and maybe Shane did bring his heart back after all.
“I want to figure this out. With you, I mean. I want you, Ilya. In every way.”
Ilya has to kiss him before he says something stupid.
Not now.
He whispers into Shane’s mouth. “So you just want to sleep here? You don’t want me to fuck you over the couch?”
Shane’s eyes dart towards the living room and his cheeks go pink again. “I never said that.”
Ilya tugs him closer and grabs at the backs of Shane’s thighs until he jumps. Catches him in his arms and revels in the shocked breath it gets. As if he hasn’t done this countless times.
And really doesn’t that tell him everything he needs to know?
Shane nips at his neck as Ilya walks them to the couch. Deposits him on the arm and grips him by the jaw and delights in the shocked gasp it elicits.
“You thought about me every time you were with her, didn't you.”
It isn’t a question.
Shane’s mouth pops open and his eyes are hazy. He nods.
“It was only once.”
And even that is more than Ilya wants to know.
He crowds him against the arm of the couch and grabs at his hips, spins him around and bends him until his face meets cushion. Leans over his back and grits in his ear.
“You don’t have to think about anybody but me when you come ever again.”
A shiver rolls down Shane’s spine and Ilya has to suppress the all-consuming urge to dig his teeth right into his shoulder.
Shane rolls his hips back and Ilya hisses, only now realizing just how hard he already is.
“Please, Ilya. Missed it so much. Missed you.” Shane whines.
Ilya tugs at his sweats until he’s met with bare skin that he could wax poetic about.
He lands a soft smack to his ass just to watch it shake and for the tiny gasp it pulls from Shane’s throat.
“Tell me.” He spits down over Shane’s hole and admires the shiver that follows. “Tell me what you missed.”
His fingers slip through the wet, giving pressure but not enough. Leaving Shane wiggling his hips with a pouty huff.
“Missed your fingers.” Ilya slips the first inside him. “Always feel- fuck. Always feel so much better than mine.”
Ilya hums, rubs at his ass to distract from the stretch. “Bigger, yes?”
Shane nods. Eyes slipping closed.
“Mhm. Always know just where to touch me too.”
Ilya smirks and quirks his finger. Shane’s spine straightens on a hiss and then melts into a delicious arch.
“Oh fuck. Yes. Just like that babe, please.”
His cheeks pink at the slip and Ilya can tell he’s trying to play it off.
He pulls his finger out and tugs his own shirt off over his head. Revels in the way Shane’s eyes track down his body. He adds a second finger in him this time and leans over to nip at his ear.
“That the spot, baby? That feel nice?” He purrs.
Shane whines and hides his face in the cushion but he can’t hide the way his body reacts, pulled taut and shaking.
Ilya trails kisses down his back and thrusts his fingers harder.
“Missed you, sweetheart.” He can tell Shane likes the pet names but that’s not all he wants to say. “Missed you. Shane.”
Shane gasps and his hand is suddenly shoving at Ilya’s wrist. Shoving his fingers out of him and arching his hips back.
“Ilya. Fuck me. Please, Ilya. Babe, I need-“
Ilya shushes him. Smoothes a hand over his ass and lines himself up with the other.
“Fuck. Lube.”
He makes to pull back but Shane grabs at his thigh. Shakes his head, lips hung open.
“Don’t care. Spit on me. Need you, please.”
And it’s been ten years but he has never seen Shane this desperate.
He grabs his hand, links their fingers.
Spits over his hole and bites his tongue at the whimper.
“Shhh Shane. I have you, baby.”
Shane’s already shaking when he pushes in. Gives it to him to the hilt from the start.
Shane’s voice sounds watery but he speaks nonetheless.
“Fuck I missed you.”
Ilya’s smile might split his face. He leans back over him until he can get at his mouth. Kisses him until they’re both gasping for breath and Shane’s hips are wiggling.
“I know, moya lyubov. I missed you more.”
And that’s the god’s honest truth.
Ilya stands back to his full height and wraps his hands around Shane’s hips. Almost comes at the sight of that alone.
He fucks him slow, deep. Hard enough that his toes are curling on the rug and his thighs are shaking.
He talks him through it. Knows that as much as Shane loves being taken apart, there is still part of him that is shy about it. Embarrassed.
“So good, baby. You take it so good.”
He slides a hand up the length of Shane’s spine and rests on the back of his neck. Pushes down, down, down until Shane gasps, until tears leak out of his eyes.
“That’s my boy. Look at those pretty eyes. You love this dick don’t you, sweetheart?”
Shane’s mouth is hung open and he’s nodding even if he doesn’t know at what. And Ilya is all but physically holding himself back from an orgasm. Determined to make his boy come first.
He pulls out and elicits a whine.
“What? Put it back, Ilya-“
He laughs. “Hold on, Shane. Malysh.”
He grips his hips once more and flips him in one smooth motion. Leaves Shane gasping as his legs get swung over Ilya’s shoulder. He wraps one arm around his shins and grabs at his thigh with the other as he pushes back in, finds his rhythm
“There. Wanted to look.”
Shane whines high in his throat and covers his face with his hands.
Ilya stops. “No. Look at me. Look at me when you come.”
Shane’s cheeks are a beautiful pink when he removes his hands. Moves one to stroke himself off in time with Ilya’s hips.
He drops a kiss to Shane’s ankle and squeezes at his thigh.
“That is it baby. Come on my cock.”
Shane’s whole body tenses with his release and he’s so, so beautiful.
Ilya’s rhythm falters and his own breathing is ragged.
He feels his release sneaking up on him but the only thing he can think is “mine.”
Shane’s eyes are heavy-lidded and he looks so content to just let himself be used that Ilya might never recover from this moment.
There’s no way it could get any worse, Ilya thinks.
And then Shane murmurs, “I’m yours. I’m all yours Ilya. Come for me?”
He doesn’t think he’s ever come so hard in his life.
In the come down he manages to drag himself and Shane fully into the couch before collapsing. Shane’s chest shakes with laughter under him.
He hums and props his chin up to look at his face.
“What is funny?”
Shane’s smile is blinding. Happy. Happier than Ilya’s seen him in a long time. Maybe ever.
“Just thinking about Rose.”
Ilya can feel his face fall.
Shane grabs at his cheeks and thumbs under his eyes.
“No! No. Nothing bad I promise. Just… It’s really funny that she saw me look at you like once and immediately knew.” He looks off and tilts his head, thinking. “Well, maybe it was less me looking at you with heart eyes and more you looking at her like you wished she would drop dead. She said you did at least, I never saw that.”
Ilya smirks. Nods.
“I did.”
Shane barks a laugh and tangles his fingers in Ilya’s hair. “I wish I had seen that face.”
“Oh. No. I mean. I probably did make a face but I meant I did want her to drop dead. No offense.”
And he should probably feel guilty about that because Shane really seems to like her.
But until he manages to get her Hollander jersey in a bonfire somewhere he can’t bring himself to care.
Shane drops a kiss to his lips. Soft, tender.
“Well good thing she didn’t. I don’t know if I would’ve been brave enough to try to make you jealous on my own.”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Well I am glad that basically breaking my heart worked out for you.”
Shane smiles, sunshine and stars. “It did. I got everything I wanted. You’re sexy when you’re jealous too.”
It’s a good thing they don’t have practice for a few days because Ilya has no intention of letting him leave this house.
Not today, maybe not ever.