Chapter Text
Growing up in the Rozanov household, there was a rumor about his mother’s side of the family, something vague that eight year old Ilya didn’t understand. His father would say things snidely, not to Alexei, who was already a teenager, but to Ilya only. Comments on his curly hair, his soft, prepubescent body. Physical attacks that only seemed to target his lower abdomen, the place where his shirt and pants would overlap, the area that would always be covered by a towel in the locker room.
Irina was gone before Ilya ever got the chance to ask her what made Grigori this way, what he was so afraid of, why he only ever directed his ire towards Ilya and never towards Alexei.
And then Ilya had a growth spurt at thirteen, the softness in his abdomen turned to pure muscle because of training, and it seemed all was well. Whatever Grigori was worried about during Ilya’s childhood, the worry ceased when Ilya hit nearly 6 foot and started “looking like a true Russian man,” according to Grigori’s gruff words. The targeted beatings stopped, so Ilya never thought about the rumors again. It’s not like he would have that concern, what the men on his mama’s side could supposedly do. He was attracted to girls. It was a moot point.
He fucked a girl for the first time at fourteen, and just never stopped. Ilya was a hockey player, he knew he was attractive. It was easy, fucking girls. Too easy. Which is why he eventually gave in to his attraction to men and need for danger, and starting fucking guys, too.
He won’t think too much about how he never lets anyone anywhere near his ass, not even when Sasha begged him for it and then spit in his face when Ilya didn’t give in. He doesn’t like it, he doesn’t want to try it — he gave any excuse he could to make sure the only man doing any penetrating act was Ilya himself.
He doesn’t think about why it scares him so much.
Then Ilya’s drafted to Boston and he’s planning on playing professional hockey in North America and there’s not even a question of sleeping with another man. There’s plenty of women willing to sleep with Boston’s generational talent, in Boston and every other city they would travel to. Why would he risk his career by fucking men? It was no longer a childish need to rebel and have a little danger, get off on something forbidden; he didn’t want to go back to Russia by getting kicked out of the league for having sex with men. It was self-preservation, deciding to not fuck men anymore.
Until Shane fucking Hollander. Ilya told himself he was done with men, he could set that part of him aside, but there was no denying the hum of arousal in Ilya’s belly every time he and Hollander interacted. There weren’t many times, barely a handful leading up to the draft, but there was enough that he didn’t think twice about convincing CCM to change their commercial shoot from just Hollander to the both of them.
He doesn’t realize how close they will have to be, those doe eyes and freckles staring at him across a faceoff dot over and over during the shoot, driving Ilya crazy. He’s half-hard in his jock nearly the entire time, and when he caught Hollander’s eye in the shower? It was too easy to try to tempt the other man with a casual hand wrapped around his own half-hard cock. If Hollander wasn’t into it, Ilya could laugh it off as a prank. Then there’s room 1410, a soft first kiss that’s both tentative and addicting. A blowjob Ilya wouldn’t be able to forget, even if he ended up with his father’s own dementia.
They meet and end up fucking around every time their teams play each other — except for that one damned Montreal blizzard — sneaking into and out of hotel rooms for nearly a dozen games. Hollander was content with sucking cock and getting sucked off in return, eventually okay with a couple of fingers in his ass but doesn’t let Ilya go any further.
Ilya understood the hesitation, but it doesn’t make him want it any less, not when he can feel how fucking hot and tight Hollander was around his fingers. The thought of that tight, wet heat around his cock had plagued Ilya’s mind for weeks, months, offering perfect jerk off material for those away games he didn’t have the energy to pick up a woman.
Ilya’s learned from Sasha, though, and he will take things at Hollander’s pace. He’s not going to guilt Hollander into something he isn’t ready for.
Doesn’t mean he’s not going to talk the nastiest shit he can think of with his fingers pressed deep into Hollander’s body.
“You take my fingers so well, your body so greedy for it.” The words are punctuated by Ilya pressing firmly against Hollander’s prostate as he pushed three fingers into him, and Hollander’s beautiful, high pitched keen as his cock jumped on his belly. Ilya did it again, stretching his fingers as much as he can with his palm nearly flush to Hollander’s balls. His mouth is so close to Hollander’s dripping cock, could easily lean in closer and get a mouth on it, lick up the throbbing vein on the underside. But that’s not the game today. “Bet you can come right on my fingers, I don’t even have to touch your cock.”
“Fu - Fuck you.” The words would be more effective if Hollander wasn’t so breathless and wasn’t rocking back onto Ilya’s hand, trying to suck his fingers deeper.
“Mm, no, I would rather fuck you.” It’s an easy statement to make — he’s made it pretty obvious by now that he wants to fuck Hollander. But Ilya’s not being an asshole with his words, not this time; it just thoughtlessly slipped out, because it was true.
Yes, Ilya wanted to fuck him, but Hollander set a boundary and Ilya was respecting it. Even if his cock was absolutely aching, trapped between his belly and the surprisingly soft hotel sheets, wanting nothing more than to bury himself inside of Hollander and make the other man scream the hotel down — not that Hollander would. But boy would Ilya fucking try his best.
Ilya distracted himself from those thoughts by thrusting his fingers into Hollander again, cutting off what the other man had opened his mouth to say, at least for the moment.
“Next time,” Hollander finally stuttered as his cock leaked precum against his belly, rocking his hips down onto Ilya’s hand for more. “I need — fuck, please — I need to check that I’m not a carrier.”
It didn’t click in Ilya’s head what Hollander meant, not until they are both satiated and panting in bed, cum coating both of their bellies but before Ilya had found the strength to roll out of bed to get a cloth to clean them. “What did you mean?” Ilya finally asked, dragging his dirty hand over his dirty skin, feeling the tingle deep in his belly. He couldn’t get hard again so soon if he tried, but damn would he love to try.
Hollander made a sleepy noise next to him, but didn’t actually answer, so Ilya continued. “Carrier, Hollander. What this mean?”
He thought he understood the English word, but it’s clear that Ilya is missing something the way Hollander goes bright red under his arm. Between one blink and the next Hollander’s sitting up in the bed, back turned to Ilya, and Ilya felt his whole world tilt and he doesn’t know why.
“Some… my dad’s family has this recessive trait. Very rare. Like super rare.” Hollander took a shaky breath, letting it out almost immediately. “There’s a low, really low, chance that I could get pregnant. If we have, you know, anal sex.”
Ilya stopped breathing for a moment, translating the words from English into Russian just to make sure he understood them correctly, and he had the strangest feeling that he knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind. Why did he know this? It left an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He couldn’t quite place what that uncomfortable feeling was. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean okay, whatever you need. If it makes you more comfortable. Will wear condom anyway.”
“Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective at preventing pregnancy.”
Ilya laughed at Hollander’s words, shaking his head. “You are safe sex ad now?”
“I’m just saying,” Hollander huffed, pushing himself from the bed as Ilya lounged in the sheets. He could really use a cigarette, but he was still a little sex dumb and was content to just lounge for a while. He was thinking about getting up to get in the shower, to maybe convince Hollander to stay longer, when a damp washcloth landed on his belly, and Ilya grunted at the shock.
“Okay, we do things your way! No need to fling towel at me. Rude.”
To Ilya’s surprise, they fucked the next time they saw each other, at the start of the 2013-2014 season. Hollander did not have the carrier gene and was ready to bottom for the first time; it was the best feeling of Ilya’s life. It was indescribable how good the sex was between him and Hollander, so it didn’t surprise him that fucking him would feel this good; it was unfathomable it was that good, considering just how many people Ilya had sex with. It was no wonder he kept coming back, even after he should have stopped. Even after he told himself he was going to stop.
That season was… messy. Something shifted after he fucked Hollander, and his complicated relationship with Russia and his family got tangled with his really-not-casual-but-let’s-pretend feelings for Hollander. Ilya was fucked, and he didn’t know how to deal with it. Being in Russia for the Olympics, losing like they did, seeing his father deteriorating more before his eyes… Ilya iced Hollander out, focused on winning it all, and never thought about the carrier gene again.
Vegas changed things. Ilya tried to pretend things were casual, tried to be detached like it was just sex. Every moment, it got harder and harder to pretend that he didn’t have big, catastrophic feelings for Shane. He stopped fucking anyone but Shane, he looked forward to every text. He had no idea what he was going to do, except ask Shane to stay. And he asked Shane to stay before a game in November, and he made tuna melts, and he was going to share with Shane that there was a chance Ilya could be a carrier, and what were the odds, the both of them having that super rare trait in their family. He even had another genetic quip ready to go, to overwrite that painful time in Vegas in 2014.
But Ilya let his feelings show, too blissed out in the moment to reign in the Shane and call him Hollander instead. He saw the panic in Shane immediately, tried to correct it, but his breaking heart had him pinned to the couch, unable to follow Shane as he left.
Then came Rose fucking Landry and he thought it was all over anyway, so what did it matter if Ilya could be a carrier? He was in love with Shane but Shane wasn’t in love with Ilya and it didn’t matter at all if Ilya did have the carrier gene. He was only just beginning to admit his feelings to himself, no matter how terrifying that was. Russia and his family still meant even if Shane did love him — he doesn’t — they couldn’t be anything. There were no queer people in the MLH, not that Ilya was aware of. Ilya certainly would never want to be the first to come out. As much as he hated his family, he would never be able to go home to Russia again. He would never touch his mama’s grave and whisper to her at her final resting place. He wouldn’t sacrifice that for just anyone.
But he and Shane talk — kinda — in Tampa Bay for the All-Star Game. Not about everything, but about the important things. He knows it doesn’t change anything, even with Shane in his arms, comforting Ilya through his embarrassing tears. He’s overwhelmed with feelings: grief and joy and fear and relief and love, and he doesn’t know how to express any of them without cracking his chest all the way open and showing Shane the soft parts of him, the pieces of Ilya that he always kept in the deepest part of himself to protect them from his abusive father.
He doesn’t know why he doesn’t tell Shane then, or at the cottage, or any time in the next few years that they are together. Ilya doesn’t know for sure, is the thing. Yes, Grigori seemed to think Ilya would have the gene, but his father was abusive and a bigot. If Grigori had any proof, Ilya would be buried with his mama, he was sure of it. Ilya just… puts the idea of the carrier gene out of his mind. He’s more concerned with the immediate fact about his mama: Irina Rozanova committed suicide, on reflection was clearly depressed, and Ilya was most definitely her son. He’s too focused on fixing his depression — yes, Galina was trying to convince him he didn’t need fixing — and trying not to out his relationship with Shane to think about some vague rumor his father hated him for over two decades ago.
They are together for years before Ilya, just occasionally, thought about how it would feel for Shane to fuck him, if Shane wanted to. Shane never brought it up himself, Ilya knew Shane had mixed feelings on topping, so Ilya didn’t think it was something he had to worry about exploring yet. Ilya only knew he liked when Shane fingered him, when Ilya desperately needed to get out of his head and Shane was so good at taking him apart. He’s never thought about it otherwise, never tried it with anyone else, but it’s the deep trust he has in Shane, in their relationship, that allowed him to relax enough to enjoy it, and Shane’s fingers were so thick inside him that it just felt good, overwhelmingly good. It felt so good that sometimes Ilya almost asked Shane to fuck him, just to see how it would feel.
Something keeps him from asking, though, and Ilya doesn’t worry about it. At least, he’s not worried about it until the choice is taken out of their hands and they were outed to the world without their consent, and there was a ring on his finger, and he and Shane finally had a open and out future to look forward to, together.
“You would like kids, yes?” Ilya asked Shane one night, legs tangled together and Shane’s lips pressed against the nape of Ilya’s neck. Ilya didn’t want to think about why Shane has him twisted as the little spoon, the few despondent days they both had endured and survived, so Ilya just tried to enjoy the warmth of his husband pressed against his back in the cool, dark bedroom.
“Hmm, eventually. I figured adoption. Surrogacy is messier.” The words are sleepy, Shane’s lips brushing over Ilya’s skin with every syllable, not enough to make him hard but just enough to make his skin tingle pleasantly. “We’re still so young, we have time.”
Ilya hummed his agreement, lightly drumming his fingers on Shane’s hand on his belly. He slid Shane’s hand down a few inches to rest low on his abdomen, the warmth traveling though his body having a little to do with arousal but a lot more to do with his thoughts of the future. “I may have the gene,” he finally said, long after he felt Shane’s breathing slide into the evenness of sleep. It was a coward’s way out, but even with Shane sleeping behind him, Ilya’s heart still pounded in his chest, just thinking about possibly having the carrier gene and what it could mean for him, for their family. For their possibility of a family.
“Why did you bring up kids last night, Ilyushenka?”
Ilya’s not prepared for the question first thing in the morning, thought Shane was too sleepy to remember, and he has to carefully put the coffee pot down so he doesn’t drip hot coffee all over his hand. He pressed his hands against the counter, taking the coward’s way out again and decided to not face Shane. As if having his back to his husband would make his heart pound any less.
“Cassie is pregnant again.” It’s an answer and also not an answer, exactly, and Shane hummed. Ilya can hear him pouring his disgusting grass smoothie into a glass, the soft shuffling of his feet against the kitchen tile.
He didn’t jump when Shane gently touched his hip — he didn’t — but he did feel the tense set of his shoulders and he forced himself to relax, especially as Shane stepped close, nose pressing against Ilya’s nape and then his lips, arms wrapping securely around Ilya’s middle. It’s usually Ilya pressing himself against Shane’s back, needing to be pressed against every inch of the man he was hopelessly in love with. But it was always sweet and surprising when Shane was the one getting into Ilya’s space instead.
“Yeah, everyone’s excited to have another Centaur baby to spoil.” Shane pressed his lips against the side of Ilya’s neck, and Ilya’s tension dropped from his body, loving being able to be in Shane’s arms like this, even in the privacy of their own kitchen. Especially in the privacy of their kitchen. “I know we haven’t really talked about the kids thing, not like I’d like to. Is that why it’s on your mind?”
Ilya could just say yes, could tell Shane what he wanted to hear, but after the year they had, Ilya wanted nothing more than to be honest with his husband. They had too many secrets between them before, and he didn’t want to have any more. “Yes and no. Yes, obviously, Bood just told us yesterday. But…” Ilya exhaled slowly, his fingers tangling with Shane’s over his belly, his heart pounding in his chest. “But for bigger reason, too. Remember how you wanted to check carrier status before I fucked you for first time?”
“How could I forget?” Shane murmured, fingers tightening against Ilya’s before relaxing. “Scariest fucking blood results I’ve ever waited for. I wanted you to fuck me so bad, but not if it would mean getting pregnant.”
“I… My father, he was… particular about things when I was growing up. Old KGB, you know?” Ilya paused for a moment, trying to figure out how much to tell Shane, given much of what happened was decidedly in the past. “When I was a child, he would make comments. About my mama’s family. How they… were different.”
“Oh, the depression. I didn’t realize it went back that many generations.”
Ilya huffed out a breath that could have been called a chuckle. “Ah, no, the depression is an Irina and Ilya special. No, listen, please.” Ilya breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly. “There was rumor that my mama’s grandfather was… carrier. Had carrier gene.” Back then it was even less talked about, more quickly snuffed out than a candle at bedtime. “My father did not like this. Thought she passed gene onto me. Never Alexei, only me.” Shane’s fingers tighten again, before relaxing. “It’s always been in back of my mind, I think, that I could have this. That I might be…” He swallowed thickly, trying to force the words out steady. “That I might be carrier. That I could get pregnant.”
“You couldn’t get pregnant, though,” Shane muttered, the hand not clutched in Ilya’s soothing up Ilya’s side once, twice, before squeezing his hip. “It’s not like anyone is fucking you.”
Ilya turned in Shane’s hold, looking at Shane’s mouth and freckles but unable to meet his eyes. “But we could.” He said the words slowly, still looking at Shane’s freckles, so there’s no confusion and no mistake about what he is saying. “If you wanted to.”
“If I…? Ilya.” Shane echoed the words, his face pinching into a mask of confusion. “Baby, that has to be something you want to do. Not just something for me. That’s… it’s a big deal.”
“Is not a big deal,” Ilya tried to downplay, looking away from Shane’s face, trying to push down the sudden nausea of rejection. “Is just sex.”
“Ilya, stop. Look at me.” Ilya’s eyes met Shane’s warm brown ones and Shane’s hand reached up to cradle Ilya’s face, palm rough and calloused against Ilya’s stubbly cheek. “Is that something you’ve done before?” Ilya shook his head no, as much as he could with Shane’s palm pressed so firmly but comfortingly against Ilya’s skin. “Is it something you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” He blinked twice, thinking about the last time Shane fingered him and how quickly he came when he thought about it being Shane’s cock instead. “Probably yes.”
“Okay.” Shane paused for a long moment, thumb gently brushing against his cheek, just looking at Ilya. He felt flayed open, the softest bits on display for Shane to feast on. They’ve been together, actually together, for years and have been married for almost two, but it was still so hard for Ilya to be vulnerable, even with Shane. Sometimes especially with Shane, when he can see the way Shane’s brain was analytically processing their emotional conversation, breaking it down piece by piece. His thumb never stopped moving though. “Okay. Do you want to do the test to see if you have the gene?”
That was… not what Ilya thought Shane was going to say. His hand was lightly fisted at the hem of Shane’s tee shirt, and he unclenched his fingers but left his hand there, Shane warm and solid under his hand. Shane grounded him in a way that he didn’t think he could put into words to anyone. “I… it makes sense, yes? So we know.”
“Yes, it’s logical.” Despite Shane’s agreement, Ilya can see a blush starting in his cheeks, and he wanted to know so desperately where Shane’s mind just went, what dirty thoughts were making his husband blush so prettily. “I know… typically we only use condoms, like, fifty percent of the time. Only when I can’t deal with the mess. But if you wanted me to… to top you, we would need to know.” God, Shane’s blush was beautiful; Ilya wanted to bite along his cheek bones, wanted to chase the color with his tongue, see how far down his chest it would go. Ilya had to remind himself that they needed to be at practice in thirty minutes and it would be ill advised of him to drop to his knees right at that moment. But god, did he want to. “Because we wouldn’t want an accidental pregnancy. Not during the season.”
Ilya was pulled from his thoughts at that word. Accidental. Something inside Ilya tightened, and he didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t have the time to pull it out and examine it. “But… not accidental?” he wondered, a little breathlessly.
Shane gazed at him steadily, before leaning in and pressing a long, languid kiss to Ilya’s mouth. “We would need to know if it’s even possible, first.”
After that conversation, Ilya did need to know and needed to know right away, and that’s how he ended up in a clinic in Ottawa having his blood drawn before an extended road trip to the West Coast. Results in ten days, give or take a few, when the Centaurs would still be in California and Ilya would have to focus on their games and their team. It was perfect.
It was not perfect. Ilya was distracted on and off the ice, the team noticed and Wiebe definitely noticed, and it felt like nothing Shane did could help.
“We’re not fighting,” Ilya heard Shane promise Bood at the other end of the visitor’s locker room, and Ilya forced himself to close out of his email and force himself to get dressed, glad that Hayes posted a shut out and Ilya was tapped out of media. “Ilya’s fine, just waiting for news. About Anya. You know how he gets.”
Ilya should feel bad about his husband lying to their team, but it warms his heart, hearing Good Canadian Boy Shane Hollander-Rozanov tell white lies to protect their relationship from the locker room. He has nothing but good guys on the team, Ilya knows that, but these results… they’re private. They are just for Shane and Ilya until they decide what they want to do.
It’s one thing to know your teammate is bisexual or gay or queer, they’ve been great about that for years; Ilya doesn’t want to know what would happen to the locker room if they find out he could get pregnant. Carriers aren’t talked about, not in mainstream media or lockers rooms or sometimes even families, and just like queer players, there haven’t been any carriers that play professional hockey.
Makes sense — you really can’t play a contact sport while pregnant. They don’t even test for carrier status in professional hockey, because until recent years it wasn’t a concern that there were players that could get pregnant playing in the MLH.
“What will we do if I am carrier?” Ilya asked later that night, and it really wasn’t the best time to bring it up, because Ilya’s mind should be focused on the way Shane’s hole was fluttering and squeezing around Ilya’s cock as Shane rode him. It really was one of the most amazing sights, Shane almost lazily grinding against Ilya, knees pressed tightly to Ilya’s sides. Ilya’s even looking at where Shane’s cock was leaking against his belly, leaving a pool of precum on his skin that was substantial but Ilya knew it would be nothing compared to the fountain Shane would spurt once he finally came.
His question caused Shane to stop his movements, and Ilya made a noise of discontent, dragging his eyes up Shane’s body to see the confused and maybe slightly irritated face that Shane was making. “You want to talk about this right now?” he asked, his question punctuated with a roll of his hips. “Am I not fucking you good enough to distract you?”
“I’m sorry, lyubov’ moya.” Because Ilya was sorry that he was so distracted he couldn’t lose himself in his beloved’s body like he normally would. They had a full game, Ilya and Shane both logged over twenty-five minutes of ice time each, and they were having amazing sex. Ilya’s brain should be shut completely off, focused only on the way Shane’s body was moving against him and not wondering about things they didn’t have all the information for and couldn’t actually fully discuss.
Shane shifted over Ilya, impatient, making them both groan, and Ilya reached for Shane’s hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss before placing it over his fluttering heart. “Am not good at waiting, you know this. My brain is so loud right now, like your beautiful brain.” The compliment, benign though it was, made Shane flutter around Ilya, and even though Shane wasn’t moving Ilya wondered if he could cum just from Shane’s hole moving around him, barely any friction. A thought for another time. “And I really want you to fuck me, so I would like to know soon, so we can do that.”
“Fuck, Ilya.” Ilya can’t analyze Shane’s face in the low light of the hotel room, but he was shifting again, leaning down to press their lips together. The kiss Shane pressed against his lips was wet and desperate, tongues meeting immediately and tangling together deliciously. Shane started that slow grind again, hips undulating against Ilya’s teasingly, as if he couldn’t stop himself from moving. “You really want it that bad you’re distracted over it?”
“Yes,” Ilya hissed, wanting to buck up into Shane so they could get off a little bit faster. Yes he was distracted, thinking about the future and about Shane fucking him, but he still wanted to cum. “Want to know how it feels, to be speared open on your cock, want to share this first time with you, moy muzh.”
Shane’s hand flexed on Ilya’s chest, and he moved faster now, fucking himself down harder on Ilya’s cock, and Ilya reached down to Shane’s dick, barely stroking him twice before Shane was letting go and cumming all over their stomachs, triggering Ilya’s own orgasm. Shane doesn’t slide off right away, not like he normally does, and they kiss languidly while Ilya softens inside Shane. They used a condom for easy clean up, and now that Ilya has spent himself in Shane, he feels more relaxed than he had immediately after the game.
“Baby, you really want me to fuck you?” Shane asked a little later, when they were clean and tucked into bed together, and Ilya groaned, moving so he wasn’t pressed as closely to Shane.
“Shanya, please, I am old now, cannot get hard again so quickly. Please don’t dirty talk me.”
“Ilya.” It was always surprising, how Shane could make two syllables sound so unimpressed, and Ilya opened his eyes when he felt Shane flip over in bed, barely able to see his face. “I’m being serious. I know this probably isn’t the right time to talk about it…”
“I brought up you getting me pregnant while I was balls deep inside you.” The words are matter of fact, and Shane laughed softly, rubbing their noses together.
“You didn’t exactly use those words.”
“No, is what I was thinking, though.”
“You would want to be pregnant?” Shane’s words are full of disbelief, and Ilya doesn’t know what else. Is afraid to know what else, is afraid to ask.
“If I am carrier… maybe. Would have to do research about it.” He would have to look into his contract, too. He was in his thirties, and he wasn’t sure if there were more risks, the older he was. He knew that was the case with women, but was it the same with men? And after all the abuse, would he even still work? He would need to know so much information, and Shane would want to know everything before they came to a decision. Ilya leaned forward, trying to find Shane’s lips for a kiss. “But, think. If I could… baby would be ours. Actually. Me and you, making a little person. Perfect blend of us.” The thought sent butterflies through Ilya’s body, and he wanted so sharply that he was afraid if he came back negative for the gene, he would drop into a severe depressive episode. He would have to ask Galina to book him an energy session, when they get the news, just in case. “Not someone else’s, or only one of us. Would be both.”
It never felt important, how their children were brought into the world. Ilya knew he and Shane would be great parents, whether it would be through adoption or surrogacy. He just wanted to share his love with children who needed to be loved. But knowing this was a potential option, that Ilya could carry their children, it was too irresistible. To grow his and Shane’s child within his body, to create human life together with the man he loved, a physical manifestation of that love… Ilya didn’t think he wanted it, but he did. He wanted it so badly.
Shane must have as well, because the next thing Ilya felt was Shane’s hand pressing low on his abdomen, like all those months ago when Ilya had done the exact same thing. He laughed about not being able to get hard, but feeling Shane’s hand in that spot caused him to chub up a little. “What if I’m not any good at it?”
“Dorogoy, no, you will be most amazing papa. So much love in your heart, I see every time when you are with Pike minions.”
“Ilyushenka, that’s not what I mean.” Ilya thought Shane would laugh, both his words sound… sad. “What if I’m not… a good top. And you don’t want me to…”
This shouldn’t be a conversation they have now, laying down in the dark after a game and after Shane rode Ilya for what felt like ever. Now they are here in a dark hotel room and Ilya’s brain is in sleep mode but needs to go back to reassuring husband mode. “Shanya, I want you so badly, it will not be bad. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that, though. I’ve never topped before, I hated sex with women. I could be really bad at it.”
“Sweetheart,” Ilya sighed, reaching to take Shane’s hand, giving it a solid squeeze to hopefully stop the panic spiral. “Then we will practice, yes? First time may not be good, you will most likely cum immediately —”
“Ilya!”
“But is expected, first time for both of us. I never told you how close I was to shooting off immediately when I fucked you for first time?” In the low light, it was hard to see Shane’s eyes but Ilya felt how he shook his head. “You were so tight, so perfect, I needed to recite stats. I wanted to stay hard, wanted to make it so good for you, your first time.”
“I want to make it good for you too.”
Ilya leaned forward to press his lips against Shane, bringing their tangled hands to Ilya’s half hard cock. “Shanya, this is just from you pressing your hand to my skin. You drive me crazy in best way, always have.” He pulled their hands away from his dick before he got too carried away. So much for not getting hard again. “I fuck you good, yes?”
“Well, ye — yeah.” Ilya knew that Shane would be blushing, hated that he couldn’t see it in the dark room.
“Then I will teach you, will make you expert in fucking Ilya Rozanov.”
“Ilya Hollander-Rozanov.” The correction came softly, but immediately, and Ilya melted in his husband’s arms, pressing another long kiss to his lips.
“Yes, will make you expert in fucking me. Okay? Feel better?”
“Okay, yes.” Shane’s words were a puff of air against Ilya’s lips, and he moved closer, one hand going against Ilya’s chest, the other still tangled together with Ilya’s hand. Ilya could feel Shane’s head pressing just lightly against his shoulder. “We should sleep.”
“We will, but if not, only travel day tomorrow, can sleep on the plane.”
Shane’s lips curled into a smile against Ilya’s bare shoulder, and there was a kiss pressed there. “Ya tebya lyublyu, Ilyushka.”
Ilya’s heart thudded in his chest, even after all these years. “Ya lyublyu tebya, Shanya.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hollander. The lab is backed up, so there has been a delay in processing all blood specimen samples. You should expect your results within the next five business days.”
The voicemail is waiting for him when they land back in Ottawa, and Ilya listened to it while Shane was driving them back home for a night to themselves until they had to pick up Anya from the doggy hotel.
“Who was that?” Shane asked, one hand carefully holding the wheel and one resting on the inside of Ilya’s thigh.
“Clinic.” The word it clipped, Ilya’s disappointment ringing clear in the air. Shane’s hand tightened on Ilya’s thigh.
“Results?”
“Delayed. Processing delays.” Ilya turned to look out the passenger window as they crept closer to their Ottawa house. Shane doesn’t make the turn to bring them home, instead merging into traffic to get onto the highway. Ilya turned to his husband in concern and confusion. “Shane, if you are too tired to drive, please let me. It was long plane ride, you did not sleep.”
“I’m fine, baby, promise.” Shane’s voice was serene, and he squeezed Ilya’s thigh again. “I thought I would surprise you. I thought it would be nice to go to the cottage after the road trip.” Ilya’s heart thudded heavily in his chest, staring at the calm side profile of his husband’s face. “Is that okay?”
“Lyubov’ moya, I love the cottage, you know this. But Anya…?” Ilya couldn’t lie to Shane, he always missed Anya a little extra after long road trips. No, it was a lot extra after the west coast trips. He wanted his baby Anya, especially after the disappointment of not getting his test results.
“Mom and Dad are going to bring her up tomorrow night. I already cleared everything with Coach, we’ll be back in time for our game on Saturday and all the practices between now and then are optional.”
His husband was so efficient, Ilya loved him so much. But the surprise, sudden trip to the cottage, getting three days off for them both, it made something inside Ilya go tight with worry. Why did Shane think they needed a mid-season cottage get away? Ilya had been doing so well, no severe depressive episodes. Yes, he was a little — a lot — distracted waiting for his genetic results but he played decently well, scored goals and assists and even had a well-deserved fight.
Sure, he could have been better, but he was distracted, and while the team didn’t know why he was distracted, it was clear something was on his mind.
They had lapsed into silence on the drive to the cottage, and it was only when Ilya was starting to recognize the landmarks that lead the the cottage that he shifted to look at Shane, tried to read his husband like the open book he sometimes was. “Shanya, why are we going to the cottage? Really?”
Shane looked over at Ilya briefly before looking back to the road, taking the turn onto the cottage road. Ilya watched his jaw worked for a moment, like Shane was chewing on his words before he said them. “I was hoping you would get the results before we got back home,” he admitted, glancing over at Ilya again as they made the drive up the super private road to their cottage. “I thought, either way, it would nice to be somewhere alone. Just the two of us, without having team obligations.”
His sweet, sweet man. Ilya dropped his hand on top of Shane’s on his thigh, squeezing it since he couldn’t force words pass the sudden lump in his throat for a moment. When they are parked in the drive of the cottage, Ilya cleared his throat, squeezing Shane’s hand again before unbuckling himself from the passenger seat. “I love you, Shanya,” and the words are so earnest, his love declared in Shane’s native English instead of Ilya’s native Russian. But it’s worth it for the brilliant smile that comes over Shane’s face and the pretty blush that highlights his freckles.
“Do you want dinner first, or a nap?” Shane asked when they drag their bags into the bedroom, as if getting his hands on Shane wasn’t the first thing that Ilya wanted to do. Ilya pressed his husband back against the glass of the bedroom, just like all those years ago, and watched as Shane’s eyes went cloudy with arousal.
“I want you first, Hollander,” Ilya murmured, taking another step so their bodies touched at every possible point they could. He pressed his lips to the corner of Shane’s mouth, his jaw, his neck, taking in Shane’s breathy little sigh when Ilya’s thigh slid between Shane’s and pressed against the bulge in Shane’s slacks. “But you hate fucking when we stink like travel and airplane, so shower first.”
“Ilya.” He can feel Shane’s laughter in his name, even if Shane’s fingers were digging in deliciously tight at Ilya’s sides. Ilya pressed his lips against Shane’s neck again, a little nip of his teeth against the salty skin there, and Shane’s fingers tightened even more. “I, um, actually…”
The hesitation in Shane’s voice, the disappearance of his amusement, had Ilya pulling back enough to look into Shane’s face, noting the flush high on his cheeks and the way his eyes were looking over Ilya’s shoulder. “Tell me.” The words are less a demand and more a plea, hating to see his confident, sexy husband hesitant over anything.
“I was thinking we could practice?” Shane’s words are fast, squeaking together at the end, and it caused Ilya’s eyebrows to come together in confusion.
“You said we do not have to go to practice, lyubov’ moya, what do you mean?”
It’s only because Ilya is already looking at Shane that he can see the blush getting darker. “I meant… practice.” There was more emphasis on the word practice this time, and then Shane’s hands were on Ilya’s ass and squeezing and Ilya’s whole brain turned off once everything clicked.
“Oh.” The word, really a simple exhale, was shakier than Ilya expected. He didn’t think Shane would want to top him before they had his results, so Ilya hadn’t pushed for it, even if he maybe did ask for Shane to use toys on him more than once. “Yes, Shanya, please, yes.”
He kissed Shane then, dirty and desperate, licking into his husband’s mouth like he could taste the essence of him there. They were both breathing hard when he pulled away, their foreheads pressed together. “I will need to… take shower by myself, then.”
“Oh… yeah, I guess.” Ilya watched as Shane bit his lip, flush high on his face from making out, now, instead of his embarrassment. “We still have extra here from the summer, do you want me to…”
Ilya chuckled lightly, pressing a less heated kiss to his lips before backing up, giving them both much needed breathing room to cool down. “Ah, no. I love you but no, you do not need to be there for this. You will fix bed?”
“Oh thank god.” Ilya pretended not to hear that, focusing on Shane’s nod. “Yes, baby, I’ll get everything ready and shower in the guest room.”
It takes longer than Ilya anticipated to shower and get himself ready for Shane. He’s not blaming nerves. He’s not. He’ll blame excitement, because he has been wanting this for months, now, even if he only brought it up to Shane recently. He’s entirely soft by the time he dries himself off and pads into their bedroom nude, a little embarrassed by his lack of erection considering how ready to go Ilya was before taking his shower.
Seeing their bed pillowless, covered in their sex towel, and Shane lounging there, stroking his own cock slowly should get him going, but his stomach tightened with nerves instead. Shane looked up, licking his lips as his eyes soak in Ilya, dropping to where his hands almost cover his soft cock.
“You get yourself off in the shower, baby?” Shane asked, innocently, as he lets go of his own dick and gets up from the bed. Ilya only shook his head as Shane walked towards him, looking away from Shane in shame at his body’s reaction. “Oh, Ilyushenka, that’s normal baby, I promise.”
“You were always hard.”
The words are a little petulant, even to Ilya’s ears, and Shane laughed just before he pulled Ilya into his arms, Shane’s hard dick rubbing into Ilya’s hip. “The first few times, I needed to think about you fucking me to get hard after. It’s not a pleasant feeling, but the payout is worth it.” Shane’s hands are steady on Ilya’s body, and he was glad one of them were steady about this. Ilya had lost all his bravado, knowing what he was about to do for the first time, and he had a newfound respect for young Shane, trusting Ilya so implicitly with what would be one of the most intimate experiences of his life. “You still want to, Ilya? We don’t have to if you changed your mind.”
“I want,” Ilya replied, pulling Shane closer so his dick rubbed harder against Ilya’s hip, just to hear Shane gasp. “I’m excited, but nervous. One last first time for you, yes?”
“Oh, you asshole.” Shane laughed, even though he gently nudged Ilya to the bed. “Get on your back, baby, let me get you ready to take my cock.” They both felt the way Ilya twitched against him, and all Shane did was raise his eyebrow at Ilya, cocky smile tilted on his lips. “Maybe if you’re good I’ll even let you cum first, then fuck you into overstimulation, since you love to do that to me.”
“Shanya, please,” Ilya whined, not sure if he was agreeing or denying. All he knew was his blood was rushing down, down, down until he felt his cock filling again. Shane only answered him with a quick love tap to his ass and Ilya got moving, idly noting the condoms and lube on the side of the towel, before settling himself on his hands and knees, his heart pounding at the vulnerable position.
“Ilya, you sure you want to start this way?” Shane’s voice sounded like it was at the end of the bed, even though Ilya didn’t think he was on the bed yet, and all Ilya could do was nod. “Baby, use your words.”
“Yes, like this, please lyubov’ moya. I want to feel you like this.”
“Fuck,” Shane breathed out, before Ilya felt the bed shift and Shane’s hands, gentle on his thighs. His body listened as Shane directed his legs to be further apart, to a stretch that was nearly uncomfortable. “No safeword today, baby. You tell me to stop, we stop immediately, understand?”
“Okay, yes, Shanya, okay.” As soon as Ilya agreed, Shane’s hands were moving up, up, until both palms smoothed over the muscle of Ilya’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart.
“So gorgeous, Ilya, having you open like this for me.”
The words are followed by Shane’s lips pressing against the skin of one cheek, then the other, before Ilya felt warm, wet pressure against his entrance and he moaned, loud, uncontrolled. Every time Shane’s tongue moved against Ilya’s rim, a new noise fell from Ilya’s mouth, losing himself in the feeling of Shane eating him out. He actually keened when Shane wiggled his tongue into his hole, wanting desperately to press back against Shane’s mouth but unable to do so with how Shane had his legs spread and thighs held.
Ilya was fully hard again, hanging hot and heavy between his thighs, and not even hearing the cap of the lube being opened could make him lose his erection, not with Shane eating him out like he was dying for it. It wasn’t enough to get him off, not like Shane, and he whimpers when Shane’s tongue leaves him in favor for his slick finger, just rubbing against his rim.
“You’re doing so well for me, baby, you taste so good.” The words were murmured to him right as Shane pushed his finger into Ilya, and all Ilya could do was groan, dropping to his elbows and changing the angle of Shane’s finger in his ass.
“More, Shanya, I can take it.” He has taken it, before, and multiple fingers, and even a dildo, but none of them were the size of Shane’s cock.
“Not until you’re ready, my dick’s a lot bigger than my fingers.” The words are punctuated by Shane’s finger curling, finding Ilya’s prostate and rubbing against it gently, and Ilya clenched around the feeling. Shane’s free hand moved, landing hot and heavy on Ilya’s lower back, and just the grounding pressure made Ilya clench around Shane again, his only response since he couldn’t push back into Shane’s hand.
It wasn’t long until Shane was up to three fingers and Ilya was cursing and moaning under his hands, cock leaking pre-cum onto the towel beneath him. “Shanyechka, lyubov’ moya, more, fuck me, please!” The last word cracks as Shane pulled his fingers nearly all the way out and thrust them back in like he would a toy, his fingers stretching Ilya intensely.
“You sure you’re ready for me?” Shane teased, pulling his fingers apart so they stretched Ilya even more. “You still feel so tight, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You will not hurt me, please, please fuck me. I need you, I need to feel your cock inside me, please.” At this point his words are babbled, Ilya so turned on that he’s not sure if he said them in English or Russian or some mix of both. Ilya whined when he felt Shane’s fingers slide from his ass and leave his skin. It left him utterly exposed and vulnerable and untethered, and without Shane to focus on, Ilya felt himself start to panic a little, especially hearing the whisper of the condom wrapper being opened, the slick sounds of Shane lubing himself up.
“Baby, like this, or on your back?” Shane’s hand was on his back again, soothing up Ilya’s spine and Ilya took a deep breath, trying to slow his thinking down. He was already feeling so much, so overwhelmed, and Shane hadn’t even fucked him yet.
“Like this, please, need you like this.”
“Okay, baby, I have you.” Somehow even though Shane was just a nervous about this, he was the one calming Ilya, kissing one shoulder and the other as he moves closer to where Ilya was still open for him. Shane’s cock rubbed through the extra lube around Ilya’s hole, and they both moaned, Ilya’s entrance clenching around nothing. Shane’s hand slid down Ilya’s spine, resting on his hip lightly. “Ready?”
“Yes, Shanya, pleas— oh, bozhe moy, ah!” At first all Ilya felt was pressure, so much pressure, when Shane pressed just his cockhead into his hole. It was wide, and even though Shane got up to three fingers he just wasn’t as stretched as he could be. Or maybe there is no amount of fingers that could prepare for the feeling of Shane fucking his big cock into him, even as slow as Shane was going, and Ilya’s thoughts shorted out with how overwhelmed he was, trying to focus on his breathing and the feeling of Shane sliding deeper into him. Yebat, Shane, please, I need a minute.”
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Shane stopped, panting behind him. Shane’s hand moved up and down his side, unable to do much of anything else without moving Ilya. “Okay?”
“Yes, just a lot.” Ilya’s words are tight and now he wished he wasn’t ass up on his elbows, wanting to reach back and hold Shane’s hand so they had another point of contact. “You are all the way in, yes?”
“Uh…” Shane’s hesitation made Ilya’s heart pound harder.
“How much?”
“About halfway.”
Ilya closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
“We don’t have to —”
“Shane,” Ilya stopped him, trying to keep his voice light. “Is just a lot. I still want. I’m just overwhelmed.”
“Should I…?”
“Please move, I can take.” The words were braver than Ilya actually felt, considering how his thighs were shaking and his erection has flagged a little. He knew Shane was big, bigger than Ilya, but without being able to see him, Ilya had no concept of how much more until he bottomed out. He felt Shane pull out only a little, causing his breath to hitch, before pushing in again, a little faster this time.
Ilya knew when Shane bottomed out, now, because his hand became a claw at Ilya’s hip, fingers clutching nearly painfully at the skin there. Ilya didn’t care though. He didn’t have the room in him to care about the pain. He barely had the room to breath. “Okay, Ilya?” Shane’s voice was rough, tight with control in a way that Ilya only ever heard during their edging sessions. He clenched around Shane and moaned, while Shane hissed behind him.
“Yes, is okay, please fuck me now before I die.” The words are meant to be a joke, to tease Shane into action, but all it does it make Shane smack his ass, which made Ilya absolutely howl, elbows sliding out from under him at the feeling. He never had his ass smacked when having something splitting him open.
Shane grabbed him to keep his hips in position, pulling out just to thrust back in quickly, making them both shudder. “Fuck, Ilya, you feel so good. Is this what you always feel when you fuck me? You’re so tight.” Shane’s words pour from his mouth, praise sparking Ilya from the inside. He let Shane move him, fucking into him with slow, rolling thrusts at first, nothing but moans and gasps falling from his lips as Shane figured out his rhythm.
It took about ten thrusts and a new angle before Shane’s cock angled just right over Ilya’s prostate and he shook around Shane, a flurry of words leaving his mouth without his knowledge. “Bozhe moy, don’t stop, yebat,” he gasped, arching his back even more to get Shane to do it again.
Shane doesn’t stop; he put one hand on Ilya’s shoulders and fucked into him faster, clearly trying to hit his prostate again. Ilya needed to get a hand on his cock, needed to cum, needed to feel Shane lose himself in Ilya. “Close, Shanya?” Ilya asked, even as Shane’s thrusts sped up, Shane’s balls slapping into his own on every thrust.
“’M close, baby, fuck.” Shane was starting to lose his rhythm, and Ilya adjusted so he could get a hand around himself, moaning at the feel of being fucked by Shane and his wet cock sliding through his fist. “Yeah, baby, fuck your fist, want to feel you cum.”
It only takes another three thrusts for Shane to cum first, though, and it’s the thought of what that will feel like for Shane to cum inside him without a condom that has Ilya spilling over his hand, moaning Shane’s name desperately.
“Oh fuck, oh my god, shit,” Shane mumbled behind him, probably because Ilya was clenching uncontrollably through his orgasm, which seemed to go on longer than expected. “Holy shit.”
All Ilya could do was grunt, especially as his legs grew weak and he wanted nothing more than to fall flat to the bed, wet spot be damned. He groaned when he felt Shane slip out of his, Ilya’s hole clenching around nothing, and the loss was immediate. Ilya whined at the feeling, needy in a way he never thought it would be, and Shane pressed a series of kisses to Ilya’s back.
“I know, baby, I know, I’ll be right back.” The bed shifted with the loss of Shane’s weight, and Ilya finally lowered himself to the bed, with it enough to avoid the cum spot on the towel. Aftershocks were still rocking his body, and he flinched when he felt Shane’s hand unexpectedly. “It’s okay, Ilya, just me, let me clean you up.”
Shane must clean him well enough, because when Ilya came back to awareness, he was being covered with the blanket and Shane was sliding behind him.
“Hi,” Shane said, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s nape, arm sliding over his belly.
“Hi,” Ilya answered sleepily, snuggling back into Shane’s arms. His ass was sore, his back aching in a way that he was unfamiliar with, and there wasn’t a thought in his head except for the man behind him.
“Was I good?” The vulnerability in Shane’s voice was too much for Ilya, and he gripped Shane’s hand hard, needing the point of contact.
“You almost fucked me into coma, it was so good,” Ilya rumbled, though Ilya wasn’t sure it was good because it was actually good or because it was Shane. It didn’t matter to him, because it was good, and Ilya wanted to do it again. “Was good for you?”
“Yeah, baby, it was good.” Ilya could hear the relief in Shane’s voice and he turned his head just enough to look over his shoulder, though Shane’s face was too close to look at him clearly.
“Gimme kiss,” Ilya requested, pursing his lips in anticipation and smiling when Shane complied.
Shane ended up fucking Ilya again the next morning, and Ilya understood better why Shane was so into yoga. The first time Shane tried to press Ilya’s knees to his chest, Ilya gets a cramp in his hamstring that ends up taking nearly thirty minutes to work out.
They make it work, they always figure out a way, and this time Ilya cums without a hand on his cock, just Shane bullying his dick into Ilya’s prostate repeatedly while Shane panted into Ilya’s face, eyes dark and wild with passion. He knew Shane had nothing to worry about; his husband was great at practice.
And considering they were in the middle of their season, they had plenty of time to practice.