Chapter Text
May
Shane wakes up to the late spring light peeking through their bedroom curtains. He glances at the clock on the bedside table, 6:52. The alarm will go off in seven minutes. The weight of Ilya’s arm on his waist and the even breaths hitting the back of his neck tells him that Ilya’s still asleep.
He reaches over to grab his phone off the bedside table as carefully as possible to turn off the alarm. He can skip the ten kilometer run this morning. It’s his birthday, and he’s decided he’s going to give his body a little more grace as he ages.
He navigates through his alarms when his nose gets smushed into the pillow and he hisses in pain. Shit. He got slammed face first into the boards pretty hard the night before. He did concussion protocol and nothing’s broken, but his face is hurting. It was worth it though, Ilya got a goal on the ensuing powerplay and they won against Florida 4-3 and now lead 3-2 in the series. One win away from the conference finals.
Unfortunately, Ilya seems to have woken up from Shane’s movements. Damn. He really wanted Ilya to be able to sleep in this morning. The playoffs are tough on everybody, but the opposing players seem to be targeting llya more than anyone. Shane wishes sometimes that Ilya would calm down a little on being an antagonistic shit on the ice, but he knew what he was getting into when they got married. He was the one dealing with it for a decade, after all.
“Mmmm,” Ilya groans behind him as he wakes up. “Face okay?” he mumbles in Russian into the back of Shane’s neck.
“Yeah, just sore,” Shane mumbles back.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Shane hears, still in Russian. Ever since Shane has really started to get a better grasp on the Russian language (it’s been much easier since he started living with someone who speaks the language), Ilya has taken to using Russian a lot more often, mostly when they’re alone, but especially when he’s tired. Or horny.
Ilya starts pressing little kisses all over the back of his neck, and Shane knows he’s kissing each individual freckle back there. The ones he never sees but now knows exactly where they lay on his skin.
Shane shifts his hips against Ilya’s, just a bit, just to feel how interested Ilya may or may not be. Since he started taking meds, it’s been a toss up in the mornings. But this morning, Shane is pleased to feel his husband’s hard length pressed up against his ass. Happy birthday to me.
They haven’t really been capable of anything more than handjobs in the shower lately because of the playoffs. They’re both pretty beat up a month in. In addition to his sore face, Shane has a couple bruised ribs, and his left knee is starting to act up. Ilya’s shoulder and torso has some concerning bruising and three of his fingers are taped up from a brutal slash the previous week.
They’ve also been too tired to operate at the level of horniness they’re usually at. But this morning, Shane wants. It’s his first birthday he’s spending with his husband. His husband that he hasn’t had to miss all year.
That’s not to say the past year has been perfect. There’s definitely been ups and downs as Shane struggled to find his bearings with a new team. They had a pretty rough start to the season, and Shane’s anxiety had gotten the best of him quite a few times. That and the transition from long-distance boyfriends to husbands who also work together was hard. They had to work to learn how to communicate as a married couple and as teammates at the same time. But they put in the work, and Shane thinks they’ve made it to a pretty good place. He knows this next year will be better because of it.
He shifts his hips a little more to rub Ilya’s dick right between his cheeks. Ilya’s hands wander from his waist downwards, skating down his thighs so, so close to where Shane wants them to be.
“You wanna take a shower with me?” He breathes out, already raring to go. His ribs are starting to hurt a little more as his breathing gets harder, but the pain is worth it.
“Whatever you want, moya lyubov,” Ilya replies as his hand starts to dip into Shane’s underwear.
“Then take me to the shower.”
They take a little longer to get out of bed than Shane would like, and not for any sexy reasons. They both need a little help sitting all the way up, and it takes some stretching for Shane’s muscles to feel any sort of normal.
As they start moving around, Anya hops out of her bed and gallops over to the bed to greet them.
“Good morning my baby girl,” Ilya bends down to pet her and stuff his face into her neck. “Say happy birthday to daddy, he is very old now and needs special attention.”
“Oh fuck off,” Shane says as he gives Anya his own pets and kisses. “You won’t be saying anything about being old a month from now, asshole.”
“That’s true, but I will have my fun for a month,” Ilya replies with a grin and a kiss to Shane’s cheek.
Shane just rolls his eyes as he stands up and holds his hand out to Ilya. “Come on, you said whatever I want.”
Ilya grabs his hand without another snarky word and leads him to the bathroom.
After teeth are brushed, and the water is heating up, strong hands grab his waist and push him up against the counter. He immediately opens up his mouth to Ilya’s tongue, their first kiss of Shane’s 31st year. It’s as filthy as he wanted it to be.
With their underwear quickly thrown off, Ilya leads Shane into the shower. His mouth is trailing down his neck, sucking on all the spots he knows by heart.
He lets the feeling of Ilya all around him envelope his senses. The stress, anxiety, and pressure from the last month melt away under his mouth and his hands. They’re not NHL superstars fighting for a championship right now. They’re just Shane and Ilya.
Finally, a hand is on his dick, stroking just the way he likes it. Shane’s head drops to the wall behind him as Ilya whispers in his ear, “Love how much you always want. So desperate. Just for me.”
“Mmm, yeah, feel’s good.”
Ilya flips them around, very carefully, so Shane is under the spray. He keeps Shane steady with his hands, feet planted firmly on the ground. They’re both aware of how awful it would be to have to explain to the team that one (or both) of them has to sit out with an injury because of shower sex, of all things. They would never live it down.
Shane lets his hand find his husband’s hard cock and starts to stroke both of them together as Ilya’s mouth travels across his collarbones.
“What do you want, sweetheart?” Ilya whispers into his ear.
“Just you,” he pants. He doesn’t care what happens, as long as it’s Ilya taking him apart.
“I can’t wait to be inside you again, moya lyubimyy. It’s been too long.”
It’s only been, like, three weeks. They’ve gone way longer without even touching each other. But, hey, maybe he’s been a little bit spoiled this past year. Shane might be guilty of giving Ilya whatever he wants whenever he wants.
“Nine more wins, and then you can be inside me whenever you want,” he mutters against Ilya’s mouth.
“When we are in Fiji, I’m going to live inside you,” Ilya says as his hands move to grip Shane’s ass.
Shane huffs out a laugh at Ilya’s statement. He’s not wrong, honestly. They struggle to leave their hotel whenever they go on vacation.
This year, they chose Fiji for their summer trip. Ilya said he’s always wanted to go, and now that they don’t have to watch out for Canadian tourists, Shane is going to make it happen. He would follow Ilya to Antarctica if that’s what he wanted.
Shane picks up the pace as he strokes their cocks. They’re both leaking, it’s not going to last much longer. One of Ilya’s hands moves from his ass down to play with his balls. The other spreads his ass cheeks apart, and then he can feel fingers rubbing lightly over his rim. Yeah, if Ilya keeps doing that it’s gonna be over pretty quickly.
“Fuck,” he groans, resting his forehead against Ilya’s collarbone. “Keep going.”
Ilya grips his balls a little tighter as just the tip of his finger sneaks inside his entrance. The water is helping to guide his thumb inside just that little bit more and Shane is gone.
“That’s it. So good, sweetheart,” Ilya moans, still working his rim as Shane shudders through his orgasm.
Shane keeps working Ilya’s cock against his own, determined to get him there just as quickly. He lets the overstimulation flow through him, his knees start to shake a bit, but that’s okay. Ilya won’t let him slip.
A few strokes later, and Ilya’s coming against his stomach. He gathers some of his come from Shane’s stomach, and reaches back around to his rim, smearing it around with the tip of his finger ever so slightly poking back in.
“Soon,” he whispers into Shane’s ear. Shane feels his mostly soft cock twitch one more time against his thigh. If his ribs weren’t starting to scream at him, he’d be able to go again.
They take a moment to come down and breathe against each other. As Shane’s senses come back to him, the pain in his nose and his ribs brings itself to the forefront.
He lifts his head off Ilya’s shoulder and looks up into his husband’s eyes to make sure none of his injuries have been aggravated. There’s no pain in his eyes, just love and awe. It still floors Shane that he gets to see that look every single day.
“Feel good?” Ilya asks, as he reaches over to grab the shampoo.
“The best,” he answers with a smile. Maybe not physically, but it’s easy to let that all go when Ilya is taking care of him.
Once the shampoo is washed out, Ilya grabs his face with two hands and tilts his head upwards. His eyes trace all over Shane’s face, like he’s taking a picture with his mind. Shane can relate, he wants to remember this for the rest of his life, too.
“I’m so happy I get to have you for the rest of your birthdays,” Ilya confesses, barely audible above the water.
“Me too,” Shane replies in his stilted Russian. His understanding of the language has gotten a lot better, but he still struggles with shaping his mouth around the words. “I love you more than anything.”
“I know,” Ilya says, beaming. He trails the softest of kisses across his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, and grabs the soap to finish their shower.
--
This morning is probably going to be their only alone time all day. Shane’s parents are coming over for his birthday lunch before their flight to Florida at two, and the rest of the day is going to be spent with the team getting ready for Game 6. Shane will let himself have this moment, but after, it’s back to work.
Once they’re done in the shower, Shane helps Ilya re-tape his fingers, a kiss to each finger as he goes. His nails are bruised black and purple, he’s lucky that slash didn’t break a finger.
Ilya heads downstairs first to let Anya into the backyard and get started on their breakfast. Shane picks up their bedroom a bit, gets rid of the dirty clothes that have been thrown around the last couple days, and makes sure both of their suits are ready for travel.
The rest of their morning is slow and easy. Shane’s smoothie is ready by the time he makes it downstairs, and Ilya cooks him an egg white muffin sandwich alongside a yogurt bowl that has strawberries in the shape of a heart placed on top.
If you would have told Shane ten years ago that Ilya Rozanov would be cooking him his birthday breakfast that they ate outside on the porch of their shared house with their dog running around the backyard, Shane would have laughed out loud. And then he probably would have cried because it felt like such a pipe dream.
But it’s not a pipe dream, because after breakfast, Shane gets to claim birthday privileges and force Ilya to do his yoga routine alongside him. He gets to watch and laugh as his husband stumbles through the first couple poses and then collapses back onto the mat in surrender. He gets to soak up all of Ilya’s attention as he watches Shane finish his routine while he lays back on the mat next to him.
--
As they’re taking Anya for her morning walk, Ilya starts getting invested in his phone. He has a secretive smirk on his face, and Shane knows he must be planning something. He’s not surprised, but he just hopes Ilya has kept it reasonable.
As they’re walking back up the house, he notices a new car slowly pulling into the driveway. A brand new Jeep Grand Cherokee with a big red bow over the hood. His parents are the ones pulling the car in, he can see his mom waving to him from the passenger seat
Shane whips his head to look over at Ilya trailing behind him, a big goofy grin on his face.
“You said you wouldn’t get me a car!” He had told Ilya not to get him anything, actually. They’re millionaires, when they want something, they just buy it.
“No, I said I wouldn’t get you Porsche or Jaguar, you love Jeep Cherokee!”
“Yeah, because I already have one. Wait, where’s my car?” He looks around the circular driveway and can’t spot his car anywhere, he can only see Ilya’s Mercedes and his parents’ SUV.
Before Ilya can answer, Mom comes rushing over to him to wrap him up in a hug.
“Happy birthday, honey,” Mom greets him as Dad joins the hug, too.
“Happy birthday, kid,” he says into the side of Shane’s head.
“Thanks, guys.”
“Don’t worry, we took all of your stuff out of the old car before we took it to the dealership,” his mom tells him. “We appreciate that you keep it so clean.”
So they managed to drive over to their house, clean out his old car and take it to the dealership, and pick up the new one while Shane and Ilya were walking Anya. And Ilya planned it all. Of course he did, Shane would be stupid to think that Ilya wouldn’t actually get him anything for his birthday.
Ilya walks over to them, puts an arm over Shane’s shoulder and smacks a wet kiss to the side of his head.
“Come on, look inside, the screen is so much bigger!” Ilya insists, and then his husband is dragging him over to his brand new car.
--
Lunch with his parents isn’t that different from how it usually is. They talk hockey (Ilya drops some of his favorite gossip floating around the league) and they talk about the foundation. They talk about their summer schedules. They update his parents on their minor injuries.
Mom made kawisha mochi for dessert, a favorite from his childhood. It’s perfect. It’s all he could’ve asked for.
As they’re getting ready to leave with Anya in tow, Mom pulls both him and Ilya into a hug, while Dad is getting Anya and her stuff into their car.
“Good luck, boys. You know we’ll be cheering for you.”
“Thank you, Yuna, but I do not need luck. Shane, though, his face needs luck,” Ilya jokes.
“Oh, I know!” She leans back and holds Shane’s face in both of her hands, studying his nose and cheekbones. “Take care of him, Ilya, we can’t have anything bad happening to his pretty face.”
“Mom, come on,” Shane groans as he pulls his face out of her hands.
“She’s right, moya lyubov. All of Canada would be devastated if your pretty face got messed up,” Ilya teases.
“Okay, okay, enough about my face. We have a plane to catch.”
They say their goodbyes, Ilya gives Anya more kisses than is probably necessary for what’s only going to be two nights away, Shane lets her get one good lick to his face, and then they’re gone.
Once the front door is closed, Shane wraps his arms around Ilya’s waist, careful not to irritate the bruising underneath his shirt, and rests his cheeks against Ilya’s collarbone.
“Thank you for the car,” he mumbles. “The big screen is really nice.”
He can feel Ilya smile into the side of his head as he hugs him back.
“You are welcome, sweetheart. It has parking assist, too. Maybe you will finally learn how to parallel park.”
He scoffs lightly and tugs at a handful of Ilya’s curls in response. Sue him, he had bigger things to worry about than parallel parking when he was sixteen. Like the Russian kid that everyone was saying might get drafted ahead of him.
And then something occurs to him, something he’s glad he didn’t think of while his parents were still there.
“Uh… there was a bottle of lube in the center console.” He picks his head up from where it was tucked into Ilya’s neck and looks up at his husband with wide eyes.
Ilya lets out a small gasp, mirth in his eyes. “Uh oh! Maybe they think it’s for car maintenance, yes?”
“Stop it, tell me you got rid of the lube.” Shane’s not whining, but he’s close to it.
Ilya laughs and starts rubbing a hand up and down Shane’s back. “Don’t worry, I took care of it. Your parents will never know what your favorite brand is.”
--
Ilya drives them to the team facility where they’ll take the team bus to the airport, and Shane takes the chance to go through all the messages on his phone.
He responds to the group chat he still has with JJ and Hayden. They sent their happy birthday wishes and they even wished him luck for the rest of the series with Florida. He really does appreciate that considering they’re both still mourning a first round loss against Detroit. He’s sad for Hayden and JJ, he knows how much they got used to winning, but he can’t ignore the part of him that feels vindicated. It became apparent pretty soon into the season that Montreal struggled to score without Shane centering their first line.
Rose has sent him about 15 texts, including a gif from the night before when he went face first into the boards. Sheesh. He hadn’t even watched the replay, but it looks like he’s pretty lucky he didn’t break his nose. He texts her back to let her know that he’ll call her as soon as he gets a chance.
The Centaur’s group chat has about a million messages in it, only some of them even mention Shane’s birthday. It’s a pretty overwhelming group chat on a regular day, a lot of random emojis are always popping up that he never knows how to interpret, so Shane has honestly stopped trying to keep up with it, Ilya lets him know about anything important (or when there’s drama). But today he messages the group chat with, thanks for the bday messages, we’ll see you all soon.
Shane finally looks up from his phone as Ilya parks the car. He looks up at his husband, who is giving him his signature smirk.
“What?” he asks.
“Come here,” Ilya replies. And then, without waiting for Shane to actually get any closer, he leans over to gently grab Shane’s face between his hands and Shane knows what’s coming next.
Ilya’s mouth is on his, kissing him deep and wet just how he likes it. He knows they need to get out of the car, the bus needs to leave in a couple minutes, but it’s his birthday goddamit. And they’re gonna be surrounded by their teammates for the rest of the day. He’s gonna let himself have this for a couple more moments.
The moment definitely gets away from them, though, because suddenly there’s knocking coming from the other side of the window. They jump apart to see Bood looking at them with an amused look on his face.
“Bus is about to leave, boys. We kinda need you both to make it to Florida.”
Shane tries to will his blush away as he wipes his mouth and gets out of the car. After eight months on the same team, their teammates have definitely witnessed a kiss or two, but they usually try to keep their tongues to themselves in public.
“It’s your birthday, Hollzy,” Bood says as Ilya’s grabbing their bags from the trunk, “so I’m not gonna comment. Just save some of that energy for the game, yeah?”
“Hah, yeah. Thanks, Bood,” Shane chuckles awkwardly.
They start discussing what they’ll do once they land in Fort Lauderdale. Bood says he got some good dinner recommendations from a buddy that used to play in Florida, and there’s a Korean barbecue place that he’s been wanting to try for years.
He tunes out the rest of the conversation, thinking about what he’s going to watch on the flight. The video coaches have sent him all the game tape they have from their current series with Florida, but he thinks he might have to watch the LA vs Vegas game from the night before. Apparently it was a blowout that got pretty heated.
He follows Ilya and Bood onto the bus and is met with a very loud, horribly off-tune chorus of Happy Birthday mixed with some party blowers and confetti poppers. Shane laughs as someone places a pink and fluffy birthday princess crown on his head and somewhere, somehow a cake has been produced out of nowhere.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the film crew that has been documenting their playoff run. The cameras are on him as he blows out the candles in his birthday crown, cheeks red and a wide smile on his face.
“How are we supposed to take this on the plane?” he asks to the group at large. It’s a huge sheet cake with a Happy Birthday #24 in red and gold icing.
“Come on, Hollander, don’t be a party pooper. Is private plane, we do what we want,” Ilya says. He has his phone pointed at Shane, taking his own video that Shane is sure will end up on an Instagram story.
The cake gets put back in its box to be cut open later, and Coach Wiebe starts yelling at everyone to sit down, the fun is over for now.
“Any other plans I should know about?” Shane asks as he takes off the crown and places it lopsided on Ilya’s head.
Ilya just gives him a smirk and a wink as the engine starts and the bus rumbles underneath them.
--
At this point in his career, Shane is used to spending his birthday in the midst of a playoff run. He prefers it that way. It means he spent his past year doing what he does best.
Last year, his birthday was a whole lot quieter since neither the Voyageurs or the Centaurs had made it this far. And that was perfect too, after all the chaos that had preceded it.
But this one feels special, too. Thirty-one means he’s no longer one of the young superstars. Don’t get him wrong, he’s definitely still a superstar, there’s still some records he plans on breaking, but now he’s the one that the young stars are supposed to look up to. He hopes after all the bullshit from last year that they still do.
There were a few times in the past year where he really thought they wouldn’t make it here. Learning to communicate with Ilya as his captain was a learning process. He’s had to accept the fact that his new wingers can’t read his mind the way Hayden was able to. He struggled to put up his usual numbers in the beginning of the season, and sometimes the weight of being Shane fucking Hollander on a new team felt like it was going to crush him eventually. But they pushed through all the blood, sweat, and tears.
It’s a milestone in a different way, because Ilya was there at the end of every bad day so they could piece each other back together. Even more, he was there at the end of every good day, too.
Every win and every loss was spent with the love of his life. No matter what happens at the end of this playoff series, he knows he got pretty fucking lucky.
He’s thinking about all of this as he sits alone on the plane with his Airpods in studying game tape from the other teams still in the playoffs. Some of the guys, including Ilya, are playing a very loud game of poker, and the rest are watching a new tennis movie that, if Shane heard correctly, gets pretty gay at some point.
Over the next half hour, he starts to drift off into his neck pillow as he watches Las Vegas’s goalie completely fall apart on his iPad.
Shane doesn’t know how much time has passed when he feels a body plop down in the seat next to him. He’s barely awake but he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it is. He feels familiar hands slide his glasses off his face and onto the tray table in front of him.
“Don’t wake up,” the voice says. “Still an hour until we land.”
“Mmkay,” he mumbles and shifts his head from his neck pillow to rest on the warm shoulder next to him.
--
By the time they make it to their hotel in Fort Lauderdale, Shane is exhausted and hungry.
After getting their room keys, they trudge their bags up to their shared hotel room.
At the beginning of the season, Shane was a little hesitant to agree to sharing a room with Ilya on the road. He was worried that it looked unprofessional, that if they lost a game the media would claim they were too distracted with each other to focus on hockey. Especially after Shane tripped last year and the media circus that turned into.
So for the first road trip, Shane and Ilya had separate rooms. They said an extended goodbye to each other in an empty hotel hallway and went their separate ways. Shane had laid fully clothed on his bed for about two minutes before he thought, fuck it. There’s no reason for them to be in the same city, the same building, and sleeping apart. They’re fucking married, everyone knows what married couples do and they can all be adults about it.
Ilya had opened the door immediately after the first knock with a knowing smirk on his face, and they’ve been sharing a room on the road ever since.
Ilya immediately sheds his clothes and collapses onto the king sized bed, his bag and his suit haphazardly thrown onto a chair.
Shane is a little more careful taking off his suit, but soon enough he’s collapsing on the bed right next to him. .
“Please don’t make me go out again,” Shane says as he turns to face Ilya. “We can order room service and stay in here for the rest of the night.”
“Hollander, as your captain I must remind you how important it is to participate in team activities.”
Shane grabs Ilya’s hand from where it was resting on his stomach and starts toying with his wedding band.
“And as my husband?”
Ilya leans over and presses a soft kiss to his nose and then against his lips. “Your husband can wait until later to do the things he really wants to do to you,” he whispers against Shane’s mouth. “I promise you will have a good time at dinner, moya lyubov.”
“Okay,” Shane breathes.
—
The team ends up going to the Korean barbecue place Bood suggested.
They’re somehow able to get a private room on such short notice, but Shane thinks he sees Ilya slip a couple hundreds over to the hostess. He has no idea when Ilya even had the time to get American cash.
It gets pretty chaotic pretty quickly, no one is sticking to their original seats, and he feels bad for the poor server trying to remember who ordered which drink. But the vibes are great, it seems like everyone feels good about their chances to close out the series tomorrow.
Shane is sitting with Dillon and Chouinard while they explain the plot of the tennis movie to him (it actually sounds pretty interesting, he does love a good sports movie) when he hears the door to the private room open up. He looks behind him, hoping to see a server bringing the veggie rolls he ordered as an appetizer. He’s fucking starving.
But it’s not the server walking through, it’s Rose. What the fuck is Rose doing here? Last he checked she was filming for a limited series in Atlanta.
She rushes over to him immediately with an enthusiastic “Happy birthday!!” and hugs him from behind over the back of his chair.
“What are you doing here!? I thought you were filming for that thing all month?” he asks as he turns to hug her back. He hasn’t seen Rose since January when they played in LA, and he’s missed her so much. They talk all the time of course, but it’s different to be able to talk shit in person. She’s one of the only people that he can word vomit all his weirdest thoughts to and she’ll just agree and say something equally as weird back.
“Well, we have a break in filming for two weeks, so I texted Ilya to see if you had any crazy plans I could crash… and here I am!” she explains. She takes the seat next to him and greets the guys around her. She met a few of them in LA, but he can see the faces of a couple rookies go completely red as they stutter out an introduction. It’s still funny to see the starstruck look in their eyes once they have a movie star in their midst.
Shane looks over at Ilya down at the other end of the table who doesn’t seem to have noticed that Rose has walked in yet. He’s deep in debate with Wyatt and Barrett, a beer cradled between his two hands, and now Shane is starving in a different way.
His curls are sticking to his forehead from the Florida humidity, he’s wearing a light green patterned t-shirt that makes his eyes look greener than usual, and he’s tapping his wedding ring against the bottle while he argues about whatever with Barrett.
Fuck, Ilya is probably the hottest man in this whole city and he gave his best friend the time and place to be to surprise him for his birthday. Shane must have been Gordie Howe or something like that in a previous life to deserve this. He doesn’t give a fuck about their injuries anymore, he will be thanking his husband once they get back to their hotel room.
Ilya finally looks over and notices Rose next to him. His eyes light up as he waves at her, and then he looks over at Shane. He has what everyone calls his Shane smile on his face, which never fails to make his stomach feel a little weak. And then he gets his Shane smirk on his face, and he knows that Ilya can tell exactly what he’s thinking. They’re on the exact same page and they don’t even need to say a word to each other.
Shane takes a sip of his ginger ale and forces himself to look away before he gets an inappropriate hard-on, and turns back to Rose.
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” he says. “I know you’ve been exhausted with all the stunt work.”
“Oh, please, Fort Lauderdale’s a lot closer than Ottawa. And besides, I didn’t come here just for you. It just so happens to be on the way to Jamaica, where I’m spending the week with a friend.”
“A friend?” he questions, and then she’s off catching him up on every detail about her newest situationship.
--
Ilya was right, he did have a good time at team dinner. And he genuinely wasn’t expecting Rose to show up, either. Shane is a little floored with all the big and small ways Ilya has shown his love for him today.
But after drinks and dinner and more drinks, Shane is ready to go.
They say goodbye to Rose at the restaurant entrance with a promise to see her after the game the next night, and then they follow the rest of the team down the block back towards the hotel.
They’re lingering towards the back of the group, taking a moment to walk alone together. They didn’t sit together at dinner, contrary to what their teammates might say, they are just fine spending an hour or two not glued to each other’s side, but Shane can admit to himself that he missed feeling Ilya’s body heat linger next to him.
Ilya throws an arm around his shoulders, and leans his head down to lean on Shane’s. He angles his face into Shane’s neck and takes a moment to just breathe him in. Shane leans in to him as they walk and grabs on to the hand that’s thrown over his shoulder.
“Thank you for everything today,” Shane whispers. “Ya tebya lyubyu.”
He can feel Ilya’s smile against his neck, “Ya tozhe tebya lyubyu,” and then he picks his face up to press a couple of wet kisses against Shane’s cheek.
He can smell the beer and fried rice on Ilya’s breath, but he doesn’t care. He gets to walk down the street with his husband hanging all over him and their team ahead, rowdy as ever.
“Are you tired?” Ilya asks.
“Yes,” Shane answers truthfully. “But not too tired.”
“Good, is still your birthday, and I have plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“Plans you will like. Very slutty plans. Just like you.”
Shane laughs and lifts his head up to look Ilya in the eyes. Shane’s laugh catches in his throat as he catches the dark look in Ilya’s eyes. He can feel his dick twitch in his pants, and suddenly nothing is funny anymore. They need to start moving a little faster, now.
He removes Ilya’s arm from around his shoulder and grabs his hand to tug him further along.
“Come on,” he demands breathily, “I’m ready for your slutty plans.”
“You are always ready,” Ilya replies, but he picks up his pace all the same.
--
Once they make it back to their hotel floor and say a very quick goodnight to their teammates (Shane decides to ignore the wolf whistling), Ilya calls out one last, “Morning skate at ten! Don’t be late!” and then their hotel room door is closed.
Finally.
There’s hands in his hair, a mouth on his neck, shoes are being kicked off. Shane feels drunk without any alcohol in his system.
Ilya leads him over to the bed, tearing off his own shirt along with Shane’s. He sits on the bed and starts working on Shane’s pants while sucks open mouthed kisses all across his stomach. Shane starts tugging on the curls with one hand on the back of Ilya’s head, the other toying with his gold chain at the back of his neck.
He’s rock hard already, been half-hard since they started speedwalking back to the hotel. His pants and underwear go down with one tug, and then Ilya’s hands are making their way up and down his thighs and across his ass cheeks.
“You will tell me if anything hurts, yes?” Ilya asks, looking up at him.
“Yeah,” Shane breathes out. “You too, okay?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Good. Now take off your pants.”
“Bossy, moya lyubov,” but he listens, anyway.
Shane very hastily grabs the lube from his bag while Ilya is getting his pants off and crawling up the bed. He sits with his back against the headboard, stroking his hard cock with a smirk in Shane’s direction.
“Come to bed,” he growls in Russian with a slap to his thigh.
Shane complies without a word, straddling Ilya as gently as he can. He feels a small twinge in his knee, but fuck it, it’s nowhere near bad enough to actually stop what they’re doing.
Ilya’s hands immediately go to the meat of his ass and start massaging. He tugs Ilya’s face towards him and kisses him hard.
“I couldn’t stop looking at you tonight,” Ilya breathes into his mouth. “You looked so beautiful. Your freckles looked so happy.”
“My freckles look happy?” Shane questions. Ilya only had two beers, there’s no way he’s drunk, but maybe he’s drunk in the same way Shane feels drunk. Drunk on euphoria or something poetic like that.
“Da. When you are smiling a lot. The ones right here,” he strokes a finger under Shane’s eye, “they get all scrunchy. Happy scrunchy. It makes my heart stop.”
Shane really doesn’t want to cry when he’s this horny, but he might. Ilya is always doing that, saying something groundbreakingly romantic at the most inopportune time. He doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he just leans back in and kisses him again. They just do that for a couple minutes, enjoying the feeling of their mouths and bodies moving against each other.
He starts getting impatient eventually, though. Ilya can tell, he can always tell, and he starts to scoot them down the bed so he’s laying down with Shane on top of him.
“Ilya,” Shane breaks the kiss, “I don’t think I can be on top, my knee.”
“No, not like that,” Ilya says. “Sit on my face.”
Oh. Okay, yeah, Shane is down for that.
He slowly climbs up towards Ilya’s face, lifts his body high above his head and grabs ahold of the headboard with one hand, the other resting in Ilya’s curls.
His cock is already leaking and he’s barely even touched it.
“You ready?” he asks Ilya.
Ilya just grabs his hips and pulls him down towards his mouth. He gives the meat of his ass one good bite and a suck, and then his tongue immediately starts lapping around his rim, no build up, no teasing.
“Fuck,” Shane gasps. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of Ilya’s tongue on him like that. All thoughts immediately leave his mind besides Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.
He grips the headboard with both hands now, his knees can’t hold him up by themselves right now. He tries to stay still, tries to let Ilya set the pace, but Ilya is starting to work his tongue inside and Shane’s hips have started to move of their own accord. He can hear the breathy moans that are leaving his lips.
And then Ilya is blindly grabbing at the lube lying on the bed next to him and expertly slicking up his fingers, the ones that aren’t bandaged up, without even looking away. A finger starts to circle around his rim, right next to Ilya’s tongue.
Shane stops him before he can slip a finger inside, though. “Wait.”
“What? Are you hurt?” Ilya says, lips swollen and face wet.
“No, just…” He leans his body back up, and very, very carefully swings his leg around to face the other direction, then situates himself back over top of Ilya's face. “Okay, you can go again.”
Ilya dives right back in with no hesitation, his tongue working its way in and out of his hole. The noises he’s making are downright filthy. Shane’s cock is very steadily leaking now, a line dripping between the tip and Ilya’s stomach. He’s trying his best to hold back his moans, he knows there are neighbors on either side of their hotel room, but he might need to prepare himself to hear some comments tomorrow morning. Whatever, none of that matters right now. The only thing that matters right now is Ilya’s tongue. And his fingers.
As Ilya starts to slip his finger inside, his other hand goes to massage Shane’s balls.
Shane grips both of his hands on Ilya’s thighs and bites off a moan into his own shoulder. Fuck. And then he thinks of a better way to shut himself up.
Ilya’s cock is up against his stomach, rock hard.
Once Ilya has one finger all the way in, he leans down and sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth.
Clearly, Ilya wasn’t expecting that because he jerks in surprise and then presses his finger firmly against Shane’s prostate, causing Shane to groan around his cock. His mouth has moved to Shane’s balls, sucking and nipping, as he gets ready to add a second finger.
Shane starts to move his mouth up and down and Ilya’s cock, getting into a good rhythm. He moves his hand up and down the length his mouth can’t reach from this angle, slick from his spit.
Ilya starts moaning against his balls as he finally adds a second finger and presses both right up against his prostate, unrelenting. They spend the next couple minutes moaning and grinding against each other, and at some point Ilya has slipped a third finger in. He doesn’t let up on his prostate while he continues to suck on Shane’s balls. Ilya was right, it has been way too long since they did anything like this. Handjobs in the shower just weren’t gonna cut it for much longer.
He’s close, he can feel it, and he won’t even need a hand on his cock to get there.
“I’m close,” he gasps out, “don’t stop.”
“Go ahead,” Ilya moans out. “Come.”
And that’s all it takes, he’s shooting off against Ilya’s abs. He keeps his mouth on Ilya’s cock as his orgasm goes in waves. Ilya’s fingers are still stroking him inside, gently now, soothing. His mind is blank, his body is on fire, its heaven.
Before he knows it, Ilya is tapping his ass in warning, but Shane keeps his mouth where it is as he feels Ilya coming down his throat. He happily swallows it all and suckles the last little bit off the tip as Ilya comes down from his orgasm.
Shane finally leans up, moves to the side and collapses on the bed next to Ilya.
“Fuck, that was hot,” he breathes out.
Ilya laughs while still catching his breath. “Happy birthday, moya lyubov.”
“Yeah. Happy birthday to me.”
He rolls onto his side to face Ilya, ignoring the ache in his ribs, and gently traces one of the purple and green bruises on Ilya’s shoulder.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“I could never feel pain with your ass in my face,” Ilya replies with a kiss to his forehead.
“Stop it, I’m serious.”
“No, moya lyubimyy. Shoulder is fine. I will still score goals for you tomorrow night.”
“Oh, yeah? How many goals?”
“Mmm, three probably.”
“I get a hat trick for my birthday?”
“You get whatever you want for your birthday,” and then he turns to look Shane in the eyes, “You are my whole world, my everything. Whatever you want for the rest of your life.”
This time, Shane actually feels the tears starting to gather in his eyes.
Ilya just gathers him in his arms and starts pressing kisses all over his face and hair, as Shane wipes his tears onto Ilya’s collarbone.
He lets go of Shane and then looks back at the wall behind him.
“I hope Hazy didn’t hear you, he needs to sleep good for tomorrow.”
Shane laughs and grabs the pillow next to him to smack Ilya. “Fuck off, asshole.”
--
The next night, Ilya scores a hat trick. He points at Shane after every single goal.