Work Text:
“Ow. Fuck.”
Shane sat down hard where he had backed up against the bed, Ilya’s hand still on his side. Shane looked down, breathing a little hard from making out. And maybe something else.
After a moment, Ilya said, a little impatiently, “Well? What is ow?”
Shane did that stupid half-smile at him. “Ow is what English speakers say when we get hurt.”
“Ah, this explains it. Russians do not get hurt.” Shane rewarded this with a laugh, a muttered asshole. “Off, off.” Ilya tugged at his shirt. “I want to see.”
He did pull the shirt over his head, but not without looking at Ilya like he was weird. The bruise was all along his left side, favoring toward his back. Definitely a hit into the boards. But Ilya hadn’t seen anything happen tonight –
“It was two days ago,” Shane explained, “At Dallas.”
Ah. This explained the ow. They’d fucked plenty of times with a fresh injury, when the shock and horniness could carry them through. A few days old hurt worse, though, once it had already sunk in. Ilya was surprised Shane had even played with this, that his team medic had let him. But Ilya couldn’t really be that surprised.
“Well. Is funny story,” he said, pulling his own shirt off. His own bruise favored his front more, coming forward under his pectoral, but otherwise it was pretty much the same.
Mirror images.
They stayed there for a moment, looking at each other’s mottled and slightly swollen ribs. Ilya crouched so he could see better, so they were on eye level. The colors shifting over Shane’s skin as he breathed looked almost beautiful, like a painting. He skated one hand over the length just to hear him hiss. For some reason that sound was so sexy he had to surge forward and knock Shane back, covering his mouth and body with his own. He tried to be careful of the bruise, but not too hard. He wouldn’t mind hearing that sound again.
They made out, a little sloppy. Ilya braced his arms on either side of Shane’s head and ground their hips together, encouraging Shane to open his legs. He did, and the friction between them burned. Ilya moved to kiss Shane’s face, lick along his jaw and ear, to hear his gasps of breath. He felt a leg and thigh coming up to hook around his ass, and the necessary tense of Shane’s abdomen beneath him as he lifted it. And then a sound that was less sexy and more winded.
Well, still a little sexy, but that was just Ilya, who had always found the punched-out breath after a hard hit very erotic. He pulled back a little, to check in.
Shane’s eyes were closed. He’d lowered his leg again, and he lay there, looking vulnerable. Ilya was not above seizing the moment to get a nice full look at him, his gorgeous smooth skin, his dark eyelashes. But his face was still pinched in pain. “Hollander?” He asked, trying to keep his voice even and cool.
“Yeah. Just, I’m not twenty-two anymore,” he said. What?
“You are twenty-six,” Ilya said, wondering if Shane also had a concussion. He opened his eyes, looking a little surprised. “Yes I know. Hollander, we are same age. Why does it matter to be twenty-two?”
“You don’t feel it?” He asked. “I take my hits way harder now. I’m not an old man, but…”
Ilya, from where he was still perched over Shane, looked him up and down pointedly. Shane rolled his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he reached up and jabbed Ilya right in his bruise.
“FUCK, what! Why!!” He yowled, the surprise and the impact combining to make it hurt worse than he would’ve thought possible. He collapsed on top of Shane and rolled over him, so they were lying side by side. He looked over at him, trying to convey his deep betrayal through a complex facial expression. Shane just smiled.
“This is ridiculous,” Shane said, after a too-long moment of eye contact. “Where’s your pain stuff?”
“My what?” Ilya was confused. He gestured vaguely to his side; was Shane asking where he hurt? That was obvious, no?
“No, asshole. Your, like, Advil. IcyHot. That stuff,” he sat up and looked down at Ilya as he said it, then glanced over at the bathroom.
Ilya sat up too. “I don’t have this,” he said. “Russians do not need this.” Shane raised his eyebrows and went to poke Ilya’s side again; luckily this time he dodged. “Team medic give me some, but not here. Only for practice. Or game.”
“What? So last fall you were just walking around on an MCL sprain unmedicated?” Shane asked, obviously in disbelief.
“You remember my knee sprain?” Ilya crowed, leaning in for a nuzzling kiss. He had meant it as a tease, but Shane didn’t even look embarrassed. Just exasperated.
“Alright, come on,” Shane said, and pushed himself to standing. Ilya pawed at him, was he trying to leave? Just because they were a little hurt? But he was tugging Ilya up too, and grabbing their shirts from the floor. “We’re going to the store.”
“The – What? Why?” Ilya could not be more confused. Why would they leave the house, where they could have sex, for the store, where they definitely could not? It was just some bruises…
“We’re gonna get you some pain stuff. We can come back after,” he specified, seeing Ilya’s expression. Fuck. He shouldn’t be that transparent. Whatever, okay, cool. The store. He pulled his shirt on and walked ahead out to the foyer so he could pick a set of car keys.
When they pulled into the parking lot in the Spyder, they both went to open the doors and then looked at each other.
“Well, we can’t both go in,” Shane said crossly. “We’ll definitely be recognized.”
Ilya looked pointedly at the clock. 11:20, it blinked. PM. In Somerville, Massachusetts. On a Thursday. He looked out at the parking lot: two cars, both probably the staff.
Shane was still hesitating, even with this perfectly reasonable argument. So Ilya reached into the backseat and pulled out one of the emergency ballcaps he kept on hand, plopping it on Shane’s head.
“There. Perfect disguise,” he said, pleased with himself.
Shane pulled it off and looked at it. “I can’t wear a fucking Red Sox hat,” he said, but he was already clicking the door handle open.
When they walked through the doors of the CVS, the fluorescents put them in a different world. Suddenly, this all seemed very ridiculous to Ilya. He was in a drugstore, near midnight, with Shane Hollander. To buy some concoction called IcyHot. Shane was all business, immediately hustling to the aisle labeled Pain Care, but Ilya wanted to dawdle. This overtly American experience wasn’t to be wasted. He pulled Shane sideways to the snacks.
“I need something here,” he said, trying not to think too hard about Shane’s broad back under his hand.
“What, a little chocolate for your boo-boo?” Shane teased.
“No,” said Ilya, offended. “American chocolate is shit.” He moved ahead, slipping his hand down to hold Shane’s and tug him along. Not thinking about it. Just keep moving. He picked up peach gummies and a bag of chips, selecting pretty much at random, most of his brain power being devoted to processing the sensation of Shane’s fingers tensing against his.
When Ilya turned to look at Shane, he was already staring at their hands, but he caught himself and looked around casually. He reached out to the Kitkats on the shelf, tapping it. “I haven’t had one of these in forever,” he said.
Ilya came closer, leaning in to him and licking a spot on his jaw. Shane flinched but didn’t move away. “I don’t think that’s in your diet, Hollander,” he said, seductively. If he could make him pick up that chocolate… “It would go right to your–” Ilya dropped a hand to Shane’s ass and squeezed.
Shane took a deep breath. Ilya was so turned on by how much this was pushing Shane. There was no one in the store – they were both looking around constantly, even if they tried to hide it from the other. But just the thought of being seen was turning Shane red.
He surprised Ilya by giving him a quick, hard kiss and then speeding away, further down the aisle. Ilya grabbed a Kitkat and followed him.
Shane stopped at a drinks fridge right in front of the self check-out and grabbed a green can. Ilya watched, and picked out a Coke for himself. He set this and the candy down on the machine, along with Shane’s pills and strange IcyHot container. Shane started scanning everything.
“What is?” Ilya said, tapping the can.
“Huh?” Shane said, distracted from his task. Ilya noticed he was keeping his head down, out of view of the little camera on the kiosk. “Oh, GingerAle. It’s like, non-soda soda. It’s good.” Shane scanned the Kitkat, no comment.
Ilya wanted to be close to him. It felt natural to crowd up around his shoulder, lean on him while he did this. It felt like they could be anyone, just two people buying late night snacks and essentials on their way home. Shane tensed under the weight of Ilya’s skull, rolling onto his shoulder and nuzzling, but he didn’t move away. He paid and stuffed the things in a brown bag, still careful to keep his face out of the camera.
As he walked away, Ilya looked right into it and winked.
Back at the car, Shane surprised Ilya by grabbing him and putting him up against the driver’s side. He still had the paper bag in one hand, and with the other, he pulled Ilya’s head into him for another kiss. Fuck. Ilya made a noise, a pleased little hum, to feel Shane this way. Excited. Into him. Unable to wait.
Shane pulled open the door next to them and held it as Ilya got in. He reached out and squeezed Shane’s bruised side as he ducked down, just to remind him. Shane cursed at him.
He kept one hand on Shane’s thigh the whole drive home.
Shane unscrewed the lid on the IcyHot and scooped out a small amount. He didn’t want to shock Ilya right away, but there was probably no avoiding it.
He turned to where Ilya sat in one of the kitchen chairs. They had made out against the counter for a bit, distracted, but the insistent ache of these bruises kept coming back for them. This whole evening had felt that way; falling into each other like usual, and being yanked back out by the pain. It had Shane’s head spinning, had absolutely demolished his decision making. He could not believe he’d kissed Ilya in public, more than once. But it was like the whole night was suspended out of time, the strange spell of their twin injuries creating an alternate world. Where there was no one else but them.
Now, Shane looked at Ilya as he spread the IcyHot over his side. It was dark in the apartment, the only light coming from the skyline, and his sharp cheekbones gloried in it. “It’s going to be –” he started, but he was too late. Ilya looked confused, then shocked, his mouth fell open in a wide o. He whined a little, and it was sort of hot. Shane kept moving his hand down his flank; it would be worse if he stopped and restarted. He covered the whole bruise, squatting to reach.
“This is strangest thing I have felt,” Ilya said, his voice strained. “This helps?” He sounded very skeptical.
“Yeah, I think it’s partially that it distracts you, but also acts like a heating pad/ice pack cycle,” Shane said. He leaned into Ilya’s chest and pressed a few kisses there, careful to stay far away from where he’d spread the stuff. Even as it was, the menthol smell was overwhelming. Ilya’s hand came up loosely to his hair. He seemed to be relaxing into it as the waves of heat and cool spread over his bruise. When Shane leaned back to look at him, he was totally slack in the chair, head thrown back dramatically. Experimentally, Shane lightly ran his hand over the bruise. Another low whine from Ilya. Shane leaned over and breathed out over his skin, which earned a real moan and the hand in his hair tightening. It felt like a cold breeze on wet skin, he knew, from somewhat embarrassing personal experimentation. It was an uncomfortably sexy effect for a sports recovery product.
Shane pulled back, not wanting to push too hard. His nostrils burned with the scent. Ilya was breathing deeply, and had picked his head up to look down at Shane on the floor. Unlike many other times in this position, Shane felt utterly in control. It was a very intoxicating feeling. He made a show of putting his hands behind his back and said, “Can you get your cock out? You won’t like it much if I touch you there right now.” Not the sexiest phrasing, but from Ilya’s slow nod and the way he reached for his waistband before Shane even finished, he guessed it didn’t matter.
With Ilya’s dick standing at attention in front of him, the rest was simple. This felt like Shane’s best skill, some days, and fuck his shot accuracy or his sprints. Swallowing Ilya, feeling his weight on his tongue, the slickness of his head slipping against the back of his throat. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever done this without hands, but it did require a bit more creativity.
When he would normally pull off and work him with his fingers, he instead kept his mouth on. It was a strain, and he felt tears pricking his eyes, but that was hot too. Ilya’s hand tightened in his hair, and Shane did pull off then, to look up at him as he licked a stripe up his shaft.
Ilya’s eyes were glazed over like he was in a trance. He was fixed on Shane’s mouth, and brought his hand down along his jaw to poke his thumb inside. Shane obediently opened his mouth, keeping eye contact, watching Ilya’s mouth form a silent “wow” as he put his cockhead back in Shane’s mouth. Shane took his hands out from behind him and lightly ran them up Ilya’s sides again, while he swallowed him, just to watch him spasm in the resultant mix of pain and pleasure. Intoxicating. Shane bobbed up and down twice more on Ilya’s cock before he came, feeling him pulse under his tongue. Ilya’s hand, still on Shane’s jaw, held him tightly. When he was done, he tapped with his fingers on Shane’s cheek and Shane pulled off slowly and opened, letting Ilya see his come there on his tongue. Ilya swore in Russian.
Shane rose, took a drink of water. He tried to give them both a chance to step out of it, to cool down. Everything felt so intimate tonight, even when they’d barely said two sentences to each other. But then he felt Ilya’s hand on his back, feeling for the bruise through his shirt, and he had to face him again. Ilya’s fingers pressed lightly on his ribs, as if asking a question – you next? Shane nodded and pulled the shirt over his head. But when Ilya reached out for the IcyHot, Shane kept it back.
“My hand’s already got it on,” he explained. “It can be hard to wash off.”
“Oh, and my hands will be so busy soon?” Ilya asked, eyebrows raised. He reached forward and tugged on Shane’s hips, pulling him between his own spread legs. His head was level with Shane’s chest, so he licked over the nipple on the opposite side from the bruise and kissed all over Shane’s sternum. His hands moved over his back, also carefully avoiding the sore area. Shane melted into it, forgetting his purpose. He climbed into Ilya’s lap, probably testing the limits of the chair’s capacity. Once he was settled on top of him, though, Ilya pulled back and looked pointedly at the IcyHot, still in Shane’s hand. In the dim light, it was even harder than usual to read his face.
“I want you here with me,” Ilya said. Shane didn’t quite know what he meant.
“I am,” he said, leaning into Ilya’s neck.
“No,” Ilya made a frustrated noise. “Feeling the…” he gestured at their bruises. “Feeling the same. With me.”
Oh. Oh. It was such an alarmingly vulnerable request, at least to Shane’s ears, that he blushed and had to turn away. Luckily, he had an excuse: the forgotten pain pills, still on the table. He grabbed those and opened them, trying to ignore the way Ilya had automatically grabbed his hips to stabilize him as he moved. There was a lot he had to try to ignore tonight.
Ilya stuck his tongue out insolently for a pill. Fuck. He made it too easy. Shane gave him one, feeling the touch of spit on his fingers, holding his eyes as he swallowed it, and then as he took one himself. It was Extra Strength Advil, not MDMA, but it felt like a party drug all the same.
And then Shane had to kiss him some more, after being so preoccupied with his mouth. The wet slide of Ilya’s tongue against his teeth was intensified by touching it just before. Shane wanted to investigate Ilya’s mouth with his fingers and maybe a magnifying glass. He wanted to peel him apart. He wanted to lay back and let Ilya peel him apart in turn.
Maybe the menthol was getting to him. He reached behind himself, not quite breaking the kiss, to grab the IcyHot and hold it between them. Ilya noticed, and looked down, their faces still right next to each other, to watch.
Shane had done this before, for many injuries. There was no reason for it to feel like something monumental, something that kept his hands from moving quickly and getting it over with. No reason except Ilya’s dark gaze on him, and his fingers moving idly over Shane’s nipple. Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Shane smeared the paste on his bruise and immediately groaned. It was cooler than body temperature even before the menthol registered, and he could feel goosebumps rising on his arms. The sensation elevated the ache of the bruise, bringing it acutely to his attention, but as he spread it, it also evened out the pain, transforming it into a mild glowing all across his ribs. He rubbed it all the way in where he could reach, and paused to roll his head back and feel it. He had treated this bruise yesterday with a real ice pack, watching a game on the couch, but the menthol reached deeper and harder. It fuzzed over the sensitive area right under his arm, and he even felt the ghost of it on his inside bicep, although he’d been careful not to get it there. The warmth ebbed, followed by the more acute wave of chill, more goosebumps, a light pressure on his side–
No, that was Ilya. Shane opened his eyes and looked down to see Ilya, face tucked down, gently rubbing the stuff onto his back ribs where he hadn’t gotten yet. Ilya only used two fingers at a time, and he was going very slowly, keeping to one area and covering it entirely before moving on. It felt like – a massage, even though Ilya was barely using any pressure at all. But the combination of the contact and the IcyHot’s delicious effects felt positively heady.
Shane braced his arm on Ilya’s shoulder, trying to crane his neck to look at what Ilya was doing. It was a difficult angle, though, and Ilya was sort of putting his head right where Shane wanted to see. He gave up, holding his arm upright and then landing it in Ilya’s hair so it would be out of his way. Almost as if in thanks, Ilya turned his head and nosed a kiss into Shane’s armpit.
Fuck. Fuck. Ilya was devoting the same complete attention to this that he did to Shane’s ass when he was prepping him with his fingers or mouth. It always seemed that that focus utterly precluded Shane’s dick, which, as it was now, throbbed without a single hope of being touched. Instead, Ilya was experimenting with the effects of the menthol. When Shane blew on Ilya’s treated skin, it felt erotic and powerful. When Ilya did it, Shane nearly collapsed.
He was grateful for the hand steadying him on his lower back and his own arm braced against Ilya’s tensed shoulder, the only indication he had of how turned on Ilya was as well. Ilya did not stop with one ghosting breath, either. He tried a stripe all the way up Shane’s flank, and little puffs along each rib. Shane tensed and exhaled hard for each, knowing he was only encouraging it. Wanting to encourage it. He very nearly felt Ilya’s lips against him, and he tried to warn him, but he also felt it served him right. Let Ilya get a chemical burn for putting Shane through this exquisite torture.
After an eternity, Ilya finally pulled his head back and stuck a hand (the other one, thankfully) in Shane’s sweats. He found him fully hard, and already leaking the way Ilya always admired. He pulled on him roughly once, twice, and then brought his hand up to Shane’s mouth. He knew what to do; he kissed and licked it messily to wet it for Ilya’s use. Again, that familiarity, that instinct, it was too much to look at directly. So Shane didn’t. He leaned his head forward into Ilya’s neck, bucked up into his hand, came way too quickly, all with Ilya’s other hand still ghosting over the lit up bruise.
After, when they’d both taken a turn wiping themselves down, Ilya tapped again on the can of GingerAle. He was wearing a fresh set of sweatpants and no shirt, standing in the kitchen, looking at Shane where he leaned against the counter. Shane had been putting on his shirt again when Ilya batted it out of his hands outside the bathroom. He hoped it was not obvious, the way he wanted to keep noticing their awkward twinning.
“Can I try?” Ilya asked now, already popping the top.
Shane rolled his eyes. “Sure, you dick,” he said.
The drink was fizzy, but not like a beer; more like champagne. So light and probably, if it was cold, really refreshing. Not too sweet either. Shane probably liked that: it was a treat without a treat.
That reminded Ilya: the candy. He went to put the can down but noticed Shane watching him, Wished he hadn’t missed where his eyes went, probably on his neck as he swallowed. He extended the can out to Shane, holding on a moment longer so their fingers brushed.
All the time he relived that moment of first real contact between them, no pads, no ice, just fingers on a water bottle. All the time, he lived there.
Ilya did watch Shane drink, and thrilled at the way Shane held his gaze almost the whole time before he chickened out. Ilya would watch Shane do anything, He wished, he wished that feeling would go away when Shane walked out, the way it always did with other people Ilya slept with, Unfortunately, other people were not Shane.
Probably fortunately. Would be a boring world with only Shanes. But there was an appeal even to that, for Ilya…
The candy. He fished it out of the bag, the Kitkat chocolate, and his gummy rings. He tore open the gummy rings first, offered one out to Shane. No dice, as expected. He popped one in his mouth and poked his tongue through it, playing with it where Shane could watch. He didn’t really expect to have sex again; it was late and they were both tired. But he liked watching him squirm, in this strange twilight period before Shane could leave.
“You are such a…” Shane said, moving closer. He pulled a gummy ring out of the bag Ilya held, shockingly. But he didn’t eat it. He toyed with it a moment, put his finger through the hole.
“A what?” Ilya asked, quietly. He took Shane’s hand, brought it closer to his mouth. “A whore?” He nibbled around the edge of the candy, licking the tip of Shane’s finger. He was aiming for obscene, but even to himself, this felt disgusting: a blatant play to turn Shane on, to provoke him, even after the point they were usually done. But he wanted to so badly. He swallowed Shane’s finger and sucked on him, pulling the candy off as he did. He gave his mouth a succulent pop when he released.
“I am not the underwear model, here, Shane Hollander,” Ilya said, snaking a finger forward into Shane’s branded briefs. This was what finally caused Shane to pull away, to turn. Pushed too far. Fuck.
He held up the Kitkat as a peace offering. He shook it, the plastic rustling. Shane just looked at him. Ilya made a show of unwrapping the candy, peeling its wrapper slowly and, he hoped seductively. Possibly he just looked stupid. But when he held one of the sections out, Shane plucked it out of his hand. He considered it, and then, as if he thought about it a moment longer he would regret it, he ate the entire thing in one bite. No, he sucked it up. One moment just the end was in his mouth, and the next it had all fluidly slid past his lips. And now he was chewing.
“Wow. Party trick,” Ilya said, making no effort to hide his surprise.
Shane finished chewing. “Is it really that shocking, if I can swallow your dick?”
“I am a little bigger than Kitkat,” Ilya laughed.
“A little bigger,” Shane allowed. That made Ilya laugh harder. He held out another piece, chewing on one himself. He wanted to keep this Shane, here in his kitchen, making him laugh and being stubborn.
“I shouldn’t have another one,” said Shane Hollander, of the diets and the schedules.
“Oh, but I know you want,” Ilya said, moving his eyebrows suggestively. “Be bad, Hollander, I dare you.”
“Fuck you,” he said, without much behind it.
Ilya moved closer. He brought the chocolate up to Shane’s pretty face. “Eat it,” he said, weighting his words with the kind of command Shane got wet for. He could see the fight on Shane’s face, the angels of macrobiotics versus the devils of aphrodisiac. If there was even enough real chocolate in this trash to be considered aphrodisiacal.
Shane closed his eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “You have no idea what I want,” he moved out of Ilya’s space, turning his face away. “You think the diet is just some front, but it’s serious to me. It’s how I play, I can’t…”
Ilya wanted to ask what the meaning was, front of what? But Shane was so angry, it was in his voice, his eyes that he hid from Ilya. “Come on, Hollander, was only joking…”
“Shut up,” Shane said. He was really annoyed now, and walking away. Putting his shirt on. “Everything is joking to you. Sometimes…”
“Sometimes? What is sometimes?” Ilya stood still in the dark center of the kitchen, watching Shane move around him, pulling his stuff together.
“Sometimes you’re just being a dick,” Shane said. He wouldn’t look at Ilya. “I have a meeting at home tomorrow morning, I shouldn’t even be here this late.”
I shouldn’t even be here. Ilya heard it, and he couldn’t stop hearing it, even though it shouldn’t matter any more than the other rejections. You should, you should be here, you shouldn’t be anywhere else, some stupid small part of Ilya was yelling. But there was nothing to say.
At the table, Shane’s hand was hovering over the IcyHot. This whole weird night was crashing down on them. “If I leave this, will you use it?” Shane asked, still not looking at Ilya.
“Probably not,” Ilya said. No point in lying.
Shane walked out without it.
Shane didn’t find the Kitkat until he was getting out of the car, back at his hotel. It was unwrapped; Ilya must have slipped it in his jacket pocket when they were still in the store. He had no idea what to do with it. The near-hedonism he felt in Ilya’s presence had ebbed, and now it just looked like another way to break his own promises to himself. He dropped it in a trash can in the lobby.