Chapter Text
Luca hadn’t been sure he would actually go through with it. He’d had a whole month ahead of training camp to talk himself into it and out of it and back into it about fifty times.
But he’s made it this far. He’s sitting with Shane Hollander, just the two of them. They’re at Monk’s, mostly because Luca likes the tall dark booths along the wall, plus it’s quiet here in the afternoon. If Luca is doing this, he doesn't want an audience.
“So, what’s up?” Shane says.
Luca takes a desperate sip of beer and tries to remember what he’d pictured during his visualization exercises. He’d definitely decided that there was no graceful way to do this. He’s just going to have to come out and say—
“Look,” Shane is saying, “if it’s about being gay, or bi, or anything, tha—”
“I can’t figure out anal sex,” Luca blurts out.
Shane startles like he got jump-scared. Like this is a horror movie. Luca turns bright fucking red. They stare at each other for a long, painful moment, and then Luca puts his red face down on the table.
“Oh my god,” he says to the tabletop. “Oh my god, sorry.”
After a moment, Shane squeezes his forearm. “It’s okay, Luca,” he says, and it sounds like maybe he’s smiling. Or maybe he’s laughing at him.
Luca peeks out of his arms. Shane is smiling, and not in a mean way. When they make eye contact, they both start laughing.
Shane squeezes his arm again and then lets go. “So, I take it you’re—”
“Gay,” Luca says. “Yes. Sorry. I sort of thought the team already knew.”
Shane makes a so-so gesture with one hand. “Me and Ilya and Barrett, definitely. Hazy’s probably guessed by now. The other guys, I don’t know.”
Luca nods. “I don’t mind the team knowing. I was really stressed about it until the Centaurs drafted me. But with Barrett, and then Roz, and you—”
Shane looks down at his own hands. Luca thinks he looks pleased.
Luca, meanwhile, is busy being dumbstruck by the fact that Shane is gorgeous. Like walk-into-a-wall gorgeous. Luca had been aware of that, obviously—he’s shared a locker room with Shane for a year, plus Shane’s face has been used to advertise various watches and colognes for like half of Luca’s life, which makes his beauty kind of unavoidable. It isn’t usually a problem for Luca. Not with Shane. But having all Shane's attention, just the two of them, is a different thing. It’s actually kind of a lot to deal with. Which Luca had not factored into his plan.
He gets that stomach-twisting feeling that means he’s anxious-excited-horny about something that’s happening. Yikes. Oh, yikes. This is exactly what Luca had tried to avoid by talking to Shane rather than—
“That’s good,” Shane says. “I mean, I’m glad you feel comfortable on the team. So. You—uh?”
Luca feels his blush return in full force. “Yeah, um.”
“We’re here because you have, uh, anal sex questions?” Shane goes on.
Okay. Surely the worst is over now, Luca tells himself. Surely saying I can’t figure out anal sex, out loud, to his beautiful gay teammate who is hockey god Shane Hollander, with no lead-up at all, will be the worst part. He might as well ask his questions, at this point, right? He’s definitely never trying to have this conversation again. If he gives up now, he’ll probably just never be into bottoming. There are lots of ways to have sex, including some he already knows he does like, so, you know. Whatever. It’s whatever, probably, if he can't do this.
But it’s also not whatever, because he actually really, really wants to get fucked in the ass, and he really wants to enjoy it.
“Yes. I have. Questions,” he gets out. And then he doesn’t actually ask anything.
After an excruciatingly long five seconds, Shane says, “Take your time.”
“Ughhhh,” Luca groans into his hands.
He’s twenty-one. This will be his third year on the starting line. He cannot have Shane Hollander treating him like a kid.
He puts his hands down. He looks Shane in the eye. In a very mature and calm tone of voice, he says, “I have always found bottoming appealing. But in practice, I have not enjoyed it. I know some people just do not like it. The internet says it is not for everyone. But I still... I thought, I should talk to someone with more experience. Because it could be it’s just something I’m doing? Or not doing? That could make it good?”
Shane listens carefully, looking at the far wall, then nods seriously and sits back. “That makes sense,” he says.
“Uh, so, can I—? I don’t, um. The questions are kind of personal. Like, invasive,” Luca says, sounding less confident with every word.
The spiraling thoughts arrive, right on time. This is week five of the same spiral; Luca can practically recite it. It goes a little something like this: What if Shane and Ilya don’t even have that kind of sex to begin with, and Shane gets mad at Luca for assuming? Do gay people get mad about that? It seems like there’s a lot of telling people not to assume things, but who else is Luca supposed to ask? Why does Luca not have more gay friends? Well, the answer is hockey, but just in a cosmic sense, why. And what if Shane and Ilya do have that kind of sex and it’s perfect every time and all Luca is going to learn is that there really is something wrong with him, something unfixable, and then Shane goddamn Hollander will always know that Luca Haas is a sad little rookie who can’t fuck—and, much much worse, Ilya goddamn Rozanov will also always know that Luca Haas is a sad little rookie who can’t fuck, oh god—
“Totally,” Shane says. He’s usually pretty stoic, but his voice sounds warm right now. Luca’s heart may possibly skip a beat. “I mean,” Shane goes on, “I don’t know that I’m really the best person to ask, but yeah, I can answer questions about…”
Here there is a pause long enough for Luca to consider re-googling heart attack vs. panic attack symptoms. Just for a refresher.
Then, something much worse than a heart attack:
Shane says, “You know, have you thought about talking to Ilya?”
*
“Лучик ray of sunlight. You did not,” Ilya says, aghast.
Shane rounds the end of the couch, still holding his gear bag. “What?” he asks, sounding a little offended.
Ilya gives him a flat stare.
“I know I’m the one who bottoms,” Shane says, like somehow that's the problem. “I’m not saying I won’t answer his questions too, but—I don’t know.”
Ilya reaches over and snags Shane by the waistband, pulling him down to kneel over Ilya on the couch. “But what?” he says. He sneaks his hands under Shane’s shirt. Ilya can double-task. No problem.
Shane scratches his neck, embarrassed, but then he sighs, straddles Ilya, and rubs himself lazily into Ilya’s stomach. Ilya hums in appreciation and reaches down to grip Shane’s ass.
He had really been looking forward to fucking his husband after the first day of training camp, but Luca had wanted to talk to Shane, so, fine. Ilya can wait. Ilya is patient. No problem.
“I don’t know if I can explain how to make it good to someone else. It’s not like—” Shane cuts himself off, sighs, and then says, “I didn’t even figure it out how to make it good for myself. You’re the one who did that.”
Okay. Great. Good. Now Ilya is rock fucking hard. His ears ring. His mouth is wet; he has to swallow. No more double-tasking now. No more patience. Goodbye. “Me?” he says. He pulls Shane in firmly, both hands on his ass, and grinds against him through their clothes. “Not your pink friend?”
Shane—clearly getting comfortable now that this conversation is at least half dirty talk—grins and settles into a slow grind, for the sole purpose of torturing Ilya. He pulls off his shirt to torture Ilya further. Ilya moans, bites at Shane's chest. “I know you know the word for dildo now, asshole,” Shane says through a gasp.
Ilya is committed. “Pink friend did not do it for you?”
Shane fists a hand in Ilya’s hair. Holy fuck. Shit. Fuck.
Shane looks right at him and says, “No.”
*
Afterwards, condom disposed of, otherwise collapsed in a sweaty pile on the rug in front of the couch, Shane props his chin on Ilya’s chest and says, “Should I not have told Luca you’d be a good person to talk to? You don’t want to?”
“That is not problem,” Ilya says. “I have no problem. Luca has problem.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Luca!” Shane says.
Shane is very passionate about this. Shane—Ilya’s smoking hot, very skilled bottom, who married him, who blows Ilya’s mind on a daily basis—is coming to the defense of a sweet little baby bottom who knows nothing. It is adorable. It is so hot. Ilya gazes up at him with stars in his eyes and feels up his ass again. “Nothing wrong with Luca,” he agrees easily.
“So, what?” Shane says.
All right, well, let it not be said that Ilya didn’t try to let Luca maintain what little dignity he had left.
“Luca has a big crush on me,” he explains. “For many years. This is very correct thing. Nothing wrong at all, is exactly right way for gay rookie to feel about his captain when his captain is Ilya Rozanov. But that is the problem with your idea. Crush is a problem for Luca.”
Shane’s head tilts. After a moment, he lays his cheek back down on Ilya’s chest and says, “Huh.”
“You did not notice this?” Ilya laughs. “Our rookie who has full-body blush every time I pass him in the showers?”
“He’s not a rookie, this'll be his third season,” Shane points out.
Ilya snorts. Luca is five years younger than anyone else on the Centaurs’ starting lineup, and he is so very sweet, and blushes so easily. No one calls him rookie to his face, but…
“Maybe he just takes hot showers,” Shane goes on. “He has fair skin; it happens.”
Now Ilya props himself up on his elbows to give Shane an incredulous look. “Shane.”
“I don’t look at you in the showers at all, because I will get hard in front of our entire team,” Shane says, like it’s nothing.
Ilya has noticed this, but they’ve never actually talked about it. He is maybe getting a little turned on again. Shane being completely fucking helpless in the face of how much he wants Ilya really, really does it for Ilya.
“I can’t really judge a gay twenty-one-year-old for blushing at...all that,” Shane says, gesturing at Ilya’s body.
“Yes, but he does not blush over the others, who also have muscles, Shane,” Ilya says, patiently.
Shane huffs.
“Listen,” Ilya says. “I cannot stretch in front of him because he chokes on water or on air. I cannot condition next to him. Since midseason his first year, he will wait for me to start conditioning and then set up far away from me. When he is close, he cannot stop watching me. He trips. He tripped so many times at first. He almost sprained ankle on elliptical, this is when he changed his habits. Also, Hazy said he convinced Luca to show him sketchbook, but Luca skipped some pages because of drawings of me.”
“He likes drawing, Ilya!” Shane says, conveniently skipping the whole choking and tripping thing. “I’m sure he draws people he knows all the time!”
This is getting ridiculous. Ilya pulls out the big guns: “He had poster of me in his bedroom as teenager. As gay teenager.”
There is just no world in which Luca Haas has not jerked off while staring at a picture of Ilya Rozanov.
A pause. Shane is clearly thinking the same thing. “Okay,” he says. “Wish I’d realized. But—he did say yes. Might be worse to take back the offer now. I don’t want him to think that having a crush messed everything up.”
Ilya sighs and pets Shane’s back for a bit. “We would explain,” he says finally. “We can make sure he knows it is all right. But, you are right, he did agree.” He shrugs. “Maybe embarrassment is worth it to him.” He smirks, and Shane props his head up again like he knew before looking that Ilya would smirk, like he wanted to see it. Ilya rocks his hips a little into Shane and adds, “I do not mind helping you help hot little rookie who pants over me to have good sex, cолнышко little sun.”
Shane scoffs, but Ilya can feel the way he’s started fidgeting, looking for friction.
“You want to suck my cock?” he says. Shane is getting that look in his eyes.
Shane scoffs. Ilya spanks him, feeling the pressure reverberate through Shane, into his own body, into the floor. Shane drops his head and moans into Ilya’s chest.
“I actually do really want to suck your cock,” Shane mumbles.
Knew it. “Mmmmm.” Ilya pretends to think about it. He shakes Shane’s ass cheek with the hand still holding him there. “I think you were not very polite about my generous offer.”
Shane huffs, and Ilya spanks him again. Shane gasps, grinding into Ilya’s thigh.
“I think maybe I will let you, soon, if you ask nicely,” Ilya adds.
He tilts his head down, meets Shane’s eyes as Shane looks up. His eyes are lidded, his pupils blown wide, and he’s flushed as far as Ilya can see down his face and chest.
“Fuck you.” Shane enunciates very clearly.
Ilya smiles at him, he can’t help it. Shane grins back, not managing to keep any of the defiance in his face. He’s so fucking happy to be here. Ilya is too.
Ilya reaches down and pulls Shane up closer, forcing one of his thighs out wide. This is a better angle for both of them. More of Shane’s weight is pressing his cock into the muscular groove inside Ilya’s hip, plus now Ilya can reach—
“Fuck,” Shane gasps.
Ilya squeezes him hard right where his ass meets his thigh. One good slap, and the skin is already a little hot to the touch. They’re going to have to rearrange later: Ilya wants to see his handprints. “Good spot?” he asks, even though he already knows.
“Fuck yes,” Shane mumbles into Ilya’s neck. “Feels so good, Ilya.”
“Ready to be polite yet?” Ilya asks.
“Nope,” Shane manages.
Ilya slaps him in the same place again, a little harder.
Shane moans, leaking precome where he’s rocking against Ilya’s abdomen.
“You want to get off like this?” Ilya asks. He slaps Shane again right when he opens his mouth, before he can answer.
“Fuck you,” Shane gasps, and Ilya obliges, slapping him again. Then he starts petting Shane’s ass and thigh in long, firm strokes, spreading the sensation out.
Shane goes boneless over him, moaning quietly. He’s hard, leaking, but he isn’t in a hurry.
Ilya isn’t in a hurry either, and if they keep going like this, Shane will come. “I think maybe you are ready now,” he says. He wraps a palm around Shane’s forehead and pushes him up, away from Ilya’s neck, so they can look at one another.
Shane blinks a few times, lazily, and then seems to gather together enough brain cells to remember how conversation works. “May I please suck your cock now, Ilya?” he asks.
He is so sweet. So sincere. His lips are brushing Ilya’s.
They both feel Ilya’s cock jump. Ilya grins. “Yes, cла́дкий sweet one. Go ahead.”
*
The late summer sun is setting. They never did get their clothes back on after round three, but Ilya did at least manage to grab snacks when he stood up to get them a washcloth.
“Maybe it would be easier to show him,” Shane murmurs.
Ilya almost chokes on his hummus. “What?”
“Luca, I mean,” Shane says. He is staring contemplatively at the far wall, chewing a carrot.
Ilya stares at his profile for a long moment. “Are you—” Ilya begins, then stops to phrase more carefully in English. “You are saying it would be easier to show Luca how to enjoy bottoming than to tell him?” he asks. Then, to clarify, “You are saying we do hands-on anal sex demonstration for rookie?”
“I mean, it would only be as ‘hands-on’ as he wanted it to be,” Shane says, thoughtfully. “But he’s attracted to you, plus you’re you, so that would really…hm.” He trails off, picks up another baby carrot and crunches.
Ilya looks at him for a long moment, then lays back on the rug, arms behind his head. “If only nineteen-year-old Shane Hollander who told me he just wanted to talk in hotel room, said it was a bad idea to kiss—I wish that Shane could see you now. Planning threesome.”
Shane shakes himself out of his daze, looks down at Ilya, and only then seems to register what Ilya said. He snatches a pillow from the couch and hits Ilya in the face with it.
“Hey!” Ilya says.
“Well, I don’t want to do it if you’re going to make it sound scandalous,” Shane grumps.
“Shane,” Ilya laughs.
“What!” Shane demands.
“Shane. It is scandalous,” Ilya says. “We can do it, if you want, if Luca wants. But two men, married hockey players, showing third gay hockey player how to have good anal sex—yes, this is scandalous.”
Shane sighs and puts down the bag of carrots.
Ilya props himself up on one elbow and lays his other hand on Shane’s leg. “Why are you sad?” he asks. He hadn’t meant to make him sad.
“I remembered the world, I guess,” Shane says, frowning.
Ilya thinks about this for a moment, and then says, “Outside of our home, you mean?”
Shane says, “Yeah. I guess—I wasn’t thinking about what everybody would think of it, if it got out. For once. I was just thinking… You introduced me to sex. To liking sex. I think about that sometimes.”
Ilya has to run the disjointed English through his brain a few times before he’s sure he understands, and then he feels very happy, very proud.
Shane is still talking, saying, “And I think about—uh, you know, that Reddit thread? There’s that thread where dozens of women who’d supposedly hooked up with you were all saying it was great sex.”
Ilya frowns a bit. “I did not know you had seen this thread,” he says. “It is very old, Shane.”
“I know,” Shane says, and squeezes his hand. “I know, yeah, I saw it ages ago because someone tweeted it at Berkes in like 2015 and he showed everybody.”
“I do not want you still thinking about thread of women, so many years later,” Ilya tries.
“I don’t think I’m explaining this well,” Shane sighs.
Ilya squeezes his leg. “Okay. Try again.” He learned that from Shane.
“Okay,” Shane rallies. “Like—I discovered everything I like sexually with you. I didn’t know anything about what I liked before you. And even after—I didn’t figure anything out with anyone else either. Everything I know about that, everything that turns me on—that’s all because you were into me, you wanted to fuck me, and you wanted it to be good for me.”
“It is my pleasure,” Ilya says. He is trying to flirt, but really it’s just true—it is his pleasure—and it comes out sounding true. Shane smiles.
“I’m—ugh. I’m grateful. I love it, and you’re the one who showed me.”
Ilya sits up, leans over. He wants to kiss Shane for a while. A few hours maybe. He doesn’t think either of them can come again anytime soon, but—
“And those women you slept with,” Shane goes on. “They were grateful. Okay, that feels kind of gross to say out loud. But, I don’t know, they fucking were, Ilya! They literally said they were!”
Ilya deflates away from the almost-kiss, sort of laughs, scratches his nose. “I mean—yes, I know that, because of the many orgasms and the screaming and moaning.”
This was supposed to make Shane hit him with another pillow, but Shane just nods, like Ilya has made his point. “Some of them had never come with a partner before,” Shane adds.
“I am very good at making people come, it is true,” Ilya says. He sounds matter-of-fact, and it is true, but for some reason, the conversation is starting to feel a little… He is starting to not like it.
Sex, now—for the last five years at least—is something that he does with Shane, creates together with Shane. It's a way for them to enjoy one another. It doesn’t feel right to talk about it like it’s some skill Ilya has as an individual. It isn't something he does to people, or for people. It's not transferable from Ilya to anyone. The sex that he and Shane have together isn’t in the same neighborhood or city or country as what he did with his various hookups, all those years ago. It’s not the same thing; it’s not even the same type of thing. He doesn’t want to talk about it like it is.
He doesn’t really know how to put that into Russian words, let alone English words. Maybe he won’t have to try, if Shane is getting to whatever point he’s been trying to make.
“I guess sometimes, when I think about how you introduced me to everything I like, and how grateful I am—I just, I don’t know. Sometimes I think about all the other people you would have introduced to a part of themselves, too, if I hadn’t. Uh. Locked you down.”
Shane’s mouth twists into a wry little smile, and he looks down at Ilya for the first time in a while.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, immediately. Then, “I said something wrong. What did I say?”
Well, there goes Ilya’s plan to skip over explaining this.
“I don’t like talking about them like they are the same,” he tries. Then, because he’s working on actually mentioning when this is the problem, he adds, “This is hard in English.”
“Okay,” Shane says. He strokes Ilya’s hair, and Ilya sighs.
“You asked me before if I miss sex with women,” Ilya says, “and I told you no, I love sex with you.”
Another long pause. Shane is patient. Maybe they should always have complicated conversations after three rounds of sex. Okay, don’t get distracted, Ilya.
“Hooking up with anyone, woman or not, versus having sex with you—it is just not the same thing, I don’t like talking about them like they are the same thing. Same category.”
Another pause. Shane kisses the crown of his head, and Ilya’s heart melts for the tenth time today. He is very well loved.
He goes on, “What you and I do together is special. It is not something I can do with anybody; I do not feel this way with just anybody, and just anybody does not feel this way with me.” Short pause. “Well, I can make anybody come, but—” Shane shoves him, and Ilya snorts out a laugh. “Is true, I can make anybody come! But even that does not make it the same thing.”
Shane kisses his hair a few times and then, seeming to conclude the Ilya has finished talking, he says, “I’m sorry for talking about it that way. I guess because all the sex I’ve had with other people has sucked—and you’ve had plenty of good sex with other people—I don’t know. I guess I think it’s more special to me than it is to you.”
Ilya tucks his face away from Shane, and Shane climbs right into his lap.
“Hey,” he says, brushing away Ilya’s tears. Ilya doesn’t really try to hide them. He’s been crying more than he ever has, these past couple of years, and all of it is in front of Shane. He cries more in front of Shane than he does in front of Galina. Or even Anya. It is crazy how much. “I’m sorry,” Shane goes on. “It’s not like—I never sat down and thought to myself, this is more special to me than it is to Ilya. It was just there in the back of my mind, I guess. And now it’s not. I had that wrong. This is just as special to you as it is to me. Right?”
“Right,” Ilya says. He sniffs. His nose is all stuffed up now, but he feels better. “Come here.”
“I’m already here,” Shane laughs, gesturing to where he is literally straddling Ilya.
“No, here,” Ilya says, and hugs him, pressing them together from their hips all the way up to their cheeks. He gives Shane’s thigh a little slap, and Shane puts his legs up behind Ilya too, so he’s surrounded. Ilya hums happily and closes his eyes.
All right, everything is okay again.
A while later, Shane says, “You know, when you were working on translating, I thought maybe you were sad because I was talking about you like you were, like, a public service. Which I’m also sorry about, by the way. But it’s also a little funny, if that part didn’t even bother you.”
“Hollander, what are you talking about,” Ilya mumbles into his neck. “‘Public service’? Is that like when I blew you in parking garage?”
Shane laughs, shaking both of them. “No, no, public services are like—the stuff our taxes pay for. Like, I don’t know, snow plowing, trash pickup, stuff like that.”
Oh, Ilya gets it. “And I am the public orgasm provider, who can give everyone orgasms, brought to you by the Canadian taxpayer?” he asks.
“Exactly,” Shane says, and Ilya starts laughing, really laughing. “No, no!” Shane protests. “Obviously you’re not, and I didn’t mean to say you were! I’m just saying, it’s funny that you—oh my god, you asshole, never mind.”
When the laughing fit is over—sex and crying and laughing jags back to back; Ilya is wrung out in a good, bone-deep way—he says, “I am not public service, Hollander. I am your private service, for you to use however, okay?”
Shane snorts. Then he says, “Did we actually table the Luca question? Because I’m getting mixed messages here, Mr. Private Service.”
“You may not whore me out to our rookie for orgasms, no,” Ilya says. “If you want us to help him, hands-on, then we can do that together.”
“I’m asking what you want,” Shane points out.
Ilya sighs, a little tired, a little thoughtful. Even after all these years, this is a lot of complicated English in a row. Shane is learning Russian, but he’s nowhere near Ilya’s level of fluency in English, so any conversation more complicated than We should make a grocery list is still English all the way.
Ah, well. Every life has its hardships, and Shane doesn’t care if Ilya’s English is messy. If he says something confusing, Shane will just ask him what he means. And if Shane says something confusing, Ilya will ask him what he means. Even without a language barrier, there was nothing as straightforward, as patient, as loving as this in Ilya’s childhood. He never expected anything like this. Ilya is living a beautiful, beautiful life.
He says, “I am exclusively fucking you because I am in love with you, and us exclusively fucking each other is what we both want. I do not want to open our relationship. If you want us together to help hot little rookie out one time, or two times, so he can live a beautiful gay life like ours, yes, that is fine. I would not otherwise fuck Luca Haas. You are the only one who can hold my interest like that. No one compares to you. And I would not fuck him by myself, even to help him out, for same reason. But if you have interest, and we do it together, then sure. That is still sex we are having together. And if you really want to help Luca with his problem, I agree that doing things will be more helpful for him than talking only.”
Shane nods against his cheek. They’re quiet for a while. Ilya assumes that Shane is just thinking it all over, and maybe confused about some of Ilya’s English phrasing.
Then Shane’s cock gives a weak little twitch.
Ilya draws back with a comically shocked expression. “I get you off three times on this floor where we sit, Hollander, and still!”
Shane covers his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”
“You are into our little rookie?” Ilya asks. To his happy surprise, he does not feel jealous, probably because Shane just spent the past hour telling Ilya how completely special and different he finds sex with Ilya compared to sex with anyone else. He does not think he has anything to worry about, really.
Even as he’s deciding he’s not jealous, Shane is saying, “No!” and uncovering his face to shove at Ilya’s chest with both hands. He hasn’t actually gotten off Ilya’s lap, so he doesn’t actually want to be further away. Ilya laughs, catches his wrists, and holds them to Ilya’s own chest.
“What is it, лучик ray of sunlight?”
Shane turns his face away like a reflex, cock still filling between them.
“You are not into rookie…” Ilya muses.
Shane groans and tilts his head back.
Ilya thinks about it. What else could...ah. This is very obvious.
“You want to show off,” Ilya says.
Shane blushes bright fucking red.
Ilya laughs. He is fucking delighted. He is smiling with his whole face. If he hadn’t just gotten off three times on top of the first day of conditioning, he would be picking Shane up and having him against the wall.
“We do have a lot to show off,” he says, thrusting up under Shane’s ass, lifting them both a couple inches off the ground.
“Oh my god, shut up,” Shane says.
“This is why people keep catching us? You want to be caught?” Ilya says, still laughing.
“I did not want to be outed in a fucking FanMail video,” Shane says. “That did not do it for me.”
“But at hockey camp,” Ilya presses. “When Ryan Price saw us. Twice.”
Shane groans and tucks his face between Ilya’s neck and his shoulder. “I didn’t know at the time,” he protests. “It wasn’t on purpose.”
“But now you know,” Ilya observes.
“For the past two fucking minutes, yes!” Shane says.
“You never know what it is you want until I tell you,” Ilya teases.
Shane bonks his head against Ilya’s collarbone a few times. “I know,” he groans. “That’s what I’ve been saying, this whole time.”
Ilya squeezes him around the ribs. He understood before, but he understands a little more now. “You are like Russian nesting doll,” he says.
“What?” Shane says.
“Inside one thing that gets you going, is another thing that gets you going, is another thing that gets you going, is another thing—”
“Oh my god, I get it,” Shane says, muffled by Ilya's neck.
“Is fun for me,” Ilya says. “I am very simple.”
“Yeah?” Shane sits back on Ilya’s thighs so they can look at one another.
“Yes,” Ilya says. “What gets me going is getting you going. You are the fun one.”
Shane’s face goes sweet all over. “I’m—that makes me really happy, Ilya.”
“And otherwise you are very boring,” Ilya adds. “So, is good you have this.”
“God, you are such an asshole.”
*