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Shane checks himself out in the mirror of the bar. He fixes his hair for the hundredth time, fiddling with his bangs to make them lay the way he wants, turning his head side to side to make sure he doesn’t have any stray pieces sticking up. He splashes water on his face to wash away the nerves threatening to take over. One last look, another tweak to his hair, and he sighs.
This is ridiculous. He shouldn’t be this nervous, this strung out. He and Ilya have done this several times by now, but the apprehension never gets easier. They’re married and publicly out, for fuck’s sake. That may be what terrifies him the most. The spotlight on them has grown more intense, an innumerable amount of eyes searching for any additional information regarding their personal lives.
Luckily, the bar near their Ottawa home doesn’t get much foot traffic, and the staff is fairly discreet. Even if they do get recognized here, the employees don’t make it obvious. They’ve been able to meet here several times without a tabloid article exposing the gritty details or a viral post about their whereabouts spreading. Still, Shane hasn’t quite been able to fully drown out the feeling of unease whenever they come here.
He tugs on the fabric of his plain black t-shirt, ensuring the hems and seams lay perfectly on his torso, and takes a deep breath. From the pocket of his leather jacket, he pulls out the case for his glasses along with a cleaning kit. He sprays the lens cleaner, wiping it away with a microfiber cloth and holding the glasses toward the overhead light to check for any streaks. One last deep breath enters his nose before he slides the frames on, another scan of his body in the mirror. Somehow, the glasses give him a faux air of confidence that he wasn’t quite expecting.
The dim light of the bar engulfs him as he exits the bathroom, his eyes taking a second to adjust to the change in brightness. He scans the bar for a handsome Russian man with a stupid fucking white lily pinned to his chest, spotting him in their usual corner booth.
“LilyRose81?” Shane asks, fighting to contain the laugh threatening to shake his chest from how ludicrous it sounds.
Ilya, who apparently lacks the same level of self control, snorts and quickly covers his mouth before nodding. “CanadaDry24?”
Unfortunately, the absurd fake username makes Shane crack a smile. He slides into the booth across from Ilya, already feeling a blush creep over his cheeks from the awestruck look he’s receiving.
“I like your glasses,” Ilya— sorry, LilyRose81— purrs.
“I only wear them for reading. My husband really likes them.”
Ilya smirks at the word husband. He’s gotten better about making himself jealous, the bizarre concept that it is. They’ve developed a good roleplay routine: they’re strangers cheating on their spouses with each other one night, then another night Ilya comes home as the possessive, dutiful husband. It’s a good balance, one that flows well with their normal sexcapades.
“And what do you like to read with your pretty glasses, hm?” Ilya asks with a crooked grin.
Shane blushes deeper, ducking his head to hide his smile. “I mostly read books about hockey. Y’know, Changing on the Fly, We Breed Lions, Gliding for Gold, stuff like that.”
“Sounds boring.” That earns Ilya a kick to the side of his foot under the table. “What do you like to drink, sweetheart? I’ll order for us.”
At this point, Shane’s ears are bright red. Ilya knows what he likes to drink, but he’s diving into this roleplay scenario with no hesitation, amping it up as much as he can. He just wants to see Shane read over the menu with his glasses.
Shane carelessly reads over the drink menu, not really reading any of the descriptions. Apparently, he doesn’t answer quickly enough for Ilya’s liking.
“How about I go get us some vodka? I like mine chilled and you like it mixed with gross cranberry juice, yes? Is what you told me in the chat.”
Shane rolls his eyes. There was no chat, Ilya just wanted to pretend they met online behind anonymous usernames. He also knows that Shane refuses to drink plain vodka.
“Oh, does it remind you of Vegas? Still mad I won MVP?”
“Go fuck yourself, Rozanov.”
Ilya slips out of the booth and heads to the bar, shooting a wink over his shoulder.
Despite their imaginary roles, this feels almost like a date night. Now that their relationship is public, they’ve been brave enough to go out occasionally. Not often, especially not to places that they’re likely to be papped and turned into a media spectacle for whatever random reason, but they do still like to take advantage of having the freedom to not hide. They once rented out a mini golf facility to celebrate Ilya’s birthday, though Shane still had to convince him that, yes, the invitation for Hayden’s family did include Hayden himself.
Ilya returns with two glasses, a vodka on the rocks and a vodka cranberry. Top shelf, no doubt.
“So, Mr. CanadaDry24,” Ilya says.
“Please do not call me that,” Shane groans with a laugh, covering his eyes to try and ignore the stupid grin on his very handsome (and very annoying) husband’s face.
Ilya reaches across the table to pull Shane’s hands away and intertwines their fingers. “Well, you still haven’t told me your name, krasavchik.”
“You know my name, idiot.”
“Uh, tonight I don’t. Might take me a long time to learn it. Might just call you Mr. Pretty Glasses,” Ilya winks.
Shane rolls his eyes again for probably the millionth time tonight. As irritated as he tries to act, the deep red flush on his cheeks gives away how smitten he is. He never fails to get flustered every time Ilya flirts with him, no matter how much he loves it.
“Come on,” Ilya whines, squeezing Shane’s hands, “you said you wouldn’t get shy and quiet this time. I’ve been half hard thinking about you bossing me around in your sexy glasses this whole night.”
Shane drops one of Ilya’s hands to take a sip of his drink. A very long sip, possibly a quarter of the glass. Enough to help him relax and give in to the roleplay.
“My name is Shane. And you?”
Ilya gives him a giddy smile, heart eyes on full display. “My name is Ilya. I’m not too good with names, so forgive me if I forget it.”
“Oh, so your asshole-isms still exist in this fantasy?”
“What is asshole-ism? Is that what you call the noises you make when I play with your asshole?”
“Oh my god, please shut the fuck up,” Shane giggles. He reconnects both of their hands and stares at Ilya lovingly. “What type of work do you do, Ilya?” He purrs his name in a tone that makes Ilya’s fingers twitch.
“I am physical therapist. Really good at helping people lift and stretch and move their body,” Ilya says, wiggling his eyes with the last few words. “And you? Sexy secretary? Librarian, maybe?”
“No, asshole. Shut up. Why would I still read hockey books in this scenario if I was a secretary?” Shane’s nose scrunches as he readjusts his glasses.
“So you are still hockey player for this? Really, Hollander?”
“Yes!”
“Boring.” Ilya blows a raspberry. Then his face shifts, the gears visibly turning in his head as he smirks. “So… have you had any injuries lately?”
“Actually, I have,” Shane mirrors his smirk, “I think I may have pulled something during my last game.”
“Oh, yeah? And what did you pull?”
“My groin. I’ve been meaning to get it looked at.”
Ilya’s lip twitches at the word groin, but he bites it back.
“Well, it just so happens that I live close by. Maybe we could do some physical therapy tonight at my place?”
Shane nods eagerly, pupils actively growing as he buzzes with lust. “Let’s get out of here.”
The both down their drinks, Ilya leaves a generous tip on the table before they leave.
The drive back home is torturous for Ilya, his knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. Shane is in the passenger seat, legs spread wide as he palms himself through his pants. He’s staring at the side of Ilya’s face, never taking his eyes off of him as he whimpers and squirms under his own touch. Ilya tries to move his spare hand to rest on Shane’s thigh, but it’s quickly slapped away.
“Uh-uh. No touching. Focus on the road,” Shane says breathlessly, licking his lips as he palms himself harder. His whines grow louder, borderline pornographic. He takes it a step further by throwing out the occasional Ilya and fuck under his breath.
By the time Ilya throws his car in park, the veins are popping out of his arms and his pupils are blown. He still doesn’t dare to touch Shane, despite how much he’s itching to. They both climb out of the car and race to the door, playfully shoving each other out of the way to get there first.
They barely make it through the door before Shane presses Ilya against the nearest wall and rubs his erection against his thigh. He kisses him hard and filthy, moaning into his mouth with desperation.
Shane moves to kiss across his jaw and down his neck. “Bedroom. Now.”
The breath gets knocked out of Ilya, as it always does when Shane gets bossy. It’s unbelievably attractive and drives Ilya wild. He’d crawl across burning coals if Shane asked him to. He grips under Shane’s thighs and lifts him up, Shane wraps his legs around his waist and continues the assault on his neck. It’s a fairly easy journey until they reach the stairs, Ilya holds Shane tight with one arm while the other rests on the railing.
“If you drop me, I will tie you to the bed and finger myself in front of you. Then I’m sleeping in the guest room. Alone.”
The thought almost tempts Ilya to drop him on purpose, aside from the sleeping alone part. Letting Shane tease him sometimes turns into an addiction.
Somehow, Ilya manages to get them to the bedroom unscathed. He lays Shane down on the bed gently, returning to his lips to kiss him again. Shane pushes at his clothes impatiently, giving Ilya unspoken permission to strip them both. To ensure Shane’s happiness, Ilya takes extra steps to put their clothes into the laundry hamper instead of scattering them along the floor.
“Good boy,” Shane grins.
Ilya freezes, staring at Shane in astonishment. His cock twitches at the praise, a revelation washing over him that he never expected to discover.
“Well?” Shane chirps impatiently. “Are you just gonna stand there and stare or do you want to fuck me?”
Ilya curses under his breath in Russian and rushes over to the bed, showering Shane’s body in kisses from his hips to his chest. Shane’s hands grip his curls to pull his face up and shove his tongue in his mouth.
“Lay on your back. Up against the headboard,” Shane breathes against his lips. Ilya obliges immediately. The sheets rustle under them as Shane climbs up the bed toward Ilya, straddling one of his thighs. “Don’t touch.” Shane looks at Ilya with a devilish grin before holding his hand open under his chin.
“Spit, please.” Shane’s voice is far too sweet for the filthy request he just made, but who is Ilya to refuse his wishes.
Shane coats his cock in Ilya’s spit, curling his hand over the top to create a pocket between his palm and Ilya’s thigh. He begins to rock his hips, slick sounds filling the room as they both moan.
“What’s my name?” Shane moans, pulling Ilya’s gaze away from the slippery cock sliding against his thigh.
“Wha-”
“You said you might forget it earlier, so tell me what my name is.” Shane grabs one of Ilya’s hands and brings it to his mouth, sucking in his thumb and swirling his tongue around the digit.
“Shane. Fuck,” Ilya groans, a drop of precum slipping down the swollen tip of his cock.
Shane gives him a flirty smile and speeds up the rhythm of his hips, salacious moans filling the air as he keeps his eyes locked on Ilya’s.
“Shane. Please. Please can I taste you? I need to taste you,” Ilya whines, his spare hand gripping the sheets to resist from touching the man in his lap. Shane slows his rhythm and slides off his thigh, motioning for Ilya to lay down. Once Ilya shifts, Shane swings a leg over his torso and backs up until his ass sits over Ilya’s face. “Bozhe moy.”
Ilya wraps his arms around Shane’s thighs to hold him close, relieved when he doesn’t punish him for uninstructed touch. Shane shuffles back to rest his hole on Ilya’s awaiting tongue, moaning loudly when Ilya wastes no time fucking it into him and slurping on his rim.
“Oh, fuck. Yes, Ilya. Fuck, just like that,” Shane whimpers as he rocks his hips against the wet muscle licking into him.
Ilya loses himself in pleasing his husband, nothing else in the world matters. His cock leaks more and more against his stomach with every uh uh uh that spills from Shane’s lips. It’s intoxicating. The musk, the taste, the sounds. Everything.
Shane lifts up suddenly, giggling when Ilya whines at the loss and tries chasing him with his tongue. He turns to face Ilya and curls a finger to motion him forward, which he happily follows. Shane lays down and spreads his legs wide, tugging Ilya down into a heated kiss.
Their cocks rub together deliciously, mixing Ilya’s remaining spit with their precum. It’s slick and obscene and absolutely fucking mindblowing.
“Get your fingers in me,” Shane grunts, gently shoving Ilya’s chest.
Ilya leans over to the bedside drawer and rummages around for the lube, pausing to brush his fingers over the vibrator that feels like it’s calling out to him. They’ve used it before, both have had their fair share of fun tormenting each other with it. Ilya grabs it before he can talk himself out of it and raises an eyebrow at Shane. Excitement pulses through Shane once he deciphers the silent question, nodding eagerly with shaky breaths.
The cap of the lube snaps open as Ilya coats his fingers and returns to his position between Shane’s legs.
“You want? Or can I use?” Ilya asks, motioning toward the vibrator with a nod.
“You. Holy shit. Please use it,” Shane whines, temporarily losing the commanding presence that took over him tonight. Ilya knows not to push it, not to tease him about it. Not tonight.
Ilya slides a pillow under Shane’s hips for better leverage and slowly brings a slick finger down to his hole. He traps Shane’s cock between the vibrator and his stomach, flicking on the first setting and gliding the toy from base to tip as he pushes one finger past his rim.
“Oh— Fuck,” Shane cries out and arches his back, unintentionally pushing Ilya’s finger deeper into him. “More. Give me another.”
It’s hard to resist Shane when he begs so prettily, especially with those goddamn glasses sitting askew on his face. Ilya kicks up the vibrator setting as a second finger slides in, basking in the delightful sounds that spill from Shane’s lips.
“Fuckfuckfuck. Right there. Holy shit. Just like that.”
Whenever Shane gets this blissed out, rambling and slurring his words between moans, it drives Ilya insane. It takes every fiber of his being to resist stuffing him full of his cock and fucking him until Shane begs him to stop.
Ilya adds a third finger, scissoring them to stretch Shane out as he shudders under the vibrator. Shane’s stomach is glistening from the precum smearing around on his skin. Another mental image to add to Ilya’s “away from home” spank bank.
Shane whimpers out a surprised oh as he suddenly comes, eyes flying open to stare at Ilya while he covers his stomach in his release. The sight nearly makes Ilya follow him right on the spot, his cock kicks out another bead of precum.
“There you go, sweetheart. Let it out for me,” Ilya talks him through it and crooks his fingers to brush his prostate.
Shane’s hand flies to grab the wrist of Ilya’s hand holding the vibrator, desperately pulling it away from his cock. He’s teetering on the edge of overstimulation, trying to give himself a break to avoid tapping out. He still needs Ilya to fuck him, he craves it.
“I’m stretched, I’m good. Just— fuck, hurry up and fuck me,” Shane whines breathlessly. And what kind of husband would Ilya be to ignore the sweet way he begs?
Ilya removes his fingers, groaning at the sight of Shane’s hole clenching from the loss. He tosses the vibrator aside and taps Shane’s thigh, a silent request for him to flip over, if he so chooses. Shane’s still in charge tonight.
Shane removes the pillow and turns over on his stomach, laying flat against the bed. He loves when Ilya fucks him like this, trapping his own cock between his body and the sheets to create a tantilizing drag.
Ilya slicks his cock in lube before grabbing Shane’s ass in both hands and spreading him wide, stretching the already loose rim. Spit drips against his hole with an obscene splat, both men emitting a noise of pleasure. Ilya presses the head of his cock into him, slowly sinking in until their hips are flush against each other.
Ilya slurs various things in Russian, Shane can roughly translate the words tight and delicious and mine. His toes curl as Ilya begins to move, draping his torso over Shane’s back and bracing his elbows on either side of his head.
Shane turns his head to the side to make sure Ilya hears him clearly. “Say my name.”
“Mylyi moy,” Ilya moans into Shane’s ear, rutting his hips harder.
“That’s not what I said,” Shane grits through his teeth and clenches down, earning more mumbled Russian curses.
The tightness is savory, pushing Ilya closer to the edge. He wants it again and again and again and again. He keeps whimpering words in Russian, hungry to feel the squeeze again. Shane reaches back and grips Ilya’s hips to stop his thrusts.
“Don’t move until you say my fucking name, Ilya,” Shane growls, digging his nails into the skin of Ilya’s waist. He clenches around him hard, the sensation toeing the line of painful.
Ilya groans and plants kisses across Shane’s shoulders, trailing up to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He nibbles and licks the lobe, sucking it into his mouth before pressing his lips to the antihelix.
“Shane. My beautiful Shane. You feel wonderful, baby,” Ilya whispers, continuing his thrusts once Shane releases his hips. Shane buries his face in the pillow, glasses no doubt digging uncomfortably into the bridge of his nose.
The room fills with a fusion of slapping skin, Shane’s whimpers, and Ilya’s grunts. It’s loud, filthy, echoing off the walls over and over.
“Fuck, malýsh. I’m so close,” Ilya moans into the crook of Shane’s neck, biting down on the flesh gently.
“Wait. Stop, stop.”
Ilya halts his movements immediately, snapping out of his daze, afraid he might’ve accidentally hurt Shane. He searches his face for any sign of pain. Shane pushes on Ilya’s hip, motioning for him to pull out.
“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” Ilya asks, watching as Shane turns over and slips to his knees on the floor.
“Not at all, baby. I want you to finish on my face,” Shane grins and adjusts his glasses before adding a polite, “please.”
Ilya chokes on the air in his lungs, his heartbeat drumming loudly in his ears, and nods eagerly. He scoots to the edge of the bed, spreading his knees as Shane fits between them.
Shane locks eyes with Ilya as he reaches back, collecting lube from his entrance before spitting into his hand and wrapping it around Ilya’s cock.
Ilya swears under his breath, incoherent mixes of English and Russian. It’s fucking obscene, Shane’s eyes burning into Ilya’s as he strokes him. Ilya’s thighs twitch and he hisses, a clear sign that he’s nearing his orgasm.
Shane leans forward to lick around the head of his cock, dipping his tongue into the slit and moaning against it as he begins to stroke himself with his free hand. Ilya tilts his head back as he gets closer, but Shane bites his inner thigh to grab his attention.
“Look at me, Ilya. Watch me take your cum. I want you to say my name when you finish.”
The combination of Shane’s sultry voice and the way he suckles on the head of Ilya’s cock sends him over the edge.
“Shane.” Ilya comes with a moan that erupts deep from his chest, painting streaks across Shane’s face over his chin, his flushed freckled cheeks, and those fucking gorgeous glasses.
They’ve barely caught their breath before Ilya hauls Shane up on the bed and sucks down his cock in one swift motion, swallowing around him when it hits the back of his throat.
“Holy— Fuck. Yes,” Shane cries out as he fills the warm mouth relentlessly sucking him in. Ilya moans at the taste and milks him through his orgasm, swallowing every lost drop. He pulls off with a lewd slurp and collapses on the bed next to Shane.
Shane’s body is twitching in the aftermath, letting out quiet hums as he catches his breath. After a few minutes, he feels the bed dip as Ilya sits up. He can’t bring himself to find the energy to open his eyes, even when he hears the bathroom sink turn on, until Ilya is suddenly next to his side of the bed and slipping the soiled glasses off his face. He cracks his eyes open as Ilya cleans him with a warm rag, wiping softly along his cheeks and kissing across his forehead.
Shane smiles up at Ilya, pulling him down for a sweet kiss before he gets too far. His heart soars when he notices the glasses cleaning kit sitting on the nightstand next to a bottle of gatorade.
“How’s that for physical therapy, huh?” Ilya smirks.
“Shut the fuck up, oh my god,” Shane giggles. If only he had the energy to reach over and swat him. “I love you,” he blurts out with a giddy smile.
“I love you as well,” Ilya grins, leaning down to kiss him again.
Shane doesn’t put up much of a fight as Ilya carries him to the shower. They share languid kisses under the warm water, helping each other wash away the mess of cum and sweat and spit covering their bodies. Ilya steps out alone once he’s clean, leaving Shane some privacy as he works through his post-sex cleaning ritual.
When Shane reenters their bedroom a moment later, the sheets are changed and Ilya is already in bed waiting for him. His glasses are clean on the nightstand, sitting neatly on top of the book he’s been reading recently. A pleasing gesture, though he’s far too exhausted to read tonight. His husband is perfect. Shane slides under the covers and Ilya immediately tugs him over to lay on his chest, which he sinks into with ease.
“So… same time next week?” Ilya grins then yelps as Shane pinches his side.
“I hate you,” Shane mumbles with his eyes closed.
“No you don’t.”