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The final buzzer sounded, and the crowd roared to life around him as his Husband buried yet another goal in the back of the net. Ilya felt his heart stop, right there on the ice, and then Shane was skating toward him with a wide smile and teary eyes. Ilya knew he felt the same. It wasn’t his first time winning the Stanley Cup, and it most certainly wasn’t Shane’s first time winning the Stanley Cup. It was their first time winning together. They had won their first cup together as husbands with their team.
He dropped his sticks and gloves just in time to catch Shane as he flung himself into his arms. They knocked each other’s helmets off, and their lips met in a passionate, hunger, adrenaline-fueled kiss. A fire sparked between them, and the crowd only got louder around them. Ilya held Shane close to him, gripped his face, and licked into his mouth as he allowed Shane to melt into it. Winning this cup felt better than anything he had ever felt. It was better than any drug, any drink, and it felt like the first time he had sex with Shane. It was orgasmic and ethereal.
In the back of his mind, he knew all the cameras were zooming in on them. Commentators were speaking excitedly, from rivals at first glance to kissing after winning the cup as a team, as a couple, as husbands. Ilya felt like he couldn’t breathe, and it was only when Shane pulled just a breath's width away. He was staring at Ilya like he was the only thing that existed in the arena, like he hung the moon and stars just for him, and God, Ilya would. “We did it,” Shane said. “Oh my god, Ilya! We just won the fucking cup!”
Ilya nodded frantically and pulled him into another searing kiss. “Yes! As husbands this time, together!”
“Together,” Shane repeated.
Together they hoisted the cup over their heads, and they wore proud smiles. Their teammates crushed in around them with their families. Nothing could be better. Nothing in the entire world would ever fill Ilya with such pride and with such relief. He felt like he had been fighting for this since he was traded, a mark on the league, a bold and proud statement. Do not underestimate Ilya Rozanov. He will win; he will always come out at the other end. He may be battered and bruised; glued back together in so many different spots, but Ilya Rozanov was a fighter to the end. He had poured his heart, body, mind, and soul into his team. He cried for them. He bled for them. He dragged each of them to the surface and forced them to walk again, and he carried the ones who had lost all hope on his back.
The cup, shiny, heavy, and stamped across their team. They are here. They are just getting started. Pay attention now.
Ilya felt for the first time since he beat a shy, freckled, Canadian boy at his own game, invincible. Nothing could hurt him. Nothing could ruin him. “For мой мама!” he shouted. Shane grinned so bright and so happy. Ilya knew he felt the same. He knew this was Shane Hollander’s fuck you to the league. Fuck you to those who burned his jerseys. Fuck you to those who turned their backs on him, all because he fell in love with a boy. Fuck you to anyone who had dared to doubt him. He was still Shane Hollander, he was still the goddamn prince of Hockey, and he was doing what he did best. Win cups.
Fuck you to anyone who has ever doubted them. To anyone who ever spat at them or abandoned them. They were unstoppable as long as they were together. No longer rivals, but a team.
The locker room was chaotic. His team surrounded him in various states of undress, cheering, shouting, and crowding around each other. Cameras were recording their locker room celebrations, but they weren’t being paid attention to. It was Zane who grabbed the champagne, Wyatt and Evan each grabbing a bottle too, and then they were all shaking the bottles and spraying the liquid everywhere.
Shane was smiling so hard, eyes crinkling, and cheeks flushing hard as Zane pulled him into a side hug and he tipped the bottle into Shane’s awaiting mouth. Ilya felt like he was flying, his entire body was shaking, and his heart was pounding inside his chest. Shane looked so goddamn happy, and Ilya felt so goddamn happy.
“We fucking did it!” Troy shouted as he slung his arm around Ilya’s neck. Ilya wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed. “The fucking cup!”
“Fuck yeah!” Ilya shouted. “We’re just getting started!” Ilya roared as he climbed onto a bench, and he demanded that his team look at him. “We just fucking won the Stanley fucking cup! You feel this, you live in this, and you never let this go! We are just getting started! We will not lose this, hear me? We did it, and next season we will do it again!” The team erupted around him, and Shane was staring at him with that heated look and full of adoration. Ilya hopped down, grabbed his face, and planted a kiss on his mouth. He tasted like champagne and winning.
Shane threaded his fingers into his sweat-damp curls, and he licked into his mouth while pulling him closer. They weren’t a couple that often showed PDA around their teammates, besides little touches, hand holding, and gentle pecks to mouths. Shane was usually strict, but with the win coursing through his veins, it seemed he let go of all of his inhibitions. Shane pulled back, and he stared up at his husband with shining eyes. “ I love you,” He said firmly.
Ilya smiled so hard it hurt his cheeks. “я тебя люблю,” Ilya said just as firmly.
Around them, their team was celebrating, screaming, and falling all over each other in something close to ecstasy. The rookies were flushed in the face, Holmberg, LePointe, and Young were jumping around excitedly. Ilya could tell they were hungry for it now. Luca, who was usually shy, even joined in with them, laughing and shouting with them.
Ilya felt like he was on top of the world. Nothing could beat that feeling. He was flying.
Shane was taking forever in the bathroom. Ilya would roll his eyes if he didn’t love him so much. He stood in front of the hotel mirror, adjusted his hair so his curls fell into his face a little more, and he unbuttoned another button on his shirt to reveal more of his chest. Then he buttoned it back and tilted his head and unbuttoned it again. His shirt was black and sheer, and he left only the last six or so buttons buttoned so that the shirt fell open and showed off his chest and the upper part of his abs. His pants were beige dress pants, and fitted so they hugged his ass and thighs just right. It all looked good, his engagement ring sat behind his gold wedding band and caught the lamp light if he twisted his hand just right, the small diamonds of his engagement ring twinkling. They were flat and pressed into the gold of the band, and Ilya loved it. He loved that they matched his gold Rolex and his mother’s crucifix that sat just at the hollow between his pecs.
He smiled to himself, and then wandered to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “мой чемпон,” He called gently. “We will be late if you don’t hurry, and then the team will think we’re late because we were fucking. Then you will blame me, and I will let you because I am a good-” Shane opened the door, and Ilya softened at his annoyed glare. “-husband.” He took in his man’s appearance. He wore a bronze colored dress shirt, the top three buttons undone, revealing the perfect stretch of skin and part of his collar bones. His pants were fitted, hugging his legs- his ass -perfectly in a sleek black color. His own gold wedding band glittering, his black Rolex. Everything. He was delectable.
“Sweetheart, you look-” he stepped back and sucked in a harsh breath, and he watched Shane fidget under his attention. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair and tucked a longer strand behind his ear. His hair was longer now, and he had it cut into a styled modern mullet. Shane refused to acknowledge that’s what it was, but Ilya didn’t care when he looked so handsome.
“Too much?” Shane asked with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
“No,” Ilya breathed as he closed the distance between them and squeezed his hips gingerly. “Perfect. Beautiful. You look-” He shook his head and smiled. “Stunning.”
“Fuck off,” Shane blushed. Ilya pulled him flush against him, and his hands fell to his ass, and he squeezed almost too harshly. Then, as his thumbs rubbed across the short expanse of where he gripped, he felt the delicate lace beneath, and he turned Shane around in his arms to look down at his ass.
To the unassuming eye, there was nothing, but Ilya was very familiar with Shane’s ass. He knew how it looked when he wore briefs in contrast to panties. “Are you wearing panties?” His breath felt punched out of him, and his heart kicked hard against his chest as he went for Shane’s belt. Shane was quicker- always faster -and slapped his hands away.
“Yes,” He hissed. “I-” He blushed and shrugged. “I like how I feel in them.”
Ilya could barely focus. “How do you feel?”
“Sexy,” Shane shrugged, flushing darker. “Confident.”
“You are always sexy,” Ilya groaned. “Let’s be late. Let me see.”
“No!” Shane laughed. “Down, boy. You’ll see them after, promise.”
Ilya wanted to fight it. He wanted to argue, but Shane was already pushing past him to slip into his shoes. He bent over, and Ilya fell against the wall, his hand gently palming over his hardening cock. “Baby,” Ilya whined. “Let’s celebrate here by ourselves.”
“Ilya Hollander-Rozanov,” Shane hissed at him. “We would never hear the end of it!” Ilya was going to protest, but Shane just looked so fucking adorable scowling at him. “Remember when we skipped out last time? Three months, Ilya. For three months, we never heard the end of it!”
Ilya whined again, high and needy in his throat, and he pouted, which earned him a fond eyeroll as Shane crossed back over to him. He placed his hand on Ilya’s bare chest, and he leaned up pressing a quick and sweet kiss to his lips. “If you’re good, I’ll ride you into the mattress. Deal?”
Ilya would rather Shane ride him into the mattress now, but his husband was determined, for once, to go out and party with their team. “Suck my dick too?”
“If you’re extra good, Daddy.”
Ilya groaned and thumped his head back against the wall a few times, and then, with a sigh far too dramatic, “Okay, let’s go,” Ilya nodded quickly. “Wouldn’t want our champions waiting long.”
They arrived at the restaurant to a full table, their hands interlinked, and the table already buzzing with drinks and conversation. The table was filled with family and friends. Partners, kids, friends, Shane’s parents. “Oh wow,” Bood said in a sarcastic tone, his arm draped around his wife’s chair, and Shane raised his eyebrows toward him. Ilya pulled out his husband’s chair before sitting on his own. “You two are actually on time.”
“We aren’t always late,” Shane said in a small huff.
Troy clicked his tongue, and he shared a look with Harris. “I mean, not to practice or game days,” Troy said with a small nod, his hand intertwined with Harris’s on the table.
“But,” Harris said with a small giggle. “Anything else…dinners, team outings, cookouts. Especially after a win-”
“Okay!” Shane interrupted. “Not with my parents at the table.”
Yuna and David were laughing softly, and Ilya gently touched the back of Shane’s neck in a soothing action. Shane relaxed under his touch like he always did when Ilya touched him, and it was something that he learned early on about their relationship. All those years ago, when Shane submitted so easily- so naturally. His touch calmed Shane’s anxieties and quieted his overthinking brain. He loved it. He loved that he was the only one who could tether Shane to reality.
They all placed their orders with their waitresses, and they all had their beer or wine, sipping it as they talked amongst themselves. Small conversations broke out across the table, and Ilya grinned, and his chest fluttered at Shane letting go. Shane’s hand was resting on his thigh, idly rubbing his thumb against the seam of his pants, and Ilya couldn’t be happier.
By the time the dinner had wound down, the check was paid, and their Coach made his end of the season speech about what an honor it’s been to coach such a special team. The team was ready to get to the club and to really celebrate their win. Ilya was standing next to the Hollander’s car, smiling softly as Shane hugged his parents. Then Yuna was pulling away and opening her arms for Ilya, who fell into them. “I am so proud of you!” She whispered against his cheek. “You played so well this season, enjoy tonight, and we will see you when you two get to the cottage.”
Ilya felt his lips wobble, and his vision blurred as she pulled back and held his face in her hands. Her thumbs swiped across his cheekbones. “я тебя люблю, мой мальчик.” Ilya’s breath hitched, Yuna’s smile soft and motherly, and he smiled a little watery.
I love you, my boy.
Her pronunciation was a little clunky, but it still filled him with a mother’s love that he lost. мой мальчик was what his own mother had called him when he was little, when she was too tired to leave bed, and he was crawling under the covers seeking her warmth to whisper all about his day and his practice. Even through her exhaustion, through her weighted sadness, she would pull him close to her chest and kiss his golden curls. She would whisper against his forehead, Мой мальчик, я люблю тебя. He would melt against her. My boy, I love you.
“я люблю тебя, Мама.” He whispered back.
His body ached, he felt full, and it was like all his love was threatening to pour out of him. Shane was back at his side. “Love you guys,” He smiled. Once his parents were in the car, Ilya wrapped him up in his arms and buried his face in his neck. He had never in his life felt so loved and seen.
The club was thumping when they arrived, shots were ordered, and they were downed in the same minute. Shane was letting go and indulging. Ilya was in love with him and giggling as Shane’s face screwed up in disgust as he sucked on the lime.
The team was scattered, the younger rookies on the prowl for someone to cozy up to for the night, and a few of the couples dancing in the mix of the crowd. Shane and Ilya sat at a table not far from the dance floor, Bood and Cassie pressed close together, sneaking kisses, Luca nursing his second beer, and Caitlyn and Dykstra sitting, but with Caitlyn in his lap as he kissed her shoulder and buried his face in her short hair. Shane and Ilya sat pressed together, Ilya’s arms draped around Shane’s shoulders, and they each had their own drinks and downed shots as they were brought to the table.
The music was blasting, vibrating through his chest, and his hands were itching for a smoke just from the habit of it all. “Hey, Rozy!” Wyatt plopped down next to the couple, his wife, Lisa, behind him. “Look what I snagged from Young.”
He held up a little baggie with gummies. They were multicolored, shaped into little rings, and Ilya grinned as he took the baggie and opened it to sniff it. The aroma of the unmistakable scent of weed melds with the sweetness of the fruit and sugar. “How strong?” He asked. Shane was leaning on him heavily, eyes on the bag as he sipped his own ginger ale vodka mix.
“Young said each ring is eight milligrams,” Wyatt grinned, and Ilya helped himself to two rings and popped them into his mouth. He offered the bag to Shane.
Shane was adamant about not doing any sort of drug, but he liked edibles. He’d tried them their second year at the cabin when Ilya had brought a little baggie for himself, and Ilya promised to babysit him on his first high. It resulted in Ilya watching his then-boyfriend giggle and letting go of the anxieties that bound him. “Want one?” Ilya asked. Shane bit his lip and nodded. His face was already flushed from the alcohol swimming in his system, and his shoulders were lax. Ilya suddenly couldn’t wait to disappear with him at the cottage, where for two weeks he will look the very same as he does now.
Shane only ate one gummy, and Ilya smiled as he passed the baggie to Dykstra and his wife. Ilya downed his drink, and he tapped Shane’s thigh. “Let me up, Baby. I want another.”
“Get me one too,” Shane smiled as he stood to let his husband up. Ilya grinned and kissed him quickly and swatted at his ass, then he was gone, making his way through the crowd. He maneuvered with practiced ease through the crowd of people to the bar, years of practice from when he was a clubrat in Moscow, and then more when he crawled to different clubs after a Boston win. While he leaned against the bar, he surveyed the crowd. Bodies were mingling on the dance floor, girls pressed against each other, guys looking to score, and even a few guys pressed against each other. He spotted his rookies leaning against a table, chatting to a group of girls. He grinned as he thought about his time as a rookie. Even then, he was just trying to substitute what he really wanted. He turned away from his rookies, making fools of themselves.
He flagged down the bartender. He was handsome with tattoos littering his arms, and his hair long enough to touch his shoulders in thick waves. He smiled at Ilya as he leaned too close to him, and Ilya ordered his drinks, paying no mind to the man’s advances. While he made his way back to the table, he smiled sweetly at a pretty girl who clearly started moving a little more seductively against her current dance partner. He laughed and shook his head.
Back at the table, Cassie had disappeared, but Troy had taken her place next to Bood. Strangest of all, Shane was gone. Ilya looked around with his eyebrows pinched. “Where did Shane go?” Ilya asked as he sat down with their drinks. Troy smirked and jutted his chin to the dance floor. No.
Ilya whipped his head around, and sure enough, his husband was pressed between Harris and Cassie. He was not much of a dancer, but he had a big, relaxed smile as he held onto Harris’s hips in front of him and allowed Cassie to run up and down his arms and shoulders. He couldn’t fight the smile if he tried. “Jesus Christ,” He whispered.
Heat surged through his body and landed low in his belly. He could only subtly press the heel of his palm to his cock in an attempt at some relief, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away even as Troy slapped his arms a few times, almost excitedly. “Aren’t we lucky?” Troy asked in a slightly slurred excitement. Lucky didn’t even begin to describe what Ilya felt. He felt like he was on fire.
Bood held up his glass. “I’ll drink to that!”
Ilya laughed as he tore his eyes from his husband, who was currently grinding back against Cassie, and he cheered with his teammates. They were like magnets; Ilya’s eyes dragged back to Shane’s moving body. His hands went from Harris’ hips to slide up his own body, his hands in the air as he moved, and Harris turned around to move against Shane. His lidded gaze found Ilya’s, and a smirk tugged at his lips as he continued to move against Harris and Cassie.
Ilya leaned back in his seat, glass in his hand resting on the table, and his hand in his lap not subtly pressing against where he was hard in his dress pants. He winked at Shane as he watched his Husband’s eyes trail over his body, and then zero in on the hand on his dick. Ilya could see the need in his eyes. The desire crashed over him in a heated wave.
Shane’s face was flushed, his smile carefree, and his eyes soft and so fucking clouded. Ilya only ever saw him like this at the cottage, or sometimes at home when they had a stretch of a few days off. Shane was also a lightweight, so the little alcohol he had mixed with the gummy he ate was working its magic as it cleared his mind from any overthinking. All Ilya could do was stare at him and try not to drool.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been watching them dance. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, or a lifetime. Ilya’s eyes never left his husband once. Shane was sweating, panting as he stumbled back while giggling. He didn’t plop down next to Ilya, no, he was too far gone for that, so he sat in Ilya’s lap and leaned back against his chest.
Ilya’s arms circled his waist tightly, his hands flat against Shane’s chest, and his lips grazing his ear as he spoke. “You look so good, Sweetheart. Letting go looks good on you.”
Shane hummed as he set his drink back down. “Winning looks good on me,” He countered with a sly smirk. Ilya laughed and kissed his shoulder. “You’re hard.”
Ilya laughed against his shoulder, and he glanced at the table to see if they heard his drunk husband stating the obvious. Cassie had dragged Zane to the dancefloor, and Harris was consuming Troy’s mouth in a heated kiss. Ilya pushed his hips up against Shane’s ass. “Think so, мой ребенок?”
“Me too,” Shane whimpered as he ground down against Ilya’s lap. He sighed dreamily, and his head lolled as he picked up his drink and downed it in one big gulp. “Let’s go home. Wanna fuck,” He nodded decisively. “Fuck me.”
Ilya was enjoying it too much. “No, кролик. Let’s dance first.”
Shane whined, his eyes glossy, and so clearly hazy it made Ilya feel a little dizzy.
“Daddy,” Shane breathed. He turned his head and pouted at his husband in a way that almost had Ilya caving right there on the spot. “Please? Can we go home?”
“Not yet, малыш.” He nudged Shane off his lap and then led him with a hand to the small of his back to the dance floor. He pulled Shane close to him, his chest to his lover’s back, and his hips pressing and rubbing against Shane’s ass. “Just dance with me, Baby.”
Shane was plastered to his front, his weight leaned heavily on him, and his hands reached behind him to tangle into Ilya’s hair. Ilya’s mind was gone with rational thought as he ground his hips against Shane’s ass. His hand that was resting on Shane’s hip dragged up his flank. Feather-light finger tips brushed against Shane’s shirt, and then against his tricep with just the barest of touches. They were moving in sync and a little sloppily, grinding against each other while Ilya mouthed at his neck and behind his ear. Shane dropped one of his arms in favor of reaching behind them to grab Ilya’s ass.
The room was only slightly spinning, the multicolored lights were bleeding into each other, and he felt happy. Light. Free. Shane was giggling, smiling big and bright. Ilya’s hands ran up his chest, and then he was manhandling Shane so he could turn him around. He was flushed, his cheeks a red that spread all the way down his neck, and his eyes were wide and glassy, a familiar haze filling them beautifully. “Ilya!” Shane grinned and fell against his chest. Ilya kept them moving and wedged his thigh between Shane’s legs. Shane groaned and pressed his forehead against Ilya’s chest.
“So pretty, Baby.” Ilya crooned, his words slurring to his own ears, and he couldn’t help but slide his hands down Shane’s back until he could grab his ass. His limbs felt heavy, and he was a little clumsy with his movements.“So pretty.” The club around them melted away. It was only Shane, grinding his hips against his thighs, and making sweet noises in the air between them. Bodies disappeared. Music slowed to a faint beat. Ilya held onto Shane for dear life.
“Shut up,” Shane slurred and lolled his head to the side only slightly as he ground his hips down against Ilya’s thigh. He moaned softly, his hands curled tightly into fists in Ilya’s shirt at his sides. They were sticky with sweat. Every brush of his tongue against warm skin tasted faintly like salt and something uniquely Shane.“Can we go back to the hotel now?” Shane asked, his voice taking on a thready, needy pitch. “I can be so good for you,” Shane whispered, his lips brushing against Ilya’s collarbone, and he trailed his wet tongue up a path to Ilya’s neck. “Wanna be good for you, Daddy.”
Ilya’s resolve broke. It crumbled like cheap plaster, and Ilya grabbed Shane’s hand, locking their fingers together. Shane giggled the entire way out of the club. He pressed against Ilya’s shoulder and his mouth against his bicep as he watched Ilya order them an Uber. “Need you,” Shane whimpered. “‘M so hard.”
Ilya was lit with desire. It burned him, it roared like a wildfire in his belly, and it licked up his spine until it reached his heart. He gripped the nape of his neck and crashed his lips into Shane’s hard for a kiss that leaked desperation. “Five minutes, моя любовь.” He licked across Shane’s bottom lip and earned a breathy laugh from the man pressed against him. “Боже, детка, ты меня погубила,” Ilya whispered against his lips, and then he consumed him again. He dipped his tongue into his mouth and chased after the burn of alcohol on his tongue.
“Fuck,” Shane groaned as he buried his face into Ilya’s neck, and his hips stuttered against the solid muscle of Ilya’s thigh. Ilya only pulled him closer, giggling to himself as he snuck a hand up and undid the buttons of Shane’s shirt in practiced ease, and Shane let out a breathless sound as he wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck and brought his mouth back to his own. It didn’t matter that they were outside of the club, that there were people scattered around them, or that he was two seconds from dragging Shane down an alley to fuck him against a brick wall.
The honk of a car startled both of them. Ilya couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he dragged Shane to the SUV. “Rosanoff?” The driver asked, looking at his phone, and Ilya giggled as Shane frowned and an adorable wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he glared and pouted at the driver.
“Rozanov!” He corrected the man. Ilya soothed him by pulling him into the car and cupping his jaw to kiss him again.
“That’s hot,” Ilya groaned. “My shining knight.”
“Knight in shining armor,” Shane laughed. Ilya didn’t care; he just wanted to keep Shane close to him, and he really didn’t give a damn about the man driving them or that he could hear them. What could he possibly do? Upload a video to social media of them heatedly making out and getting handsy? “Ilya,” Shane moaned softly. He pulled back just enough to look between them, and then he was teasing a hand over Ilya’s hard, clothed cock. “Jesus Christ,” He whispered.
“Fuck,” Ilya hissed. He took Shane by the wrist and placed his hand firmer over himself. “Don’t tease.”
“Could you guys maybe…not?” The driver asked, and Ilya flicked an icy glare toward him. “Hey! I’m not homophobic or anything! I just- my seats?”
Shane giggled next to him, but settled and withdrew his hand back to himself. “Down, boy.” He teased, knocking his knee against Ilya’s own knee. He was biting his lip, leaning back in the seat, and Ilya wanted to damn the driver and fuck Shane right there.
Luckily, the drive to the hotel wasn’t long, and they were out of the car before the car even came to a complete stop. “A tip!” Shane gasped as he stared back at their Uber, now pulling away.
“Oh,” Ilya rasped. “I’ll give you tip.”
“Fuck off!” Shane laughed, smacking Ilya’s shoulder.
They fell into the elevator together, Ilya pinning Shane against the wall the minute the doors closed, and he kissed him roughly, with one of his hands cradling Shane’s cheek. “I gave good tip,” He said into Shane’s mouth. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart.”
Shane nodded as he chased after Ilya’s lips with lidded eyes and lust-fueled desire. Ilya licked into his mouth, claiming it as his own, his free hand slipping down to grab at Shane’s ass, and another surge of want coursed through him. “I need you,” He said as he nipped Shane’s jaw. “Can’t wait to see these.” He said, slipping his fingers into the waistband just enough to snap the lacy material against his tanned skin.
“I’ve got a surp-surprise too,” Shane moaned. Ilya pulled back to look at his boy. He gripped Shane by his jaw and watched as he tried to smile. “I’ve got a plug in.”
“Oh my god.”
The doors opened, and they tumbled out together, giggling, and stopping every few feet to make out. Then they were at the door, and Shane fumbled with the keycard as Ilya worked on getting the rest of the buttons undone on Shane’s shirt. By the time their door opened, Shane’s shirt was half off, and Ilya’s belt was unbuckled. Ilya couldn’t wait any longer, so he pinned Shane to the wall to kiss him stupid. “Bed, Ilya, c’mon, bed now.” Shane shoved Ilya back, and they stumbled as they walked back to the bed, and kissed each other like they’d die if their lips didn’t touch for longer than a second.
Shane hit the bed first with a giggle and a soft oof. He scooted up until he was against the headboard, his clothes were scattered, and had he been sober, he would’ve cared more. He was just in his panties, a vision in a baby pink lace with frilly, white lace trimmings, and just to especially drive Ilya mad, a little white bow front and center pushed out by the peeking head of his cock. It left nothing to the imagination, the lace see through, and showed off Shane’s pretty, leaking cock.
Ilya shoved his briefs down and away so he could wrap a hand around himself. He leaned a knee on the bed, his eyes never leaving Shane’s body, and he watched as Shane’s legs automatically fell open. There, damn near teasing him, and nestled between his asscheeks, stuffing his hole was a plug. Not just any plug, either, but Ilya’s favorite one to use on Shane. The one with the script property of I.R. written in big bold letters across the flared base. He let go of his own cock in favor of grabbing Shane’s ankle, and then he dragged his husband down the bed so he could cover him. He earned a squeal and giggles that billowed out of Shane from surprise, and his own laughter was breathy and love-fueled as he made his place home between Shane’s legs. They were a breath’s width apart, giggling and smiling into each other’s mouths as they kissed.
“Hi,” Shane sighed in another small laugh. “We won the fucking cup today.”
“We did,” Ilya grinned softly as he rested his full weight on Shane. “Because of you, Мой чемпион.”
Shane bit his lip. “Gonna fuck me now?” He asked. “As a reward?”
Ilya smiled and hid his face against Shane’s neck. “So needy, Hollander.”
“Hmmm, yes,” Shane agreed.
Ilya lifted, gently moved a long strand of hair out of Shane’s eyes, and then kept scratching his scalp gently. He pulled Shane into a deep kiss, but it felt a little wrong. Both of them were smiling too hard and giggling into each other’s mouths.
Ilya laughed, his chest feeling light, and his body buzzing with need. “Мой чемпион, you have four cups now.”
Shane’s smile dipped just enough so he could crash his mouth into Ilya’s. Ilya only pulled away so he could sponge wet kisses down the length of Shane’s chest. He nipped at the jutting bone of Shane’s hip, his hands caressed his calves and thighs as he worked a bruise to his hip, and Shane was writhing under him. His hands were scratching at Ilya’s shoulders, slipping into his hair, and yanking the curls with small whines escaping his lips.
“Please,” Shane whispered.
“I’ll give you what you want, Sweetheart.”
He lavished his tongue above the waistline of Shane’s panties. His eyes never left his boy as he moved against the bed, his back bowing slightly, his head tilting back exposing his neck, and a smile stretching across his face. He took the waistband of the panties between his teeth and shot Shane a wink as he pulled back and let it snap against his skin. “Jesus Christ..” Shane moaned.
Ilya smirked as he began to pull the panties off, Shane. “Lift your hips, моя принцесса.” Shane obeyed with a soft hitched breath, and once he was completely naked, Ilya bit his lip as his hands rubbed up his thighs. Shane was so good, desperate for it, and even more so in his drunken state. “So pretty, Princess.”
“Fuck,” Shane whined. “Touch me, please.”
Ilya settled between his thighs, his hand teasingly skating a finger down the length of his hard cock to his balls, and to his stuffed hole. Pride flooded Ilya’s chest, his stomach fluttered, and his cock ached. His boy. His husband. He wore a plug all night, in front of their friends and family, and all so he would be ready for Ilya. “So pretty,” Ilya murmured in a short awed wonder as he tapped the plug a few times. It earned him a pitchy cry of pleasure.
“Need you to fuck me, Daddy,” Shane whined. “I need it so bad, please, Daddy, I’ve been good all night.”
“Don’t worry, мой чемпион, I’ll give you what you need.”
Ilya took the plug by the base, watched in rapt attention as he toyed with it, and then finally pulled it free. He watched as Shane clenched around nothing, and a cry ripped from his throat. “Empty,” He whimpered. “Please, Daddy!”
Ilya had been with Shane long enough to know he didn’t need to check with his fingers, that Shane liked the burn of a stretch, and that he was so close to toeing that line of pure bliss that he was trusting Ilya to just take care of him. Ilya fished the lube out of the nightstand, coated his cock generously, and then- just because he liked Shane’s reaction -drizzled some directly over his hole. “Ohmygod,” Shane whined. “Fuck me, please, need it now! C’mon, Ilya, Daddy, please!”
He was babbling, and Ilya was floating with his own vision swimming and his own head filling with static and cotton. He lined himself up, and, almost torturously slow, he pushed in. “Fucking-” he grunted as he collapsed to his hands on either side of Shane’s head. Shane’s hands were clawing down his back, his nails biting his skin, and leaving a burning ache behind them. His face screwed up in pleasure-soaked pain, and his back bowed as his hips twitched. “So tight, baby, still so fucking tight.”
“Not gonna,” Shane cried. He wore a drunk smile, but his eyes were soaked in unshed tears clumping to his eyelashes. “Oh-oh fuck me! Daddy!”
“C’mon,” Ilya whined, thready and high in his throat, his hands curling into the sheets beneath them. “Take it, Baby, c’mon..made for this cock.”
Every inch was agonizingly slow, Shane opened beautifully beneath him, and his mouth hung open in silent cries. Once he was seated all the way in, buried to the hilt, and Shane was squeezing him impossibly tight. “Oh-oh my god,” Shane panted. “So full- fucking -shit!”
Ilya buried his face in the crook of Shane’s neck, and he bit harshly at Shane’s neck, moaning around the skin in his mouth. Shane was scratching his back, and with the burn spreading from the nape of his neck to his tailbone, he knew his lover was doing a fucking number on him. He uncurled his left hand from the sheet, and he placed it on Shane’s hip, squeezing as tight as he could. “Готовый?” he asked, his voice raspy and deeper to his own ears.
“Да,” Shane nodded quickly. “Give it to me.”
Ilya placed both hands flat on the bed, and then he pulled out nearly all the way with just the head of his cock catching on Shane’s puffy rim. Then he slammed back in all the way, and set a harsh pace, his hips slapping against Shane’s, and sending him up the bed until his hands fell from Ilya to the headboard to stop his head from hitting it. “Harder,” Shane whined. “Fuck me, fuck me! Harder, Daddy, please!”
Ilya grabbed Shane’s throat, squeezed just enough to rip a moan from his throat, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Gonna- I’m- Oh fuck!” Shane cried. “Can I? Can I? Can I?”
“Come for me, мой чемпион!”
Shane’s orgasm ripped out of him with tears streaking down his face, and his cum splattered over his belly and hit his chin. His body trembled, and his mouth hung open in a soundless wail. Ilya fucked him through it, his hand dropped from his throat to his thigh that was hitched around his hip. He chased after his own release, his stomach coiling, and his hard thrusts trading for quick. “Daddy,” Shane whined. “In me, come in me, please? Need it, it’s mine, right?” Shane babbled while his trembling legs cinched around him, and his chest heaved with every sob. “Come in me!”
Ilya snapped. He buried himself deep and collapsed forward, grinding his cock inside, spilling inside of his husband, claiming him once again. He buried his face into the crook of his neck, still rolled his hips gently through the aftershocks until Shane was whimpering in pain, and then- only then -he pulled out and flopped down next to the love of his life. His champion.
The moonlight filtered through the curtains, painting the room in a soft white light. It made Shane seem as if he was glowing, his tan skin almost shimmery, and oh so soft against Ilya’s skin. They were freshly showered, cleaned after two more orgasms, and fully satiated. Shane was resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder, an arm and leg thrown over him, and was sleepily blinking at him. Ilya had an arm around him, his other hand gently rubbing the leg that rested over his hips. He couldn’t be happier.
When they would wake up the following morning, Shane would go down for the hotel breakfast, and he’d bring Ilya up a plate too. They’d nurse their hangovers with quiet words and soft shared kisses. Eventually, they’d fly back home to Ottawa, prepare for the camps, and then they’d get ready for their vacation to the cottage. They’d have a full summer spent nurturing the young love for hockey, making memories with their friends, and bathing in their time together. They’d start the next season no longer as a team
people scoffed at, but a team to be feared. A team that proved they were still here, still kicking, and renewed with fresh blood.
With Shane by his side, he didn’t doubt they’d win another cup and at least three more after that before Ilya had his fill. Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane’s forehead, nuzzled his nose in his hair, and rested his cheek against him as he shifted to pull him closer. In the end, it didn’t matter if they won another cup, because no
matter what, with Shane in his life as his husband, tackling whatever challenge was thrown at him. No matter the win or loss. He always felt like he was winning with his Чемпион by his side.