Work Text:
One&Only Palmilla was a pretty quiet place to vacation. Even though it was the middle of summer, there were so few people around that perhaps the peaceful atmosphere was what motivated Shane to get into the large pool, practically having it all to himself.
Ilya wasn’t about to miss the chance to watch his husband relax in the water. He never got tired of watching him: the most sought-after and beautiful hockey player was his, and his alone.
"Hot out, isn’t it?" a male voice commented from beside him.
Ilya wasn’t entirely sure the man was talking to him since the lounge chair the voice came from was fairly far away. He only turned slightly to look at him and was met with the unpleasant surprise that the man physically resembled him enough for it to bother him immediately.
The stranger didn’t even bother turning toward Ilya; his gaze was fixed on something that, to Ilya’s surprise as he followed the direction of his eyes, turned out to be Shane on the other side of the pool, drying himself off with a white towel. His toned body, built over years of training, was completely soaked, and water dripped from his hair, now long enough to be tied back perfectly, trailing down his body.
It was a ridiculously hot sight for anyone. Shane almost looked like he was drying himself off slowly on purpose; it was like watching some absurdly oversexualized commercial. Was he really taking that long, or was it just his imagination?
Shane pushed his hair back with both hands and tied it into a ponytail with the black hair tie around his wrist. Ilya let out a sigh at the sight and leaned back, noticing out of the corner of his eye how the man copied the movement. He shifted just enough to end up facing the stranger’s stupid smile. Then the pieces finally fell into place: the comment about the heat suddenly made perfect sense.
He wanted to get angry. Wanted to tell him Shane was his and shove the wedding ring in his face. Rationally, though, he knew Shane would never look twice at him regardless of the physical resemblance. On the other hand, the more twisted side of him only wanted to see how far this guy would go to get Shane’s attention. What expression would he have when he found out Shane was his husband? Would he feel embarrassed, or would he not care at all?
Curiosity sparked inside Ilya and, in response, he gave the stranger an amused smile.
He looked back toward Shane, who was now talking to a group of three girls smiling shyly at him. One of them said something that made him nod in what looked suspiciously like embarrassment. Right after that, each of them took a picture with him, taking full advantage of the chance to hug him. Ilya smiled fondly at all the affection Shane received; he deserved it. He would always be grateful for all the support they’d received after announcing their relationship, especially Shane, who had always been more affected by people’s comments.
Eventually, the girls said something that made Shane smile before he offered a subtle nod toward where Ilya was sitting. The girls turned toward him, their faces lighting up as they waved. Ilya waved back with a grin, making them squeal with excitement and earning a laugh from Shane. After saying goodbye, Shane looked at him, and the two shared a radiant smile.
Shane grabbed his towel and started walking toward where his husband was sitting. The moment Ilya noticed him approaching, he remembered the man beside him. He wanted to see the guy’s reaction when he saw them together. He turned only to find the stranger still staring at Shane, though without any trace of surprise. Was it possible he recognized them? Maybe he knew who they were already and that was why he looked so calm… or maybe he simply wasn’t surprised that Shane had such excellent taste.
Ilya turned back toward Shane. Once he was close enough, he tried turning his head again to catch the stranger’s expression, but Shane ruined his plan by leaning down and kissing him like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.
Ah, this was what he had always dreamed of: Shane freely kissing him whenever he wanted, without embarrassment and without caring who was around.
When Shane pulled away, Ilya glanced at the chair beside him, noticing it was empty—he smiled, satisfied with his tiny personal victory.
Shane dropped the towel over the armrest and sat down at the foot of Ilya’s chair. He grabbed his hair and squeezed the excess water out of it.
"I think those girls from earlier wanted a picture with you too," Shane said, finishing wringing out his hair.
Shane had grown his hair out again and Ilya was thrilled about it; he liked the way it looked far too much and simply couldn’t stop staring. Shane smiled when he noticed the intensity of his gaze and lightly tapped Ilya’s legs so he would spread them apart and let him sit between them. Ilya complied without hesitation, and Shane leaned back, resting against the warmth of Ilya’s chest.
"I think you intimidated them, and that’s why they didn’t want to come talk to you," Shane added, resting his head against Ilya’s collarbone.
"I think having a picture of your freckles was enough for them," Ilya replied, wrapping his arms around him while pressing a kiss to his damp hair.
Shane laughed and shook his head, resting his hands over Ilya’s arms. "Of course not! Besides, do you know what they told me?"
"Did they congratulate you on winning the Stanley Cup with a terrible team?"
"We are not a terrible team!" Shane exclaimed through laughter.
"Of course not. Not since I joined the team."
"Or maybe you mean since I joined."
"Oh, right. That’s why I’m still captain."
Shane laughed and settled more comfortably in Ilya’s arms. "Stop! You’re getting off topic."
Ilya smiled and kissed the curve of Shane’s ear. "So, what did they say?"
"Besides congratulating me, one of the girls asked me, ‘Can we take a picture with you, Mr. Rozanov?’"
Ilya’s mouth fell open in surprise, and he smiled excitedly as he pulled Shane tighter against him. "And what did you tell them?"
"That they had the wrong person."
Ilya squeezed him tighter in mock offense, making Shane laugh.
"Oh, so now you’re a comedian."
"No, actually I just smiled like an idiot and agreed to the pictures."
"Uh-huh. So, would you agree to take my last name?"
"There can’t be two Rozanovs on our team."
"Who says?"
"I do! It would be weird. Imagine the commentators trying to explain which Rozanov did what," Shane said between laughs. "Besides, I like my last name."
Ilya smiled and loosened his hold, only partially letting him go. To be fair, he had a point.
"I could be Rozanov I and you could be Rozanov II," Ilya suggested.
"Or... I could be Rozanov 24 and you could be Rozanov 81."
Ilya grinned and tightened his arms around him again. "See? Then it’s settled."
Shane laughed, tipping his head back as he shook it. "You’ll have to settle for other people calling me by your last name and letting that convince you I belong to you," he joked.
"Don’t you?"
Shane sighed, gently slipping out of Ilya’s embrace. He leaned forward, grabbed his sunglasses from the small table, and put them on.
"Fuck you. You’re impossible." He settled back into place and crossed his arms.
"But you’re not denying it," Ilya whispered into his ear.
Shane smiled in response. Honestly, he wasn’t going to deny how much he enjoyed the satisfaction Ilya’s possessiveness gave him. Of course, he would never openly admit it since teasing Ilya was far too entertaining.
Ilya smiled, satisfied, and pressed kisses from Shane’s ear all the way to the top of his head.
When he looked up again, he noticed the man was staring at them from the pool once more. Or rather, staring at Shane. Apparently seeing him kiss Ilya and melt happily in his arms hadn’t been enough; he still seemed interested in getting Shane’s attention and oh, how Ilya loved a challenge.
Ilya ran his hands along Shane’s arms until he reached his shoulders, squeezing them lightly. Then he let them slide suggestively over his torso, making Shane laugh, tilt his head back against him, and let out a quiet sigh as he closed his eyes.
The man still wasn’t looking away, which was starting to irritate Ilya. Though what annoyed him most was that Shane never noticed when someone was flirting with him. Even now, Ilya would bet he hadn’t noticed those intense eyes watching him with desire. He wondered whether the stranger still thought he had a chance or simply enjoyed looking at attractive men—which, considering it was Shane, Ilya understood perfectly.
Would he like watching him fuck Shane? Would he go crazy watching Ilya move in and out of him, knowing it would never be him? Maybe he’d enjoy simply watching; they would certainly put on an incredible show. Though it was impossible. Shane would be embarrassed by having someone watching and besides, even if Ilya loved making it clear that Shane was his, the idea of a stranger seeing Shane naked bothered him.
Was he losing his mind? This guy was driving him insane. Maybe it was the physical resemblance that irritated him so much. The man was completely Shane’s type. Even though Shane had an absolute no-threesomes rule, the guy looked too much like Ilya. Would he make an exception for him? The thought alone disgusted him. He needed to stop overthinking.
Ilya sighed and kissed Shane’s cheek. He needed to stop thinking about it. Closing his eyes, he pushed away the image of the threesome. Instead, he replaced it with the image of another Ilya helping him kiss Shane all over. Would Shane be happier if there were two Ilyas around to please him? He’d have twice the pleasure. He imagined Shane beneath both of them, begging for more. Could they both fit inside him at the same time? He didn’t think that was possible, so while one of them fucked him, the other could keep his mouth occupied… or simply kiss him.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He opened his eyes and thanked heaven that the guy was no longer staring at Shane and was now swimming beside a pretty blonde.
Shane shifted in his arms and turned his head to look at Ilya. He kissed his chin and smiled.
"Why did you suddenly get hard?" he asked quietly.
Ilya blinked a couple of times, realizing he had, in fact, gotten turned on by his own stupid imagination.
"Your ass is exactly where it’s supposed to be," he replied, pulling him tighter against his body.
"Liar!" Shane laughed, shaking his head. "What was it?"
Ilya huffed. He could tell him about the absurd fantasy he’d just had, but he preferred clearing up his doubts about the guy instead.
"See that guy in the pool?"
"Hm?" Shane glanced over. There wasn’t much to look for, only the man and the blonde woman were in the water. "What about him?"
"Do you think he looks like me?"
Shane pursed his lips and looked at the man, who at that moment was only showing his back. After a few seconds, the stranger turned slightly, meeting Shane’s gaze—though there was no way for him to know through the sunglasses. He held it for a moment before turning his attention back to the girl.
Confusion settled across Shane’s face. Was this some kind of trick question? The guy didn’t look like Ilya. Maybe a little in the face shape and hair, but not much else.
"Maybe a little in the hair and face shape, but I don’t really think he looks like you," he answered honestly.
"Mhm..." Ilya kissed his cheek. "But do you think he’s handsome?"
Shane immediately shook his head. It wasn’t that the man wasn’t attractive, but with Ilya as his point of comparison, it felt impossible to find anyone more handsome.
"Not really. Why?"
"Liar. You can’t even see him properly from here," Ilya said, squeezing him lightly.
"I don’t need to see him up close to know!" Shane replied through laughter. "What’s going on with that guy?"
Ilya rested his head against Shane’s. He already knew the answer, but he still liked hearing it.
"He’s interested in you."
"Huh? Why do you think that?"
"Because he was sitting next to me and I saw the way he looked at you from the moment you got out of the pool," Ilya said with exasperation. "Besides, while you were talking to those girls, he said you were the hottest man he’d ever seen in his life," he exaggerated, though not entirely.
Shane burst out laughing while running his hands along his husband’s arms.
"You completely made that up."
"Why would I make that up?"
"That’s what I’m wondering too."
"How did you not notice the way he was looking at you when you were walking over here?" Ilya huffed.
"Because when I was walking over here, I was looking at you," Shane replied, squeezing Ilya’s cheeks with one hand. "So all of this is because you got jealous over a guy I don’t even know?"
"No," Ilya denied, doing a terrible job at hiding it.
Shane laughed and pulled Ilya’s face closer to kiss his cheek.
"You know I only love you, right?" he murmured.
Ilya smiled and used one hand to turn Shane’s face toward him so he could look at him properly.
"Mhm. I’m still not convinced."
"What do I have to do to make you understand?"
Ilya’s expression shifted into one of pure mischief as he brought his mouth closer to Shane’s.
"Let me fuck you in front of that guy," he whispered against his lips.
Shane laughed and, before he could argue against a request he knew wasn’t serious, Ilya kissed him softly.
"You know this kiss isn’t going to convince me, right?"
"Mhm." Ilya licked his lips. "Then how many kisses will it take?"
"Maybe ten million?" Shane replied, playing along.
"Then I better get started now."
Ilya kissed him again and again. He knew perfectly well Shane would never agree, but that didn’t mean he was going to waste the opportunity to kiss him in public after spending so many years waiting to be able to do it.
The resort parties were ridiculously good. They had an entire area dedicated to good music, good vibes, and people grinding against each other. Ilya figured they probably had decent alcohol, but ever since he’d started his antidepressants, Shane had become paranoid about him mixing the two. So, neither of them drank.
Which was exactly why Shane was practically begging the bartender for a glass of ginger ale.
Ilya was standing against the wall near the bar and, despite the music, he could still hear the conversation. The bartender refused, claiming they only kept it for Moscow Mules. That argument annoyed Ilya because why refuse when they were only going to ruin it with terrible vodka anyway?
Shane kept insisting, though judging by the bartender’s tone, Ilya had a feeling the guy was only playing hard to get.
He leaned slightly toward the bar and immediately realized this man was practically begging to become Ilya's second murder victim of the night.
The audacity.
The guy was smiling flirtatiously, making little gestures, even placing his hand over Shane’s while he held a glass of Coke.
Ilya thought he might actually die on the spot.
Shane immediately pulled his hand away and switched to using his left one instead, putting the beautiful ring on display—the one that marked territory, metaphorically speaking. Though for Ilya, not so metaphorically.
"Just ginger ale, it’s for my husband," Shane added with a smile. "I promise I’ll be the easiest customer you have tonight."
Despite the disappointment flashing across the guy’s face at the word husband, the comment was funny enough that he finally poured the ginger ale.
And truth be told, Ilya couldn’t blame him because how could anyone deny Shane anything with that face and those ridiculous freckles?
Shane thanked him and turned around, immediately finding Ilya standing there. He smiled and handed him the glass of ginger ale; Ilya suspected the gesture was mostly to cover for the lie he’d just told.
They walked out of the bartender’s line of sight and eventually sat down at a table for two.
"Hey! I worked hard to get that drink," Shane complained while Ilya took a sip.
"Mhm, yeah, I noticed." He traded the glass for Shane’s Coke. "I saw the way you were making eyes at him to get it."
"That’s not what happened. I’m pretty sure you heard everything," Shane defended himself.
"Yeah, well, at least you made it clear you were married when he touched your hand."
Shane laughed and took a sip of his drink. It was true that it had been a pretty obvious move, but teasing Ilya was fun.
"I think he was just trying to be nice."
Ilya narrowed his eyes.
"Yeah, sure. If the guy pulled his pants down and shoved his dick in your face, would you still call that being nice?"
"Oh, come on," Shane replied with a laugh while taking Ilya’s hand over the table.
"You should’ve just ordered the Moscow Mule. That way he wouldn’t have spent four seconds talking to you and getting his hopes up."
"Of course not. We’re not drinking any alcohol."
"I’m sure nothing would happen to me."
"You can’t know that, and I don’t want to find out."
Ilya huffed, stroked Shane’s hand, and brought it to his lips to kiss it. He certainly wasn’t going to deny how much he loved it when Shane became overprotective. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he loved that Shane truly meant the in sickness and in health part.
They drank and talked about trivial things for what felt like forever. Anyone watching them would probably assume they were in the first stages of falling in love; nothing could be further from the truth; they were years past the honeymoon phase, bound by a deep, unshakeable history. The conversation only ended when Ilya heard Party by Bad Bunny playing. He smiled excitedly and stood up, pulling Shane with him toward a corner of the dance floor.
Shane wrinkled his nose. Ilya loved that expression. He knew his husband didn’t like dancing, but he didn’t really need to dance, just move a little. The fact that everyone around them was far too drunk to notice them gave Shane the confidence he needed.
Shane didn’t know what to do. He looked at Ilya, who pulled him closer and kissed him, slowly at first and then with increasing need. He pulled away just in time—before he started tearing his clothes off right there—and smiled when he saw Shane still following his mouth in search of another kiss. Then he turned him around and pressed Shane’s back against his chest before kissing his ear.
"Aren’t we going to dance for a while?" he whispered.
Shane instinctively closed his eyes and tilted his head back while Ilya held him by the waist. The music echoed around them, blending into the atmosphere. Ilya took advantage of it, sliding his left hand under Shane’s shirt while his right hand held onto his hip. They moved together, trying to find the same rhythm. Slowly, he dragged his hand up Shane’s stomach, leaving half his skin exposed, and kissed his ear.
That night at a club in Montreal came back to Ilya then, except now, instead of a girl, he had the love of his life pressed against him.
The song continued for a few more minutes—long enough for Shane to feel Ilya’s hardness against him, caused entirely by the way they were pressed together. He opened his eyes, turned around to face him, and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s shoulders, pulling him closer to kiss him repeatedly between laughs.
"Already tired of dancing?" Ilya murmured against his lips.
"I think I’d have more fun back in the room," Shane replied with a smile.
"What’s so fun about the room?" Ilya asked, pretending not to understand.
Shane let out an offended sigh.
"You know exactly what I mean."
Ilya smiled mischievously and placed both hands on either side of Shane’s face.
"Tell me."
"I want us to go back to the room..."
Ilya looked into Shane’s eyes expectantly, feeling electric anticipation crawl under his skin.
"...чтобы ты меня трахнул," Shane whispered.
"...so you can fuck me."
The music faded into the background the second Shane said those words in Russian. Ilya had expected him to say something like that, but not in Russian, and definitely not with that almost perfect accent that left him dizzy. Despite all the years he’d spent practicing, there was something about the way he whispered it that completely rewired Ilya’s brain chemistry.
His husband had picked the perfect moment to show off how much he’d improved.
Ilya wanted to answer, but he couldn’t put together a coherent sentence in English. If it were up to him, he would’ve torn Shane’s clothes off and fucked him right there in front of everyone. Instead, he kissed him desperately, earning a laugh from Shane.
"Was it good?" Shane asked, only pulling back slightly.
"Say it again. Just so I can make sure I heard it right."
Shane laughed, kissed Ilya’s cheek, and then leaned closer to his ear.
"I learned other phrases too, and I’d like to show them to you."
Ilya immediately pulled back, looking at him with a mix of disbelief and happiness. That was all the encouragement he needed. He grabbed Shane’s hand and practically dragged him out of the ballroom.
As much as hearing Shane speak Russian turned him on, it also made him feel loved in a way that was difficult to describe. He knew how hard the language was to learn, and every effort Shane made reminded him that the same language that had once given him so many painful words could now give him love too.
Once they reached the elevator, Ilya took advantage of the ride to kiss him the entire way up.
"I can’t tell if you’re more excited that I’m speaking Russian or that we’re going to have sex," Shane whispered.
"Who said we’re having sex? I’m just going to have you sit on the bed and make you speak Russian for the rest of the night."
Shane laughed and shook his head. Ilya would never waste an opportunity to fuck him. It was as if, after all these years, the spark had never faded; they were insatiable.
When they reached the fourteenth floor, Ilya pulled Shane down the hallway toward room ten. He checked his pockets for the key card, with no luck.
"It's in mine," Shane said with a smile, gesturing to his own pocket.
Ilya grinned and slipped his hand into Shane’s pocket, using the loose fit of his shorts to fondle his cock before pulling out the card. Shane laughed, but the sound cut off when they heard something crash at the end of the hallway: a room service employee had dropped an empty plate.
Ilya activated the key card and motioned for Shane to go inside first. Before entering, he glanced down the hallway just in time to see the employee handing something over to their neighbor. The guy had practically stepped all the way out into the hall to collect his order and, the moment their eyes met, Ilya recognized him.
Pool asshole.
The shameless bastard smiled openly at him.
Without bothering to return it, Ilya stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, frowning.
What the hell does he think he’s doing?
Ilya considered his options. Now that he knew which room the guy was staying in, he could always go back later and suffocate him with a pillow. A solid plan, if it didn’t involve prison and never seeing Shane or Anya again.
Which left him with another possibility...
"So, are we going to speak Russian then?" Shane asked from where he sat perched on the edge of the bed, looking utterly devastating.
Ilya smiled, suddenly struck by the best idea of his life.
He studied the room layout: the television directly in front of them and, off to one side, a small table with chairs and a couch. If the room next door had the same mirrored layout, the guy was probably sitting down to eat right behind that wall.
Ilya walked over and touched it.
Shane looked at him in confusion and Ilya smiled wickedly.
"I’ve got something better in mind…" he said, running his tongue over his lips. "Иди сюда," he demanded, curling a finger at him, motioning him closer. Even if Shane didn’t understand the Russian, the gesture made it perfectly clear what he meant.
"Come here."
Shane walked toward him slowly. Once he reached him, he leaned in for a kiss, but Ilya immediately stopped him.
"What?" Shane huffed.
"Take your clothes off."
Shane obeyed, removing each piece neatly and placing them on the dresser. Meanwhile, Ilya grabbed the lube from the nightstand and then went into the bathroom for a clean towel.
Now completely exposed, Shane stayed by the wall, clearly unsure what he was meant to do. When Ilya came back, he let out a short laugh at the sight.
"What are you laughing at, asshole?" Shane asked, frowning.
Ilya dropped the towel at his feet and cornered him against the wall.
"You just look really sexy like this, Hollander," he answered, kissing the tip of his nose.
"You haven’t called me by my last name in a while."
"Mhm..." Ilya leaned closer to his ear. "Should I start calling you Rozanov instead?"
"Wouldn’t that be weird for you to say?" Shane started unbuttoning Ilya’s shirt. "It’d be like calling yourself."
"Nope..." Ilya pulled his shirt off and let it fall to the floor, ignoring Shane’s disapproving look. "I could call you ‘Ilya’s husband’ instead."
"Fuck you." Shane bent down to pick it up. "Everything you say makes it sound like I’m your property."
Ilya grabbed his face firmly and held his gaze. "Because you’re mine."
"Я твой," Shane murmured smugly.
"I'm yours."
Ilya felt like he could die happy. He couldn’t explain what hearing Shane speak Russian with that much confidence did to him. Swallowing impatiently, he stripped off the rest of his clothes in one quick motion.
Shane had no time to react before Ilya turned him around and pushed him gently against the wall, pressing his cheek against the surface. Ilya’s body molded flush against his.
Ilya pressed himself against him, drawing a moan from Shane.
"Do you remember the first time we did it without a condom?" Ilya whispered into his ear.
Shane closed his eyes and nodded.
"I think it was when you came to the cottage for the first time."
Ilya nodded, even though Shane couldn’t see him. He remembered that feeling against his skin perfectly—probably the best sensation of his life. He grabbed the lube, spread it over himself, and barely brushed against Shane’s entrance.
"Please..." Shane moaned, resting his forehead against the wall.
"Please what?"
Shane turned his head slightly to look at him. "Пожалуйста, трахни меня," he pleaded.
"Please fuck me."
Ilya let out a sigh. How was he supposed to refuse when the words came out so naturally? "Я бы дал тебе всё, что ты попросишь," he whispered.
"I'd give you anything you asked for."
He was sure Shane didn’t know what it meant, but he still smiled sweetly at him, making Ilya forget the situation for a moment.
When he regained his composure, he kissed Shane’s ear with the last bit of gentleness he had left and immediately tugged on his hair, pushing into him without warning.
Shane moaned, bracing himself against the wall with his body arched in a position that, strangely enough, felt comfortable out of sheer habit.
Ilya knew it was unlikely the guy on the other side would hear anything, considering how thick the walls were and how far the table was from them. But it didn’t matter. The fantasy of him knowing Shane was his—that he was being claimed right now—was enough to leave him painfully turned on. Firmly, he grabbed Shane by the waist and pulled him back against himself, moving slowly.
"Please," Shane whimpered, shifting backward. It was the second time he’d begged already, and he was starting to feel pathetic.
"What do you need?" Ilya asked, touching him gently while still moving slowly.
"You..." Shane moaned, searching for the right words. Then he added, "Трахни меня сильнее."
"Fuck me harder."
He didn’t have to repeat himself, though Ilya would’ve gladly listened to it all night. He pulled harder on Shane’s hair and pushed his face closer to the wall—not enough to hurt him, but enough to keep him there. His hand tightened around Shane’s hip as he moved repeatedly, picking up speed. Shane gasped and braced one hand against the cabinet beneath the television.
"You’re so good at this," Ilya moaned against his skin. He leaned close to Shane’s ear without breaking his rhythm. "You know who’s on the other side of that wall?" he asked, his voice cold and possessive.
Shane shook his head between breaths and Ilya kissed his earlobe, marking his claim.
"The blond guy from the pool," he whispered.
Shane frowned, his mind clouded by pleasure and surprise.
"What?" Shane said, turning slightly toward him to check whether he was serious. Ilya’s expression was answer enough.
Ilya slowed down, making each movement slower and deeper. Shane felt close to falling apart, especially when Ilya took hold of his face and forced him to look back toward the wall.
"Can you imagine if he were right there listening to every detail?" he asked with a predatory smile.
Shane moaned instinctively. Ilya knew exactly which buttons to push.
"Why do you want him to hear me?" Shane murmured with half a smile.
"You know... You should tell him—just so he understands who you belong to," Ilya answered, pushing harder into Shane.
Shane let out a sharp hiss.
"I’m yours..." Shane moaned, squeezing his eyes shut as Ilya’s hands slid down to his hips. "Я твой... I love you. Please, Ilya."
"I'm yours..."
Ilya smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, a contrast to the roughness of everything else. If, by some divine intervention, the blond guy really had his ear pressed against the wall, Ilya was sure he’d never think he had a chance with Shane again. At best, he’d just be a helpless spectator.
"Always so impatient..." he replied in a whisper thick with want. "Touch yourself."
Shane obeyed, one hand moving down while Ilya’s movements became uneven, fast, almost frantic.
The room filled with their sounds, which Ilya made sure were loud enough.
When Ilya came, he buried himself inside Shane one last time, letting out a rough moan that echoed against the wall. Only seconds later, Shane followed, coming apart with a muffled cry that left him completely undone.
They stayed there pressed together, catching their breath while silence slowly returned, now heavy with intoxicating satisfaction. Ilya started leaving small kisses along Shane’s shoulder, whispering how much he loved him.
"I love you too..." Shane whispered back, still trembling.
Ilya pulled back slightly. "Let’s get cleaned up."
They walked into the bathroom and shared a hot shower. After all the intensity from minutes earlier, the quiet and closeness felt comforting.
Ilya got out first, letting Shane take his time. While waiting, he checked his phone. He had a message from Troy with a picture of Anya running through a field. He smiled and, after saving the picture, replied with a heart emoji.
"What are you laughing at?" Shane asked as he slipped under the sheets beside him, trying to peek at the screen.
Ilya moved the phone away, making Shane frown. He loved that expression on him. Laughing softly, he leaned in to kiss him before finally showing him the picture, which immediately made Shane smile.
"She must be happy having so much space."
Ilya nodded, set the phone down on the nightstand, and turned to pull Shane against his chest.
"We should buy a new house with a yard as big as Harris’s family place."
"A farm, you mean," Shane corrected.
Ilya shook his head. "No, just a house with a huge backyard. Then when we have kids, they’ll enjoy it too," he answered confidently.
Shane felt his heartbeat pick up. He loved hearing Ilya talk about the future so naturally. He looked up at him and leaned in for a soft kiss.
"We are not making those babies right now, you know," Ilya commented when they pulled apart.
Shane laughed and lightly smacked Ilya’s chest.
"I know! And speaking of that... how did you know that guy was staying next door?" he asked, pointing toward the wall.
Only then did Ilya remember he had never actually explained it.
"When we were walking in, I saw him stick his head out of his room."
"I still don’t think he was interested in me. He was probably just a fan," Shane said.
Ilya had considered that too, though the comment at the pool didn’t exactly sound like something a hockey fan would say.
"He wasn’t!"
"God, you hadn’t even considered that possibility," Shane exclaimed, covering his face with his hands. "What if he recorded something and sold it to one of those trashy gossip sites later?"
"You’re being paranoid," Ilya scoffed, rolling his eyes. "This hotel costs a thousand dollars a night, there’s no way anyone can hear through these walls. But if they weren't soundproof, we should be charging for the show instead of giving it away for free."
Shane laughed and squirmed between his arms. "Are you nuts?!" He pulled his hands away from his face to stare at Ilya.
"Why? I think we’d do really well... Hayden would probably love it. He’d be our most loyal subscriber."
"Absolutely not! I highly doubt Hayden wants to see you naked."
"Who said he’d be looking at me? He’d buy the videos to look at you," Ilya replied, running his hands along Shane’s back.
Shane immediately turned red. "Enough with the Hayden thing!"
Ilya loved teasing Shane about Hayden’s supposed crush on him—which he was still about eighty percent sure was real.
"Maybe we could sell them to Troy instead," Ilya suggested.
"Right, because Troy would definitely be thrilled to see you."
"Well, he’s already seen me naked, so I doubt it would shock him."
Shane huffed in fake annoyance and lightly smacked Ilya’s shoulder.
"Enough! We are not selling videos. We can’t give our future kids generational trauma."
"But they could enjoy the profits."
"We already have enough money!"
"You’re so boring," Ilya huffed, though he didn’t mean it.
"Besides, you’re avoiding the question: why are you still jealous of that guy?"
"I’m not jealous," Ilya lied terribly.
"Ilya..." Shane raised an eyebrow. "We literally fucked against that wall because that guy was on the other side of it."
"Yeah, because I wanted him to be jealous of me for having you."
"And did it feel good?"
"It always feels good," he answered with a crooked smile.
"I don’t mean that!" Shane said. "I mean, did it feel good thinking he was listening?"
"Yes." Ilya answered honestly.
Shane smiled and placed both hands on Ilya’s face. "You’re crazy."
"Yeah, я без ума от тебя," he murmured.
"I'm crazy about you."
"Я тоже без ума… от ты?" Shane answered uncertainly.
"I'm crazy about you too… from you?"
Ilya smiled softly and kissed his lips. "От тебя," he corrected.
"About you."
"Я тоже без ума от тебя," Shane repeated, nodding.
"I'm crazy about you too."
"Soon you’ll speak Russian so well you’ll forget how to speak English," he murmured.
"Yeah, then I’ll start thinking in Russian too and it’ll all be your fault."
Ilya laughed before letting out a long yawn. "When you start insulting referees in Russian, then I’ll plead guilty."
"You know that’s never happening," Shane replied.
Ilya smiled and pulled him close, kissing his hair softly. The light was still on, but both of them were starting to feel the weight of exhaustion settling in. Ilya pulled away for a moment to switch off the lamp before wrapping Shane back in his arms.
Just as Shane was about to fall asleep, he remembered something.
"Oh, by the way..." he started, looking up. "You never actually answered why you got turned on at the pool."
Ilya let out a quiet laugh. "Ah... I just had a wonderful fantasy."
"A fantasy?"
"Yeah, listen: I imagined there were two versions of myself fucking you."
"Huh?" Shane blinked, trying to process what he had just heard. "Wait, what?"
"Exactly that. It was a wonderful fantasy."
"Were you fantasizing about duplicating yourself and having both versions fuck me at the same time?"
Ilya nodded, and even though Shane couldn’t see him properly in the dark, he could still picture the smile on his face.
"You’re completely insane, you know that?" Shane said, laughing quietly. "So then... would you actually be okay watching another version of yourself fuck me?"
Ilya thought about Shane’s question. He hadn’t really considered it a real possibility before. His eyes traced Shane’s outline in the darkness and, imagining it now, the only thing he felt was competitiveness. If another version of himself were there, the problem wouldn’t be sharing Shane—it would be the unbearable need to make sure the other Ilya didn’t waste a single second of the attention Shane’s body offered him. He wondered whether he’d feel jealous watching his other self pull sounds out of Shane that he hadn’t caused himself, or whether he’d end up hating himself for not being the only one allowed to have all of him.
When no answer came, Shane let out a small laugh and leaned in to kiss him deeply, trying to stop the chaos he already knew had started inside Ilya’s head.
"I already know the answer. You don’t have to say it," Shane said against his lips.
Ilya smiled and kissed him again, mentally grateful he didn’t have to answer out loud.
"Besides, I don’t think two versions of me would fit inside you anyway," he commented eventually.
Shane laughed and traced along Ilya’s jaw with the back of his hand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to test that limit.
"I’m not sure I want to find out," Shane admitted.
Ilya kissed his nose sleepily right before yawning again.
"We should sleep... or at least try to for what’s left of the night," Shane said.
"Mhm, yeah. Let’s sleep."
Ilya shifted lower in bed and stretched his arms out. Shane didn’t need an invitation—within seconds, he was tucked perfectly between his husband’s neck and collarbone.
"I love you," Shane murmured, pressing a soft kiss against Ilya’s neck.
Ilya smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Say it in Russian."
"Я тебя очень люблю," Shane whispered.
"I love you so much."
Ilya felt his heart speed up. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much Shane had improved, and how much it meant to him ever since he decided not to go back to Russia.
He took Shane’s face gently and tilted it back. "Now say it in French with that horrible accent of yours."
Shane pushed Ilya’s face away with one hand and laughed. "Fuck off. My French is perfect."
"Mhm, sure. I never said it wasn’t good," he said, taking Shane’s hand and kissing his fingers.
"Je t’aime Ilya, même si tu penses que mon accent est horrible et que tu deviens jaloux d’un gars random," Shane replied, perhaps getting a little revenge for all the times Ilya said things in Russian just to keep them to himself.
"I love you Ilya, even if you think my accent is horrible and you get jealous over some random guy."
Ilya didn’t know enough French to catch all of it, but the sound of the language was enough to make him smile. "I think I’m going to learn French soon," he said with a smile.
"Really?"
"Yeah, so I’m not stuck just saying ‘bonjour,’ ‘bon matin,’ and ‘croissant,’" he answered, trying to imitate Shane’s French accent.
Shane laughed with what little energy he had left and kissed him one last time.
"Okay, croissant. Now that you’re a Canadian citizen, you need to catch up."
"Soon."
"Soon," Shane echoed with a nod.
Shane closed his eyes and fell asleep first, only a little earlier than Ilya who, after pressing one last soft kiss into Shane’s hair, caught sight of the first rays of sunlight slipping through the curtains.
The next morning, they went downstairs for breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Even though room service was an option, Shane preferred taking advantage of the morning and getting out for a while instead of staying cooped up.
As always, he preferred sitting beside Ilya rather than across from him. Of course, Ilya would never complain, even if he liked being able to look at Shane’s face whenever he wanted. Either way, he turned slightly to watch him now, simply observing the way he drank his coffee in the quiet calm of the morning.
"What?" Shane asked with a quiet laugh after feeling stared at for too long.
"Nothing," Ilya answered without looking away. "I wish we could stay here longer."
"We still have the rest of the week," Shane pointed out. "Besides, we couldn’t afford this forever."
Ilya huffed and took a sip of coffee. "Yes, we could. Anya would be happiest in that pool," he said, tilting his head toward it.
Shane rolled his eyes and shook his head while Ilya smiled just because he enjoyed annoying him.
The smile lasted only a second.
When he looked up, he was greeted by the stupid face of the damn blond guy walking directly toward their table.
Ilya immediately frowned. Noticing the change, Shane was about to ask what was wrong, but when he looked up and saw the guy from the pool approaching them, he went quiet.
Once the stranger was close enough, he glanced briefly at Shane before saying, "Put on quite a show last night."
Then he walked away.
Shane opened his mouth to say something before turning slowly toward Ilya.
His husband had one hand covering his mouth in a completely useless attempt to hold back his laughter.
A second later, Shane buried his face in his hands, completely red with embarrassment.
Ilya, meanwhile, had never felt better.
The day was off to a perfect start.