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Every July 10th, Shane and Ilya would celebrate their wedding anniversary.
It starts on the night of the wedding itself. After a long day of joyous celebrations and shared happiness with family and friends, after an even longer night of making love and kissing all over each other’s bodies until both of them were so sore they couldn’t move, and after Shane’s wheezy “wow, sex really does feel different after you get married!”, Ilya brings up the idea.
“We have to celebrate our wedding day every year, dear husband. Every single year, maybe until we are both old and grey and become bed-ridden. Maybe then you would be tired of me, and I’ll ask you to marry me all over again.”
Shane just laughs.
“Aren’t you supposed to celebrate for quinquennials only? Like, five years, ten years, fifteen, and so on. I remember my parents calling their 25-year anniversary a silver wedding—”
Before Ilya can make a counter point, Shane is already shushing him, big hand covering Ilya’s mouth and pressing down hard with fingers digging into his jaw. If his uselessly spent dick can perk up again in that one particular moment, it absolutely would.
“I’m not finished yet, dear husband. I would love to celebrate our wedding day every year with you,” Shane loosens the grip on his face to graze at his lips, the soft light from their bedside lamp dancing in dark honeyed eyes and leaving a twinkling shine on his stardust freckles. “I would celebrate our wedding day every month, every week, even every day with you if I could. Though, I think that would rather defeat the whole purpose of ‘anniversary’, wouldn’t it?”
Ilya has never been a very religious man, but at that moment, he thinks he can spend every day for the rest of his life thanking all the gods and goddesses and deities on this Earth and beyond for having granted Shane to him. He holds tighter onto Shane’s left hand, turning the cool band of gold over and over, a startling reminder to himself that all of this is somehow, impossibly real.
His voice comes out trembling and small, almost lost in the distant hums of the air conditioner.
“We lost so much precious time. I just wish that…”
Shane’s face slowly gets blurry, and he can not find the next words. They are there, born from the woes of his heart and lodged deep somewhere in his chest, but they cannot get past his throat. He swallows hard, once, twice—yet the burning thorns in his mouth will not abate, and all he could do is to bring Shane’s hand to his lips and kiss the ring there with a desperate hope that Shane will understand.
I wish I was brave enough to look at my fears and face them. I wish I was brave enough to admit to myself that I’ve always loved you. I wish I had known that one day I would have you like this.
“Ilya, hey—Look at me.” Shane kisses his lips until his gasps die down, and kisses the wetness away from his eyes until he can see his husband’s gorgeous face again.
“I regret losing all that time too, and I also wish that we could have been together sooner. But I’ve never regretted anything else. I—” Shane lets out a watery little smile. “I’ve never regretted loving you—not once, not for a single heartbeat. Whether it was happiness, sadness or pain, I’ve never regretted them, Ilya. They all have you in it.”
Neither of them can really speak after that. Ilya pulls Shane closer and buries his face into soft hair, while Shane nestles into the crook of his neck. He feels the tears hot on his collarbones and on his own cheeks, as sleep gradually claims them in the quiet and peaceful night.
When Ilya opens his eyes the next morning, Shane is already awake and tracing little patterns onto his chest.
“So, anniversary every year?”
“Yeah, every year.”
“Cool! What should we do for next year then?”
---
For their 2022 anniversary, they visit the ice rink in Regina, Saskatchewan and host a big charity event to gather donations for hockey training camps and LGBTQ+ organizations. They both agree that if they cannot come up with a better idea, then they will always return to Regina for every quinquennial—to the place where everything started and changed their lives forever.
They come to Regina again on December 23rd and have a very nice, very boring Christmas date. Shane chooses a shitty hallmark movie that Ilya can barely pay attention to, since he insists on getting the sweetbox love seat and is much more interested in sneaking his hands under Shane’s shirt. They stroll through the Christmas markets hand-in-hand through the afternoon and the evening, Ilya buying a bunch of treats for Anya and dumb decorations for their house, while Shane breaks his normal bird diet to share with Ilya a hot chocolate drink that was so thick and cloying that it actually borderlines on disgusting.
Ilya also buys an entire package of seasonal lube: cotton candy, peppermint, sugar cookie, candy cane, so on and so on. It takes them three days to try out all the flavors, with Ilya picking vanilla frosting and Shane choosing gingerbread as their favourites.
15 years are a lot of time for many things to change, but not his love for Shane. Ilya looks at his husband and knows, with all the certainty of a lifetime, that nothing has ever changed since he first met the cute boy with freckles who asked him for a handshake all those years ago, and nothing ever will.
---
For their 2023 anniversary, they go onto a 2-week road trip from Ottawa to Montreal to Boston, then back to Ottawa. They meet up with many friends on the way, make a stop at several national forests, and have plenty of sex in remote camping sites under the night sky painted by endless stars.
---
For their 2024 anniversary, one month before the date, Shane surprises Ilya by saying that he will take care of everything, and all Ilya needs to do is wait and enjoy himself.
Turns out, Shane has booked an all-inclusive trip to Alaska. They go glacier hiking, watch brown bears hunting salmon, get on a cruise to see all sorts of wildlife, and stand under the Northern lights together. They stay at a hot springs resort, and of course, fuck multiple times in the private hot pool.
Later, when Ilya asks about the choice to go to Alaska, Shane only snuggles closer to him—arms around him so tight that it gets a bit hard to breathe, and whispers that Alaska has one of the closest natural, geographical and demographic similarities to Russia. Even though Ottawa is their home now, he still hopes that the trip can make Ilya a little bit less… homesick, for lack of a better word.
Ilya kisses Shane then, with the same reverence that he has carried for nearly two decades, and says that only Shane is his home.
---
For their 2025 anniversary, one and a half month before the date, Ilya surprises Shane by saying that he will take care of everything, and all Shane needs to do is wait until the day and enjoy himself.
They leave early in Ilya’s bright red Lamborghini, because no way Ilya is touching any of Shane’s ‘practical’ cars. He takes the longer road that sprawls lazily through bucolic towns, serene lakes and soft flower fields that stretch towards the horizon. They keep their hands entangled the entire time, except when Ilya has to make a turn, and even then the warmth of Shane’s hand is still soothing and constant on his thigh.
About an hour or so, Shane begins to giggle.
“Are we going to Toronto?”
Ilya pretends to not understand what his husband just said.
“What? No, what makes you think that? Do all these boring trees and boring rocks look like Toronto to you?”
“Ilya, I’ve travelled all over the country. I know the roads leading to Toronto.”
“Maybe I’m just taking you to a random place with nobody around, and then I will have my evil, horrible, wicked way with you.”
“Very tempting…” Another chuckle, before Shane shrugs and relaxes back onto the seat. “Fine, I will pretend to not know anything. I can even take a nap until we arrive, if you want.”
“Anything you like, moy lyubimy, as long as you don’t spoil the fun for yourself.”
The drive continues in comfortable conversations. Shane shares his newly favourite songs and podcasts, while occasionally pointing towards an iconic landmark or natural spot and explaining to Ilya the story behind it. Ilya makes a stop for a light breakfast, then a few more stops to snap pictures of the landscape, Shane, and both of them together.
They reach Toronto around 12 PM, and Ilya tries his very best to ignore the shit-eating grin that spells ‘I told you so’ on Shane’s face. Although, he does get a little bit of satisfaction as they come closer and closer over to the ice rink, with Shane looking between him and the road with a mix of gut-feeling certainty and genuinely curious uncertainty.
“Is this—I think I have a feeling about what you’re doing, but…”
“Ah, don’t think too much, kotik. Just follow me.”
They walk inside the rink, where an entire crew is there. Gears and sticks ready on racks, several light stands on the ice, big camera lenses, photographers and make-up artists and even a director. Shane’s gaze darts from the bustling scene of preparation, then back to Ilya, wonder and nostalgia swirling in his eyes.
“I–I had Yuna help settle the logistics, all profits generated from our photoshoot will go to the Foundation.” Ilya falters, suddenly feeling weirdly embarrassed for literally no reason at all. “Everything else though, I planned it by myself.”
He brings Shane’s left hand closer to his chest, gently brushing across his knuckles and the ring there.
“It’s been 15 years since our first kiss—our first time. I want to relive that day with you.”
Silence settles over them for quite some time, as Shane’s eyes have turned glassy. It takes Ilya a few breaths to find his next words too.
“I was so scared then, Shane. And very lonely. I didn’t even know how you would react to me, all I knew was that I wanted to see you.” The confession comes out easier than expected, yet still so fragile that Ilya thinks a stronger breeze will carry all his words away. “I was scared that you would change your mind. When you let me kiss you—when you kissed me back, I was so happy.”
Shane laughs quietly, nuzzling closer to him and bringing their foreheads together.
“You were so happy to see me that you came in one minute?”
“Said the one who came in 30 seconds.”
“Fuck off, you came as fast as I did.”
The knot in Ilya’s chest starts to loosen as the air feels lighter, and he quickly manages to compose himself by giving Shane a soft peck on the lips.
“I wish the me back then could see us now, he probably would never believe it. And I would thank him, for being brave, so that I can have you by my side.”
Shane kisses him back, slowly and sweetly. “You will always have me, dear husband. Shall we go gear up?”
They still giggle like teenagers the entire time, but the photos turn out lovely and can actually be used. They recreate some of the old poses, kiss for the new ones, talk to brand sponsors and representatives who are elastic with joy over the visibility and popularity the campaign will generate. When everything is all done and the camera crew has finished wrapping up to leave, Ilya threads their fingers together and whispers into Shane’s ears, not without an accompanying opportunistic nip on his lobe.
“I booked the entire place until three. Shower?”
Shane quirks a brow and grins at him.
“Oh, are you going to ask for my room number this time, Rozanov? I might not open.”
“I already knew your room number, Hollander. I won’t even bother knocking.”
They jerk each other off in the communal shower, with occasional glances toward the door even though they know that no one should be around. Shane admits that the risk of being caught by complete strangers is actually quite thrilling, and Ilya silently files that information away for later.
Afterwards, they drive to their hotel—the exact same one from 15 years ago. Shane’s eyes turn darker and his grin grows wider with each ding of the elevator, and when Ilya finally opens room 1410, Shane immediately pounces on him, backs him against the door and gives him a blowjob with their luggage spilling everywhere on the floor. He hoists Shane up for a bruising kiss in a desperate tangle of limbs and half-undressed clothes, and it only takes a few grinds of their hips together for Shane to come all over his pants.
They laugh about it, have another make-out session in the shower, then a quick nap, before Ilya brings Shane to a fancy dinner cruise. They watch the sunset together, surrounded by candlelights as the wind carries salt and sea, with the water rippling in molten gold and sparkling ember.
Truly, it has been a wonderful day. And yet, the night is still young, just as they both are, and Ilya has just the perfect idea of a storybook romance to conclude an already perfect anniversary.
He is about to bury his face into Shane’s ass when they hear a knock.
They exchange a look. Shane’s brows knit together as he glances toward the door, but Ilya just shrugs. “Someone probably has the wrong room.”
However, before he can go back to enjoying the succulent dessert that he has waited all day for, the knock happens again, three firm raps that are definitely deliberate and way too fucking loud. Ilya groans and pushes himself up with a huff, his mind debating between the options of a severe beating and actual murder.
“What the fuck? I didn’t call for room service.”
He glances at the clock, which reads 21:04. Who would bother them at this ungodly hour? Who the fuck is ruining his fucking wedding day anniversary?
The sheer audacity, because there is a fucking knock again.
With a grumble, Ilya quickly wraps a towel around his waist and stalks toward the door. He doesn’t even give a fuck about decency right now, maybe whoever it is can shove it in their smooth pea brain that they are interrupting a very private, very personal moment and have the basic intelligence to get the fuck out of his sight. He basically yanks the door open, his voice low and irritated—
“Who is—”
—and comes face to face with… himself?
Huh.
Wait, what?
For a moment, neither of him moves. Whatever shocked expression the other him wears is probably mirrored on his own face—mouths agape, brows shot high, eyes opened so wide that he thinks they can bulge out and fall off his head.
What the fuck?
Is he hallucinating? Has he died in a ditch somewhere and come to heaven? If heaven is actually this blissful marriage to Shane then he may not really mind, but what the fuck is another him doing here in his very own heaven?
Ilya narrows his eyes. Alright, this… person is definitely him, but also noticeably greener. The traces of youth still cling to his face, jaw a little bit softer around the edges and cheeks carrying the faintest hint of baby fat that has long disappeared away from his own. The skin around his eyes and mouth is smoother, not yet touched—or, at least less touched, by the whispering demons that once haunted Ilya and left their permanent claws in him.
His eyes wander lower to what the other him is wearing, and oh.
Of course, he would recognize that look anywhere. How could he ever forget that day, when he had spent way too long in front of the mirror to pick his outfit, fix his hair, give himself a talk of confidence, and mumble the number 1410 over and over in his head until his hands stopped trembling.
Him, nineteen, nervous, and still reeling from the fact that he just ran into his future mother-in-law while on the way to hook up with his future husband for the very first time.
Young him apparently has lost his mind, because he yells so loudly that Ilya has to wince and cringe back half a step.
“What the fuck! Who the fuck are you?! Why do you have my fucking face?!”
Ilya sees red. He knows he was stupid when he was young, but was he always this stupid? He grits his teeth and snarls back.
“Keep your fucking voice down! You goddamn shithead, do you want to wake up the entire fucking building?”
He grabs himself by the collar and pulls him inside, cursing under his breath as he slams the door shut. Shane must have heard the commotion, as he rounds the corner with a pair of sleeping shorts on, concern plain on his face.
“Ilya, what’s going on? I heard shouting—”
Shane stops and looks at both of them, his eyes snapping back and forth as the color drains from his face.
“Hollander! Why is there another—” Ilya pinches at the bridge of his nose, because Jesus fuck this fucking kid is fucking yelling again. “Wait, you look… different.”
Ilya sighs. Well, it’s nice to know that other him, while very stupid, is still rather perceptive.
“Okay, we are all freaking out, but can you stop being so fucking loud? Is so late already, fuck.”
For a moment, none of them say anything. The room feels gradually less and less suffocating as the initial shock settles. Then, the kid speaks up, blessedly with a normal voice this time.
“Am I hallucinating? What the fuck, I didn’t even smoke weed past few days.” He thumps at his temple, then points at Shane. “You gave me your room number, I come here so we can fuck, and now there is—” He gestures vaguely between them. “—this.”
Shane blinks, recognition flashing across his features, but his voice is careful and gentle as he crosses the room.
“Yes, I did all of that, but it was 15 years ago. It’s now 2025 and we are—uhm, we are married. We have been married for four years, today is our anniversary.”
“... What?”
Ilya feels a twinge of pity, perhaps even sympathy, for his other self—who has leaned against the door with fingers reaching blindly behind to ground against the hard wood, his eyes so lost and frightened that he may as well collapse at any moment.
“How the fuck did this happen?” He looks at them once more, voice shrinking to almost nothing. “And why… why am I even here?”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Shane attempts to reach out, like soothing a spooked animal, offering his hand at a comfortable distance away. “Whatever this is, we will figure it out together. You are safe here, Ilya.”
Something stirs in the back of Ilya’s head. It could be a plausible explanation, and while it still sounds quite absurd to speak aloud—considering how surreal this entire situation is, he cannot really think of anything else that can make more sense.
“I think… I think I know why you’re here.”
Both of them turn to him. Ilya steps closer to his husband, reaching for his left hand and intertwining their fingers together, before slipping his right arm around Shane’s waist. His eyes never leave the way-too-familiar blue staring back at him—which feels strange beyond words, like looking at himself through a mirror but also not quite the same.
“I made a wish today, that the me from 15 years ago could see what we have now. I wish you could see that we will have a family. A real one, where we can love and be loved. Yuna and David, they are—they are amazing. We even have a dog now, her name is Anya and she’s our sweetest daughter. And we have Shane—” Ilya swallows against the unexpected tightness in his throat and blinks away the blurriness in his eyes, Shane’s hands holding him tight and soothing over his knuckles. “This is what I wish you could see, how happy we are now.”
“Okay…” Other him parts his lips to suck in a deep breath, his eyes also glistening as the words slowly land. “You made a wish and that’s why I’m… here. In the future.”
“Oh shit, I almost forgot—” Ilya scrambles to finish his theory. “For our anniversary today, we re-did the CCM photoshoot, re-booked this room, and that’s why we are… uh, also here.”
Silence blankets over the room again. The kid shifts around nervously, his hands disappearing into his pockets before moving out to fold and unfold awkwardly by his side, hovering in the air for a few seconds, before rubbing at the back of his neck.
“... So, what now?”
Very reasonable question, one that Ilya admittedly has some very good answers to. He sneaks a glance at Shane, whose eyes are glinting with a mischievous spark that Ilya easily understands like the back of his hand.
What can he say, in this aspect, they really are compatible.
“Well,” Shane gently untangles from Ilya and saunters towards his younger self. “You came to my room to fuck me, didn’t you? Here I am, Ilya.”
“Hollander…”
“It’s Shane. Shane Hollander-Rozanov. We hyphenate.”
Before the kid can sputter anything else, Shane closes the distance and captures his mouth in a bruising kiss, hands grabbing at his face and gripping at his hair. Ilya can see little flashes of tongues and teeth, can hear their heavy breaths and soft moans, can pinpoint the exact moment little him regains his confidence and shucks off his jacket, his hands roaming all over Shane’s bare chest and stomach and sneaking under the waistband of his tiny sleeping shorts.
Alright, the scene unfolding in front of him is very hot, but also more complicated than that. Ilya feels like he can fall in love with Shane all over again, who always offers him love and affection and desire as though it’s the easiest thing to do in the world. Yet, his heart also aches for this nineteen-year-old him, who once believed that no one would ever choose him or love him.
And, underneath all that warmth, there is just the tiniest, most ridiculous stab of… annoyance.
This person is him, but also not exactly him, and Ilya doesn’t take too kindly to being left out. He clears his throat loudly.
“Can all of us go back to bed and fuck now? It’s my wedding anniversary, I want to fuck my husband, please.”
Both of them whip around, though Shane just smiles sheepishly and pulls the kid by his hand to lead him into the room. Ilya coughs again.
“Not so fast, leave your shoes by the door, Shane doesn’t like having shoes inside.”
“Oh, right… I’d make an exception for you though. Come on.” Shane shrugs before dragging on the kid again, who follows immediately despite still looking a little dazed. By the time Ilya enters, Shane is already peeling at his jeans and underwear and urging him onto the bed.
Ilya points at other him and puts on his best Captain voice. “Okay rook, listen the fuck up, you will do exactly as you’re told, yes?” He nods at the enthusiastic ‘da’, then turns to Shane and softens his voice immediately. “Moy lyubimy, what do you want to do?”
Shane steps out of his shorts, then eases down onto his elbows and stomach. He licks his lips at the growing cock in front of him, hands already itching to get closer, though he still looks at Ilya for permission first.
“Can I suck his dick, please?”
Ah, so history does repeat itself. Ilya moves to sit next to Shane on the bed—a comfortable place where he can have a great view of everything that’s happening, and rests one hand on Shane’s ass.
“Go ahead, kotik. Show my own rookie, stupid self here just how good you are for me, yes?”
The brat actually has the nerve to glare at Ilya, then puff out his chest at the first touch of Shane’s hands on him. “Like what you see? Better than the old fucker there, no wrinkles.”
He doesn’t expect Shane to shoot him a smirk. “Not too bad, though I’ve seen a lot better.”
“What?! Really? How many men did you—before me?” He takes a glance at Ilya. “Uh, I mean, before us.”
“Yes, Shanya. Tell him how many men you had before us?” Ilya emphasizes with a firm slap on Shane’s ass and makes him jolt forward. Shane throws him an accusing scowl, though he moves to take the rook’s cock in his hands—which is already hard and straining, pre-come dripping steadily from its red tip—and pulls back the foreskin.
“None. You were my first, Ilya.”
Another slap. “Good, now tell him how many men you had after us?”
“Fuck! None, oh my God! I’ve never been with any other man, you are the only one.”
Ilya’s gaze drifts towards familiar blue eyes, a satisfied smile on his lips.
“You see this, little cub? See how lucky we are?”
“Y–Yeah, holy shit, he’s fucking amazing, I never thought tha—Fuck!”
Shane is stroking rookie with year-long practice and expertise, twisting his wrist and pulling at all the right places that he knows will drive Ilya absolutely out of his mind, peppering small little kisses on the leaking tip and the side of the base. Shane’s other hand moves lower, cupping and massaging his balls between clever fingers in a way that makes Ilya’s own stomach lurch.
Honestly, Ilya isn’t sure if he should feel bad for other him or not. If he also had this Shane for the first time when he was nineteen, he probably wouldn’t be able to last more than one minute either.
“Do you like that, pretty boy?” Shane drawls out, his voice so low and gravelly that Ilya feels his cock twitch in response. Rookie can’t even fucking say anything back, he just nods dumbly and brings his hand to caress Shane’s face, then thread his fingers through black locks that have become long enough to reach the lower end of Shane’s nape.
“When I ask you something, you better answer me, Ilya.” A tut, and then Shane is squeezing both his cock and balls so hard that the kid lets out a surprised yelp, then a broken wail as his body doubles over.
“Fuck fuck fuck! Sorry! I like it, please—oh God it fucking hurts, please!”
Ilya winces as another twinge of pity swells up. Damn, he knows how mean Shane can be, has been on the receiving end of that cruelty many times—very eagerly and happily of course, but at least he has years of experience. This green baby, on the other hand, doesn’t know what’s about to fucking hit him.
“Good boy.” Seemingly satisfied, Shane releases his grip and leans forward to make small, kitten licks around the place where his hand was, as if to soothe over the tender, abused flesh. He laps at the pre-come around the glans like a cat getting cream, cleaning it off completely before flattening his tongue to poke and swirl at the slit, his hand stroking where his mouth doesn’t reach. However, as Shane feels the body beneath him start to tense up with the tell-tale signs of near-release, he stops again.
“Fuck! Hollander—”
“Shane. If you want to go back to last name basis, then it’s Mister Hollander for you, rookie. I’m 15-year older than you, and a 5-time Stanley Cup champion. You better show some respect.”
“I’m sorry, please, Mister Hollander—Shane, please suck my dick, please.”
Alright, Ilya has to admit, the sound of his own voice crying and begging ‘Mister Hollander’ is very hot. They should have thought about this sooner—actually, he can make Shane call him ‘Mister Rozanov’ as early as tomorrow. Either way, a very good piece of information that he also silently files away for later.
Shane takes the rook’s cockhead into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head for a few moments, before backing off again, his thumb grazing it with tortuously light contacts.
“Do you want to come? What do you say, pretty boy?”
Poor kid looks like he’s on the cusp of a full breakdown, tears spilling over his eyes and his dick straining in such an angry shade of red that it almost has a purple tint under the dim lights.
“Yes, please, I want to come. I want you so bad, Shane, please let me come.”
Shane hums, then begins to sink down arduously slow, the skin on his throat slightly bulging as spit and pre-come leak out by the corners of his mouth. It’s crazy, seeing Shane taking in his dick this way—or not quite his dick, but close enough—and for a moment Ilya almost forgets how to breathe.
“Pull on his hair, make him choke on your dick. He loves it.”
Thankfully, other him still has the sense to listen and understand. He scrambles to obey, fingers that were gingerly brushing Shane’s hair now fist in tightly, as he pushes Shane down while thrusting up with a near-brutal force. Shane closes his eyes and lets his jaw go lax, hands holding onto strong thighs beside him and allowing for the motion to continue, though Ilya can make out the light tension that rolls off Shane’s body in small, subtle waves.
It’s not long before the rook stills and whimpers, his hips stuttering as his come gushes out and bubbles past Shane’s lips, dripping in a mess down his chin and throat. Shane swallows continuously to take in everything he’s been given before pulling off with a filthy squelch—white strings clinging from the cock to his mouth, which he also eagerly cleans up until there is nothing left.
Ilya has to suppress a snigger at the state of rookie, who has fallen back onto the bed with his mouth gaping, ribs flaring and heaving with each short, uneven huffs of breaths. He would throw out an ‘amateur’ insult if he could, but again, he probably wouldn’t fare any better, and so he kindly chooses to be a good person and turns to Shane instead.
“Good job, dorogoy. What do you want to do next?”
Shane wipes at his spit-slick lips, voice hoarse and eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he smiles brightly as he presents his request to Ilya.
“Can I sit on his face, please?”
“Oh fuck, yes—” Like a dog hearing his favourite words, rookie immediately sits up, his gaze turns to Shane and then to Ilya in a wholehearted plead. “Please let me. I’ll be good, I’ll make it good, please.”
“Hmm, so he can have your ass immediately,” Ilya frowns and spreads Shane’s cheeks apart, fingers slightly circling around the ring of muscles at his rim. “But you made me wait for two years? Is not fair, Shane.”
“Exactly, put yourself in his shoes. Would you deny him this?” Shane shrugs and wiggles his hips against Ilya’s hand. “Besides, I know you want to watch, baby.”
… Touché. Shane really knows him far too well.
“Fuck, fine. Go ahead.” Ilya makes a show of rolling his eyes and sighing exasperatedly before acquiescing with a dismissive wave of his hand. Not that Ilya was actually planning on denying the rook anything, considering it’s also him, but still.
“Yes yes, thank you, holy fucking shit, thank you so much—” Rookie is babbling, his words all slurred together as he eagerly tugs at Shane. “Please, please, please.”
Shane also beams out a soft ‘thank you’, then shifts onto his knees and shuffles up until his crotch is hovering over the rook’s face—whose mouth is already wide open with both his hands spreading Shane’s cheeks apart. Bracing his palms against the headboard, Shane slowly lowers himself down until he is fitted snugly against the waiting heat beneath him.
Loud moans fall from Shane’s lips, as he grinds down his hips in constant circular motions. This way, Ilya can see the pretty pink of Shane’s rock hard cock peeking through his thighs, and the equally pretty, shimmering pink of his hole behind each lap of tongue and lips. He can hear the greedy inhales from the other boy, who is slurping and swallowing sloppily like a starved animal, spit spilling down his chin and all the way to his collarbones. His fingers are wandering everywhere, kneading at Shane’s thighs and ass to help him rock back and forth, leaving small batches of bruises and nail-crescent marks in their wake.
Ilya wheezes through pursed lips. Wow, so that’s how he normally looks like, exactly where he belongs at one of his favourite places in this whole wide world.
Shane’s legs are starting to shake, as he fights the urge to squeeze them together. In between one breath and the next, he looks at Ilya through dazed cinnamon-brown eyes, his dark lashes fluttering deliberately as his head tilts just enough to complete the picture of feigned sweetness that he knows Ilya cannot say no to.
“Ilya, I’m so close. Can I come, please?”
God, Ilya will never get enough of it—the way Shane wears his desire for Ilya’s approval so openly. Shane’s always had him in a damned chokehold, wrapped around all Shane’s fingers, dissolved into useless mud at Shane’s feet, and Ilya has never ever been happier.
“Yes, you’ve been so good. You can.”
“Fuck—Thank you baby.” Shane scrambles to remove himself from the rook's head and scoots down to sit on his chest, before leaning forward to nuzzle his cock against parting lips with a sinful purr.
“Open up for me, pretty boy.”
Rookie’s eyes are so wide-blown that the ring of blue almost disappears, a blissed out smile on his face as he swipes his tongue across Shane’s glans and takes it into his mouth. Shane only manages to press in halfway before he comes with a breathless cry, his head falling forwards to thump at the headboard and his hips bucking wildly to ride out his orgasm.
When he’s satisfied, Shane takes his softening cock in his hand and slowly pulls out, but not before wiping the tip off the last few white drops on the boy’s lips.
“Did you swallow everything I gave you, rookie?”
Shane’s tone is light and teasing, almost mocking, even. Ilya wishes he could swap places with other him right now. He still has his old Boston jersey, when they get back home he’s definitely asking Shane to call him rookie too.
The rook yeses and nods enthusiastically, sticking out his tongue to show Shane the evidence and gets rewarded with a ‘good boy’. Fucking lucky bastard.
Well, anyway, now that Shane has come once and his body is more relaxed, Ilya can finally proceed to the main act. He shoots a glance at the rook’s cock, which is almost fully hard again. Impeccable timing.
“Little me should get a reward, don’t you think, Shanya? Fuck yourself on his dick.”
The aghast look on the kid’s face is almost comical. Never let anyone say that Ilya is not an immensely generous and considerate person.
Ilya hands Shane the bottle of lube, who quickly pours it onto his fingers and reaches behind himself. They fuck often enough that Shane can usually take him with minimal prep now, and it only takes a few seconds for Shane to coat his walls before he guides the cockhead to his hole and sinks down to the hilt in one smooth, complete swoop.
“Fuck! Fuck, oh my God, fuck!” The rook wails and throws his head back so hard that he knocks into the headboard, his hips jerking upwards instinctively, only to be shoved back down harshly as Shane lets out a winded laugh.
“Don’t get carried away, rookie. Stay still.”
Shane arches his back and rises up until the cock inside him is halfway out, before slamming back down again. He keeps a rather gentle but insistent pace, his cock already growing again and bobbing with each movement, pearly pre-come glossy around the glans and dripping in one shiny trail all the way to the base.
While Shane is still bouncing, Ilya moves to rest his weight comfortably on the rook’s laps, before seizing Shane suddenly by the throat and making him cry out in surprise. He pulls Shane upright until Shane is pressed flush against his chest, and Ilya looks directly at pale blue eyes identical to his own—so intimately familiar and somehow also dazedly distinct—as he tightens his grip and growls into Shane’s ear.
“We will both fuck you at the same time. Show your current husband and your future husband how desperate you are, how you are made just for us, yes?”
He can feel Shane shiver underneath his palm, one hand rising up to caress reverently at Ilya’s fingers around his neck, his words trembling and broken into a shallow, breathless rasp.
“Yes please… Make me take it, Ilya.”
“You see this, little cub?” Ilya presses a kiss to Shane’s neck, feasting his eyes on the amazement and wonder dancing on the rook’s face as though his brain has been rearranged by the idea, crimson flushing brightly from his cheeks to his chest. “This slutty, pretty little hole is eager for everything we give it.”
Ilya gives Shane another kiss behind his ear, before releasing and pressing at the small of his back to guide him forward with his ass slightly raised. “I will open you up for my dick, but you’re not allowed to come until we’re both inside. Is that clear?”
He hums at Shane’s agreement, before flicking an accusatory finger at the rook. “And you, fucking keep it in. I will kill you if you dare to come now.”
After the kid’s bewildered nod, Ilya drenches his fingers in lube and starts to prod gently at Shane’s opening, massaging in slow circles and furrowing his brows in concentration when he finds the fragile muscles pulled too taut. He pushes at Shane further until the cock inside him slips out halfway, leaving just the smallest—but enough space to nudge a finger in.
“Moy lyubimy, let me know if it hurts, okay?”
“I don’t care if it hurts,” Shane whines and shakes his head. “I want it to hurt, want to feel you, please.”
Ilya fucking loves it when Shane gets all needy for him, but fuck, sometimes it’s hard to remain sensible and level-headed. When he speaks again, he brings out the cold, no-nonsense voice that he knows Shane is helpless to resist, reserved for moments like these where real discipline is needed and there is absolutely no room in him to accept any of Shane’s defiance.
“We have to be careful. You will let me know if it hurts, yes?”
The stubbornness dies from Shane’s voice almost instantly, his breath hitching as he struggles to swallow a half-sob. His reply is little more than a meek whisper.
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Good boy.”
As Ilya carefully pulls at his rim, Shane forces in a labored gasp, whole body tensing and muscles rippling from the burn, though he quickly composes himself and relaxes again. Ilya rubs up and down his back and offers more words of encouragement, his hands moving with precise motions as he quickly sinks another digit in.
The sensation is incredible—Shane’s heated wall spasming and pushing his fingers against the equally heated and throbbing cock inside. He can’t even imagine how it would feel with his dick, and now he’s beginning to worry if he would bust his nuts one second in and be an underperforming embarrassment both in front of Shane and this fucking green-ass version of himself.
Okay, fuck, he needs to focus. Ilya spreads and crooks his fingers while keeping up his praises—telling Shane how he’s being so good, how he’s taking both of them so well, how he’s always so tight and so hot—before coaxing the third one in.
While Ilya cannot see Shane’s face, Shane is keening loudly and eagerly pushing his hips back, so that’s a good sign at least. He sneaks a glance at younger him, who looks very far gone in this new and strange experience, his eyes squeezing shut, jaw slackening and mouth falling open with colorful curses in both English and Russian.
Out of curiosity, he rubs and strokes against the dick inside Shane, observing with ample interest at how both of them jerk and try to press further into him.
Hmm, interesting. Does this also count as masturbation?
“Ilya, I’m ready. Please fuck me,” Shane whines again, one hand reaching back to pull blindly at Ilya’s arm. “I promise I’m ready, I can take it, please.”
“Okay, I will go in now.” Ilya removes his fingers until only the first knuckles are left in, his other hand squirting more lube onto his aching length and lightly stroking a few times to make sure it’s thoroughly coated. “Relax for me, Shane.”
“Yes please, thank you.” Shane nods, his body warm and pliant as Ilya grabs at his waist for leverage. Ilya draws in a deep breath, spreads Shane’s rim open and slowly, slowly pushes inside.
He has no words to even describe the feeling. It’s just so much sensation, a crazy, extraordinary amount of everything—to the point that he feels like his entire body is set on fire as every nerve and neuron in him sings and screams and screeches. The tightness is absolutely all-consuming. Shane is almost strangling—crushing him even, making cold sweat and goosebumps break all over his body as he grits his teeth and tries to get used to the feeling.
Damn, if this is just the tip, Ilya hopes he doesn’t pass out when he finally, magically manages to bury himself all the way in.
Shane is fully weeping now, hoarse moans and Ilya’s name spilling from his lips in a messy mix with little hiccups that shake his entire body. Ilya resumes the slow strokes on Shane’s waist and back until Shane’s breathing becomes more even, dragging a hand from the small dimples at his back upwards and then down again.
“Dorogoy, you still ok?”
“Yes… Fu–fuck, Ilya, I’m so full—”
“Good. How about you, cub?”
The voice answering him is instant, but noticeably wobbly.
“Yes, but I’ll die soon. Shane, you’re so fucking tight, you’ll kill me…”
Ilya’s mouth curls into a knowing smirk, as he settles back on his heels and prepares to brace his core for impact. “Get used to it, this ass nearly killed me the first time too. Stay still now, I’m going in again.”
One tortuous centimeter after the other, and Ilya’s chest nearly bursts open when he’s about more than halfway inside. Fucking hell, he feels like he just moved a fucking mountain and changed the course of a goddamn river. He buries his face into Shane’s shoulder, nuzzling and kissing the freckled skin there to calm down as he grunts out his check-ins. When he receives both positive confirmations, he gives Shane’s ass a slight slap to encourage himself, before drawing in a lungful of breath and sinking the rest of his cock in.
The moment Ilya finally bottoms out, Shane’s knees give way from under him as he drops onto the rook’s chest, his hands clawing at everything they can reach and his hole spasming so violently that it makes Ilya’s vision go white, so blind-hot that he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. Not just his dick, but it seems like his core and his chest and even his fucking brain are all being engulfed, until he doesn’t know which sensation ends and another one begins. He’s never experienced something this intense, and probably never will again—unless all of this folly miraculously happens again.
At least he’s not the only one about to lose his mind. Shane has become a babbling and boneless mess, his cries muffled against rookie’s chest, who is… actually doing a lot better than Ilya thought. There are veins popping on his temples and necks as his arms shake with tension, but he is petting Shane’s hair and rubbing comforting circles onto his neck while murmuring little praises into his ear, English mixed with shy, breathless Russian about how Shane is gorgeous and perfect and magnificent like this.
Ilya throws other him a quick ‘good job, keep doing that’, before leaning forward to kiss Shane’s sweat-slick shoulder.
“Shane, sweetheart, you ok?”
No words, just a shaky nod and a long whimper, but that’s all Ilya needs.
“We will wait a bit, yes?”
Another nod, and Ilya lets out a sigh as he sits back on rookie’s thighs, running his palms along the curves of Shane’s waist, the dips at his hips and the lovely tiger marks on his thighs.
There is… a lot of adjusting, to the point that Ilya is getting dizzy. He breathes out steadily, allowing Shane to adjust to the unbelievable fullness with both of them in—Ilya is proud of his long, big, girthy dick for a reason—and for both versions of himself to adjust to the unbelievable tightness of Shane closing down on them.
Absurdly, Ilya loses against the impulsive thought for small talk. To distract himself while his cock takes its time in cooperating, perhaps. Though, to be fair, nothing is better for team-bonding when you’re both dick deep in your husband’s ass, so he may as well live this moment to the fullest.
“You’re fucking lucky this is your first time with Shane, cub. I didn’t have this damned privilege when I was your age.”
“… I’m ruined. I will never be normal again. Fuck, Ilya—brother,” The rook swallows, his face bright red as he struggles to hold Ilya’s gaze. “Big brother… Can I kiss him? Please?”
It feels very strange, hearing yourself calling yourself like that. Ilya has never really liked the word ‘big brother’, having spent his entire life hearing it leave his own lips with an emptiness that bruises him physically. But he finds that he doesn’t really mind this time. It’s not bad, actually even good—safe and gentle, an unexpected warmth seeping through his chest and catching him off guard.
Maybe later, when they’re all done, he would like to give younger him a hug.
“Of course, little cub. He’s your husband too.”
The kid leans forward, claiming Shane’s lips and kisses him gently. Ilya watches with apt interest as Shane responds with gradual ferocity, biting and licking and pushing himself up to get more access. New waves of arousal stir up in Ilya’s guts, heat coiling and unfurling with each throb of his dick and each beat of his heart, the pleasure building up and chipping away at the edge of the previously near-painful overstimulation.
Shane moves to clutch at rookie’s shoulders, using the leverage to grind his hips down harder and push them in even deeper. Then, he takes the rook’s hand and brings it to his throat.
“Hold onto me here, Ilya. You can move now.”
“Thank fuck, oh God, Shane—Thank you, thank you…”
Ilya winces as the rook starts snapping his hips up in short and sharp thrusts, the wet glides of their dicks against each other sending wild electric shocks up his spine. He still hasn’t fully comprehended the sensation—it’s so strange and so new, but also fucking intoxicating. He leans backwards a little to give them both a bit more space, before tentatively trying to move himself.
It’s a bit awkward actually, finding the right coordination. Their rhythms are clumsy at first, with either of them almost slipping out at some point before hastily pushing back in. Shane’s gone limp, bracing on his hands and letting them fuck into him however they wish. The sight nearly blurs Ilya’s awareness, as his hungry eyes take in how Shane’s red, swollen rim is straining to keep both of their cocks inside, lube and pre-come seeping out with each slap of skin on skin.
“You’re doing so well, kotik. Wish you could look at how your hole is stretching so wide around us. Maybe I will take a picture, frame it in our house, would you like that?”
“Yes, yes,” Shane nods and pushes his ass back to meet Ilya. “Anything you want, yes.”
As their movements become more synchronized, everything becomes utterly maddening—way too much and somehow still not enough at the same time. Each time Ilya slams home, it’s with a squelch so loud and obscene that he can feel it vibrate in his skull, echoing in the room that now feels too small and too hot for all three of them at once. He’s reached the end of his abysmal self-control at this point, giving into the animalistic urge to just hold Shane in a bruising grip and thrust into him, fuck him hard until he cannot think anymore and make him come until he forgets his own name.
Now that Ilya has had a taste of near heaven, he doesn’t know if he can ever go without. It’s not like he’s a connoisseur of time travel or witchcraft or whatever, but he will definitely try his damndest to wish and conjure younger him back up for another go at this.
“I’m close, I’m so close—” Rookie’s voice is cracking on a sob, tear tracks trailing on his face as he frantically reaches for Shane’s face and hair. “Please Shane, please let me come.”
“Come inside me, Ilya. Give it to me.”
Shane bends down to kiss younger him, and Ilya shudders as he feels the hot bursts of liquid enveloping his dick, trapping even more of the agonizing heat against his skin and making his toes curl. It seems to last forever as the rook continues to surge up into Shane throughout his climax, gushes and gushes of come filling the tight space to the brink and even dripping out to Ilya’s balls. Though, a sharp cry rips through his throat when Shane suddenly moves with vigor, clenching hard around them as he chases after his own pleasure.
“Don’t you fucking dare pull out!” Ilya barks at rookie when he notices the boy’s hips stilling and faltering, voice almost feral. “Lie still and take it like a fucking grown man.”
“Fuck, I’m not trying to!” The brat snarls back, looking almost offended. “It’s just a lot, okay? But I would not leave him like that.”
Ilya feels a bit of pride swelling up in his chest. Little him still has balls, good for him. Not that he was any less efficient when he was nineteen, but it’s nice to see that his reputation is consistent even across different versions of himself.
He grabs at Shane’s hair and wrenches his head up, tipping Shane against his shoulder and pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck.
“Are you close, baby?”
“Yes, yes—Please let me come, Ilya, please.”
“Good boy. Come for us, Shanya.”
Ilya drills his hips forward in a particularly mean thrust and bites down hard, his other arm wrapping tight around Shane’s chest to cage him against Ilya’s chest. Like a dam breaking, Shane’s body goes taut as he comes with a hoarse scream, writhing and spasming on the two cocks still buried deep inside him. Ropes of white spouts from him so forcefully that it lands on the rook’s sternum, who scoops up the come with a dazzled ‘wow’ and avidly licks his fingers clean.
With a last clench from Shane, Ilya is also gone. He blinks, feeling disoriented and almost stupid, as the whole world goes quiet for a few euphoric seconds—save for the solid warmth of Shane in his arms—and then explodes in an overwhelming cacophony of pleasure that crashes into him like an avalanche, sweeping him from head to toes and leaving no place in his entire being unturned. It’s longer and more intense than any orgasm Ilya’s ever had before, to the point that he thinks he’s actually passed out and his consciousness has left his body.
When he comes back to his own skin and flesh again, Shane is already deadweight, eyes fluttering closed and pleasure smoothing out his features. Ilya musters all strength left in his noodly arms to pull Shane off, both him and rookie groaning as their cocks slip out. The sudden loss of stimulation is almost violent, and Ilya only manages to lay Shane down before his knees also crash and he slumps back onto the rook’s laps.
They look at each other, breathing heavily before breaking into giggles and turning their attention back to Shane. He has curled his face into the crooks of his elbows, though Ilya can still make out the dark lashes fanning against his freckled cheeks. His hole looks ruined and swollen, flushing a deep red and still slightly pulsing, streams of come steadily spilling down the curve of his ass and thighs with each of his gentle breaths. Ilya sneaks a hand down to press on Shane’s lower belly and watches in fascination as more white flows out, before exchanging another glance with the rook.
“Wow… That was fucking crazy. And uh, Shane is okay?”
“Yes, happens sometimes, when it’s… too much, too good. He’ll wake up in a bit. Stay with him, I’ll get some wet towels.”
When he returns from the bathroom, Ilya rolls his eyes and throws one towel at rookie’s chest—who is fixated on pushing at Shane's stomach and then shoving their come back into his hole, to the point that the liquid has become all foamy—before wiping away the monstrous mess they left on his husband with gentle motions. Usually, he would draw Shane a warm bath to soak in and relax his muscles, but after the whole ordeal they just did tonight, making Shane move again before bedtime does seem a bit strenuous.
After they’re done, Ilya sighs and settles behind Shane, cradling his fingers through damp hair and stroking down his neck. His fingers catch on Shane’s necklace, and suddenly his chest is too tight as he swallows down the lump in his throat.
“If—when you go back to your own Shane, you will treat him well, yes? Don’t act like you don’t care even though you do. That was my greatest mistake.”
Silence settles between them, and Ilya tries not to look at the rook’s face—not wanting to be reminded of his own fears and arrogance and cowardice, nor the regret he has allowed to consume him from the inside out. He focuses on his breathing, even though every drag of air presses painfully against his ribs, as he waits for the inevitable question.
“What about home? And Father?”
Time may come and go, but Ilya will never forget his early years in Boston. He was so painfully young—barely eighteen, moving alone to a strange country and struggling with a strange language, having to figure out everything by himself while still carrying the burden of providing for Father and Alexei. He didn’t have anyone to call as ‘friends’ except for Sveta, and then Cliff some time later. He had kept repeating the illusion that he was fine on his own two feet and he didn’t need anybody else, even though he knew it was a dirty, blatant lie.
Shane was everything he ever wanted—always has been, but even then, nothing could really ease the loneliness in his heart.
As his eyes find the rook’s again, Ilya feels… immensely grateful to himself for not giving up. He didn’t give up on pursuing hockey to the best of his ability so he could stay away from Russia, he didn’t give up on himself, and most importantly, he didn’t give up on Shane—no matter how many times he wrongfully wanted to.
“Only Shane is our home, little cub. Nothing else matters.”
At that moment, Shane starts to stir. He nuzzles into rookie’s shoulder with a contented sigh, arms curling around his chest to pull him closer. His voice is still husky with exhaustion.
“Ilya, don’t go. Don’t leave me, please.”
They both freeze, blue eyes locking onto each other. Shane’s fingers graze on his jaw, his nose, smooth out his forehead before threading through his curls. Each word leaving him is barely more than a whisper.
“We were both young and stupid and scared. You’d leave, and I’d not understand what I was feeling, but I’d always wanted you to stay with me.”
Nine years of running away from themselves and each other, then four more years of hiding and secrets. Ilya has mostly made peace with their past now, being happily married to the man he loves more than anything else in the world. In fact, his happiness that has become so constant and ordinary that he sometimes forgets to marvel at it, and at how hard they both have fought to attain it.
He looks at himself, at his own past, at the same blue eyes that he sees in the mirror every day, and quietly, achingly hopes that he would understand.
“I cannot redo any of it, and all our lost time will forever remain lost because I was a stupid coward. But maybe you can give your Shane the precious years that I couldn’t give mine.”
Ilya doesn’t say anything more, even when he starts to hear his own broken sniffling—despite the sound not coming from himself. He hears more of Shane’s soft cooing, little words of comfort and confessions of love, half-muffled by skin and trembling at the edges. He simply leans in, extends his arm, and draws them both gently into the same embrace.
---
Ilya wakes up to an empty bed.
He bolts upright, an edge of panic clouding his mind, until he hears running water from the bathroom.
“Shane?”
“One moment, baby!”
His husband walks out in all his naked glory. Ilya sighs as he pulls Shane closer and buries his face into smooth stomach, his arms winding tight around Shane’s waist.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. When I woke up, he was already gone so… I tried to look for him.”
“Okay, so you saw other me too. I was not hallucinating everything last night.”
“Of course not.” Shane laughs, cheeks turning rosy in a blush that darkens his beautiful freckles. “I’m, uhm, very sore. And a bit… loose, I think.”
Ilya nuzzles against Shane’s soft cock, hands smoothing and kneading at his ass. “Nice, I can just push my dick right in.”
“You sex-crazed heathen.” A light swat on his head, then fingers combing through his hair, though Shane’s voice is laced with something bittersweet. “I wish he could stay longer. I’d love to talk to him more, show him the life we’ve built together.”
“Me too. It’s… very weird, looking at yourself in the flesh. But I suppose the little cub is back to where he’s from now. Hope he can make better choices than I did.”
“I miss him already. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.”
“Yeah, me too.” Ilya smiles, before his brain actually processes Shane’s words and the smile immediately fades. “... Wait, I’m right here and you’re missing that brat?”
“Ilya, he is you.”
With a grunt, Ilya drags Shane down onto the bed and pins both his wrists firmly by his head. Shane gives a surprised squeak, but he is laughing when their eyes meet again.
“Technically, I was him, and he will be me, but we are not each other.”
“Are you jealous of yourself?”
“He's not me! He’s an entirely separate person! I don’t know what he thinks, I can’t see what he sees. Only I am me, there is only one of me, Shane!”
Shane’s eyes are fond, his giggles fading into something softer, and Ilya gradually finds himself sinking into it.
“Baby, I love you, I only miss him because he’s another you.” Before Ilya can make one more protest, Shane shushes him and continues. “Besides, you’re the one I married. I love you most, Ilya.”
Ilya holds Shane’s gaze for a long moment, before he flops down to bury his face into Shane’s neck with a huff.
“... Okay, fine. Apology accepted. And don’t worry about him, kotik. He is big boy like me. He’ll find you and love you, like I did.”
Shane kisses him on his hair, hands combing through the curls before smoothing them back into place with slow, familiar motions. Ilya melts against him immediately, all traces of previous mock indignation dissolving into a quiet hum as he tangles their legs together.
Then, Shane’s fingers still halfway through, confusion creasing between his brows and making his face scrunch up.
“Hey, if younger you was here with us, then what happened to younger me? Fuck, did he get stood up yesterday?! It’s not fair, I was really looking forward to it!”
Ilya blinks, then a grin slowly spreads across his face.
“Moy lyubimy, maybe you just need to wish very hard…”