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Shane loves a lot of things about Rose Landry. Her wit, her kindness, and her vivacious nature make her impossible not to love. His secret favourite thing about her, though, is her honesty. Even if sometimes, that honesty is gross.
"I swear to god, Shane, I was so close to yacking that I had to swallow it down—"
"Jesus, Rose." His stomach hurts from laughing. "All because of some cinnamon oil?"
"You don't know! If you've never drank Fireball and then vomited immediately after, you don't know!" She is pointing directly at Shane, tears running down her face as she laughs herself into hiccups. "It still smells like cinnamon coming up!"
He laughs and shudders simultaneously. "Why are you drinking Fireball? That shit will kill you."
"Oh god, it's been years. My high school graduation party, actually." She smudges her finger under her eyes to make sure her mascara hasn't run. "But that smell, it stays with you."
"Your poor aromatherapist." Shane grimaces. "Really, though? Even after all this time?"
"It hasn't been that long, Shane," she says primly. "But yeah, there's a whole science behind it, how scent is one of the strongest memory triggers. Like if you opened a fresh box of crayons, it would probably take you right back to kindergarten."
Shane shrugs, taking a sip from his water glass. "I was more of a markers kid, but yeah."
"You loved those scented markers, didn't you? What was your favourite one and why was it blueberry?"
"Blueberry?" He grimaces. "That one was gross. No one involved in the making of that has ever been near a blueberry. Watermelon all the way."
"Oh, sweetie, I love you even when you're wrong. Anyway, it's like a nostalgia thing. Like, I bet if you smelled whatever cologne you used when you were a teenager you'd be transported right back there." She pauses, tilting her head to the side with her pretty mouth in a frown. She's clocked the guilty look on his face. "Oh god, you weren't an Axe guy, were you? No, you're too nice for that."
"No, it was, uh, something by Hollister?" Even as he says it, he wonders why on God's green earth he is telling her this. He decides that Rose is secretly a hypnotist. It's probably easy to be honest if you can make literally everyone else around you honest too. "I remember because it's kind of similar to Hollander. They probably don't make it anymore."
"Ooh, let's look it up. I love a good mystery." She pulls her phone out of her purse. "That would have been around like late 2000s, early 2010s, right?"
He bites the side of his tongue."Right."
She taps away on her phone for a moment, pursing her lips. "This one was popular, was this it?"
"Yeah, that looks like it." He knows it is. He vividly remembers spritzing himself with it before Ilya had come to his hotel room after the CCM shoot.
"Shaaaaane," she sing-songs, "Why are you blushing?"
"I'm not!" Shane chews his lip for a moment. "Actually, that was what I wore the, uh. The first time Ilya and I, um. Met up." He clears his throat. "At a hotel."
Her eyes light up like this is the best news of her entire life. "Wow, so I bet the smell of it would hit those scent memories like a truck. I'm going to find a bottle of this for you immediately."
"Rose Ellen Landry—"
"Oof, not the full government name—"
"You are not ordering that. It's probably discontinued."
"Too late! Found a listing, I'm adding it to my cart." She types her credit card number into the phone by memory, her manicured nails tapping the screen, and flashes him a dazzling smile. "Done! It's going to be sent to you. You are going to put it on and drive your husband out of his goddamn mind."
That… okay, that sounded fun.
He rubs a hand over his face, knowing when he's been beat. "How much do I owe you?"
"In dollars? Nothing." Rose sips delicately from her mimosa. "In details after he puts you through the mattress? Everything. With interest."
The timing couldn't have been more perfect for the package to arrive. Ilya had gone out to a movie with some of the guys from the team and Shane had declined, having no interest in yet another superhero movie.
("How many Spider-Men can there even be, Ilya? They're going to run out of actors."
"Actually, Hazy explained there is a whole Spider-Verse—"
"Baby, with all the love in my heart, I do not care.")
He opens the box and finds a note from the seller. In the "message to recipient" box, Rose had typed in "with interest ;)" and he grins in spite of himself. Underneath the bubble wrap, the bottle looks familar. Kind of like a small whiskey bottle. He sets the bubble wrap aside for Ilya to pop later (which he knows he will regret about fifteen seconds after doing it, but those fifteen seconds of childlike glee on Ilya's face are generally worth it) and opens the bottle and takes a whiff. There is a hint of coconut, maybe something else sweet but not cloying.
Holy shit, he thinks, that scent memory thing is no joke. Suddenly he is nineteen again, heart in his throat as he hears a knock at the door of room 1410. He can feel the nervous energy and raging hormones settle over him like a blanket.
He walks toward the en suite bathroom and strips to shower. He is on a mission, and by god, his husband will not know what hit him.
A few hours later, he is reclined on the bed reading, clean and comfortable in a soft grey t-shirt and black sweatpants. He has applied the cologne with a little bit of a heavier hand than he would now. Rose always says it's important to immerse yourself in the character before a performance. He hears Ilya come in downstairs and fuss over Anya, and smiles to himself. There are footsteps on the stairs, approaching closer, and—
The knob jiggles. "What the f— Shane! Why is the door locked?"
He closes the book and walks to the door. Showtime.
Ilya breezes past him when he opens the door, taking off his leather jacket. "Sorry I'm later than I thought I'd be, solnyshko, I tried to get out of there as fast as I could but Hazy had many thoughts about the movie and he—" Ilya stops abruptly. He goes perfectly still, sniffing the air. It makes Shane think of a bloodhound. "What is that?"
"What?" He tries to look innocent.
"That smell, I know that smell." Ilya is visibly confused but his pupils have dilated slightly, his body catching on before his brain can catch up. "Is that—? What are you wearing?"
"It's just cologne. I thought that's what people did before this kind of thing." Shane puts his hands in his pockets and tries to look casual. He is absolutely not going to laugh at the bewildered look on Ilya's face.
"What kind of thing? What are you talking about?"
"You know. Before meeting up like this." He swallows. Squares his shoulders. "I mean, I gave you my room number. I told you I wasn't a chicken."
He can pinpoint the exact moment that it clicks into place for Ilya what is happening. His mouth falls open. "You… it's— Hollander," he exhales. His eyes have gone almost entirely black and his breathing is ragged.
Shane leans back against the door and tilts his chin down, looking up at Ilya through his eyelashes. "This is such a bad idea."
And look, whatever issues they've had to work on with communication over the course of their marriage, they have always had impeccable instincts with each other on the ice and in the bedroom. Shane is immensely thankful for the former but the latter is what's going to get him killed one day, because he has apparently activated Ilya's prey drive. He is boxed in against the door and his heart is beating double time. Game on, Rozanov.
"What is?" Ilya's voice is gravelly, his accent thicker than it's been in a long time. It makes Shane feel dizzy. He cups Shane's jaw and leans in, right on cue.
This is the man he married, he knows. He has kissed this man thousands upon thousands of times by now. But damned if it doesn't feel just like the first time again. Ilya kisses him slowly, as though he's testing the waters. The first warm slide of his tongue against the seam of his lips makes Shane moan into his husband's mouth.
Not your husband yet, he reminds himself as Ilya wraps a hand around the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. This is just Rozanov. Of course, it's with the benefit of hindsight and a bit more life experience that he remembers that first kiss and knows that they were kidding themselves that it had ever been casual. Ilya has never been just anything to him.
He knows the next part of the script. He drops to his knees. Ilya looks down at him with hooded eyes, his mouth gone slack. His cock is straining against his jeans. Shane tries to remember what it was like to not know the weight of it on his tongue, the taste of it, the feeling of it splitting him open. He decides to try it a little differently this time around and looks up at Ilya, making his eyes as wide and innocent as he can. "I've never done anything like this before. I, um, I might not be very good."
Ilya's forehead thunks against the door. "Gospodi. You really will murder me." He inhales sharply and puts his thumb on Shane's bottom lip. Shane takes it into his mouth and sucks gently, his tongue swirling around the tip. "Just like that, Hollander. That's what you will do with my cock. Take it slow, yes?"
"Okay." It's muffled around the thumb still in his mouth. He undoes Ilya's jeans carefully and pulls his cock free. He is hard as steel already. Shane takes it in his hand and gives it a couple of experimental strokes before leaning in and taking the head into his mouth. He slips his tongue around it, circling, tasting. It's tentative, but certainly more skilled than he had been years ago. Shane thinks wryly as he takes more into his mouth that it's hard to unlearn a skill that's become second nature. Sucking Ilya's cock comes as easy to him as gliding on a pair of skates.
"Fuck, Hollander," Ilya groans. "Your fucking mouth. Perfect." He thrusts slowly in and out of Shane's mouth, threading his fingers through his hair. Shane hollows his cheeks and lets the saliva pool in his mouth to make the slide easier. Ilya's hips jerk forward with a grunt and his cock hits the back of Shane's throat. It's been years since he had much of a gag reflex, but he makes a small choking noise anyway. Ilya lets out a strangled gasp and pulls him up.
"What's wrong?" Shane wipes a string of spit from the corner of his mouth. "Was that not okay?"
"Too okay," Ilya grounds out. "I don't want to come yet. I haven't even gotten to see you." His fingertips skim under the hem of Shane's t-shirt and trace across his stomach.
Shane ducks his head to hide his smile. "You didn't see enough of me in the showers?"
Ilya puts a finger under his chin and tilts it up to look him in the face. He already looks wrecked but there is a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I think I will not get tired of you."
Tenderness blooms in Shane's chest. He takes a moment to be grateful to his teenage self for making rash and irresponsible horny decisions before pushing Ilya towards the bed for mature, well-planned horny decisions. Ilya is tearing his own clothes off without taking his eyes off Shane as he strips. Shane is not sure he actually blinks once.
"Come here," he murmurs once they're both naked. Shane lays next to him on the bed and is surprised to find that he feels a genuine nervous edge about what comes next. He trusts Ilya, had trusted him on some level even then, but something about acting like it's all new makes it feel like it really is. He wonders if Rose ever gets too in her head when playing a role.
A feather-light touch to his arm takes him out of his thoughts. Ilya is tracing patterns down his bicep and looking like he wants to devour him alive. "What do you want to do?"
What did he want to do? He hadn't known then. Or he had, but he wouldn't have dared to voice it aloud. "Can you—" He breaks off, flustered. Why is this so hard? He has said the filthiest things imaginable to this man, in multiple languages. Asking for a hand on his dick should not be difficult.
Mercifully, that silent communication saves him once again. Ilya takes his cock in his hand and strokes it lightly, teasing. He leans his head down to press open-mouthed kisses to Shane's neck, inhaling right where he'd put a dab of the cologne and releasing a shuddering breath.
Shane's neck has always been sensitive and he moans, letting his legs fall apart unconsciously. He feels Ilya smile into his neck before the hand that had been fondling his cock moves lower, a finger lightly brushing against the furl of his hole. "Have you ever touched yourself here?"
"Um." He thinks about himself at nineteen, in tune with his body on the ice but rarely off of it. He crinkles his nose. "Not really?"
"No?" Ilya is smiling wider now. He can feel the teeth on his neck. "You don't have a thing?"
"A thing?"
Ilya lets out a low chuckle, pulling back to look at Shane. "A dildo."
"Oh. No. Not—" He clears his throat and looks back at Ilya. "Not yet."
He watches Ilya's brow furrow as he mouths the words not yet. Shane can see the wheels in his mind turning. "You have… wanted to?"
"I never really thought about it. Until today, I guess." Which is not entirely true, but for the purposes of this conversation, it's true enough, Shane figures. "Seeing you in the shower. I wondered what it might feel like to get fucked." That part is absolutely true. The first time he had felt a deep, aching desire for someone had been Ilya.
This tidbit seems to hit Ilya like a taser. He lets out a hissing breath and grits his teeth so hard that Shane almost reminds him that the dentist said he was supposed to stop doing that or his TMJ was going to flare up again. "Blyat. Jesus… fuck." He relaxes his jaw and looks at Shane with a pleading expression. "Hollander. You cannot say things like this."
"Why?"
"Because if you do, I will shoot off before I even get a chance to touch you." The fingertip tracing his hole presses just a little. "Will you let me touch you?"
Shane knows by now the effect his eyes have on Ilya ("Like that deer with the stripper name, Shane, it's not fair,") and fixes him with his most devastating gaze. He's thrilled to realize he can even feel his eyes getting a little teary. "It won't hurt, right?"
"No, no, I will be gentle," Ilya says, nearly scrambling to the bedside table for lube. "Will make it so good for you." He watches as Ilya drizzles lube onto his fingers and settles between his legs. A finger traces just outside his entrance, as gentle as promised.
Shane closes his eyes. "That feels good."
"Yes?" Ilya's voice is thick as syrup. "Do you want more? Inside?"
"Please." It leaves his mouth on a sigh. A moment later, he feels Ilya's finger breach the tight ring of muscle. He lets the feeling wash over him as Ilya slowly and painstakingly opens him up. "God, Rozanov, that's so fucking— more, I can take another."
"Hollander," he purrs, the vowels rounder than they've been in years. The shape of it in his mouth makes Shane's gut swoop. "If I did not know better, I would think you were a slut."
"No, 'm not, I—" Shane stammers, but his cock betrays him as it twitches and leaks a spurt of pre-come.
"Shh, is okay, I know," Ilya croons condescendingly as he works another finger inside of Shane, crooking it slightly until it brushes his prostate and he gasps. "You have never let anyone touch you inside before. Is not your fault your body loves it."
And god, that had taken a long, long time to internalize, hadn't it? Shane wishes he could go back and reassure the scared kid he'd been that there was nothing wrong with him or his desires. That there was nothing dirty or shameful about taking pleasure in a body that looked more like his own than the delicate curves of the girls he tried so hard to want. He remembers leafing through a book of poetry at his parents' house a couple of Christmases ago and pausing to stare at a page for so long that his eyes had gone dry. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting, it had said. He'd been broken from his reverie by Ilya kissing him on top of the head with a loud mwah as he passed behind him on the couch.
"I love—" Shane catches himself, not wanting to break the game quite yet in spite of Ilya now being three fingers deep into him. "I love how you touch me. It feels so fucking good."
"Sha— Hollander." Ilya's forehead is beaded with sweat. His cock looks painfully hard. "I want to fuck you."
He looks at Ilya's cock and chews his lip. He tries to make his voice sound dubious in spite of his mouth watering. "I don't know. I'm not sure it'll fit."
"It will fit. I know it will fit." Ilya sounds so desperate that Shane would be tempted to laugh if he wasn't also dying for it. He is struck with an impulsive thought that is either going to be very fun or put Ilya into cardiac arrest.
"What if you didn't go in all the way?" He could swear Ilya's left eyelid twitches. "Like, just the tip?"
"Yes. Yes, just the tip, I can do this." Ilya is nearly babbling now in between kisses to Shane's stomach and chest as he moves up his body. "You have condoms?"
If he arrives at the pearly gates and is told he will be denied entry if he has ever deliberately and with malice aforethought tortured his husband, Shane knows he will not make it in. He shakes his head no.
Ilya muffles a curse into Shane's shoulder. "I will pull out."
"Are you sure?"
"I am sure, I promise, just please let me feel you, you have the prettiest hole I have ever seen, please Hollander," and oh, Shane forgot how much he loves Ilya when he begs. He nods, just once, and he could swear he hears a muttered thank you as Ilya slicks up his cock and lines it up to enter him.
"Oh, god. You're huge," he whimpers as Ilya begins to push in. He knows the shape of every part of his husband, would know him in the dark, but the mind is a curious thing and his body is half convinced that he really has never done this before. "I don't think this is just the tip."
Ilya is flushed a deep red already all the way down to his chest. The vein in his temple is pulsing. "Is just the tip, you can look." He looks down and sure enough, Ilya is just barely inside him. His hand is grasped around the length of his cock to keep it from going all the way in.
"You can—" Shane licks his lips and fights down the urge to squirm down further onto Ilya's cock. "You can go in a little bit more. If you want."
"I want. Fuck." He lets out a tortured breath and slides in another inch. "Tell me when to stop."
"I will." He absolutely will not. "Does it feel okay?"
"Bozhe moy, you feel fucking incredible," Ilya is breathing hard and Shane can see his restraint slipping. "Keep going?"
"Fuck, yes."
"I am almost all the way in now, Hollander," Ilya drops his forehead to Shane's. His voice is choked like he is in pain. "Is okay?"
Shane goes in for the kill. "Give me all of it."
As if he's been pulled by a magnet inside him, Ilya slams his hips forward and buries himself to the hilt. He stays completely still. "Jesus fucking Christ."
"Rozanov, please," Shane whimpers, clawing at his back. His body has gotten tired of pretending. "Move. I want you to fuck me. I know we aren't supposed to do this but I can't help it, you're so fucking hot, please—"
A cracked groan erupts from Ilya's chest as he starts to thrust. "Hollander, my god."
It's still not enough. "Harder. I can take it, I can—"
Ilya pulls out with a snarl and pushes at his side, evidently reaching his limit. "Turn over, hands and knees."
He obeys, arching his back and grabbing the sheets as Ilya grabs his hips and fucks him in earnest. "Oh my god."
The headboard is banging against the wall and it is still not as loud as the harsh slap of skin on skin. Ilya's voice is a growl. "Perfect Shane Hollander, bent over in a hotel room getting fucked senseless. Look at you. So pretty, letting me in." Every thrust is hitting Shane's prostate and his vision is all sparks. "You were made for this. Made for me to fuck."
"Don't stop," Shane gasps out, "I'm so close."
"First time ever letting a man touch you and I'm going to make you come on my cock." His hands on Shane's hips are going to leave bruises. He is pounding into him like someone possessed. "Fucking take it, Hollander. Take everything I give you."
"Oh god, Ilya, I'm going to come, fuck—"
"That's it, sweetheart, show me." His thumbs dig into the round flesh of Shane's ass. "Make a mess for me."
"FuckfuckfuckfuckIlyaaa—" It breaks off into a wordless cry as his orgasm rips through him, coming in hot spurts on the sheets beneath him.
"Shane, fuck, you are squeezing me, I can't stop, let me—" Ilya breaks off into a groan. Shane feels a pulse of wet heat inside him before Ilya is pulling out, spilling the rest of his release onto his ass and the backs of his thighs.
The mattress shudders as Ilya collapses his full weight next to him. After a moment's hesitation on the best position to get into, considering the mess on him and underneath him, Shane stretches out on his side and tries to avoid the wet spot as best he can. The sheets are a lost cause anyway.
Ilya is panting and looks faintly shell-shocked. He rubs a hand over his face. "You know, Shane, for someone who said I was not allowed to die first, you spend a lot of time trying to kill me."
Shane hides his laugh into the pillow. "That was okay?"
"No, Shane, I came so hard that I lose IQ points to be polite," he grumbles, turning to look at Shane. "What the fuck was that about?"
"You know how I had lunch with Rose a couple of weeks ago?" He rolls his eyes as Ilya makes a face. "Stop pretending you don't like her, I know you guys text every time an episode of that stupid show drops."
"Love Is Blind is not stupid, it is brilliant social experiment—"
"Anyway," Shane cuts him off before that rant can pick up steam, "We got to talking about how scent is a really strong trigger for memory and emotion, and she made an offhand comment about how if I wore the same cologne as when I was younger it would probably bring back a lot of those old feelings. And I didn't really wear cologne much, except for—" He smiles, a bit sheepish. "Well. You know. That one time."
"Oh, I remember," Ilya says, leaning up on an elbow and brushing a strand of hair off Shane's forehead. "You want to know something funny?"
"Always."
Ilya smiles at him fondly. "I could not get that cologne out of my head for ages. It was months later and someone at a club walked by me wearing it and I got half hard immediately."
He grins up at Ilya, delighted. "Really?"
"Mm. Was very embarrassing. I thought you had done experiment on me. Like Pavlov."
Shane screws up his face. "The guy who played for Nashville?"
"No, Shane, the scientist," Ilya groans, exasperated. "You know, with the dog and the ringing bell."
"Oh. Yeah, I remember learning about that one. That's like conditioning, right?"
He nods. "Yes. That cologne was like a bell that went straight to my dick."
Shane laughs, bright and loud. "Well, it clearly still works."
"No. I think it is just you." Ilya smiles at him, his eyes soft and adoring. "Always was, really."
Warmth cracks open inside him and floods his chest. "Yeah, it's you for me too. Obviously."
Ilya drops a kiss to his nose, chuckling at how it wrinkles. He looks at him for a moment, thoughtful. "Did you really not buy a dildo until after the first time we met up?"
"Yeah," he shrugs. There was a time he'd have sooner died than admit any of that. He doesn't have secrets from Ilya anymore. "I guess I knew I was attracted to guys before that, but when I was watching you in the shower I realized I really wanted you to pin me down and fuck me."
"Shaaaane," Ilya whines, "You cannot say this. I am not a teenager anymore, I cannot get hard again yet no matter how much I want to." He takes Shane's hand and places it in the middle of his chest. "But my heart's dick is very hard for you, always."
"That is either the sweetest or the grossest thing you've ever said to me."
"Ahh, your heart's dick is hard for me too," Ilya says with a dreamy sigh as he lays his head on Shane's chest.
"Shut up. Jesus." He reaches up and weaves his fingers into Ilya's curls. "Did you have a good time with the guys?"
"Oh, it was fine. Missed you, though. I am a very boring married man."
Shane pulls a lock of Ilya's hair taut and watches it spring back into shape. It's one of his favourite things to do, even if Ilya complains it messes up the curl pattern. "Imagine if the you from back then could see you now."
"Mm, I suppose." He tips his head back to look at Shane and god, his eyes are devastating too. Bambi doesn't stand much of a chance. "I do not think he would believe it was possible to be this happy."
"Okay, maybe my heart's dick is a little hard for you."
The grin that splits Ilya's face is boyish and radiant. "My Shane is so romantic."
"Your Shane needs a shower." He rolls out of bed, grimacing inwardly at the sticky feeling on his skin. "You coming with?"
Ilya is already following him. "Of course. You use my expensive shampoo when I am not supervising."
"I have my own expensive shampoo, asshole." He turns and nuzzles his nose just behind Ilya's ear and inhales the scent of his skin, warm and earthy and masculine. He would know it in any room, in every lifetime, the way it calls him home. The soft animal of your body, he remembers from the poem. "I just like how yours smells."