Work Text:
The game still hums under Shane’s skin when they get back to Ilya’s place.
It’s quieter there, ofcourse it is. No rink noise echoing in his head, no bright lights and screaming fans, just the familiar click of the door, the soft glow of the shit ton of lamps Ilya insists he needs and the soft hum of the radiator.
Shane barely makes it out of his hoodie before he’s flopping onto the couch, sprawled across the cushions like his body’s finally given up the fight of staying upright.
Ilya watches him with that same fond smile he always has, the one reserved for Shane only. “You’re still full with energy", Ilya says, nudging Shane’s leg, signaling him to move.
“I am not,” Shane murmers, face already buried in a throw pillow.
Ilya snorts and sits next to him, long legs stretching out as he drags Shane’s feet into his lap without asking.
Shane lets him. Always does.
“You always lie about this,” Ilya smiles, hands warm and steady where they wrap around Shane’s ankles. “Like I do not know the truth".
Shane exhales, tension bleeding out of him inch by inch. “Okay, yeah, fine. But it’s not just the win,” he mutters. “It's always everything. You know? It’s always so much, the buzzing in my head doesn’t know where to go yet".
“Ah yes,” Ilya hums, thumbs pressing in slow, grounding circles. “Buzzing".
“Yeah,” Shane says. “That".
Ilya turns the TV on absentmindedly, just to put on some background noise. Neither of them really watches what's on anyways.
Shane’s gaze drifts lazily to the ceiling while Ilya’s hands keep him tethered to the moment. After a while, Shane squints. “Oh, by the way, Jackie texted me this morning. Dinner next week".
Ilya glances down. “Again?”
“Yes, again. Jackie said she was dying to hear your story about your one of your friends and a few squirrels?"
"Da! She will hear the squirrel story".
"Should I be scared to ask what the squirrel story is?", Shane laughs.
“No, oh no, moya lyubov', you will hear that next week", Ilya says with a wink.
Shane laughs, resting his head against Ilya’s shoulder. “Fine, keep your secrets, I know where I stand”.
Ilya smirks. “Good. We cannot have you think you are most important to me”.
“Shut up,” Shane says fondly.
“Never", Ilya says with a smile just as fond. "Ty lyubish' menya".
"Unfortunately, I do", Shane says as he lifts his head up, finding Ilya already leaning in, capturing his lips in a slow and tender kiss.
Ilya’s hands start to drift, after a few minutes, grazing his hand dangerously close to where Shane is already hard.
And Shane can't help but whimper. His thoughts already circling back to something he's been dying to talk to Ilya about. To ask him to do it again. To do it more.
Ilya catches it immediately.
“You’re thinking,” Ilya says, not looking at him, as he brushes his thumb over the bulge in Shane's jeans.
Shane groans softly. “I hate that you can tell".
“You get this face,” Ilya replies. “Like you are having arguments with yourself".
Shane turns to face him, sitting himself more upright, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Do you remember. That one time. When I uh, when I left after, you know?"
"What?"
"When we had sex on the couch", Shane says, averting his eyes.
"We had sex on this couch many times, what are yo-".
"When I left", Shane says hurriedly. "After you said my name".
Ilya’s gaze sharpens. “Of course".
“Yeah, so, I uh, I actually wanted to ask you something,” Shane says, voice dropping. “About something that you did. Before I panicked. In my hand".
Ilya’s mouth curves slowly. “Ah. That thing".
Shane’s ears warm. “I didn’t expect to like it".
“You never expect that,” Ilya says gently.
Shane swallows. “But I did. Like it".
The admission hangs between them, plain and honest.
Ilya studies him for a moment, expression softening at the edges. “Good,” he says. “I hoped you did.”
Shane shifts closer without thinking, knees brushing. “It felt so intimate, for some reason,” he says. “And it wasalsoreallyhotandIwantyoutodoitagain".
Ilya nods once, as if he understood Shane's ramble. Knowing Ilya, he probably didn't need to hear him say it out loud anyways. Ilya could take one look at him and know exactly what he was thinking.
"You want me to spit in your hand again Hollander?", Ilya smirks, knowing he will get a rise out of Shane for using his last name instead of his first.
"Hey, I thought Hollander was just for those rare instances you're mad at me", Shane whines.
"You are so easy, vozlyublennyy", Ilya smirks, patting his lap. "Come here".
And who is Shane to deny that invitation? Quickly settling himself on top of Ilya.
"We can start same as last time", Ilya mumbles into Shane's neck, already sucking and kissing every available spot.
Shane sighs, letting himself get lost in the pleasure of Ilya on his neck, feeling him harden underneath him. "You like it too, don't you?"
"What?", Ilya asks as he takes Shane out of his jeans, spitting into his own hand before he starts stroking him slowly.
"Fuck", Shane moans, already closer than he'd liked to be.
"Oh, that", Ilya smirks, knowing exactly what he's doing to Shane. "Yes, was very hot spitting in your hand".
"God, Ilya", Shane groans, dropping his forehead against Ilya’s to ground himself.
"Is that only what you want?", Ilya mutters as he grazes his thumb over Shane's already dripping head.
"No. Fuck, yes, I-".
With his free hand, Ilya tilts Shane's chin up, making Shane look at him. "Is okay, detka, tell me".
"Fuck", Shane whines, eyes not leaving Ilya’s as he mumbles his next words.
"What? I did not get that".
Shane wants to drop his head down, but Ilya’s fingers are still under his chin, making it very difficult not to look at him as he almost whispers what he just said. "I want you to spit in my mouth".
The look Ilya gives him then is warm and intent all at once, like this trust is the thing he treasures most.
He leans in, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving Shane’s face, a small moan leaving his lips as he kisses Shane. A kiss so slow, yet so hot, it makes Shane's breath catch in his throat. Ilya's tongue is everywhere in his mouth, sucking his tongue into his own, before releasing it again to find another place to be.
When Ilya pulls back, Shane exhales, shaky and a little undone. “Wow".
Ilya’s eyes darken, but his voice stays light. “Yes, wow. Lie down for me".
“What are yo-?”
"Shane"
"Yes, yes okay", Shane says as he stands back up, removing his jeans and boxers, before lying down.
"I did not tell you to get naked", Ilya smirks, removing his joggers and underwear in one smooth motion, before crawling on top of Shane.
"Felt like that's where we were going", Shane huffs, before Ilya attacks his lips again, grinding his hard cock against Shane's.
"Da, very good", Ilya breaths into Shane's mouth. Ilya pulls back a little, eyes flicking to his mouth, then back up again. "You really want?"
The way he says it, not even remotely judgemental or weirded out, but rather, very turned on and ready, sends shivers down Shane's spine. So Shane nods, heart hammering against his ribs. "Yeah. I do. Please."
Ilya's smile is knowing, but there's that underlying tenderness that always makes Shane feel safe, even when they're diving into something new like this.
He shifts his weight, bracing one hand beside Shane's head, the other trailing lightly down Shane's chest, over his stomach, until it wraps around both of them together, causing Shane to arch up into it with a gasp. "Khoroshiy mal'chik" Ilya murmurs, his voice thick with arousal.
Shane's hands find Ilya's back, fingers digging in, urging him even closer. The kiss that follows is deeper, filthier, with Ilya's tongue claiming every inch of Shane's mouth. When Ilya nips at his bottom lip, pulling back just enough to create space, Shane chases him instinctively, lips parted and wanting.
"Open," Ilya says softly, his voice low. It's not a command, not really, but Shane opens his mouth without hesitation, tongue peeking out just a little.
Ilya's gaze drops to Shane's lips, darkening further, and he hovers there, close enough that Shane can feel the warmth of his breath.
And Shane knows what's coming now, but the horny anticipation is absolutely killing him.
Ever so slowly, Ilya puckers his lips and spits, just a thin, glistening strand dropping straight onto Shane's waiting tongue.
The sensation hits Shane like a ton of bricks, it's warm, and weirdly intimate. Almost bordering on filthy. Almost. He swallows reflexively, the taste of Ilya flooding his senses in a new way, and a whine escapes him, raw and needy, his cock twitching in Ilya's hand. "Fuck, Ilya".
Ilya doesn't give him time to process, crashing their mouths together again, his hand speeding up between them. The kiss is messy and unapologetic, Ilya's low groan mingling with Shane's as they grind together, chasing release.
When they finally break apart, both gasping, Ilya rests his forehead against Shane's, a naughty smirk on his lips. "See? Very hot".
Shane laughs breathlessly, pulling him down for more. "Yeah. Don't stop, I'm close".
Ilya’s eyes are almost black with heat, pupils blown wide. "I know", he says as he leans in again, but this time there’s no pause, no deliberate hover. It’s just raw impulse.
His lips brush Shane’s just once, barely a tease, then he pulls back just enough to part his own mouth.
Shane watches, transfixed, as Ilya gathers it quick and rough, no slow strand, no careful aim, just a sudden, forceful push of saliva that spits directly into Shane’s open mouth.
It’s hotter than before, messier, landing heavy and wet across Shane’s tongue and lower lip, a little splashing onto his chin. The sound is soft but unmistakable, a wet impact that punches the air out of Shane’s lungs.
It’s filthy and perfect and the taste is so undeniably Ilya that Shane moans loud and broken, the sound muffled as Ilya crashes back down.
Their mouths slam together without finesse, teeth clicking before tongues tangle in the slick mess.
Ilya licks into him greedily, chasing his own spit, spreading it between them until it’s everywhere, dripping from the corners of Shane’s mouth, sliding down his chin, smeared across both their lips.
The kiss is more than anything they’ve done tonight, obscene sliding sounds filling the room as Ilya growls low in his throat and strokes them faster.
"Ilya, fuck, I'm-".
"Come for me, moy gryaznyy mal'chik", Ilya pants, flicking his wrist just right, causing Shane to let out a loud moan as he starts spilling all over his stomach and Ilya's hand.
"Fuuuuuuck, yes, so good. So, so good", Shane whimpers as Ilya works him through his orgasm, planting little kisses all over Shane's face.
"You are perfect. My perfect, filthy lover", Ilya smiles.
"Oh shut up", Shane sighs, content, before looking down. Ilya hasn't come yet. "Sit".
"Bossy", Ilya smirks as he carefully lifts himself off Shane, sitting back on the couch. "I like it".
Shane hurries himself onto the floor, on his knees between Ilya’s spread thighs in no time, taking him down. His lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed, working him with everything he has.
Ilya’s fingers are tangled in his hair, guiding, but never forcing, as he curses almost silently. "Shane, moy malysh", he warns as his thighs start to shake, but before he can come, Shane pulls off just long enough to look up.
His lips are shiny, all puffy and used, chin wet with spit and precome. “Do it again,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Please".
Ilya doesn’t hesitate. He tightens his hand in Shane’s hair, tilting his head back slightly, and spits, right into Shane’s waiting mouth.
Shane swallows what he can, the rest drips down messily as he takes Ilya back in, moaning around him at the taste.
"Fuck, Shane", Ilya groans as he starts coming, pulsing hot across Shane’s tongue, fingers bruising against his scalp as he holds Shane down through it.
When it’s over, Ilya hauls him up, licking the stray spit from Shane’s chin before kissing him slow and deep. “Fuck, you taste like me,” Ilya rasps against his lips, voice wrecked. “All mine".
Shane can only whine in agreement, too far gone to form words.
“Perfect,” Ilya whispers against his mouth, his thumb stroking gently over Shane’s spit-slick bottom lip. “So fucking perfect".
"Says you", Shane mumbles, snuggling up to Ilya on the couch again. Silence stretching around them.
“You okay?”
Shane hums, the sound vibrating against Ilya’s collarbone. “More than okay".
He lifts his head just enough to meet Ilya’s eyes, cheeks still flushed, lips swollen and shiny. “That was, uhm, yeah. A lot. In the best way".
Ilya’s smile is soft, the cocky edge gone now, replaced by something quieter. “Good. I like when you ask for what you want.” His thumb traces Shane’s lips, like he's memorizing every inch in a new way. “Makes me feel like you trust me with everything".
"I do,” Shane says simply. No hesitation, no deflection. Just the truth, easy as breathing these days. “Always have. Even when I was too stupid to admit it".
“You are never stupid, detka. Just, careful", Ilya says as he shifts them slightly, pulling Shane more fully against his chest, not exactly lying down, but legs intertwined. “Now you are brave. My brave boy".
Shane rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he settles in, head on Ilya’s shoulder. “Don’t ruin the moment with your terrible compliments.”
"Too late,” Ilya murmurs, fingers carding slowly through Shane’s hair. “You love my terrible compliments".
"I love you", Shane says as he closes his eyes, listening to Ilya’s heartbeat.
After a while, Ilya speaks again, voice quiet. “You know, I think about that night sometimes. When you left".
Shane tenses for half a second, then forces himself to relax. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I was sure I scared you forever". Ilya’s hand stills in Shane’s hair. “But you came back. And you stayed. And now you ask me for things like what we did tonight. Makes me feel lucky, Shane. Every time".
Shane swallows, emotion tightening his throat. He turns his face up, pressing a small kiss to the underside of Ilya’s jaw. “I’m the lucky one. You never gave up on me. Even when I was running".
Ilya tilts Shane’s chin up, eyes searching his face in that intense way that always makes Shane feel seen down to his bones. “We both ran, at different times. But we started running toward eachother, yes?”
“Yeah,” Shane whispers. “We did".
Ilya leans down and kisses him, slow and tender, and when he pulls back, his forehead rests against Shane’s. “I love you, moya lyubov’. All of you. Careful you, brave you, filthy you. Ya tebya lyublyu".
Shane’s heart does something ridiculous in his chest. He smiles, reciting his best Russian back at Ilya. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu. Navsegda".
Ilya laughs quietly, the sound rumbling through both of them. “You get better everytime. Forever does sound good, does it not?"
Forever does sound good,” Shane murmurs, kissing Ilya softly.
"Forever", Ilya smiles as he reaches for the throw blanket, pulling it over them both. Shane doesn’t protest when he maneuvers them until they’re properly lying down, Shane’s back to Ilya’s chest and Ilya's arm heavy and secure around his waist.
Just before he drifts off, he hears Ilya whisper against the back of his neck, voice thick with sleep and affection. “Merry Christmas, Shane".
Shane smiles into the darkness, lacing their fingers together over his stomach. “Merry Christmas, Ilya".