Work Text:
Ilya is lying face down on the bed, and Shane traces down his expansive back to his ass. It’s ridiculous, the biggest hockey ass he’s ever seen. And he’s been in a lot of change rooms. He’s seen a lot of asses.
He gives into the temptation, leaning down to bite at one cheek, worrying at it with his teeth. Ilya writhes, making a sound that Shane has never heard before, a high whimpering kind of moan, broken off and swallowed down. The silence after it echoes.
He pulls away, watching Ilya. His face is mostly hidden, but he can see the tint of red that’s climbing up his skin, clinging to the back of his neck.
Shane pushes up on one elbow, peering around to see his face more clearly. Ilya’s brow is furrowed, his lips turned down in a scowl.
He looks kind of… bratty.
It's like holding up a mirror. Shane's never seen himself reflected so clearly in Ilya before.
He looks down his body to where the imprint of his teeth shows clearly on Ilya’s fair skin. Leaning down, he keeps his eyes on Ilya's face as he sticks out his tongue and traces the indent in a sloppy circle.
Ilya shudders, his expression turning pained.
But he doesn't say anything, doesn't ask.
Sometimes, Shane doesn't want to ask, either. He trusts Ilya to read him, to know instinctively what he needs but can't verbalize.
He's never been the one to fuck Ilya before, and he rests his chin on the meat of his ass, considering if this is something he wants, something he can do for Ilya.
Ilya does like his ass being played with sometimes, whether it's Shane's mouth or his fingers, but they've never gone further than that. His cock twitches against his stomach as he imagines sliding between Ilya's cheeks, pressing his cock into the tight heat of his body.
Yeah, yeah this can happen.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks Ilya, his voice rough with need.
Ilya goes very, very still. Shane can still just see his face, which flushes an even deeper red. Ilya thinks he doesn't blush, but the evidence has always been damning.
He does sometimes, when Shane shocks him. When he wants something fiercely, something he doesn't think he gets to have.
Shane wants to do this for him. He wants to take him out of his head, fuck away all of those thoughts that have him this pent up.
“Please?” he presses when Ilya doesn't respond.
“You really want that?” Ilya asks, glancing back at him, his head lifting from where it was pillowed against his arms.
Shane lets him see the desire in his eyes as they flit from his face back down to his ass.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Maybe not like, often. But sometimes, yeah. Right now, definitely.”
Ilya bites at his lip but then nods, settling back down on the bed. “Sure,” he says, like he’s granting Shane some favor. “If it's what you want.”
It's a feigned casualness. Shane can tell. He wants it just as bad.
He sits back on his heels as Ilya rolls onto his back. He’s looking everywhere but at Shane, eyes darting like a cornered animal, looking for an escape route.
Shane catches his ankle, rubs it soothingly. “We don’t have to,” he says. “I-” He cuts himself off, and it's his turn to look away as a green monster sinks its hooks into his chest and yanks. “Have you ever done it before?”
But he still peeks as Ilya’s expression turns pained. “Once,” he admits.
He whips his head around to stare at him. “Did you like it?”
Ilya shrugs. “Sure,” he says, “but it was a lot of work, you know?”
Shane does know, is the thing. Ilya’s never said anything about it, never acknowledged what he has to do to get his ass ready to be pounded into the mattress. How annoying and awful it is.
It used to happen so infrequently that Shane hadn’t really cared that much. Who cares about having to douche your ass like three or four times a year? It’s whatever.
Now, though, it’s a more regular annoyance. It’s part of the reason he’s so strict on his diet. The high fiber intake does most of the leg work for him.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess it can be a little intensive, at first.”
Ilya studies him. “You never complain about it,” he notes.
Shane feels heat prickle over his cheeks. “It’s worth it,” he says, avoiding eye contact again.
He knows Ilya is smirking. “And you?” he asks, his voice low and husky. “Would you make it worth it, Shane?”
Jesus Christ.
“Yes,” he says with a quiet confidence, unable to stop his eyes from meeting Ilya’s, from sinking into them.
He watches as Ilya pushes himself up, staying still as he ducks in for a kiss. “Okay,” he says against his lips. “I will be back soon.”
And then he’s gone, slipping into their bathroom, the door quietly shutting behind him.
Shane grabs the necessary supplies from the dresser, putting them within easy reach. Only then does he let out a shaky breath and settle in to wait.
He isn't worried about being bad at it or not liking it. Ilya won't expect him to be a fucking superstar or anything like that. He knows it will be hot and fun, like all their sex is, and he’s kind of looking forward to it. He’s also probably going to come embarrassingly quickly, so he knows he’ll need to get Ilya most of the way there before he gets inside of him
He licks his lips, mouth salivating at the thought of it. The sound of the shower starting up has him perking up, and he takes his cock in hand, absentmindedly petting the skin as he pictures Ilya back below him, that ridiculous ass spread before him like a feast.
By the time Ilya returns, Shane is worked up, and Ilya chuckles as he discards the towel and jumps back into bed. His kiss is broken by his grin, but Shane soon goads him into a response, flipping him onto his back and nipping at his jaw.
Ilya moans at that, and his eyes are lidded and dark with arousal as Shane pushes up on his elbows, meeting his gaze.
“You still want?” Shane asks. Ilya always checks in with him, and Shane is happy to take his lead in this. Consent is sexy.
“Yes,” Ilya admits. “I want you, Shane.”
He rewards the honesty with a toe-curling kiss that has Ilya bucking up into him, both of them groaning at the slide of skin on skin.
It’s easy, familiar, moving down Ilya’s body with kisses and sharp nips of his teeth, his eyes glued to every micro-expression that crosses Ilya’s face as he watches him in turn. He’s worrying at his lower lip with his teeth, but his gaze is hungry, rather than nervous.
Shane loses sight of him as he pushes his legs up, making room between them as he folds Ilya in two. Ilya holds himself there for him, his fingers digging into the meat of his thighs, and Shane groans at the sight before him.
A feast. All for him.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, biting at the sensitive skin of his thigh, then soothing it with a flick of his tongue.
He hears the muffled whine Ilya makes and smiles against his skin.
Ilya always makes him feel so good. He wants to make it good for him, too.
Shane ducks his head down and kisses his way to the tight pucker of Ilya’s rim, pressing soft, sucking kisses in a ring around it. He can feel the tremor that goes through Ilya’s body at the sensation and smirks.
He doesn’t tease him for long. He alternates between soft flicks and longer, harder sucks, using his spit to lubricate the area, the sloppy sounds of it filling the air, punctuated by the quiet grunts of pleasure Ilya’s unable to control now.
It’s music to his ears. Shane loves having Ilya like this, can’t get enough of it. He wiggles his tongue at Ilya’s entrance and it eases inside, and the moan from above him is louder, littered with curses. He presses in deeper, letting his saliva pool to ease the way and it’s hot, so fucking hot, the way Ilya goes rigid at that, gasping his name.
Why don't they do this more often? No wonder Ilya is so addicted to this.
Shane gets into it, sliding his tongue in and out, alternating between licking deeper inside of him and sucking at his rim, never getting enough of a rhythm going to let Ilya come but enough to get him closer, to have him panting and shaking with the effort not to move. He has one hand tightly clutched in Shane’s hair, holding him close, while the other is still holding his leg up and out of the way, his knuckles white.
It’s so fucking hot.
He pulls away and groans as he sees Ilya’s face, his cheeks blotchy and eyes wild while he pants for breath. He looks fucking sinful. Shane wants to devour him, make him come just like this, just with his mouth on his ass.
Shane uses his shoulder as leverage to keep Ilya’s other leg out of the way, balancing on one arm so that he can pet Ilya’s cock. He’s so hard, his tip wet where it rests against his stomach in a puddle of precome, and his whole cock jolts as Shane rubs his thumb over his slit.
Ilya curses, staring balefully at him, his pretty blue eyes pleading with him.
“You want more?” Shane asks. “Want to come like this?”
“No,” Ilya says, and his voice is hoarse. He clears his throat. “No, I want your cock in me when I come.”
Shane smirks at him, still idly rubbing his slit. “You’ll need a few fingers, first. Think you can hold off that long?”
“Yes,” Ilya says, but he doesn’t sound sure. Shane gives himself a moment to fantasize about getting his mouth back on him and making him come, and then on his fingers and finally on his cock. Ilya’s done it to him enough times that he knows it's possible, and how good it feels, but it was also something they had worked up to.
This first time, he’s happy to give Ilya what he wants. He can give him what he actually needs next time.
“Okay,” Shane says simply, kissing his hip.
He gently slips out from underneath Ilya’s thigh and lets it drop so that he can kiss back up his body. Ilya opens for him immediately as he claims his mouth, his kisses hungry and desperate. They’re both soon panting for breath, and Shane has to wrench his lips away to get some air.
Ilya just smirks at him, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“So easy,” he coos. Shane rolls his eyes.
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
He looks over at the bedside table and reaches over to snag the lube he’d left out earlier, uncapping it and drizzling some over his fingers. When he returns to sitting between Ilya’s splayed legs, Ilya just watches him, completely unashamed at how brazenly on display he is. The trust is humbling, and Shane gives himself a moment to feel blessed at how much this man loves and trusts him.
Shane knows how fucking vulnerable it can feel, to be so physically and emotionally open like this. He’ll treat it like the gift it is.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says honestly, swirling his fingers around Ilya’s hole, drenching it in lube.
Ilya’s lips quirk up. “I bet you say that to all the boys,” he teases.
“Only the ones I’m married to,” he quips back, and Ilya smirks, looking pleased. He loves it any time Shane reminds him that they’re married, literally husbands. It’s his favorite word, now. Shane has learnt it in four different languages, just to watch him smile at each iteration.
He’s careful as he eases a finger inside, watching for any sign of pain or discomfort, but Ilya just basks against the pillows like a king, pliant under Shane’s ministrations. His breathing picks up slightly, his eyes darkening with lust, but he is otherwise patient. At the third finger, his hips start to roll into it, his teeth sinking back into his lip, and Shane is so turned on he’s dizzy with it.
“Please,” Ilya says eventually, his voice wavering. “Shane, please, enough. It’s enough.”
Shane gives a tight nod and gently eases his fingers out, wiping them on Ilya’s towel. Before he grabs the condom, he checks in with Ilya again, cradling his face in his hands.
“This is what you want?” he asks, kissing him tenderly and waiting for his response.
Ilya nods. “Yes,” he whispers. “I want you, want you to fuck me, Shane. Make me feel it.”
He kisses him again, keeping it soft, gentle. Ilya sighs into it, his hands sliding up Shane’s sides and then down again, holding him against his chest.
It’s difficult to pull himself away, but he’s so hard that it’s starting to hurt.
Shane’s hands are shaking as he tears open the condom and slides it over his cock, hissing at the sensitivity. And then, finally, he’s there, perching between Ilya’s legs, one hand guiding the head of his cock to Ilya’s ass.
He looks up at Ilya, pausing there. His heart is thudding painfully in his chest. He’s quite literally never done this before.
Ilya smiles at him, though it soon turns mischievous as Shane hesitates.
“Don’t worry,” he teases, an old, familiar chirp, “it will fit.”
He cracks up, bowing his head. “You asshole,” he says fondly.
And then he presses in, and they both moan as Ilya’s body opens for him, slowly drawing him inside.
It’s so fucking tight. So warm. Shane’s immediately overwhelmed, and he gasps as he bottoms out, gritting his teeth as tension has every muscle in his body clenching. He wants, desperately, to move, to fuck into the tight channel of Ilya’s ass and take the pleasure he can already feel building alarmingly quickly up his spine, but he can’t.
He holds himself very, very still, and waits.
Beneath him, Ilya is also rigid, his fingers digging tightly where they cling at Shane’s waist.
The first time Ilya had fucked him, Shane remembers how patient he’d been, how gentle. It had surprised him, because Ilya had been such a fucking asshole otherwise, but not in bed. He hadn’t made Shane feel dirty, for wanting it so badly, for loving it so much. He’d just kissed him, and made it so fucking good, that even thinking about it now, so many years later, makes him feel a bit teary.
For days, months, years later, he’d closed his eyes and thought of those two, sweet, fleeting kisses in the stairwell afterwards. It was those more than anything that had given him a secret, terrifying hope that it had meant something more.
He wants to be good like that for Ilya. He wants to make it special for him, memorable. Important.
“Fuck,” he says after a while, when he feels Ilya’s hole relax a little around him. “You’re like a vice around my cock.”
Ilya lets out a huff of laughter, fingers squeezing his waist. “You are the same,” he says. “Always so tight for my enormous nine-inch cock.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “It is not nine inches. You’re such a liar.”
He eases back slightly, his eyes rolling back as Ilya’s hole sucks him back in, massaging every inch of his cock. “Fuck,” he curses vehemently.
Ilya slides one hand up to cup the back of his neck, tugging him down for a kiss. Shane complies happily, kissing him as he starts to slowly, carefully, ease in and out.
“Is this okay?” he asks. “Feels good?”
“Yeah,” Ilya says, trembling underneath him, his voice gravelly. “Feels fucking great. Go faster.”
Shane kisses him and adjusts himself slightly for more leverage, thankful suddenly that he is a very strong, very fit hockey player who can manhandle his also very strong, very fit husband into a more advantageous position. He shoves one of his stupid pillows under Ilya’s hips and throws his legs over each arm, using his strong core to roll his hips in a way that must feel fucking amazing from the way Ilya goes cross-eyed beneath him, moans dripping from his lips as Shane speeds up.
It’s easier like this, and Shane watches him, feeling sweat beading at his brow as he exerts himself, trying out minute changes until Ilya actually fucking jolts, swearing loudly in Russian.
He smirks. Sex is like hockey. It’s all about the angle. And Shane knows his angles.
It’s like Ilya can read his mind. “Fucking overachiever,” he gripes, panting for breath as he writhes on Shane’s cock, his curls plastered to his forehead.
Shane laughs and fucks him harder. It’s good, so fucking good. He’s close far too quickly, but Ilya’s even closer, and it only takes one pass of Shane’s hand over his cock for Ilya to be groaning his name, spilling over his fist and clenching around him.
It steals his breath away and he follows a few thrusts later, emptying himself into the condom with a guttural moan, almost collapsing on top of Ilya in the immediate aftermath, heaving for breath.
They lie there for a long time, tangled and sweaty and floating, occasionally pressing a kiss to whatever bit of skin they can reach.
“You killed me,” Ilya grumbles a while later.
Shane laughs and he eases out of Ilya so that he can dispose of the condom and then flop onto his back beside him. They’re both usually quick to shower after fucking, but Shane’s happy for once to give it a minute, basking in how fucking good they are at sex.
“That was fun,” he responds.
Ilya hums his agreement, and Shane turns his head to look at him. Ilya smiles at him, tilting his head up for a kiss.
They kiss lazily for a while, until their sweat cools and the afterglow starts feeling less like a glow and more like a sheen of tacky come and lube sticking to him.
He feels Ilya’s smile against his lips. “Okay, I think my legs are working again now. Shower?”
“Definitely,” he agrees.
He pushes himself up and holds out a hand to Ilya, who does indeed sway slightly as his legs remember how to keep him upright. Shane smirks, a little proud of himself.
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he grumbles, pushing at Shane’s chest.
“I didn’t say a word,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
“Your eyes said plenty,” Ilya says, leading the way to the ensuite bathroom slowly.
Shane doesn’t respond, too busy staring at Ilya’s ass, which definitely still has the imprint of his teeth on it.
His cock twitches with interest.
Yeah, maybe he doesn’t want to fuck Ilya all the time, but he can’t deny the appeal.
His husband does have the fattest ass in hockey, after all.