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"When did you know?"
Ilya let himself stir from where he was drowsing to look at the top of Shane's head. They were tangled up in bed, Yuna and David long gone back to their cabin, and he shouldn't have been surprised. No matter how hard he fucked Shane into oblivion, he always emerged with questions. So many questions. Sometimes devastating questions. Everyone else? Great work, good job, thank you for orgasm, bye. Shane Hollander? No, he demands secrets. Ilya was still getting used to it, but after this week, he was much more open to answering. He petted down Shane's dark hair and kissed his head.
"When did I know what?"
He knew what Shane meant, he just wanted to give himself a moment while Shane struggled out of his embarrassment.
"When you…when you loved me. When did you know you loved me?"
It was a loaded question. A confusing one, too, because there was no concise answer. All of it was tangled up in shoving it back down, denying its existence, covering his tracks. But he knew.
"Because I think…" Shane kept going, moving just enough to prop himself up on Ilya's chest, fingers drifting casually over skin. "I think I just ignored it. Or tried to. For longer than I want to admit. It just caught up to me that day at your place…But…"
"But what?"
"First time in Montreal. You were just so—"
"Good? Amazing? A sex god?"
"You. Sweet. You were so careful with me."
"Was your first time."
"But…other people aren't like that. Most people aren't like that. But you always, I don't know, check in."
Ilya sniffed. They used safewords. Shane liked the traffic light system the best because they could course correct, adjust when his needs changed. And it prevented Ilya from incessantly worrying or forgetting completely. Shane was just so…hungry for him, it was easy to get lost in it.
"You're very sensitive, I don't want to push you in a bad direction."
"Ilya—"
"What? It's true. And you were so skittish back then, I didn't want to scare you off."
"I wasn't scared."
"You always say that."
"I wasn't scared. I was nervous. I wanted to impress you. I wanted to be—"
"Good for me?" Ilya filled in with a smirk. Shane huffed and pushed up to kiss him, a light, playful thing that pulled a smile from them both.
"Yes," he agreed. "I always want to be good for you." His hand found Ilya's face, thumb stroking over his cheek restlessly.
"You are good for me," Ilya kissed his smile. "So good. Perfect. You come apart so pretty for me."
Shane sighed into their kiss, much too heated and intense given their recent activities but it didn't take much to get Shane revved up again.
"So tell me," Shane whispered, softly breaking their kiss.
Ilya sighed and let his hand wander down Shane's hair, neck, and shoulder. Thinking about it was painful. Probably painful in a way that Shane couldn't understand. Shane said he'd been confused and in denial, but Ilya wasn't. Ilya knew exactly what was going on, he'd ached for it. Allowing himself to want something, just for himself, something no one could take, or taint, or diminish, it had been dangerous. And Ilya had always wanted Shane very, very badly.
"I knew I wanted you when you introduced yourself."
"Really?"
"Yes. Really. I couldn't. Not…not while I played for Russia. And I was so jealous of you. Watched your games and highlights all the time. I was curious the second you shook my hand."
"Yeah."
"I knew you wanted me too after the draft. I kept looking at that mouth," he dragged a thumb over Shane's lips, let him suck, and kissed him. "I wanted to pin you to the floor, have my dirty way with you. I thought for sure you would notice. Punch me or something."
"No way. I had to stop myself from crawling into your lap. I wanted to kiss you."
"I knew I had to get you alone again. One on one. Just to see. Thought I would have to sweet talk you. The showers were a surprise," he joked.
"Shut up."
Ilya tipped his head up to kiss him sharply. "No." He kissed him again. "You were so beautiful and shy and so obvious. I couldn't help myself. Had to try."
"I almost got on my knees for you. I was so pissed at myself. But you…looked like that." Ilya barked a laugh and Shane nuzzled into his neck. "You're so fucking hot, it's not fair."
"I was very disappointed when our game was cancelled. After that first All-Stars."
"I was too. But it felt like a sign, I guess? Like the whole thing was a bad idea."
"It was."
"That's why I kept ignoring you though. It was too distracting, I didn't want to fuck up."
"I know."
"And then…"
"Yeah."
"But after."
"It's like you said. It was a bad idea. Too distracting. I didn't want to fuck up."
"So the Olympics—"
"I couldn't let you and…Russia…mix. You were…too good. I didn't want it all to touch you. I didn't want you to see it."
"Like your father?"
"Yes. Him too. And my life there, who I was there."
"I hope you'll tell me more someday."
Ilya arched a brow, ready to deflect.
"Greedy," he teased. "Making demands, asking so many questions."
Shane chuckled, moving to situate himself more fully in Ilya's lap. Ilya's hands went to his hips, smoothed over his ass, held the thick of his thighs, as Shane dropped to press their foreheads together.
"I want to know everything about you," Shane confessed quietly.
"I'm trying."
Shane dropped his head to press their mouths together, a melding, a need for contact that didn't escalate.
"You still haven't actually answered me," Shane said against his mouth, pressing more kisses there. Ilya met each one, brushed their noses together.
"All-Stars."
"This—"
"The first one."
Shane sat back a little, brows furrowing. Ilya whined, sweeping his hands up Shane's back to coax him down.
"Our first All-Stars. You knew you were in love with me at our first All-Stars?"
"Skills competition."
"Oh of course."
"You were so beautiful on the ice, moya lyubov. It was so easy breaking Hunter's record and you outdid me so smoothly. Nobody just beats me."
"You knew you were in love with me because of my slapshot?" Shane laughed.
No. It was a lie. A small lie, one Ilya would never feel guilty for. It was purely self-preservation at this point because the truth was too vulnerable. Too embarrassing. He had realized his burgeoning feelings at All-Stars, just not during the skills competition. It was before. During their press conference when Shane recognized his frustation with English and gave him a perfect out. When their feet pressed together in secret under that table because it was safer. Because Ilya didn't have the capacity to actually thank him. Because Shane would never accept a thank you, that was just his way.
Ilya had noticed Shane's gorgeous looks and his incredible skills on the ice first, sure, but he'd fallen in love with his kindness. With the firm and gentle respect he demonstrated to everyone and everything around him.
But this was all still too new. Too tender and fragile, and Ilya was still processing it all. Shane's love, his planning, his attention to detail, his unrestrained honesty, his parents. Maybe when they were 70 and unable to fuck anymore Ilya would tell him the whole truth.
Sitting next to Shane Hollander at that press conference in 2011 was the safest he had felt since his mother left him.
"A little," he teased and deflected. "Then you attacked me in my hotel room—"
"I did not attack you. And Scott Hunter was sitting right next to me on that bench, by the way."
"You were so eager, so riled up for me. It was fucking hot."
"Pretty sure I had a panic attack that night."
Ilya shrugged. "It was cute." He pushed up on his elbows to kiss him. "You were cute. And I told myself for a long time that I was just horny and wanted to fuck you, but—"
"But what?"
"I haven't…I haven't been with another man since we started." Shane frowned. "Women, sure. So, so many. It was different. Even then I was always thinking about you. Or trying not to. It was safer obviously to be seen with women but—"
"But?"
"But it was always you." He sniffed and laid back down, Shane followed. Ilya couldn't resist petting his hair, nosing into it. "Even in Russia, in Sochi…my coach's son was there. Sasha. I could have—"
"I thought you said he was a safe option. Because you had the same secret."
"Yes. Maybe. But…he came to me at a gala. All those people just outside. Both of our fathers. The only thing I could think was that you were always so careful with us. You knew something was wrong, something was different, you stopped. He didn't. He didn't even think to."
"Did he-?"
"No, no, nothing like that. He just wanted sex and I just wanted you. If I got caught in Russia, I would never have seen you again. He wasn't worth it." He stroked Shane's face, along his cheek, kissed the top of his head and pressed his face there. "No matter how much I lied to myself or put distance between us. It was always you."
"Yeah," Shane agreed. "I tried…with other guys. Just twice."
"Do not tell me."
"Both times were bad."
"Tell me everything."
Shane laughed, turned, and crashed their mouths back together again for rushed, probing kisses. Relief. Sheer fucking relief.
"One bad blow job, I was thinking about you the whole time."
"And the other?"
Shane let his body sink down, hid his face in Ilya's neck. Ilya brought his hand back to Shane's hair, stroking and tightening his hold on Shane's body.
"He seemed like what I…what I needed. It was fine, I guess. Like he got me off, but he couldn't—"
"What?"
When Shane hesitated, Ilya momentarily panicked thinking this guy had hurt Shane. But then Shane was shaking his head.
"He couldn't get me there. You know? I couldn't get out of my head. Like it was fine, whatever, I just…does that make sense?"
"Yes. It's the same for me. No one is like you. Sex is good, it's great. It's a distraction. Feels nice, is fun, but it's not—"
"Right?"
"No. It's never right with anyone but you."
"So…" Shane said slowly. "Like…the whole fucking time. We were in love the whole time."
"We're stupid, remember?"
"Fucking idiots," Shane agreed with a sniffle.
"It couldn't have been different, Shane. Even if we wanted it—"
"I know."
"Marleau makes fun of me for my Montreal Girl as it is."
"Girl?"
"I wasn't going to correct him."
"Hayden calls you Boston Lily."
"Is worse. I win. I am more discreet."
"Bullshit. We always room together. He saw the name pop up."
"So?"
"So how does Marleau know you have a Montreal Girl?"
"He's fucking nosey that's how. Says I'm blushing when I text you."
"Blushing?"
"I go out with the team after games, except when we're meeting up. He noticed. That's all."
"You send me the nastiest shit, you tell me I'm terrible at sexting—"
"You are."
"But your teammates notice you blushing?"
"I do not blush, that's just what he says."
"You literally tell me all of the time that I can't flirt!"
"You can't!"
"I make you blush," Shane sang, kissing and nipping at his neck. Ilya tipped his head to give him more room, clasped a hand to his neck to keep him there.
"No, it's just embarrassing how bad you are at sexting. No game."
"You love it," Shane bit down on his skin. It would leave a mark. Ilya pushed into it.
"Yes," he confessed, breathless and too easily, "yes, I do." Shane licked up his neck and kissed to his ear. "And you love it when I talk nasty to you." Ilya let his hands drift down to tuck under Shane's ass, massaging and squeezing. "Whole world thinks Shane Hollander is upstanding, goody nice boy, prude. Would faint at the very suggestion someone wanted to fuck him."
"Ilya," Shane sighed, body already melting under his touch, slipping into their push and pull. He moved up to kiss across Ilya's face, finally landing on his mouth and crushing their noses together. Ilya dropped his jaw, let Shane thrust his tongue into his mouth, let himself be devoured.
"I know better, yes? I know Shane Hollander is desperate to suck cock, drops to his knees so fast—"
"Just for you," he managed, rocking his hips down into Ilya's lap, getting them both hard again.
"And I know how Shane Hollander begs to be fucked. Wants it rough and hard. Wants to be fucked so good he can't think or breathe."
Shane was reaching between them, stroking their dicks together. Ilya cursed and grimaced, still sensitive from their last round. Fuck, they were still lubed up. Tacky, but wet enough for Shane, he knew. He splayed his fingers over Shane's ass, reaching for the crease. Shane moaned into his mouth, and Ilya laughed a little.
"Already fucked you once and you want more? So greedy, moya lyubov." He sunk fingers into Shane's hole, testing and stretching, and grinned to find him still so loose and wet. Shane grabbed his face and kissed him again, deep and rough, like he was trying to bury himself there. Then he ripped his mouth away and sat up, grabbed Ilya's dick and sank down onto it.
"Oooh, fuck," Ilya crooned, lifting his hips into it and watching Shane's muscles ripple above him. He grabbed for his chest, squeezing and rolling his nipple between his fingers, trailed his hand down that perfect body.
Then Shane proceeded to fuck him into that mattress, riding him ruthlessly with the strength of a professional athlete and a well-versed lover. Ilya kept his hands on Shane's ass, fingers trailing those stretch marks, and tried to catch his mouth for kisses when he leaned too far.
"Fuck, yes, Hollander, take it, take it."
"Touch me," he gasped out, "Ilya, please please—"
Ilya licked one of his hands and firmly grasped Shane's dick, allowing their already frantic rhythym to do most of the work.
"Come for me, moyo solnyshko, come for me."
He did, almost immediately. His hips jerked roughly once, twice, and then he was spilling into Ilya's hand. Only then did Ilya sling his arms around Shane's body, pulling him down so they were flush, and fucked viciously up into him. Shane dropped his face to Ilya's, rocking with their movement, and let out the prettiest pants and moans with each thrust. But Ilya wasn't long for it. They'd decided to forgo condoms and having Shane so close, so pliant and relaxed made him absolutely feral. He stuttered and came inside Shane with a growl. Shane's mouth was already there, tracing Ilya's, kissing his face.
With a groan, he rolled them so they were on their sides, bodies still pressed together and mouths reaching for each other.
"I love you so fucking much," Shane grounded out, hands tightening on his face. He tugged Ilya in for another devastating kiss that had him shaking more than the damn orgasm. But that was Shane, ruining him. "I want us. I want forever," he choked on a sob, tears slipping now. Ilya shushed him, whispered every sweet word in Russian that he knew, kissed those tears away and held him. He'd had such a long day, a good hard day, but he'd done it so well. Ilya would spend the rest of the night singing his praises, but first…
"Come, lyubimyy, let's clean you up."
"Ilya," he whined.
"Shower first and then I will tell about how good and brave and perfect you are until you fall asleep. And then we will wake up, drink your poison smoothie—"
"It's not poison!"
"And go for a walk, swim, fuck out in the sunshine, and I will tell you all over again. You'll get sick of me, probably try to drown me or something." Shane was laughing. "Oh that's your plan, is it? Seduce me to your cottage, kill me, and finally be number one hockey player?"
Shane shoved at him, laughing. "Shut up."
"No!" he smacked a kiss to Shane's cheek. "Never." He caught Shane's chin, holding him in place while he slid his tongue in between his teeth, stroked along Shane's tongue, plunged into the depth of his mouth. Shane moaned and let him do as he pleased, perfect boy.
Ilya rolled out of the bed and stood, holding his hand out to Shane.
"C'mon, shchenochek, shower and sheets or you'll never sleep."
"What's that one?" he asked, grabbing Ilya's hand even though he didn't need the help, and following.
"Puppy." Ilya turned and pinched his ass. "Because you're such a good boy."
"Asshole."
Ilya hummed and pulled him into another kiss before manhandling him into the shower. He was exactly where he wanted to be.