Work Text:
Shane was nervous.
The last time he had to adjust to a new team, he’d been a rookie. That was over a decade ago, so it was disorienting to essentially be starting from ground zero. New team, new dynamics—the only thing he was looking forward to currently was the fact that now, he'd get to play beside Ilya as teammates and husbands.
From the moment he signed his new contract, Shane had already had the conversation with Ilya on how they’d navigate playing on the same team.
It wasn’t so much of an issue when they’d played together years ago for the All-Stars game. No one knew that they were together back then. But now, everyone knows, and all eyes would be on them to see how they acted.
Shane had made Ilya swear not to treat him any differently at practices or during games, and in return, Shane would hold himself to the same standard. He wanted to get his own footing as a new member to the team, and he couldn’t do that if it seemed like he was getting any kind of preferential treatment.
They'd also agreed, though, that they wouldn’t hide their relationship in any way and that they wouldn’t stop themselves from being openly together in any other setting, but once they were on the ice, they’d just be Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.
Now, today was his first practice as a Centaur, and he was nervous.
It had only been a few months since he and Ilya were outed and only two weeks since Shane had finished signing all the contracts that officially branded him a Centaur.
Ilya had reassured him several times that he didn’t have anything to prove to anyone and that he’d already earned the team’s respect on the basis of being Shane Hollander, but Shane still desperately wanted to make a good impression.
Part of that, to Shane, meant sticking to the same routine that he’d kept on his former team.
He and Ilya would arrive at every other practice together, but just for today, he wanted to set himself apart and get there early just like he always had. He had almost changed his mind that morning and asked Ilya to come with him, shaking him awake at six am, but Ilya had just rolled over in bed and pressed his face into the pillow, mumbling, “No, Shane. I am already captain. I do not need to get there early to prove this.” Which was Ilya’s way of saying, “I love you, but I'm not waking up earlier than necessary for your rituals.”
Still, when Shane unlocked his phone upon arriving at his location, there was a sleepy and partially misspelled text from Ilya saying, will be fine, u will do gret.
He'd gotten the gist.
Shane arrived at the Ottawa Centaurs training facility bright and early, before the sun had even fully cleared the roof of the building, only just barely illuminating the sky.
Last he’d checked the time, it was only 7:30, and practice didn’t start until 10.
It was probably excessively early, yes, but Shane had done the same thing for his entire career with the Voyageurs, and he was inclined to stick to this one piece of his former routine, if everything else was going to be different moving forward. It was comforting to him.
The building was quiet when he entered it—only the hum of the industrial lights and A/C filling the space. Understandably, no one else was there yet, but that was exactly how he liked it. It gave him time to decompress and get himself settled.
He let himself into the locker room and set his duffel down in the stall that had been assigned to him.
He’d been there a few times before to pick up his new uniform and take promotional pictures for social media, but it still felt strange to see his nameplate above a logo that wasn’t the one he’d grown up under. Any of the strangeness he felt quickly went away, though, when his eyes went to the stall right beside his—to where Ilya’s stall and nameplate were.
Shane made it a point to take his time taping his stick before throwing himself into early stretches, and he even made time to go for a quick jog in the facility’s gym. Nothing intense enough to break into a sweat, but just enough to expel some of his nerves.
By the time he finished and made his way back to the locker room to change into his practice jersey, players had started to filter in.
A couple rookies nodded at him with that wide‑eyed mix of awe and terror he remembered from his own first year, eager to impress. The vets on the team gave him polite greetings, some more friendly and familiar than others, like Wyatt and Bood who Shane actually had gotten to know prior to today.
With the familiar faces, it was easier for Shane to settle into the easy camaraderie that the team clearly had. He wasn’t fully in their rhythm yet, but some of them already felt comfortable enough to joke around him, which left him no doubt that they eventually would be.
He hadn’t gotten the chance to see Ilya arrive yet before he, and a few others, chose to make their way onto the ice and do a few warmup laps and stretches with their full gear on.
Shane settled into his usual routine at center ice, dropping into his first round of stretches. He had stretched earlier, but he made sure to do more extensive stretches now that he had all his gear on. He started with his quads, then hamstrings, stretching his leg muscles until all the tension eased and the last of his nerves eased with it.
He was just about to crouch down into his hip stretches, when someone came up behind him so quickly that he didn’t register the presence until it was too late and they had attached themselves to his back.
A gloved hand grabbed at his waist, and a wet kiss landed square on his cheek, making him startle and then grimace, his body jerking upright.
“Jesus—” Shane started before he turned. “Ilya.” He scolded, knowing exactly who was brazen enough to do something like that before turning around.
His husband was looking at him with the most unrepentant expression imaginable, a wide grin taking over his features.
Shane almost shoved Ilya away in retaliation, but he knew he wasn’t actually annoyed, and Ilya knew it too from the way his grin didn’t falter even for a second under Shane’s glare.
Shane bit back the matching grin that threatened to break across his face at the sight of Ilya wearing the same colors as him and schooled his face into something neutral.
“Ilya,” He started, pushing off his skate to move away from where the others were stretching. Ilya followed closely behind him as Shane made his way over to the wall of the rink nearest to the bench so they could talk without being in the way. “I thought we agreed on no PDA.”
Ilya nodded and shrugged. “During practice, yes.”
“No, on ice, period.” Shane said, giving him a stern look, and Ilya only pouted in response, drawing closer once more.
“You were gone when I woke up, and I missed you,” Ilya pouted. “Can I not kiss my husband?"
“And whose fault is that? I tried to wake you up before I left.”
Ilya scrunched his nose at Shane's words, and this time Shane actually did smile. He hesitated for a moment, reflexively almost wanting to look around to make sure no one was looking at them, before he decided it didn’t matter and drew Ilya closer to press their lips together.
For now, Shane wouldn’t be the one to majorly break their PDA on ice rule, so he kept it chaste, but Ilya seemed to appreciate it nonetheless and gave him a full, satisfied grin.
Shane rolled his eyes and let out a small snort. “Whatever, we should go. Practice is starting soon, and I should learn a few more names.”
Ilya shook his head. “Practice starts when I say it starts.”
“No, practice starts when Coach says it starts.” Out of the corner of his eye, Shane could see Coach Wiebe making his way out of the tunnel and more players filtering in from the locker rooms onto the ice. Ilya followed Shane’s glance toward Coach and raised a brow when Shane turned to look back at him.
“No, Shane. Practice starts when I say it starts because I am the captain.” Ilya retorted, tone daring Shane to argue, and Shane grinned at the implicit challenge.
“You keep telling yourself that.” Shane shrugged, purely to bite back at Ilya.
"Oh, I will,” Ilya winked.
Shane shook his head and slipped his helmet on, looking out at the team that was now starting to congregate on center ice.
As if sensing the return of Shane’s nerves, Ilya watched him pull on the last piece of his gear with an affection that didn’t match the smugness in his tone of voice from seconds before, and he reached out to give Shane’s helmet a light tap once he’d pulled it on.
It wasn’t an overt display of affection, but it settled something in Shane nonetheless.
“Don’t be nervous,” Ilya said casually. “You will be fine.”
Shane didn’t answer and just nodded once as he sucked in a steeling breath. The noise of players on the rink started to rise around them, and Ilya turned his head, looking over at Troy and Luca, who were now looking in their direction.
The moment had an unspoken affection within it when Ilya looked back at him but was quickly ruined when Ilya pulled his own helmet on and pushed off the wall with a lazy glide before saying, “Now go mingle with the other rookies.”
Shane opened his mouth to defend himself but shut it quickly with a scowl. It wasn’t the first time Ilya had implied he was a rookie since he’d signed, and it wouldn’t be the last.
In the weeks leading up to today’s practice, Ilya had taken to calling him a rookie teasingly since he’d be “new.”
Shane skated after him, making his way past before he turned and shot Ilya an unamused look. “Yes, Captain," he said dryly.
He’d meant it as a jab.
Something flickered behind Ilya’s eyes, a particular look, but it went instantly. Gone just as quickly as it had come and before Shane could process and decipher it.
Ilya looked like he was about to say something, until one of the rookies skated past them with a casual, “Morning, Cap,” and Ilya’s entire demeanor shifted. It was almost a physical difference, the way Shane noticeably saw him shift from Ilya, his husband, to Ilya, his captain.
“Morning. Helmets on, warmup in two.” Just like that, Ilya got to business and slipped easily into his role.
For the first time in years, Shane wasn’t the one everyone looked to for direction. He wasn’t the center of the team’s operation, responsible for setting the tone. He was just another player on the ice, and he found that he liked it more than he expected.
The entire practice, all Shane could do was marvel at how natural leadership looked on Ilya.
It was nice, actually. Seeing him like this.
He’d known Ilya was a good captain from the things he’d heard across the league and from other players, but seeing it up close—seeing how the Centaurs moved around him, how they listened, how they trusted him implicitly—was something else entirely.
Practice was going well, and Shane fell into the rhythm of things quickly as the team went through drills. It was only the first practice, so they didn’t get into running plays or anything yet, but they did play a scrimmage at the end, just to get used to working together and work on “team chemistry," as Coach had put it.
He and Ilya interacted a normal amount, mostly when he was addressing the larger group and giving instruction.
All practice, Shane wasn’t sure what to call him.
Calling him Ilya felt too intimate when everyone was referring to him as Rozanov or different variations of "captain," but Rozanov felt a little impersonal for what they were at this point. These days, he only called Ilya “Rozanov” during sex, and he really couldn’t afford to think about sex at the moment, so he settled on calling him captain.
So each time Ilya gave the group instruction and they broke out, Shane would say, “Yes, Captain."
Each time, Ilya would look dead at Shane when Shane would say it.
And each time, Ilya would have the same look in his eye from before that came and went, and he would make his face carefully blank, as if forcing himself into focus.
Shane’s mind lingered absently on what could have caused Ilya to make the face he did, but he really didn’t think much of it until the very end of practice.
They had just finished coming back together one last time before dismissing for the day, and he’d found himself lingering on ice and slowly making his way off of it while talking to Luca afterwards.
They hadn’t been talking about anything important; it was mostly just Shane entertaining Luca’s questions. It was hard to recall the version of Luca who had started out shy and starstruck around him and Ilya both, who now talked to them freely and spoke to his heart’s content.
“Is it weird?” Luca asked out of the blue, and Shane looked at him with furrowed brows.
“Is what weird?”
Luca shrugged. “You know, not being captain anymore.” He pointed at Shane’s practice jersey where there used to be a bold C.
“Not really,” Shane said. Not at all, actually—it wasn't something he wanted anymore.
Everyone else had started making their way to the locker rooms to change, and Shane and Luca, still in conversation, passed by Ilya, who was chatting with Coach.
“It’s nice not being in charge of anything. Ilya’s a natural at it.” Shane continued, “He gets to be ‘Captain Rozanov,’ and I get to just be Shane Hollander hockey player. It works.” Shane shrugged.
Shane was skating past Ilya, almost making it past while he talked, when Ilya suddenly stopped in his conversation to look at him and grabbed Shane’s upper arm with his now ungloved hand.
“I have to stay a little late to talk to Coach.” Ilya said, looking at Shane assessingly. “I’ll see you at home, yes?”
There was that look again, from earlier.
Shane was a little confused by the interaction, because of course he’d be at home waiting for him. He didn’t think that needed to be explicitly stated or asked, but he nodded anyway.
Ilya gave him a single nod in return, clearing his throat before turning back to Coach Wiebe, who gave Shane a friendly smile.
“I’ll see you.” Shane said over his shoulder with a puzzled tilt of the head. Luca looked between Shane and Ilya with an odd look, opening his mouth to say something but clearly deciding against it as he followed beside Shane and they made their way to the locker room.
Shane liked to think he knew his husband’s ins and outs. He knew what made Ilya tick. He knew all of Ilya’s expressions by heart, and yet this one—the one he kept making—was new.
Shane knew enough to pick up on the undercurrent of arousal in Ilya’s eyes, but there was also something else that for some reason, Shane just couldn’t grasp.
He couldn’t tell why Ilya was looking at him like that, not that Ilya ever needed something specific to get him like this, but there was something that had set him off, and Shane was determined to find out what.
As he finished with his shower and changed into more casual clothes, he replayed the last few seconds in his head, thinking on the moments before Ilya stopped him.
He hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary or worth repeating in his brief conversation with Luca.
When he got to his car, Shane replayed the entire practice in his head while driving in silence, trying to pinpoint the moment he had first seen Ilya’s expression, but his mind came up blank.
He combed through his memories, and it wasn’t until he realized the common denominator between each instance that he let out an audible "Oh" of realization.
Captain.
Each and every time, Shane had been calling Ilya captain.
Suddenly, all those instances of Ilya poking fun and calling him a rookie while asserting himself as captain made sense.
“That asshole," Shane muttered to himself.
Shane hadn’t meant for the word to take a second meaning.
The first time he had said it, it was more mocking and just said as a reaction to Ilya calling him a rookie. Every time after that, it had mostly been a way of being part of the group and recognizing Ilya’s role within it.
In fairness, Shane did find it kind of hot that Ilya was his captain.
Shane was so used to being the one to lead and take control on ice—it was nice to step back and focus on just his playing.
Ilya was mesmerizing on ice too.
It was effortless the way he commanded the team, and there was something undeniably attractive about Ilya’s assertion of authority.
When Shane got home, he created a plan.
He couldn’t be 100% sure if his calling Ilya “captain” truly was what set him off, but it was worth a shot. Either way, Shane intended to get fucked.
He made it a point to change into more comfortable clothes—sweatpants and nothing else.
He didn’t think Ilya would be that far behind him, so he went to their bedroom and cozied himself on the bed, making sure to wear his glasses. Ilya could try his best to hold onto his self-control on ice all he wanted—after all, Shane had been the one to make the rule, and he forced himself to maintain it—but off the ice was a different game, and Shane felt like playing a little dirty.
It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes later when Shane heard the front door open and shut with a click.
“Shane?” Ilya called out, and Shane picked his book up, pretending to busy himself before responding with his own, “In here!”
When Ilya entered the room, he faltered only for a second when he saw Shane in his bed with his glasses on. He still had his base layers on, so it was evident that he had rushed home as soon as possible and hadn’t even taken the time to shower at the facility.
“How was your meeting?” Shane asked, and Ilya’s eyes raked over Shane’s body, lingering on the way Shane was stretched out on the bed.
“Fine,” he said, and approached Shane’s side of the bed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Shane liked the way Ilya smelled normally, but he always smelled ten times more intoxicating to Shane when he was sweaty with exertion from practice. “Short.” Ilya shrugged.
Ilya set his duffel bag down in the corner of the room and made his way to the bathroom, knowing Shane would scold him if he got onto the bed directly with his sweaty outside clothes still on.
He knew Ilya was trying to be considerate, but Shane had other plans.
Shane's eyes followed Ilya as he walked towards the bathroom, appreciating the way his muscles moved under his clothes. He waited until he heard the sounds of Ilya about to start his shower and rummaging around, catching a glimpse of Ilya in just a towel slung low on his hips through the cracked door before he made his move.
“You know,” Shane’s voice dropped lower, deliberately lazy, as he stood and moved toward the slightly cracked open bathroom door with predatory grace. "You could’ve just showered at the facility.”
Ilya was grabbing some of his hair products to take into the shower when Shane walked in, and Shane pressed against Ilya’s back, chest to spine as he wrapped his arms around Ilya’s broad torso.
“Practice went well today, I think.” He mumbled, his voice muffled against the back of Ilya’s neck as he pressed a kiss there.
“Mhm,” Ilya hummed distractedly, leaning into Shane’s touch slightly.
“It gave me lots of ideas though,” Shane said, looking up at their bathroom mirror.
Ilya looked up and met his gaze.
“About?”
“How to treat my captain.” Shane said, voice low, as he now spoke directly into Ilya’s ear.
Ilya dropped what he was holding and turned his body to face him. “You were doing it on purpose.” Ilya accused and Shane shook his head, letting his hands drop to his sides.
“Doing what on purpose?” he asked, tilting his head innocently.
“What, did I do something wrong?" He started, adding a very pointed, “Captain?”
Ilya’s eyes darkened exactly as they had before, and the shift in him was instantaneous as he immediately latched onto what Shane was getting at.
Too easy.
Shane’s innocent act dissolved into something different, something eager to please. He leaned into Ilya’s space, letting his glasses slip down his nose as he looked up through his lashes.
“You know exactly what you are doing,” Ilya murmured, stepping forward to push Shane back and out of the bathroom, his fingers never leaving Shane’s hips.
Shane went easily, letting himself be guided back into the bedroom and relishing in the way Ilya's hands gripped him possessively. He stumbled slightly as he landed on his back on the sheets.
His hands came up to rest on Ilya's chest, feeling the firmness beneath his fingertips, and he dragged them down to loosen where Ilya had tucked the towel, but he didn’t get the chance before Ilya stopped him.
Ilya's grip tightened around Shane's wrist, and his voice came out low and commanding, “Did I give you permission to touch me?”
He held Shane’s hand away from the towel, and Shane shook his head.
That didn’t seem to be what Ilya was looking for, because his other hand came up to tilt Shane’s chin up so their eyes could meet. “I asked you a question, rookie.”
Shane sucked in a breath. Fuck.
"No," Shane breathed out, his chest rising and falling a little faster now, the word coming out almost breathless as he looked up at Ilya from where he sat on the edge of the bed.
Ilya's thumb brushed against Shane's pulse point on his neck, and Shane was sure Ilya could feel the frantic thud beneath his skin. “No, what?”
Shane felt his entire body go pliant under Ilya's touch, his eyes fluttering shut as Ilya’s palm, large and warm, held a gentle grip around his throat, thumb stroking against the skin gently.
Ilya removed his hand from Shane’s throat suddenly, bringing it up to grab Shane’s jaw in a firm grip. “I said, no what.”
Shane’s lips parted and he felt his cock stirring to life in his sweatpants. “No, captain.”
Ilya’s eyes flashed with satisfaction and something akin to hunger. “Good boy.” He murmured, and the praise sent a delicious shiver down Shane's spine.
He wanted more. Anything to get more. They slipped into their roles easily, and Shane felt a thrill coursing through him.
“Now,” Ilya said, releasing his grip on Shane’s jaw and stepping back. “Good rookies do what they’re told, yes?” He asked, and Shane nodded immediately, eagerly, his eyes never leaving Ilya’s face.
“Use your words, sweetheart.” Ilya said firmly, all while his hands were moving to adjust the towel around his waist, drawing Shane's attention to the V of his hips.
“Yes, Captain," Shane said breathily. God he was fucked.
He was practically drooling at the outline of Ilya hard under the towel. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth as his words failed him, but he also wanted nothing more than to feel the extra weight of Ilya, heavy on his tongue.
“Are you going to be a good rookie for your captain?”
“Yes, Captain," Shane repeated, the submissive part of his brain practically purring at the authority in Ilya’s tone.
His hands itched in his lap as he fought the urge to reach out and touch, but he knew his captain hadn’t given him permission. “I want to be good. I can be so good for you, please, let me show you I’m a good rookie.” Shane babbled.
He sounded pathetic, but Ilya’s lips curved into a small, pleased smile. “Such a good boy begging to please his captain.” Ilya cooed.
He rubbed a finger along the rim of Shane’s glasses, straightening them back into position from where they had slipped down his nose. “Stand up, Hollander.” He commanded in a low murmur.
Shane was quick to stand to his feet. To obey.
He stood there eye to eye with Ilya for a second, waiting for further instruction. Ilya's gaze dropped down Shane's body slowly and appreciatively, before he said simply, “Kneel.”
His voice carried the same effortless authority he wielded on the ice—calm and absolute. He didn’t have to force anyone to listen to him, everyone simply wanted to.
Shane especially.
The simple command was enough for Shane to drop to his knees instantly.
Shane looked up at Ilya through his lashes, his hands resting obediently on his own thighs, waiting.
Ilya carded his fingers through Shane’s hair, settling on the nape of Shane’s neck. He used his other hand to unfasten his towel, and it took an incredible amount of restraint for Shane to not just lean forward and take when the towel fell away to the floor.
Shane’s mouth watered when he took in the sight of Ilya fully naked in front of him. Ilya's cock hung thick and heavy, and Shane wanted so badly to lick at the drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip.
Ilya wrapped a hand around himself, stroking slowly and deliberately, his gaze never leaving Shane's face. “Do you want to touch it, rookie?”
“Please,” Shane breathed out, and Ilya opened his mouth to correct Shane, but Shane corrected himself before he had the chance. “Yes, Captain.”
Ilya made a low hum of approval. “Good boy,” he praised, using his hand that was still on the nape of Shane’s neck to draw Shane’s face closer. “Open your mouth.”
Shane opened immediately, tongue resting flat against the bottom of his mouth. He watched Ilya's cock with glazed eyes, already imagining how it would feel. How it would taste.
They had a healthy sex life, if not more active than the average couple, so it couldn’t have been more than a day since he last tasted Ilya, but that didn’t make him want it any less.
Ilya stroked himself a few more times, dragging his tip across Shane's bottom lip and getting it slick with his pre-cum, before pulling it away.
Shane couldn’t stop himself from letting his tongue dart out to taste, licking his bottom lip greedily.
“You're listening so well," he purred, pressing just the tip against Shane’s wet mouth again. “Open wider.”
Shane stuck his tongue out, and Ilya dragged his cock on the flattened surface.
Ilya was in control, and it was up to him right now if Shane got what he so desperately craved. He wanted to beg Ilya to stop teasing him, but he loved it.
After some more teasing and taunting Shane with little tastes not nearly enough to satisfy, Ilya finally pushed the swollen head past Shane’s waiting lips.
Shane moaned around the intrusion.
Ilya tasted like salt and something musky, the scent of fresh sweat from practice still clung to his skin—it was so distinctly Ilya that Shane couldn't stop himself from the pleased hum that erupted from his throat.
The vibration of Shane’s moan drew a sharp hiss from Ilya, who cursed under his breath while Shane flattened his tongue against the underside of his cock to drag it along the vein.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya groaned, his hand tightening in Shane’s hair.
Shane took the lack of instruction as permission to keep going to his heart's content, and he moved his mouth, sucking eagerly and letting his tongue lathe against the thick length.
His lips stretched obscenely around Ilya’s cock, drool already dripping from the corner of his lips.
He was almost positive he looked filthy like this, on his knees, glasses slightly fogged, worshiping his captain’s cock—proving how good he could be.
He couldn’t get enough.
Shane fought not to let his eyes flutter shut as his throat worked around Ilya.
He was so turned on, his own cock hard and aching in his sweatpants, but he didn’t dare touch himself without permission.
Ilya’s hand was still fisted tight in Shane’s hair, gripping it like a leash. “Fuck, so good,” Ilya groaned, holding Shane’s head still and using a thumb to stroke his cheek, pressing so he could feel the imprint of himself dragging against the walls of Shane's mouth as he now fucked into Shane’s throat. “Such a good boy for me.”
Shane preened at the praise, letting Ilya use him—use his throat—without gagging once.
The sloppy sounds of Shane’s sucking and Ilya’s grunts and moans filled the room as Shane hollowed his cheeks, taking Ilya deeper with each bob of his head.
The heavy weight of Ilya on his tongue was making him dizzy with arousal, and he only distantly registered his own desperate moans.
He was completely one-track minded, too caught up in the haze of Ilya when he felt Ilya twitch in his mouth, hips stuttering.
It was a telltale sign that Ilya was close, and Shane just moaned louder around Ilya’s cock, eager and needy and so desperate for Ilya to lose control.
Just as Ilya's face contorted with his impending release, he suddenly pulled out of Shane's mouth with a wet pop, making Shane whimper at the loss.
“Ilya—” Shane started, but Ilya grabbed at his jaw.
“What would they say, hm?” He panted, and Shane furrowed his brows.
Ilya swiped at Shane’s lips, wiping at the saliva coating it. “What would they say if they knew the newest rookie was on his knees being such a needy little cockslut for their captain?”
Shane's cheeks flushed, but it was more from arousal than any kind of embarrassment.
He was a cockslut for Ilya. He had no shame in that.
“So drunk on my cock, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
Shane looked up at Ilya through his lashes and his glasses, and he saw an opportunity to challenge Ilya there that he couldn’t ignore.
What kind of rookie didn’t give their captain some pushback every once in a while?
“Well,” Shane’s voice was still a little hoarse and raw when he said, “then why haven’t you fucked me yet, Captain?”
His voice still carried the barest hint of faked innocence, as if he didn’t know what he was doing—Shane knew exactly what he was doing.
There was nothing innocent about what he wanted Ilya to do to him either. He just needed Ilya to take the bait—and Ilya did.
“Fucking brat,” Ilya muttered, manhandling Shane by his arms up from his knees, before claiming Shane’s mouth in a rough, filthy kiss.
His tongue pushed past Shane's lips, and Shane immediately let his tongue swirl around it, sucking on Ilya’s tongue filthily with the same enthusiasm he had shown for Ilya's cock just moments before, which drew a deep groan from Ilya.
Shane whimpered, trying to draw Ilya’s body impossibly closer. "Please...Captain...fuck me—need you to fuck me..." he panted between kisses, his hips already moving in search of friction.
Ilya cursed in Russian against his lips, too muffled for Shane to make it out, before he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting their mouths as they both gasped for breath.
“Begging so pretty for me. You would like that wouldn’t you?”
Shane nodded, and he tried to dip his head down to mouth at the skin of Ilya’s neck, needing to taste him everywhere, but Ilya anticipated the move and caught Shane’s jaw, shoving his thumb past Shane’s lips.
Shane moaned around the finger, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue wrapped around Ilya’s thumb. “Mmmp, please—” he mumbled.
“God, look at you,” Ilya groaned, pumping his thumb in and out of Shane’s mouth. “You want to be fucked, rookie?”
Shane's mind was spinning, and the only thing his brain could produce was yesyesyesyes.
It took him a bit, but Shane mouthed a garbled yes out loud, and Ilya pressed a quick kiss to Shane’s mouth before pulling his thumb out, grabbing a handful of Shane’s ass to lift him onto the bed.
Shane dropped his legs open easily and readily to accommodate Ilya, and Ilya settled between them like he had a thousand times before.
As Ilya settled between his thighs, he pressed a kiss to his lips, licking into his mouth and swallowing the moan that rumbled deep in his chest when Ilya ground down with a slow roll that made Ilya’s bare erection rub against Shane’s.
Shane arched up with a breathy whine, his hands grabbing at Ilya’s muscled back hungrily.
Ilya pulled away only to grab the bottle of lube they kept in their dresser and made quick work of pulling Shane’s sweatpants off with a swift motion, tossing them across the room.
“Fuck,” Shane hissed, whining pathetically as the cool air hit him.
He was already painfully hard and aching for more, and he felt his impatience and desperation rise when he heard the familiar snapping sound of the lube being opened.
Ilya lowered his body over Shane’s, and Shane took the opportunity to give into his earlier desires, licking at the sheen of sweat over Ilya’s neck.
Ilya grinned, pulling his head back to look at Shane with a poor attempt at a stern look.
“Greedy,” He grinned, plucking Shane’s glasses off of his face—in spite of himself, Shane was sure—and placing them delicately on the nightstand. Ilya ducked back down, pressing wet, open-mouth kisses along the column of Shane’s throat before working his way down Shane’s chest.
Shane almost came on the spot when Ilya paused, nosing at his pelvis and pressing a delicate kiss to the tip of Shane’s length. His hips bucked up, but Ilya pressed a palm flat against Shane’s stomach, holding him firmly in place.
He hooked an arm under Shane’s thigh to spread his legs wider before looking up at Shane. “Are you going to be good for me and stay still?”
He hardly had a chance to get a coherent answer out before Ilya unhooked his arm from under Shane’s leg and swiped cold lube over Shane’s hole, making him gasp.
“Jesus, fuck, Ily—” Shane choked on a moan. “Yes, Captain, please. I’ll be so good, I swear. I’ll stay still, just please—” He brought a hand down to fist Ilya’s curls.
“That’s it,” Ilya cooed, pressing two slicked-up fingers inside of Shane’s hole. Shane cut off with a whine, tossing his head back as Ilya started to work his fingers inside of him.
Ilya took his time, scissoring Shane open and curling his fingers just right, to where Shane was reduced to a writhing mess in minutes, moans spilling freely from his lips as he added more fingers and Shane relaxed around the stretch.
“Doing so good for me, malysh.” Ilya praised, “Such a good rookie.”
It felt so good that Shane practically sobbed with need when Ilya pulled his fingers out, leaving him empty, aching, and puckering around nothing, his body craving more.
Ilya pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to Shane's hole before pulling away.
“Turn around.” Ilya ordered, tapping Shane’s hip.
It was embarrassing how quickly Shane obeyed, flipping onto his hands and knees, but he was past the point of caring, too far gone in his haze to feel anything other than overwhelming want.
He, quite frankly, just wanted to be fucked through the mattress.
Shane presented himself, pressing his face into the pillow, and was rewarded by Ilya stroking an encouraging hand along his back.
The relief was delicious when Ilya finally pressed inside of him, his body stretching around Ilya’s thick cock with a burn that felt so fucking good.
Ilya stayed still for a moment, stroking Shane’s hip and kissing between his shoulder blades to give him time to adjust. “Breathe,” He murmured, and Shane’s face contorted with pleasure as Ilya pushed in deep.
Ilya moved slow and torturous, drawing each thrust out.
It wasn’t until Shane started moving, pushing back against Ilya to meet his thrusts with needy whines, that Ilya’s pace quickened.
“So fucking needy for your captain's cock.” Ilya groaned, pressing a palm into the middle of Shane’s back to anchor himself on a particularly rough thrust.
Shane let out a choked noise, the pressure of Ilya’s palm on his back making him arch his back deeper.
His own cock was leaking onto the sheets beneath him with each brutal stroke, and his hands fisted into the sheets as Ilya fucked him relentlessly. “Oh, fuck, yes—please.” Shane moaned needily and obscenely loud as he braced himself.
As Ilya pounded into him, Shane practically went non-verbal, eventually reduced to whimpers and pleas and moans.
He felt himself getting closer, the pleasure building too fast and too intense, orgasm ready to rip through him if he could just—
He reached down to stroke himself, but Ilya caught his wrist mid-motion.
Shane didn’t even get close before Ilya grabbed the offending wrist, along with his other wrist, and pinned Shane’s hands behind his back, effectively sending Shane forward with his face to the sheets.
“Fuck—”
“Did I say you could touch?” Ilya scolded, and the change in angle pinned Shane perfectly, forcing him to take Ilya deeper.
Shane felt like every nerve was on fire as he teetered on the brink of release.
“No,” Shane mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow his face was pressed into. “Sorry, m’so sorry, Captain, I won’t do it again, just please let me come, I—” he babbled, completely overwhelmed and so close to unraveling that he felt his eyes watering, staining the pillow with tear marks.
“Shhh,” Ilya murmured. He loosened his grip on Shane’s pinned wrists ever so slightly—not enough where to Shane could get free and touch himself, but enough to acknowledge the good behavior. “You’ve been so good for me so far.”
He leaned down to kiss the back of Shane’s neck, his voice a low murmur against Shane’s now sweat-slicked skin.
“S’good,” Shane slurred, his words barely intelligible. His brain had turned to mush, utterly wrecked by the way Ilya was splitting him open.
“See? You’re taking me so well, Hollander," Ilya praised. “Such a good little rookie. Like you were made for me.”
Shane mumbled something that was supposed to be the word ‘yes,’ but he gave up when only a soft, pathetic moan came out.
He was so close and his mind was fuzzy, but he couldn’t come. Not unless Ilya let him.
Please let me. He wanted to say.
He could only hold off for so long as his body started to tremble beneath Ilya, a complete mess as he bit his lip to hold back little sobs.
“So close aren’t you,” Ilya taunted, bringing his lips to the shell of Shane’s ear. “Gonna come all over the sheets for me? Show me how you like being fucked by your captain?”
pleasepleasepleaseplease.
Ilya suddenly released his grip on Shane’s wrists, his own breath going shallow as he continued to drive forward with punishing thrusts. “Come on, come for me.”
That was all the permission Shane needed as a broken moan tore from his throat, his orgasm ripping through him as he spilled all over the sheets beneath him, untouched, vision whiting out.
“Fuck, Ilya,” He gasped, and it felt like everything was muffled. His hearing had gone soft, and all he could still register was the feeling of Ilya still inside of him.
He only distantly registered Ilya’s mumblings in Russian, as he kept fucking into Shane until he was a sobbing, oversensitive mess.
“So good,” Ilya praised, his voice low and approving, breathless against Shane’s neck as he continued to thrust deep, drawing out every last second of Shane’s orgasm. “Came so pretty for me.”
Shane felt boneless and completely fucked out, but he wanted to help as Ilya’s fingers now gripped at his hips.
“You gonna cum for me?” Shane coaxed.
He pushed back against Ilya to take him even deeper, letting himself pucker around Ilya in encouragement. “Need to feel you.”
“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya moaned, breaking off with a hiss when Shane clenched around him like a vice.
Shane could sense Ilya about to cum as his thrusts got shorter, and he reached a hand back, grabbing at Ilya’s ass to pull him closer and deeper, holding him there.
“C’mon Captain, fill me up.” Shane said breathily.
“Oh, God, Shane—”
The reaction was almost immediate as Ilya let out a guttural moan, spilling deep inside of him.
Their combined moans filled the room, and Shane felt Ilya’s cock pulsing as he filled him up with a hot and thick warmth that practically leaked out.
Ilya collapsed forward after a moment, catching his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing Shane completely, before coming down in the space beside Shane.
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were of them catching their breath.
Shane felt his bearings return, and he turned to face Ilya, who had his arm slung over his eyes.
“I hope you know I can’t call you captain on ice anymore.”
That got Ilya’s attention, and he removed his arm to look at Shane, offended. “Why not?”
Shane raised an incredulous brow. “Ilya, how am I supposed to call you that without thinking about this,” Shane gestured between them with a lazy hand. “again?”
Ilya scrunched his nose consideringly. “Should I call you captain in bed instead? It might be nice.”
“Ilya.”
“You know," he continued, ignoring the warning, "since you are not captain anymore.”
“Ilya.” Shane said pointedly, reaching a hand up to smack Ilya’s bare chest.
Ilya caught his hand before it could make contact and smiled, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you, Shane,” he drawled, giving Shane a dopey grin.
Shane was wildly unimpressed, pushing Ilya away. “Move. I’m not hard anymore, and now you stink like sweat.” Lie. He definitely felt a twitch again when Ilya joked about calling him captain instead, and Ilya somehow always smelled good to him. “Now go take a shower.”
Ilya pouted and sighed, slowly untangling his naked form from the now askew sheets. He paused once he stood, stretching wide and putting his back muscles on full display, before walking towards the bathroom.
Shane narrowed his eyes, seeing the display for exactly what it was.
He’d give it about five minutes of resistance before he followed.