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“Have I told you tonight that I love you?” Shane hums, the Chianti he’d enjoyed at dinner shaping the words into something rounded and fluid and adoring.
Ilya rolls his eyes to the hotel hallway ceiling and pretends to think. “You have, at least one time. Though maybe you are too drunk to remember.”
Shane bumps his shoulder into Ilya’s. “Hey, I’m not drunk even a little bit. Hardly tipsy anymore, even.”
Ilya snorts, then pulls his hand out of Shane’s tight grasp and instead wraps his arm around his waist. “I cannot believe you allowed alcohol into your system at all when you’re actively at the Olympics.”
And it was unbelievable, in many ways. Out-of-character, yes. Risky, maybe. But Shane had finally been wearing something other than athletic wear or those strange Team Canada puffers, and Ilya had been sitting across from him, and maybe Shane was feeling a little wild.
“We’re in Italy. It’s Valentine’s Day. And my husband, one of the top-paid NHL players in history, is spending thousands of dollars on a hotel for a month because he is romantic and thoughtful and encouraging of my career.” Maybe Shane really is still tipsy, because his brain reminds him that he’s very rarely this mushy in public.
“I have spent much more money on much stupider things, mily.” Ilya reminds him, grinning as they find Ilya’s door, “and we share a bank account.”
Shane nearly moans, leaning in to kiss his husband once, chastely, while he lets him grab for his keycard. “That might be the single hottest thing we’ve ever done, and the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”
They’re alone in the hallway, thank God, because the way Ilya backs Shane against the door and kisses him is downright pornographic. He stumbles as it swings open, and laughs when Ilya has to grip his hips tighter to keep them both steady. Then they’re in the room, door locked behind them, and Ilya is licking into Shane’s mouth and sucking on his tongue and Shane is so happy.
It’s hard to kiss this way, when they’re both unable to stop smiling and stopping to laugh as they strip each other of their February jackets. But they manage, and the way Ilya bites him and tugs at Shane’s hair already has heat flickering under his skin. He settles his hands on the curve of Ilya’s waist, letting himself feel everything for a minute. His back on the cool plaster wall, his lips all spit-slick and swollen against Ilya’s, and his overly sensitive dick, neglected after over a week of travel and practice and ceremonies.
When he breaks the kiss, he lets his head thunk back against the wall and meets the sharp gaze of the love of his life, and he feels his heart leap into his throat. He swallows down the words fuckIloveyou and forces himself to communicate, knowing how Ilya will reward him for doing so.
“Do you want anything special tonight?”
Ilya tilts his head, eyebrows scrunching together as he examines the mess of a man he’s got pinned to the wall. “Special like what, my Shane?”
“I dunno,” Shane nibbles at his bottom lip and shrugs, tightening his grip on his husband’s waist, “I could fuck you, if you’d want. You could cash in your bottoming for the year. I’d be down.”
Ilya squints at him. “Is that what you want?”
Shane hesitates for just a second too long, jaw clenching, and Ilya shakes his head. “No, no. Too much effort for us both, and I want to reward you for keeping yourself clean for me even when I’m so far away. We keep it standard, okay? Every time I am with you is special.”
“Corny,” Shane murmurs, but he’s grinning like a kid with a crush and Ilya is so goddamn beautiful in the lamplight that all he feels is syrupy and beloved.
Ilya’s clear eyes scan his face, pupils blown and hair mussed from how Shane’s fingers combed through it against the door. Shane is starving for him; obnoxiously in love and already so hard he might explode. “Lemme suck you off,” Shane offers, before his words are swallowed by the other man’s lips. He pulls back swiftly and redirects his attention to the flushed skin of Shane’s cheeks.
“You have a game tomorrow.” Ilya says, grazing his teeth across Shane’s jaw.
“I know.”
“An Olympic game. At the Olympics. For an Olympic medal, eventually.”
“I’m aware. What about it?” Shane replies, one hand at the back of Ilya’s neck and the other grabbing for his wrist, trying to guide his husband’s hand to where he wants it the most.
Shane makes a noise of protest. “Sucking your dick doesn’t inhibit my ability to play hockey.” He hums out, breath catching as Ilya slips his fingers past the waist of his jeans.
“No, but it could hurt if you need to yell at your boys,” Ilya leans in to bite at his husband’s earlobe and purrs, “Captain.”
Shane shivers. No matter how many times Ilya has used the title in the weeks since he was announced as Team Canada’s leader, it still sends heat shooting through him, just like it did back when he held that same name for Montreal.
“Ilya,” he says, and it comes out as a gasp, “it’s been a week.”
“France will be very disappointed if you do not give your all tomorrow.”
“Fuck France,” Shane laughs thinly, “they’re racist and uncoordinated and I want you so bad.”
“Hm. More than a gold medal?”
Shane just turns his head and stares at him. “Are you really saying you don’t wanna fuck me on Valentine’s Day, in Italy, because of a game tomorrow?”
Ilya, as usual, wears his mask of calculating standoffishness, like he isn’t showing the exact opposite emotion with the rest of his body. Like Shane doesn’t know he’s just as desperate for it as him. “Hm, no. I always want to fuck you. You know this. But is a very important game tomorrow, for our country. So, I suppose,” Ilya presses his lips to Shane’s pulse, “I will just have to take care of you. Be all sweet and soft, like the adoring Canadian husband I am.”
Shane’s smile drops even as he feels Ilya’s amused chuckle against his neck. “Or,” he says sharply, sharper than he should if he was going for coy and sexy, “you could fuck me like you mean it and really give me something to remind me what I’m playing for.”
Ilya hums, grin genuine and playful as he moves his attention to Shane’s cheekbone. “I always mean it, lyubov. I’ve always meant it. Since the very first time, I have meant it.”
“I know,” Shane tilts his head and slips his tongue into his husband’s mouth, filthy and wet and promising, “and that means you should know how I like it.”
“God forbid a man tries to be careful with such a valuable asset to my country’s Olympic team. Don’t you know that their captain is the best hockey player in the world?”
“Okay, now you’re just flattering me. Trying to get me on my knees, Rozanov?”
“Is it working?” Ilya purrs, and does that thing on his lip with his teeth and his tongue that always makes Shane feel breathless.
“I already offered to suck your dick,” he says between kisses, “and you made it sound like I was betraying Canada.”
“I changed my mind,” Ilya shrugs, and Shane scoffs. “I am a considerate man. I know how badly you need it, Captain. How much you love my cock in your throat, so deep inside that you struggle for air. Stuffed full on all ends, tears in your eyes while I take what I want. Maybe that’s how you best love your country, Shane Hollander. On your back while this immigrant makes you cry on his dick.”
He says it so passively, so blatantly, like he usually does, and in the back of his cottony, turned-on mind, Shane knows he’s being manipulated in the most Ilya of ways. Being made to think they’re on equal ground until he knocks Shane to his knees and makes him beg and cry, because he knows Shane and he knows that’s what he loves. Shane begins to play along, sucking in a breath to respond to the dirty talk, but then Ilya’s hand slips into his pants, wraps around his blisteringly hot length, and his mind goes white. Just like Ilya wants.
Instead of responding with some witty quip, Shane just whines out, “asshole.” And Ilya, the devil, just laughs. Shane can feel Ilya’s hardness against his thigh and rolls his hips once to try and get closer through their clothes, then presses his head into the crook of Ilya’s neck as his husband continues to stroke him. It’s quiet for a few seconds, just heavy breathing and the soft schlick of Shane’s leaking cock in Ilya’s rough palm, until Shane seems to remember what his objective is and grabs at Ilya’s wrist to still his movement.
“Get on the bed,” he says, low and husky, and Ilya grins.
“Do I need my clothes for this part, my Shane?”
Shane shakes his head. “Fuck no. The less clothes, the better, in fact. Just how I like you.”
Ilya obliges, pivoting them both off of the wall and walking backwards, letting Shane lead them to the bed. The whole way, they’re kissing and laughing and smiling, and Ilya knows for a fact that he is the happiest man on the planet at that very moment.
Shane’s pants get slipped off at the same time Ilya’s shirt flies across the room and they fall back, giggling like kids, as Shane settles on top of his husband and kisses him like he’s trying to steal the air from his lungs. He arches into Ilya’s large hands against his back, letting the other man lick and bite at his ear and collarbone as they work to shuffle off his jeans together. Shane’s palm goes right to cup the bulge in Ilya’s briefs, and they both moan lowly at the contact. “‘m gonna suck you off, right, baby?” Shane asks, breathless, and Ilya rolls his eyes.
“Fucking of course I want this mouth on my cock. I was teasing before, sweetheart,” Ilya chooses this moment to reach for Shane’s own erection, trailing his fingers over the clothed length, “you know how I love to tease you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Shane answers with a kiss that’s all tongue, and Ilya chases after him when he pulls back, “but you can save that for after I’ve gotten us a gold medal, okay? Just give it to me tonight, Rozanov.”
Ilya bobs his head, pretending to consider it. “I think I can do that.”
Their hands bump and tangle as they both rid themselves of the last articles of outer clothes, lips never parting except to laugh and to breathe, which they do together as well. Then Shane relishes in the contact, his husband’s solid body beneath his own, the slight brushes of his cock between their thighs, the slip of their lips together and the noise Ilya makes when he palms his ass. There’s no words traded as the two of them touch and sigh and reabsorb each other’s bodies, all hard muscle and soft skin and raised scarring from a lifetime playing the sport they love so dearly.
Shane busies his hands at Ilya’s waist, gripping his hips and working his briefs down thick thighs while Ilya lavishes his neck and jaw with attention. He’s gentle with the skin that’ll be exposed during the day, considerate without Shane even having to ask, and yet Shane thrums with the wish that he could turn up on the world stage tomorrow littered with the marks of his husband’s love written all across his body.
Ilya sucks at his pulse point, lightly, and Shane almost fists his curls to hold him there, to keep his tongue and teeth against his throat, so that everybody can know what Captain Canada and his brilliant husband were up to the previous night. It’s a fleeting thought, though, and so he just turns his head to slide his tongue against Ilya’s, their soft groans mixing in the air as Shane reaches for Ilya’s dick.
Ilya sucks in a breath when Shane wraps his fingers around his length, biting his bottom lip to stifle his noisy reaction, and Shane pauses to relish in the power he has over the man underneath him.
“Baby,” Shane says, just because he feels like it, as he nuzzles into Ilya and begins to kiss his way down the other man’s torso. He strokes his swollen cock slowly, squeezing slightly on each upstroke, as he mouths at each mark and speckle across Ilya’s perfect chest, his stomach, his hipbones, until he comes face-to-hand with his work.
Ilya’s cock twitches and throbs in his palm, pre spilling over his thick tip and running between Shane’s long fingers. Every twist and movement makes the lamplight catch on the slick shine and tanned skin of their extremities. Shane feels his husband’s eyes on him as he lays there, stroking slowly, just admiring the heavy weight that sits so perfectly in his hand, so wet and so big and so hard and all his.
Mentally, Shane notes that he is really, really gay.
Ilya moans the next time Shane’s pointer finger and thumb circle his tip, hips jerking up into the contact, and Shane looks up at the love of his life.
“It’s been a long week, I gotta get reacquainted.” Shane smirks up at his husband, who props himself up on one elbow to watch Shane mouth at his thighs. His other hand comes down to rest softly in Shane’s hair; not pushing, not guiding. Just a presence, and a promise, if Shane decides he wants to be bossed around a bit.
Shane, hardly touched and deeply deprived from the past week of ceremonies, starts slowly. He kisses the crease of Ilya’s hip and thigh and lightly, barely, ghosts his breath over the side of his cock. Ilya’s jaw clenches at the tease of contact, and then Shane is tracing the tip of his tongue up the underside, and Ilya rolls his hips and smirks when his cock slaps against his husband’s cheek and lips. Shane moans at that, because of course he does.
They make eye contact again, and Ilya lifts an eyebrow, and it’s clear that Shane gets the message by the way he immediately goes to wrap his lips around Ilya’s length. Ilya fists the sheets and gasps out a Russian curse as he feels Shane’s scorching, velvety mouth slides down, down, down-
Shane holds Ilya’s gaze until he can’t anymore, when his cock hits the back of his mouth and he has to come up for air. He tips his head to rest against Ilya’s strong thigh and replaces his mouth with his hand.
“Just as good as I remember,” he grins, and then laughs when Ilya rolls his eyes, charmed but frustrated at the change of pace.
“You just love cock, Hollander.”
“Maybe,” Shane does his best to shrug one shoulder as he’s laid out on his stomach, continuing to jerk Ilya off, “or maybe I just love you.”
He watches Ilya’s face flush even pinker and presses another open-mouthed kiss to his dick as he hears the other man mutter, “corny fucker.”
No matter Shane’s general opinion on dick, he goes back to sucking his husband like that’s what he’s at the Olympics to do, because this is his perfect cock and his Valentine’s Day and his husband making choked-out groans as he starts to bob his head in his lap. Ilya’s fingers rest in his hair, not tightened or pulling, rather tensed and grounding as he watches Team Canada’s captain suck his cock like he needs it to live.
Shane pulls up so his lips just barely hold onto the thick tip before plunging back down, Ilya’s length sliding easily into his throat like it was hollowed out to be there.
Ilya groans loudly, too loudly, but Shane can feel his heartbeat in his ears and the only thing he can feel about it is sorry that his neighbors, if they can hear them, aren’t having as good a time as him and Ilya are.
“Blyat, malysh- stop, stop-“ He pushes Shane back by the shoulder, stomach tensing and drawing in slow breaths to take himself down from the brink.
Between his thighs, Shane blinks up at him. Dark eyes, long lashes, Ilya’s own precum shining like gloss on his swollen red lips-
“I was going to come before I even got inside you.” Ilya chuckles, but Shane just looks confused.
“You can come twice a session, right? Your max has always been three, and-“
Ilya waves a hand. “It’s late already, and I don’t want to risk it. I’m old now, Shane. Not all of us have your Energizer Bunny stamina.” He teases as he reaches for the bottle of lube.
“Wait,” Shane says, and grabs Ilya’s wrist out of the air. Blinking softly at his husband in the lamplight, he maneuvers Ilya’s fingers so that his pointer and middle finger are extended with the rest curled against his palm, and he sucks them into his mouth.
Ilya’s groan comes from deep in his chest. It’s far from the kinkiest thing they’ve gotten up to, but watching his digits disappear between his husband’s plush lips is one of his favorite parts of what the internet calls Shane’s oral fixation. “This is like the first time you had me inside you, da? Sucking my thumb like my fucking baby before I even touched your cock.”
He feels Shane’s moan vibrate through him where he bobs his head on his fingers, hot and messy as spit starts to slip free from the corner of his mouth.
“Mm, moya Shanya, do you want to be my baby tonight? Let me take care of you like-“ Shane pulls off abruptly before he can drop the title that he knows Shane is embarrassed about liking so much. (“It’s a stupid stereotype, Ilya! Also, I’m older than you!”)
Ilya blinks at him, eyebrows pulling together in apology, but Shane doesn’t let him speak. “No. I just want it to be us, just Shane and Ilya, with nothing extra or crazy or whatever. Just me and you having good sex.” He’s staring right into Ilya’s eyes, like some part of him is seeking permission for what he knows is Ilya’s weakness. The stripped-down Shane-and-Ilya that they get to be in between all the ropes and the toys and the roleplay scenarios. Ilya knows he could respond all mushy and soft, but Shane’s favorite Ilya to fuck is his playful, cocky self, and who is Ilya Hollander-Rozanov to deny his husband of what he loves?
“‘Good sex,’ he says,” Ilya grins, and leans forward, “we have fantastic sex. Mind-blowing, Earth-shatteringly wonderful sex. It is why Valentine’s is my favorite holiday.”
“We literally fuck on every holiday, Ilya.” Shane replies, not unamused, smiling softly as their lips meet in the empty space between them. Ilya pulls back, just barely, after he feels Shane start to collapse into it.
“I know. It’s amazing. I still cannot believe you thought fucking every day was normal. I am so very in love with you, my Shane. Now turn over and let me eat you out.” He pats his waist and slips a dry finger into the waist of his briefs, pulling them out and then letting them snap back against Shane’s arousal-warmed skin.
Shane, jaw set and pupils blown wide, does just that. He rids himself of his briefs and assembles his long limbs underneath him so he’s propped up on his elbows and knees, back arched and legs spread just far enough that Ilya can position himself behind and lean over his entire back, skin on skin and his thickened cock brushing against Shane’s ass.
“Do you want me to take you like this?” Ilya starts, voice low and hot in Shane’s ear as he sucks on his neck.
Shane shivers at the breath on his skin and shakes his head. “Kinda wanted to ride you,” he hisses, “but we’ll see how it goes.” Ilya makes a noncommittal sound and continues his path down, sucking and licking and nipping along his husband’s spine until he’s kneeling behind him and spitting directly onto Shane’s hole.
His body jolts, goosebumps breaking out across his arms as he feels the hot spit drip slowly down his taint. It’s quiet sans his heavy breathing for just a moment, before big hands settle on the meat of his hips and Ilya licks up the entire length of his ass.
A gasp is ripped from Shane’s throat, transforming into a heady moan when he feels the blunt pressure of Ilya’s nails digging into his thighs. Ilya’s own groan is low and guttural as Shane feels himself get spread open, and before he presses back in Shane can hear him say, “blyat, ya skuchal po tebe.”
Shane snorts even as Ilya’s tongue starts to lap at his hole. “Who are you talking to, exactly?”
He feels full lips press a kiss to his tailbone, then an affectionate swat at his left cheek. “Can’t a guy tell his husband’s asshole that he missed her?”
The protest as the usage of ‘her’ bubbles up in Shane’s throat, but it’s swiftly cut off as Ilya sucks one of his balls into his hot, wet mouth, then the other, and then he fully sets in at Shane’s entrance.
He’s gonna need fingers, he knows, to open up enough to take his husband’s cock, but Ilya is so skilled with his tongue that Shane can feel himself relaxing immediately. The other man laps at his rim like a man starved, hands squeezing the fat of his ass as his moans send shudders through Shane’s body. Spit drips down his taint, warm and filthy and obscene, as Ilya presses his long tongue inside and swirls it, making Shane pound his fist into the mattress as his prostate gets a drop of the attention its needed all night.
Shane is whining now, one hand flying back to tangle in Ilya’s curls and push his face harder against his ass, as Ilya eats him out with all the desperation that Shane feels in himself.
One spit-slicked fingertip breaches his entrance and slides home, curling into his prostate without any teasing and making Shane almost scream as his body is suddenly awash in pleasure, making his spine bend and his skin simmer with each brush against his walls.
His brain goes fuzzy after that first finger and he doesn’t know how long he spends on his elbows and knees, but Ilya ends up with his tongue and three fingers inside him, scissoring him apart and gliding easily through the mess of lube and saliva, pulling high, needy noises from somewhere in Shane’s chest. His cock hangs between his bruised thighs, heavy and leaking onto the hotel sheets and entirely neglected, and Shane doesn’t even think to touch himself, not when Ilya’s mouth and hands are promising him what he craves most.
Ilya finishes with one long, wide lick up through the mess he’s made, and then Shane feels the mattress creak and shift. When he turns his head to look, Ilya is running his hands over his back and manhandling him into his lap, and Shane whines.
“Needy thing,” Ilya croons into his ear, nipping at the lobe as Shane shifts his weight to rest easy atop his thighs.
Shane kisses him in lieu of a response. Deeply, passionately, just swallowing the other man’s low moan as he pushes him back to lean against the headboard. When he pulls back, a string of spit shines and then snaps between their lips, and Shane reaches backwards to take Ilya’s cock in hand once more. It throbs in his grasp and Shane feels his own length pulse at the feeling, raising himself up on his knees to hover over his husband.
Ilya looks reverent. His darkened eyes staring deep into Shane’s own, hands holding his hips as he waits. He’s so beautiful like this, in the limbo, every atom and thought in his body wanting nothing but ShaneShaneShaneShaneShane-
Shane pauses, maybe to drink in the moment, or maybe to tease himself, or maybe to relish in this moment of dominance that he holds. He isn’t entirely sure.
Ilya bites his lip and furrows his eyebrows, a jolt of irritation flaring through his lust. “You wanted to ride, yes?”
Shane looks down at him with heavy lids and a softly heaving chest, and nods.
“Then,” Ilya squeezes each side of his ass, “ride.”
Shane just holds himself there, on his knees over Ilya’s thighs with one hand on his husband’s cock and the other on his shoulder. Ilya slaps his right ass cheek, just lightly. “What are you fucking waiting for, Shane?”
The other man doesn’t respond, just tilts his head back and hums as he brushes Ilya’s tip against his hole, over and over, rocking his hips to tease them both. Ilya tries to lean forward and latch his teeth onto the column of Shane’s throat, but he can’t get that far, and as frustration starts to bubble, Shane lowers himself down. And then lifts himself back up.
Maybe half an inch of Ilya disappears inside of Shane — one, two, three times — before Ilya can feel himself getting truly impatient. His hands twitch and tighten in Shane’s hips but he doesn’t push him down just yet.
One inch. Two inches. Another shift upwards and Ilya’s cock is pulled free again from that hot, choking hold. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks up at Shane through his lashes, trying so hard to hold still and let his husband take what he wants.
He’s rewarded when Shane finally — finally — sinks all the way down, seating himself onto Ilya’s length, moaning much too loudly as he’s filled for the first time in days.
Shane clenches down hard, each thumb running along Ilya’s cheekbones and dark eyes drinking in the way his face contorts with pleasure. “You are so fucking perfect.”
“God, Shane, ya tebya lyubyu.” He says thinly, drinking in everything he can see and feel and taste of Shane’s body, his expression, the freckles on his cheeks and the sheer adoration in his eyes.
Shane kisses him deeply, tongues meeting and breathing each other in, and then he starts to move.
“Fuck, you’re just so fucking big-“ Shane whines, rocking himself in place one time he’s seated fully. Ilya sets one hand between his shoulder blades so that he arches forward, making Ilya’s cock really push against his prostate, and licks into his mouth.
“All for you,” he pants out between kisses, “it’s all for you.”
Shane looks gone already, jaw hanging loose and hair stuck to his forehead. “Like it’s so fucking much, I can’t believe it sometimes. I always need the bigger toys when I’m alone, ‘cause nothing else gets me off anymore. Love feeling you in here-“ he presses a palm to his gut, and Ilya groans, “so fucking deep.”
He’s being honest, and that’s the hottest part. Ilya has been told that people lie, that they flatter their partner to motivate them. But Ilya is very aware of the truth in his love’s lips: how after multiple days of being empty Shane will go stupid for it once he feels himself being filled so thoroughly. Nobody has ever told Ilya that he’s anything less than unsatisfactory — quite the opposite, historically — but the way Shane says it, with love and lust in his dark eyes, never fails to steal the breath from Ilya’s lungs.
He is, as always, in awe of how well they fit together.
“Yeah, lyubov? You like that big dick? You like how I fill you, like your body was made just for me?” Ilya whispers, and Shane nods, rolling his hips once and gasping at the slick shift of Ilya inside him.
“Yeah,” Shane slurs, “fuckin’ love your dick. Feels — oh — it feels so good.”
“Tell me,” Ilya says lowly, and Shane tips his head back as he resumes his steady movements. He hardly lifts himself up, strong thighs bracing Ilya’s as he grinds back and forth in his husband’s lap.
“I’m still not fuckin’ used to it, baby. After all these years, you’re still the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
Shane’s words are thick in his mouth, and his breath thins as he feels Ilya draw him ever closer and drag the flat of his tongue up the side of his neck. One hand tangles itself in the mess of golden curls dusting his shoulder, as Shane tilts his head to the side to give Ilya better access.
“My toys never work without your hands on them, or on me.”
Strong biceps tighten around Shane’s waist.
“My fingers never find the right spots like you do. They never stretch me out as much as you can.”
Big hands splay open against Shane’s back.
“Sometimes I can remember you, so deep it’s like you’re in my throat, while I’m on the ice, and it makes me feel fucking electric.”
Sharp teeth sink into Shane’s shoulder.
“It’s always been you, baby. Your body, your mouth. Your ridiculous cock, fucking me so perfectly. Making me your slut.”
Ilya reaches behind him and grabs a hold of each ass cheek, spreading them apart so that Shane can feel every minute movement against his rim, where he’s stretched so wide it burns around Ilya’s thick cock. Shane moans openly at the ceiling, physical sensations mixing with the mental image of how obscene his hole must look as he rides his husband.
Shane is wound up so tight that it’s suffocating, and when he clenches down as Ilya holds him open he has to bite down on his inner cheek to keep from waking their neighbors.
Ilya pulls back from the crook of his neck. “Ridiculous, hm?”
Shane’s head lolls forward and he looks at Ilya through his lashes, a lazy grin tugging at his kiss-swollen lips. “No pun intended.”
“So funny, mily. Maybe that will be your special talent. Instead of riding cock or scoring goals, you can make dick jokes for money. Ha ha ha, the people will go, and they will throw dollars at you on stage like the pretty whore that you are.”
“Hm,” Shane frowns, adjusting himself in Ilya’s lap, “I think that’s more of your role.” He ends the conversation by lifting himself up so Ilya nearly slips out of him, then dropping his weight down hard. His head snaps back as he’s filled so quickly, jaw falling open in a cut-off moan, and he repeats the motion a few more times to set the rhythm.
The familiarity is comforting; the burn in his legs and the jolts of pleasure from each press on his prostate both things he’s grown so used to, but the week between intimacy makes every touch feel brand new. Ilya’s warm hands sliding up and down the curve of his waist, the slap of their skin on every downward drop, the way Ilya splits him open like only he can.
“So fucking hot, my Shane,” Ilya says between gritted teeth, barely thrusting his hips to meet his husband partways, “always so tight, just so I can fuck you loose again, yes?”
Shane whimpers as he bounces, bracing his hands on Ilya’s wide shoulders and nodding as he gasps his pleasure. “It’s so good, Ilya, oh my God-”
Ilya shuts him up with his tongue in his mouth, swallowing Shane’s noises and running his teeth along his lower lip, just to tease as he fucks himself on his cock. After a moment, so lost in it, Shane’s hands move and grip hard in Ilya’s hair as his riding slows to a grind.
“Satisfied?” Ilya asks, grinning like a devil to break the kiss and laughing at the way Shane whines at the loss of contact. Never mind the fact that they’re chest-to-chest with Ilya’s arms holding steady on his hips and his buried eight and a half inches deep inside of him.
Shane’s dark eyes meet Ilya’s through thick lashes, both hands coming up to cup the other man’s face. He shakes his head. “No,” he breathes, thumbs caressing his carved cheekbones, “I want you to fuck me.”
“Finally,” Ilya growls, and then Shane is shoved onto his back, ass left devastatingly empty as he’s manhandled into a second position.
Ilya is rough with him, gripping his hips and flipping him over, then dragging him back so he’s raised onto his elbows and knees. Shane whimpers as each touch of Ilya’s hands on his thighs, his waist, his hole burns his claim into Shane’s skin. He’s kind about it, though, all his movements practiced from years of fucking and loving his man. He’s honoring Shane's request to keep the night raw and personal, without any taunts or paddles or nails breaking bitten skin until Shane sobs and screams.
Ilya is talented, though, and he knows his husband. He knows he can fuck him rough without being mean about it, and he
“Comfortable?” He hums, pressing his palms into the small of Shane’s back and smiling, soft and full of love, when Shane nods and tosses him a hooded glance over his shoulder. He bites his lip when Ilya taps and nudges the top of his cock against his hole, then drops his head to hang between his biceps when Ilya presses inside once more.
If Shane gets off on being watched, Ilya gets off on watching. He groans from deep in his chest when Shane arches into it, spreading his knees and flexing his spine inwards to present his ass for Ilya to grab at as he starts to fuck him in earnest. Rougher, harder, faster than the pace they’d kept with Shane on top.
“There we go, sweetheart,” Ilya says, gaze stuck on the muscles rippling in his husband’s back, the hot squeeze around the length of him inside. “I know, I know. You need it so bad, malysh, hm?”
Shane gasps and fists the sheets, whole body trembling as gravity helps Ilya’s cock lie firm against his prostate as he slides inside and out. “Fuck, baby. Give me that dick, oh my god-“
“Take it so well, Hollander. Such a perfect slut for me, every damn night.” Ilya feels sweat starting to drip between his pecs, the words slipping from between his clenched teeth as natural as breathing.
At one point, Ilya registers that his dirty talk has slipped back into his native tongue, and the way that Shane responds to this is to drive himself back into Ilya’s thrusts, forcing their bodies together like he’s trying to blend their molecules.
“You’re so deep, holy shit-“ His voice is high and strained, such a contrast to his usual low, measured tone, and each time Ilya is buried fully inside he lets out those little uhn uhn uhn sounds that drive Ilya crazy.
Ilya’s hooded gaze drops and sticks on the sight of Shane wrapped around him, stretched open and glistening and still so tight after the week of neglect. He kneads and smacks at Shane’s ass, earning another squeak of pleasure, still spitting filth in Russian as he pets his thumb over the hole spread so wide around his dick. He considers tucking it inside because he knows how his husband loves the extra stretch, but he decides to spare their hotel neighbors and runs that hand up Shane’s spine instead, holding him steady as he fucks him. “You are so tight for me,” he hisses, “you and this perfect fucking hole.”
“All yours, Rozanov.“ Shane gasps, glancing over his shoulder to grin at Ilya as he says it.
“‘Rozanov?’” Ilya returns the smile as he keeps his steady pace. “You’re pulling the last-name card on Valentine’s, Hollander?”
Shane only laughs, although it comes out as more of a rough exhale when Ilya’s next thrust hits him just right. One of his hands reaches back to brush Ilya’s v-line, flailing around until Ilya takes it in his own and leans forward, stilling his ministrations and pressing kisses to the back of Shane’s neck.
His husband’s brows are scrunched together, lips parted as his heat spasms around the size of Ilya fully pressed inside of him.
Ilya whispers into his ear, “Ya tebya lyubu, I love you, je t’aime,” and Shane full-body shudders.
“Love you — ah — I love you too, baby. Just so much.” He whines, words just starting to slur as he feels his brain slipping further under the pleasure.
“Moy champien, moy muzh, moy Shanya,” the words are almost an assault on his senses, body already a live wire and head full of fuck-drunk mush as he squeezes Ilya’s hand and sobs thorough the waves of pleasure rolling through him.
The air is hot and thick and Ilya doesn’t let up, pausing for half a second just to shuffle his knees further up the bed so he can fuck Shane harder.
The whole time, he’s in Shane’s ear, kissing his neck and calling him names. My love, my heart, my life, my perfect, sweet boy.
Shane slams his fist into a pillow, something akin to a scream tearing its way from his throat on a particularly good thrust.
Ilya bites at his shoulder blade. “Let go, Shanya, just feel it.”
Shane sobs. “Feels s’” he inhales deeply, and chokes out something akin to a laugh, “so fuckin’ good-“
“Fuck, malysh, yes- you’re feeling so good, you love it, don’t you? Moy kaptain?”
The other man has tears pooling at his waterline, “Fuck- fuck, Ilya! Oh my God, baby, ‘m gonna come- I’m gonna- God, Ilya-“
Shane comes hard, electricity igniting his body as Ilya’s hand wraps around his length and pulls. His shoulders are tense under Ilya’s pecs, the sweat between them slippery and hot against their skin, and he doesn’t relax after his orgasm ends, as Ilya keeps rolling his hips to fill him up.
There's no telltale sag in Shane’s body that tells him to stop, so Ilya keeps going. He fucks him harder, nails digging into the meat on his beloved’s hips and gritting his teeth as he speeds up, his own body thrumming with the need for release.
“You have more for me, sweetheart?”
“Yeah- oh, fuck- there- ah- oh my god…” Shane tries to nod as he answers but Ilya, satisfied with the response, takes one big hand to the back of his skull and shoves him down into the pillows, picking up the pace of his thrusts once more because he knows being rough gets Shane off the best.
The sliver of Shane’s face that he can see is shiny with sweat and his eyes are rolled back into his head, open-mouth panting and crying out every time Ilya buries himself all the way inside. He’s so far gone, drunk on Ilya’s cock the way he fucking loves to be. Every sign of a second orgasm starts to show as Ilya nails his prostate and moves to wrap his free hand around Shane’s weeping length: his legs tremble, his fists twist in the sheets, his chest heaves with the effort of breathing through where his face is shoved into the comforter.
“Come on, my love, you can give me one more.” Ilya says through gritted teeth, fucking into Shane like he’ll never get the chance to again.
Shane nods the best he can with his head held down, and somehow the simple knowledge that his husband understood the Russian that Ilya had spat out tips him over the edge.
He keeps thrusting through his orgasm, brain and body alight with pleasure but still finding the moment when Shane is finally crying from it, whining loudly, his cock in Ilya’s fist throbbing as he comes, and comes, and then sobs as Ilya is spilling inside of him.
He’s gasping for air by the time he feels Ilya finish, so full and warm all over, with his spent cock heavy between his legs and his husband weighing against his back. They stay like that for seconds or hours, as they catch their breath and the sweat starts to cool on their skin.
The hand on the back of his head retreats and settles on his hips. Ten fingertips press into the meat of his ass and then rub soothing circles on the arch of his lower back.
“Can I pull out? Is that okay, my love?” Ilya’s voice is hoarse and fuck-drunk, but he’s gentle and soft afterwards, just like he always is.
Shane, limbs shaking, gets his elbows underneath him and is able to nod slowly as he gathers himself.
The loss of Ilya’s cock inside him is upsetting as usual. He whines as his husband draws back, as he slips free from Shane’s battered hole and then pets softly at the muscle there, as he feels cum start to leak out and drip down the back of his balls, his thighs.
“Fucking gorgeous, my Shane.” Ilya hums after a second, clearly enamored with the sight of his spend on Shane’s skin, until he uses his drier hand to pat gently at Shane’s hip. Ilya holds his waist as Shane spreads his knees and lowers himself to lie flat on his stomach, not even flinching as he feels his own cum wet on the blanket underneath.
“My perfect husband,” Ilya croons, kissing up Shane’s spine until he’s hovering over his entire form, lips chaste against his nape as Shane smiles. Sated, content.
“Was good for you, kaptain?” Comes the next purr in his ear, and Shane is able to open his eyes just enough to glare good-naturedly at the beautiful man on all fours atop him.
“You’re insane.”
Ilya’s responding smile is radiant. “There he is. Come on, Shanya. Roll over for me.”
Shane follows his orders, this time grimacing as the cool hotel air hits the drying mess on his abs, but Ilya has somehow produced a washcloth out of thin air and is wiping him down immediately, pressing kisses to his temple and his nose, whispering Russian praises that Shane is so proud that he can understand.
A glass of water is pressed into his hand, and Ilya takes his place on the left side of the bed as Shane sits up and winces.
“Hurts?” Ilya says, rubbing his palm down Shane’s back.
Shane shakes his head. “Just been a while, for us. I’m gonna be sore, but it shouldn’t be worse than usual. Like a really good workout, right?”
“Right.”
Shane swallows down the rest of the water and shuffles backwards until his shoulder blades bump against the headboard, so he’s sat next to his husband. Ilya takes the glass from him without asking and sets it down on his nightstand, then wraps Shane up in his arms.
He’s so warm. Shane inhales deeply, trying to slow his heartbeat whilst taking in the smell and feel and steady breathing of his husband, just as they are, right in that moment.
Shane’s eyes fall shut, and he shakes his head, smiling like a fool into Ilya’s chest. “Fuck.”
Ilya pets his hair. “Indeed.”
“We have really good sex.”
“Hm. ‘Really good.’ How generous.” Ilya grins, then promptly decides to mess with his man. “I love how loud you get.” He croons, kissing Shane’s temple and practically giggling when he flinches.
“Oh, man. Should we send the neighbors a gift basket or something?”
“Hell no. They should be proud they got to hear Captain Canada ride a dick like it’s his day job.”
“They better not know it was me. Oh my God, Ilya. Please tell me that not everybody at the Four Seasons is tuned in to the Olympics. Maybe they just want to be in Milan.”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “Would you rather we have gone back to the village? Kicked your roomie out of the paper box dorm so everybody in your program could know you were getting fucked?”
Shane flushes even further than his exhaustion had left him, and Ilya knows that yes, his husband would have liked that very much. In theory, though. Not in practice.
“They know,” he mutters after a second, shoving his face further into Ilya’s chest, “I left to meet you at six, and half the people I passed on the way out winked at me, or whistled, or something.”
Ilya snorts. “Well, they are just jealous that their partners don’t love them enough to book fancy hotel in Italy and take them out on Valentine’s Day off. But not me. I buy my husband expensive dinner, take him to the nicest hotel that I booked for him, and then I fuck his brains out.”
“You booked this for yourself, rich boy.”
“Oh, wow. ‘Rich boy.’ Such a scathing insult. However will I recover.” Ilya deadpans.
Shane slaps his bare shoulder. “Stop mocking me.”
Ilya catches his hand out of the air and kisses his wrist. “Will you get in trouble for sleeping outside the village, do you think?” He asks, grinning as Shane rolls his eyes at the topic shift.
“Not if I’m on time for warmup. Captain privileges, I guess.”
Their joined hands squeeze and twist, and then Ilya flips himself on top of his husband and licks into his mouth, lips meeting and then separating with the laughter that bubbles up in Shane’s chest. “My country’s sexy, sassy, perfect captain,” Ilya croons, and Shane can feel his face aching from his hours-long smile; happy, contended, beloved. He kisses Ilya again, then pulls back to cup his face in both hands, stroking his thumbs over full cheekbones.
“Have I told you tonight that I love you?”