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Playing in New York means a visit to the Kingfisher after the game, whether they win or lose.
Mercifully they’d won this one, thanks to a powerplay goal from Shane and Ilya in the dying seconds of the third. Because - and he’s not being dramatic here - Ilya might have actually jumped in front of the team bus if he’d had to sit across from Hunter’s smug face after he’d beaten them. Instead, Hunter gets to sit across from their smug faces.
Except. Ilya isn’t paying much attention to anything except for his husband. His husband who left him less than five minutes ago, but who Ilya already misses like a limb. His husband who, currently, is propped up at the bar ordering drinks. And being flirted with. Enthusiastically.
Ilya knows that he is attractive. Of course he does. His former reputation as the biggest playboy in the NHL wasn’t even slightly exaggerated. People like the way he looks - his hair, his smile, his body, his accent.
But god, his husband is just otherworldly.
Shane is a shapeshifter. He’s 200lbs of solid muscle; on the ice he’s fast and physical, commanding and tough. He’s the epitome of masculinity. But off the ice - with Ilya especially - he’s softer. He’s beautiful. Not in an effeminate or even androgynous way…but in a Shane way. People are drawn to him. His quiet confidence, his calmness, and the prettiest face Ilya has ever seen.
So Ilya is used to people looking at his husband. He doesn’t like it, but he’s begrudgingly learned to live with it. Flirting, though? Flirting is absolutely off the cards.
And this guy - tall, built, dark eyes, with locs brushing his shoulders - is flirting.
He’s attractive, of course. Infuriatingly so. The kind of guy that, once upon a time, Ilya would have absolutely let pick him up in a dark corner of a sleazy nightclub. But this isn’t once upon a time, this is now. And the man that he is flirting with - the man whose shoulder he just put his hand on - is Ilya’s husband. So.
“Cap, where are you go- oh.”
“Leave him to it,” Bood chuckles.
“No fights in my bar,” Hunter calls after him.
But Ilya is already out of his seat, ignoring them all as he makes his way over to his husband and his new…acquaintance.
The thing is, Ilya isn’t even remotely insecure.
He knows his place in Shane’s life and he hasn’t doubted that once since they exchanged vows (their real vows, in the Pike’s living room, with Ruby and Jade and two plastic rings).
He’s not jealous because he has a reason to be, or because he’s worried Shane might flirt back. He’s just ridiculously, embarrassingly infatuated with his husband, and he hates the thought of anyone thinking they have even a glimmer of a chance with the man he has spent fifteen years loving.
He can’t breathe without Shane.
They haven’t spent a single night apart from each other since the day they said I do. He gets antsy when Shane spends the day at some photoshoot or another, just like Shane gets twitchy when Ilya is fulfilling obligations that Shane isn’t a part of. They love each other. They live for each other. They don’t ever want to do life without each other.
The Cens call them codependent, and maybe they’re right, but. They’ve done distance before. They did it for ten years, in fact. Hotel rooms, and clandestine meetings, and stolen, fleeting hours. Loving each other in private while hating each other in public. Ilya thinks they’ve earned the right to a little codependency.
He’s also earned the right to publicly claim his husband, should the need ever arise.
And, well. It has arisen.
As Ilya approaches he watches the intruder laughing at something Shane says, throwing his head back in an exaggerated motion as his dimples make an appearance. Shane looks mildly confused, like he’s not sure what he said that was so funny, and even if the midst of his jealousy Ilya has time to be endeared by his sweet, oblivious husband.
He sidles up to them without a moment of hesitation, pressing his chest along Shane’s side as he interrupts.
He doesn’t give him even a second to say anything before he’s grabbing Shane’s face in his hand - his thumb and fingers on either side of his jaw - and kissing him to claim him. Just to prove a point, that Shane is his and no one else’s. That no matter how hot this guy is, or how much he laughs, or how adorable his dimples are, he doesn’t stand a chance.
The kiss is quick but filthy - enough to have Ilya starting to harden in his jeans, and Shane leaning into him instinctively.
When he pulls back Shane immediately blushes. He raises his brows at Ilya, gives him a knowing, insistent look, and then tries to glance at the guy who was flirting with him. The heat in his cheeks and the flicker in his eyes is enough to tell Ilya he’s embarrassed, that he wants to apologise for his husband’s uncouth interruption. But Ilya won’t let him.
“Don’t look at him,” Ilya whispers. “You only look at me.”
Shane’s eyes darken and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Ilya.” It sounds like a warning, but Ilya takes it as an invitation instead.
He leans back in for another kiss - slower this time, languid, like they’ve got all the time in the world. And when they pull apart for the second time, the intruder is long gone. It makes Ilya smile, proud of his work, but Shane frowns at him instead.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m not allowed to kiss my husband now?”
“Not to prove a point,” Shane grumbles.
“And what point is that?”
“That you’re a brat when you’re needy,” Shane replies, his eyes sharpening as Ilya grins.
“Well maybe you should take me back to the hotel and punish me then, yes?” Ilya suggests.
And he’s teasing, mostly. But when Shane grabs him by the hand and steers them both out of the Kingfisher without so much as a glance at their teammates…well.
It’s not like Ilya is ever going to say no to his husband, is he?
The second the door clicks shut behind them, Ilya is crowding Shane against it. He uses his body to pin him back, his hands finding Shane’s hips as his mouth descends onto him.
Ilya coaxes his mouth open with his tongue, revelling in the way Shane immediately moans at the taste of him. He kisses him slow and deep - sucking on his tongue, and biting at his lips, and claiming him so thoroughly that Shane’s body goes slack between Ilya and the wall. He kisses back, though, just as good as he gets. It makes Ilya feel feral with want, and his hands find their way under Shane’s shirt so he can touch his waist - so he can skim his fingers along bare skin.
Shane’s hands make their way to Ilya’s hair, tangling in his curls and then tugging so hard it forces his head backwards, prying their lips apart. Ilya groans, something low and rumbling from deep in his chest. It makes Shane smile, wicked and smug and so utterly tempting.
Ilya wants to devour him.
He wants to get his tongue in his ass - wants to take him apart with his mouth and fingers until Shane is leaking, and crying, and begging. And only then will Ilya fuck him.
“On the bed. Hands and knees,” Ilya orders. “I need to taste to you.”
Shane leans in close like he’s going to kiss him, but then he bites down hard on Ilya’s bottom lip. “No,” he murmurs.
Ilya is so delirious with want that it takes him a second to realise: Shane just said no. He pulls back, looking at his husband with a single, raised eyebrow. And Shane’s cheeks begin to flush pink, that shy, submissive expression making a brief appearance on his face, before he reins it back in and fixes Ilya with a determined expression.
“You were rude tonight,” Shane says. “You interrupted me.”
“He was flirting with you.”
“He was being polite.”
“He wanted to fuck you,” Ilya all but growls.
A slow grin spreads across Shane’s face. “You were jealous.”
Yes. “No,” Ilya denies.
“Territorial,” Shane whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush against Ilya’s as he murmurs the words.
Ilya tries to surge forward, tries to kiss his husband, but Shane’s hold on his hair doesn’t let up. When Ilya moves, Shane just tugs him back. And it’s got Ilya so hard he can barely see straight.
“Maybe,” Ilya confesses.
Of course he was jealous. Of course he felt territorial.
His husband is the most beautiful man to have ever lived, and Ilya feels like a feral dog with food aggression any time someone gets close to him. He wants to snap, and snarl, and bare his teeth so they back the fuck off. So they don’t even look at what belongs to Ilya.
It’s insane, probably. But. Ilya can’t help himself. They spent over a decade hiding this and now that they don’t have to, he wants to scream it from every rooftop in this fucking city. In the entire goddamn world.
Shane is his husband; everyone should know that.
“You were being a brat,” Shane says, “grabbing me like that. Kissing me in front of him.”
“You’re mine.”
Shane’s smug grin softens a little as he presses his thumb down on Ilya’s lip. “And you’re mine,” Shane says. “So get on the bed. Clothes off.”
The command nearly has Ilya coming in his pants. And then he does what he’s fucking told.
Ilya is in such a rush to strip that he almost trips over his jeans as he kicks them off. He’s so desperate to get on the bed and touch his husband that he considers leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor for later, but he can feel Shane glaring daggers into the back of his head like he can sense Ilya’s thoughts. So he picks them all up and drapes them rather haphazardly over the armchair in the corner of the room, and then all but runs to the bed.
By the time he’s lying in place - leaning back against the pillows with his legs bent at the knees - Shane is still fully clothed. Ilya groans, and Shane smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He comes to stand at the foot of the bed, his eyes never once leaving Ilya’s. He’s slow - almost methodical - as he unbuttons his shirt, then unbuckles his belt, and leisurely strips away all of his clothes. Ilya spreads his legs so his view is unobstructed, and by the time Shane is naked, Ilya’s cock is aching with the need to be buried inside of him.
He wants to touch, but he fists his hands into the bedsheets instead.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful,” Ilya murmurs, his voice hoarse with lust.
“You wanna touch me?” Shane asks, looking up at Ilya through hooded eyes.
Ilya nods. “Yes. Please. So fucking much.”
Shane grins, then. An evil, self-satisfied curve of his perfect, pink mouth. “No,” he whispers. Ilya is really starting to hate that word. “You’re gonna watch me instead.”
Ilya throws his head back and groans.
His husband is so fucking beautiful that he could watch him folding laundry and get a hard-on from it. He never wants to look away from him, in fact. But looking without touching? That really is a punishment. Just about the cruellest one that Ilya could imagine. Which is probably why Shane is standing there, watching him with a smirk that Ilya just wants to fuck off his face.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Shane, sweetheart, no. Please.”
It’s not often that Shane takes control in the bedroom. Normally it’s Ilya who has Shane melting in the palm of his hands. But he’s not one to complain about the role reversal. He doesn’t mind at all when his sweet, submissive Shane’s mean streak comes out to play.
Ilya will do whatever his husband tells him to, and then he’ll thank him for it afterwards.
“You told me to punish you,” Shane reminds him. “So. Hands to yourself, baby.”
He climbs onto the bed with a bottle of lube he must have fished out of his duffel while Ilya was stripping, and then he settles between his spread legs. He’s kneeling, thighs spread apart, when he drizzles lube onto his fingers and reaches behind to start opening himself up.
The second Shane’s mouth drops open in a gasp, Ilya whines. It’s not fair. He can’t even see Shane’s fingers stretching his hole out.
“Shane.”
“Yes?” He asks, already breathless.
“Let me see you. Please. You have to-“
“You can see me baby. Am I not pretty enough?”
His cheeks and throat and chest are all flushed a devastating shade of pink. His perfect lips are open on a permanent gasp. His eyes are wide, and glassy, and so full of lust. His cock is long and thick and glistening at the bright red tip.
He’s the prettiest thing Ilya has ever seen, and he feels like he’s going insane.
“You’re so pretty, Shane. So perfect for me,” Ilya groans. He has to tighten his fists in the sheets so he doesn’t break Shane’s rule and touch him.
“Then stop complaining and watch me.”
Ilya does.
He watches every shift of Shane’s muscles as he slips in a second finger, and then a third. He watches the flush on his skin darken beneath his freckles. He watches every hitch of his breath, every gasp, every millimetre that his jaw drops as he stretches himself for Ilya’s cock. He watches his eyes, sparking with lust and mischief, as they lock onto Ilya’s and don’t look away.
He fists the sheets, and then grasps at his own thighs, until he finally gives in and starts palming his cock. Shane watches, a soft moan slipping out from his lips, but he doesn’t tell him to stop.
Instead he rummages around for the discarded bottle of lube and then tosses it to Ilya.
“Get yourself ready for me,” he orders.
Ilya pours the lube onto his dick and slowly starts to stroke himself. Shane is a fucking wet dream like this - his cock leaking, three fingers deep in his own hole, his eyes now glued to Ilya’s hand as he jerks himself off.
It’s so much, so intense, that Ilya can feel it in his bones before he’s even pushed inside of Shane.
“Please, Shane.”
“Please, what?”
“Need you to sit on my dick,” Ilya says, squeezing at the base of it to keep himself from coming before they’ve even gotten to the main event.
“Want me to fuck you, baby?” Shane asks with a smirk.
Ilya is nodding before Shane has even finished speaking. “Yes. So much.”
“Well, since you asked so politely…”
Shane removes his fingers with a quiet whimper, and then shifts position so he’s sitting on Ilya, straddling his waist. He rests the palm of his hand on Ilya’s chest to balance himself, and the reaches behind him with the other one.
The second his hand touches Ilya’s dick, he’s bucking up into the touch and panting like a fucking dog. Quiet, desperate pleas slip from his mouth as Shane positions Ilya at his entrance and slides down onto him, slowly, slowly, slowly.
“Fuck.” The word is a punched-out groan.
“So fucking big,” Shane whines as he bottoms out. “You fill me so perfectly, baby.”
Ilya can’t help himself. His hands fly up from where they were scrunched into the sheets, but he manages to stop himself just before he grabs Shane’s hips.
“Can I touch you? Please, angel. Need to touch you,” Ilya begs.
Shane rocks his hips, grinding on Ilya’s cock, and his mouth drops open in a loud, breathy moan. “Yes. Yes, Ilya. Touch me.”
Ilya grips his hips first, then slides up to his waist, and onto his stomach and chest. He grabs Shane’s tits, digging in his nails and then rolling his nipples beneath his thumbs until Shane is crying out. He lets his hands wander again, up to his shoulders, his neck, slipping two fingers into his open mouth and pressing down on Shane’s tongue until he whines and begins to suck at Ilya’s fingers.
He drags them from his mouth, spreads his spit along his chin and throat and chest, down down down, until he wraps his hand around Shane’s dick and jerks him one, twice, three times - just a tease, before letting him go.
Shane moans, a desperate, wanton thing. Far too loud for a hotel room, but they’re both too far gone to care.
Shane is riding Ilya so slowly that it feels like fucking torture.
His hips are undulating rhythmically, one hand is jerking his cock, and the other is digging into Ilya’s chest with his blunt nails. He looks like a fucking dream with his mouth open, and his eyes closed, and his head tilted back to show off the long, flawless line of his throat.
Ilya wants to bite him. Wants to sink his teeth into his husband’s delicate skin, tease and suckle at it so he can watch it bloom into a tender bruise. He wants proof of his ownership all of over his gorgeous Shane’s body.
“C’mon sweetheart, you can do better than that,” Ilya teases him.
Shane’s eyes fly open, immediately seeking out Ilya’s. He glares, a determined expression that makes Ilya feel like a prey animal caught in a predator’s trap.
It’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Are you getting tired?” He continues. “You weren’t too tired to flirt with that guy tonight.”
He watches Shane’s eyes darken - relishes in the way he leans forward ever so slightly, both of them gasping at the tiniest change in position. Shane doesn’t change the pace, though. He doesn’t take the bait. If anything, his hips start moving even slower, grinding down so Ilya is buried impossibly deep inside of him.
Shane lets go of his cock so he can rest both hands on Ilya’s chest, pressing him down into the mattress and holding him there as he rides him.
“I wasn’t flirting,” Shane insists, his fingers digging into Ilya’s skin with even more force.
“Looked like flirting to me.”
It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. They both know that, which is why they can talk about it like this - why they can use it to fuel their jealousy, their possessiveness, and not have it mean anything.
“I swear to fucking god, Ilya,” Shane grunts, his eyes scrunching closed as his mouth drops open in pleasure.
“Is okay, Shane. You-“
“Shut the fuck up before I…”
“Before you…what?” Ilya asks, grinning wildly. Shane’s rhythm falters. “Oh, I see. You wanna hit me sooo bad, don’t you?” Ilya taunts.
He doesn’t mean it. Not seriously, anyway. But then Shane’s eyes shoot open again, and he fixes Ilya with such a furious glare that he almost comes on the fucking spot.
God, his husband is hot.
Always, any time, in hockey gear, or a suit and tie, or splayed out under Ilya with tears in his eyes and fingers in his mouth. But he’s absolutely divine like this: sitting atop Ilya like he’s his goddamn throne, and looking down on him like Shane is the one with all the power. It makes Ilya’s heart beat too fast, makes his breath come too quickly.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Shane growls. It sends shivers down Ilya’s spine; he shudders and thrusts upwards, drawing a low groan out of Shane.
One of his hand slides upwards from where it’s resting on Ilya’s chest, his fingers slowly curling around Ilya’s throat and squeezing lightly. Not enough to cut off his air, but enough to restrict the blood flow in a way that makes his brain feel fuzzy.
Ilya whines, tightening his hands on Shane’s hips as he fucks up into him again. “Go on. Do it.”
“Do what?” Shane pants, still moving impossibly slowly. Still refusing to let Ilya dictate the pace.
“Hit me.”
Ilya is grinning, and gasping, and grabbing at Shane’s hips and thighs - touching him everywhere he can reach because he simply can’t get enough of him.
“I’m not gonna hit you, Ilya.”
Ilya pouts, sticking his bottom lip out dramatically. “Please?” He begs, and Shane’s rhythm stutters.
He squeezes Ilya’s throat again, just slightly, and he leans down so his cock is trapped between their chests. He hovers over Ilya’s mouth, their breath mixing together as they pant, and Ilya can’t stop himself from darting out his tongue and licking Shane’s bottom lip.
“You want me to?” Shane asks, hoarse and breathless, his eyes black with desire.
Ilya nods vigorously, and his hands dart back to Shane’s hips to try and control the movements. Shane slaps his wrist, and Ilya groans.
“Yes. Yes, please.”
He’s not one for begging, that’s usually Shane’s job. But god, he fucking wants it. He’s never even considered it before, honestly. He’d never minded when the women he used to hook up with got a little wild, a little crazy, but he’d never been slapped by one of them and he’d never thought to ask for it.
It hadn’t crossed his mind with Shane, either, until this very moment.
But now…now Ilya wants it desperately. Wants to know how it would feel for Shane’s open palm to connect with his face, like Ilya’s often does with Shane’s ass. He wants to feel the heat in his skin, the sting of it as the sound of skin on skin ricochets around their hotel room.
His husband always makes him feel so fucking good - so completely overwhelmed with pleasure - and he wants to know what it would feel like for Shane to hurt him, too.
Just a little bit. Just to try.
His blood is humming with the thought of it.
Their eyes lock, and for a moment the only sound in the room is their panting. The moment feels heavy, stretched thin, like both of them are waiting for it to snap.
And then Shane slaps him.
It’s not too hard - probably not even enough to leave a mark - but the sting of it is the spark that lights the flame. Ilya’s eyes roll back inside his head. His mouth drops open in a silent gasp as ecstasy rolls through his body like a forest fire, scorching every one of his nerve endings with white-hot desire.
“Shane,” he gasps, his eyes flying open to find that Shane is looking down at Ilya with unbridled reverence.
“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane sighs breathlessly, his hole clenching around Ilya’s aching cock.
Ilya doesn’t have to say anything, doesn’t have to ask - his expression does all the talking for him, clearly.
Because Shane is suddenly rearing his hand again, and Ilya tilts his jaw up to welcome the impact. It’s harder the second time. Just by a little. And Ilya fucking whines, a desperate, needy sound.
He thrusts his hips upwards into Shane, silently begging for him to move faster, but he doesn’t give in.
Instead, Shane grabs Ilya’s face with one hand - his thumb and fingers on either side of his jaw, just like Ilya had done to Shane at the bar. He grips him hard, fingers digging into his already stinging skin, and forces Ilya’s mouth open. He’s putty in Shane’s hands, pliant and malleable, going wherever he puts him.
And then Shane is leaning over him, their sweat-slick chests sliding together, and he…fuck. He spits into Ilya’s open mouth.
Ilya moans, his hands digging into Shane’s hips, waist, thighs, everywhere that he can reach.
“So good. So good for me, Shane. So perfect, my angel.”
“Fuck, Ilya. Baby. Please.”
He fucks up into Shane desperately, and finally, finally, Shane lets him alter the pace.
Shane starts to ride Ilya with wild, reckless abandon. One hand still on Ilya’s face, the other balanced on his chest, fucking himself on Ilya’s dick like there’s a trophy to be won at the end of it. Ilya feels feral, like a starving, wild dog that’s desperate to taste the five-course meal in front of him.
He can’t help himself.
He reaches a hand up to the back of Shane’s head and pulls him down into a searing, hungry kiss. All teeth, and tongues, and breathless whimpers as they lose themselves in the pleasures of each other’s bodies.
It creeps up on Ilya, the white-hot tingling heat that starts at the base of his spine and spreads slowly throughout his body, like waves rolling in towards the surface.
“Shane, ‘m close,” he pants.
“Me - me too.”
Ilya tugs Shane’s hair, bites down on his lip, and then he feels it - Shane’s body goes tense, his hole tightens, and he lets out the most gorgeous moan as he spills between their bodies. And all of that is enough to send Ilya crashing over the edge, too, gasping and trembling as he spills inside of his husband, leaving his mark where no one else will ever get to reach him.
“Holy fucking shit,” Ilya pants.
Shane collapses on Ilya’s chest, his come sticky between their stomachs but both of them too hazy with pleasure to care just yet.
Their chests heave together, their heartbeats tattooing their rhythms onto each other’s skin. The only sounds are their ragged breathing, and the gentle swish of Ilya’s hand brushing back and forth over Shane’s trembling thigh.
After a minute or so, when their breathing has finally started to even out, Shane props himself up just enough to look at Ilya.
“Are you okay?” He asks softly.
Ilya grins. “I am on cloud ten.”
Shane snorts, his head dropping down until it bumps Ilya’s chest. He kisses the gold crucifix, his lips soft and warm where they touch Ilya’s skin. “It’s cloud nine, baby,” he reminds him, smiling sweetly as he looks back up at him.
“I know,” Ilya says. “But cloud ten is better, yes?”
Shane grins, rolling his eyes fondly. He looks at Ilya for a moment, his eyes flickering across his face like he’s cataloguing all the tiny details.
Ilya doesn’t flush beneath the attention, but he does bask in it - enjoying the way his husband still looks at him like that, even after all these years. Like Ilya is the best thing Shane has ever seen. Like he still makes his heart race, even now.
It’s a thrilling thing, to be wanted like this. To be loved like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Shane’s hand is gentle when it reaches up to touch Ilya’s cheek, his fingers carefully tracing the spot where he had slapped him earlier. There’s some heat still clinging to his skin, and Ilya assumes it’s probably a little red, but it doesn’t sting.
“I’m serious, though. You’re okay, right? I didn’t - didn’t hurt you, or anything?”
Ilya pulls Shane’s hand away from his cheek so he can kiss it - fingertips first, then knuckles, then all across the open palm he’d used to hit Ilya with.
“It was perfect, sweetheart. So fucking good.”
“We’ve never - I mean. We haven’t done that before.”
Ilya hums in acknowledgment. They’ve done lots of things. Lots and lots of things, in all the years they’ve been fucking each other. Even more since they’ve been loving each other, and since they started wearing matching rings on their fingers. But never this.
“We don’t have to do it again if you didn’t like it.”
He watches Shane’s face, the way his eyes glisten and his cheeks flush, and the way he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to bite on it.
“I liked it,” Shane confesses.
And it’s impossibly endearing how shy he is right now, after he just rode Ilya into oblivion and slapped him in a way that made him come so hard he saw heaven.
Shane has tied Ilya to the bed before. He’s been fingered in a bathroom and come completely hands-free with their teammates partying just outside. He’s choked himself on a dildo while Ilya fucked him from behind. Shane is a freak - so adventurous, and kinky, and beautifully desperate, without even really realising it. So it’s the sweetest, silliest thing in the world that he still gets shy about things like this.
“I liked it too,” Ilya promises.
“Yeah?”
“My love, I think I would like anything with you.”
And the thing is, Ilya means it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t try, nothing he wouldn’t do, probably nothing he wouldn’t enjoy if it brought his husband pleasure. Well…
“Except sharing you,” Ilya adds with a frown. “I would not like that.”
Shane laughs again, lowering himself back down on shaky arms so he can kiss Ilya. Soft, slow, almost unbearably tender. Ilya whines, grips his hip, tries not to fuck back up into him because they’re both too over sensitive for round two right now.
“No. No sharing. Ever.”
“Mine,” Ilya says, punctuating it with a bite to Shane’s bottom lip.
“Yours,” Shane agrees, breathless.
Ilya trails his lips away from Shane’s, along his jawline, and down his throat. He feels the thrumming of Shane’s pulse beneath his tongue and sucks the fragile skin into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth until Shane whimpers and clenches around Ilya’s softening dick. When he pulls away, the skin is all shades of purple-blue, swirling together like a water colour painting.
He glances up at Shane, the most gorgeous art he’s ever seen.
“Hey.”
Shane looks down at him, brushes a thumb across Ilya’s cheekbone as he smiles. “Hey.”
“I love you.”
Shane’s soft smile stretches into a grin, and he leans down to steal another kiss from Ilya. “I love you, too,” he whispers into his mouth.
He’d stay here forever if he could, all wrapped up in his husband while the world fades to nothing around them. But there’s come drying between their stomachs and seeping out of Shane’s hole, around Ilya’s dick, and he knows how much Shane hates the mess. So.
“We should clean up.”
“Shower?” Shane suggests, and Ilya agrees with a nod of his head.
They both clamber out of bed, and Ilya watches Shane with unrestrained hunger as he walks towards the bathroom on shaking legs - watches as his come leaks out of his husband’s hole and drips down his thighs.
And Ilya can’t bear the fraction of distance for even a second longer.
He rushes up behind Shane, winds his arms around his waist and glues himself to Shane’s back as they hobble towards the bathroom. Shane laughs, loud and bright, and he tilts his head backwards until it rests on Ilya’s shoulder.
Ilya - unable to stop himself - sinks his teeth into the juncture of Shane’s neck, right where it meets his shoulder.
“Fuck, you’re feral,” Shane chuckles, his hand reaching back to grab Ilya’s curls. “I should talk to other men more often.”
Ilya snarls. Shane laughs again.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ilya warns.
“Maybe you should fuck me again in the shower, then,” Shane says. “Y’know, to keep my eyes from wandering.”
He’s teasing, of course. Ilya can hear the taunt in his voice without even seeing his face. But Ilya spins him around anyway, grasping his hands beneath Shane’s thighs and lifting him into his arms as Shane shrieks and laughs. He wraps his arms around Ilya’s neck, and his thighs around his waist, and he grins down at Ilya like he’s just tricked him into getting exactly what he wanted.
“You’re a menace.”
“You love me,” Shane retorts.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Ilya says softly. “More than anything.”
“More than anything,” Shane agrees, and kisses him sweetly on the lips.