ilya hasn't seen shane in five weeks. and it was meant to be better now. meant to be easier with them living only two hours apart. that was the whole point. maybe they'd been deluding themselves when they'd come up with the whole move-to-ottawa-and-things-will-magically-be-easier thing. well, most definitely they had been deluding themselves. because ilya had been in ottawa for four months, playing for the cens, and he had seen shane only a handful of times.
granted, it's already been more than last year. over the course of his last year in boston ilya only saw his boyfriend for a total of ten days (three days over christmas, a weekend in vermont, a weekend at all-stars, and a handful of games played in boston and montreal). in nine months only a total of ten days. by this point last year -- two months into the regular season -- he hadn't even seen shane yet. it had been seven and a half weeks before they'd reunited post-cottage post-i-love-yous post-everything-changing. and he'd already seen shane -- twice in montreal, three times in ottawa -- already half as much as he had all last season. so he should be grateful and less agonised and less antsy and less less less. he feels greedy and sick with longing. it makes his teeth hurt, jaw clenching too much.
and, really, he should be more focused on building his team. fixing his team. the cens are terrible. well, they could be worse. but they are objectively not very good. their coach is a fossil that needed to retire like yesterday. their starting goalie is shit. his right wing is terrible. boodram is fantastic. if the team was just made up of boodram and ilya maybe they'd get somewhere. really. so he should be more focused on that. focused on the team and working them into shape. and he is trying. it's just that the second he has a moment spare and shane is free he is tunnelling all his attention towards his boyfriend. rejecting hang out invites and skirting around weak excuses. he should be working harder on bonding and strategising and captaining but he feels unmoored. like when he'd first moved to boston and even though the city had been small -- compared to moscow -- it had been so unfamiliar and new and so much too much that he'd felt mostly like he'd been treading water occasionally getting gulps of air when he fucked his rival or ended his rookie year scoring a total of 67 goals or bought his first apartment or sped down the highway in his first sports car. moments of air in a sea of overwhelm.
anyway, ilya is trying to keep his career together. most of the hockey world thinks he's lost his damn mind. fans either think he's gotten himself into trouble with american law enforcement and had to flee the country or that he's decided he's tired of 'american pussy' and wants to try his playboy ways in canada. so he has things to prove in ottawa. like he isn't washed up or burnt out or a criminal or given up on playing good fucking hockey. so he needs to focus a bit more. turn his attention away from missing wanting needing and toward achieving scoring improving. easier said than done.
he's like a leaking faucet. no matter how tightly the tap is turned need just keeps drip drip dripping, loud and obnoxious, splattering in the sink. he should really look into getting a plumber therapist but we all know that takes a while yet. so he's just leaking need all over the place. practically drenched with it. and it's embarrassing.
ilya isn't used to being reduced to knees pressed into floorboards, face pressed into skin, all aching and pleading and gasping to be touched. it's unsettling. makes him feel weak. makes him feel less like a man. pathetic. small. but when the need is satisfied, when he gets his hands on freckled skin and taut muscle all that shame goes away, the churning in his stomach settles and its just... right. because there beneath him are brown eyes full of needing wanting begging. wide and glassy and ilya's neediness is returned. metabolised then poured right back into him in the shape of shane's needing wanting begging.
so, it's been five weeks. their schedules haven't aligned for a while. ilya on the road then shane. then too many practices and home games to find the time to meet. both too exhausted to drive the distance twice in one day -- because when they arrived they would have only an hour or two before needing to turn back around -- and they are both still young and intent on winning cups and playing their best hockey thus far in their careers because they keep getting better with age/experience. shane is just maybe pulling a little ahead. though he says 'it's just that i have a better team' and ilya hates the unintential condenscending undertone of those words. like suddenly he and shane are no longer equals. (they aren't. the cens have won only a few games in three months and shane and the metros are at the top of the division, top of the conference. the rivalry narrative is still there in commentary but a lot of commentators seem to think the rivalry has been won -- in hollander's favour -- because of ilya's new position on the worst team in the division, conference, potentially all of the NHL. maybe that's a little dramatic. but they are both trying very hard not to talk about any of that.)
week six with no shane and ilya is pacing the hall. waiting. shane is driving from montreal tonight -- right after a game -- and staying with ilya for at least 36 hours. ilya has practice tomorrow morning -- and it is not optional which will be torture, knowing shane is back in his house just a twenty minute drive away -- but shane has a free day so he will stay and ilya will get to come home to him and bury himself inside shane's body and bite into his skin and breathe him in. until the morning after and then he will be driving away probably in the pre-dawn hours to make his own practice. ilya doesn't think about that for too long.
anyway, ilya is waiting. in the hall outside the garage. there's a door into the garage off the foyer. ilya is waiting for the sound of shane driving up the driveway. waiting for the rumble of the rolling door up and then back down. the cut of his engine turning off. he should be doing something casual, cool. lounging on the sofa and watching replays of shane's game and coming up with witty chirps or something to tease shane about -- like him losing the puck in the third period to the fossil that is scott hunter -- but instead he is lurking in the hallway. ready to pounce on his boyfriend the moment the door creaks open.
one moment ilya is leaning against the balustrade, fingers tap tap tapping on his thigh, and the next the garage door is shuddering open and the engine is cutting and the door is opening and ilya is shoving shane into the wall, kissing him so hard that shane's head hits the wall with a loud thwack and his boyfriend hisses in pain. ilya doesn't pull away, just gently threads his fingers through shane's hair and prods, silently checking if he is okay. shane seems to get it, and he's growling, pushing back into ilya. giving aggression back just as keenly. he's okay. he's biting tugging nipping at ilya's mouth with his teeth. kisses sharp and brutal like a punch and full of so much heat it makes everything in ilya's body simmer until he is just pure lust. nothing left in his body but want.
and usually it's shane dropping to his knees in the doorway without even a hello but ilya beats him to it. he's tugging at shane's pants and briefs and untangling them from shane's ankles and gripping shane's thigh in his hand, slinging it over his shoulder and then just breathing. nosing his way into the crease of shane's groin, mouthing at soft skin and nuzzling close close close. to smell shane and feel him and fill all his empty resevoirs with shane shane shane. and it's easy, it's so easy, to just forget all about waiting and missing and yearning with his face in shane's groin. shane's hands winding through his curls and cradling him close, tenderly, the harshness of before tempered by shane's gentle whisper of "i missed you" and ilya is whining in return. he's tonguing at shane's balls and then swallowing shane's cock all the way down. almost gagging himself on it. taking too much at once but refusing to back off. he needs this.
and that's how he gets shane off. grasping at shane's thigh and sucking him down with too much enthusiasm, too little finese. it's all sloppy and wet and loud and moaning choking gasping. he doesn't even care how needy he sounds. embarrassment dissipated in the eager roll of shane's hips and his gasping "baby, ilya, yes, missed you, love you, love you, yes, love you so much" and that's all ilya needs. want metabolised and returned. he's not alone in wanting aching missing yearning needing. it's okay. and if he gets off just pressing his palm to his own cock through his sweats then no one needs to mention it because he fucks shane properly later and reduces his boyfriend to glassy eyes and shivering and whimpering and it makes up for all of ilya's leaking, drowning neediness. and shane tastes so so so good.
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