“Does it turn you on?” Shane asks, licks a stripe up Ilya’s dick. “When he calls you Mr. Rozanov?” Shane punctuates the question by sinking his hot, wet mouth over Ilya.
Ilya lurches, fights against the press of Shane’s strong hands and buries his free hand alongside the other in Shane’s hair. He moans, feels himself losing whatever battle Shane has warred against him. In a last-ditch effort, he tugs on Shane’s hair, pulls his mouth from Ilya’s cock with an obscene slurp. Ilya leans down, cheek brushing against the top of Shane’s head.
“No, kotenok, it does not,” he breathes, gasps, into Shane’s hair. Ilya leans further down, delivers a sharp nip to Shane’s ear, before whispering, “It turns me on when he calls me captain.”
This Suck Him off Sunday is brought to you by the letter T, which stands for tuxedo. Thank you @scunthotter for the prompt! I hope this doesn’t disappoint.
The problem, Ilya realizes, is the tuxedo. It’s all sharp lines and tight angles that hug Shane’s body just right. And Shane’s been working hard in the pre-season. He’s packed on weight and muscle, and he’s rested and happy, glowing actually, at the praise he’s receiving for his speech at tonight's Irina Foundation Gala. And Ilya, well, Ilya is in trouble. He’s been in trouble for hours, since the moment Shane walked into their bathroom to ask for Ilya’s help with his cufflinks, and Ilya nearly swallowed his tongue.
"Shane," Ilya tugged him close, wrapping his arms around Shane’s waist.
Shane flushed. "It's alright?"
"Sweetheart, yes," Ilya said, eyes wide.
Shane ducked his head and laughed. Ilya had to kiss him then, even if it mussed their suits and left Shane’s mouth wet and shiny. He had to kiss him because what Ilya really wanted was to drag Shane back to bed, peel back each perfectly pressed layer of his tuxedo, to get his mouth on the bare skin he revealed until Shane was a crying, aching mess.
Yeah, Ilya is so totally fucked.
Except now, it’s been four hours of mixing and mingling and, tragically, not one of those hours has included keeping Shane tucked against his side. Tickets to the gala aren’t cheap, and Yuna’s reminder rings in Ilya’s ears. There will be a lot of money in the room tonight, Shane. If we work it right, we can get a few more donations before the night's over. He and Shane agree on a divide-and-conquer approach. For his part, Ilya is pretty successful. He’s just tucking a five-figure check into his pocket when he spots Shane seated at the bar, and oh, he’s laughing, really laughing, his eyes gone all crinkly. It makes Ilya’s stomach swoop. He can’t help but stare. If he saw Shane for the first time at this gala, he wouldn’t be able to resist going over to say hi, and can I get you a drink and are you here alone or did you bring a date? And Shane would shake his head and smile and say he came with a friend, not a date, and they would end the night making out in the coat-check closet.
Ilya’s fantasy is rudely interrupted when the crowd parts enough to see who Shane is talking to, and it’s not some crusty old donor like Ilya just suffered through for the last 20 minutes. No, it’s young, handsome, apparently hilarious Carter Vaughn. And look, Ilya has no issue with Carter. Likes him, even. But Ilya has spent all night watching Shane charm the crowd in his perfect suit, and that feels like pressing on an old bruise. And now Carter has Shane all to himself, all of Shane’s attention and energy focused on him. He’s the one making Shane laugh. He’s the reason Shane’s eyes are sparkling, looking so beautiful and so at ease. It’s too much. Ilya maybe wants to rip Carter’s head off.
The strength of Ilya’s gaze draws Shane’s attention. Their eyes lock, and of course he reads Ilya like one of his boring hockey books. Shane swallows hard. Before Ilya can stop himself, he’s stalking across the room. Four hours is more than enough mingling.
“Ilya! Good to see you, man,” Carter says as Ilya slips in behind Shane, sliding a firm hand over the back of his neck. He can feel Shane’s pulse jumping against his fingers.
“We’re glad you could make it.” Ilya smiles and nods and makes small talk, embodying the role of the perfect host. The whole time, his thumb rubs over the nape of Shane’s neck. It’s barely anything, but Shane’s skin is warm and soft and turning pink under his touch. It makes Ilya’s teeth ache to sink into the skin under his fingers.
Eventually, he comes up with a polite excuse to extract himself from the conversation, but not before bending to whisper in Shane’s ear, “Bathroom. Five minutes.” He doesn’t question that Shane will obey.
It takes only three minutes for Ilya to hear a quiet knock. He hauls Shane inside and quickly locks the door.
“Been driving me fucking crazy all night,” he growls, crowding Shane against the door.
“I know. I know, please,” Shane gasps, just as affected.
Ilya gets a tight grip on Shane’s chin and pulls him into a bruising kiss. Shane’s already going boneless against him.
“Are you going to fuck me?” Shane whimpers, rolling his hips up against Ilya’s hard cock.
Ilya’s ears are ringing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” he says, his grip firm on Shane’s chin.
“Yes, oh please. I’m—I need it.” Shane’s eyes are wet and hazy. God, Ilya wants to wreck him.
“Put your arms up for me. Go on, above your head.”
The suit makes it awkward, but Shane follows orders. Ilya steps back and looks him over. Shane’s breath is coming quickly and his freckles are stark against the dark flush of his cheeks. He’s an arc of desire from the fists clenched above his head to the long line of his cock, hard and pulling his trousers tight across thick thighs. Without Ilya’s body to hold him up, his knees are starting to buckle. It’s obscene. It’s the most beautiful thing Ilya’s ever seen.
“Now,” Ilya says, moving in close as he speaks, “I am going to suck your dick.” Shane whimpers. Ilya ignores it. “You’ll be good and keep your hands above your head—yes, Shane, you will,” Ilya says when Shane frowns at the thought of not touching Ilya, as though he doesn’t realize that Ilya would be totally undone the minute Shane touched him. They’re so close now that Ilya’s lips brush Shane’s when he says, “And later tonight, when I can have you in our bed, then I will fuck you.” He punctuates the sentence with a firm hand pressed against Shane’s cock, just to feel it throb. “Does that sound good, Shane?”
“Ilya,” Shane whines. Ilya’s dick twitches at the sound.
“Let me help you, sweetheart.” Ilya grips Shane’s chin once more, moving it up and down in a nod, yes. “That’s my perfect boy.”
The sound of Shane’s zipper is loud against the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights. Ilya takes Shane into his mouth all at once. His fingers dig into Shane’s thighs as he works his mouth over Shane’s cock, messy and fast. Ilya’s so hard his stomach hurts, and Shane is gasping and moaning and arching against the door. This is going to be over quickly.
“Fuck, fuck, Ilya. So good, oh my god.”
Inspired, Ilya pulls off, wipes a hand across his mouth, and says, “He’s going to hear you, baby.”
“I–what?”
“Our friend, Carter Vaughn. You’re being so loud. He’s going to hear how bad you need it.”
“Ilya, holy shit,” Shane chokes out.
“Is that what you want? You want him to hear it?” Ilya starts to stroke Shane’s cock with a tight fist.
“Hnng, yes, uh—no, I mean—”
“C’mon, Shane. You can say it. Don’t you want him to know how good I make you feel?” Ilya’s voice is all sweetness. His fist picks up speed, and it’s probably too tight, too dry, but Shane’s hands are clenching and unclenching above his head and his throat is working around small ah, ah, ahs of pleasure. "Tell me, Shane."
“Uh-huh,” Shane breathes out, “Yeah, I want him to. Fuck, fuck, Ilya, I’m gonna come.”
“No,” Ilya says, squeezing the base of Shane’s cock. Shane groans and doubles over like he’s been punched, but his trembling arms stay high above his head. “Such a good boy,” Ilya says, standing and pulling Shane in for a kiss, filthy and wet and perfect. When he pulls back, he says, “The only way you’ll come is in my mouth. Ok?”
“Yeah, love your mouth. Love you,” Shane says dreamily, and Ilya has to kiss him again.
Shane shivers when Ilya pulls back this time, drops his head to nuzzle into Ilya's shoulder. Ilya's words are warm and close in his ear. “I know you want him to hear you, baby, but I don’t." His fingers loosen the knot of Shane’s bowtie as he talks. “You see, I don’t think he deserves it.” He slips the bowtie off Shane’s neck. “Only I get to know how pretty you sound when you come for me. Right, sweetheart?”
“S'right, yeah.” Shane is so far away now. Ilya's never felt more present.
Ilya lifts Shane's head and presses the bowtie against his lips. Shane's eyelids flutter at the cool silk on his hot mouth. “Open for me," Ilya says, soft and low. With gentle fingers, he tucks the bowtie inside.
“What do you say, Shane?”
“Thank you,” he manages, a thick mumble.
“You're welcome, sweetheart,” and Ilya drops to his knees.
Thinking about the fact that Ilya and Shane probably kissed SO much that first day at the cottage like Shane’s jaw was achy and their mouths were puffy and swollen and deep pink at the end of the day
Like they definitely fucked like three times by like early afternoon, and Shane’s a bit achy, they’d been eager and rough with each other, mainly in their desperation for each other. It had been months for both of them, waiting for each other- and it’s the first time they have ever had time on their hands, time and no fucking interruptions, just endless soft surfaces and hard surfaces to press each other into, soft close clothing and no prying eyes.
But they also kinda can’t stop kissing. Shane almost feels overwhelmed by it, it’s like theirs magnets on their tongues, drawn to each other like gravity. After lunch they end up making out at the sink for an unknown stretch of time, at least till the water in the sink that the dishes had been soaking in, cooled. But it was soft pecks too, hot firey kisses when Ilya would interrupt him by grabbing his face and pulling him in, licking into his mouth. So not only does Shane’s ass and hips ache a bit, but so does his mouth.
It’s the evening, the sun dipping down past the line of the lake and Shane is sprawled on his back on the soft rug of the living room. Ilya is a shirtless warm wide weight over him, just in a pair of Shane’s sweatpants (yours are better Hollander I want these) between Shane’s legs, pressing into and over him. He smells like Shane’s body wash, and sun, tastes like sour patch kids (Shane had bought them just for Ilya, when he’d done his grocery shop for the summer. It was just a few things, inconspicuous packets- but ones that usually had no place in Shane Hollanders pantry).
Shane’s in his metros crew neck and a pair of soft shorts, socks on.
Ilya has an elbow on either side of Shane’s head, one hand fisted in the top of Shane’s hair, fingers scratching gentle circular motions against his scalp in a dizzying way that had goose bumps shivering up and down the back of his neck. His other hand cheeks drifting to Shane’s chin and cheek, the back of his knuckles rubbing, fingers grabbing.
They’re kissing, again, slow hot drags of their mouths that are making Shane’s stomach flip and squeeze in a low needy flutter. His legs are spread to either side, knees to Ilya’s hips. One calf is pressed to Ilya’s thigh, the other out further, his toes rubbing their happy rhythm against Ilya’s calf. A small fidget he did when he was content, to comfort, usually as he drifted to sleep- but apparently when Ilya Rozanov kissed him incoherent too.
Shanes hands have been roaming, from holding Ilya’s face between his palms, to through his curls, over the back of his neck. His nails gentle up and down the bare skin of Ilya’s back, occasionally finding stray droplet left over from the shower. His body is holding the heat from it, so fucking warm and solid between Shane’s legs. Shane can’t stop thinking about the fact Ilya’s going to sleep in bed with him tonight. They have all night.
The thought makes Shane shiver and Ilya presses down into Shane in response, hand slides from his hair and down, arm slides between Shane and the floor, hand clasped to Shane’s hip, strong forearm spanning his back and he pulls Shane up into him. Shane tightens his leg around Ilya’s body, hands rub over Ilya’s broad shoulders in a silent reply. Ilya pulls back for a breath, nuzzles his mouth against Shane’s skin as he knocks their noses together.
“Okie?” He asks in a soft low cadence, and his arms squeezes around Shane, hand wiggling to the under the fabric of his sweatshirt, against skin.
Shane nods and with a small motion of his head ilya is connecting their lips again, a tiny almost sweet peck before he’s licking into Shane’s mouth in a way that makes the back of his neck heat. Ilya sinks into him and kisses him like he’s starving, like this itself is sex, like he’s inside Shane. It feels like it, Shane can feel the ghost of that connection with how they are pressed tight, close.
Their sound of their lips is slick and loud, and Shane can hear the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears, the rustle of their clothes together. He’s not grinning on Ilya, and Ilya is pushing down into him, but there are these tiny presses of their hips, half hard- but not seeking anything further, not chasing, just content in the connection of their bodies in every place they can manage.
Ilya’s tongue draws back and Shane catches Ilya’s top lip with teeth and tongue, Ilya’s mouth tastes like his, their shared spit. Shane’s fingers find the shape of Ilya’s earlobe, thumb starts to rub over it softly, and it makes Ilya whine, like Shane knows it does, because he knows, knows very well how Ilya Rozanov kisses, how he likes to be kissed back. Ilya’s hand squeezes Shane’s hip, pulls him in tighter, drags his tongue over Shane’s, licks up over the roof of his mouth and Shane shivers. His jaw aches with the stretch of the kiss as Ilya licks into his mouth hungry.
Then the oven beeps, loud and jarring and Shane’s first thought is what the fuck? But then- oh- dinner. They had put the potatoes and vegetables to roast in the oven an hour ago and chicken legs half an hour ago. Shane had been going to find deck of cards he knew was in the living room because he had told Ilya he would to teach him how to play Cribbage. Ilya had already asked if they could play strip cribbage. Shane didn’t think it would be possible but he was sure Ilya would find a way.
He’d been leant over the coffee table, digging in a draw for the cards when Ilya had found him, a slap to his bent over ass, before his hands pulled Shane back into him. Shane had told him to fuck off and Ilya had said no and then Shane had jabbed at his side, Ilya had flicked Shane’s ear and then they were on the carpet slapping hands away. Then, as with the pace of the day it seemed, they were kissing again.
Shane pulls back with a gasp from the kiss. “Dinner. Ilya- we need to” Ilya’s mouth was already back on his own. Shane’s hands slid to Ilya hair, pulled, turned his head away from Ilya’s mouth. The alarm was still going off.
“It’ll burn” Shane sighs, shivers when Ilya’s mouth finds his jaw, kisses and licks at the warm skin.
“In a minute” Ilya rumbles back and drags his teeth over the light already fading hickey he left there this morning.
Shane sighs, heat rushes at the feeling and he swallows, wriggles under Ilya’s frame.
“You’ll be so” Shane’s voice is breathy and he clears his throat. “So annoying if I don’t feed you” and then Shane feels Ilya laugh against his throat.
“You have fed me plenty” Ilya grumbles back, hand sliding down to take a handful of Shane’s ass, voice heavy with innuendo.
“Shut up” Shane bitches and pinches Ilya’s side in the way he doesn’t like, and says “dinner Ilya dinner” and Ilya whines and pulls back. Shane bits back a whine at the loss of Ilya’s warmth, despite knowing Ilya getting up is how they will achieve making sure dinner isn’t burnt.
Shane’s hands, now with no Ilya to hold, lay by his sides and he looks up at Ilya up on his knees between Shane’s legs, looking down at him. His necklace swings and the light catches the glint of gold. He’s all tanned skin, corded muscle and moles in the low light. There’s a bruise from Shane’s mouth in his ribs. Shane licks his lips and he wants Ilya to fuck him again. The oven alarm beeps ever strong in the distance. Shane lets out a short breath through his nose.
“Come on then, up, mr dinner Ilya dinner, I thought this was urgent and you are just laying on floor” Ilya teases and Shane kicks his heel into Ilya’s ass.
“I will help with my big muscles don’t worry” Ilya smirks and then he’s pulling Shane up with the arm under his back, till Shane is sat over Ilya’s hips in his kneeling position.
Suddenly they are close again, breath mingling between the mouths. Ilya’s mouth is bitten dark, his thicker upper lip swollen. His mouth shines in the low light of the cottage with his and Shane’s spit. It makes Shane’s cock pulse. Something swells in his chest. Shane squirms in Ilya’s lap and Ilya’s arm tightens around him, a firm grip that anchors him closer. Shane’s eyes dart up Ilya’s and he can see Ilya’s eyes staring at his mouth, dark and lidded. Ilya’s hand is on his face then and his thumb is making circles over Shane’s mouth. It feels like an old bruise, a muscle that aches after training. His lips throb.
“Mm” Ilya’s hum is low and maybe involuntary and Shane feels it vibrate through his own, and oh- when did they get that close again.
Then Ilya is kissing him again, soft pecks all over Shane’s mouth, closed mouth kisses that make Shane’s toes start working their wriggle again.
Ilya’s licking into his mouth and Shane’s hands are catching Ilyas face, and he’s been kissing Ilya for a decade, but it’s that same stupid heavy rush it had been when he was a teenager and all he could think was oh, that’s what kissing is because any kiss before it had seemed like it must be something else entirely, it didn’t even live in the same universe.
Shane made a soft sound, head heavy with the thought of their first kiss, the thought of Ilya knowing how to kiss him so well, of knowing just what Shane likes, being just what Shane likes. The taste of Ilya’s mouth being a comfort, a home. Shane pushes his hips down, pulls at the back of Ilya’s neck, sucks Ilya’s tongue into his mouth and- and then Ilya is pulling his mouth away with a slick sound and Shane whimpers, frowns.
“Dinner Shane, dinner” Ilya whispers and Shane puts his have over Ilya’s face, before he clambers up.
Ilya’s footsteps are quick behind him.
The get the food out the oven, it goes half cold, Shane’s ass pressed against the oven, Ilya pressing into him, hands cupping his jaw open.
Thinking about how Luca would just absolutely adore being dressed up in leather and chains and straps and god knows what else for pride and Ilya would be just as bad and then Shane's just walking next to them in his khakis and his lil polo shirt
“Does it turn you on?” Shane asks, licks a stripe up Ilya’s dick. “When he calls you Mr. Rozanov?” Shane punctuates the question by sinking his hot, wet mouth over Ilya.
Ilya lurches, fights against the press of Shane’s strong hands and buries his free hand alongside the other in Shane’s hair. He moans, feels himself losing whatever battle Shane has warred against him. In a last-ditch effort, he tugs on Shane’s hair, pulls his mouth from Ilya’s cock with an obscene slurp. Ilya leans down, cheek brushing against the top of Shane’s head.
“No, kotenok, it does not,” he breathes, gasps, into Shane’s hair. Ilya leans further down, delivers a sharp nip to Shane’s ear, before whispering, “It turns me on when he calls me captain.”
i think the first time ilya came inside shane raw and pulled out to look at it, he managed to get hard again and so he jerked off with the head of his dick pressed against shane's hole. then when he came he kept rubbing his tip up and down and smeared it around. then he groaned really loudly and leaned in so he could lick it all up/suck it out. shane lost consciousness for a minute
dee you're fuckign insaneiosmnbuhijs you can't keep doing this to me i'm DEad
luca deciding one day randomly to express his love for his fathers captains, just shoot them an innocent little message bc he appreciates them so much
ilya, i wanted to say thanks for everything :)) you and shane have been so nice to me, it’s been nice to have people to count on & rely on. sorry for all the times I’ve fucked up or bothered you but i hope it was okay i hope you forgive me <3 i love you guys, thank you
he goes to cook and eat his dinner, leaves his phone in the living room. doesn’t understand why there’s 68 missed calls from Ilya, 32 from Shane and 14 from Wiebe?? even more texts than that combined, all from ilya
ilyaaaa 🐻
whats going on malysh??
luca?
luca haas
luca baby pick up your phone
please lapochka
where are you?
shane and i will come to you
talk to us
luca this isn’t funny
baby please
He’s confused when he picks it up and calls Ilya back — he’d only been away for half an hour eating his food, for fuck’s sake — and ilya answers sobbing into the microphone
he can’t even get any words out. Shane takes the phone after ilya tries and fails to talk to him, his own voice choked, explains that it sounded like a suicide note as ilya’s horrible, howling sobs continue loud in the background
Oh.
He immediately feels a hot flash of guilt.
“We’re five minutes out,” Shane explains, level-headed as ever. “You’re at home, right? We want to see you.”
when he answers the door he’s never seen ilya so distraught ever. especially for his ‘Russians do not cry’ schtick, his eyes are bloodshot like he’d been crying for the entirety of the half-hour luca just hadn’t looked at his phone and he cries plenty more once luca closes the door behind them. they sit on the couch and ilya insists on holding him, feeling the warmth of his skin and the thrum of his heart — alive, very much so — as shane sits quietly nearby and passes him tissue after tissue after tissue
they promise they aren’t mad at luca for it. he hadn’t realised this would happen.
ilya calms eventually but they stay overnight, luca waking up at some early hour of the morning to ilya and his shaky breathing climbing into his bed, not the guest room he and shane had fallen asleep in.
“sorry,” ilya whispers into the darkness.
“s’okay.”
despite the king size mattress ilya crowds as close to luca as he can without actually smothering him.
(and next time luca sends that kind of message, he tacks on “I’m not dying or anything just wanted to say i love you” to the end of it.)
it's finished! my toxic hollanov infidelity fic where, in a TLG-era depressive spiral, ilya gets outed after photos leak of luca haas blowing him in an alley behind a club.
it's not going to be everyone's cup of tea. but i personally had fun with it, i think it has some of the best prose i’ve ever written, and so if you fancy some angst with a side of meditation on fate and control and what happens if you let certain things that simmer under the surface of canon (no one can make shane feel the way ilya does, ilya would rather lie than confront shane with the truth of how unhappy he is in ottawa, these characters are soulmates and destined to be together but at what cost....) then this could be the one for you!
Ilya's got Shane's on his knees. His thumb is hooked behind Shane's bottom teeth, holding his mouth open, and his fingers are curled under Shane's chin. And Shane's whimpering for Ilya's cock, but every time he leans forward to take it in his mouth, Ilya uses his hold on Shane's face to turn him away. He keeps teasing him with things like, "No, sweetheart, your mouth is full already," or "Can't let you choke, malysh." And Shane is whining and insistent, "Nonono, I can take it, I promise," and "Please, please, I won't choke, you know I won't, Ilya." It comes out garbled around Ilya's thumb, makes drool puddle in Ilya's cupped hand. And then Ilya taps his cock on Shane's cheek, says, "You're making quite a mess," and Shane tries to swallow, says, "Sorry, sorry, Ilya, please," as he struggles to turn his head, reaching for Ilya's cock with his mouth again. Ilya's laugh is low and quiet when he finally, finally drags his cock toward Shane's mouth, leaving a streak of pre-cum across his cheek. "Needy boy. You just want to be full, isn't that right, sweetheart?" he says as he slides his cock in alongside his thumb. And Shane would say yes, but his mouth is busy.
“I am a greedy man. You know this. Just one more, I promise.”
Shane sighed and rolled onto his back. “Fine, one more, but this is seriously the last one. I’m exhausted, Ilya.”
Ilya leaned down, pressing a kiss to Shane’s forehead. “Спасибо, Любовь моя.” (thank you, my love)
“Let me see.”
With a pleased grin, Ilya held his phone in front of Shane’s face. He waited patiently as Shane pulled his glasses down from the top of his head and squinted at the screen.
Shane’s eyes trailed across the screen for a quiet minute, before he lifted his finger to point. “You can play squeeze with this e. There’s a double word tile too.”
Ilya’s eyes lit up, stealing a kiss from Shane before he started to place the tiles. “You are genius. I love you. I am finally beating Yuna!”
“I love you, too. Now, please shut off your damn phone. Words with Friends will be there in the morning.”
Shane and Ilya´s babies are runners, they love to escape from their parents and are really energetic playful kids.
Kids: *run*
Ilya: *is always watching them, making sure they don´t get lost or hurt* The Shanelings are getting too far moya lyubov'...
Shane: *rolls his eyes and does the loon noise he makes at the cottage, when their kids hear this sound they know that they need to get back to their dads ASAP and run over them happily, Shane´s bird language is the only thing that works on them getting back.*
