anyway they're all sitting around a fire pit having cunty little cocktails or smth and just enough has been consumed that the convo turns scandalous. someone (we'll say his stylist) is waxing poetic about her gorgeous new fwb and their equally gorgeous friend and says "that's a sandwich i'd love to be the jelly in."

and shane - tipsy but ever present - his ears sort of perk up puppy style across the fire like, "sandwich...?"

which inspires this whole conversation about handsy threesomes. and shane's gonna be honest, in theory that sounds hot. he's had his fair share of late-night jerk offs around the idea, don't get him wrong. but he's got ilya locked down - he's not sniffing around for a third. the concept, however...the physical sensation of being caught between two hot sweaty dudes? yeah that's juuuust enough to get him zoning out into the fire, tipsy mind having a field day filled with sweaty muscles and tight, delicious pressure crowding him in on all sides.

ilya recognizes this look in an instant, of course. he's sitting right next to him after all. "making your imaginary sandwich in front of your husband..." he tsks, but it's all in good fun. he's obviously very interested, just like everyone else who has tuned into the convo because shane's kinda-

"panini..."

"what?"

"meat in a panini," he drowsily explains, in what he thinks is a perfect and impressively cohesive explanation of the image in his head right now. "absolutely fuckin' crushed..."

ilya can't even pretend to be surprised because he knows his man. and his needs. and his frequent desires to be smashed into oblivion under ilya's full weight. not even fucking him, most times. just squeezing him. pressure for pressure's sake. "ah... of course." this makes perfect sense. even if the rest of the group doesn't seem to be following. "and who is bread for your meat, my panini?"

that gets a couple giggles, but shane is fucking locked in, brother. like he's making plans already. "well you, obviously."

"obviously." okay thank god. "and who else?" he's reaching out to run his fingers through the back of his husband's hair while he speaks. "who will help me keep you still? maybe bood would if we-"

"marleau."

ilya pauses. blinks. "what?"

"cliff marleau," shane says. as if ilya is seeking clarification on which marleau is being discussed and like-...

ilya tilts his head and it's a little judgy. he knows. like the careful tone he carries with what he says next but like...hello? "sweetheart, cliff marleau fractured your collarbone and put you in hospital..."

shane still managing to be bratty

ilya knows him so fucking well!

again, ilya knowing shane so well, teasing him, giving him exactly what he wants. shane being just as whipped for ilya!

More Ilya is a giver stuff in the link - it’s AO3

HERE

Oh I'm suuuuure. Shane with his broken clavicle and Ilya with his bruised ribs were absolutely just having the weirdest phone sex that you can possibly imagine. Shane is propped up on seven different pillows because it jostles his collarbone too much if he doesn't stabilize himself on Mount Fluffmore before he starts jerking it--with his NON DOMINANT HAND to be clear. Half of Ilya's hisses are from arousal and half are from pain. They are equally hot. At one point Shane's shoulder slips and he grunts, "Oh fuck," and Ilya's arm (Hand and dick out of frame because Shane once again asked to see his face. But he can hear everything he needs. Fwip fwip fwip) speeds up and he goes, "Oh God. Are you coming? Did you come?" and Shane is like, "No I moved my shoulder wrong fuck" and he's readjusting the pillows (it's a process) and Ilya is still, now just watching, remarkably patient, and Shane says, "You can, uh, keep going," and Ilya says, "No, I can wait," and then Shane settles and Ilya tilts his head and asks Shane to lift up his shirt and show him his tits because he misses them and Shane still has some bruising and honestly it's kind of gnarly but Ilya turns his camera and shows Shane the bloom of bruises up the side of his body and Shane hisses and says, "Fuck that's hot," and Ilya says, "Show me yours," and so Shane's good arm is occupied with holding up his shirt for a little while as Ilya jerks off to his bruise and his armpit hair and then Ilya says, "Touch yourself touch yourself let me see you come," and then Shane does and the pillows slip again while he's coming and the sound of his groan tips Ilya into the kind of full-body-crunch orgasm that jostles every single one of his bruised ribs and they're both saying owww and coming and saying oh fuck ow and coming.

And Shane, who's still catching his breath, says, "Wow, so this is what we could have had if we'd been hooking up during playoffs all these years," because that's the one thing they've always avoided through mutual unspoken agreement. He says this meaning it to be sarcastic but, in the dark of his bedroom with the sound of the lake out the window and Ilya's breath over the speaker, it comes out far too earnest.

And Ilya's, "Mm, yes," is sweet and low and Shane presses a hand to his bruises and imagines it's Ilya's and he can see Ilya's hand moving up and down the bruising on his side and wonders if he's imagining those touches to be from Shane.

"You want to touch me, Hollander?"

"Not here," Shane stammered.

heated rivalry, chapter four.

Don't run away from my tenderness You're so afraid of that heart inside of your chest We were doing so well, but you were scared to be held Took the easiest way out I see the tears of a man too proud to reach for a hand Well, let my love keep you safe now So please don't Don't rein me in