✨✨✨

after dick and kisses

It's not rare for Shane to start a conversation with an abrupt, blunt question. So it really shouldn't have surprised him when Shane interrupted the comfortable silence of breakfast to ask, "did you like fucking women more than men?"

Ilya paused, his spoonful of Lucky Charms (Shane could pry them from his cold dead hands) half way to his mouth. "What?"

"Like before we were together, obviously."

"Shane, you know I love fucking you more than I've ever loved fucking anyone else."

"I know," Shane rolled his eyes and held up his wedding ring. "I meant, like, in general."

"Why are you asking then?"

"Rose asked me once if being with a man was better," Shane explained. "And obviously, yes for me, because I'm gay. But you like both, so I just... I dunno. I wondered if you liked one a little better."

"Hmm," Ilya considered. He tried to answer all Shane's questions as well as he could. "I don't know. I have only been with two men."

"You - really?"

"Yes," Ilya nodded. "Just you and Sasha. It was risky to find men and I like women, so. That was easier. Sometimes men flirt with me but they weren't..."

"Weren't what?"

"They weren't...," Ilya realized his answer then, one he hadn't even been aware of until he thought about it. "They weren't you."

Shane did one of Ilya's favourite smiles. His lips pressed together, a little awkward, one that he couldn't control and he did when he was really pleased.

But of course, now Shane was curious, so he followed up, "how is it different?"

"You have fucked women, Shane."

"I know," Shane rolled his eyes. "But I wasn't attracted to them. You were. I mean, it must of been good."

"With me, always," Ilya smirked and Shane scoffed, but didn't deny it. "It's different in a lot of ways. I can be rougher with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Some women like rough, too, but I can't be too rough. Most women don't like sucking cock as much as you do."

"They don't?" Shane's brows drew together, so adorably confused about how someone wouldn't love sucking cock.

"Not usually," Ilya shrugged. "But it was fine. More time for eating pussy."

Shane scrunched up his face like Ilya didn't just eat him out this morning. Or maybe he was jealous. Like a jealous little kitten when their mama is paying attention to someone else

Ilya suddenly got an idea. A great idea.

"Biggest difference was probably the challenge," Ilya lamented, keeping a close eye on Shane's expression.

"What challenge," Shane eyes zeroed in on him like a little cat on a laser pointer.

"Oh you know," Ilya said distractedly, using all his self control to keep his face blank. "How many times women can come."

"What do you mean?"

"They don't have a, uh, cool down time, you know," Ilya said. It might not have been strictly true. He knew most women needed a little cool down, but much less than men. But he didn't have time for semantics right now while he's trying to rile up his husband. "I mean, they can come over and over and over..."

"I get it," Shane said tightly, stabbing his protein pancake with a little too much force.

"I think my record was like 20 times in one hour."

"Oh fuck off, it was not."

"It was."

It was not. More like 8 times, which was still impressive, in his humble opinion.

Then Shane paused and considered him. He had that cute concentrated face he gets when he's thinking through a play.

"We have tomorrow off," Shane thought aloud. "We could go by day instead of hour because that's fucking impossible. Or, maybe 12 hour periods." Shane taps his fingers against the table and narrows his eyes. "We could keep score with each other."

This isn't fair. This was Ilya's fun game to make Shane jealous and get to fuck a jealous Shane before practice which was one of his favourite types of Shane to fuck.

"What do you mean," Ilya asked.

"We make it a challenge," Shane smirked a little. "Since you miss that so much. Tomorrow. 12 hours. How many times I make you come are points for me and how many times you make me come are points for you."

"Fuck, Shane," Ilya readjusted himself and glanced at the clock. "We have 2 hours before practice. We can get a head start."

"No way," Shane stood up and started clearing the table. "We need to start fresh for tomorrow. No sex today or tonight."

He really should have known that first question was a fucking trap.

During communion, he crosses his arms and receives a blessing instead. He doesn't go to confession anymore, he likely never will again. He will keep his sins to himself; they are precious to him.

After the service, he goes to the annex and indulges in the free, shitty coffee, mingles shyly with the other congregants. Breaks off a piece of fresh pirozhki, crumbs falling on a papery napkin, lets the babushkas tell him all about their lovely, single granddaughters. Recently, some of the children figured out he plays for the Raiders, shyly coming up to him to ask him to sign their service programs. Then, weeks later, they expect him and bring pucks and silver sharpies.

Sometimes, when gossiping with the women or talking hockey with the men, he has to lean in and ask someone to repeat something, not recognizing a Russian word, and he worries he's forgetting. He thinks to ask Shane if he ever can't recognize a word in English or French, but thinks it's too vulnerable, memory being a strange and painful topic for both of them.

He always leaves earlier than all the others, pocketing one more pirozhki for the road and sneaking out without saying goodbye.

The cathedral is the only place in Boston where he is reminded of home and mama and himself. He goes mostly just so he can be in a room where everyone speaks Russian, where he doesn't have to waste precious energy translating all this stupid English. Sometimes, when he is feeling particularly indulgent, he listens to the singing children and he allows himself to believe. In this brief belief-state, he is deserving of his lover, he will see his mother again someday. It barely lasts a minute, and then the heels of his feet start to hurt in his dress shoes.

And Ilya is like "No I'm out for drinks with the guys. Did you not see that we won, Hollander?"

And Shane texts back like "Of course I saw, that's why I'm texting." Then a few seconds later: "Download this app right now. Be discreet." with an app store link. And Ilya texts back like '??? 🤨 Shane, have you been hacked?'

And Shane is like 'Just download the fucking app, asshole. This is your reward. Username is Jane2481. Fucking HURRY.'

hang it in the louvre

And what if I told you that Ilya engineered that hookup specifically because he wanted to dom Shane that night and he knew that if he got Shane in that hotel room that Shane would submit to him so beautifully and what if I told you that actually that's what they both wanted so fucking bad and what if I told you that the only reason the Penthouse hookup is bad is because Shane DID NOT COMMUNICATE what he wanted. Which was kisses. That's all he wanted. Not softer sex not Ilya being "gentle" not the denial of an aspect of his sexuality. Which is submitting sexually.

the son

and the holy spirit