out and married hollanov having drinks at a non-hockey friend's house. maybe shane's old stylist who he really got along with and then her friend group absorbed him, which in turn meant they absorbed ilya.
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-
"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-"
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..."
and shane, god love him, he's just sitting there with this dreamy, almost blissed out haze over his eyes as his mind wanders. "exaaactly..."
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