Mickey Milkovich Defense Squad

For the second anniversary, cotton, there were some luxurious and expensive towels and bathrobes. There were monogrammed pocket squares and handkerchiefs. There was a box with more cotton balls than anyone would know what to do with.

For the third, leather, there was a wallet for Shane expensive enough that Ilya encouraged him not to look up the price. For Ilya, there was a designer belt that made Shane’s brain short circuit when he saw how it sat around his waist. To that point, there was also a very finely crafted Cat o’ Nine Tails that they could not wait to put to good use.

For the fourth, fruit or flowers, there were the apple trees planted at the back of their property. There was the memorial garden Shane designed as a place where Ilya could go to honor his mother.

For their fifth anniversary, wood, they were at the cottage taking some much needed time between the season and the summer hockey camps. After breakfast, they had each brought their gifts to each other to exchange. Shane had gotten Ilya a custom wooden box meant for his watches, sunglasses and jewelry.

“You said you were running out of space for your collection,” Shane explained.

“This is really nice, thank you.” Ilya ran a finger over the top of the sleek wood and smiled.

Next Shane opened his and found that Ilya had gotten him a very beautiful and very heavy wooden chess set, complete with wooden pieces that had soft felt bottoms so as to not scratch the surface.

“You said you always wanted to learn how to play,” Ilya told him. “I figured when we retire and have more time, I can teach you.”

They had talked about it loosely. It wasn’t quite on their radar yet, neither of them were ready for that finality, especially now that they had been playing together. Winning together. Making their shared legacy one of love and not rivalry. It has always been the two of them at the top, but they had redefined it. Written the story they wanted to tell, were still writing it.

“Thank you.” Shane kissed him. Once, twice.

Ilya pulled him closer, his tongue teasing Shane’s lips until he was inside, tasting him. A faint hint of strawberry jelly. He chased that sweetness, deepening it. Shane’s hands roamed his body, across his broad back and down. Lower and lower until he pulled Ilya impossibly close to him by the hips. Until he felt Ilya straining against him, his own body responding to the heat. Ilya kissed his chin, his jaw, peppering his way along to Shane’s ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth and biting gently.

“I’ve got another wood present ready for you, malysh.” Ilya whispered in his ear.

“You’re an idiot.”

Shane moved to give Ilya access to his neck, coming undone at the feeling of Ilya’s breath ghosting over his skin.

“Mm yes, but I am your idiot.” Shane hummed in agreement. He had no argument there. “Do you want your other present or no?”