There's a lot of jokes about how Shane-sexual Ilya is - and he is, everything his husband does is undeniably sexy. Mostly, his boring domestic things like putting away dishes (bending over to get the dishes, arms flexing to put away top shelf glasses), wearing his little button up pajamas, his glasses, his Tide Stain remover stick he keeps in his glove compartment, etc.
But Shane is just as Ilya-sexual and that - infuriately - crops up a lot in the workplace, when Shane's two favourite things (his husband and hockey) mesh. When Shane first joined the Centaurs, there were many (good natured) jokes about Ilya needing to keep it in his pants around his husband. Shane soon found out it was not Ilya they needed to worry about.
It started with Ilya giving out corrections, like any good captain.
"Young," Ilya said in that low, soft, but unavoidable tone. "You need to stop looking at puck, that is for goalie, yes? Find open ice and watch player who has the puck."
Shane, to his horror, shivered. The order, not even to him, locked in place. Watch team, not puck.
"Mh?" Shane's eyes shot up to look at him.
Ilya gave him a look. Then a quick once over. "Practice passing assists to Young, okay?"
"Yes, s-cap," Shane flushed, blaming it on the biting cold of the rink. "Yeah, of course. C'mon, Rook."
It just got worse from there.
"Again, Holmberg, or you drive Zamboni for a week."
"If you pass like that in game, I will send you to the Maple Leafs."
"Young!" Ilya raised his voice and Shane's knees buckled. "Shoot puck at net, not at teammates. Don't make me come over there."
But even worse than the corrections, was the praise.
"Good job, Luca, that was beautiful goal."
"That was what I am talking about, Wyatts, I love you."
"Exactly like that, Holms, great job."
It was going to kill him. He could not take it anymore. More often then not, he pounces on his husband as soon as they're home from practice. Sometimes even in the car (far away from the parking lot, of course). Not that Ilya complains.
One such time, a couple months of Shane slowly losing his insanity, he has Ilya pressed up against the wall in their entryway.
"You are in state tonight," Ilya breathed in between kisses. "You have been for months."
"Have not been," Shane exhaled shakily. He wanted to be in the bed, but he didn't want to waste time walking there. He leaned more of his weight on Ilya, hoping that signaled he wanted to be carried.
"No?" Ilya caught on and took on the extra weight, and turned them, so Shane was against the wall. "But I wanted to give you reward."
"Hmm," Shane smiled into his neck. "For what?"
"For practice," Ilya pulled back to look at him, a slow, smug smirk taking over his features. "For doing such a good job."
Shane shivered then stilled. He pulled back, face hot. "You-you asshole! You knew!"
"Of course I know," Ilya finally lifted him, hands braced under his thighs, not letting him pull away. "I know you."
"Its so embarrassing." Shane lamented, melting into Ilya's hold.
"Is only fair," Ilya carried him to their room. "Now you know how I feel every time you fold laundry, or wear little yoga shorts, or power wash deck, or fix light bulb, or..."
"I get it," Shane interrupted him.
So yes, even if Ilya is more vocal about it, Shane is just as insane about his husband as he is. And neither of them would have it any other way.
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