big imagination

"You and your flair for the dramatic. Believe me when I say that, tonight, you've been the best plus one I could hope for. You need to iron out some wrinkles on your ability to talk without getting lost in the flow, that's all."

You, a professional yapper, raised an eyebrow, feigning offense.

"Yeah, getting advices from the president of the socially awkward club really helps me."

"Well, I can afford it," Shane's hand rested on your bare back. "People want to see me play hockey, not chit-chat."

"Fair enough."

Painfully aware his touch was reawakening feeling you had long-past buried, you shifted position on the stool and crossed your legs.

The party was just getting started and you were worn out already. Out of all the women flowing in and out of the hall, you weren't the worst-dressed —the long, black silk gown you had purchased on a whim last year finally came in handy—, but you were definitely the most anxious one.

As you finished torturing the second smooth vodka of the night by drinking it, you waited for it to graze past your throat to ask:

"Hey, would it be consired a douche move to ditch you and hit the sack? This mere mortal has an early shift in five hours."

"You're spreading yourself too thin for that shitty job."

Shane, whose hand was still on your back, did something you'd only dreamt about: he cupped your face with the other one, his thumb circling the dark circles under your eyes that makeup struggled to conceal.

Heart almost leaping out of your chest, you looked at Shane as a deer caught in headlights.

Why was he acting like that? It was not out of character for him to be affectionate, but tonight, something in the way he was moving was different.

"Okay, spit it out," you narrowed your eyes at him. "What is happening?"

He shrugged. "Is it that weird that I worry about a friend? You look like death. Also, you deserve better."

Still stunned by the sudden tenderness, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I understand, Shane, but I can't quit yet. The bills won't pay themselves, and I really need the extra money."

"Yeah, about that," Shane sat on the bar stool besides yours, his hand now on your thigh. "Come work with us."

Yes, something was definitely up, but you were too enthralled by his suggestion to worry about anything else. "Us?"

"Yeah," he clenched the dark silk of your gown into a fist, then released it. "You know tons of languages, and you're way overqualified for the job you have now. Besides, didn't you say you wanted to travel and spend more time around the world? Well, you have the brains and looks to back it up, miss. You will be a fantastic asset."

"Geez, thanks." You blinked, then frowned. He hadn't asked you a question, rather stated a fact. "Pump the brakes. 'Will'?"

Shane cleared his throat, his freckled cheeks dusted with pink. "Take your phone."

To say you were confused was an understatement.

"Wh- give me a minute."

It took you ten, actually, to fish your phone out of the purse, check every email until you found the one sent by Montreal Metros' HR team.

You read the whole thing twice, then opened the attachement linked below.

"This can't be real."

Shane kept watching as your brain finally understood what you were look at.

It was a contract.

"Per my request, our team's board drafted it a couple of days ago. I made sure there are no catches or loopholes whatsoever. It just needs a signature, and it'll be effective immediately. You can quit your shitty job, now."

He had just made possible for you to hang out more while having jobs you both loved.

You wouldn't have trusted anyone one else but Shane's foresight to deal with such an important matter.

Overwhelmed, you signed the contract right away, put away your phone and leaned closer to kiss his cheek.

Your resignation letter was going to be the first time you'd do when you woke up.

In your bed.

Happily employed by one of the best hockey teams in Canada.

"You're a mad man, Shane Hollander," you were smiling so hard it almost split your lips apart. "But I still love you very much."

All anxiety and tiredness gone, you were in the mood for celebration.

Turning to the bartender, your ordered another smooth vodka. "You know what? Make it double."

Shane sighed. "You know I can't drink tonight."

"I know," you waited for the barman to refill the glass, then raised it above your heads. "I'm drinking for you, too. It takes a lot more than a few drinks to knock me out. Remember that party where some idiot tried to challenge me at beer pong and- hey!"

You whipped your head around to see who had just had bumped into you and almost made you spill the drink.

'Almost' being the second understatement of the night, because a masculine hand engulfed the one you had around the drink.

And it wasn't Shane's.

"You drink like Russian." Blonde, curly hair brushed against your back as the other man took your drink and pressed his elbows onto the bar counter, his green eyes fixated on you.

"I like it."

All tiny hairs behind your back stood up. You knew who he was. Everyone did.

Tonight, your friend hadn't been the only major leaguer praised for his skills on ice, after all.

Shane looked behind you and scoffed. "Fuck off, Rozanov. This is a private conversation."

"But this is public space. I go where I like, Hollander, and I like it here."

His deep voice oozes cockiness, and you didn't like it. Not even one bit.

"You made your point. Can I have my drink back, now? We weren't done talking."

Rozanov shot you an enigmatic look. Then he got up, touched his lips to the glass and threw back his head.

Rage an icy fire in your stomach, you watched as the other hockey player drank your prized vodka without taking his eyes off of you.

Once emptied, he left the tumbler on the counter, tilted his head towards you again and smiled.

"You didn't say please."

You went to cuss him out in English but stopped in your tracks. Shane was right: you knew a shit ton of languages.

"How rude of me to not get on my knees for the great Ilya Rozanov," you said in Russian, words tumbling off your tongue effortlessly, "but I don't like bullies."

The sudden change of language surprised Shane, but not Rozanov.

"What a colored image. And I recognize a brat when I see one. Guess what? I love to tame them."

Okay, maybe it was the alcohol, but Ilya's voice paired with Shane's hand on your lower back had you cross your legs together harder than needed.

"Brat or not," you spat out in English, unflinching, "you owe me two drinks."

"Why think so small?"

Rozanov tapped his fingers on the counter to get the bartender's attention. Once he got it, he pointed at one of the vodka bottles in display. "May I have one delivered to my room in ten minutes, please?"

"Of course, mister Rozanov."

"Thank you," he turned to look at you again. "Play a game with me. If you win, you have back your drinks and extra vodka."

"And if I loose?"

Ilya grinned. "You will see."

All too familiar with your competitive sides, for they were so alike his, Shane stepped between Rozanov and you.

"I don't think it's a good id-"

You touched his arm to cut him off. There was no going back. "Do we really have to do this in your room?"

"Unless you want to make a fool of yourself here, yes," Rozanov stretched out his hand. "Deal?"

"One last thing: Shane comes with us."

"The more, the merrier."

"Fine, then. Game on."

You took his hand. Well, tried to, because before you could shake it, Ilya raised the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it.

Such a delicate act for an asshole like him.

As the three of you began to make your way upstairs, however, something totally flew over your head: the thrilled look Shane and Ilya shared behind your back.

Well, you were solemnly screwed.

You should've figured that much out the moment you stepped into Rozanov's hotel room.

In your defense, you were a little too preoccupied by what Ilya was planning to realize you had just walked straight into a trap.

A trap that closed shut around you when you saw the bottle and Shane locked the door.

"You good with games, yes?" Ilya asked nonchalantly, his attention focused on dragging two chairs across the carpet.

It didn't mean he wasn't staring at you, because he was and damn if he wasn't stunning.

You waited for Shane to sit on the king size bed before leaning against the wall. Those infernal high heels were killing you.

Also, you wanted a clear view of your opponent.

"As a matter of fact, I am. Can't wait to have your ass beat in a card game, Rozanov?"

"So bratty," Ilya clicked his tongue. "But no, no cards. I was thinking questions and... what was other one?"

Shane chimed in at that moment. "You mean 'truth or dare'?"

You shot him a deadly look. Whose side was he on?

"Yes! I want to play truth or dare with you."

"It's a party game. There are literally no rules," you explained, annoyed. "It's impossible to decide who wins."

"Well, you can play a variant of it. I will be the referee." Shane pointed a finger at both you and Rozanov. "I know you two so well that I can immediately tell if you're lying or not."

I know you two so well.

Before you could ask Shane further explanations, and why he seemed to enjoy so much watching you bicker with his arch-rival, Ilya clapped his hands. The motherfucker was smiling ear to ear.

"Perfect. What do you choose?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Truth."

"How many languages do you speak, pretty girl?"

You didn't know what took you aback the most between the question and the pet name, so you focused on the former. For that, you had a straight answer.

"Ehm, besides English and Russian? Fiv- wait, six languages. I have my final Greek exam in a week."

Rozanov turned to Shane. At your friend's affirmative nod, the other man waved a hand towards one of the chairs.

"Good. Sit."

Every muscle stiffened by the commanding tone, you held Ilya's gaze.

"I'm not a dog. Say please."

"It's like the pot calling the kettle black."

You were in front of Shane in the blink of an eye; you grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head upwards to meet your furious gaze.

"Not helpful. You gotta pick a side."

Out of reflex, he used a hand to steady himself... which happened to be your hip.

"Can't do it. If I'm biased, you two won't have a fair game. Don't you want to win?" He rubbed his thumb again on the fabric and scowled. "Hey, you're not-"

Ilya plopped into the second chair, loosened the tie's knot and then, staring intently at you ad Shane, spread his legs wide enough to stretch the fabric of the tuxedo pants.

That did the trick, because your mind spinned back to him.

After giving Shane a warning to play fair by tugging his dark, luscious hair one last time, you went to your chair but didn't sit.

"Well?"

Rozanov tilted his head again. "Sit with me, please."

Pleased with yourself for winning that round, you sat across him and crossed your legs. Close as you were, your heel grazed his thigh with every breath you took.

Ilya awarded you with a smile. "Good girl."

Speaking of breath... yours got stuck in your throat as your mind conjured images upon images of Shane and you at the beach.

If your friend was jacked, you couldn't fathom what Rozanov was packing under his clothes.

What the hell, girl? Snap out of it. He's the enemy.

Eager to get this over with without having any other horny thoughts about either men — it was bad enough you were having new ones abot Shane, but Rozanov? That was the icebreaker—, you stated:

"It's my turn, now."

"That was warm-up question. The real one is this," Ilya's arrogant smile blinded you.

"What colour is your underwear?"

"What colour is yours?" you retorted at once, heat spreading across your body like wildfire.

"Ladies first."

You crossed your arms. "I refuse to answer."

"That's a choice," Rozanov leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. "But if you don't, there's penalty."

"Which is?"

He looked at his tuxedo, then at your gown. "You take off clothes. First who ends with nothing on, loses."

Ah, there it was. The infamous catch.

You rose to your feet so quickly you almost kicked him in the sheen.

"I'm out of here."

Halfway to the door, a hand grabbed yours. This time around, it was Shane's.

"Wait, don't go yet. We thought you would've liked it."

Again with the 'we'. What was he-

Realization hit you like a truck. "I get it. You both are in this. Is the contract part of the gig, too?"

He shook his head, alarmed by your flat tone.

"No, of course not! It's one hundred percent real. I would never do that to you."

You rubbed your knuckles against your chest. Your heart was racing.

"Yet, you lured me into your boyfriend's room to play some weird strip game."

Shane's face dropped and went still. "How long have you known about it?"

"That you were not into girls? Five years, give or take."

You raised a finger, ready to answer his real question. "Or that you're dating one of the most annoyingly good-looking men in the hockey world? You gave yourself away when he spread his legs. You looked at him with heart-shaped eyes."

"Aw, you're not so bad yourself," came Ilya's voice from where he was still sitting. He had only tuned in to acknowledge your compliment, but discarded the rest. "Even Shane thinks so, you know?"

"Ilya, not now."

Overstimulated by his proximity, you stepped back to stare at them both.

"Yes, now. I deserve to know what the fuck is happening here tonight."

"You just said it."

One of the dress' straps slipped off as you turned to to Rozanov."What?"

Green eyes gazed you up and down again.

"Fuck. We want to fuck you."

The world started to spin at breakneck speed, and it didn't help the fact that Shane fixed the strap, his fingers lingering over your heated skin.

"You're joking."

"No, we're not," he met your eyes and smiled. "You're the only one I trust to share this part of me without worrying about you using it against me. And yeah, Ilya's right: I do find you hot, even if-"

"I'm not your cup of tea." You finished his sentence. Somehow, some of the weight on your chest disappear.

Yet a question remained unanswered.

"Do you really want to do this, Shane? I'd rather die before making you uncomfortable in any way, especially when it comes to sex."

He kissed your shoulder. "I do, and so does Ilya. It might not seem like it, but ever since I told him you'd be with me at the party, he couldn't wait to finally meet you."

"Did he really?" you whispered, then strutted to where Rozanov was.

"Since I'm no quitter, I'll answer your question and have my damn vodka: underneath all this, I wear my birthday suit."

Shane was about to explain what it meant, but you shushed him.

"He's a smart boy. Let him think."

Intrigued by the situation, Ilya thought it over for a minute, then looked up.

"You're naked?"

"Only one way to find out." Leaning over, you pressed a hand on his cheek. You made a mental note for the future to map every mole of his. He really was beautiful. "You know what? I dare you to touch me."

"Woah." Shane's panicked voice cut through the moment. "What about truth or dare?"

Ilya got up slowly and took off his jacket. "It can wait. I want to touch her."

You stood still as he towered over you, the hunger in his eyes hard to miss. If Shane's body heat had your stomach in a knot, Ilya's threatened to scorch you from head to toe.

"You sure about all this?" he asked, hands a hair's breadth away from you. He was being serious.

To have him ask for consent again persuaded you to stretch your arms towards him and smile.

" Само собой, Илия́. "

Of course, Ilya.

Giving the get-go in Russian put him at tease, considering how fast his hands flew to your collarbone.

He outlined its edges, then descended towards the shoulder blades, the ribs... only to brush past your clothed nipples and plunge his fingers into the deep V-neck of your gown.

Every stroke was utter torture.

"Uhm, I'm still not sure. I want to check here." He placed the other hand on your hip. "Okay?"

You gave a curt nod, aching to have him closer, too, because now you were painfully aware of Shane's body flush agaist your back —how long you'd been like that, though, you didn't know for certain.

Both you and Shane gasped as Ilya spank your ass, before his fingers slid downward and past the dress' split.

He reached the apex of your inner thighs with little to no effort, and eased two fingers inside you altogether.

Back arched at the delicious stretch between your legs, you sighed while Shane did the same, his eyes trained on Ilya's movements.

"Ah," Rozanov smirked. "So wet and naked. Naughty brat."

Too engrossed by his and Shane's proximity to form a logical thought, you mumbled something and bucked your hips towards him.

"I need more."

He chuckled, yet he caved in a bit and curled his fingers, making you squeeze hard around them.

"Say please."

Groaning a very frustrated but needy "please", you half expected Ilya to resume moving at a slow pace, just as he had done until then.

But something in your plea made his self-control snap, because before your mind could fully register what was happening, he was on his knees with part of the gown's lower part in a fist pressed against your hipbone.

And his mouth was on your most intimate flesh.

"Oh, my God." One of your hands gripped his curls, but it wasn't enough. "I-"

"I got you," Shane's raspy tone scraped the side of your neck, his breath mingling with yours. "Hold onto me."

Just as he whispered that, you threw your whole wight on him, your other hand anchored to the arm he wrapped around your chest.

He was really strong, you were dead sure of it. He could've manhandled you without breaking a sweat, if he wanted to.

The same could be said about his boyfriend, who was having the time of his life lapping up every drop of your arousal.

He kissed your inner thigh before asking: "So, who you like more, pretty girl? Me or Shane?"

Shane's grip shifted under your breasts as you moved to look down at Ilya, brain already starting to lag.

Truth was, they were both driving you insane. Yet, you weren't giving him the satisfaction to blow his ego out of proportion.

"Not everything is a competition, you know?"

"It is with us."

And with that, Ilya went full demon mode: his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking furiously as you yelped, sandwiched between him and one of the most important people in your life.

You braced yourself, Shane's presence as comforting as ever; without him holding you, you would've collapsed on the floor already.

Shane Hollander, your dearest friend and eternal crush who knew you inside and out.

Shane fucking Hollander, who was now nibbling on your ear lobe while whispering sweet nothings.

"I-It's too hot here," you managed to mumble, and he immediately hooked his fingers under the straps of the gown, pushing them past your shoulders.

The dress didn't have enough time to pool at your feet, for Ilya took care of it, first.

His hand was still fisting it, so he pulled back to yank it past your hips with a single motion, then helped you kick it to the side.

With only your high heels on, you watched as the blonde spread your legs wider, but before he could dive in again, you hid your face in the curve of Shane's neck.

Figuring you wanted to say something, he hugged you tighter, his lips crashing against your ear.

"What do you need?"

"Both of you. Naked." you panted, fighting the urge to kiss him and pull Ilya's hair. "It's not nice to leave a girl hanging like this."

"We will be, too," was the Russian boy's answer. "But not now. Later."

"We want to love you a bit longer." Shane added, then kissed your cheek. "Is it me or you look leaner than last summer?"

You were having none of it.

First, you pressed yourself against him once more, the outline of his growing erection engraved in your skin; then, without missing a beat, you yanked at Ilya's curls.

"Take them off. Now."

Luckily for you, both men complied your request.

Soon, their shirts joined your dress on the floor, and Shane's naked chest collided with yours.

Meanwhile, Ilya was enjoying the show with a wicked smile on his lips.

"Better?"

"Much better."

"Good." Without further ado, he stuffed his face between your legs again, his tongue coming out to play with your engorged clit.

This time, however, he also coated his fingers in your arousal, only to sneak them behind, between you and Shane.

"What are you d- oh."

Breathless, you keeled as Ilya spanked you.

Just a moment before he slipped both his index and middle finger, slick with your cum, into your other hole.

"You're not as tight as I thought," his voice was as deep as his fingers and tongue were going in out of you at a slow, excruciating speed. "You use dildo, right?"

Tearing your eyes away from him, and too shy to respond, you went quiet. But Ilya didn't stop.

"Am I wrong?" His attention was now on Shane.

"Nope," your fiend tilted your chin sideways to meet his lust-filled eyes. "She uses it all the time, and I remember a time when she told me she rode it so hard it snapped in half. She had to get another-"

In a desperate attempt to shut him up ㅡ he really knew a lot about your sex life; you couldn't have him air out your dirtiest fantasies like that, you kissed him on the lips.

It was supposed to be a peck, nothing more, but he held you by the back of the neck to deepen the kiss, to indulge in the taste of your lips.

Just as you were to melt into his touch, you realised you were not sandwiched between him and Ilya anymore.

Confused, you looked around only to see Shane was carrying you to the bed.

As he laid you down, you thought you heard him whisper, "It's not enough. I want more," but the moment was gone as quick as it came by.

Gentle as always, he took the high heels off your you, kissed your crossed ankles and turned to his boyfriend.

"How about you kiss me now, Ilya."

The blonde shrugged and hauled your friend in his arms, then ran his fingers through Shane's hair.

"Never a problem for me."

Your chest heavied with pride: Shane confided in you so much that he entrusted you with his most precious belonging: his love for Ilya Rozanov.

They kissed with the intimacy of two people who'd done that for ages, their bodies fitting like pieces of a puzzle.

You watched in awe as they moaned in each other's mouth, palmed their erections through the stiff fabric of the tuxedos.

"You can taste it, can't you?" Ilya beamed at Shane, who was busy unzipping both his and his boyfriend's pants at the same time.

"You taste her in my mouth and you like it."

Blood boiling at the explicit comment, you flushed and turned to look at the nightstande closest to you. Bingo.

Hands itching to pour yourself a drink, you scooted over to the bottle of vodka, and you were about to unscrew it when Rozanov's voice stopped you.

"Ah-ah. Leave the bottle. We're not done with you."

"No worries, you guys have fun. Pretend I'm not h-"

Whatever the fuck you wanted to say died on your lips, because the moment your eyes were on the boys again, you found Shane on his knees, his lips stretched around Ilya's cock.

Dear God, if this is a dream you better make sure I remember every detail when I wake up.

But it was no hallucination, just your mind struggling to wrap itself around the fact that your friend was some kind of god of deep-throating, because there was no way Rozanov wasn't big.

No, scratch that. Big and girthy.

Both of Ilya's hands went to yank at Shane's hair, a string of curses in Russian leaving his parted lips as the other man's head bobbed up and down his dick.

Their synced moans pushed aside every thought about vodka, and you found yourself getting on all fours to yet again inch closer to them, like a snake slithered forward to listen to the charmer's song.

They both looked so good that you almost didn't catch Ilya's winking at you... or that Shane had taken one f your hands and wrapped it around his erection.

"Make him cum." Ilya ordered, and you were more than ready to oblige.

You stroked Shane carefully, just to test the waters, and he bucked in your touch, eager for more.

And you did give him that by matching your movements with his as he blew Ilya's brains out—who almost broke his neck to watch you both do your thing.

It didn't take long for them to come at the exact same time with a strangled moan, Shane's ropery strings glazing your hand as he swallowed Rozanov's with a sigh.

As for you, you were too stunned to speak, or to even move away to give them space.

Not that they'd allow you to do it, anyway, because as soon as their shared orgasm subsided, the first one to grab you by the waist and bent you over to kiss him was Shane.

The taste of Ilya's scent still lingered in his mouth, and you drank it up with every clever stroke of your friend's tongue against yours.

"Not gonna lie, what you did was fucking hot." he commented when you both came up for air.

"What I did?," you slapped his chest, fighting through your throbbing pussy to keep talking. "You are... wow."

"Agreed." Ilya joined you and Shane on the bed, curls dishevelled and a loopsided smile.

"But as I said, we are not done."

You looked at his cock and gulped. He was still very hard and very huge.

"Hell, no. I can't compete with the throat goat here: he'd humiliate me. My head game is waaay weaker than his, I can tell you that much."

Shane slightly smacked your thigh, but his eyes were still dark, lustful.

"You can suck him off next time. No, we want to try something else with you."

You grinned. Next time. What a time to be alive. "Go on, tell me."

"I'd rather show you."

For the second time in the span of half an hour, Shane moved you around as if you weighed nothing.

He put you on top of him and let you adjust your knees around his hips while you pushed back your hair to better look at him.

"You want me to ride you? As you so proudly declared, I'm really good at it."

Shane smiled, his hands finding purchase of your hips as if he had done it a million times.

"Something like that, yeah."

Another naked body came into frame, Ilya's fingers tracing your spine with wanton desire.

The golden necklace he wore engraved itself in your skin as he pressed himself harder against your back, then he kissed your jaw with tenderness.

"Ready to take both?"

"Huh?" Your eyes went huge so fast you feared they'd roll out of their eyesockets.

"I can take Shane, but not you, Ilya."

"Are you implying I'm not that big?" Rather than offended by your words, Shane seemed amused by the terrified look on your face.

"Shut up, you know that it's not what I meant." You stared at Rozanov.

"If you don't fit in my mouth, you sure as hell can't down there, mister."

"You mean here?" He kneaded your ass with a hand, eliciting a soft gasp from you.

"First time, uh? It will fit. Trust me."

Shane came to his boyfriend's aid. "Hard to believe, I know, but he's right."

You thought it over for a moment, then looked them both and said:

"Well, I guess there are worse ways to die than being stuffed to death by dicks."

Then, without giving them time to reply, you took Shane's cock by the base and instead of letting him slide inside, you lifted your hips and took every inch of him slowly, bottoming out with a loud exhale he echoed.

You felt full to the brim already.

Wanting to move, you readied yourself to do so, but Ilya rested a hand on your abdomen, blocking you.

"Wait. Don't move."

He fumbled with something by the nightstand, and you thought it was lube.

You needed tons of it if you wanted to walk out of that room with your own legs.

Turned out it wasn't lube, because when Ilya whipped your head around, he was barehanded.

Knowing what was coming, Shane stood watch as he said, "Open your mouth."

You complied, and as Rozanov kissed you, liquid fire coated your mouth.

Surprised by the taste of smooth vodka, you swallowed eagerly, yet Ilya held you still as he devoured your lips with the same intensity he had while he ate you out.

"Oh, fuck." You felt Shane's cock twitch at the sight of you and Ilya making out.

By the time you parted, he was throbbing.

But Rozanov wasn't done. He spit in his hand, then gestured his boyfriend to do the same; once it was done, he kissed you again, taking your mind off from the thought of ending impaled you on his dick.

Think positive, think positive. If there's a hole, there's a goal, as poets say.

Still, as he coated his girth with both spit and lube, you couldn't help but gulp at the sensation of it against your back.

How the hell did Shane take him without dying!?

"Relax, now," Ilya kissed your shoulder and guided the tip to your other entrance, breached past it with a little scream from you.

"You're doing good. Come here."

He reclaimed your lips for a kiss, this time while teasing your perched nipples.

Shane lifted himself from the headboard to flick your clit, anything to distract you as your body accomodated Ilya's cock.

Once it did completely, you bit his lower lip and pulled Shane's hair again. "Oh, fuck."

The will to ride him or move against Rozanov was gone, replaced only by the need to not move.

The boys understood immediately, so they did all the works in your stead. They started to move in tandem: as Ilya came out of you, Shane rammed himself back inside, all as they both took turns kissing and stroking every inch of skin they could reach.

You reached your breaking point faster than usual, but it was to be expected.

"I'm close."

Instead of slowing down, the fuckers locked eyes and grinned. Oh, no.

"Who makes her cum first gets to pick a movie of his choice."

Ilya bent down to kiss him, then did the same with you. "Done."

"Guys..." you trailed off, your body bruised beyond human comprehension as they started to move, the only sound in the room the one of skin slapping against other skin.

You came unsurprisingly hard around them both, your vision going white as you felt your body collapse on Shane, Ilya following suite behind you.

Their voices came back to you in waves as you tried to detangled your limbs from theirs.

Needless to say, you failed miserably, because when you opened your eyes, you were still on top of your friend.

Something sticky was leaking out of you, and you saw both boys looking sheepisly at the mess.

"'s okay, guys," you slurred. "'m on the pill. You both are crazy as fuck, by the way."

"You put up with us, so I guess we're not so different."

Shane and Ilya helped you get off and onto the bed, crushed between their bodies. You were growing fond of the feeling by the minute.

Even if your arms were as heavy as lead, you succeeded at raising both to rest them on the boys chests.

Tracing Ilya's moles with the left one, you sighed.

"You made me cum at the exact same time, so I get to choose the movie."

"Not fair." Shane protested immediately.

"When two dogs fight, the third one wins."

Ilya drank another shot of vodka, looked at both you and Shane and asked: "Is it like 'a pound to go to poundtown'?"

Silence.

Then you bursted out laughing so loud you slapped a hand over your face to muffle the giggles, but Shane's amused chuckle had you spiraling all over again.

"Oh, my God, Ilya. Who taught you that?"

Meanwhile, poor Rozanov was at his wits' end.

"Harris- stop laughing, I'm serious!"

Shane kissed him. "Ah, Ilya, I think I'll never get tired of hearing you say such things in English."

Rozanov placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Good thing I now have someone I can talk shit about you in Russian."

Your friend copied Ilya, but rather than your forehead, he kissed your cheek.

"Pff. As if we haven't been talking shit about you in Japanese for years, already."

"Asshole. I hate you."

"Nah, you don't."

Smirking, you smacked them across their chests.

"You're both adorable. Next season, I'm going to have so much fun fucking around with other foreigner hockey players."

"Please, don't," Ilya pinned you down with his gaze. "From now, you can fuck only with a Canadian and a Russian. End of story."

Shane squeezed your hand. "Wow. You're so romantic, Ilya..."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, yeah, I love you, too. Anyway, he's right. Again. What do you think? Do we have another deal?"

You looked at the ceiling, then back at them, another smile threatening to split your face in half.

"We most certainly do."

The silence in the hotel room wasn't silence at all. For Ilya Rozanov, it was deafening.

It was the humming of the mini-fridge in the corner. It was the muffled sound of footsteps in the hallway: teammates, hotel staff, people who wanted something from him. But above all, it was the noise inside his own skull. The static hiss of expectations, and the feeling of hot air biting at his lungs.

He stood before the large mirror, fully dressed in his thermal underwear. For the tenth time, he adjusted the collar that was bothering him, his fingers trembling lightly enough that no one else would notice, but to him, it was catastrophic.

Get a grip, Rozanov.

He was Ilya Rozanov. The star. The machine. The man who didn't crack. But three losses in a row had caused a microscopic crack in his selfconfidence, and today, playing against a team that knew exactly how to get under his skin, he felt as if the whole building was about to collapse on him.

He looked at his reflection and saw a stranger. Someone tired. Someone carrying the weight of an entire city’s hope on shoulders that seemed exceptionally fragile.

He turned away from the mirror. His breath caught in his chest.

He needed an anchor. He had to stop the room from spinning.

His gaze found you.

The Coach's daughter.

Theoretically, you were the biggest risk in this room. A forbidden line he had crossed months ago, a secret that could blow up his career if your father found out about it. But looking at you, he didn't feel the fear of being caught. He felt the irony. Your father was the source of the noise, the shouting, the demands for perfection. You were the silence. You were the only thing in this room, the only thing in this city, that didn't demand a performance from him.

You were sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun filtering through the thin curtains. You were browsing something on your phone, seeming like an oasis of peace, which stood in stark contrast to the hurricane raging inside him.

Ilya didn't say a word. He couldn't. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, the panic would spill out of him in a pathetic confession. Instead, he crossed the room in three long strides, moving stiffly and predatorily.

He stopped between your knees.

When you looked up, eyes wide with mild surprise, the air left his lungs in a loud gasp. The anxiety scratching at his throat eased, though only by a fraction.

"Ilya?" you whispered, sensing the shift. You always sensed it. Sometimes you knew him better than he knew himself.

He dropped to his knees.

The movement was violent, devoid of grace. Ilya Rozanov, who glided on the ice with elegance, collapsed onto the carpet like a defeated man. He hid his face in your stomach, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you to him. You were the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Ilya," you said again, quieter this time. Your hands immediately went to his hair, ruining the perfect style he had spent twenty minutes on. He didn't care. He snuggled into that touch like a cat starved for tenderness.

"Loud," he mumbled into the fabric of your shirt. His voice was rough. "It’s too loud."

He felt your fingers massaging his scalp, scratching lightly at the spots of tension headache that had been building since morning.

"I know," you murmured. "I’m right here. Just breathe."

He tried. He inhaled your scent, the sweet body wash, the hotel laundry detergent, and that unique smell of warm skin that belonged only to you. It was better than anything else. It cleared the fog.

For a long time, he just stayed there, kneeling on the floor, clinging to you. This was what lived deep in his bones: the fear that one day the talent would dry up, the speed would vanish, and he would be left with nothing. The fear that he was worth only as many pucks as he knocked into the net. And the terror that if he failed, he wouldn't just lose the match. He would lose the respect of the man who gave him a career, and thereby lose the right to be near you.

But here, with his face pressed against your warmth, that fear seemed smaller. Manageable.

"Talk to me," you whispered. "Tell me what’s in your head."

"Noise," he groaned, turning his head so his cheek rested on your thigh. His eyes were closed. "Thinking about the second line. Their defense is heavy. If they pin me..." He broke off, clenching his jaw. "I feel slow today. Heavy."

"You aren't slow," you corrected him firmly, tracing the line of his cheekbone with your thumb. "You’re just tense. You're thinking too much."

"I can't stop."

"I know."

He tightened his grip on your waist, his large hands bunching the fabric of your clothes. He needed more. The comfort was good, that tender gentleness acted like a balm, but the energy buzzing under his skin needed an outlet. It had to be transformed into something else. The anxiety was a kinetic force. It couldn't just disappear, it had to be burned off.

He lifted his head. His eyes met yours, and the defenselessness in them began to change into something darker, hungrier. The desperation was still there, but now it had direction and purpose.

"Help me," he whispered. It was a request and a command in one.

You didn't have to ask how. You saw the dilated pupils, the way his chest heaved against your knees.

Ilya rose from the floor without letting go of you, dragging you to the edge of the mattress until he stood between your legs again, towering over you. He felt the change in the atmosphere. The air became thick, charged with the tension of his need.

"Distract me," he rasped, and his hands moved from your waist to cup your face. His thumbs, rough and hardened, brushed your lips. "Make me forget the game. Make me forget my name."

He didn't wait for an answer. He crushed your lips with his.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a reclaiming. It was wet, hot, and tasted of the cigarette he had smoked earlier and of desperation. He devoured you, his tongue invading your mouth, seeking every corner, drinking down your sighs. He had to drown in this. He needed the physical sensation of you to be louder than the doubts in his head.

He felt your hands grip the material of his shirt, pulling him down, and that gesture sent a spark of fire straight to his crotch. He groaned. It was a low, animalistic sound that vibrated in his chest pressed against yours.

"Ilya..." you gasped when he broke the kiss to attack the line of your jaw.

"Don't speak," he growled, nipping the sensitive skin under your ear. "Don't say anything. Only this. Only this."

He slid the shirt off your body, allowing it to fall to the floor. He didn't care about anything except the skin he so desperately wanted to touch. With trembling hands, he unclasped your bra and paused for a moment to look at your bust rising and falling with your sharp breaths.

He had to be inside you. It was a primal imperative. He needed that total, all-encompassing friction that narrowed the world down to a single point of pleasure. He had to feel powerful, not because he scored a goal, but because he could make you fall apart.

He pushed you onto the pillows. You looked beautiful like this: flushed, with tousled hair, looking at him with a mixture of concern and desire. He hated that you were worried, but he loved that you wanted him even when he was in pieces.

"You are beautiful," he said, the words slipping out unexpectedly.

It was the truth. You were his sanctuary.

He undressed in haste, clothes abandoned without a shadow of thought. When he finally settled over you, skin to skin, a shiver shook his entire body. The heat of your body against his was a shock, burning away the fear that had tormented him all day.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave. He rested his weight on his forearms, trapping you in the cage of his arms. "Right here. Nowhere else."

He pushed the fabric of your panties aside. He entered you slowly, painfully slowly. He had to feel every inch. He needed that resistance, the stretching, the wet heat. His eyelids fluttered and closed, his head tilted back as a groan tore from his throat.

God.

The noise in his head went silent. Just like that.

Now there were no statistics. No shouting from the bench. No roaring crowds. There was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the wet sound of your meeting bodies, and the pounding of his own heart, which was finally beating for a reason he understood.

He began to move, setting a rhythm that was heavy and crushing. He wasn't gentle, but he wasn't causing you pain.

He was pouring all his frustration, all his fear into that motion. He was fucking the anxiety out of his system.

"Ilya," you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders.

The sting of your nails was grounding. It was real.

"I’m here," he gritted out, his hips striking with greater force. "I’ve got you."

But really, you had him.

He watched your face as he moved. He watched your brows furrow with pleasure, your lips parting. He was memorizing it. This made him human.

"Harder?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

You nodded, giving him permission.

He let go of the brakes. He stopped thinking about sparing himself. He drove into you with a relentless rhythm, seeking his own oblivion. He kissed you again, swallowing your screams, his tongue intertwining with yours, mimicking what his hips were doing.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, mixing with the product in his hair. His muscles were tense, every tendon in his back drawn like a bowstring. It was a workout, a warm-up before the match. With every thrust, he felt lighter. The crushing weight on his chest evaporated, replaced by the searing heat of pleasure.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck, taking a sharp breath.

"So good," he mumbled, his Russian accent thickening as he lost control. "My God, you are so good."

He felt the tension coiling in his lower belly, the inevitable build-up to release. He chased it blindly. He wanted to give you everything. He wanted to empty himself completely so that when he stepped onto the ice, he would be a blank slate.

"Come for me," he growled against your skin. "Do it."

Feeling you tighten around him, hearing your high, piercing cry, pushed him into the abyss.

He came apart.

It was violent and beautiful. His hips shuddered, driving deep and staying there as the orgasm pierced him through. It started in his spine and exploded outward with blinding white light under his eyelids. He groaned your name, a broken prayer, shaking from the force of the sensation.

For a moment, he didn't exist. Hockey player Ilya Rozanov was dead. There was only Ilya. A man held safely in your arms.

The aftermath was quiet. But this time, it was the good kind of silence.

The room was peaceful. The air conditioning hummed, but now it sounded distant, irrelevant. The late afternoon sun had shifted, casting long, lazy shadows on the tangled sheets.

Ilya lay heavily on top of you, face hidden in your hair. His breathing was slowly returning to normal. He felt heavy, his limbs filled with lead, but the electric buzzing in his nerves was gone.

He felt you shift slightly, your hand tracing soothing circles on his damp back.

"Too heavy?" he murmured, his voice lazy and thick with sleepiness.

"It's perfect." you replied softly. "But you have a match in an hour."

Ilya groaned, the sound vibrating against your chest. He didn't want to move. He wanted to stay in this cocoon of warmth and scent forever. But reality was creeping back in. The difference was that now he felt ready to handle it.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His hair was a disaster, falling onto his forehead. His lips were swollen, eyes dark and half-closed. But that haunted look was gone. He looked like a man who had just woken up from a very long, very good sleep.

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. His touch was incredibly tender, which stood in stark contrast to the desperation of ten minutes ago. This was that tenderness. The soft underbelly he showed only to you.

"Thank you," he said simply.

You smiled, reaching up to touch his lower lip. "Better?"

"Much." He leaned down, placing a soft, long kiss on your forehead. "You saved me. Again."

"I am just the assist, Ilya. You are the one scoring the goals."

He snorted a short laugh. The sound was sincere and light. He slid off you, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stretched, his spine cracking audibly, and he felt loose. Fluid. The tension in his shoulders had dissolved.

He stood up and walked to the mirror. He looked at himself, naked, with tousled hair, with scratch marks on his shoulders. He no longer saw a stranger. He saw Ilya.

He turned to look at you wrapping yourself in the sheet. A violent wave of affection swelled in his chest.

"I will win today," he declared. It wasn't a question. It wasn't a hope. It was a fact.

"I know you will," you said.

When he was fully dressed, he returned to the bed. He leaned over, capturing your lips in a last, sweet kiss. It was a promise.

"Will you wait for me?" he asked.

"Always."

Ilya took the room key and his phone. He stopped at the door, hand on the handle. He took one last deep breath, filling his lungs not with stale hotel air, but with the memory of your touch, the scent of your skin, and the quiet peace you had gifted him.

He opened the door and walked out into the hallway.

Someone put a drink in your hand.

Turning, you saw Svetlana and Elena a few inches from you, the bright lights almost blinding.

“Birthday drink for the birthday girl.” Svetlana said in a singsong voice, her curls a fiery halo around her face.

With that, you were at your fourth tequila shot of the night, yet you were still reasonably sober.

You flashed both girls a smile, then chugged down the alcohol. Elena clapped her hands and all but dragged you and Svetlana on the dance floor.

While making a bee line to get there, you managed to stop long enough to give Shane the little glass and steal a kiss from Ilya.

They were both sitting at the bar counter, their gazes never leaving you.

“Join us, my loves,” you breathed, hand stretched towards them. “The dance floor is waiting for you.”

“In a bit,” Ilya smiled, his dominant hand on Shane’s thigh. “We want to watch you dance with your friends.”

You pouted, eyes shifting to Shane. Out of the two, he was the one who folded faster whenever you asked for something.

“Are you sure? Work kept us apart, lately. We haven’t seen each other a lot, this week.”

After Shane gave a quick look to your outfit and sighed — according to him and Ilya, you looked a little too good in flared jeans, high-heeled boots and the velvet top Yuna got you for Christmas —, his eyes softened as they landed on your pouty face.

“I know, but we need to discuss something about next month’s match, first. Go ahead, we’ll be with you soon.”

“Come,” Elena rolled her eyes and took you by the hand as she said loud enough for them to hear over the music, “Let them plot while me and Svetlana show you what a good time truly looks like.”

And with that, the girls spanked you at the same time, making you giggle. “Incorrigible, the two of you.”

Still, you looked over your shoulder as you reached to the dance floor. Even if they feigned indifference, you knew them too well not to notice they’d been staring intently at your ass.

You had to admit it: they were right. Those jeans hugged your every curve just right.

And you were going to use every weapon in your arsenal to make them drop the act.

Sandwiched between the girls, you had to shout over the music to inform you were going to take off your jacket. They stepped aside as you shook the leather jacket off your shoulders.

A collective gasp behind you.

“When did you get this?”

You ditched the piece of cloth on the nearest chair and smiled.

“Last week. It healed quicker than expected, but it itches.” You knew your friends’ eyes were on your freshly tatted back, as two other pairs were, too. “The tattoo artist gave the all-clear to keep it uncovered, so here we are.”

“Girl.” Without touching them, Elena traced the fine lines inked on your skin with her fingers. The design started from the shoulder and ended just below the hipbone.

“You got a damn tiger tatted on your back a week ago and didn’t think to tell us? Wait. Did Ilya and Shane know about it?”

“I think they do now. Look at their faces.” Svetlana pointed out with a smirk.  

The three of you turned and it took a lot of effort from your part not to run to your boyfriends and kiss them both stupid.

They were shocked, aroused and pissed off all at the same time. You had wanted to surprise them later, in the intimacy of your bedroom, but they had left you with no other choice.

Blowing them a kiss, you started to dance with the girls, hypnotized by the flashing lights around you.

Two men flanked you, Svetlana and Elena as another song started to play. To your surprise, they weren’t Shane and Ilya, but another couple you had cherished for forever.

“Guys, you made it!” You all but flew in Scott’s open arms, while Kip hugged Elena and smiled at Svetlana.

Considering your line of work, you had crossed paths with Hunter’s team more than once and, over time, a friendship blossomed between the two of you.

Then, when the bond deepened, Scott introduced you to Kip, and you fell deeply for the barista.

No wonder Scott loved him so much.

“Happy birthday, gorgeous,” Scott happily huffed as he wrapped his arms around your middle, careful not to touch the tattoo. They'd seen it from afar as the entered the club, Kip informed you.

“So, how does it feel to be old?”

“Funny, shouldn’t you be answering that?” Laughing, you slapped Scott on the shoulder, signalling him to put you down. Once he did, Kip came to stand by his husband and kiss your cheek, wishing you a happy birthday.

After saying hi to the girls, the hockey player asked: “Where are your debouched boyfriends, anyway?”

“Right ther-” You cut yourself off.

They were not at the bar counter, anymore.

“Uhm…” Svetlana’s voice focused your attention elsewhere, right on the dance floor.

Shane and Ilya were dancing some meters away from your group.

And as the teasers they so loved to be whenever you acted like the brat you so loved to channel, they were grinding against each other, backs turned on you.

“Oh,” Kip commented, blushing. “Did you fight or something?”

Stunned, you picked your jaw up from the floor and inhaled so profoundly you felt your lungs adhere against the ribcage. Those two got back at you in the nick of time.

“If we hadn’t before, we will once I get my hands on them.”

Svetlana looked at Elena, then turned to you. “Wanna give them tit for tat?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

Elena smiled, waved at your friends to stay there to enjoy the show and dragged you and Svetlana a scarce meter away from your boyfriends.

“Let’s see how long they can resist having to watch you while you touch somebody else.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

First you leaned against Svetlana, and she grabbed you by the hips, laughing, while you mirrored her movements. All while Elena danced close to you both, her eyes beaming with mischief.

Not even bothering to see if Ilya or Shane were watching, you turned to look at Scott and Kip from across the dance floor.

And if the hockey player’s smile was anything to go by, then you were dead certain your boyfriends were going to be livid.

Good.

“Come closer.” Elena prompted with a little grin.

As you did, the dark-haired beauty candidly kissed Svetlana’s cheek, then brushed her lips against yours.

“Остопизденеть.” boomed a very familiar voice beside you three.

“Wow, that didn’t sound nice.” Elena looked at you and Svetlana. “Did he just cuss me out?”

Svetlana shook her head, her own flirty demeanour suddenly reignited by Ilya’s exclamation.

“No, don’t worry. It’s more like ‘I’m so sick and tired of this shit’ sort of thing.”

The girls giggled, but you? Oh, you were having the time of your life.

As the icing on the cake, Scott and Kip joined you for an impromptu shot battle; as you linked both arms with the men’s, one shot in each hand, something in the air shifted.

Pretending you didn’t notice anything weird going on — or that a pair of hands you would’ve recognised everywhere had got hold of your hips —, you stared directly into your boy friends’ souls and smirked.

“On the count of three. One, two-”

 Blonde, long curls was all you saw as one of your shots disappeared behind them. Ilya drank the tequila as if belonged to him all along, indifferent to everyone’s annoyance.

“You really got to stop doing that, Ilya.” Svetlana told him in Russian, because you had told her and Elena what he had done the first night you met.

He ignored her and, unflinching, he angled your head upward to meet his hungry eyes, then furiously pressed his lips against yours.

Still dazed by the stunt he just pulled, you melted into the kiss, but it took you a while to understand what he was doing.

He hadn’t swallowed the shot, rather he was making you drink it directly from his mouth.

Again.

“Double shots for the birthday girl, right?” Shane whispered in your ear. “Wait for the other one, now.”

You fought back a moan yet regained your sanity by pushing them both away to drink the shot still tangled with Scott’s arm. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction to see you all hot and bothered so soon.

Then you leaned low enough for Kip, Hunter and the girls to let them hear you say, “If by tomorrow at noon you don’t hear from me, just know I will be passed out in my king-size bed. Come rescue me, please.”

“Nah, I think you will be exactly where you want to be, girl.” Kip commented with a sly smile.

His husband nodded and ruffled your hair like the gentle-mannered giant he was.

“Go get them, tiger.”

“You’re so not funny.” You wailed, then turned to Svetlana and Elena. “Girls?”

“Sorry, babe,” the auburn of Svetlana’s hair burned as bright as her eyes were shimmering with malice. “I’m catching an early flight to Boston.”

“And I’m working all day. Go be with your men, love.” Elena added.

All pleas fallen on deaf ears, you waved your friends bye and went to retrieve your leather jacket, ready to accept your fate; needless to say, both Ilya and Shane were shadowing you.

They continued to do so in silence even after you got home and undressed.

Clothes discarded on the floor, and still in your underwear, you climbed onto the bed, crossed your legs and stared back at them.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Shane asked.

“Are you just going to stand there and do nothing?" You clarified and pointed a finger at where they were. “The night’s still young, you know.”

“We might,” Ilya crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You lied to us. You deserve no other gift.”

“Oh, come on! I didn’t lie per se. I was just waiting for the right moment to disclose this to you,” you turned to show the tattoo in all its glory. “But you missed the clue. I had to improvise.”

“Still, no sex for you tonight.”

For me? That’s oddly specific, you thought to yourself with sudden clarity.

Then you noticed the boys’ bulges and a huge, gigantic wave of insolence washed over you.

Smiling, you jogged to where they stood and patted their erections with the back of your hand, eliciting soft moans from both.  

“Go on, then. You can have the room. Once you’re done, you can join me in the living room.”

Your fingers fished around Ilya’s back pocket for a second, then grabbed the cigarette packet. “But I’m taking this with me.”

Before taking it out, however, you gave his ass a good squeeze.

As you pulled back your hand, though, Shane wrapped his fingers around your wrist and yanked you closer.

“You picked up a nasty habit.”

“And whose fault is that?” you purred, unwavering, eyes diverting to Ilya. “Have fun, my loves.”

You tried to get past them to reach your living room, you really did, but they both had moved with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine long before you realised what they were doing.

You ended up on the bed again, but before you could attempt to get up once more, Ilya’s hand was on your stomach, pinning your whole body to the mattress.

“No, no, no. You stay. You watch.”

His lips touched your ear shell gently as his fingers played with your panties’ lacy front. “Shane is good boy and he deserves to be fucked by me. If brats like you don’t behave, they get nothing.”

Instead of stinging, the words went straight to your core.

Leave them to toy with your arousal without lifting a single finger.

Yet you held your ground and pushed your chin upward in defiance.

“What are you waiting for? Do your worst. Tame me.”

Totally unfazed by your arrogance, Ilya unzipped his jeans and his cock slapped against your lower stomach.

The sheer girth of it always had your mind buzzing, but this time you had no time to do it because he positioned himself right above you, one of his hands grabbing the headboard as the other tapped your chin.

“Open.”

And you did as Ilya ordered with narrowed eyes, taking every inch with ease. You’d done it plenty of times by now.

Still, you found yourself gasping for air when he suddenly thrusted into your mouth, the tip bruising the bottom of your throat.

“Fuck.” Shane was now at the side of the bed, eyes gone huge. “Are you sure you’re not choking her?”

“Of course. I’m teaching lesson to her, and she is loving it, trust me.” was Ilya’s cooly response, totally contrasting with the white-knuckled grip on the bedhead.

He was unbelievably hard in your mouth, every little movement a fine stroke on his flesh.

Out of frustration, you moaned around him and a string of Russian curses escaped his lips. The hand on your stomach raised to get in your hair.

“Behave.”

And with that, Ilya started pummelling in your throat, quickening the pace as he felt you growing restless underneath him.

“Look at this,” Shane’s index pressed against your throat, right where the indent of Ilya’s cock was. “You’re taking him so, so well.”

“True,” your other boyfriend agreed, punctuating that matter of fact with a sharp thrust that left you breathless. “But you will do better.”  

Rozanov halted his movements and got off slowly, leaving you to yearn for more.

Astonished, you watched as he extended a hand towards Shane. The dark-haired man spat on Ilya’s palm, then moaned as he was hauled closer by the Russian to start a heated kiss that had both backing off to your wardrobe’s mirrored doors.

After stroking their erections together with his spit, Ilya turned Shane on the stomach, then stroked his girth with what was left of his and your saliva.

And as you finally regained control of your body, hand sneaking to the cigarette packet, Ilya eased himself in Shane with a single, relaxed thrust.

Both panted at the same time, but Shane was a goner as soon as Rozanov started to thrust deeper, one of his hands pushing his boyfriend’s face against the door as the other one pumped his cock.

You had just lit a cigarette and brought it to your lips when the two stared at your sprawled form on the bed through the mirror. Shane’s laboured breath had fogged the surface, yet his eyes had been on you for a moment before Ilya delved harder repeatedly, each thrust matching the equally maddening pumps of his dick.

You fought against the brutal need building in you to touch yourself while watching them, an act you’ve been doing since the three of you became an item.

Ilya and Shane had talked you into doing it more often, to be honest, for you had considered it an intrusion of their privacy for the longest time.

“This is such a sensitive topic… I don’t want you to think I’m fetishizing you or anything like that.” You’d been on the verge of tears when you had told them that three months earlier, the three of you lounged on Ilya’s couch.

“You both are gorgeous as hell and I adore the life of you, that’s why I have the impulse to do it, but I’d understand if you feel uncomfortable. Plus, I know people talk behind my back about my relationship with you two, it’s just that I don’t want to caus-”

Shane had stopped your yapping with a finger to your lips. “Fuck them. We don’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinion but yours. If you want to do it, do it.”

“But-”

“He’s right,” Ilya had guided your hand between your thighs, his thumb dragging along the crotch seam of the jeans. “Don’t feel bad about it, because we do not. We like when you touch yourself.”

Green orbs met yours in the clouded mirror, cutting through the memory. As always, he knew Shane’s body language as well as yours.

“Do it.”

One hand sneaked past your panties, fingers quicky spreading your other lips apart as you watched your boyfriends love each other. Moaning at the sensation of being filled, your fingers slotted inside you, you timed their rhythm with Ilya’s thrusts.

They were both so close to their orgasms that you could feel Shane’s moans in your bones, as you did with Ilya’s.

“Wanna cum for me, baby?” Ilya breathed in his ear and Shane keened in response, a hand grabbing his ass to go faster. The other one flew to the mirror door, leaving a sweaty handprint on it as Rozanov did take up pace, the tempo he set so frenzied it made the whole wardrobe shake.

Shane came with a panting whimper, legs trembling as the orgasm washed over his body.

Ilya held him but didn’t stop thrusting until he shoved his face against Shane’s neck and cursed, his own release coming down on him as hard as the other boy’s. “You let your hair grew too much, Hollander. It tickles.”

“Fuck off, you love it.”

When they both returned to planet Earth, Ilya removed his hand from around Shane’s erection to lick it clean. The Russian teaser was aware of his effect on his lovers, so it came as unsurprising when Shane got another hard-on.

“Later,” Ilya kissed him. “We have other thing to do, now.”

“Uhm.” Shane turned to look at you and smiled. “I need to rest a bit, first. You fucked my brains out.”

You had another puff of the cigarette, the other hand still buried between your thighs, when Ilya walked over to you. 

“Did you like it, birthday girl?”

“Not as much as Shane. You did fuck him stupid.”

The aforementioned gave you and Ilya the finger, yet he wasn’t as offended as he wanted to sound like when he stated, “Stop stroking his ego or his head will grow so much he won’t be able to put a helmet on again.”

“You two can stroke other part of me,” Ilya cooed, his gaze fixated on your panties. Well, what was left of them, anyway. The flimsiness of the underwear didn’t go unnoticed.

His smile grew impossibly bigger. “You’re soaking wet. You like us a lot, uhm?”

“Duh.” You rolled your eyes; both observations were the understatements of the century. “Hey, how did you get so good with dirty talk in English?”

“Audiobooks.”

As if that answer sufficed, he put out your cigarette in the ashtray on the bedstand and hovered over you once more. He tried to nudge away your hand but failed.

“Take off panties.”

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes, tone as deep as he could drive himself into you and Shane. “I’m not asking again. Take them off, or I will not play nice.”

Suppressing an irritated sob — as a new wave of slick painted your thighs —, you removed your fingers.

But the brat in you awakened with a fierce roar.

Mischievous as ever, you lifted your hand to his face, tapped on the lower lip and the moment his lips parted, your fingers glided inside his mouth.

“I said no. You do it.”

An exasperated but very horny sigh from Ilya, the sound reverberating around your drenched fingers as he sucked on them, the taste of your arousal as intoxicating as Shane’s.

“Still haven’t lost the attitude, have we?” your other boyfriend asked, completely compelled by the scene playing in front of his eyes to do nothing more but sit by the bed, voraciously eating up every second.    

“Ah, my love. We all know you’re the angel, here. Rozanov and I are the imps who corru- Ilya.”

All thoughts went down the drain because the fair-haired demon’s mouth was now on your clothed nipple, sucking and biting through the lace of the bra as if his life depended on it.

He used a hand to knead the other one, his fingers pinching and rubbing and- my God.

He took a breather just to stare up at you and growl, “I warned you”, then continued the relentless attack.

You grabbed him by his hair and mewled, the orgasm you denied yourself to watch them come rushing back to light your entire body on fire.

“Close already?” Ilya asked innocently as if he hadn’t started that whole mess himself in the first place. “But brats don’t deserve to come so soon.”

His entire presence vanished from over you.

You hadn’t realised you had your eyes closed until you opened them again to glare at your boyfriend.

“You just fucking didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.” He indulged in the sight of you, bothered and a breath away from coming just by having his mouth on your tits. “First, I want to try something. Shane.”

You whipped your head in his direction as he leaned towards your nightstand and opened the bottom drawer. Already see where it was going, you squirmed and tried to get away.

All to no avail, because Ilya’s hand was pinning you down again.

“Guys, come on…”

“Ah, not so brave anymore,” Ilya motioned for Shane to pick up the object you kept in that specific drawer and made space for him to join you two on the bed. “The feisty kitten got her nails clipped, yes?”

“I will claw both your backs while you sleep if you don’t stop teasing me.”

Your self-control crumbling before their very eyes, both your boyfriends shared a meaningful look.

Two things happened at the same time: Shane spat on your beloved blue-purple dildo, coating its entire size while Ilya’s teeth came to grab your panties, pulled it down your legs as his fingers went behind your back to unclasp the bra.

Now completely naked, underwear tossed somewhere behind them, Ilya gestured for you to get up; too riled up to disobey, you obliged.

“Get on your stomach.”

 Again, you did as he ordered and changed position to get on your hands and knees and then down, back arched enough to draw a moan from both men.

 “Beautiful.” Shane brushed his fingertips against the tiger. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell us the moment you got it.”

“I wanted to,” eager to feel them closer, you pressed your ass against Ilya’s cock, its tip poking at you. “Didn’t wanna spoil the surprise, though.”

It was Ilya’s turn to touch the tattoo. “It suits you. With this view, we can’t wait to fuck you forever.”

A startled scream bubbled in the back of your throat as he pushed inside you, your inner walls so sleek he hadn’t needed to prep you further. He buried himself to the hilt, balls pressing against your skin.

“Ssh,” Shane cooed and without missing a beat, he slipped in the dildo under Ilya’s girth, stretching you out in ways you hadn’t experienced before. “You’re doing well. Breathe.”

“And she likes it, too.” A playful slap on your ass, Ilya rotated his hips to help you adjust to the new feeling. “She is clenching like crazy around my cock.”

“S-shut up.” You stuttered, out of breath, as you accommodated both lengths through gritted teeth.

By the time you did, you shot a glance to your boyfriends and grinned. “Go on. Isn’t what you were waiting for?”

Shane and Ilya moved in synchro, coordinating their antics to never leave you empty, but at some point, they were always inside you at the same time.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m cl-“

“Yes, me too,” Ilya gave a sharp thrust as he bent down to kiss between your shoulder blades. “Come around us, pretty girl.”

You were tensing around them all too soon, the so-long denied orgasm slammed against your ribcage so violently you fell on your front, lower back still encased by Ilya’s hands as he and Shane continued ramming into you.

Eyes watery with pleasure, your head turned to look at them kissing, and a strangled moan from your part was all it took for Shane to remove the dildo and for Ilya to do the same.

He came on your back with a slow hiss, careful not to hit your tattoo.

Meanwhile, your other boyfriend had disappeared into the bathroom for a minute or two, walking back to you both with hot towels and the soft promise of a warm bath.

He helped you and Ilya clean yourselves, then awarded you with a smile. “Let’s get you into the bathtub.”

“Can’t soak into water for long. The tattoo…”

“I have you, don’t worry. Come on.”

With that, Shane lifted you by the back of your thighs as you, too spent and sated to function properly, got carried by him into the bathroom.

He eased you into the tub as Ilya got behind you, his fingers already in your hair to detangle it; Shane, on the other hand, was giving little pecks to your scrunched nose.

 “I really need to get a jetted tub. Enough space for you both to fit.” Your voice came off slurred, almost a whisper.

 Both men kissed your face, then Ilya beamed. “You are pro at that, already. We have no complains.”

“Idiots,” you scuffed, raising both arms to pat their annoyingly beautiful faces. They were beaming with sheer adoration. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Shane squeezed the hand on his cheek.

“Liar. You love us.”

As always, they were right.

toronto, canada. january.

“You liked it, yes?”

Ilya pushes off the sink and spins all in one go, hunching over the basin to spit the froth of toothpaste from his mouth. Shane rubs his palms over his chest, Ilya’s favorite lotion smearing with every movement. He’ll go to bed smelling like boyfriend, as Ilya so sweetly puts it.

“Yes,” Shane murmurs quietly, glancing at his boyfriend’s back flexing over the sink. The broad expanse of his shoulders. He wants to bite him—always.

Ilya taps his toothbrush against the sink and tosses Shane a blank stare in the mirror. “Yes? You are so specific.”

Shane chuckles, running his fingers through the front of his hair. The black strands sweep back only to flop down again, perfectly mussed and beautiful. Ilya lets his eyes travel down the sculpted surface of Shane’s chest and stomach as he plucks a flossing stick in his mouth.

“What do you want me to say?”

Blurting the details of his sexploits wasn’t common for Shane. Ilya knew this well. But things had changed. He had a sexploit, for instance. A sexploit with a woman. And she slept in their bed sandwiched between them, ate a full breakfast spread cooked by a shirtless Shane and a naked Ilya, and ate it at their breakfast nook in one of his old Boston Raiders t-shirts. Were they supposed to pretend it never happened?

Were they supposed to pretend Ilya hadn’t caught Shane scrolling through her Instagram the other night? Watching her stories every day, keeping his thumb over the screen to make them last longer?

Ilya couldn’t have that.

“Uh, I don’t know. You loved having your cock sucked by a woman, you had fun—anything.”

A soft sigh hisses through Shane’s teeth, clenched in an uneasy, bashful grin.

Why is it so embarrassing? He’s been with women before. Well, one woman, and it didn’t go well. So why was this time so different? Maybe because she knew about him. His love for Ilya, their commitment to each other. She knew and she still liked him, was still attracted to him. She knew and she wanted both of them, together.

Did this make him any less gay? Did attraction to one woman make him bisexual? It's all so confusing, and if he thinks about it for too long, it makes his head hurt.

Ilya can practically see this, the dark storm clustering in Shane’s thoughts. He slides behind him, arms heavy around his waist. He tucks his chin over Shane’s shoulder and presses a noisy kiss to his neck.

“It does not have to mean anything. Can just be sex, you know? Can be just for fun.”

Shane lets his eyes close, lets Ilya bear his weight back against his chest. He holds him steady and firm, just the two of them there in the bathroom.

“Doesn’t that make us…I don’t know, shitty? Like, just some gross guys who fuck around?”

Ilya lifts his head, and Shane doesn’t need to open his eyes to see the expression awaiting him in the mirror. Pure confusion and exasperation. Ilya used to be that gross, shitty guy who fucked around. But what was so bad about sex anyway? Ilya never understood the repression of the Canadians. He grew up in Russia, for fuck’s sake, and he’s pretty sure he’s had more fun than all of Canada combined.

“Shane—“

Shane opens his eyes and sighs. “I just…I don’t want to date her. I don’t want to be, like, a throuple or something—“

Ilya keeps his gaze in the mirror, steady and understanding. Patient, nonjudgmental. Shane can’t be pushed into anything, but he’d never push him into something like this.

“But you want to fuck her.”

Shane eases back into Ilya again. “Yes. Y-yeah! But…I don’t know, I just feel shitty about it.”

“But is normal.”

“She’s a person. We can’t just…use her whenever we want.”

The sentence alone zings through Shane like an ice shock. Ilya hums, massaging his hands into Shane’s hips. The sound reverberates through him.

“We could ask her. See what she likes.”

Shane lets his head fall back against Ilya’s shoulder, their temples touching. “I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Ilya groans dramatically, and fixes Shane with a pointed look. “She is tough girl. Is surprising, but true.”

It might’ve surprised Shane before she graced their bedroom. If Ilya had introduced them as friends, if Shane had never fucked her throat until she spluttered and cried and gagged and then kissed all over his face when she gathered her breath. If she hadn’t giggled and conversed so casually about their water pressure when she emerged from the bathroom with one of their towels on her head and Ilya’s shirt draped down to her thigh. Shane saw the bruises, saw the marks they both left. And she said nothing, did nothing but settle into their night and break away from their morning the next day.

Shane knew just how tough Bunny was—but he knew how tough he wasn't.

“No,” Shane sighs, shaking his head. “It was just a one time thing.”

Ilya lets it sit there a moment, waiting for Shane to second guess himself. When he only rubs his hands over Ilya’s against his stomach and nods affirmatively, Ilya pops a kiss on Shane’s cheek and nods back.

“Okay. One time thing. Come to bed.”

It takes the morning to bring Shane to clarity. As Ilya snoozes in the crook of his side, arm thrown over his lap lazily, and Shane rests against the headboard with his glasses perched on his nose and his phone in his hand; on his screen, scrolling at glacial pace, is Bunny’s Instagram page. He scrolls, refreshes, clicks through the highlights, reads through the comments—and it feels like an obsession. Like he’s waiting for something new to pop up just so he can feel the surprise of seeing her face.

“You sure only one time?”

Shane jumps, phone flying somewhere near the edge of the bed. His neck snaps as he turns to find Ilya blinking up at him, lips curled into a smirk. He sighs, waiting for his heart rate to slow down before pushing at Ilya’s head in playful reprimand.

“I wasn’t—“

“Stalking poor girl?”

“I wasn’t,” Shane huffs petulantly.

Ilya snickers, rolling onto his back. His hands raise toward the headboard as he stretches his arms, and his muscles flex and lengthen beautifully. Shane can’t help but lean over and lick a stripe up the center of his abdomen, making Ilya chuckle as he buries his fingers in the back of Shane’s hair.

“I will call her today.”

And Shane doesn’t argue this time. He gathers his phone from the end of the mattress and slips out of bed, hiding a giddy grin in the bathroom door as it snicks shut.

♡♡♡

She brings wine. A brand new bottle with a red bow on top, and she’s dressed in a business-formal outfit that makes Shane fantasize about being the prime minister. Tight black skirt, tighter black top, black nylons that have a faded plaid pattern. Her shoes click over the hard floors of Shane’s condo as she hurries in her bunny fashion through the entryway.

“Hiii. Sorry I’m a little late, work ran over. And when did this snow start? It’s like—oh!”

Ilya braces her jaw with one large palm and drops a gentle kiss on her open mouth. She pauses where he stops her, just before the kitchen where Shane sits at the marble island with a beer. He’s only taken one sip and it was only because he didn’t know what to do with his hands while they waited.

Ilya detaches from her mouth with a soft, wet click, and she blinks up at his sly smirk dazedly. “Hello, Bunny,” he purrs.

“Hi.”

He gives her cheeks a little squeeze before releasing her, turning on his heel to join Shane in the kitchen. The latter watches her linger in the entryway, swaying with her wine and a ridiculously large purse. Various folders and books peek from the bulging zipper.

“Hi,” Shane greets her, and he’s not sure if he should at least hug her after that display.

Bunny blinks and steps forward, entering the kitchen. She sets her purse on a stool and the wine on the island and beams at Shane, settled in her Ilya-inflicted fluster. Shane knows that fuzzy feeling well.

“Hi, Mr. Hollander.”

Shane laughs, pushing off his stool to stand. “Shane. You don’t have to keep calling me that—it’s just Shane.”

Bunny drops her mouth into a pout that gives Shane pause on his ascent to wrap his arms around her. She completes the transaction, looping her own arms around his waist. Her chin touches his chest and it feels like his breath fizzles under it.

“I thought you liked Mr. Hollander.”

Shane lets his arms fall around her, giving her a firm squeeze. “I-I do. I totally do—“

“I’m messing with you, Shane. But I’ll call you whatever you want, baby.”

She perks up on the tops of her tiny heels to plant a kiss on his jaw, and then all too soon, she’s letting him go. He inhales shakily as Bunny swoops up the wine and rounds the island for the cabinets.

She passed Ilya, who tucks his chin over his shoulder to watch her open a cabinet and perk to her tiptoes again, reaching up high for the wine glasses. Neither help her and maybe only Shane feels like an asshole for it, but they like to watch her skirt ride up and her shirt slip free, exposing a sliver of skin.

Ilya turns to Shane and quirks a brow, lip caught between his teeth. Shane is so fucking glad he called her and Ilya can tell. There’s a certain buttery bliss to his face. A fucked-out euphoria and he hasn’t even been fucked yet. Ilya knows what that looks like all too well.

“Bunny?” Ilya coos, still holding Shane’s gaze.

“Yeah?” She sets the glasses down and fumbles through the drawers for an opener.

Shane doesn’t even mind that she’s making herself at home. It almost adds to the excitement bubbling in his chest. She’s so sure of herself, so quietly confident. Only Ilya seems to realize the same thing of Shane.

“Come here.”

His voice drops to that dangerous octave. An animalistic growl, a grumble that makes his accent almost ridiculous. The commanding tone that got Shane’s pants to come off all those years ago. The very same that turned Bunny into the depraved individual she becomes in his presence.

Said girl closes the drawer next to the fridge slowly. It shuts with a gentle clunk. She slides the wine bottle to sit against the wall—can never be too safe. And all the while, Ilya waits patiently. Hands bracing the island across from Shane, still watching him intently while they wait.

Bunny takes small steps toward the island. When she reaches Ilya’s side, Shane lets his gaze slide her way. She chews on the inside of her cheek, lips twisted sideways. They’re glossy again, glimmering with something pink that he can almost taste in memory. She plucks at the sleeves of her skirt over her knuckles. She’s nervous. It fills Shane with an indescribable hum of anticipation.

“Take off your clothes.”

Shane snaps his attention back to Ilya, eyes bulging. “Ilya, you can’t—“

Ilya inhales steadily and pulls off the island, turning to Bunny as she falters. “You had fun with us, yes? Few weeks ago?”

Bunny’s eyes flit between Shane and Ilya, and she swallows when she nods. Tucks her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, of course.”

“And you want to do it again, da?”

Ilya catches her hand as it drops from her hair, taking her fingers to bring them to his mouth. A gentle kiss puckered against her knuckles. Enclosed in his palm, he brings her wrist up next, another kiss against her pulse point. Bunny steps a little closer, one hollow click of heel against the floor.

“Yes,” she gasps. “I was just waiting for the call.”

Shane inhales. Ilya smiles against her wrist and lets it drop, returning to her side.

“Then you’ll do as I say, yes? Take off your clothes. You, too, Hollander.”

Shane and Bunny lock eyes. A silent and brief conversation between gazes. Does she want this as much as he does? Does he want her back? Does she think about their kiss, his cock in her mouth? Does he think about her tongue, her touch? How long can they share Ilya, each other, before it gets messy?

It doesn’t matter. They’re here now and they’re drunk with the buzz of impending pleasure. It’s almost as good as the real thing, the actual euphoria. The buildup, the suspense, the foreplay of three people preparing to fuck.

Shane moves first. Pinches the thin cotton of his t-shirt at the nape of his neck and pulls it over his head. He reveals the taut lines and clean-cut muscle of the bronzed canvas Bunny’s been dreaming about. At her desk at work, when afternoons run long and her mind drifts to dangerous thoughts. His hot mouth over her body, his body pinning her down, his beautiful, whiny moan.

Bunny pulls at the zipper on her skirt teasingly slow. It falls at her feet, concealed by the island from Shane, but Ilya watches it pool around those dainty shoes on the floor. He watches quietly and contently, standing in the shadows in wait.

Shane’s sweatpants are next, salaciously grey and loose around the hips. They reveal a pair of tight black boxers, branded around the band. His cock strains against the material and Bunny’s heart thumps at the sight. The surface of her mouth grows sweet. She can recall the heavy weight of that cock in her mouth, on her tongue. The salty warmth of his skin. The heavy breaths dropped from a slack mouth, all rosy wet lips and airy groans. She loved bringing him to that.

Bunny slips her arms free from her shirt and tosses it over her head. It joins the skirt on the floor, and the men are pleased by the splash of color beneath it. The fiery red of the lace concealing what will be next. What Ilya loves to put in his mouth, feel with his teeth to hear her squeal. What Shane wondered about last time, when Ilya had her pulled back by her hair, when her hard nipples were staring Shane in the face begging to be touched.

Ilya directs his gaze to Shane. He hooks his thumbs into his boxers and slides them down his thighs, nudging them aside with his foot once they’re free. His hard cock bobs to attention, pink at the tip and weeping just gently. Ilya groans and Bunny gasps.

“Take the rest,” Ilya commands, motioning to Bunny’s remaining garments.

The tights are a slightly less sexy removal, when they bunch and roll at the feet and leave indentations around her thighs. But they barely notice when her bra unclips and slides down her arms, and her panties wilt somewhere in the skirt on the floor to leave smooth, bare skin.

“Mm.” Ilya’s satisfaction is deep and throaty. He steps closer to Bunny, cupping one hand around her left breast. The flesh dimples with the pressure of his touch, nipple grazing his palm and delivering a shudder through Bunny.

She gasps when he kneads, taking as much as he can into his hand. Ilya cocks his head, fitting his mouth over her nipple. His teeth slide over the sensitive bud and she permits him that wonderful sound. Her heels click together, stomp a little on the ground. Her hands fly to his hair and grab hold, but her eyes never leave Shane.

She watches Shane stroke his hand up and down his cock with that parted, pouty mouth. That crease between his brows. The face she’s been dreaming about.

Ilya pulls from Bunny’s tit with a wet pop. He massages over the teeth marks in her flesh with one hand, reaching for the right side with the other to give her nipple a tug. “I have missed these.”

Bunny hiccups around air. Another stomp of heels. Shane wants her to wear them the whole night, he realizes. He wants to see them in the air, against her ass, maybe up by her ears. Jesus. There was a new thought.

“Mm, now me,” Ilya says. “Bunny, you start here.”

He taps his chest, the collar of a green t-shirt. He drops his hands to his sides and it almost thrills her to know he’ll be of no help. He likes when she earns it. Shane does, too.

Bunny slips her hands under the fabric, sliding the full surface of her palms up his stomach, over his chest. Ilya snickers, watching her over the slope of his nose. She hoists the hem of the shirt over his head and he lifts his arms to release them. A waft of his cologne, something smoky and rich, comes with the removal. His cross falls to his chest, slightly askew.

“Now you, Hollander. Here.” Ilya taps his belt and Shane comes rushing like a trained dog.

He fumbles with the leather, pulling free from his belt loops. The buckle tinkles as it unlatches, the leather whooshes as it leaves his hips to thud loose on the ground.

And Bunny is kissing Ilya’s chest. Loud, full-lipped kisses that travel over the top of his pecs, along his collarbones, down in the dip of abdomen muscles. Shane feels like he can’t catch a proper breath as he unbuttons Ilya’s jeans and pulls them down his hips.

He’s on his knees then, taking Ilya’s boxers with him. Mimicking Bunny’s affections with open-mouthed explorations along Ilya’s pelvis, his thighs, across his hip bones.

Ilya hums, cupping one hand around each head that approaches him. Feeling Bunny’s hair between his fingers, Shane’s raven locks under his palm. They move like twin snakes, slithering around his body to feel his flesh against their tongues.

Bunny drags a thick, wet stripe down his stomach until she joins Shane on her knees before Ilya. Down there, she can feel Shane’s warmth. Her shoulder against his elbow, their knees touching, the back of his knuckles grazing her thigh. She wants him to touch her again, to grab her in that sweet, oddly possessive way.

But Ilya’s grabbing his cock and holding it between them, and she knows they have a job to do.

“Tongues out, puppies,” Ilya coos.

Shane scoffs, shaking his head amusedly at his boyfriend. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Yes, but you want mine in your mouth, Hollander. You too, Bunny?”

Shane turns to the girl beside him to see her mouth already open, tongue held out flat. She nods eagerly, hands bracing her thighs.

“Fuck,” Shane whispers, watching Ilya touch the tip of his cock to Bunny’s waiting tongue.

“She listens,” Ilya says.

Shane redirects, facing Ilya again with his tongue out as far as it can stretch. Ilya rubs his cock a little longer on Bunny’s tongue before giving it to Shane, repeating the same gentle graze and wander in his mouth.

Bunny leans forward and kisses his hip, his thigh, the length of his cock that isn’t in Shane’s mouth. Ilya groans, dropping his hand to the base of her skull. His fingers nestle in her hair, palm heavy to pull her close.

Shane closes his mouth around the head of Ilya’s cock, humming deeply. Ilya gasps, now clutching Shane’s head, too. Holding them together, feeling like a god being worshipped above them.

Shane hollows his cheeks and bobs his head, Ilya’s cock heavy in his mouth, prodding the back of his throat. Bunny slides her tongue along the length of it and Shane moans around Ilya when it touches his top lip. So she does it again. She licks at the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip. She coaxes him with small whimpers, with the turn of her body a little more toward Shane, her knee sliding between his, her hands breezing up his thighs.

Breath whooshes through him, and his hands shoot out to grip her waist. His thumbs press into her stomach, his eyes watching her in his peripheral as Ilya’s cock bulges in his cheek. Ilya chuckles—he gets to have his cake and eat it, too. Watch their playful interactions and still have his dick sucked. It was fun to watch them learn each other.

Shane pulls off Ilya, swollen-lipped and pink-cheeked. It’s another moment of pleasant surprise when he grips the back of Bunny’s hair and yanks her over Ilya’s cock, shoving her head down half the length.

“Oh, fuck,” the Russian moans, placing his hand over Shane’s on Bunny’s head.

They listen to her throat click wetly, glugging around his length when it hits too deep. Shane realizes, as he sits there just to see her eyes brim with tears and her hands clench into fists, that he enjoys watching her work. That he likes to hear her sounds. His cock throbs achingly at the remembrance of her mouth on him.

“Ah, hold her still, Shane. Going to fuck her throat.”

Shane shuffles over the floor, pressing himself to Bunny’s back. Their sticky skin clings together with heat and sweat and she can feel his cock against her ass and she whines around Ilya. Shane hooks his arms around her waist, grazes his fingers against her sex for the very first time. She’s so fucking soft and warm there and he itches to explore it more.

But Ilya’s using Shane’s shoulder as a prop for Bunny’s head, for a place for it to rest as he begins to piston down her throat. Her mouth stretches wide to accommodate him, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now. Shane cranes his head to watch it, to watch the spit and cum trickle down her chin and gather on her chest. He’s not even thinking when he sweeps his hand over her throat, clutching her jaw to keep her still, holding her up for his boyfriend to use. He can feel Ilya's cock bulge through her throat against his palm and it's obscenely hot.

We can’t just use her whenever we want.

Oh, but can’t they?

Ilya’s breath is labored, huffed through his nose in heavy gusts. Shane tips his gaze up to watch him turn a bright shade of red all over. The vein in his forehead makes an appearance as his ass tenses, his hips stilling to keep his cock deep in Bunny’s throat.

“Ohh,” he groans, “take it, Bunny. Take all of it.”

Shane watches her now, blinking wetly up at Ilya as he cums down her throat. She’s clutching onto Shane’s hands like a lifeline, his fingers still just resting over her clit. She bucks up into them, grinds a little against his hand. Ilya’s softened cock slips from her mouth with a trail of slick, a string of spit.

Bunny swallows thickly and Ilya spreads two fingers in the corners of her mouth.

“Open,” he demands.

She holds her tongue out to show her empty mouth and Shane moans, pressing his head to her jaw. His fingers rub a little at her clit, encouraging the jerk of her thigh and the sharp gasp against Ilya’s prying fingers.

“Good girl,” Ilya purrs, and his eyes finally fall to Shane’s hand between her thighs. “Ah, Hollander, you are already step ahead.”

He still has his fingers in her mouth and it should make her flush with humiliation—but it only makes her grind up against Shane even more. Shane keeps his touch featherlight and she wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. If he’s learned his cruelty from the best.

Ilya grips Bunny’s chin with his other hand and jerks her head toward Shane. “Spit in her mouth.”

Shane pauses for only a moment, searching Ilya’s gaze for confirmation. He blinks back slowly. So Shane turns, puckers his lips, and spits directly into Bunny’s open mouth.

The poor girl whines and almost waits for more, but Ilya jerks her back to face him and hunches over, committing his boyfriend’s spit with an obscene smack of his own on her tongue.

“Swallow, Bunny. Good girl.” Ilya removes his fingers from her mouth and massages her throat, sure to be sore and aching.

Shane presses a little harder on her clit, circling smoothly. He runs the tip of his nose over her wet cheek, ghosts his open mouth along her jaw.

“Good girl,” he mimics in a whisper.

Ilya smiles, already tugging on his cock as it stands back to attention. “Bunny is lucky girl. Mr. Hollander really likes you.”

“I do,” Shane rushes out, kissing down Bunny’s jaw. His mouth travels down her neck and his hand sweeps further back between her thighs, dipping the tip of two fingers into the wetness gathered there.

Her head falls back against his shoulder, back arching off his chest. “Shane, please.”

“Please what, Bunny? Tell him,” Ilya directs, stroking himself faster.

She struggles a minute and Shane doesn’t do much to help. He’s found a spot inside her that’s warm and gushy and she releases this throaty moan every time he prods at it, and he can’t stop making her make that sound. He can’t stop wanting to hear it in his ear, coming from that swollen, spit-smeared mouth.

“Come on,” Shane coaxes, but he reaches even deeper, presses until his knuckles are flush against her clit. “Tell me what you want, Bunny.”

This is so unfair, she thinks. Ilya stands above her tugging at his cock so close to her face she can feel every move of his hand in the air. Shane’s touching her, fucking her so deep that she feels it in the pit of her stomach. It’s been better than she imagined, having the two of them pass her around. They could stop right here and she’d go home feeling like a lucky girl.

But she doesn’t want it to stop. She wants more.

“I want to cum,” she gasps. “Please, Shane, make me cum.”

He picks up the pace, curling his fingers and tugging them in and out fast enough to hear it. She clutches his forearm, head thrown back in agony, writhing about between his strong arms.

“She is almost there,” Ilya says, watching Bunny squirm like a caged animal.

Keeping his fingers at pace, Shane lifts his other hand and knocks Bunny’s head aside. He captures her mouth, and it’s like he’s swallowing her whole. His tongue inside her mouth, his lips claiming hers with bruising pressure. But even with the muffle of Shane’s lips, the sound that leaves her as she trembles and cums right there on the kitchen floor is deafening.

Shane moans into her mouth, relieving her when she shoves at his still prodding hand. His fingers are slick and he can still feel her pulsing against the heel of his palm.

He detaches from her mouth with a soft click, and she collapses into him with small, labored gasps. He allows his eyes to open, to admire the glow over her face as she catches her breath. How gorgeous she looks with a warm swell in her cheeks, bits of hair sticking up.

“My god, you are like tortured animal,” Ilya announces.

Bunny scoffs tiredly and Shane smacks at Ilya’s thigh.

“Is okay, I like it. Means Hollander did a good job, yes?”

Bunny nods dumbly, running her hand over Shane’s arm. Her eyes are still closed. “Very good.”

They wait for her to catch her breath. Shane leaves small kisses, peppered across her face, until he feels the signifiant cool down in her skin. Ilya strokes his hand over Shane’s hair, sweeps his thumb across his cheek.

“She’s tired,” Shane whispers, the back of his knuckles petting her cheek.

“‘m okay,” Bunny protests. “Just give me a minute—“

“Shh, just relax. Come on, we’ll open the wine.”

Shane twists the cork as Ilya hoists Bunny over his shoulder, running down the hall toward the bedroom. Shane follows the sound of her distant laughter, the muffled sound of Ilya’s playful growl and a mix of English and Russian exclamations.

Does Bunny know Russian, too? Shane doesn’t even know. There’s a lot he doesn’t know about her. What exactly she does for work, because she only posts selfies from her desk and the occasional book stack. If she’s seeing anyone else, because he never sees her with other men online.

“Shaaane, where is wine?” Ilya whines from the bedroom.

“Coming!”

Shane gathers three wine glasses—stems-up—in one hand and the wine bottle in the other. He takes his time making his way to the bedroom, a nervous pitter patter tapping away in his chest. He can hear the soft murmurs of the two of them in the bedroom: the low grumble of Ilya’s accent and the sweet melody of Bunny’s honey voice.

He nudges the door open and peeks around. Bunny’s sprawled out on the end of the bed, stomach shuddering under Ilya’s wandering hand. He runs it up and down her stomach, ghosting between her thighs only to pull away. She has her arms above her head, reaching for the heavens and smiling while she does it. That coy little grin, bottom lip tucked between her teeth; the grin she gave Shane before his dick entered her mouth that first time. When it was just the two of them sharing a small secret of her tongue touching him first.

“Ah, there he is. Come.” Ilya pats the bed beside him and Bunny cranes her head back to beam at Shane.

He returns it, but he doesn’t join Ilya on the bed. He stops before Bunny at the edge of the mattress and passes Ilya the wine to free up one hand, which he uses to grip her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’re playing without me,” he says, and it’s a statement. As much of a statement as Shane’s gentle voice can make.

He feels her flush under his touch and his favorite grin flitters over her face again. “Never.”

Ilya cocks his head, admiring the lines of his boyfriend’s body when he bends in half to capture Bunny’s mouth. Gentle and sweet and only a little tongue. It makes her insides feel like liquid.

“I have an idea,” Ilya announces, leaning to put the wine bottle on the nightstand.

“Shocker,” Shane mumbles into Bunny’s mouth. He licks at her bottom lip before standing straight.

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Do you want to hear it or keep kissing?”

Shane and Bunny share a small smile and side-eye. Ilya huffs, and Bunny squeals when he grabs her by the ankles and yanks her away from Shane. She’s hoisted into his lap, their bare sexes pressing together and bringing immediate hardness to Ilya’s cock. But he keeps one hand firm on her ass and it doesn’t plan on moving to fuck her. Not yet.

“Now you will listen, yes?”

Bunny nods and Ilya’s eyes slide to Shane, who chuckles. “Yes.”

“What if we all fuck each other?”

There’s a pause. Bunny looks up at Ilya, does her best to peer back at Shane.

“Well…yeah, isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” Shane scratches at the nape of his neck.

Ilya rolls his eyes again. “Yes, but I mean—fuck. You fuck her, and I fuck you at same time.”

Shane lights up like a Christmas tree, all red and hot and pulsing. He swallows and even Bunny can hear it. “Oh.”

“Is good idea, yes?”

Bunny twists to see Shane, her cheek pressing to Ilya’s as she goes, and they sit there together with their faces touching and their eyes on Shane.

“Shane, would you…like that?”

Shane’s eyes flit down to her ass, arched over Ilya’s lap, and he doesn’t pretend to think, or even give himself time to think. It feels good to stop thinking.

“Yes.”

Ilya trails his fingers over the length of Bunny’s spine. “Yes what?”

Shane puts the wine glasses on the dresser and turns around. “I want to fuck you, Bunny. And yes, Ilya, I obviously want you to fuck me.”

Ilya laughs, patting Bunny’s ass in signal. She crawls off of him toward the edge of the bed, reaching for Shane. He lets her, lets her take his hands and pull him close to her, takes her mouth again with his.

He likes that she’s smaller, softer, a flip side of what he’s used to handling. Or maybe it’s just that: he’s used to being handled. And he loves when Ilya slams him down and fucks him until he sees through space and time, but it’s been fun to play the other side. To shove his cock down Bunny’s throat and know she’ll take it, because he knows what it’s like to be on his knees just like that.

“Hey, stop kissing my boyfriend,” Ilya whines from behind Bunny.

She giggles into Shane’s mouth and lets Ilya tug her back, pulling her flat on the mattress. He dips down and smacks his mouth over hers, a little too rough—as he tends to do. He makes a show of it, moaning against her and twisting his head around to mush their lips together. She’s still giggling, and Shane’s bringing her legs around his hips and feeling the softness of her calves with his fingertips.

Ilya pulls up, slick-mouthed and grinning. He looks at Shane and the position he’s put them in. “You want her like that, Hollander?”

Shane nods, gazing down at Bunny as she pants softly, blissed-out and perfectly still. “Yeah, just like this.”

Ilya hums, sliding off the bed only to swoop up again behind Shane, tucking his chin over his shoulder. Bunny’s insides wind together in a knot at the sight of both of them, looming over her.

Is your dream, yes? Ilya asked last time. That first time might’ve been a fraction of that dream, but this was the whole of it. The two of them before her, the three of them soon to be intertwined.

“Good,” Ilya murmurs, and Shane’s eyes close when he begins leaving open-mouthed kisses along his neck, “because I want you like this.”

Bunny is content to watch them for a moment. Ilya’s tongue drag over Shane’s skin, Shane’s hand come back to tug at a curl at the nape of his neck. Ilya’s hands over Shane’s stomach, chest, up and down and feeling as they go. Shane whimpering, tipping his head around for more.

But it isn’t enough. And it’s petulant when she does it, but she’ll worry about it later—and Bunny shifts to squeeze her thighs around Shane’s hips with a huff.

“Is someone gonna fuck me?”

Their eyes pop open in different gazes. Ilya’s narrow with faux but equally dangerous warning. Shane’s bulge and marry the pink glow on his cheeks in the perfect picture of embarrassment.

“You will watch the tone, Bunny, or get nothing,” Ilya grumbles.

She shifts, feeling Shane’s expression morph onto her own face. “Sorry.”

“Strict program ‘round here-ah!” Shane yelps when Ilya’s hand pops over his ass.

“Yes, it is. Now say please, both of you.”

They murmur their pleas together and Ilya reaches around Shane to spread Bunny’s legs a little wider. Shane nearly chokes around his own breath at the sight below him. The thickness of her thighs, the firmness of the flesh there. The soft slickness between them, so delicate and pretty.

“You need help, or…”

Shane scoffs, jabbing his elbow back into Ilya. “Shut up. Bunny, can I…”

“Yes, yes please.” Bunny bobs her head hungrily. “I want you, Shane.”

It’s all he needs to hear. Shane presses the head of his cock to Bunny’s center, where the dip grows warm and wet. As he inches in, Ilya tips Shane’s hips back a little, pushes his shoulders over Bunny until he’s hovering, palms pressed into the bed. He heard the sharp smack of spit before Shane feels the breach as he slides further into Bunny, and soon all three of them are releasing sounds of pleasure that echo through the bedroom.

Ilya moves first. Rocks his hip one time, deep and languid against Shane’s ass. It sends Shane tumbling forward, rutting into Bunny. Her hands fly to his arms, nails piercing the warm firmness of his biceps. Through the bleary blur of her vision, she watches his face contort. That beautiful, pained display of euphoria.

Ilya keeps hold of Shane’s hips for momentum, and if it weren’t for Shane’s hold on the mattress on either side of Bunny’s head, they’d both come toppling down on her. But right now, every thrust inside of Shane causes every thrust inside of Bunny, and every time they move the bed goes with them. Jostling, jerking, bouncing Bunny up and down over it.

“Oh god, please,” Bunny whines, and it wakes Shane from his stupor.

He doesn’t want Ilya to fuck both of them. He wants to fuck Bunny, by his own volition. He wants to get those pitchy sounds out of her. He wants her to moan for him.

So even despite Ilya’s steady pace behind him, Shane begins to set his own. Thrusting with intention and excitement and drive. The shift immediately takes hold of Bunny, who gasps like someone’s cut off air supply. Her back crescents as much as it can, folding up into Shane to place her mouth on his neck. He drops down a little further to give her access, groans noisily when she latches on.

“Ooh, fuck, Hollander. Look at you go. So fucking eager,” Ilya purrs. “And Bunny takes it so good.”

He runs his hand along Bunny’s thigh, tickling and teasing. She shivers, the chilling pleasure of Shane’s cock and Ilya’s reminder almost too much. It’s barely started and she’s already struggling.

“Keep going, Shane,” he whispers against Shane’s ear. “Make her scream.”

“Fuck,” Shane sighs, and then he’s balancing on one shaky arm to place his thumb on Bunny’s bottom lip. “You want that, Bunny? You wanna scream?”

She nods again and he shakes his head. “Tell me. Make him happy, I know you want to.”

Her eyes flit to Ilya, who’s smirking over Shane’s shoulder, nodding encouragingly, promising that yes, he will be so happy when Bunny listens for them. Listens for Shane, who’s taken to this new role so well.

“I-I want you to make me scream,” she tells him, and then she’s moaning around the thumb slipping in her mouth.

And then Shane’s rambling in that sweet, cooing voice like he’s calling to a stray. “I’ll do that for you, honey, I’ll do that. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

His thumb hooks in her mouth when he picks up pace. Smears spit and pours drool from the corner of it as he ruts until the vein in her neck protrudes, until he can feel the heat in her face practically pulsing in front of him.

But she still isn’t screaming, and Shane’s gonna cum in a pathetic amount of time from the way Ilya’s making the skin over his hips ripple—but not before she’s screaming.

Shane uses all the strength he can to gather Bunny’s legs, as quickly as he can, and to push them up. Her knees near her ears, folded in half, ankles hooked over his shoulders so Ilya catches sight of a thin gold anklet around her left leg. So delicate and fragile, just like their Bunny, beginning to squeal and shriek at the new angle of Shane’s cock inside her.

“Oh-my-god,” she whines between gasps, between the pound of Shane’s hips against her, the stab of his cock inside her. “Fuck.”

“Not yet,” Ilya grits between his teeth, and he turns to kiss Bunny’s dangling ankle.

Tears kiss her eyes and Shane cradles her wet cheek in his palm, thumb pressing away the errant drops that slip down.

“But—“

“Not. Yet.”

The command cuts through even Shane, who feels Bunny’s thighs squeeze around his neck and her walls tighten around his cock. She looks to him with shiny, pleading eyes, but he only smiles.

“Not yet,” he repeats. Softer, gentler, a little mocking. “Be a g-good girl, Bunny.”

Ilya takes hold of one of Bunny’s ankles and the back of Shane’s hair, using his grip on both to muster enough power that Bunny can feel every thrust inside of Shane. The domino effect being that Shane fucks into her, and the whole bed squeaks and groans and she’s so glad Shane’s too cheap for something better so she has proof of just how hard they’re fucking. She hopes the neighbors can hear—even though they can’t—so she can say that’s happening to me.

“P-please, I can’t,” Bunny whines, nails dragging down Shane’s arms.

He groans, eyes rolling back, rutting wildly—so hard that Bunny feels it in her throat. “Ilya, please.”

Ilya looks between them, the writhing mess on the mattress and the bronzed boy fucking her wildly, and getting fucked back. It’s fills him with a power like he’s never felt before. A high he’s not sure he knows how to handle. He has the both of them in the palm of his hand.

“Fuck, do it. Cum, vozlyublennyye.”

Bunny’s first this time, but just barely. Shane moves his hand fast enough to slip two fingers in her mouth and she bites down on them absentmindedly. He yelps, and the spurt of warmth inside her is enough to make her want to cum again. But she worries, in the fuzzy haze of her fucked-out daydream, that she might be hurting the poor boy trembling over her—so she eases up on the teeth, relaxes her mouth to suck at the fingers shoved deep inside. She forces her eyes open, wanting nothing more than to see the two of them as they come undone.

Ilya goes a little longer, the slap of skin and slick suction of sexes loud without her own screams and Shane’s whining. They’re reduced to whimpers now, tiny pips let out the longer Ilya fucks Shane through his orgasm, the longer his gentle thrusts rock him in and out of Bunny. And then Ilya pulls out, bracing Shane’s hips, letting his release paint the freckled muscles of his back. Without Ilya’s weight holding him up, Shane falls into Bunny with a fatigued sigh, his fingers slipping out of her mouth to fall at her cheek.

His breath is heavy against her chest, where his cheek is pressed flush to her skin. She cradles the back of his head, fingers running through the damp strands, scratching gently at his scalp. Her legs have slipped back down, still vibrating around his hips in the come-down. Ilya sits back on his haunches before them at the end of the bed, running the full weight of his hand over Bunny’s right leg, the other over Shane’s thigh. He watches their eyes flutter shut, their chests ease back down to the stasis of gentle breaths. He grins to himself, feeling full and proud.

“Sleepy babies,” he coos at them. Bunny snickers, but Shane only hums affirmatively against her breast, moving his hand down to her waist where he holds her tightly.

She blinks her eyes open, finding the white ceiling above her. Shane is heavy in that wonderful, warm way, like a blanket meant to ease anxiety, or a coat meant to keep from cold. And he’s holding her like a pillow, and the throb between her legs has subsided to a dull ache, and there’s something fluttering in her chest that freaks her out. A flutter she felt with Ilya back in the day, briefly, before they cut things off.

The Russian is still massaging them, but he’s grown quiet, too. He watches Bunny blink slowly, her face shift from the glow of pleasure to the frown of something else. He moves his thumb a little deeper into her spasming calf and she looks from the ceiling to his watching eyes.

“Okay?” he asks.

She plasters a smile on her mouth and nods, stroking her fingers over the back of Shane’s head again. “Yeah,” she whispers.

They wait a beat, resting there in the silence. Ilya tips his head at Shane, still pressed to Bunny’s chest. “He is still inside, yes?”

She laughs airily, sweeping her hand down his hair again. “Yes.”

“Sorry,” the man murmurs against her skin, cheek squished to puff his lips out. She doesn’t want him to be sorry. She doesn’t want him to move, but she knows he will soon.

It’s even worse that when he does, Shane stands from the bed and pats down the back of his hair, ruffled from her wandering fingers, and he takes small, quiet steps toward the bathroom door with only a shifting glance back at the bed.

“I’m gonna shower,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and edged with what Bunny can only describe as distance.

Ilya’s brows knit together. “Hollander.”

But the door snicks shut, closing the room to silence between Ilya and the girl lying naked on their bed. She swallows, curling in on herself as she rolls to sit, reaching for the closest thing to cover herself. Ilya turns to her, a frown etched on his mouth.

“I don’t know—he’s just—“

“It’s okay. Um, I’ll just get my stuff.”

Ilya grabs her wrist as she reaches for the edge of the bed, pulling her to sit again. “What? No, Bunny. You can use other shower, I’ll grab you something clean. Don’t go.”

She glances at the bathroom door, the beam of white light shifting beneath it as Shane moves about. The faucet starts a beat later, the patter of water-fall coming down on the shower floor. Ilya holds her wrist gently against her thigh, watching her all the while.

“Okay,” she agrees.

He walks her to the shower on the other side of the condo, meant for guests that stay in the spare room. He places a pile of clothes on the sink, a Metros pullover and plaid pajama pants, a pair of boxers in between. Ilya shows her the shampoo she can use, the body wash that will leave her smelling like him, where the towel warmer is. He kisses her head and then her cheek, and then he’s closing the door on the fluorescently-lit room.

She takes her time in the shower, wondering if Shane and Ilya are sharing the other one as she scrubs her hair, as she cleans herself of Shane. Tears gather in a hard ball behind her eyes, and she closes them before she can cry. She keeps them closed as Ilya’s body wash lathers over her body, as the suds slip down the drain. She opens them only when she’s dressing, and then she’s standing there with wet hair and mismatched clothes—part Ilya, part Shane.

She hangs the towels neatly, arranges all the items in the shower by height. She wipes any water from the floor, runs the fan to release the steam. When she steps out of the bathroom, it’s still quiet. Her clothes are still strewn across the kitchen floor with Shane and Ilya’s, the evidence of a few hours ago like a slap in the face. She glances toward the bedroom as she gathers them, feeling like an idiot when she slips her feet into her high heels.

She shoves her clothes into the purse on the kitchen island, crumpling work folders and the pages of a paperback. The shower in the bedroom turns off and a door creaks open.

“Bunny?”

It’s Ilya, not Shane, and still that stings. She puffs a deep breath through her cheeks and turns for the door, just slipping through it and into the cold as the men emerge from the bedroom with wet hair and the bottle of wine.

They’re sitting on the couch at the cottage in a similar fashion to when Ilya had come the first time; sharing clothes, under blankets, touching toes.

“And you?” Ilya looks at him expectantly.

“And me what?”

Ilya raises a brow. He can smell blood in the water; he’s struck a cord. “Have you cared for others?”

Shane has never cared for anyone the way he does Ilya, never deeply loved anyone in this way.

But there is…you. There has for so long been you.

So deeply embedded into his mind and past that he forgets you’re the anomaly to what had been lackluster connection until Ilya.

Shane hesitates and Ilya can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“So yes,” Ilya answers for him.

Shane nods, turning his eyes towards his husband. He finds no anger, but he’s learned over time to read Ilya well and can see curiosity mixed with anxiety. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“Someone from school. Before all the hockey got intense.”

Ilya straightens up, ready to gather all the information he can. “What was his name?”

“Their name,” Shane mumbles.

Ilya frowns. “Multiple?”

“No they– they didn’t– they weren’t–” Shane’s words grow clumsy as he tries to explain who you are. What you are and aren’t. It was hard to grasp as a kid.

It hadn’t started that way when you and Shane had become friends.

But there were no secrets between you, just understanding and honesty. It happened fairly quickly into your friendship, you telling Shane that you didn’t want to be a boy or girl. That you just wanted to be. That your new name would be Freddie, because Fred from Scooby Doo was your favorite character. And though Shane couldn’t completely wrap his head around it at the age of 10, he knew that if that was what his best friend wanted, he would do it.

The crush on you, well that had come later.

“Oh. They as in them,” Ilya muses.

Shane smiles, nodding. “Yeah.”

“That is…different,” Ilya says, surprised.

Ilya has been intrigued by Shane from the moment his eyes landed on the freckles dusted on Shane’s cheeks. Fascinated by their differences, it’s part of what makes Shane so charming. He imagines he should’ve expected to be surprised by Shane’s history.

“They were my first real crush. That I can remember,” Shane amends quickly.

“Did you tell them?”

“Yes.”

“Did they like you back?”

“Yes.”

Oh. Ilya’s chest tightens with something…fear? Jealousy? He wants to know who this person is. What their name is, what they sound like and smell like. How they were able to pull Shane into their orbit.

“So,” Ilya prompts.

“We dated I guess. If you could call it that. We were 13. And then…”

Sometimes it feels like Shane is edging Ilya with conversations even though he knows Shane is just processing. Masking and computing.

“And then?”

“They left for art school. Hockey ramped up. We haven’t talked since they left.”

“Do you miss them?”

Shane felt like he needed to think about his answer, while having the answer sat in his hands. Of course he missed you. He didn’t let himself think about you much, but sometimes he would see an article about you. When he saw your work in an art museum once in St. Louis, he stood there to study it for hours.

Shane had wondered what they were like now amongst many other thing. Is their smile just as bright? Is their voice the same? Do they still love grape slushies and always have the right thing to say? Do they think about him? Would they still like him, the person he’s become now?

“Yes. I don’t think about them a lot. It makes me sad.”

Ilya notices the shift in Shane’s tone immediately. His eyes have grown softer, wetter. “I am jealous. But am sorry too,” Ilya says earnestly.

“You have no reason to be jealous. And thanks.”

“You puppy loved them. I am jealous.”

“Puppy loved,” Shane repeats skeptically, testing the words on his tongue.

Ilya doesn’t want to argue with him, not when he’s so emotionally raw. Not when Shane is realizing maybe there is someone else he’s loved and that has loved him. He deserves that, Ilya thinks. To be loved by as many people as he can with all the pressure on his shoulders.

—

Its been a week since that conversation on the couch. And while Shane let his thoughts drift there from time to time, its been at the forefront of Ilya’s mind ever since. He’s looked you up, wanting to put a face with the only other person Shane has ever experienced more with. You are incredibly good looking, but not what he expected Shane’s type to be with unique hair and tattoos. Soft but steady in your art, Ilya can tell that art school was no brainer. Your work is good, no its phenomenal. While he’s done his research the feeling inside him that took root when he learned about you has done nothing but grown.

Ilya wants to meet you. He needs to meet you.

Ilya wrinkles his nose before he speaks. “I have idea.”

Shane looks up from his breakfast, cautious. “Okay.”

“This Freddie of yours. What if you did not have to miss them?” Ilya pokes at his eggs, feigning coolness though he feels anything but.

Shane frowns, setting down his smoothie cup. “You’re still thinking about that? It’s been a week, Ilya. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You did not answer question.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“You miss them. So we tell them and then we see them.”

Shane eyes go wide, his heart beating more quickly in his chest. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. Well, I looked them up. They are very talented, very precise work. Hot too, I can see why you wanted them.”

“I didn’t just want them, it was more than that,” Shane murmurs defensively.

“Puppy love,” Ilya suggests like he did that day.

“I guess.”

“Well, I want to meet them.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not? They are important to you.”

“Ilya.”

“Shane.”

“We haven’t spoken in almost 20 years.”

Ilya pivots his questioning, trying to bypass the logistical part of Shane’s brain and get to the feeling. “Do you think it would be nice to see them?”

“I don’t think its possible to see them.”

“Is not what I asked.”

“There’s no way I’m getting out of this conversation is there?”

Ilya is quiet but his eyes are expectant. Charged. Its all the answer Shane needs. He knows that when his husband wants something, he will certainly get it. And well, Shane honestly likes being a part of that– of getting Ilya the things that he wants and needs. He likes to be good and useful. To please.

It could also be nice to see you. Nerve wracking and possibly vomit inducing, but nice. He would get to ask all the questions he tucks away from himself. He would get to hear your voice and laugh. Maybe even give you a hug. Shane could get behind that, in fact he wanted to if you’d be open to it.

“Okay,” Shane says eventually.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll have to look into how.”

“I know how. I have plan.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. You’ve been plotting for the last week on how to induce me into a panic attack.”

Ilya didn’t see it that way, not at least until right now. He just wanted to know the person that Shane loved. Not in the same way as they love each other, he knows saying that to Shane would push him further away. But its hard for Ilya to imagine– Shane loving someone else in that way. He doesn’t understand why but he wants to see it, he wants to give that opportunity to Shane over and over again. He’s not sure how to say that to Shane.

So instead he says, “I am sorry. I just want you to have friends. You know, other than Hayden.”

“I have Rose.”

Rose. This made this even more complicated for Ilya. He was less jealous of Rose these days. But if he had been so disturbed by Shane’s relationship with her, why was he trying to instigate a relationship with you?

“Two friends. Congratulations, Hollander.”

Shane scoffs. “If we’re talking about how many friends everyone has, you’re not much better.”

“I have friends. At least one more friend than you.” Svetlana. Marlow. Price.

“What’s your plan?”

“Art show. It is in New York, next month. I already checked your schedule, it lines up perfectly.”

“And your schedule?”

“Of being a, what do they call me online? A WAG? Is great, I cleared my very busy schedule.”

Shane laughs, shaking his head. “Are we really doing this?”

“It’s not the craziest thing we’ve ever done.”

That much is true, what with them spending a decade making their way to each other. The foundation. Coming out, getting married. Reconnecting with you wouldn’t be the craziest thing Shane’s ever done, especially not with Ilya.

So why did it feel like this was going to change everything?