Not so innocent daisy

—

“Fuck, I need you inside me, like, yesterday.”

Ilya gives a short, breathless laugh into Shane’s neck, biting his bare shoulder. “Wow, wow. So desperate for it, you can’t even wait to give me proper hello.”

“This is your hello, asshole,” Shane grits out, his hands pawing at Ilya’s clothes, as clumsy and greedy as Ilya feels. They’ve barely made it two steps inside their home, Ilya’s bag dropped carelessly at their feet. 

“No ‘welcome home, my wonderful husband’,” Ilya pants, squeezing one of Shane’s pecs. “No ‘how was your trip, love of my life, tell me everything’...”

“Later,” Shane hisses, with a sinful roll of his hips. Ilya growls, crowding him back into the wall of their entranceway, and Shane draws him into his rhythm so they’re grinding like teenagers.

Ilya’s so fucking hard. He’s been hard since the goddamn taxi from the airport, since Shane started texting him all Really missed your dick and I need to be filled so bad, in that matter-of-fact way of his.

“Baby, please,” Shane moans, tipping his head back, eyes gone soft and glistening as his long lashes flutter, pretty pink lips hanging open all swollen and wet. It’s unfair, really.

“Yes, yes,” Ilya manages, nodding jerkily. “I know. You need this cock. I will fuck you like you deserve, lyubimyy.”

A bead of sweat trickles down the nape of his neck, beneath his jacket and t-shirt. Something about being fully clothed with Shane in only his favourite worn-soft grey sweatpants drives him out of his mind. Shane’s cock twitches against Ilya’s hip through the thin material, and Ilya knows he’s wearing nothing underneath. Beautiful, eager little slut.

Ilya’s stomach tightens, balls tingling, electricity thrumming through him. Shit, he’s in trouble. He should pull back. Take a breath. But he just—can’t find the strength to tear away.

They kiss messy and open-mouthed, smearing spit over his lips and chin, and Ilya’s hips thrust clumsily with a mind of their own. He moans at the filthy friction of it, at the solid warmth of Shane’s body under his. He’s missed it. He needs it.

He shoves his hands down the back of Shane’s sweats, hauling him closer and shamelessly groping his ass.

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, please,” Shane moans, clinging to Ilya’s shoulders and trying to wrap a leg around him. “C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”

Ilya’s eyes squeeze shut as his cock kicks, pulsing a hot spill of pre-come into his boxers. He can’t stop grinding forward, chasing that too-much-not-enough, Shane squirming and whining as they pant into each others’ mouths. Ilya grips his ass tight enough to bruise, shakes his cheeks a little to feel them jiggle, then parts them.

His fingertips brush Shane’s hole, and oh, fuck. It’s soft and open and so fucking wet, and it yields so sweetly under his touch—

“I got ready—” Shane gasps, and that’s it.

The orgasm slams through him, stealing his breath and leaving him humping forward gracelessly, driving Shane into the wall with the force of it. He buries his flushed-red face into Shane’s hair, moaning when the familiar scent of his shampoo sends another violent pulse through his body. It feels endless, spilling and spilling into his pants, the filthy-wet slide of his boxers over his sensitive cock only drawing it out as he mindlessly ruts against Shane.

“Oh my god,” Ilya groans weakly.

“Oh my god,” Shane echoes in disbelief, but he holds him close as he quivers through it, shoving his knee up for Ilya to ride it out. His big hands sweep soothingly over his back.

Ilya swallows when the aftershocks fade out and a quiet pause settles between them. It’s Shane who pushes him back, forcing him to meet Shane’s eyes. There’s an apology on his lips, but Shane kisses it away, cupping his face with both hands and laughing sweetly into it.

“You laugh at me,” Ilya complains, but he’s smiling too, dazed and stupid and lovedrunk.

“No.” Shane shakes his head, rubbing the tips of their noses together. Ilya winces a little as his oversensitive dick twitches at that. Fuck, he really is in love. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Ilya smiles wider, chest puffing up, and pulls Shane into a deep kiss. Shane sighs into it, languidly sliding his tongue along Ilya’s, before he pushes at Ilya’s chest again.

“So, wait… which one of us were you calling desperate?”

—

So he really should have expected the question, "so who is, you know, the man?"

"Excuse me?"

"Dude, you can't ask that," a very progressive Young advised. "You gotta ask who's the top. Not the man."

Shane exhaled slowly. He loves his team he loves his team he loves his team.

"That is private," Shane said firmly. "And inappropriate in the workplace."

He was, of course, largely ignored. And while neither him nor Ilya really enjoyed their team, their friends, the internet, and homophobic players guessing their bedroom arraignments, Shane was surprised that nearly everyone got it wrong.

The general consensus what that Shane was the man. His going out outfit was usually jeans and a t-shirt, Ilya's was tight leather pants and a leopard print with four buttons undone. When they drank, Shane got a beer and Ilya either got shots or the sweetest cocktail they had. Ilya was more flamboyant, Shane was more reserved. Ilya liked to bake, Shane liked to grill.

And yes, Shane was aware why all these seemingly innocuous personality traits accumulated to make Shane the man and Ilya the girl. Still, it didn't stop it being generally annoying, offensive, and uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Shane liked finding the silver lining in that this was something just for them to know.

Ilya finds it more amusing then Shane. And, like most things, tries to use it to his advantage.

"Shaaaane, carry my bag," Ilya held out his hockey bag.

"No."

"I can't believe you treat your girlfriend like this."

~*~

"Is it a happy bouquet or an 'i'm sorry' one?" Holmsberg asked as he and the rookies peered over Young's phone. "Get the all roses one."

"That's the most expensive one!"

"Dude."

"Shane," Ilya whined, calling their attention to him. "Why don't you ever buy me flowers?"

"That's messed up, dude," LaPointe shook his head.

"I'll buy you roses, Roz." Wyatt grinned.

"You will not," Shane grumbled.

~*~

"Ah," Ilya winced as he lowered himself on the bench.

"You okay?" Shane asked him. He had taken a hard check into the boards early in the game and, despite reassuring Shane he was fine, he knew his hip was killing him.

"Fine," Ilya said predictability. "Just sore. Will be fine in a minute."

"Hey," Zane nudged Shane's shoulder. "Go easy on him on game days, okay? We need him."

"Go easy?" Shane's eyebrows drew together. "What do you - Oh! No, that isn't - he - I didn't -"

"It's fine, man. Whatever you two-"

"No!" Shane interrupted. "He's still sore off of Richard's check - Not - Ilya, stop laughing!"

~*~

"Doesn't it bother you?" Shane asks Ilya one day.

"What?"

"That everyone assumes you're, you know," Shane gestured, a cute little blush on his cheeks. "The girl."

"There is no girl," Ilya raises his eyebrows and palms Shane through his pants. "I would know."

"Asshole," Shane scoffs. "You know what I mean."

"I know," Ilya smiled. "But no. It does not bother me."

"Why not?"

"Because it's hot," Ilya lifted his hands, over Shane's chest and up to his face. "That people can't even imagine you like this."

Ilya dips to kiss his neck and Shane's eyes flutter shut.

"Makes no sense," Ilya continued, hands roaming down to Shane's ass. "To me, I know this immediately."

"F-fuck off, you did not."

"Oh, I did," Ilya gripped his chin, forcing Shane to look at him. "I see you... those beautiful freckles and I know how desperate you are for it. So obvious. Thought everyone was looking at this boy thinking how good he would look getting fucked. How well he would take it."

"Ilya..."

"Shh," Ilya patted his face. "But I think is better this way. That only I get to even imagine you like this. Only I get to have it."

"Only you," Shane agreed readily, hands flying to the zipper on Ilya's jeans.

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

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

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

Ilya’s always teased him about it–the fact that he can get Shane so fucking worked up that sometimes, under the right circumstances, he’ll spill completely untouched, groaning Ilya’s name. It makes Shane embarrassed, the way he’s so quick to fall into the abyss under Ilya’s ministrations, but Ilya secretary finds it so fucking hot. Shane is his, and watching him fold like that is a clear indicator that his body knows that, too.

Still. 

Ilya’s a bit smug about the fact that it’s never happened to him.

Until one evening, Shane returns from errands with a look in his eye that’s familiar and urgent, the look that tells Ilya to pause the TV and carry his husband to bed. 

He takes his time with him. Making a meal of Shane’s neck and collarbone, slowly depositing him onto the mattress, grinding their bodies together until they’re both writhing, needy messes, bodies trembling with need. Because yes, even after over ten years, Ilya needs this man carnally. Completely. Always. So, mumbling filth into Shane’s ear, hard as a fucking rock and aching to fuck his still-loose hole from earlier, Ilya pulls back and begins to peel Shane’s pants and boxers down, kissing over his twitching abdominal muscles.

And that’s when he sees it.

So small, but still terribly bold.

A brand-new mark, ink black even through the second skin.

81

Tattooed in block numbers on Shane’s flesh, in the indent of his torso and hip.

Choking, Ilya pulls back a little to gain a better look. And then, the friction of the sheets on his cock combined with the visual evidence that Shane has fucking permanently marked Ilya’s number on his body combined with the look in the other man’s eye…

Ilya comes.

Groaning, curling in on himself, he spills onto the bed, whimpering Shane’s name. 

“Fuck, Shane,” he whispers when he can speak, still lightheaded from his release.

And the asshole has the gall to chuckle. “You like it?”

"Ready to get you ass kicked rozanov?"

"oh he has jokes now....mr.joker...maybe I'll tie you up with my gold medal tonight before I fuck you?"

Shane is like 🫪 while ilya chuckles and sneaks in one more kiss before he hops away with a pep in his step.

Shane wins by pulling the Rosanov ™️ in the last period so efficiently that it makes ilya pop a boner so quickly that he becomes lightheaded. Shane is all bright cheeky smiles and flushed cheeks and his freckles are even more prominent under the stadium lights. They complete the handshakes while ilya is still in a daze, seeing Shane's hand grasping his with a 1000 megawatt smile. The award ceremony ends while ilya is still floating in that headspace and he's given his silver medal and a plushie.

(a/n: idk what happens in all stars, if they're given medals or not apart from the small competitions and idc either, I'm giving them medals)

The shower ilya takes is the shortest and the coldest one he's ever taken. Doesn't even realize that his teammates are trying to talk to him regarding dinner plans with him and shane, as he straight up walks out of the locker room with his kit in tow. He cannot reach their room (re: penthouse suite cause they upgraded hehe) faster. He sees shane scanning his card to let himself in and briskwalks to him to push him against the door and put his tongue down his throat.

They scurry to let themselves in while shane pulls them into the shower cause he too has taken the shortest shower in his hurry to reach their room. They're already rock-hard in their pants and are heavily making out and they end up coming in under 3 minutes. They make out a bit more languidly as they actually clean up and take a proper shower with soap and shampoo.

Round one consists of shane with his face down, ass up and arms tied in the back with Ilya's silver medal. 10/10 delicious no notes.

Round two is ilya tied to the bed with Shane's gold medal as shane rides him into another realm. Ilya feels like his legs have lost sensation in them and Shane's cum reaches Ilya's chin which he generously and enthusiastically licks off him.

(Brought to you by Shane being able to come hands free but wanting some fun refusing to touch the dick while you ride orgasm denial).