(sneak peek for my lovelies)
“You have a lot of unpacking to do,” Shane said, breathy. “And my parents are coming over tonight.”
“Is only three, we have plenty of time,” Ilya shrugged, thumb pressing into the head of Shane’s cock. Shane made a little grunting sound and bit his lip. “We have to christen the house, Hollander. Is important part of buying real estate. Surely you know this.”
“I’ve never ‘christened’ a house like this, asshole,” Shane rolled his eyes, though the bite of it was tempered by the way he kept pressing into Ilya’s touch. He just couldn’t help it. Ilya preened under Shane’s hot gaze. “Did you christen your Boston place like this?”
“Mm, with Sveta,” Ilya replied, casual. Something in Shane’s expression shifted as his eyes narrowed. Not jealousy exactly–they were past the point of that when it came to Svetlana–but maybe something… competitive. Ilya’s gaze locked in on Shane, a slow smirk twisting the corners of his mouth. He liked when Shane got competitive. “I christened every room with Sveta.”
Shane nodded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as his eyes darted around Ilya’s face. Ilya could see the cogs in Shane’s brain turning, gears grinding, his racing thoughts clear in the shine of his brown eyes. Sometimes Ilya couldn’t believe just how easily he could read Shane. How, when they were pressed tight like this, their desire thick between them, Ilya could read every thought as it tumbled around Shane’s beautiful head. But, on the ice, Shane was an impenetrable fortress. Eyes hard and focused, a wall erected around his thoughts. Whenever Ilya caught Shane’s gaze across the ice, he found himself met with a different man. He was Shane Hollander on the ice. He was Shane, Ilya’s Shane, here in the warmth between their half-naked bodies.
“There’s more than four rooms in this house,” Shane murmured, eyes locked on Ilya’s mouth. Ilya just grinned. Fuck, he loved Shane so much.
“Mm, there is twenty,” Ilya nodded, pressing close into Shane’s personal space. Shane’s cock was trapped between their bodies, grinding hot against the slippery material of Ilya’s basketball shorts.
“That’s a lot of sex,” Shane observed, tilting his head. “It will probably take more than one afternoon.”
“When do you have to go back to Montreal?” Ilya asked, ducking his head, brushing his lips along the column of Shane’s throat. He knew when Shane had to go back. In two days. They had today and tomorrow and then the next morning before Shane had to leave by mid-afternoon. Then after that they would be snatching at time greedily, clawing at the hours, trying to make more where there was no more to give. Pre-season training began in three weeks and already Ilya was dreading the return to routine. It would be easier now though. He hoped. Fuck, he hoped.
“Day after tomorrow,” Shane answered, even though they both knew they had each other’s schedules memorised.
“That’s enough time to get through every room,” Ilya hummed and Shane scoffed.
“Only if we do nothing but fuck.”
“I have no problem with this suggestion.”
Shane just smacked the back of Ilya’s head in response, grumbling something under his breath about unpacking and his parents and training and hurting his ass. Ilya ignored him, licking a languid stripe up Shane’s neck, punctuating with a sucking kiss behind Shane’s ear. Shane squirmed but dropped his head back, letting Ilya nip and suck and lick at the skin.
“Which room do you want to do next?” Ilya asked, muffled where his mouth was smeared against the underside of Shane’s jaw. “Dining room? Foyer? Living room?”
“You have no furniture,” Shane bit out, sounding both pissy and desperate. Ilya’s favourite.
“I have a rug in the living room,” Ilya retorted. “We have fucked on the floor before. Remember 2015? After Boston beat Montreal four to none? You were so grumpy that you made me fuck you in the hallway. Wouldn’t let me further into the house. I did not even get to shower after. So mean.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Shane grumbled, breath hitching at the end when Ilya tugged on his cock.
“I think I will make you cum on the living room floor next, yes?” Ilya murmured, kissing wet and messy down Shane’s throat. Then he pulled back, tugging on Shane’s hips, walking them backwards. “Come on, pretty boy. I want you to cum on my tongue.”
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