he wouldn't admit it to shane until they'd been married like three years, but the first time they fucked was the best night of ilya's life. maybe excluding their wedding, or winning the Cup with shane. maybe. he felt like an actual god that night. didn't even matter that boston lost – he finally got to fuck shane hollander after literal years of chasing him. he could never stop thinking about:
how hollander curled all around him and pulled his hair just a little while they were kissing and it made his entire body tingle like nobody else had ever done or would ever do.
how he got hollander to make those insane breathless whimpery noises when he ate him out, all shocked and trying not to and then giving into it.
that hollander really, really liked getting fucked. in the back of his mind ilya had worried that maybe hollander was like him and the idea of being fucked was better than the reality, or maybe it would only feel okay. but no, hollander absolutely melted even when ilya was just fingering him and it was a revelation for both of them. it was so easy to make him feel good.
that hollander REALLY liked getting fucked. the way he pushed back for more and pressed his face into the pillows and moaned loud and shaky and clenched his fingers in the sheets and actually – actually! – came without either of them even touching him, that was the cherry on top of the most perfect cake. ilya did that to him. ilya did that for him.
and it wasn't just that ilya made him feel good, although obviously ilya was a guy who got off on making his partners feel amazing. it was that it was hollander: uptight, always annoyed at him, his perfectly perfect rival who was so strong and dominating and fun to play against on the ice and so desperate to submit to him in the bedroom. absolutely fucking perfect for ilya. he would look at hollander's stern, serious face on television or across from him during a faceoff and think nobody else knows what you like. nobody else knows how you get shy and overwhelmed and want to be told what to do so badly. i'm the only one who knows what you look like when you're being fucked so well and you can't get enough of it, it feels so good. and you can only get that from me.
for a while afterward he only felt – he thought he only felt – triumph. the desire to submit to someone he didn't even like, the fact that ilya fucked him until he was begging and whining and he loved it, had to be more than a little humiliating for hollander. but the more he thought about it, which was all the time, the more he remembered how unbearably sweet and soft hollander had been, how good it felt, how much he wanted to take care of hollander afterward. how he had wanted to stay and kiss him to sleep and listen to him make those happy little buzzing hums ilya only heard him make right after he came.
nothing else ever really touched that feeling, not even winning the Cup that year. when he thought about the 2013-2014 season he thought about that night with hollander first and then the Cup. terrifying. he could never, ever tell anyone.
(until one night several years married when shane abruptly says "do you ever think about our first time together?" and ilya says "no, hollander, i have forgotten. when was that?" and instead of throwing a pillow at him shane looks troubled and says "yeah, i guess it probably didn't mean as much to you as it did to me," and ilya has to correct him so shane knows exactly, exactly where it ranks in ilya's personal list of best days ever.)
