sometimes mike forgets how big shane is. there's not a huge difference between them in height, but where mike is long and lean, shane is broad, strong shoulders and hips.
there's a glimmer in shane's eye as he closes in on mike, pins him to the boards with nothing but a look, and mike feels so tiny without all of his pads, feels incredibly vulnerable.
shane skates in closer, close enough that mike can smell his cologne, his sweat, can see the faint freckles dotting over his face and down his neck, and mike feels the heat radiating off of shane.
cold fingers curl in the front of mike's shirt, freezing where the knuckles brush against mike's chest and mike finds a shiver skittering down his spine as shane pulls him down, deliberately missing mike's mouth when he goes in to kiss him. mike makes a quiet, desperate noise, low in his throat, and shane huffs a laugh against mike's cheek.
his knee is sliding between mike's, nudging mike's thighs apart, and it's easy to relax back against the glass, to let shane be in control; it's always been that way, with shane leading, and mike doesn't feel half as safe anywhere else as he does when he's in shane's hands.
“hey,” shane suddenly says, murmured low into mike's ear, and before mike has a chance to respond, shane is there, one of shane's hands buried in mike's hair as he kisses him, hard. shane's mouth is hot and wet, sucking at mike's tongue and his bottom lip, leaving it swollen when shane lets it go with a soft pop.
mike chases shane's mouth when shane pulls away and shane laughs, puts his hand on the center of mike's chest and uses the leverage to push himself away, makes his way leisurely to the other side of the ice.
“catch me if you can,” he calls, taunts, and mike narrows his eyes, braces himself against the boards.
he's never been one to back down from a challenge, and he's sure as hell not going to start now.
his skates make a clean cutting noise against the ice as he pushes off, curls flying into his face as shane swiftly avoids him and mike whips around to follow him. ice is being thrown everywhere, and no matter how close mike gets, shane dances out of his reach with bright eyes and a wide, dimpled grin.
it’s through pure luck that miike manages to catch him; shane slips in a pile of shaved ice and mike is close enough that he grabs shane, but they both go down in a pile of limbs.
shane is laughing, breathless, and mike leans in to taste the way it sounds in shane’s mouth, too long hair falling over both of their faces, and shane pushes it out of the way with one big hand. the ice is freezing through mike’s pants against his knees and shane’s back must be frigid, but they spend a few minutes like that anyway, making out like teenagers, swallowing down the sounds the other makes.
“gotcha,” mike mumbles against shane’s lips, and feels the grin in response.