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Trees and fresh air surround Shane as he nears the end of his morning run, the edge of the driveway coming into view after a few more strides.
The weather is absolutely beautiful, he wishes Ilya had joined him so that he could enjoy it too. They usually knock out a few miles together to start the day, but Ilya somehow woke up long before Shane and insisted that he already ran with Anya. He couldn’t bring himself to argue, too bewildered simply by the fact that Ilya woke up that early.
He almost forgot what day it was, not even realizing until midway through his run when he checked the time and noticed the date. May 10th, his birthday. Thirty-five years old, an age when many hockey players would start to consider retiring, but not Shane. He plans to keep playing for as long as possible, as long as his body (and the NHL) will allow him to play.
Ilya often mentions retirement for himself, they discuss it quite often, and has decided that the day will probably come sometime in the next two or so years. Maybe sooner, if they ever decide that they want kids.
The sound of water running and clanking dishes indicates Ilya’s presence in the kitchen as Shane walks through the front door.
“I’m back, baby! Do you mind switching the laundry over while I shower?” Shane shouts from the entryway.
“Da, sweetheart. I will make your smoothie too,” Ilya replies.
This isn’t necessarily a new thing for them, but the domesticity of it all makes Shane’s heart squeeze. Married for five years and he’s still not used to the feeling, luckily he has a lifetime to adjust.
After a quick shower and post-workout stretch, Shane pads into the kitchen to find his daily smoothie sitting next to a protein bar, with a blue sticky note stuck to the cup.
happy happy happy birthday !!!
meet in trophy room after breakfast :)
-ur hot sexy husband
Shane scoffs and shakes his head with a giddy smile, skipping the protein bar and downing the smoothie in anticipation. He would usually care more about his protein intake, but a surprise in the trophy room can only mean something wonderful is (hopefully) about to be done to Shane’s body.
In the middle of the large decorative rug, surrounded by walls filled with various trophies and medals, Ilya stands wearing nothing but an Ottawa Centaurs jersey and a fucking white jockstrap. Shane fights every urge to drop to his knees on the spot. Ilya beams and quickly turns around to grab a marker, purposely showing off the HOLLANDER 24 plastered across his back. To make matters worse for Shane’s knees, Ilya bends over until the hem of the jersey reveals two straps accentuating his ridiculously large ass. Shane loves to grab it, sometimes delivering a playful smack when they pass each other or he feels rather mischievous during sex. He will not make it out of this room alive.
“Oh my god, Shane Hollander!” Ilya gasps as he faces Shane again. “I am your biggest fan! Will you sign my jersey?”
“Ilya—”
“You know my name?!” Ilya gasps again, even more exaggerated.
“You’re ridiculous,” Shane mumbles fondly, taking the marker from the absolute love of his life, bookmarking this moment in his memory bank for whenever he thinks about the many reasons that he loves Ilya. “Where should I sign, handsome?”
“Wherever you want. I will do anything to get your autograph.” Ilya steps closer and raises his eyebrows suggestively, keeping his voice low and flirty.
“Anything? Really?” Shane smirks.
Ilya nods eagerly and gently takes Shane’s free hand, leading him over to one of the leather armchairs. He sits down without breaking eye contact with Shane, leaning back and hiking up the jersey to show off his prominent bulge barely being contained by the jockstrap.
“You look exhausted, Mr. Hollander. Come have a seat while you sign my jersey,” Ilya says while rubbing his hands across his own thighs in invitation.
Stars shimmer in Shane’s eyes, fighting back the goofiest grin threatening to break out across his face. He wants to be able to fully indulge in this fantasy, but it’s so goddamn hard when his husband’s smile gives him the world’s worst cuteness aggression.
“Ah, wait, not fair.” Ilya stops Shane before he can climb onto his lap, earning himself a confused look. “Too many clothes.”
“Wow. Never met a fan this demanding. Especially not one that would treat me like this on my birthday.” Despite his words, Shane strips out of his clothes as he speaks until he’s left in nothing but his briefs, a small wet patch already forming near the head of his cock.
“I am very grateful to meet you. I want to make this the best birthday ever,” Ilya purrs.
“Why don’t you show me how grateful you are, then?” Shane shimmies out of his briefs before settling onto Ilya’s lap and resting his own bare cock against Ilya’s straining against the cotton of the jockstrap. He feels something solid near Ilya’s hip pressing against his thigh and pulls back to look at him. “Another surprise?”
Ilya grins and lifts the hem of the jersey for Shane to see the bottle of lube tucked into his waistband. As much as he tries to hold it back, Shane can’t help the giggle that shakes his chest before slapping a hand over his own mouth. Of course, of course Ilya would find a way to have easy access to lube with Shane in his lap. There is no telling how much planning and preparation went into this little fantasy that Ilya is trying to fulfill.
Shane tucks his finger into the waistband of the jockstrap, stretching the elastic while he takes the bottle of lube before letting it snap back against the skin. Ilya makes a small noise in the back of his throat, bordering on a whine, and his hips twitch slightly.
“I think that, as my number one fan, you deserve to make me feel good.” Shane runs his hands over Ilya’s clothed shoulders, dipping his thumbs into the neckline to caress his collarbones. “Do you think so?”
“Yes,” Ilya nods, eyes glazing over as his fingers dig into Shane’s hips. “I have a gift for you, Mr. Hollander. Stand up, please.”
Shane leans in to slip his tongue past Ilya’s lips, realizing they’ve somehow gone this entire time without kissing. He needed his fill of Ilya’s taste before they went any further. Their lips press together hard, staying connected for a second longer than necessary, before Shane finally slides off of Ilya’s lap.
Ilya stands and quickly reconnects their lips, holding Shane close with a hand on his lower back and the other cradling his face. It’s familiar and fueled by passion, a kiss shared by two soulmates in love rather than one between Shane and a complete stranger who happens to be his biggest fan. Luckily, Shane’s soulmate also happens to be his biggest fan.
“Bend over the chair, sweetheart,” Ilya whispers against the shell of Shane’s ear before kissing a wet trail down his neck. He takes a step back, using the hand on Shane’s lower back to guide him toward the chair, helping him settle his knees comfortably against the leather as he leans over.
Ilya drops to his knees behind Shane, a shaky exhale breaking through the thick silence of the room. His jaw drops at the sight of Shane clenching around nothing, like a siren’s song calling to him, absentmindedly leaning forward without even realizing until his tongue connects with the tangy skin. He licks a line from the seam of his balls to the top of his crack, leaning back and gripping Shane’s ass with both hands to spread him apart.
For a moment, he just stares, savoring the fact that Shane trusts him enough to share such an intimate part of himself. It makes something in his heart twist, something he can’t quite name.
Ilya shakes his head to center his mind back in the moment, focusing his attention on the saliva gathering in his mouth. His thumb dips past Shane’s rim, tugging lightly to spit directly into his hole.
“Fuck, yes,” Shane breathes out, resting his forehead against his arms that are folded along the back of the chair.
Ilya leans in and doesn’t hold back, shoving his tongue in and out, adding in the occasional teasing lick around his rim. One hand releases its grip on Shane’s ass to cradle the cock dangling between his legs. Shane cries out at the contact, the purple head of his untouched cock leaking deliciously in the palm of Ilya’s hand.
“God, you always get so wet for me,” Ilya groans before ducking down to swipe his tongue through the mess, sucking the tip between his lips, Shane arching his back in response.
The tip of his tongue dips into the slit one last time, a loud moan echoing off the walls of the room as his tongue trails up the length to Shane’s balls, breaking the path to suck them individually into his mouth. Mere seconds before Shane believes his knees will give out, Ilya continues licking from the seam of his balls up to his desperately clenching hole and wastes no time devouring him again.
Shane thinks he might pass out, his body buzzing in overwhelming pleasure and stimulation. He wants more, or maybe he wants less. His brain and body can’t decide if the feeling is too much or not enough, jolting harshly every time Ilya switches between suckling the tip of his cock and fucking his tongue into his hole, the stubble on Ilya’s face leaving a sweet burning sensation between his ass and inner thighs.
Without breaking his rhythm, Ilya uses his free hand to reach for the lube sitting next to Shane’s knee and flips the cap open. His tongue gives one last deep lick, then a sloppy kiss against Shane’s hole, before he leans down to take his entire cock in his mouth.
“Holy shit,” Shane whimpers, digging his nails into the leather of the armchair. It takes every ounce of restraint in his body to stop himself from rocking back into the lube-covered fingers prodding at his rim, his thighs shaking in anticipation.
“Remind me how old you are?” Ilya asks once he pulls off to catch his breath, pressing his middle finger inside.
“Thirty-five,” Shane chokes out.
“Perfect. You will come thirty-fives times,” Ilya says casually.
“Ilya, what the fuck?” Shane tenses up and looks over his shoulder in a panic. “I’m pretty sure that’s, like, anatomically impossible. Fuck no.”
“Okay, okay. I know, sweetheart. I was joking,” Ilya giggles, adding his ring finger and kissing the back of Shane’s thigh. “How about three? More realistic, yes?”
Shane tries to laugh, but cuts himself off with a loud groan as Ilya curls his two fingers against his prostate. A third digit slips past his rim as Ilya’s free hand circles his cock, jerking him in time with his fingers. Sparks shoot up Shane’s spine, blissful noises spilling from his lips.
“Fuck. Yeah. Oh, fuck. Right there.” Shane’s hips rock back into Ilya’s thrusts, chasing the high of his approaching orgasm. Typically, this would earn him a smack to the thigh or a tug on his hair, but today is his birthday. Shane is allowed to take what he wants today. “I’m so close, oh my god.”
“Give it to me, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel,” Ilya groans, hiding his smile by biting the meat of Shane’s ass, curling his fingers to relentlessly press against his prostate. Shane freezes for a moment until a shiver racks through his body, choking out a breathless cry as he coats Ilya’s fist in his release. Ilya never lets up, speeding up the fist on his cock and pressing harder against his sweet spot, milking him through every second of his orgasm.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, fuckfuckfuck. Ilya, please fuck me. Holy shit, please,” Shane babbles as his body twitches from overstimulation.
Ilya twists his wrist as he spreads his fingers one last time before pulling away. He kisses each side of Shane’s ass, massaging the skin and trailing his lips to the bottom of his spine. More kisses are planted against each vertebrae until he reaches the nape of Shane’s neck. A gentle hand on Shane’s chest pushes softly to help him stand, the other holding his hip for stability.
Shane glances at the hand on his chest, surprisingly clean for being covered in his cum a few seconds ago. “When did you…?”
Ilya maneuvers their bodies and sits back in the leather armchair. Shane notices the small streak of leftover cum next to the corner of his mouth, watching closely as Ilya licks across his lips. If that isn’t a sight to remember, Shane doesn’t know what is.
He climbs back onto Ilya’s lap, straddling him and immediately licking the smudge off his face before sliding their tongues together, savoring the taste of himself in Ilya’s mouth. Impatient as ever to feel his husband’s cock again, Shane leans back to pull on the waistband of the jockstrap and tuck it under Ilya’s balls. The sight of his swollen, uncut cock is mouthwatering, deepening the craving that Shane has for it to be inside of him.
“Fuck, hold on. I left the lube on the floor.” Ilya wraps an arm around Shane’s body to hold him close as he scoots to the edge of the chair, carefully leaning down to grab the bottle.
“You’re ruining the fantasy,” Shane teases, petting a hand through Ilya’s sweaty curls and kissing across his shoulder.
“Oh no, that is too bad. I guess we should stop,” Ilya shrugs as he leans back in the chair to their previous position.
“Over my dead body, Rozanov.” They laugh into a kiss together, mirroring each other’s smile in a display that would make their teammates gag and yell at them to get a room. “Can you fuck me now, please? It’s my birthday, baby.”
“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Ilya pops open the cap of the bottle and drizzles lube over his cock, covering the entire length before lifting his hand to spread the excess over Shane’s stretched hole.
Shane grips Ilya’s shoulders as he sinks down, clenching around the tip to make him groan. Once he bottoms out, he pauses to let his body adjust, using the opportunity to dust his fingertips along Ilya’s forearms and guide his hands to his hips. Ilya keeps his grip light, caressing the stretch marks decorating Shane’s skin.
“Can you sign my jersey now?” Ilya asks breathlessly.
“Shit. Um, I dropped the marker. I think it rolled under the chair.”
Ilya hums in thought, looking around to see if he can spot it anywhere before he shrugs. “Oh well. I know another way you can mark it for me.”
Shane follows his eye-line to his own cock, blushing bright red all the way down to his chest. He can’t contain the soft whine that escapes once the realization hits. This might be the best birthday present ever.
“I love you,” Shane moans as he begins to raise and drop his hips in a fluid motion, clinging to Ilya with his arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“Fuck, Shane. Fuck, I love you.” Ilya pulls him closer with his arms encircling his torso, bucking up into the rhythm of Shane’s riding.
They’ve both long forgotten the roleplay of Shane meeting his number one fan for the first time, losing themselves in the familiarity of their bodies and the mutual warmth they’ve come to crave.
“I will always be your number one fan,” Ilya whispers in Shane’s ear. “No matter how long you play for, even if I retire, I will always be there cheering you on.”
“You can’t—fuck—you can’t say stuff like that,” Shane grins breathlessly. “I want to make you come before I do again.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“No, baby. Please fill me up. Please. All I want for my birthday is for my biggest fan to come inside of me over and over until it drips out.” Shane continues bouncing the entire time he begs, causing Ilya’s brain to temporarily short-circuit.
“You will kill me, Hollander,” Ilya groans under his breath. He inhales shakily and braces his feet against the rug before fucking up into Shane faster, soaking in every mhm-mm-hngh-fuck muffled against his neck. The louder Shane gets, the closer Ilya tips toward the edge.
“Please finish with me. Oh my god, please. I need it so bad, Ilya.” Shane leans back to look him in the eye, pleading with every bit of emotion he can muster with unshed tears and blown pupils.
Ilya can only nod, grunting and desperately trying to maintain his gaze through hooded eyelids. Shane grinds down, making Ilya come undone the second that their lips meet again, and wraps a hand around his cock to point the tip toward the jersey.
“Thank you,” Shane chokes out, delighting in the warmth spilling inside of him as he and Ilya watch streaks of white paint the jersey together. He collapses against Ilya in a gasping heap, too exhausted to care about the mess between their bodies.
“That was number two. Do you still want number three?” Ilya asks between pliant kisses along Shane’s neck, rubbing his hands soothingly across his back. “I know that stamina is hard for older men sometimes.”
“Fuck you. We’ll be the same age in like a month,” Shane chuckles against Ilya’s shoulder, biting down just above his collar bone. “Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
And of course, because it is still Shane’s birthday and he can have whatever he wants, Ilya waits patiently while rubbing his hands up and down his back.
After a few minutes, Shane finally starts to move again. His thigh muscles burn from the earlier exertion, so he resorts to a slow grinding motion. He feels Ilya deep in his stomach, stuffing him full with his cock and his cum. He craves more, needs more, wants to feel it dripping out of him.
It doesn’t take long for Ilya to let out a surprised grunt and stutter his hips upward, holding Shane tighter as he bites where his neck meets his shoulder.
“Fuck, Ilya, I feel it,” Shane cries out, gripping the fabric of the jersey so tight that the seams press into Ilya’s armpits. “I love it. I love when you fill me like this. Feels so fucking good, baby.”
Ilya barely has time to catch his breath before Shane lifts up until just the tip remains inside of him, moaning at the feeling of his warm release dripping down his spent (and surprisingly still hard) cock. Shane holds Ilya’s gaze as he reaches behind himself, bringing two cum-coated fingers to his mouth and sucking them in with a pornographic moan.
“Oh fu—”
Shane cuts Ilya off by slamming back down, filling the room with an obscenely wet squelch that pulls a whimper from both of them. The angle must have hit Shane’s prostate perfectly, his back arching as he cries out, semi-hard cock leaking a couple pathetic spurts of whatever he had left. It borders on painful, a delicious burn that leaves his body filled with ecstasy.
Ilya gently lifts Shane off his cock, shushing his whines of protest as he carefully rearranges their bodies and lays Shane on his back. His hips hang over the edge of the chair, Ilya spreading his legs further by pressing his knees to his chest.
“Gospodi,” Ilya moans at the sight, thumbing through the mess of Shane’s red puffy hole before slipping his tongue inside.
Shane’s hands fly to meet Ilya’s where they grip just under his knees, intertwining their fingers as he writhes against the chair. Loud slurps echo in his ears as Ilya collects as much of the mess on his tongue as he can. Shane struggles to focus his vision on Ilya’s face, drawing closer with a sinister smile before reconnecting their lips. He lets out a quiet hum as Ilya feeds the load on his tongue into his mouth.
Ilya shifts closer to deepen the kiss, pressing his thighs against the front of the chair, cradling Shane’s body with one hand on the back of his neck and the other between his shoulders.
They swap the mixture of cum and spit back and forth, moaning at the taste together. Ilya pulls back slightly when it’s in his mouth, raising an eyebrow. Shane nods eagerly, quickly sticking out his tongue as Ilya spits half of it onto the plushy pink surface, saving the rest for himself. As soon as they both swallow, Ilya dips down to suck on Shane’s tongue, lazily making out until their mouths are sore. A small line of spit connects their lips when they finally pull apart, snapping as Ilya licks it away and collapses his weight on top of Shane’s body.
They hold each other close for what feels like hours, realistically a few minutes, comfortably quiet aside from their panting breaths. Shane is the first one to break the silence.
“Best. Birthday. Ever.”
Ilya’s entire body shakes with laughter, pulling Shane impossibly closer as he rubs the scruff on his face against his neck.
“The day is not over yet, sweetheart.”
After a joint shower—featuring Shane dropping to his knees for Ilya to have an equal number of orgasms for the day—they enjoy each other’s company until they need to leave for dinner with Yuna and David.