Chapter Text
The first thing Shane’s aware of is pain. Morning sunlight streaming through an open window to wake you up in the morning sounds a lot nicer than it actually is. One would think with a window so large, a sky so large, and a sun so large the rays of the sun would be evenly spaced out, but no. A single beam of ultra-concentrated light hits Shane’s closed eyes with the force of one hundred thousand suns.
He groans, smushing his face into his pillow. His head still throbs and his mouth feels like a biohazard site. He struggles, for a hazy minute, to remember where he is.
Ottawa. He’s at his house in Ottawa, because he plays for the Centaurs. He plays…hockey. Yes. Ice hockey. Jesus, he really can’t drink this much ever again. Ilya kept buying him drinks that sounded awful but tasted delicious so really it was all his fault. Who the hell would order something called Ranch Water anyway?
Still encased in the safe darkness of his pillow, Shane tries to reconstruct the pieces of his identity still soaked with tequila. He’s the first-line center for the Ottawa Centaurs, and has been for the past…four years? He was traded from the Metros for what had to be a very good reason, because they were his dream team and nothing short of—Shane reaches a hand out blindly beside him, feels warm skin, and risks a look at the broad freckled back next to him in bed.
Okay, a couple more things click into place. He’s definitely gay and definitely married to the hottest and best (aside from himself) hockey player in the league. Ilya, his brain reminds him unnecessarily. He remembered Ilya without any problem because Ilya is a part of him the way his lungs are a part of his chest.
Although, Ilya is currently on his shit list for 1) convincing their team to try what had to be the only cowboy-themed restaurant in Ottawa for their cup celebration 2) plying him with drinks that Ilya knows would get him horny and—
Wait.
Cup celebration? Shane sticks his head up and instantly regrets it. Shoving his face back into darkness, he grins against the sheets, finally remembering why they were out celebrating in the first place. The Ottawa Centaurs had won their forth straight Cup final, and the seventh of Shane’s career. He wriggles in place, delayed giddiness sufficing his body and causing heat to pool between his—what the fuck?
Shane sticks a hand down his pants, feels wiry hair and soft skin. Not the correct kind of soft, though. Not dick-soft. His fingers slip through folds and touch a slightly furled…hole. Hardly daring to breath, he slides his finger up until he feels a little nub and presses, hips jerking as a shock of pleasure races through his still pretty miserable body.
Panic and adrenaline start coursing through him, helping to relieve some of the headache, just enough actually, for him to really freak out.
“What,” Shane croaks into the silence of the bedroom, “the fuck happened last night?”
Last night: 11:12 pm
“Fuck my pussy, Captain!” Shane moans as he rides Ilya hard and fast. “Breed me!”
Present day
“Oh god,” Shane moans into his hands. A second later, he hits Ilya in the head with a pillow, hissing, “Wake up. We have a problem and you are forbidden from being horny about it.”
Ilya jerks his head upright, a little bit like a meerkat or groundhog, his hair an absolute bird’s nest. Shane dutifully ignores how cute he looks and waits until he sees Ilya’s eyes actually focus on him.
“I grew a vagina overnight.”
“Let me see,” Ilya says immediately.
“No!”
Ilya rubs at his eye. “You are gay, how do you know what a pussy looks like?”
Shane hits him with the pillow again. “Ilya! I’m serious! This is terrible!”
Through his laughter and sleep-thick voice, Ilya grunts, “Sorry I don’t see any downsides.”
Shane thinks for a second.
“How am I supposed to change out after games?”
“Okay, I see one downside.”
A slide show of everything someone with a vagina in his life has said to him about said vagina runs through his head at top speed. It’s not just the hangover making him feel nauseated anymore.
Shane stares into space. In a horrified whisper he says, “Am I gonna get fucking periods?”
Ilya inhales sharply. “Oh Shane. I just thought of something.”
Ears perked up, Shane gives Ilya a hopeful look. “Yes?”
Eyes brimming with tears, Ilya says, “I can finally get you pregnant now.”
Shane wallops him with the pillow repeatedly. He can’t deal much damage, unfortunately, as he is still incapacitated. Even worse, the sudden movement does not agree with his stomach, and he rushes to the bathroom to vomit in the toilet. Ilya kneels next to him, one hand keeping his bangs off his sweaty forehead and the other rubs soothing patterns into his back.
Exhausted, Shane slumps against Ilya’s side once he’s finished gagging. He finally voices the question that’s plagued him this entire morning.
“How the hell did this even happen?”
Last night: 11:25pm
“Fuck me again.”
Ilya flops down. “I hate to say this, but I physically cannot.”
“The hell you can’t.”
“I’ve come inside you four times tonight. Is not going to take. You need to accept biology.”
Shane sniffles. “But I want your babies.”
Ilya too tired to properly comfort him. “I know, my love. Me too.”
Present day
Back in bed and cuddled next to each other, Ilya says tentatively, “Not to place blame, but you really wanted it last night—stop hitting me with the pillow!”
Shane settles for narrowing his eyes. “I was drunk, Ilya! You know what tequila does to me.”
Ilya has the gal to smirk. “Yes. Turns you into a little cockslu—ow!”
The only good thing about having a pussy is that Ilya can’t tell when he’s turned on. He refuses to give Ilya the satisfaction while he’s still pissed off at him. Shane’s brain chooses that moment to remind him all the glorious sex they’ve had while they were pissed off at each other before. This is different, Shane tries to reason with his brain, there could be consequences this time.
“Anyway.” Shane clears his throat. “That doesn’t explain anything. Just because I was drunk and whined about it doesn’t mean the universe will bend the laws of nature for me.”
Ilya sniffs. “I would if I was universe.”
Shane rolls his eyes, but can’t stop his smile. “I’m just saying, something else must have happened last night.”
Ilyas eyes go very wide. He blinks once, then says, “Uh oh.”
Shane’s heart falls to his ass. “What?”
Ilya gulps. “I just remembered.”
Last night: 11:48pm
Shane finally cries himself to sleep after Ilya convinces him to let Ilya clean the cum out of his raw, puffy hole. A hungover Shane would have a conniption if he woke up dirty and leaking. Ilya himself is quite drunk and willing to do anything to make his Shane happy, so while Shane quietly snores tucked into his side, Ilya opens his new favorite app. Etsy.
He had heard of Etsy witches from twitter comments. Sober Ilya would probably not let himself believe in the power of these modern witches, but drunk Ilya thinks that anything is possible if you have joy and sincerity in your heart. He wants to make sure it works, so he adjusts the filters to show “high to low” and clicks on the first five-star witch he finds. He pays $1000 for a blessing of fertility on his husband, sending a message to the witch directly that it will need to be very powerful since she is working against biology.
Geraldine responds right away with three words that bring Ilya great comfort. “Leave it to me.”
Present day
“That’s four words,” Shane sighs, head in hands.
“I am hungover.” Ilya protests. “I cannot be held liable for my actions last night.”
“Stop watching those lawyer reacts videos.”
“You are just scared I will win more arguments.”
“You wish.”
///
Shane makes Ilya message Geraldine again to ask the specifics and also if she made a deal with the devil. And if they do refunds.
They learn that although there are no refunds or transfer of blessings (“I would have your baby, but you would have to top, so is impossible.” “Fuck all the way off.”) It is a short term curse (“Oh thank god.”) Once the goal is achieved (“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”).
“I think,” Ilya tries not to look too excited, “it means that you will have this pussy until I fuck a baby into you.”
And goddamnit, if that doesn’t make Shane wet. He presses his thighs together, hoping to remain inconspicuous, but he forgot his husband once was a man-whore who knew his way around women’s bodies. He must know what signs to look for when they are aroused. Annoyingly, that only gets him wetter.
In the past, Shane had thought about how Ilya fucked other people, what it would’ve felt like for them, if it was different with Shane. On very rare occasions when he was by himself and particularly lonely, he would wonder what it would be like for Ilya to fuck him like one of those women. He’s done it enough that he has to be good at it. Really, he knows that Ilya can give good head no matter what body parts you have, because he eats Shane’s ass like it’s a four course meal—
“You are thinking about it.” Ilya sounds supremely self-satisfied.
Shane takes a deep breath. “Nice try. I don’t have a boner anymore.”
Ilya gives him a pitying look. “You think your boner is the only way I know you’re horny? Oh, Shane.”
Humiliation settles over him, hot and heady. Shane closes his eyes. Softly, he says, “I just think we should talk about it, first. About what a baby would mean.”
“Let’s make a deal.” Ilya says, fingers tickling the waistband of Shane’s shorts. “We will talk after I get a taste of your pretty new pussy.”
His underwear is soaked and Ilya’s going to feel it any moment. Shane only has a few seconds to come up with a protest, but his head’s all foggy so it’s hard to think properly.
“You don’t know if it’s pretty,” Shane mumbles, stretching like a cat as Ilya moves him where he wants him.
“Yes I do.” Ilya says, only needing to nudge Shane’s arms to get them up and over Shane’s head, crossed at the wrist. “Your pussy is pretty because everything about my Shane is pretty.”
He kisses Shane’s burning cheeks. “Your freckles are pretty.”
He licks both nipples once. “Your tits are pretty.”
He bites at the skin just above his waistband. “Your tummy is pretty, and your cock was very pretty, so it only makes sense that you will also have the prettiest pussy.”
Somehow, Shane’s legs get splayed wide, but the cool air feels good against the throbbing wet heat between his legs, so he spreads them more. That’s the only reason, of course.
“Good boy,” Ilya murmurs, moving between Shane’s legs. Shane lets out a soft noise. Ilya presses his nose to the damp patch of his shorts and breathes in deeply, moaning loud and shameless. “Fuck the Switch, this is my real birthday present.”
Shane smacks him on the shoulder, but the way his hips roll up to grind against Ilya’s chin sort of undermines it. God, he’s so fucking wet his shorts squelch when they rub against Ilya’s face. Shane squeezes his eyes shut, cheeks burning.
“Please, just—” Shane whimpers, about three seconds away from humping his husband’s face.
Said husband lifts his head away from Shane’s hungry hips. He can hear the amused smile in his voice, the bastard. “Just what? Use your words, sweetheart.”
Shane grits his teeth. In a flash of irritation, he grips Ilya by the roots of his hair, holding him still so he can keep grinding his new clit against Ilya’s chin. Ilya’s eyes look blown out, dark enough to hide his pupils.
Very slowly and clearly, Shane says, “Show me what I’ve been missing. Show me what those girls got while you were whoring yourself around North America.”
The good part about getting cursed with a pussy is that his husband genuinely might be the best beaver muncher in the world, even though his only evidence consists of two mind-blowing orgasms and the national mourning that went into effect once they announced their engagement. The bad part about getting cursed with a pussy—especially when your husband is the best beaver muncher in the world—is that apparently the more turned on you get, the looser and emptier you feel.
Chest heaving, Shane blindly reaches out for Ilya’s hair, forgetting that his other hand was already clenching curls in a white knuckled grip. He pulls sharply just as he feels Ilya’s frankly deadly tongue dip between his folds again, trying to go for round three.
When Shane gets a good look at him, his pussy throbs violently and he very nearly shoves Ilya’s face back down. Ilya’s curls look an absolute mess, sticking out every which way, his mouth and chin are red raw and glistening with Shane’s slick, and his eyes are so dark they look black.
I did that, Shane thinks, a vicious sort of pride filling him. He looks fucked out and Shane hasn’t even touched his dick. Part of him hopes that Ilya already came, so that he doesn’t feel tempted to skip The Talk and just beg to be fucked here and now. But he’s also not sure what he will do if he doesn’t get his mouth around Ilya’s cock in the next five seconds.
“Get up here,” Shane pants. He doesn’t trust his legs to hold him up. “Bring me your dick.”
Maybe if he wasn’t so high from pleasure, Shane would’ve laughed at the way Ilya scrambled up the bed, but instead he just makes grabby hands like he’s a toddler and Ilya’s cock is his favorite pacifier. Which…disturbs him a little more now than it would have yesterday. Despite the fact that it’s true.
Shane barely waits for Ilya to settle on his chest before he reaches inside his shorts. His fingers touch damp fabric and for a wild, agonizing moment Shane thinks Ilya also got cursed with a pussy. No, I need him to fuck me, Shane despairs, I need to know what it feels like. I need his baby.
Exactly one second later his fingers make contact with Ilya’s actual dick and he breathes a huge sigh of relief.
“Yes, I already came once, sorry.” Ilya says, and Shane feels very stupid because of course. “You taste too good, I couldn’t help myself.”
Shane grips him fully, breathing a slightly smaller sigh of relief when he feels that Ilya is still hard, or is hard again.
“Oh, thank god,” Shane blurts. “I was gonna cry if I couldn’t—”
He cuts himself off by stuffing Ilya’s cock in his mouth, humming contentedly. Carefully, he relaxes fully into his pillow, suckling at the head but not bothering to move any more than that. Staring into Ilya’s eyes, Shane loosens his jaw and gives Ilya’s hips two taps. Deep, fuzzy pleasure envelops his mind as Ilya fills his mouth completely, over and over again until he spills down his throat.
Afterwards, when they’re dozing in the late morning light, Ilya murmurs, “I missed this.”
It feels like an ice cube lands on his chest all of the sudden, coldness starting to spread. “Eating pussy?”
Ilya gives him a bemused look. “Surprising you. Being your first.”
Shane blinks. He can only think to say, “But you’ll always be my first.”
“Mmm, yes. But it felt like the first time, all over again. Remember when I sucked your dick in fourteen ten and you came so fast?”
“You weren’t Mr. Stamina, either,” Shane grumbles.
Ilya huffs. “I just meant, being the one to give you that much pleasure for the first time. It meant a lot.”
Shane swallows. “Oh.”
“And is win-win, because you have a virginity kink. So we can do it for real.”
Shane smacks his chest, cheeks burning. Unfortunately, he isn’t wrong.
“Shut up, we need to be serious.”
“I am always serious about your virginity kink.”
“Ilya.”
Ilya heaves a world-weary sigh. “Okay, fine.”
They stare at each other for about seven seconds before Shane blurts, “Are you ready for kids?”
“Yes.” Ilya answers immediately.
Shane blinks. “Seriously?”
Ilya rolls his eyes. “You said we needed to be serious five seconds ago. Yes, Shane. I am serious. I want a family with you. It is all I want.”
Eyes burning unexpectedly, Shane clears his throat. “Oh.”
“The real question is, are you ready for kids?”
Is he? It would mean being out for an entire season, at least. Hockey is a rough sport and he’s gotten slammed into the boards more times than he can count. There’s no way that Shane would jeopardize the life of his child like that. It would also mean Ilya and the Centaurs playing without him, which could jeopardize their Cup chances next year. They’ve won four Cups in a row. ESPN and every sports journalist worth their salt have labeled it a dynasty. Is Shane willing to exchange a dynasty for his and Ilya’s future child?
“Yes,” Shane says, not a doubt in his mind. “I want to start building our future together, one that will outlast our careers.”
Ilya makes a noise, as if he’s surprised. Shane looks over at him to see him wipe at his eyes. Without thinking, Shane rolls onto him, covering Ilya’s body with his own, peppering his face with kisses. As soon as he sees a smile peeking through, Shane starts laying out the plan.
“If we conceive before July then I would only need to take one season off. The baby will be born sometime in March and then I’ll have until September to recover. Mom and Dad would watch them while we’re on the road, but—oh—we’re gonna need to find out how long they have to be breastfed, but even on the road I’m sure we could find time. Especially after six months, surely—fuck, Ilya we have a lot of research to do.”
“Yes, but that can happen later. We should probably start making the baby, first.”
///
For the sake of principle, Shane doesn’t let Ilya hit (stick it inside) the entire day. Bringing a baby into the world is a big decision and they should probably be as well-informed as possible before diving in, per say.
That being said, Shane’s never been more miserable in his life. He had hoped that his love of research and the idea of getting pregnant with Ilya Rozanov’s baby would combine in his brain to create a perfect new hyper-fixation. Unfortunately, one vastly outweighs the other in terms of appeal. Doubly unfortunate, the primary factor in said hyper-fixation is fully aware of this and ruthlessly exploits this knowledge to his advantage.
“We have nine whole months to research, sweetheart.”
“We need to make sure we are ready.”
“Oh, did I hallucinate our ‘Are you ready for kids?’ conversation, then?”
Shane sighs. He closes his laptop in defeat, thunking his forehead down on their coffee table. It is after lunch, Ilya has refused to put on a shirt all day, and Shane is only human. Head still bowed, Shane mutters, “Why am I torturing myself like this?”
“You don’t know?” Ilya sounds amused, not irritated. As if he already knows the answer. It would make sense. “First, you like denying yourself pleasure because it feels better as a reward.”
The hairs on the back of Shane’s neck prickle, standing to attention. He leans back against the sofa, knee pressed to Ilya’s thigh. Cheeks warm, he retorts, “It’s called edging and it is a perfectly normal sexual interest.”
“Second, you want to see how wet your pussy can get.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Leaning in, Shane bites Ilya’s shoulder, hard. Part retaliation, part to hide whatever his face was saying.
“And third—”
“Christ, how many are there?”
“Just three, hush.” Ilya leans him back, gripping his chin in one hand. Instantly, Shane’s neck loses all strength as he lets Ilya move his head whichever way he wants. His brain starts fuzzing over, but he fights it. He’s greedy and he wants to know everything about Ilya’s Shane. The way Ilya talks about him sometimes is like an out of body experience, viewing the shape of Shane Hollander as a foreign object. Other times, though, it feels like he had forgotten everything beautiful or lovely about himself, Ilya’s words shooting off tiny, wonder-filled internal exclamations of oh.
“And third, you like it when I am so hot for you I don’t ask, I just take. I think you are waiting for me to just take you.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
“Because I wanted to see who would break first.”
Unable to stop his pout, Shane glares. “Okay, well you win.”
“Sweetheart,” Ilya says, soft as the thumb stroking Shane’s cheek. “You’re the one who turned it into a competition with yourself. We are in this together, yes?”
Shane blinks. His chest loosens. “Yes.”
“Good, now what are the magic words?”
Shane slides onto Ilya’s lap. Kissing his neck, he murmurs in Ilya’s ear, “Breed me, Captain.”