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[Announcer voice: Oh my god, they did it! The Ottawa Centaurs did it! They have defied all odds and brought the Stanley Cup to Ottawa for the first time in their 40-year history, defeating Colorado in 7 games. What an amazing sight to see. I'm not sure what is the more unlikely sight we are witnessing here - Ottawa Centaurs captain Ilya Rozanov hoisting the Stanley Cup or seeing him do it with his husband, perennial All Star Shane Hollander, by his side. We knew that with Hollander coming to Ottawa this season, they would be surefire contenders, but we weren't expecting them to achieve this so quickly. You have to give all of the credit to Coach Brandon Wiebe and Captain Rozanov for sure - this isn't a team that was built overnight. They've both put in years of work to build the trust and skills needed to make this team not just a contender, but a winner.]
Ilya Rozanov was on top of the world. All of his life, he was led to believe he wasn't destined for anything more than sadness and sorrow. Still, here he was, on center ice in Ottawa of all places, kissing his husband and teammate after passing the Stanley Cup to his alternate captain, Zane Boodram, who fought by Ilya's side all these years to make this team what it could be.
In that brief moment, Ilya had a fleeting thought of the people he knew hated seeing his success. He wondered if his brother was watching him, if there was maybe even a thought of joy underneath the decades-long contempt Andrei had held for Ilya. He thought of his father, who he's sure is rolling in his grave at the thought of his prodigal son kissing his husband proudly for all the world to see. He even made brief eye contact with Commissioner Crowell as he was handed the Cup and briefly wondered if maybe in this moment the head of the NHL had regretted the words he'd said to him and Shane in his office over a year ago. At a later date, he's sure he will need to unpack all this with Galina, but for now, it's time to celebrate with his family, his team, and this city that his husband had made theirs.
Ilya didn't know at that very moment that his future would be changed, not by a league of the rich and power-hungry men who liked to think they held his fate in their hands, but by a group of drunk 20-somethings in Boston, Massachusetts, all determined to get vindication for their scorned friend.
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It was a silly, years-long grudge that she should let go of at this point. Still, she was nothing but vindictive, and the water she was nursing that her friends had forcefully shoved in her hands after one too many espresso martinis wasn't doing anything to improve her mood.
"Lizee, babe. You gotta let it go. It's been what? Eight years at this point?" Elise was always the voice of reason, and it's not what Lizee wanted to hear at this point. She knew Elise had only her best interests at heart, having experienced the worst of the post-Rozanov crash-out when they were rooming together their senior year at Boston College.
And it hadn't been eight years.
It was five and a half, and it wasn't the point. It wasn't anything serious, even. She had met Rozanov by happenstance at a Boston club she got into with her fake ID, and it led to three months of the dirtiest, best sex of her life before the legendary lothario ghosted her. After the Fanmail that rocked the hockey world and their statements after, Lizee was able to pinpoint that her torrid affair with Rozanov took place at the same time Shane Hollander and Rose Landry were the 'It Couple' of the moment and it didn't take a genius to put two and two together and realize she wasn't just another one on The Rozanov Roster - she was a vengeful hate fuck.
It bothered her more than it should have, still to this day. Her ego was as bruised as her cervix was the day the first paparazzi photos of Shane and Rose leaked.
"Doesn't matter," Lizee stated to her friends, lifting her hand to signal to the waiter another round. "He needs to pay. Maybe I should hire someone to go cut his dick off, see how far he gets in life then."
Leah stared at her and just sighed. They were childhood best friends, and Leah did not stand for any of Lizee's shenanigans when she was in A Mood, despite being full of whimsy most of the time. Lizee thought it was very unfair that Leah seemed immune to her tirades today of all days. It was a very pointed sigh, and words weren't even needed; the sound furrowed deep in Lizee's stomach as she turned to Meg, hoping for some kind of middle ground at this point.
"So, I have an idea, and it's stupid and probably a waste of money, but it could be cathartic for you, and maybe we can put this whole Rozanov thing to bed once and for all."
The waiter came back with a fresh round, and Lizee sat up, intrigued at the possibilities her friend was offering her.
"There is no such thing as a stupid idea if it makes me stop thinking about Ilya Rozanov and his demon dick."
Meg grabbed her phone and clicked a few times, hesitating, her hand partly outstretched toward Lizee. "Just remember what I said - have an open mind."
Lizee nodded and grabbed the phone, briefly scanning before looking back at her friend, a bewildered look in her eyes. "What the fuck is Rat + Werm?"
"She's the highest rated witch on Etsy, specializing in curses directed at men who have wronged women."
With a deep breath, Lizee's fingers moved across the screen, moving with a swiftness that the task required, so she didn't accidentally start sobering up and realizing what a stupid idea this was. A few simple clicks - her drunk brain accepting the $60 upcharge for swift and permanent, and she provides the information needed (her name, the target name, and a selfie which probably included more cleavage than necessary) - and the deed was done. Her phone dinged moments later with a new e-mail notification.
Your order for Karma & Revenge spell – Hex, Payback | Curse reversal spell for stubborn target - Karmic Justice and Energy Reversal, Return Negativity fast has been confirmed! Rat+Werm will start working on this right away. We'll e-mail you as soon as it ships!
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Twelve hours later in Ottawa, the late morning light was breaking through the cracks of the Hollander-Rozanov bedroom thanks to the hastily shut blackout curtains. The cup celebrations lasted until the morning sun started peaking through the spring clouds, and Shane dragged Ilya out of club number who even knows at this point, so that they could properly celebrate at home and get a couple hours of sleep before Ilya had to continue his Stanley Cup Winning Captain duties.
Ilya wakes slowly, content and full. His eyes crusted over with sleep, his hands filled with his husband's tits, his heart full of joy and accomplishment, and his bladder about to burst despite how dry-mouthed and dehydrated he felt in the moment. With a quick kiss to his husband's neck, Ilya threw the covers off and padded softly into their ensuite bathroom. Not wanting to turn the bright overhead lights on just yet, he let muscle memory take him to the toilet and lifted the lid before reaching into his pants to pull himself out, and quickly realized he's more asleep than he originally thought. Taking his hand out of his pants to rub at his sleep-filled eyes, he shuffles over to begrudgingly turn the lights on. Ilya can't resist a mirthful huff; he must not be as awake as he thought he had been if he couldn't even find his dick. Take two, he thinks to himself, returning to the toilet and shoving his hand in his pants again to pull out—
Nothing.
What the fuck?
Ilya quietly padded to the bathroom door, taking a glance to make sure Shane was still asleep, before shutting the door, locking it, and bolting to the far side of the bathroom that was covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Ilya slowly pulled down his underwear until they pooled at his feet. He gingerly stepped out and placed his right hand over his chest. His hammering heart and quickened breath aren't at all unlike what he's experienced with Shane and his panic attacks before. Slowly, he lowered his hand, trying to focus on the hard planes of his chest and muscled abs. His fingers dipped slowly into his belly button before feeling the soft comfort of his happy trail. He took a moment to tangle his fingers in the familiar body hair before continuing.
You are brave, he told himself, before his fingers continued their journey downward. The tips of his fingers grazed his pelvis before sliding into a dip that is all too familiar, just not in this scenario. In that moment, Ilya decided it's time to face the music as he opened his eyes and slowly rakes them down his naked frame before settling on—
Oh. Oh.
And there it is. Instead of the usual sight of his thick cock nestled in a thatch of dark pubic hair there is a pair of lips. Ilya gently spreads them and slides a finger, searching for that familiar nub. A gentle graze sends a spark through his body, and an exploring press down has his stomach tightening and a low moan threatening to escape. He couldn’t believe it.
Ilya Rozanov has a pussy.
He doesn't remember his knees giving way, doesn't even realize he's collapsed on the floor until he's blinking tears away, cold tile pressed against his hands and knees. He needs to get it together and fast before Shane wakes up and sees him like this.
Oh God, Ilya thinks to himself, a cold sense of dread filling his stomach. What the fuck is he going to tell Shane? How is his super gay husband going to react when he finds his favorite part of Ilya just gone? He quickly gets off the floor, sliding his underwear back on before leaving the bathroom and sliding back into bed, trying to get lost in the warmth of Shane before he wakes up and their entire world shifts.
Fuck, Ilya thinks to himself as his eyes get heavier, I didn’t even fucking piss.
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Ilya manages to fall asleep for a couple more hours before his alarm starts going off, his post-Cup Captain duties lingering in the near future. He peels himself off Shane’s back to turn the alarm off, and it isn’t long before he can feel his husband’s hand slipping around his waist, pulling Ilya back in.
“Good morning, baby,” Shane crooned in his husband’s ear, his voice deep and thick with sleep, “My champion.” A low moan escapes Ilya’s throat as Shane’s fingers start to dip into his waistband before he suddenly remembers why it can’t go any further.
Ilya grabs Shane’s wrist and twists away until he’s in a spitting position. He lets a laugh out and hopes his husband isn’t awake enough to see the fear that it’s covering. “So eager for me, sweetheart, but unfortunately, duty calls.”
“You’re saying no to post-Cup morning sex?” Shane asked, one eyebrow raised incredulously.
“Hmm, if I recall, we had that before we fell asleep,” Ilya replied with a wink. “Besides, it would be setting a bad example to everyone if the Captain were late today of all days.”
“Since when do you prioritize setting a good example over my dick?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf, Shane. It was one of my New Year's Resolutions.”
Shane let out a loud, unguarded laugh at that. “Baby, your New Year's Resolution was just the back of our bar receipt where you wrote ‘suck more dick’”
Ilya leaned over and gave Shane a quick kiss on the cheek, whispering, “And I think I have exceeded expectations this year, don't you moy lyubov?”
“Okay, you win, Mr. Responsible. Give me a second, and I’ll come shower with you.”
“Absolutely not, I do not need to be half an hour behind before my day even starts.” Before Shane can give him any protest, Ilya goes quickly into the bathroom, locking the door behind him just in case, before stripping and standing under the stream of water as strong as he can stand it, trying to figure out how he’s going to explain any of this to his husband.
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They don't return home until the early evening, having spent hours with local and national media and talking to eager fans who had gathered around Canadian Tire Centre hoping to catch a glimpse of the city's heroes. Shane was only slightly annoyed, having been on edge since getting denied earlier, but was quickly softened when Ilya slithered his arm around Shane’s waist, pulling him in close and speaking low in his ear. “Sweetheart, I know it’s been a long day, but imagine how disappointed baby Shane Hollander would’ve been if one of his hometown heroes had denied an autograph at such a young, impressionable age.”
They finally get through the door, and Ilya stops briefly to greet Anya before making a beeline to the kitchen. “I will get started on dinner,” he calls out, making a point not to stop and turn to look at Shane, “we have that salmon thawed that we need to cook before it goes bad.”
He doesn’t hear Shane’s footsteps quicken behind him, and a surprised gasp leaves his throat when Shane grabs his arms and turns him around swiftly. “Absolutely fucking not, Ilya. We aren’t doing anything until you talk to me.”
“Talk to you about what, solnyshko?” Ilya pitches his voice low in an attempt to distract his husband, and he can see the way Shane’s eyes briefly soften before furrowing his brow and pulling himself together.
“Ilya. You’ve been fucking weird today.”
“Weird how?”
“You know!” Shane huffs out, and Ilya can tell his husband has started to get irritated. “You didn’t want to fuck me this morning. You didn’t even want to shower together. You’ve barely let me touch you today. You won’t look at me. Fuck, Ilya, have you even kissed me today?” Ilya’s heart broke at the way Shane’s voice wobbles and breaks towards the end. He still hasn’t figured out how to tell him, but he can’t stand thinking that Shane blames himself somehow.
Ilya takes a step forward and takes Shane’s face in his hands before leaning forward and placing a firm and certain kiss on his husband’s lips. “Sweetheart, I promise this isn’t anything you’ve done.”
“Then fucking what is going on, Ilya?” Shane holds his voice together that time, but Ilya can see the tears that are threatening to spill over his waterline at any moment.
“Dinner first. Then we will sit down, and I will explain everything,” Ilya promises. Shane nods, not trusting his voice anymore, and lets go of Ilya.
Ilya starts pulling things out of the fridge and pantry, preheating the oven, and getting out the various pots and pans needed for their dinner. He is in his own little world getting everything prepped and ready to go, when he feels his husband, warm and firm, pressing up against his back.
"I love you so much," Shane murmurs in his ear.
"I love you too, sweetheart," Ilya replies.
Shane presses against Ilya slightly harder until Ilya is flush with the counter in front of him, quickly attaching his lips to Ilya's neck. "Shane," Ilya moans, "please." He isn't sure what he's asking for at the moment. Shane can sense Ilya's conflict and is quick to act on it, one hand snaking underneath Ilya's shirt to cup his pec, making sure to graze his fingers lightly over Shane's nipple. The other hand is once again dipping into the waistband of Ilya's joggers. Ilya grabs loosely at Shane's hand on his lower stomach, placing his fingers over his husband's.
"Please, Ilya," Shane moans softly, "don't make me beg."
"Shane," Ilya's voice is broken, and he can't stop the tears falling. This is the point of no return, and he realizes he cannot keep this from his husband any longer. He lets go of his husband's wrist and can't help but hold his breath as Shane's fingers take the same path down south his own did that morning. The moment Shane's fingers brush over the plump top of Ilya's lips, he stills, and there is a soft gasp that Ilya isn't sure which one of them it came from.
"Oh," Shane says in a broken whisper, "oh, baby. When did this happen?"
"I'm not sure. I woke up this morning and—," Ilya can't stop the full-body sobs that come now. He's sure that if it wasn't for Shane's strong and steady arms holding him, he would be on the floor again. "I'm so sorry, Shane. I understand if you can't… if this is too much."
Shane removes his hand and spins his husband around, grabbing Ilya's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Ilya, baby. You have nothing to apologize for. You're definitely handling it much better than I would have. Listen, why don't we finish making dinner, and then we can go upstairs and cuddle in bed and figure out what to do from here."
Ilya nods, not trusting his voice in the moment. He leans forward to give Shane a quick kiss before turning back around to continue working on dinner. Shane gets out plates and silverware to set the table, wanting to give Ilya some space but still wanting to be nearby in case. They eat their dinner in near silence, which is not uncomfortable, but there is a palpable tension in the air. When they finish, Shane goes to clear their plates and clean the kitchen up while Ilya feeds Anya and takes her on her nightly walk. The routine helps ease Ilya's anxiety slightly, and it isn't long before they close the downstairs for the evening and retreat to their room upstairs. They complete their nighttime rituals, and Ilya feels the anxiety start to ramp back up as they both stare at their bed.
"Ilya," Shane whispers, reaching out for his husband once more, "can I see you?"
Ilya looks back in shock. "You want to see? My—" he can't even get the word out.
"Please, baby," Shane looks Ilya in the eyes, his face set in firm determination. "Take your clothes off and let me see your pussy."
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They both quickly strip and slide under the covers, and it isn't long before Shane reaches out. "Baby, please. I need you." Ilya lets himself be pulled into his husband's arms and instantly melts. Shane's arms wrap firmly around Ilya's back, and Shane throws a thigh over Ilya's own, turning himself into a weighted blanket. They take a few moments to bask in each other's embrace before Ilya shifts and suddenly feels—
"Shane," Ilya asks.
"Hmm?" Shane murmurs.
"Are you…" Ilya's words are cut off as Shane shifts once more, and Ilya can really feel it then, his husband half hard against his leg. Shane removes his leg that's holding his husband down and slips it in between Ilya's, using his arms that are still wrapped around his husband to pull him down. They both gasp at the new feeling of Ilya slick and firm against Shane's thigh.
"Baby, please," Shane begs, "please I want to see you."
Ilya is nothing if not a weak man so even though he's filled with a sense of impending doom, he simply nods and pulls away from Shane, pulling the covers back and spreading his legs open. The air in the room hits the dampness in between his legs and the sharp contrast between that and the warmth of the bed makes Ilya start to blush. He's never felt this open and exposed before.
Shane places a reassuring hand on Ilya's thigh and even in the dim light, Ilya can tell his pupils are blown wide. "Touch yourself," Shane asks, voice broken with want. "For me. Please."
Ilya should feel ashamed at how quickly his hand goes between his legs, like he was a puppet with strings and Shane was his master. He was a weak man and could do nothing except obey. He ran a cursory finger up and down his folds and can feel the wetness already before settling with his pointer finger against his clit. He finally makes eye contact with his husband and Shane gives him a nod before his eyes return to what is happening between Ilya's legs. Ilya applies slight pressure and circles his fingers around the sensitive nub.
“How…how does it feel?” Shane asked, the question coming out in a broken whisper as he rubbed slow circles on the inside of Ilya’s thigh.
“Different,” Ilya whispered back, his response turning more into a shuddered moan the more he pressed his fingers against the swollen nub. “It’s a lot. Too much. But not enough.”
“Can I help?” Shane hesitated before sliding his hand upwards and shifting his body until he was lying down flat against their bed.
“Shane,” Ilya choked out as he seemed to hit a sensitive point in his adventures, “you don’t have to.”
“No, I know. But I want to. Let me worship you, baby.”
Before Ilya could form a response, his husband moved quickly and all at once. Shane’s strong arms wrapped around his thighs, strong and sure fingers digging into his hip bones, and his mouth was leaning forward, lips wrapping around Ilya’s engorged clit, taking a few tentative kitten licks before fully sucking on the bud.
"Fuck!" Ilya screamed, one hand instinctively reaching back to grab at the headboard, the other finding purchase in Shane's silky strands. "Shane fuck, I need—"
Shane lifted his head up, his mouth already shiny and slick. "What do you need, baby?"
"More," Ilya begged. "Please just—anything. I need more."
Shane nodded and removed his right arm that was snaked around Ilya's thigh and took two fingers, rubbing them tentatively through Ilya's wetness. Without preamble, he sank his fingers into Ilya's knuckles deep, relishing how tight and wet Ilya is for him.
"Fuck, baby," Shane moans, "so fucking wet for me aren't you?" He doesn't give Ilya time to respond before he's ducking his head back down. Using his other hand, he spreads Ilya's lips open, exposing his swollen clit, and leans down with a flattened tongue to lick with a brutal rhythm matching his fingers pistoning in and out of Ilya's pussy. Shane licks and sucks relentlessly at his clit, not easing up even as he begins to feel Ilya's thighs tighten underneath him.
"Shane," Ilya cries out, "fuck, I'm so close. I'm gonna…" The rest of the sentence was lost as Ilya began to shake and tremble as Shane's tongue continued to take him apart. Ilya's fingers tighten in his hair, hips gyrating furiously as he fucks against Shane's face through his orgasm. Shane continues to lick Ilya up and down until Ilya pulls his head away.
Shane gets the hint and crawls back up the bed next to Ilya, rubbing his hands along Ilya's body as they catch their breath. "Fuck, Ilya, you're so beautiful. That was really—"
"Shane," Ilya started, his voice suddenly serious, "where the fuck did you learn how to do that?"
Shane laughed and rolled over to his husband. "I've dated women too, you know."
"Yes, but according to Rose Landry, you were famously bad at sex with women."
"I mean, yeah, sure, I wasn't great at the actual intercourse of it, but I wasn't about to let anyone leave completely unsatisfied. Usually, if I made them cum hard enough, they didn't even seem to care I couldn't stay hard enough to fuck them."
"Sweetheart," Ilya started, but was quickly cut off by Shane, who had shifted so he was leaning on one arm and his hand was drifting back in between Ilya's legs. "Shane," Ilya croaked out, suddenly unable to form a sentence as Shane's lips attached to his neck, sucking and biting at the tendons sticking out. Without warning, Shane slipped two fingers back inside Ilya's pussy, which was soaking wet at this point, dampening his thighs and pubic hair.
"Fuck, baby," Shane moaned against Ilya's skin, "I want— do you trust me?"
Shane could ask for the fucking moon right now, and Ilya would find a way to lasso it and drag it down. "Wanna fuck you," Shane moaned in Ilya's ear. If anyone could hear them, they would think Shane was the one being fingered to death in their bedroom and not Ilya. "Need it so fucking bad, baby, I'm so hard I can't think straight. Need to put my cock in your tight pussy, fuck, I bet it's going to feel so good. So fucking tight and wet for me." Ilya gasped as Shane added a third finger and crooked them in a fashion they were both quite used to. "I might die if I don't."
"Please, moy lyubovnik, touch me. Please, I need it."
Shane doesn't respond, but he does shift his weight while still thrusting deep into Ilya, arranging his husband's wrists so they are both in one hand, and Ilya lets out a moan of relief knowing his husband's touch will be coming soon.
Ilya closes his eyes to get lost in the sensation, so it's a shock when Shane's fingers suddenly pull out from his pussy and are shoved in his mouth instead. "Suck," Shane demanded, "you got me all dirty, now you have to clean them up." He doesn't wait for a response, just fucks his fingers in and out of Ilya's mouth, ignoring when Ilya chokes on them a bit, before pulling them out and settling that hand on Ilya's hip.
"Shane, please," Ilya needs Shane inside of him; he didn't even care how pathetic his begging sounded. He was dizzy with want. "Inside me, please. Need you, fuck. Need your cum to fill me up." He isn't even sure what language he's speaking in at this point.
Shane huffs and leans back down low to whisper in Ilyas's ear, "Fucking greedy, Rozanov. You've already cum so much, and you still want more? Can't help but beg like a whore, can you? Did you learn this from the line of women you kept in Boston all those years ago, when you were wishing it was me in your bed instead?"
“Please,” Ilya moans out. He isn’t even sure what he’s begging for at this point. Whatever Shane will give him.
Shane laughs, and it’s deep and cruel, and fuck, Ilya can feel his wetness soaking the inside of his thighs, and before he can take a breath, all he can feel is his husband's canines sinking into his neck, sharp to draw blood. He doesn’t even care. Shane already has heart, body, and soul. He can have Ilya’s blood as well.
They've been together for so long, and the sex has always been amazing, but Ilya has never felt like this before. Never felt like his husband was surrounding him at all times, never felt like he was on the verge of either exploding or his chest caving in. He wasn't used to feeling so much at one time, and he thinks this might actually kill him. Just when he thinks he cannot possibly take one more thing, his husband is giving him, he feels the head of Shane's cock sliding against his soaked entrance, dipping in and testing the waters. Ilya feels himself instinctively pulling away. He knows he’s big, but while his nine inches is rounding up with some embellishment, Shane’s nine inches is a modest guess because he refuses to let Ilya get the tape measure out. Ilya always loved teasing his husband about his fat, useless cock, but right now, he thinks this might be what kills him.
"Shane," Ilya cries out, but it comes out weak and pathetic, his voice strained from the myriad of sounds his husband has torn from his body today. Shane is humming lowly and doesn't acknowledge his husband's cries as he continues to experimentally circle his hips, watching his cock dip in and out of his husband. "Shane, moya lyubov, I'm not sure—fuck, I don't know it will—"
It's one of their favorite games they play, but Ilya isn't used to being on this side of it. He's used to being the one in charge, the one pinning Shane down with his hips, whispering dirtily in his husband's ear about how he'd just have to lie there with his big, useless cock and take what Ilya gave him because he wouldn't know how to use it otherwise. He's taking deep breaths, focusing on the feeling of one of Shane's large hands gripping his hip tightly, the other slowly raking through the sweat that has pooled along Ilya's back until it reaches its final destination, gripping the back of Ilya's neck tightly and holding him in place.
Shane leans down once more and sucks Ilya's lobe gently in his ear, before gently blowing on it and whispering in his husband's ear. "Don't you worry, dorogoy, it will fit." Ilya doesn't have a moment to reflect on the words he had whispered once in an abandoned building in Montreal, being taunted back at him, before Shane is driving into him, both of them moaning loudly at the squelching noise filling the room.
Ilya doesn't know the moment his brain went offline. The only thing he can focus on in the moment is being filled and stretched so impossibly that he thinks he might break apart into pieces. “Shane. Shane, Shane—please.” The sobs leaving Ilya’s chest would have made Shane pull out immediately if he had heard a single one.
Instead, his singular focus was trying not to cum instantly as his fat cock slowly inched into Ilya. It was a tight, wet heat he’d never felt before that made his head spin. He’d never experienced this before. Sure, this isn’t his first time he’s had his dick in a pussy, but it’s the first time he knew it could feel like this. Wet and enveloping, tight and hot, seemingly sucking him in at every moment. Maybe in this moment, he truly realized how Ilya was made for him. In every universe, in every lifetime, this whole body was supposed to be his.
After an impossibly long time, Shane is finally balls deep inside of Ilya, and both of them are panting into each other’s mouths like they had just played a double overtime game. Ilya can't do anything except wrap his legs around Shane's waist and pray that he will survive with his body and soul intact after this. Shane gives them both a moment to collect themselves before he slowly pulls himself out, not giving Ilya time to adjust before slamming back in. He sets a relentless pace as Ilya digs his fingernails into Shane’s back, kissing and biting every inch of his skin he can come in contact with.
“Holy, fuck,” Ilya cries out. “Harder, faster, please, Shane, more, anything.” His rambling was incoherent, but Shane seemed to get the message.
Shane fucks him hard, wanting Ilya to feel it for as long as possible, but he knows he won’t last long, not with how tight Ilya is and the way he is moaning and clenching around his cock. Fucking Ilya is a sensory overload unlike anything Shane has ever experienced before. There is too much to taste and smell and touch, and it isn’t long before Ilya drives him over the edge. Shane grabs Ilya by the back of the thigh, just for something to hold onto, as he comes hard, moaning Ilya’s name as he cums hard in Ilya’s pussy.
Neither of them is sure of how long they lay like that, lying together with their sweat and cum mixed. Shane is the first one to get antsy and gives Ilya an apologetic kiss on the forehead before gently pulling out. He takes a glance to see the way his cum leaks out of Ilya and can’t resist running a finger through their combined juices before licking his fingers and giving Ilya a wink.
“I’ll be right back, baby.”
Ilya closes his eyes and listens to the sounds coming from the bathroom. The toilet flushes, the sink running, the cabinets slamming, before Shane is padding back to their bed, a damp washcloth in his hand to clean Ilya up. He nudges Ilya to lift for a moment before removing their ruined top sheet, tossing it in the laundry basket, quickly turning off the lights, and finally sliding back in bed, gathering Ilya in his arms and throwing their duvet over the two of them.
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It’s not long before their breathing is back to normal and the sweat has finally dried on their skin. Ilya looks down and plays with the webbing between Shane’s thumb and pointer finger before asking the question that he’s been dreading all day. “Sweetheart, what if this doesn’t go away?”
“What do you mean, baby?”
“Like,” Ilya uses his free hand to gesture to his crotch. “What if I’m stuck like this forever and I can’t give you what you want?” It was supposed to be a casual question, but the way Ilya’s chin wobbled made abundantly clear his major fear that had been clouding his judgment the whole day. Who was he if he didn’t have the one thing that made Shane fall in love with him?
Shane, like always, seemed to be able to read his mind and knew the unanswered question that hung in between them. “Oh, baby, you have nothing to worry about. I think this just proved that our sex is amazing, however we want to do it. The rumors I’ve heard about this kind of thing are that it’s always temporary, but if not, then I guess we can always go toy shopping, which I know is your favorite.” He leaned over to kiss Ilya, and Shane hopes he can pour every ounce of love that he feels for Ilya in it so that his husband knows there will never be any doubt for him. They part, and Ilya gives him a slight nod, understanding the silent reassurance his husband was giving him.
“Then we sleep,” Ilya says, more confident than he feels, “then in the morning we go from there.”
“We sleep,” Shane replies, giving Ilya one more kiss on his temple. “Goodnight, baby.”
“Goodnight, moy lyubov.”
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Meanwhile, back in Boston—
Lizee didn't wake up til three pm, and it was with a raging hangover and the feeling of impending doom, which means she did something fucking stupid while drunk in Boston, a bad combination with her history. The memory of the night before came flooding back into her, and she reached over and grabbed her phone, praying she didn't actually spend a hundred dollars on an Etsy curse.
"Fuck!" The confirmation e-mail is there plain as can be, but before she could panic too much, a secondary e-mail from the seller, timestamped at 12 pm, sat there unread.
Hi, Lizee!
I'm calling to reach out to you about a chargeback notice from your credit card company due to fraud detection. Since this was an immediate rush job, the spell has already been completed as requested, and I am giving you a courtesy of 12 hours to correct this payment, or else the curse will be immediately reversed.
Thank you for your patronage and happy cursing!
Rat + Werm
"Oh, thank fuck!" She exclaimed out loud to absolutely no one. She quickly deletes the e-mails and thanks the gods and American Express for looking out for her last night's bad decisions. She closes her eyes to finish sleeping her hangover away, promising herself that once she wakes back up, she will never think of Ilya Rozanov again.
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The following morning in Ottawa, Ilya wakes up his favorite way. The sun is gently warming the room, and his beautiful husband is grinding his ass back up against Ilya's cock. All is right in the world.
Wait a second—
Ilya grabs Shane's waist and grinds up against him, relishing the way his husband moans in his sleep. More importantly, though, he's relishing in the familiar feeling of his hardening cock in his pants.
"Shane," Ilya shouts, shaking his husband. "Sweetheart, wake up!"
"Jesus Christ, Ilya, what is so important that you have to scream at me til I'm awake?"
"Sweetheart," Ilya coos in Shane's ear, grinding his now fully hard cock until Shane is gasping with recognition, "I think I have some things to make up to you this morning."