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It was just a few weeks into Shane’s second season as an Ottawa Centaur and he was living his dream. He was married to the love of his life, playing professional hockey for a team he loved and who loved him back just as fiercely. He had an adorable dog, a big house in his hometown, and a vacation cottage on a lake. It was everything he’d ever wanted, albeit the details were not necessarily what he would have guessed they would be if you’d asked him as a Junior what his life would look like about a decade into his MLH career.
First of all, the love of his life was a man, which would have really surprised his younger self. Second, the man is someone his younger self had known, admired, been in awe of, and was conditioned to hate.
Ilya Rozanov was destined to be his rival, two generational talents in the same draft class, vying for first pick, rookie of the year, and eventually Stanley Cups, Conn Smythe, and others. On the surface, they had nothing in common. Canada’s Golden Boy was touted as a hockey IQ phenom, with fast feet and even faster hands, creating space where there was none and scoring with deadly precision. He was quiet, a little awkward, and had a squeaky clean image. Russia’s Rozanov was everything Hollander wasn’t. Loud, brash, constantly chirping and getting under his opponents’ skin with a reputation as a cocky asshole. He was fast and had a great wrist shot, but where he excelled was in his physicality, his pokecheck, and as a heavy-hitting center. They should have been oil and water, repelling each other as they fought for the top awards. And yet—they ended up more like two magnets, helplessly drawn to each other from the day they met at the tender age of 17.
The two hockey players spent years trying to deny their feelings for each other even as they hooked up every chance they got. It had been a long road with a lot of curves and twists, including being accidentally outed to the world in dramatic fashion through being caught making out in the background of a birthday wishes video that Shane’s friend and teammate Hayden was making for a fan. But here they were now, happily married, both playing for the Ottawa Centaurs, and both supposed to be figuring out something to do for the talent show at the annual Centaurs Friendsgiving.
The Centaurs usually held their Friendsgiving right before the beginning of the season, a little earlier than actual Thanksgiving in Canada, but close enough to the start of the season that most people were already back in town. Usually it was held at Zane Boodram’s house, where Bood and his wife Cassie grilled up the main course and the rest of the team brought sides. This year it was being held at Shane and Ilya’s house because Bood’s house was undergoing a kitchen remodel that was taking a little longer than originally planned. He was still grilling meat to bring, but the rest of the food would be potluck-style from the other team members.
Shane and Ilya had moved the furniture around in their basement rec room so that there was a makeshift “stage” area on one end by the stairs. They had even put up a screen by the stairs so that the person coming out “onstage” could have a place to store props out of sight.
Last year was Shane’s first year attending this Friendsgiving and talent show, and he had not had time to prepare something in the midst of moving to Ottawa and not finding out about the talent show portion until a few days before. He had done a headstand from a wide-legged forward fold like he did sometimes in yoga. The team had seemed impressed, whistling and hollering as he came down back to his feet, slow and controlled. But even so, Shane had to admit it was a little boring.
This year, Shane wanted to do something that would surprise everyone. He’d built great relationships with his new teammates over the last year and he was feeling significantly more confident with taking risks. He had been standing in his closet, deciding on something to wear to an event, when his eyes had landed on the plaid shirt. It wasn’t appropriate to wear for the event, but it reminded him of the time his parents had taken him to the Calgary Stampede when he was a kid. They’d gone to a local restaurant that was having a line dancing night and Shane had been intrigued by having a pre-choreographed dance to do to a song. It removed a bit of the pressure of dancing in public if you could practice it ahead of time. He had not tried line dancing again since that summer, but it seemed like a good way of being able to both prepare something to perform as well as kind of shock his teammates, who all thought at this point that Shane didn’t dance.
Hell—Shane also thought that he didn’t dance, because he usually doesn’t. Clubs are not really his thing—too loud, too sticky, too many people. But dancing to one song in his own house only in front of people who like him? He could do this.
Oh yeah, and then there was going to be Ilya’s reaction. Shane was not entirely sure how his husband was going to react. He definitely knew that Ilya would be shocked. The Russian had asked Shane many times if he would dance and Shane had always declined, telling his husband that he did not dance. Shane had not wanted to ruin the surprise, so he had only practiced in their home gym when Ilya was either asleep or not home, and with earbuds in so the other man wouldn’t hear Shane’s song choice.
Shane had brought up the talent show when he was talking to Rose on the phone about 2 weeks before it was happening. She had insisted that he tell her what his talent was going to be.
“Line dancing,” Shane said casually.
“Excuse me, what??” Rose exclaimed, absolutely giddy. “Since when do you line dance?”
“Since I decided to learn one for the talent show!” Shane retorted.
“And you’re just going to do one by yourself? What song are you doing?” She asked excitedly.
“Yes, just me. And—don’t laugh, okay?” Shane felt his cheeks grow warm.
“I can’t promise that before you’ve told me!” Rose groaned.
“Uh, so the song is Save a Horse—” Shane started.
He was cut off by Rose screaming into the phone.
“Shane Hollander, you don’t mean the song that then goes Ride a Cowboy, do you?!” She squealed.
“Well, yes, I do mean that one,” Shane giggled.
“Oh my goddddd—Does Ilya know?”
“No, he doesn’t even know that I’m line dancing. I’ve told him my talent will be a surprise and I’ve only practiced when he’s asleep or not home!”
“What I would pay to see Ilya’s reaction,” Rose laughed.
“I’ll let you know if anyone gets it on film,” Shane replied.
“Wait, what are you wearing for your costume?” Rose asked.
“I already own a plaid shirt, and…jeans, I guess?” Shane said. He hadn’t really thought about it much.
“Shane! You have to get cowboy boots and a cowboy hat! This is non-negotiable!” Rose admonished. “I’m going to send you some links!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll look at them,” Shane conceded with a sigh.
And that was how Shane ended up with tighter bootcut jeans with rhinestones on the back pockets, a light blue western shirt with pearl buttons and contrasting thread M-shaped back seams that emphasized his broad shoulders, a new belt buckle, leather-soled Tecovas, and a cream-colored cowboy hat.
He put it all on while Ilya was out getting his hair cut 2 days before the talent show and quickly ran through his routine in front of the mirror in their home gym. Shane had to admit that Rose had been right. It really sold the dance more when he was actually dressed like a cowboy. He paused in front of the mirror with his phone to snap a selfie to send to her and thank her for the suggestions. One minute later, he received her reply.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shane was confused. What was that supposed to mean? He was about to text something like that back to her when she FaceTimed him. Rolling his eyes fondly, he accepted the call.
“Hi, Rose,” he said, amused.
“SHANE HOLLANDER, turn that camera around to the mirror right now so I can see your outfit!” She demanded by way of greeting.
“Hello to you too,” he chuckled, but obliged.
“Oh my GOD, hun. Ilya is going to DIE,” Rose guffawed.
“Because I look like a cowboy?” Shane asked, confused.
“Because you look like a HOT cowboy, dummy! Have you seen you?!”
“Oh. Yeah, I like it,” Shane said, a little shyly, his cheeks turning pink. He unsnapped one more button from the top of his shirt experimentally.
“Shane, babe, you are already killing him,” Rose laughed.
“I’m leaning in like you told me to!” He insisted, blushing harder.
“Will you show me your dance?” Rose asked.
“Uh, sure, part of it. Ilya will be home from getting his hair cut soon and I want to hide my outfit before he gets back.”
Shane balanced his phone on the weight rack and gave Rose a short sample of his routine with the music. When he turned back to the phone to see her reaction, she was sitting there slack-jawed, staring at him.
“You are so winning this talent show.”
—————
The day of the Friendsgiving and talent show, Ilya and Shane were up early. They had hired someone to clean the house the day before, but they still had food to make and last-minute things to do. The morning flew by, and Ilya’s chicken and dumpling soup was sitting on the stove, waiting to be transferred to a serving dish. Shane made namasu, a pickled salad of julienned carrots and daikon radishes and a simple Japanese curry like what his mom used to make when he was a kid.
Not long after, Bood and Cassie arrived, each carrying a heavy foil-covered tray. “I have the brisket and she has the smoked salmon,” he said, carrying it to the tables Ilya had set up for friends to put their contributions.
Luca Haas arrived next, with a tray of new potatoes covered in melted raclette cheese and a jar of tiny pickled cucumbers and pearl onions. “This is more traditional at Christmas in Switzerland, but it’s so good I wanted you guys to try it!” he said, placing it next to Ilya’s soup on the table.
After Luca, Troy and Harris arrived, each holding a pie. “Troy made the chocolate silk pie and I made the apple pie, of course,” Harris laughed.
“Oh, I also made Nanaimo bars! I got my mom to find her old recipe and send it to me. We used to make these when I was a kid in Vancouver,” Troy added, holding up the other container in his hands.
Wyatt and Lisa Hayes arrived with a large tray of homemade Mac n cheese and a wild rice salad. “Something good for the gut and something good for the soul,” Lisa winked.
Holmberg, Young, and LaPointe showed up with a large amount of beer and chocolate chip cookies from Costco. “Sorry, we wanted to bring homemade cookies, but we burned them!” Holmberg apologized.
“What do you mean we burned them?” Young quipped. “Bergy burned them!”
“You were just as much at fault!” Holmberg shot back. They continued into the house, arguing, while LaPointe shook his head apologetically.
Evan Dykstra and his wife Caitlin brought venison stew and sweet potato casserole. Dykstra told anyone who would sit still long enough the story about how he’d hunted and prepared the deer himself.
Everyone gathered to eat and catch up, as many of them hadn’t seen each other in person outside of training camps since the end of last season.
“What’s your talent for the show, Hollzy?” Bood asked, sitting down across from where Shane was sitting with Luca discussing the efficiency of Swiss rail with a full plate.
“You’ll see when it’s my turn to show it,” Shane replied cryptically, digging back into the large piece of Bood’s smoked salmon he was eating. “By the way, Bood, this is incredible,” he added, indicating the salmon with his fork.
“You’re trying to distract me with flattery, and it’s kind of working,” Bood laughed. He launched into an explanation of how he prepared the smoked salmon. When he was done, he turned to Luca. “Okay, Haasy, can you tell us what your talent is? Or is it also a secret?”
“Oh. No, I can tell you a little bit.” Luca turned pink. “Um, I learned some magic tricks.” He shoveled more food into his mouth and looked down at his plate, seemingly embarrassed.
“Dude, no way, that’s sick!” Bood replied. “I almost just asked you how it works, but that would sort of ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” He grinned. They continued to discuss other people’s talents and the food everyone brought for a few minutes until Ilya stood up and shouted to get everyone’s attention.
“Hi Centaurs, pay attention, your Captain is speaking!” Ilya yelled, clapping his hands. There were giggles and rolled eyes and whispers of “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Cap.”
“Talent show is starting in 15 minutes. Meet in wreck room or whatever you North Americans call the basement!” He chirruped, waving his hands.
There were scrapes of chairs and murmurs of assent as people stood, grabbed their drinks, and made their way downstairs. They draped themselves over the furniture that Ilya and Shane had grouped together on one end of the room. It was a bit of a tight squeeze with everyone, but they were pretty comfortable sitting in a pile like this, as they often held it in Bood’s living room when he had them over in the wintertime and it was too cold to sit on the deck, even with the heaters.
Ilya made himself the emcee. “Is my house,” he shrugged when Bood offered. “You can be host when it is at your house in your pretty new kitchen next year.”
“Thank you for being here, everyone. Is nice to see you all smiling before I destroy you with my talent,” Ilya winked at the gathered team and their partners. Everyone groaned.
“Who let Cap have the mic?”
“Oh come on, I bet someone else has something good this year!”
“Hey, we’ve been practicing our talent really hard and I think people will like it!” Holmberg protested.
“Oke, well you can go first, then. No need for me to break any hearts before they have a chance!” Ilya waggled the microphone at Holmberg.
Young and Holmberg got up to the makeshift “stage”. Young was carrying a canvas tote bag.
“You may all want to back up a little bit,” he told people gathered in the first row.
“Bergy had the idea to learn how to juggle for this talent show, and then I had the idea that we should learn how to partner juggle to make it cooler, so here goes nothing!” Young tossed several colorful hacky sacks to Holmberg and grabbed a few of his own. They both started out juggling their own bunch, then slowly stepped apart and turned to face each other, still juggling. Young nodded and they slowly started juggling together, throwing a hacky sack into each other’s juggling patterns without dropping any of their own.
The audience broke out in whoops and cheers. Both men grinned, though couldn’t acknowledge anyone yet for fear of dropping any of the beanbags. Holmberg caught one of Young’s that was thrown slightly askew in a signal to stop and they both bowed to raucous applause.
“Wow, that was actually impressive! Very good, boys! Next victim?” Ilya took the microphone back, a huge smile on his face. Shane loved to see him like this. He was absolutely in his element, using chirps that everyone knew had fondness behind them to bring his teammates together.
“I’ll go!” Wyatt raised his hand. He performed a short but complicated breakdance that had everyone on their feet clapping for him.
“They just keep getting better!” Ilya roared into the microphone. Harris jumped up and turned the volume down.
“Okay, next time give him a mic that doesn’t work, he does not need one,” he laughed as Shane winced.
Luca’s card tricks also drew much applause and appreciation, as did Dykstra’s rendition of “Our Song”, which he made a big show of dedicating to Caitlin, who rolled her eyes but obviously loved it.
Troy did a one-armed handstand for 49 seconds “That’s my new PB by 4 seconds!” He celebrated, red in the face as he stood up to everyone cheering. Harris grabbed him and kissed him hard.
“Get a room!” Bood shouted, laughing.
Finally, it was just Ilya and Shane left.
“Shane, my husband who has been hiding talent from me for weeks, would you like to go?” Ilya addressed Shane over the microphone in a dramatic whine.
“No, you go first, I have to get changed,” Shane replied, his ears turning pink.
“Changed? What, are you going to strip for us?” Ilya joked, still into the microphone, to laughter and groans.
“Cap, I did not need that mental image!”
“Get a roooooom!”
“Fuck off!” Shane laughed, standing up and running up the stairs. He grabbed the pile of clothes and hat where he had tucked them neatly behind a box on his side of their closet. He slipped everything on quickly, making sure to undo an extra 2 buttons at the top of his shirt and roll the sleeves to showcase his forearms this time. He took a peek at himself in the mirror before he left the room. Oh. Ilya was going to react positively, Shane suspected, chuckling to himself.
He hurried back down the stairs, staying on his tiptoes to avoid giving away the fact that he’d put on boots and stopped just short of the screen he’d placed there on purpose to block the audience’s view of him.
“Shane? Are you back? Can I go?” Ilya called from just out of sight.
“You sure can!” Shane said, not coming out from behind the screen.
“Are you—going to join us?” Ilya asked, sounding confused.
“I’m going to stay here until it’s my turn to go out, gotta—keep my surprise,” Shane heard himself say much more confidently than he was feeling.
“Oke, here I go!” Ilya stood up onstage. Shane could see him in side profile from where he was, slightly crouched to avoid the audience’s line of sight. He quickly removed his cowboy hat and hid it behind his back, silently hoping that Ilya would not look over at him and ruin his surprise.
“Today I am going to wow you all with my very amazing rap skills,” Ilya crowed to his audience, then put on Eminem’s “Rap God”. Shane was not familiar with the song, but everyone else clearly was, because after some initial whoops, they sat quietly, entranced by the sound of Ilya’s voice sliding over the syllables like he wasn’t rapping in his second language.
Shane was deeply impressed. Ilya did not so much as stutter as he kept up with Eminem beat for beat.
“Oke, that’s enough,” Ilya said after one of the really fast sections, panting a little but smiling as the team leaped to their feet to give him a standing ovation.
Shane gave a little whistle with everyone else clapping, and Ilya looked over at him just in time to see Shane donning his cowboy hat.
His eyes just about bugged out of his head as his mouth fell open.
“SHANE, wha—”
“Shhhhh!” Shane cut him off. “Please don’t ruin it!” The audience giggled.
Ilya looked like he was bursting with a million questions, but he pressed his lips together like it took a lot of effort and obliged, eyes still locked on Shane.
Shane tossed his phone to Ilya. “Can you plug this into the speakers and just hit play for me?”
Ilya caught the phone easily and crossed back to the other side of the room to plug it in.
“And finally, our last contestant, my husband, Shane Hollander,” Ilya said dramatically, which roused cheers out of the audience. When they died down, Ilya hit play on the phone.
Shane stood just behind the screen waiting for the beat he planned to step in on. Within the first 2 seconds of the song, Evan Dykstra was the first person to recognize it.
“NO! Hollzy you dog!” He whooped.
Shane stepped out to face his audience then, his own ears ringing with nerves. Or maybe it was because the moment he appeared, all the women in the room screamed simultaneously. That could also cause ear-ringing, right? Shane blushed a deep scarlet but kept going, wanting to execute his plan fully and not get off beat.
His teammates occupied two states. Some of them were whooping and hollering in encouragement, and the others were staring, with eyes wide and completely slack-jawed in surprise as Shane rolled his hips and stepped to the music.
Ilya was briefly in the latter group and then became the loudest of the former.
“That’s my fucking husband!” He crowed.
When the song finished, Shane tipped his cowboy hat and bowed. Rather than a standing ovation, the audience jumped to their feet and ran at Shane, clapping him on the back.
“Hollzy, since when can you dance?!”
“Dude, WTF, that was great!”
“Are we picking a winner this year? Because it was definitely you!”
“I think you killed Cap!”
Ilya stalked over to Shane and everyone got out of his way, giving each other knowing looks. He bent his head close to Shane’s, his eyes dark.
"I’m kicking them all out, right now.”
“What? Why?” Shane was startled.
“Shane, malysh, surely you know why,” Ilya growled low in his ear, standing close enough that Shane could feel the other man’s erection brush over his hip.
“Ilya, we can’t do that, we’re hosting!” Shane hissed back.
“I do not care. I am about one minute away from dragging you into our bedroom by that belt,” Ilya intoned, letting his lips brush Shane’s earlobe.
“Ilya!” Shane hissed again, blushing bright red.
“Oh, so you want them to stay and listen?” Ilya nodded like he understood.
Shane let his jaw fall open in shock, then laughed slightly hysterically. “No, I do not want them to listen!”
“Oke, then we agree—I kick them out now,” he waved his hand towards the stairs.
Shane closed his eyes and prayed to whoever might be listening for patience.
Ilya took that as his opportunity. “Oke, bye everyone, thank you for coming! Take leftovers home if you want and see you at practice on Monday!” He said decisively in his Captain voice to a chorus of booing.
“Awww, Cap!”
“But it was just starting to be fun!”
“We didn’t even vote on a winner!”
“Do we have to? It was obviously Hollzy!”
“We have the whole day off, and there’s still so much beer upstairs!”
Ilya shouted over everyone again. “I know, I know, but I have something to do and my husband says he does not want you all here to listen!”
Shane buried his face in his hands.
“Something or someone?”
“Eww, Evan, gross!”
“Got it, bye, please wait until we’re actually gone!”
“Everyone, bring all this stuff over to our place to keep this party going, I promise we won’t try to jump each other while you’re there!” Harris laughed.
“I do not necessarily promise this,” Troy said huskily in his ear.
To which Harris squealed, “Troy Barrett, behave!”
The chaos died down as the team filtered out of the house, carrying most of the food and beer as they headed to Troy and Harris’s place to continue the festivities.
—————
When the last teammate had just closed the door behind themselves as they left, Ilya hooked his fingers into Shane’s belt loops and dragged his hips forward to press against Ilya’s body. He dipped his head and kissed Shane slowly, tugging the other man’s bottom lip into his mouth and pulling a groan out of him.
“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” Ilya whispered against Shane’s lips, his eyes so dark they looked black.
Shane giggled a little. “I didn’t either, until I started learning. Line-dancing is fun. You can practice the dance ahead of time so you know what you’re doing.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ilya rumbled, letting his hands rove over Shane’s hips to the rhinestones over his back pockets. “Where did you learn to roll your hips like that?”
“Like this?” Shane teased, rolling his hips against Ilya’s.
Ilya cursed as Shane’s hips made friction with his rigid length. “Fuck—yes, like that!”
“Hmmmm,” Shane feigned a thinking face. “Feels similar to a motion I’ve done before, but I can’t quite put my finger on when or where.” He rolled his hips again, extra slowly, grinding into Ilya’s pelvis.
This man will be the death of me, Ilya thought to himself. Fuck, Cowboy Shane was hot.
“Hey, Cowboy. I have something you can ride,” Ilya growled, backing Shane into the wall.
“I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I may need to see what you’re offering before I accept,” Shane smirked.
Ilya let his mouth hang open, stunned. He wasn’t sure how he’d expected Shane to reply, but was very pleasantly surprised to learn that the man had some dirty talk he’d been hiding somewhere. Maybe Cowboy Shane was just that much more confident.
“Oh, no problem.” Ilya stepped back and flicked open the buttons on his jeans and let them slide low as he pulled out his rigid cock. “Will this work for you?” Ilya gave himself a stroke. The skin was pulled taut and the head glistened with pre-come.
Shane’s eyes were round as saucers as he glanced down, but his voice was surprisingly steady. “I think I can make that work,” he said approvingly, eyes snapping to Ilya’s with a mischievous glint.
He tore the snaps open on his shirt and shrugged out of it, leaving him bare-chested but still wearing his skin-tight jeans, boots, and hat. If Ilya hadn’t known better, he would have thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
“Leave the hat,” he heard himself say as Shane pulled off the boots.
Shane stilled for a second and then looked up at Ilya while undoing his belt buckle. They locked eyes again, and Shane slowly brought his hand up. He rested it on the crown of his hat and tipped it slightly at Ilya.
“As you wish,” he whispered, the corners of his mouth curving up just slightly in amusement.
Suddenly Ilya needed him out of those jeans faster. He helped Shane shove them down and off his legs so that the other man was left wearing just a cowboy hat. Ilya yanked him in and crashed their lips together, knocking Shane’s hat mildly askew.
Shane’s hands roved down Ilya’s body and settled on the other man’s hips. He pressed his thumbs into the vee of Ilya’s torso and started walking Ilya backwards towards the couch without breaking their kiss. When the backs of the Russian’s knees hit the couch, Shane placed a large hand in the center of Ilya’s chest and pushed him, encouraging him down onto the cushion. He followed Ilya down, straddling his hips.
“Wait,” Ilya paused and reached behind the white ceramic lamp base on the table beside them. His fingers closed around the packet of lube he’d hoped was still stashed there and he pulled it out. He made a mental note to refill it with more in that spot, since this was the last one.
Shane laughed, as he always did when Ilya pulled lube out from one of his many hiding places around their house. They had fun outside their bedroom so often that Ilya had gotten sick of leaving to go find lube and had hidden it in every nook and cranny he could find, to Shane’s eternal delight.
“So are you going to stay like this and ride me like cowboy?” Ilya cocked his eyebrow at Shane.
“Hmmm, I would, but doesn’t the song say that you’re supposed to ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy?’” Shane teased, leaning in to nip Ilya’s ear.
“You are right. I will be cowboy so you can ride me,” Ilya said, grabbing the cowboy hat off Shane’s head and jamming it onto his own head with a wink.
“Cocky,” Shane commented, licking his lower lip.
“And you like it,” Ilya quipped. He let his hands trail down over the hard muscle of Shane’s torso to his abs, his hips, enjoying the feel of Shane’s strength under his hands. The man had been so graceful moving his hips while he danced. Ilya had wanted to watch him forever and also immediately pull him off the stage and do exactly what they were doing right now. It did not matter how long they were together or how many times they did this. Ilya felt desire watching Shane do almost anything, but he felt positively feral watching the man show off his strength and grace.
Shane sat his weight on top of Ilya and ground his hips against the other man. Both of them groaned at the contact. Ilya loved taking Shane’s weight, feeling a little crushed underneath a man who was nearly his size. It was a sensation no other person had ever been able to give him, and one that he absolutely craved. No one was ever going to make 6’3” Ilya feel small or delicate, but another professional athlete could certainly manhandle him a little, and could take it rough without Ilya having to worry about hurting Shane.
Shane pushed his rigid cock down between Ilya’s thighs. The Russian squeezed his legs together and Shane bucked his hips.
“Oh fuck,” Shane moved his hips again, helplessly seeking friction as their bodies intertwined. He moved the brim of the cowboy hat up to press their lips together again, groaning into Ilya’s mouth when Ilya trailed his fingers over Shane’s glute and grabbed a handful of his ass.
Ilya let his fingers wander further, softly brushing over Shane’s hole as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring Shane’s mouth.
Shane sat down harder on Ilya’s hand, clearly indicating that he wanted more, but Ilya wasn’t done playing with him.
“So hard to tell what you really want, malysh,” Ilya teased, circling his finger around Shane’s rim.
“I was promised that I could ride a cowboy,” Shane drawled, though his voice sounded a little wrecked. “And fuck me, you sure look like one.” He reached up and tipped the brim of the cowboy hat and smirked at Ilya.
Ilya loved every version of Shane that he had ever encountered, but damn, Cowboy Shane had a mouth on him.
Ilya tore open the packet of lube and slicked a few fingers. He encouraged Shane up higher on his knees to gain better access and gently pushed one finger against him until he felt the muscles relax enough to continue pushing it inside.
Shane cursed and bucked his hips immediately.
“So greedy,” Ilya murmured, building a slower rhythm, stroking the pad of his finger towards Shane’s center as the other man continued cursing. Shane reached down to stroke Ilya’s neglected cock, drawing a colorful string of Russian curses out of the Russian man.
Suddenly Ilya was a lot less interested in taking it slow. He carefully inserted a second finger, letting Shane ride them a little harder as he stretched the other man open. When he was satisfied that it was enough, Ilya urged Shane up higher onto his knees again and guided him into position to sit down on Ilya. He added more lube and then grabbed Shane’s hips, encouraging him to sink his weight down. Ilya sucked in a breath as Shane sheathed himself over Ilya’s cock.
Holy shit.
The angle was incredibly tight, and the wet heat was almost enough to push Ilya over the edge. He cried out and cursed, holding onto Shane’s hips for dear life as the man found a rhythm.
“Fuck, Ilya, holy shit–so good,” Shane gritted his teeth as he ground his hips against Ilya’s.
“Are you going to come for me?” Ilya ground out, barely holding onto control.
“Fuck! Fucking make me,” Shane gasped, riding Ilya a little harder.
Ilya reached out with one hand, still slick from lubing himself up and wrapped his fingers around Shane’s length. He stroked Shane in time with the other man’s thrusts, thumbing the pre-come and slicking it over his slit.
Shane’s eyes all but rolled back in his head. His jaw was slack and he was babbling a mixture of curses and Ilya’s name. Ilya was about two strokes away from losing it completely when Shane got very loud.
“ILYA! Holy fucking shit. Fuck, right there! So fucking close. Ah–fuck!”
Hot, white stripes painted Ilya’s hand and both of their chests. Ilya felt Shane’s body spasming around him and he followed him over, shouting Shane’s name and mixture of English and Russian curses as he came.
Shane collapsed onto Ilya’s lap and pressed his face to the crook of the other man’s neck, knocking the cowboy hat off onto the back of the couch in the process.
After a few moments of both of them trying to catch their breaths and Ilya disentangling himself, Shane giggled and plucked the cowboy hat off the cushion and put it back on his head. “Cowboy Shane really does it for you, huh?”
Fuck, he has no idea, Ilya thought, grinning in spite of himself as his cock twitched.