in utero

by Anonymous

Summary:

Luca should go.

He knows he should go, and he knows that his right foot takes a half-step back, but—

Shane makes a terrible sound that will haunt Luca’s dreams for the rest of his life, and then he hisses, “You’re the one who got rock hard because a kid who has a crush on you called you papa in front of the press.”

Then, Ilya laughs, and shoves inside.

“And you’re the one who’s about to come just because I called him mama.”

This definitely isn’t what Freud was talking about.

Notes:

hopeful for a very parentson summer #LETSGETFREAKY

It is three-thirty-seven in the morning when Luca wakes. 

Usually, he has no trouble sleeping through the night, but tonight, he wakes up with a sandpaper throat and no water left in his water bottle. He had finished it when he was assembling his new shelf, and it remains where he left it, on the top rack with a stack of his favourite books and his Lakeside Morning candle. Moonlight spills through the half-open blinds and paints silver across the ceiling. He would try to force himself back to sleep, far too jetlagged to be thinking properly, but his stomach makes a small, miserable sound, and his throat burns.

Great, he thinks, and shoves his blanket off.

It still feels odd living in the same house as the guy whose jersey he owned at thirteen, whose rookie highlights he had watched so many times he had memorised the commentary by now, and whose name would make his stomach flip when commentators said it during a game. That is the only reason he still hasn’t entirely become comfortable in the house, shoving his feet into his house slippers before stepping out into the hallway, praying to every deity above that the floorboards don’t creak.

Two weeks ago, he was still living in Zürich, ducking his head under every doorway in his family’s cramped apartment. 

Ilya Rozanov threw money at this house, and his husband, Shane Hollander, made it functional. That much was clear as soon as Luca arrived, and even more obvious when Luca finds himself walking down the hall and to the kitchen. The light isn’t turned on, but the moon is bright enough that he doesn’t bother reaching out to flip the switch, just about to turn the corner when—

A gasp.

Luca looks up.

All of the air rushes out of his lungs.

Bent over the kitchen island is Shane, head hanging limply between his broad, thick-set shoulders, with Ilya fucking him from behind. At least, Luca thinks he might be, because Shane’s pants are by their feet and Ilya’s hips are smacking into him. Their breathing is ragged and Shane is whimpering like the dirty pornstars from Luca’s search history. He looks like he is in complete bliss. Luca doesn’t know what to say about the absolutely undone look on Ilya’s face. 

Nothing that he expected from his hero.

They probably thought he was still sleeping.

He knows he thought they were.

The two of them are so lost in their pleasure that they still haven’t realised that he made a noise, too, with Shane bracing his entire weight on the counter while Ilya pounds into him, one hand fisted in his hair, and the other wrapped around his hip. Luca knows because he can see it from where he is standing, just like he knows he isn’t imagining the sweat dripping from Shane’s brow, or the fact that for each soft whine that falls from Shane’s mouth, his smile widens, too. 

Luca’s throat burns. 

He knows, this time, it is not out of thirst.

Then, Ilya does something, and Shane moans.

The fingers in his hair tighten, too.

Luca knows it’s a punishment. He also knows he’s going to pass out and he will never be able to look at the two of them in the face again. 

When he first found out that he would be moving into this household, he had worried that they would be able to tell that Luca had a thing for Ilya. Not that there is any competition. Seriously. Luca isn’t stupid. The problem didn’t only come from the cheeky grin that Ilya would flash at him that would make his heart jack-rabbit in his chest. It was the fact that Shane Hollander, in the flesh, was even harder to look at, with his long, jet-black hair, and inky freckles on a perfect face. 

He had regretted making his childhood crush on Ilya known.

Now, he regretted the fact that he was seeing Shane’s beautiful face crumple in pleasure, and his hands turn into violent fists on the counter. 

He should go.

He knows he should go, and he knows that his right foot takes a half-step back, but—

“Did you like it, kotik?”

Luca doesn’t know a lot of Russian, but he has seen Ilya on four separate occasions hiding behind a large Range Rover in the parking lot and secretly feeding the small stray kitten and cooing at it. The idea that Shane Hollander would want to be that—is a man shorter than him but much larger, has grown into his body, all thick muscles and everything that Luca had hoped he would be—and likes feeling small in Ilya’s arms is enough to make him flush all over again, breath hitching, weight tipping back onto his heels.

The pants around Shane’s ankles remain like anchors while Ilya’s hand slides from his hair and wraps around the thick curve of his shoulder. The roaring of blood in Luca’s ears only dies down once he realises Shane makes a noise, stumbles on a moan, and bears his entire weight onto the counter again. “Did I like what?”

Ilya huffs out a laugh. “They were calling you his mom.”

Luca thinks he takes another half-step forward. Shane’s voice is hoarse when he continues, “I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“Not good,” Ilya rasps, and Luca’s eyes widen to the size of coins. “I thought we were past lying, kotik.”

This isn’t him, Luca thinks dazedly. This isn’t the sweet captain that he has come to know. This is a red-blooded man, nothing but carnal desire and the sort of desperation that Luca had initially thought Ilya to be capable of feeling. For years, Luca had watched Ilya’s long-winded string of sordid affairs follow him from city to city. But Shane—nothing that he had learned about the man could have prepared him for this. He was quiet, stumbling on his words when they had nothing to do with the play, and far too tender to ever partake in a dirty, filthy thing like this.

But he was wrong, he thinks stupidly, and feels his hand crawl down the waistband of his shorts. Shane makes a terrible sound that will haunt Luca’s dreams for the rest of his life, and then he hisses, “You’re the one who got rock hard because a kid who has a crush on you called you papa in front of the press.”

Then, Ilya laughs, and shoves inside.

“And you’re the one who’s about to come just because I called him mama.”

Oh.

Oh, God.

“Screw you.”

“You like that?” Ilya teases. “You wanna be a mama?”

His hand slides underneath the waistband.

“I can’t get pregnant,” Shane hisses, “if you haven’t noticed.”

His hand is on his cock.

“Doesn’t stop you from begging me to fill you up.”

Oh, God, Luca thinks again, because as soon as his hand wraps around himself, a small grunt leaves his mouth. He panics for all of two seconds before he realises that Ilya does something again that makes Shane moan like a whore. They’re so loud that they don’t even hear him. They’re so loud that Luca can barely hear what he’s thinking, transfixed by the sight of Ilya fucking Shane open in their kitchen, turning him into the lead in every dirty video Luca watches when he’s feeling particularly desperate.

“Say it,” Ilya says, and Luca’s mouth opens. “Say it, Shane.”

The whimper that drips from Shane’s mouth is honey. “Fuck me, daddy.”

Luca has never heard such an obscene noise come from his captain, but it does, and Ilya shudders with a strangled groan, “Fuck,” and there is a whine that follows. He hasn’t heard it before but he knows his body decides he likes it before he can think twice, and he can’t stop himself from squeezing a little tighter, stroking a little faster. The tight circle of his fist is the closest thing to heaven that he has exer experienced. But it’s not enough.

Not yet.

Not until he can see his guardians broken and in tatters due to each other.

Shane must think the same. Luca only thinks so because for all of the theatrics tonight, Shane has never been one to let Ilya get ahead of him. Not with anything. Still, Luca had not known that Shane could sound wicked, because he does when he laughs and turns his head to look at Ilya properly. “You’re one now, aren’t you?”

Ilya shakes his head, the huff leaving his mouth as close to a laugh as possible with how hard he is fucking Shane. “You talking about the kid sleeping down the hall while I’m fucking you?”

“Yeah.”

Ilya shakes his head again and slides his hand to the anchor point of Shane’s neck.

He doesn’t squeeze, but Luca can see what it does to Shane. “You’re so fucking dirty,” Ilya grunts, and then Luca hears the air rush out of Shane’s lungs.

Fuck. 

Have they been doing this since he moved in? 

If he inched up against the headboard of his bed and pressed into the wall as far as possible, could he have heard it? If he listened properly, would he have been able to hear the sound of Shane’s dirty mouth and his wet gasps? If he, for once, thought about someone other than Ilya, why does it end here with Ilya’s husband, and how easily undone he is? 

Because, really, it does. 

It started with his hero and it ended with the closest thing to a parent being fucked open. If Shane really were his mother,  Luca probably shouldn’t be jerking off to him. Probably. But Shane isn’t. Mostly. And it is the sight of him bent over the counter that makes Luca fall apart just as easily as Shane does. 

Mama, like the press said. 

Mother, like Ilya is calling him right now. 

It’s wrong. 

He knows it’s wrong. 

It is apparent that Shane does not care about the reality of a fantasy when he groans, “Would I be a good mother?” 

Luca feels his fist turn into a half-vice around his cock when Ilya’s entire body jerks with the strangled noise that erupts from his lungs. By now, they are making no attempt at staying quiet. Either they have a lot of faith in their walls and Luca’s sleeping patterns, or they have no issue with people overhearing. Which is—unless—did they want Luca to hear? 

The so-called son, jerking himself off faster than he ever has, and all because of his parents. 

Well. 

Semantics. 

“You already are,” Ilya breathes, and Luca sees his hand squeeze around Shane’s nape again. “You already are, kotik.” 

It should make him sick. 

It makes him harder than he has ever been. It makes his cock throb in his hand. It makes his eyes roll into the back of his head because nothing has ever felt so right and so good before. Palm swiping over the tip. Precum dripping like a faucet. Shane is acting like such a slut that Luca wonders if he likes to lick it clean. He knows that Comeau called Ilya a cocksucker on the ice a week ago but instead of getting upset, all Ilya had done was flash a winning smile, pat the man on his shoulder, and say, “Sorry. I had to up my rates since our special night. I’m not sure if you can afford—”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before he got punched. 

He also laughed every time he slammed Comeau into the boards afterwards. 

It made Luca’s palms sweat. 

Now, Luca thinks it might have been the case because he liked it. Every inch of that arm is flexing while it reduces Shane to ruin. 

Ilya likes to give. 

Luca can’t help that his brain takes this image and the sight of Shane falling apart like a wanton whore and turns it into something else. Ilya probably likes to hear how good he feels. Shane probably likes telling him, too. Ilya is so giving that he is fucking Shane like he would die if Shane doesn’t come. He would probably make Shane come over and over and over until he made a mess. He would probably do it until all he has left is a limp body that is all his to use and—

God, Luca thinks deliriously. What is he doing? 

“Shit,” Shane suddenly says, and this time, the groan that leaves his mouth is not out of pleasure. Not mostly, anyway. “I just remembered we need to drive Luca to the airport tomorrow.”

Right. 

Because it was supposed to be an early morning for them, and they were driving him to the airport to see his uncle off. He was here on a business trip, and Luca had written a few letters to give to his family. Shane had offered to drive before Luca could even say that he would get a cab. Ilya didn’t want them to go without him, so he had said they would make a road trip out of it even though the drive was barely an hour. Family trip, Ilya had said brightly. 

How strong of a bond do they have for a son to be wanting to fuck his mother? 

He doesn’t know. 

But he knows he would give anything to push his father away for a moment and feel Shane in his entirety. 

The way Ilya is progressively getting rougher and harder and faster is enough for Luca to know that nothing else could be worth losing a life over. Ilya looks like a mess. But then, Shane makes another sound, and—

“Yeah,” Ilya breathes, huffing a soft laugh under his breath. “Told you, didn’t I? You already are.” 

Luca wants to slide underneath Ilya instead and experience what it feels like to be given the world and nirvana in fifteen minutes. 

He really, really doesn’t know. 

All he knows is that his fingers squeeze around his cock before he fists himself, teeth nearly ripping through his tongue when he tries to chew off every moan that bubbles up. For every single one of Shane’s obscene moans, Luca’s grip around himself grows a little tighter. For every single one of Ilya’s filthy groans, Luca’s hand works a little faster. 

The tight circle of his fist is the only thing better than what he is seeing right now. 

Shane takes a breath, and arches into Ilya’s touch. “And you’re a good father, aren’t you?” 

Ilya’s voice is weak. “I’m trying.”

Shane doesn’t let up. “Keeping me satisfied and looking after our son?”

Neither does Luca’s fist. 

This time, Ilya’s voice is pained. “Shit—”

Oh, God. 

He’s going to come in seconds. 

He’s not really trying to hide himself anymore. He doesn’t know if it’s because of how loud his parents are being. He only knows one thing, and it is that he is going to come all over his hand, and he wishes he could do something else about it. Now, he can’t see Shane’s face. But he can imagine how it must crumple when Ilya’s hand tightens, wonders whether Shane would look like that if Luca got between them, wonders if Ilya wants Luca with them all of the time like he keeps telling Luca every day—whether being a family meant seeing each other at their most vulnerable—

“Because that’s what they’re calling him, right?”

His thumb digs into the slit. 

“Shane—”

His mouth drops open in a gasp. 

“Our son is down the hall and you’re fucking me like you want to give him a brother,” Shane rasps. “Or did you want to give him a sister?”

Ilya comes. 

At least, Luca thinks so, because the sudden noise that Shane makes is obscene, and Luca watches his entire body jolt on the counter, falling apart like his body no longer exists for a purpose Ilya’s pleasures. Shane comes, too. Luca knows he does because his body quivers and shakes like a loose leaf in the wind and Ilya moans all over again. 

Them, falling apart over having Luca for a son. 

And then he comes. 

He doesn’t really know what happens other than the fact that he comes so hard that he blacks out for a few moments, fist turning into a death grip as he makes a mess on himself. 

He looks down dazedly. There is a streak of his cum on the floor that he wipes away with his slipper. He doesn’t even know if he manages to get all of it, but as soon as he sees Ilya backing away and Shane begin to stand up, he knows there is only a matter of seconds before he is found out. 

Maybe they know. 

He doesn’t think he wants to see the look on their faces when they tell him they knew he was there. 

So, he tucks his tail between his legs, shoves his cock back inside his shorts, and marches back to his room. 

Only five minutes later, he can hear Shane and Ilya talk to each other while they make their way past his bedroom and to theirs. It is far too quiet for him to hear what they are saying. His heart is beating too fast for him to hear it, too. The glass of water he had wanted doesn’t exist anymore. 

Or, it does, but for wildly different reasons. 

He knows that this is common. 

That, sometimes, people touched themselves to thoughts that they would later realise was not just ridiculous, but fucked up. That it was often to find pleasure in the unnormal and illogical over realistic fantasies. But not Luca. The craziest thing that Luca had wanted was for the pretty bartender at his favourite pub in Zürich to lick his balls. She did it, it was fine, and Luca realised that he is far more normal than he expected. He was supposed to be normal. Except this wasn’t. 

So, probably, maybe, this is one of those moments. 

Post-nut clarity, or whatever they called it. 

He isn’t fucked up, he tells himself as he burrows into his bed and shoves the duvet over his head. Seriously. 

Except he doesn’t really experience this post-nut clarity that everyone else talks about, and he has to shove his earphones in his ears when he realises he can remember the noise Shane made when he came as soon as he saw Shane in his immediate vicinity.

Whatever.

He isn’t fucked up.

He isn’t.

The next week, Shane invites the rookies over so they can have a mostly unsupervised movie night. He only steps inside three times, passing a round of far too healthy snacks whenever they are running dangerously close, and only leaves when Ilya jokingly offers some of his stash and takes him for what Luca thinks might be some weird punishment ritual. 

Ilya seems to enjoy that a lot from the amount of times Luca has seen him intentionally antagonise his husband. Shane doesn’t seem actually bothered by it, which is why Luca decided he didn’t really want to ask further questions, but the rookies don’t make it easy because the memory that Luca had been shoving down for the last eight days comes back at full force once Dex shoves his shoulder and says, “Bet you don’t have to miss your mom too much when Hollywood’s looking after you like one.”

Luca flushes, hears Ilya’s bright laughter echo from behind them, and then flushes even harder.

It is when the boys have left and Luca has put away the dishes, television turned off and blankets put away, that he realises Ilya is standing in the yard, joint in his mouth, and idly scrolling through his phone.

The last time, Luca said he was only joining Ilya because he was checking if everything is locked up and all gates are closed. Bad habit from home, he said. His sisters always forgot. Ilya said there would never be anything for Ilya to worry about. Not even Shane being mad if he wanted to try smoking. That was a lie if Luca has ever heard one, and he declined and watched Ilya laugh about it. This time, though, he doesn’t offer any excuses when he pulls the door open and slinks outside.

The evening is cool to bite and Luca shoves his hands inside his pockets. Ilya doesn’t put his phone away, and he doesn’t look up, either. Luca doesn’t really mind the pungent smell of weed after one too many trips to Amsterdam in the summer, and over the last few weeks of living here, the sight of Ilya with a joint in his mouth is a rarity. He doesn’t know whether it is because of the decade that Ilya had spent with Shane that had turned him into this—where he would only indulge when he feels that he has earned it. “How are you feeling about the game?”

Luca doesn’t ask what the occasion is and only tilts his head. “In Boston?”

Ilya finally glances at him. “Yes. They’re good, you know.”

Luca huffs out a laugh. His childhood bedroom walls speak for themselves, but he thinks that if he showed Ilya that, then his head might get bigger, and then Shane will have a genuine excuse to kill him, if not for the fact that Luca has been helplessly pining like a sick puppy for the last nine. “I do,” he simply says. “A little nervous, maybe.”

Ilya nods once, twice, and takes another long drag. “Good,” he says, voice slowing down just enough for Luca to know that it is finally getting to him. He sounds more relaxed than he has this entire weekend. “You should be.”

“What’s Marlow like?”

He already knows the answer.

Ilya also knows that Luca already knows the answer.

For some reason, still, Ilya indulges him, too. “He’s not Price,” he says with a shrug. “But he’s smarter to make up for it.”

“Oh.”

Ilya’s gaze flicks back to him like a reward.

“You’re better than he was at your age,” Ilya says simply, and Luca’s brain stops. By no means does Ilya withhold praise. Luca has watched Ilya speak about Luca since before he was even drafted. It is still the first time Ilya has said something about him since Luca watched Ilya brag about him while balls deep in Shane. Before Luca can think of an answer beyond his sudden, violent blush, Ilya’s mouth curves into a grin. His fingers catch Luca lightly by the ear and give a small, absentminded tug. “But you are still too wet behind these ears. So you have to be careful.”

Luca remembers how those fingers looked when they were wrapping around Shane’s neck.

“I will,” he says, voice garbled. “I have their last game against the Admirals downloaded so I can watch it tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Shane said so.”

For a long moment, Ilya doesn’t say anything. His eyes glow under the warmth of the small ember at the tip of his joint. 

He takes a slow drag, pauses, and then exhales away from Luca’s face. “I get why your father is always so proud of you,” Ilya finally says, voice rumbling low enough to rattle inside Luca’s chest, and Luca feels his knees almost give out when Ilya lifts a hand and pats his head once, twice. “Good boy.”

Twenty minutes later, Ilya leaves to join his husband in bed, and Luca retires to his own bedroom.

If he hears Ilya fucking Shane through their mattress, then it is his secret to keep, just like the one of him burying his hand between his legs with the other shoved into his mouth, or that it only takes two minutes for him to spill all over himself like a virgin.

Fine. 

He might be a little fucked up.

Just a little.

Luca’s goal beats the Bears in overtime.

To celebrate, Shane suggested getting dinner, and half the rookies find out before they even make it back to the hotel. They ended up at Ilya’s favourite bar, and Luca watched Cliff Marlow speak his praises into Ilya’s ear all night while Shane awkwardly finished his beer and kept an eye out for the rookies. Later, Ilya had pulled him aside while they were drunkenly going back to the hotel. Shane wanted to celebrate with just you, Ilya murmured, and then said something in drunken Russian that Luca couldn’t translate.

But he understood.

At least, he thought he did.

So, Luca had sidled up to Shane while they were boarding the plane, and had asked if he could treat Shane to a nice dinner once they made it back home. 

Ilya invited himself, naturally. 

He asked Luca if his paycheck could afford their favourite restaurant all the way in the Upper East Side. The look on Luca’s face must have been something else, because Shane whacked Ilya on the head with a towel for that, and said that their actual favourite restaurant was the small hole-in-the-wall near his old apartment. The restaurant is loud, far too many overlapping voices, laughter echoing off the bright walls. It’s nice, Luca finds, by the time their orders are brought to the table. 

As nice as it could be when he is crammed into a booth and seated in between Shane and Ilya.

Luca is far too aware of the heat of Shane’s thigh, or where Ilya’s knee has been brushing his for the last five minutes. It’s a gentle touch, and not something that Luca thinks he needs to shy away from. He thought that Ilya must feel the same. It’s nowhere near the dirtiest thing that Luca has felt, even if it makes him blush. It is a tight space, and an accidental touch is just a touch, but—

After Ilya’s knee presses against his for a sixth time, and deliberately stays close, Luca’s mouth dries.

His grip tightens around his fork.

He shifts, just a little, trying to create an inch of space between them, but Ilya follows.

This time, a light nudge, almost playfully. 

Luca stares very hard at the table, at the small basket of bread that Shane has just pushed between them. He thinks he looks at literally anything that isn’t Ilya’s thigh pressed warm and solid against his own. Ilya pushes again.

He doesn’t think he means to do it, but he pushes back.

Ilya huffs a laugh.

He pushes.

Luca pushes back.

He pushes.

Luca—

“Boys.”

Luca’s eyes snap to the man sitting on his other side.

Shane is staring at them with an arched brow and pursed lips. He would think that Shane is upset if not for the fact that his mouth quirks, and then his gaze flicks down from Luca’s wild eyes, at something Luca is sure he is hallucinating, and then back up. “Behave,” Shane says mildly.

A beat of silence, and Luca’s response is automatic: “Yes, mama.”

Shane freezes.

So does Luca.

The words hang in between them, fully formed, and completely irreversible.

He can feel the moment it registers properly, because while the horror crashes over him and his stomach drops, Shane’s eyes widen. Only for a moment, then two, and then he visibly schools it back down. There is a stone in his throat and Ilya is a statue beside him. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t thinking about anything but Shane calling himself Luca’s mother when Ilya was trying to fuck him pregnant. As if it was possible. But that was because of Luca. And, today, it was only a joke—

Until Shane reacts the way he does, and Luca knows that while it was entirely unintentional, he had crossed the line.

They don’t know about the million other ones that Luca has crossed. They don’t need to know. For this, at least, he should apologise. He knows he should. But mama refuses to leave the tip of his tongue and Shane is watching him with a carefully blank face. He doesn’t know what that means. Then, Shane’s eyes drop to Luca’s mouth, then further down, and comes back up innocently. Luca’s face burns hot, hotter, and then unbearable. He feels dizzy. He opens his mouth, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to say—he has to apologise—he has to—

Ilya’s thigh presses into his.

A sharp inhale. 

“If you’re really sorry,” Ilya says casually, “then you’d give your old man a treat.”

Luca blinks.

His gaze flicks to Shane before he can stop it, and—

Shane is already watching him.

Eyes dark, as intense as the first night. That has always been the problem with Shane’s gaze. It demands attention, and Luca has a hard time looking at anything else. Focused on Shane’s unblinking, piercing gaze, the way it drops down to Ilya’s knee pressing Luca’s thighs shut. Their eyes don’t leave each other even for a moment as Ilya whispers something against his ear. One fry is fine, apparently. Shane can’t see it, Luca knows, but he knows that Shane will know an order when Ilya gives one.

He stares while Luca’s hand automatically reaches out to the basket and he stares while Luca turns toward Ilya with a crinkle cut fry.

Ilya doesn’t take it.

Luca’s eyes finally leave Shane’s heavy gaze and turns to the man on his left, and—

Ilya reaches forward.

When he takes it into his mouth, his lips close around Luca’s finger, and Luca jerks back.

Ilya doesn’t let it stop him.

It’s warm until his tongue flicks out and drags over the pad of Luca’s finger where the grease and salt still linger, and then it’s wet, and—

Luca jerks back again like he has been burned.

Ilya chews on the fry.

His lips smack together when Luca accidentally looks back at Shane.

He thinks Shane is angry until he sees Shane’s eyes darken unmistakably, flicking between the sight of his spit-slick finger and Ilya’s fry-filled mouth. Down to their knees. Down to Luca’s lap. He might be hard. He doesn’t want to look. If he acknowledged this, he knows there will be no coming back. He has only been here for a few weeks and he isn’t ready for them to send him back home yet. He wants this family. He wants them in whichever way they will have him. Shane is looking at him and watching the curve of Luca’s cheek and the sharp rise and fall of his chest.

Sometimes, when Luca stops overthinking and just looks, what Shane wants is clear as day. The idea that Shane is playing with him is enough to make the air rush out of his lungs. “Tastes good,” Ilya says, and Shane exhales softly. 

A blink.

Then, as if nothing as happened, Shane’s face returns to normal, and he rolls his eyes before turning back to his plate. “Give Luca a tissue, will you?”

Luca swallows, heat still prickling under his skin, and drops his gaze back to the table. His pants feel tight. He wonders if Shane noticed it before he did. He probably didn’t. If he did, then he would have said something. Over these weeks, Luca has come to learn that Shane is far more outspoken than anyone else when there’s something he dislikes. Surely, he wouldn’t like the sight of someone he called his own son to be hard by the thought of calling him a mother. 

Surely.

Ilya gives Luca a tissue to wipe his finger, and winks when he thumbs over the oil on his lip. Luca swallows again and shivers when he feels Shane’s knee press against him.

His leg stays exactly where it is.

Surely, this doesn’t mean anything.

Luca is not a fool to think otherwise.

Right?

Everything changes.

Okay. Not really.

A few things change, where Luca is mostly successful in each of his attempts to avoid Shane like the plague after what had happened. Ilya barely gives him a chance to run away, constantly throwing an arm over his shoulder between practice, and driving him wherever he wanted to go. Shane mostly kept to himself and gave Luca his space, which was easy until it wasn’t, and Ilya told Luca that it was their turn to host the cookout for the team this month, with Bood bringing over his grill and enough to feed an army. 

Which is fine.

Except the part where Ilya’s presence is as difficult to swallow.

It was packed, which meant it was relatively easy hiding himself, and it became even easier once he had a few beers and two hits from the joint that Wyatt had silently rolled for him. 

The smoke clung to him like a coat and blurred every single one of his senses just enough that he forgets about Ilya as soon as Shane’s hand casually finds his waist. Today, Shane was also letting loose. Luca thinks he is, at least, because he had nothing to say about the joint in Luca’s mouth and is pouring himself a second glass of wine. The bass of Ilya’s speaker thumps the walls the same way Luca’s heart shudders in his chest when Shane leans in with a lazy, drunk smile on his lips. His dark eyes glint at him under the warmth of the September sun, and the lull of his voice feels like a blanket. “You doing okay?”

Luca takes a moment to think, and nods slowly. “Yes. Very.” 

He’s not lying. He’s been having a wonderful evening until he felt Shane’s hand on him. “Good,” Shane says quietly. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself, okay?”

Luca nods slowly again. “I will.”

Shane’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, and his thumb dips underneath Luca’s shirt and slowly drags over the firm plane of his stomach. He wonders if Shane’s smile widens because he can feel Luca quiver at the touch. “Good boy,” Shane murmurs, and Luca’s brain stops.

Ilya says that a lot.

So does Shane, to be fair, but not since what happened at the restaurant.

For some reason, this time, it sticks, and drips like hot glue into the pit of Luca’s stomach. Warmth, and a visible shudder that Shane maintains with a firm hand on Luca’s waist. When Ilya says it, Luca knows that he intends on making Luca blush, because the laughter that leaves him is raucous every time. Coaches say that. Parents say that, too. It’s normal. It’s normal, but Luca remembers Ilya’s hand on his head and his mouth on Luca’s finger. It’s normal, but Luca remembers the way Shane moaned at having Luca for a son. It is, by far, the most normal praise one could receive from a parent, except—

None of this is normal.

Not anymore.

And, truthfully, Luca is far too wasted to stop himself from finally asking. “Why do you guys call me that?”

For what it’s worth, Shane doesn’t seem fazed by the sudden flush on Luca’s cheeks. He just tilts his head and blinks. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I—” Luca starts, feels all of his thoughts trip over each other and the words tangle like knots in his mouth. Too high. He’s not sober enough for this. If he was sober, he probably would have continued ignoring whatever this was. “I just—”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

Luca blinks, and so does Shane, because his answer leaves his mouth before Shane even properly finishes the question.

A beat of silence, then two.

Shane takes a step.

His chest brushes against Luca’s side and Luca feels an exhale unlodge from his chest.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Please don’t,” Luca blurts without thinking, and flushes even harder when Shane quirks a brow, own gaze dropping to the floor. “Um.”

He knows he can’t look at Shane when he always looks at Luca with overwhelming focus. He knows he can’t look at Shane when he doesn’t know how to do anything but listen. He hasn’t figured out what this is. He hasn’t figured out what it means, either. To him, and to them, and everything in between. He knows that Shane will only have to get one proper look at his eyes to know that this is no longer an intangible thing. 

With everything—Luca doesn’t know how to take a step back. It is up to him to back away, he knows. Neither of them have actually done anything. 

The lines are blurred but Luca knows how to draw one in the sand.

Shane’s voice is painfully even when he finally asks, “Why are you looking away from me?”

Luca swallows thickly. The lump in his throat is seemingly permanent. “I don’t know,” he admits.

Another brief pause, and then Shane says softly, “Look at me.”

For a moment, he doesn’t want to listen. He can refuse, he knows. He can laugh about this and leave and Shane would let him. Ilya was the one who chased. Shane was perfectly happy to let both of them come crawling because they all knew that Shane was the inevitable conclusion regardless of where they were. This would be the smart thing to do. Luca, unfortunately, has never claimed to be that even if his guardians did. 

He stays still.   

Shane’s hand comes up to his face. “Look at me,” he murmurs again, and Luca shivers when he feels warm fingertips graze his neck, his jawline, his cheek, until Shane’s thumb is cradling his cheekbone and carefully tilting his head back up. Where Ilya is brute strength, Shane is more of a guide on the ice. Shane never forces. Shane nurtures, and even while Luca still has to look down at Shane with the few inches he has on him, he feels far smaller than he ever has.

It almost feels worse.

Their eyes finally meet, and Luca feels his brain dissolve into static.

Shane is staring at him.

Shane is staring at him in the same way that he had stared Luca down in the restaurant, and he is staring at him in the same way Ilya had stared Luca down over the joint in his mouth in their backyard. The very same one that they are in right now. He doesn’t know why Shane is staring at him like that. Okay—he does. Maybe. He thinks he does, but he knows he’s just making this up. It has to be the only possible conclusion when Luca hasn’t gotten laid in months.

Half of the reason behind his self-imposed celibacy is in front of him, even if he doesn’t know it. The other half is annoying Bood into giving him one of the chicken wings. He has no idea that Shane’s pupils are currently blown and almost glaring Luca frozen to his spot. 

This feels far too deliberate for Luca not to notice the bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Someone must have stuffed his ears with cotton. His mouth, too. Because there is no other reason why Luca’s mouth feels like sandpaper at the look on Shane’s face, and how his fingertips dig into Luca’s jaw. Then, like a swinging guillotine, Shane murmurs sweetly, “Good boy.”

His body jolts.

Shane’s fingers tighten. “You listen so well to Ilya,” he continues.

Luca nods automatically. “He’s the captain,” he finds himself saying.

Shane tilts his head, almost imploring. “You listen to me, too.”

“Yeah, well, you’re practically my—”

Luca bites his tongue.

Oh, fuck.

He almost said it.

He almost fucking said it.

Shane’s lips part. “What?”

He shouldn’t say it.

He really shouldn’t say it.

But, as always, Luca’s favourite thing to do when it comes to Shane Hollander and his beautiful face is to listen. Even if it is at his expense. Even if it is at the expense of his career. “Mama,” he whimpers, and—

A soft noise leaves Shane’s mouth.

Luca’s lips part with an apology, but it never leaves, because a soft pink colours the apples of Shane’s cheeks, and Shane’s hand settles more firmly against Luca’s face.

He doesn’t know if it’s the weed or the copious amounts of alcohol swimming in his guts, but for a moment, the only thing he can feel is the man in front of him, and what it is doing to his body. How his breath has gone shallow. How his skin feels like it is boiling from where it is touching Shane. How something pulls low in his stomach, and how it feels like the white-hot pleasure Luca vividly remembers had curled his toes when Ilya came inside Shane and Shane came all over the kitchen counter.

“Do you want me to be?”

At first, Luca doesn’t know what he’s saying.

He knows Shane can tell when the question lands because he trembles, almost pitches over into Shane’s body, and feels Shane’s chest press against his torso. 

But Shane’s hand is still on his face.

And Luca—

“I don’t know,” he finally ends up saying, because it is true, and he doesn’t know why his voice sounds strangled but he knows that he likes how it feels in his mouth and when it leaves and what it does to Shane’s face. 

He knows that his stomach feels tight and there’s warmth pooling under his ribs. He knows that his pants are feeling tight. He knows that Shane can probably feel it against him. They’re pressed up against each other. Nobody else has realised that Luca is hard because Shane is asking him to call him his mother. Nobody else has realised that Luca, for all of his naivety, wants to screw someone he wants to be his mother. 

He knows that he hasn’t stepped back, and he knows that Shane is taking another half-step closer until their bodies are flush against eacah other. “Say it,” Shane says softly.

It sounds like a plea.

A slow, absent stroke along his cheek. 

Luca’s eyes slip shut. “Mama,” he says again.

Shane exhales loudly. “Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along Luca’s cheek once more, then twice, and ultimately holding his face in his rough palm. “Good boy.”

He doesn’t want it to stop.

He doesn’t want it to end here before he can—

“Hollywood!”

Luca flinches.

Shane’s hand drops immediately when he turns. 

Wyatt is waving from the grill. It seems like Ilya is trying to steal the grilled pieces and is now in a fight with Bood who looks stupid with a pair of tongs for a weapon. Shane blinks, turns to Luca who blinks back, and even though the look on his face is still there, Luca is not given the chance to do anything about it because Dex barrels into him from behind and takes him away.

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Except that definitely wasn’t nothing, and worse, he didn’t want it to be nothing.

Ah, shit.

He should have known better.

He knows he should have known better, because long after the party wraps up and the team leaves, he finds himself sitting against the headboard with a bottle of lube by his side. He does this almost every night now. The memory of Shane being fucked open by Ilya is a ghost haunting his every waking moment. But this is the first time he is bothering to take his time with it, because he knows that Shane left with Bood, and Ilya went down to the store with Wyatt to do a quick refill of their groceries.

By his drunken estimates, he should have twenty minutes before Ilya comes home.

At least, that’s what he thought when he wrapped a slick hand around his cock, and started jerking himself off without properly closing the door.

He didn’t think much of it back then. He might have been far too wasted to care.

He might still be wasted, because without thinking, he finds himself moaning, “Mama.”

And—

There is a soft noise.

But Luca is supposed to be home alone.

His eyes snap to the door, cracked open just an inch, and behind it, a very familiar face.

Ilya’s hand is hovering over the doorknob as if he had no idea where he was going, but his face is completely blank. Before Luca’s brain catches up to the sight, his hand twists, an obscene moan leaves his mouth.

A blink of his eyes and two seconds later, Ilya is still watching him, eyes glued to every single stroke, how Luca’s hips twitch each time. The rustling of the sheets are loud against the harsh breathing coming from Luca’s mouth, and he can’t help the way his fist tightens when Ilya’s gaze darkens. The shock melts away so easily that Luca wonders if he is hallucinating this—the closest thing he has to a father in Ottawa watching him jerking off to the man calling himself Luca’s mother. 

But then, a wicked smirk, and nothing like the earnest man that Luca has become intimately familiar with over the last few weeks.

Luca jolts, and his breath catches in his throat, because his father is watching him—and he likes this. It was one thing to have gotten off to the sight of his parents fucking, but it was something else entirely when one of them was in the same room—well, not really, but the point still stands: Ilya is actively staying back to watch this obscene, animalistic scene of Luca jerking off and enjoying the view, crossing his arms and shifting in place, not straying more than half a step from the door.

The name of the man on the other side of the room is sitting on the tip of his tongue. Papa, he almost says, but he can’t—he can’t say it because then it stops and the only person who wants Luca to treat them like a parent is Shane and the only thing he wants right now is to come until he can’t think because he’s halfway there already with just the weight of Ilya’s familiar gaze on him.

He has bitten down on his tongue so hard he thinks he can taste iron over the sweat that’s dripping down his face. He wants to come, he realises. He needs to tip over the edge to the sight of the complacent smile on Ilya’s face, pleased and satisfied with how he brings himself to the finish line with ease, calling for someone that he shouldn’t want.

Luca’s legs widen.

The sight of Ilya’s face crumpling at the sight is enough to make him want to test the rule and see just how far he can take this. Ilya has already heard him, after all, and continuing to watch shouldn’t be difficult when he’s already doing it. Eyes darkening, tongue darting out to swipe against his bottom lip while his gaze is entirely fixed on the sight of Luca’s hand wrapping around his cock and jacking himself off in perfect time with every single one of Ilya’s breaths.

Those eyes are glued to where Luca is fisting his cock and his eyes are glued to where Ilya’s hand is dragging against his own cock through his shorts. 

This is wrong, he thinks, but he doesn’t care.

Tonight, what makes him come will not be his hand, but his father who is watching him from right outside the room. 

This alone is enough, he thinks dazedly, transfixed by Ilya who is palming his cock leisurely, nothing like the frantic pace that Luca is working himself with. He prefers to take his time. Luca already knows this, but the reminder that he has already seen it in action is enough to make him moan, white-hot flames burning in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t even move anymore, barely registering the look on Ilya’s face, limbs almost melting underneath his own hand as he pushes himself to the edge. He knows Ilya can hear it, too—can hear the wet sounds he’s making, his heavy breathing and the whines of Shane’s new name. Luca is going to come any second now, Ilya’s hand blurring over the front of his shorts, and his eyes slip shut, head tilting back, voice cracking with the force of his unintelligible pleas as he finally, finally reaches the finish line. 

His wrist twists once, twice, and when Luca opens his eyes, Ilya is mouthing, “Come.”

Luca blinks, and then, it crashes into him like a flood. 

He has denied himself this for so long, walking the fine line between pain and pleasure as he keeps taking what Ilya gives him, spilling into his hand and onto the sheets below him. He comes so hard that his vision blurs. He knew it already and so did Ilya: taking orders came as naturally as breathing for a reason. A tremble, a jolt, and Luca finally takes a breath.

When he casts a glance at the door, Ilya is no longer there.

Yeah.

He might have been wrong.

This should have been a figment of his imagination.

Luca knows it isn’t when he walks in on Ilya fucking Shane in the kitchen again at four in the morning, and Ilya only smiles at him.

Shane is too busy moaning to notice.

He leaves, the hardest he has ever been, and doesn’t bother biting back his moans when he finally touches himself in his bedroom.

His parents call him two days later. 

The only question he can’t answer is about whether Shane and Ilya are everything he thought they would be. He doesn’t think they would find it funny if the two men posing as his guardians wanted him. 

He thinks they would bring him back home if they knew he was the one making it happen. 

They played the Queens tonight.

While they win, it is not one that Luca is proud of. Not only did he not score a single goal, but he got into stupid scuffles that were entirely preventable. It wasn’t his fault that Frank Zullo was the biggest asshole on the ice after Comeau. He had no idea why Toronto would even take Zullo in after the scandal. He also had no idea how Scott Hunter played with him for years but the wince on Zullo’s teammate’s face almost made up for it when Luca punched Zullo in the face before being sent off the ice. 

For what it’s worth, Ilya was nice about it when they gathered in the locker room. We’re a team, he said, and I’m supposed to look after you. Well, they’re supposed to look after each other, but Shane’s soothing hand on his back felt like another kind of signal by the time they made it back to the bus. 

He feels so terrible that he declines Dex’s invitation to go partying. A win doesn’t mean much when all it did was make him want to punch someone. 

Unfortunately, he had no energy left to go take it out on the sandbag in the hotel gym, but Ilya comes with a swift solution: family movie night, courtesy of the new, very expensive hard drive that Shane bought and Ilya used to keep his One Tree Hill episodes. It’s all he and Yuna talk about lately. Shane doesn’t look interested until Luca suggests the new horror movie that Rose Landry filmed early last year. 

It’s a great idea until it isn’t, and Luca is trying not to piss himself during the movie. He somehow manages to make it through, still, jolting into Shane’s arms and laughing when Ilya nearly screams with each jumpscare. By the time they finish up and clean the mess they’ve made of Shane and Ilya’s shared room, Luca goes to leave. 

But then Shane says something about it being late, and Ilya says their bed is big enough for Luca to stay if he feels comfortable.

Which he does. 

Luca opens his mouth to say no, but then a vision of Rose covered in blood flashes behind his eyelids, and he stutters his way through, “Yes.” 

The bright smile that Shane sends him is enough to make the movie worth it. 

Well, until Luca finds himself back in the middle, eyes glued to the ceiling. 

He had already known that the bed wasn’t big enough to fit all three of them when they were so large, but for some reason, Shane gets in after Luca and makes him take the middle. Something about how now Ilya’s legs can find a new punching bag for a change. Ilya huffed and dramatically threw the duvet over himself before turning over to face the wall. He still melted when Shane leaned over to kiss him and Luca tried not to think about how they looked hovering over him with their mouths pressed together.

Anyway.

Now, Ilya is fast asleep, and Luca is on his back with his arms stiff at his sides. He doesn’t know where to put them. Shane isn’t asleep. At least, Luca doesn’t think so. His breathing hasn’t slowed down the same way that Ilya’s has, and he shifts back just a little while he gets comfortable, accidentally pushing himself close enough for Luca to feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of their sheets. 

It is—

Far too much.

Far more than necessary. 

Luca exhales slowly, trying to relax into it, failing not to notice every point of contact that isn’t happening. The almost-touch of Ilya’s arm. The faint brush of Shane’s back against his elbow. These are things that would make his cock twitch. It did earlier. But, for some reason, Ilya didn’t seem to care that someone who wanted his husband was currently half-touching him in the same bed. And Shane didn’t seem to care that Luca wanted him because he was his parent. 

Neither seemed to care that Luca was far too fucked up to be enjoying something like this, but right now, Luca didn’t really care that he was in the same bed with them at all.

It is embarrassing to admit that if it weren’t for the movie, then Luca would probably be spiralling because of other reasons. He flinches. Every scene from the movie comes in fragments, all blood and manic smiles, and his parents being there do nothing to help. A sharp breath. He flinches again. The fear is sitting in the back of the throat and a call for his mother is on the tip of his tongue. He sighs and tries to get up—

“Can’t sleep?”

Luca’s head snaps back to Shane who has his head turned back just enough to see Luca squirming. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “No,” he admits, a little helplessly. “M’scared.”

It sounds stupid as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He’s a big boy now. He shouldn’t be scared of these things when none of it was real. But his life back home in Zürich made him far more inclined to believe in the supernatural and superstitions. He blames his crazy great-aunt for this. He remembers how hard the Centaurs would laugh every time they tripped him over with stupid pranks. He remembers how terrified Ilya was, too, even if he pretended he was fine. Shane laughed then. Luca’s eyes screw shut in anticipation, but Shane doesn’t laugh.

Instead, Shane turns around completely, and Luca resolutely looks away from his sleepy, freckled face and back to the ceiling. “Because of the movie?”

Luca swallows again. “Yes. Sorry. I can go back to my room if I’m keeping you up.”

He almost hopes that Shane will let him. He knows that Shane is sweet enough to let these things go compared to his husband who would probably tie him down to the bed to get his way—okay, different thing entirely, but the point stands. He can, at least in the privacy of his own room, afford to spiral about something as silly as this. But Shane’s hand reaches out and carefully lands on his chest. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable here? I don’t want you to be scared alone.”

Luca hesitates, because—

Well.

Yes.

“I guess.”

A beat of silence, then two. 

“Want a hug?”

Luca’s mouth opens.

No words leave, however, as he helplessly stares at Shane who stares back at him. 

The last time someone hugged him was around six hours ago when Wyatt saw the look on Luca’s face while leaving the locker room. The last time a parent hugged him was his mother when she said goodbye at the airport before her flight back home. The last time someone Luca desperately wanted had wanted to touch him—he was sixteen, a virgin, and convinced he would not make the draft. Since it happened, he had been wondering whether Ilya had told Shane about what he saw. If he did, Shane doesn’t have a problem with it.

Clearly not, because he pulls the sheets away just enough for Luca to catch a glimpse of Ilya’s black shirt that he’s wearing. Yes, Luca thinks. He would like a hug if Shane would be so kind as to offer him one—even if it was simply coming out of guardianship.

He doesn’t say it out loud.

He doesn’t need to.

Shane shifts forward, lifting his arm for Luca to see the open invitation, and the easy smile on Shane’s mouth. “Come here,” Shane murmurs.

Luca moves before he can think twice.

The sheets are pulled enough for Luca to comfortably slide underneath them, and he fits himself into the open space. It is tentative for all of two seconds before Shane’s arm settles around, warm and steady, and Luca’s body just gives. His face tucks itself into Shane’s chest when Shane’s arms pull him close. His bicep is a comfortable spot for his head, but—

He takes it back.

This is the closest thing to nirvana that Luca has experienced in weeks. Shane’s aftershave smells heaven-sent when Luca’s nose presses to the sliver of skin above the neckline of Shane’s shirt. His arms are like anchors. For the first time, Luca doesn’t mind drowning. “Comfy?”

Luca only nods. 

Shane’s arm winds around until his fingers can find the hairs at the nape of Luca’s neck. “Good,” he says quietly, and makes a little noise of what sounds like satisfaction under his breath. “Close your eyes, Luca.”

He listens, and hears the world go quiet.

For a while, at least.

Shane’s breathing begins slowing down far quicker than Luca anticipates, and the only reason he knows that Shane still hasn’t fallen asleep is because his fingers never stop stroking. Behind him, Ilya shifts once, the mattress dipping underneath his weight. He’s close enough that Luca can feel the heat of him without even touching. It is—strange. To be here and to touch them. To be doing this at all, especially with their permission.

Because Luca is aware of what has changed.

Because Luca knows that for everything that has happened, none of it has been said out loud yet, and is still simmering underneath the surface. Because, with each touch, Luca is getting hard in his thin cotton pajama pants, and he is trying not to touch Shane more than necessary.

Eventually, he will have to leave.

If he’s lucky, he’ll fall asleep.

As difficult as that sounds, it is the only way he can get away with this. For now, though, he will stay as still as possible, and drink in the scent of Shane’s seaweed shampoo and Ilya’s Dyptique perfume. He doesn’t move, and neither do they.

But then, after a while, Shane shifts.

It is subtle at first, a tightening of his arm where it’s wrapped around him. But for Luca, who had been slowly drifting into nothingness, a small movement even feels like a landslide, and he moves back just enough to catch a wince on Shane’s face. “Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, voice low with sleep.

Shane shivers, but still huffs out a soft laugh. “My arm’s falling asleep. Hold on.”

“Oh—” Luca starts, already trying to pull back, to give him space before he can feel anything he shouldn’t—

“Wait.”

Shane’s hand slides away, and while Luca is trying not to bump into Ilya who is fast asleep behind him, Shane completely turns around and—grabs Luca by the arm and yanks him close. “There we go,” Shane says with a soft, content sigh, and pulls the sheets over them. Luca is pressed up against his back now, nose brushing the nape of Shane’s neck. “Do you mind?”

Luca can count seven freckles alone on the curve where Shane’s neck meets his shoulder. “No,” he says automatically. 

He does.

He really, really does, and so will Shane when he moves just enough to feel the raging hard-on inside Luca’s pants. Shane just sighs again, pulls Luca’s arm closer until his chest is pressed against Shane’s back, the line of his body fitting against him in a way that makes Shane—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Luca freezes.

Shane also freezes.

Heat floods his face instantly, entire body going rigid when the realisation of what is touching Shane right now crashes all at once. This is what he was trying to avoid. Up until now, these had only been fantasies. The moment with Ilya wouldn’t count as more than one, either, because Luca was alone. He did not touch anyone else. Now, though, there is no mistaking it or pretending that it is anything but the very real, very noticeable reaction that is pressing into Shane’s ass.

He should move.

He should leave. He knows he should leave. But he’s frozen because moving might make it worse, and staying like this is unbearable enough to begin with. 

Because Shane can definitely feel it.

“Sorry,” Luca blurts, feeling his stomach drop, instinct finally, finally kicking in when he jerks back even though there is absolutely no room for it. The rest of it spills from his mouth like embarrassment and vomit. “Sorry. Fuck. I didn’t—I need to go. Sorry I should go.”

For a long, long moment, Shane doesn’t say anything.

His head turns.

But Luca doesn’t look at him, because he knows that he can’t handle seeing the disgust reflected back at him in Shane’s beautiful face right now. 

And still—

“Why?”

Luca freezes again. Why, indeed. He doesn’t know how to answer this question without being kicked out of the room, or worse, kicked off the team. Does this count as harassment? Surely. In the months he has been living underneath their roof, he has yet to do anything that would warrant a criminal charge. Mostly. They don’t know about the first strike. But Ilya walked in on him. That was something that neither of them could control, and for all of his desires, Luca is not a fool to think that he could be the one to do this. “Because,” he chokes out, and in his attempt to move out from underneath the sheets, he only ends up pressing even closer. “Because I’m—”

Shane’s voice is still perfectly even when he continues, “But I’m your mama. I’m supposed to help you with these things.”

Luca’s head jerks back, and—

Shane is still looking at him.

Time stands still for a single moment that spans centuries and steals all the air from Luca’s lungs. Shane’s hand, callused and warm, squeezing his. Peach-pink lips, parted, and Shane staring at him with half-lidded eyes and blown pupils. Seaweed shampoo. Luca’s cock is hard against Shane’s ass and all he can think about is how Shane’s eyes seem to keep flicking down to his mouth. Seaweed shampoo and Dyptique. Luca opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and opens it again. His voice is weak when he starts, “I don’t—”

“You can leave if you want,” Shane says gently, and Luca shivers when he feels Shane’s hand squeeze again. “But there will always be space for you next to me. I like taking care of you.”

Luca swallows thickly. “Oh.”

Shane’s lashes flutter against his cheeks. “Get closer,” he murmurs.

Luca thinks he falls like a bag of bricks when his arm tightens around Shane’s waist and his cock presses between Shane’s cheeks. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Shane whispers, and with a lick of his lips, he turns back around and faces the wall. “Just don’t wake your papa, okay? It’s our little secret.”

Luca shudders. “Okay, Shane.”

“That’s not my name.”

Luca blinks, and when he realises what Shane wants, he shudders again. “Okay, mama,” he whispers.

Shane’s fingers tighten, but the rest of his body relaxes. Luca knows a silent order when he sees one. He knows a silent order when he feels one, too. He thinks he must be learning, because a whine bursts from his mouth when his cock bumps into Shane’s ass again. The friction is enough to make his cock and balls throb. The thinness of their pants is enough to make him come, he knows. And Shane is letting him do this. 

All while his husband sleeps next to him.

Husband, friend, and now, father. 

The thought is enough to make Luca’s arm slide up without thinking, hand finding Shane’s chest through the cotton of his shirt, and squeeze. It makes Shane grunt, and Luca feels his cock twitch again. He knows Shane isn’t a woman as much as he thinks of Shane as a mother. He knows Shane doesn’t have breasts that can be squeezed the way he is groping them right now but they still manage to fill his hands, makes Shane whimper and stick his ass out a little further, and fits Luca’s cock almost exactly where he wants it.

It hurts.

It hurts enough that Luca knows he will come within seconds. 

He wonders what his father would say about him if he knew that every single one of Luca’s fantasies were turning into the worst kind of reality. He wonders if there is absolutely no redemption left for him and Shane. Ilya hasn’t done anything yet, at least. Watching him come isn’t enough to condemn him to the lowest level of hell. To feel the bone-deep urge to breed and fill his mother up with cum definitely is.

It’s embarrassing that he’s so close already.

Shane’s back keeps arching like he wants it, too. 

The only reason Luca sinks his teeth into his tongue and fight not to speak his mind is the man sleeping behind him right now. Ilya is not a light sleeper, but surely the sight of his husband getting fucked by their pseudo-son will wake him. Not that it stops Luca from moving as much as he wants, though. He can feel how wet his briefs are getting, cock leaking like a faucet, just waiting for release. He can’t stop groping Shane, either.

He wishes he could slide his hand between Shane’s legs instead.

But that would burst the bubble, he knows.

This is about him tonight. Shane said as much even if he’s moaning like a whore, and knows that Luca is humping him like he thinks he can get his cock inside and knock him up. The idea of being able to do it is enough to make him lightheaded, and he shifts—

Wait.

When did Ilya turn over? 

Luca hadn’t even noticed it with how wrapped up he was in grinding against Shane’s perfect ass and touching on him. He didn’t see Ilya move. He didn’t feel it, either. But the truth is this: Ilya’s body isn’t turned away anymore, and from the corner of his eye, Luca can see that Ilya is facing them. Luca doesn’t look any further. His heart is in his throat. He can’t look. He won’t look because if Ilya is awake and is watching them, then he will leave.

It took a long time for them to get here.

It would take very little for it to end.

Shane, with all of his silent desperation, reaches back and pulls Luca closer by the ass. 

This time, Luca can’t contain his moan, and Shane’s nails sink into him through his pants. It feels like admonishment, but it only makes Luca whine, feeling his cock press between those cheeks. He wants to see how it would look if Shane’s pants were off. He has seen it in the showers. He knows he would like the sight but he doesn’t want Ilya to send him home. Even if Shane was squirming for it, actually opening his mouth and asking for it, Luca wouldn’t dare.

As much as he imagined the sight of his cock sinking into Shane’s perfect ass, he knew it would not happen so long as Ilya wasn’t there.

But if Ilya was there—

He can picture it, the way Ilya would sit against the headboard of his bed, a hand working his cock with quick, firm tugs, thumb digging into the slit that steadily drips. He would watch his son have a go with his mother and enjoy it. He wonders if Ilya would join. He wonders if Ilya would sit behind Luca while Luca takes Shane over and over again, and the image stirs something inside his dazed brain, something almost primal rattling down the length of his spine. 

Ilya would.

Luca has seen him twice to know the sort of things that Ilya likes to tell Shane. He just doesn’t know if it extends to him, too. But this image—Ilya’s hulking frame behind him while he fucked Luca into Shane, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and onto the arch of Luca’s back, hands pulling Luca onto his cock on every stroke while calling him kid and their perfect good boy and son and—

“Mama,” Luca chokes out, hips jerking to an abrupt still against Shane’s ass when he comes. “Mama—”

Shane’s hand slides away to find Luca’s hand on his chest again and squeezes. “Good boy,” Shane says hoarsely. “My good boy.”

Luca lies there, chest heaving, sudden quietness of his room pressing down on him like a bag of bricks almost immediately. He can’t really say anything. Shane doesn’t say anymore, either, but his hand feels like a furnace in the sudden chill. Luca’s heart thuds, and then hammers in his chest. He just came all over Shane’s ass. It’s a miracle he didn’t make a mess on him. It’s a miracle that Shane liked it. This is a line that neither of them should have crossed, but—

“Thank you, mama,” Luca whispers, eyes slipping shut.

“Of course, baby,” Shane murmurs, stroking Luca’s arm. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Mm,” Luca mumbles, suddenly finding all the strength behind his jaw gone. He really needs to change, but he’s exhausted, and Shane feels like heaven in a single body. “Sleepy.”

Shane makes a noise that sounds like a laugh. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, okay?” he says gently, tugging the sheets away and pulling Luca by the arm. “Then we can get you to bed.”

The hand on his back when Shane guides Luca to their bathroom feels like an embrace. He moves with practiced ease, running the tap, grabbing the small washcloth in the corner, and pressing it into Luca’s hands. He asks if he should help but Luca somehow manages, and Shane disappears to grab him a pair of briefs. They’re Ilya’s. Luca knows because he’s seen Ilya wear it enough times in their home and tried not to drool over it. 

When Luca comes back from the bathroom, Shane has rolled over to the middle, and Ilya’s arm is now thrown over his waist. 

He takes a step towards the door because he knows that this scene is over, but—Shane sees him, gives him the same honeyed smile that haunts him when he sleeps, and pats the empty space next to him. “Come here, baby,” he murmurs, and Ilya’s arm tightens around Shane’s stomach. 

And Luca listens. 

He can’t do much of anything else. 

Luca didn’t mean to get wasted.

Really.

If he thinks hard enough, he can trace it back to when it started: he scored the winning goal in Boston tonight, and Wyatt wanted to party, and Shane decided to tag along because it is finally Luca’s twenty-first birthday. It isn’t his first drink, obviously. It’s the first time that Luca would be getting shitfaced in public after he was drafted, though. He was laughing with Dex, shot after shot pressed into his hand, and Shane and Ilya looked beautiful under the strobe lights. In the middle of all the blurry humanoid forms glued together, there they were, kissing and touching each other like Luca hadn’t humped Shane’s ass until he came in his shorts like a virgin.

He doesn’t know if Ilya knows. He also doesn’t know if he’s imagining the way that Ilya keeps staring at him over Shane’s head, and this not-knowing sat underneath his skin like an itch for so, so long, that when Dex passes him his seemingly millionth drink of the night, he takes it, and he lets the alcohol wash everything away.

It works.

For all of five hours and seventeen minutes, that is.

His vision isn’t spinning as much as it did when Shane and Ilya had hauled him into the taxi and had them driven back to their hotel. He vaguely remembers getting there; Ilya’s broad shoulder underneath his armpit and his equally large hand around his waist, and the blurry silhouette of Shane’s back leading them to the room. His body was a half-step behind his thoughts when they dumped him onto their bed, and now, Shane is busily grabbing water and pulling back the covers with quiet efficiency while Ilya kneels by his opened suitcase.

When a hand suddenly appears in his vision, he finally blinks. Ilya is holding out a large Megan Thee Stallion shirt. “Change of clothes for the baby.”

“Ilya,” comes Shane’s voice, half-chiding. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not a baby,” Luca protests, words embarrassingly slurring together, sitting up straighter as if it would prove him right. “I’m twenty-one now.”

Ilya just drops the shirt onto his lap. “I was drafted while you were learning your ABCs, kid.”

A whimper bursts from his mouth, unbidden, and he is a little too drunk to feel embarrassed by the fact that both of them absolutely hear it, heads snapping to look at him. Shane’s hand is a vice around the glass of water. Ilya is still crouched on the floor, kneeling by Luca’s feet, and staring at him like he had ideas that Luca was far too young to enjoy, and—yes, Luca is far too young for them, as Ilya had mentioned. It didn’t change the fact that his stomach twisted and turned with hot desperation and it didn’t stop his thighs from squeezing together.

“I’m not a baby,” he says again, sounding particularly whiny, and he doesn’t even mean to add, “I’m your baby.”

Ilya inhales sharply.

Belatedly, Luca realises what he has said.

His mouth opens—to say what, he doesn’t know—but Ilya interrupts him by standing, a wild grin on his lips as he steps closer and finds himself between Luca’s legs, and his hand is an embrace from where it lands on the top of his head. “Yes, yes,” he says indulgently. 

Luca’s gaze flicks sidelong to Shane, who is—

Already watching him.

Over the last few months, Luca has memorised what every single one of Shane’s stares meant, and he knew when Shane wanted someone to touch him. He knew when Shane was proud, and he knew when Shane was upset. He knew when Shane wanted to touch Ilya and he knew from the furrow between Shane’s brows that he was going to come. He knew a lot of things when it came to his pseudo-mother, but he didn’t know this stare, where Shane’s pupils are blown wide, focused on Luca with an intensity that made his stomach flip, almost predatorily eyeing him, nowhere near the gentle caregiver that he was the other night.

For the first time, Shane is letting Luca see how deep his desires would run.

Before Luca realises, he is blurting, “What are we doing?” 

Shane doesn’t look put off by the sudden question. “What do you mean?” he only asks, voice not betraying a single emotion as he puts down the glass and steps closer to where Ilya is carding his fingers through Luca’s hair.

He looks as if he is asking about the weather.

Funny, Luca thinks drunkenly, since Shane stared at his cum-covered cock right before he walked away and crawled back into bed with his husband, who is also Luca’s father, apparently. What a family they were. Would Freud be rolling around in his grave, or would he feel vindicated? Luca doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember the first thing Freud said but he does know this: his cock is already hard just thinking about calling Shane mama again, and he wants to call Ilya his papa, too. But he knows, even through the haze of alcohol, that they would never be the ones to cross the line.

They always get close, they hover, they look at him like that, they let him touch them like that, but they always stop short of being the one to actually do it. Luca would assume that being older would make them more willing to show him the ropes. He doesn’t know if they are trying to be careful with him, trying to respect something about him that he hasn’t figured out yet, or whether this is simply the game they want to play.

All of it is driving him insane.

That is all he knows.

None of it has been subtle after Ilya found Luca with a hand wrapped around his cock, and Luca is tired of standing in the middle, guessing and overthinking every single look and half-touch. Tonight, he is too drunk to pretend this is just a fantasy. 

They have been doing this for far too long now.

He wants this. He wants them. 

He knows it will only happen if he lets it. “Why do you keep teasing me?” he finally asks, looking at Shane properly. “Why do you keep almost doing things but not follow through?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t even know what he’s asking, and he knows that half of his thoughts will not properly translate to English right now, but neither Shane nor Ilya reply. The question hangs in the air like a guillotine, and Luca knows that there is absolutely no coming back now. He said it. He drew the line and he is throwing himself to the wolves. He knows this. He knows that he is in their hotel room and if they didn’t like it—if they were just playing with him—then they would force him out of their lives. For the first time since this started, Luca is confident that this would not happen.

It still does nothing to prepare him for Ilya’s hand tightening in his hair. “Do you want us to?”

Luca’s breath hitches. Yes, he thinks, but ends up blurting, “I want to fuck you.”

Ilya blinks, and then his mouth quirks. “You want to fuck Shane?” he asks, nodding at his husband who is still silently watching them.

Luca’s head shakes violently. “I want to fuck you both,” he corrects, voice far too thick and earnest in a way that would absolutely terrify him if he were sober. 

Shane stills completely, and Ilya’s hand tightens again, making Luca whine. Shane’s face is close to unreadable again, but it does not feel like dismissal. It oddly looks serious. For someone who had called him baby and treated him like a mother really shouldn’t, Shane is staring at him as if he is genuinely considering doing this. The lack of immediate response would make him cringe and recoil and run away but Ilya—is still touching him, and he knows, the only way tonight will end is with him in their bed.

Before that, though, there is something else that he needs, and his gaze drifts from Ilya to Shane again, because it doesn’t know how to settle anywhere else. “But right now,” he finds himself saying without thinking, “I really want—”

His teeth sink into his tongue.

Ilya’s hand tugs at his hair, a silent order to continue, and he melts. “I really want mama.”

The words come out far rougher than Luca intends, but he knows that they believe in his honesty, because Ilya’s reaction is visceral when it sinks in, hand sliding out of Luca’s hair, breath catching audibly, the rest of his body turning rod-straight. Stripped of its usual ease, Ilya looks winded from where he stares down at Luca. “Fuck,” he breathes, and Luca feels his thighs fight to close—but Ilya’s figure stops it.

Shane doesn’t move. He doesn’t offer a response, either, and it makes Luca lift his gaze from the sharp edges of Shane’s face to his eyes, and—they have darkened, narrowed at the corners, looking like the bear on Ilya’s chest. For the first time, Luca understands why Ilya, in spite of being the captain, followed Shane like a sailor to the flag. Luca’s mouth feels like sandpaper by the sight alone. Electricity zaps at the base of his spine and he feels his legs widen.

The second his face clears, Luca knows Shane has found his answer. “You want mama?” he asks quietly.

The name makes Luca shudder, and the nod he gives is slow and heavy, and this time, it is not from the alcohol. “Yes.”

Shane’s eyes flick down from his and down to where he swallows thickly. Teeth sinking into tongue. Teeth sinking onto lips. The pain feels nonexistent from where Shane is still watching him. Luca feels far hotter than he did when they first entered. The room is spinning. He doesn’t know if it’s still the alcohol. He’s probably still wasted because he is licking his lips and swallowing around the lump in his throat and watching Shane watch him.

But then—

“Come here, baby.”

Luca doesn’t really know how it happens, but one second, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and the next, he is near shoving Ilya away in his attempt to stumble over to Shane whose arms open for him. Luca is tall enough that he needs to drop his head, but Shane tilts onto the tip of his toes, and suddenly, their mouths are pressed together, and Luca’s brain whites out.

It’s clumsy.

It’s nowhere near the slow, sexy way Shane kisses Ilya when nobody is looking, but that might be because Luca is the one kissing Shane—more intent than technique, no hesitation, and all of the confidence of a self-assured virgin. He’s not. But he feels like it and the kiss feels like the closest thing to relief when Shane responds immediately, meeting him halfway, and sighing into his mouth like he was finally content.

Then, he licks the seam of Luca’s lips which open for him, and then he sucks Luca’s tongue.

It makes his entire body jolt, but—

Ilya’s hands settle on his waist, and his mouth finds Luca’s neck, and Luca falls apart.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, calling for mama into Shane’s mouth, and he doesn’t know how long Ilya keeps kissing him all over. Teeth scrape his skin, and Luca moans so loudly that Shane’s hands slide down to his pants. Somehow, they end up on the floor. Was it always this hot? Luca’s head is spinning. Time blurs every single edge and extends every minute by a century. Luca can barely tell they are moving until his balance gives out and he is falling on top of Shane who falls back onto the mattress.

Shane’s shirt is off.

Ilya is groping him from behind.

Suddenly, it is as if the three of them have realised that this is real, and this is allowed. With how much Shane is rushing to get the rest of his clothes off, Luca would think that he has been waiting to do this for far longer than he or Ilya have, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask when the world tilts and Shane’s mouth finds his again. 

The clank of their teeth is a dull pain that Luca barely feels with the churning in his stomach, and his hands are shaking from where they are holding his body above Shane who looks like the closest thing to heaven underneath him. They pause only because Shane’s hands keep roaming underneath his shirt and they decide, for him, that the shirt needs to go. Then, before Luca can lick into Shane’s mouth, another hand pulls his hair and forces him to break the kiss.

Luca whines, turns his head, and moans when Ilya kisses him instead.

“Easy,” Ilya grunts, reaching a hand around to cup Luca’s jaw, holding him in place so that he can kiss Luca however he likes. “Slow down, kid. We have the whole night.”

Luca’s body jerks. “I want it now,” he rasps, gooseflesh erupting all over his skin, and he moans when Ilya’s mouth slides away from his jaw and down to the junction of his neck—and he bites down. “Fuck. Fuck, papa. Please. I waited so long. I waited so—”

Shane wraps his legs around Luca’s waist.

When he feels Shane’s cock, hard inside his briefs, he thinks he almost blacks out. When he first saw Shane getting fucked, he didn’t see it. It was the sound that Shane made that let him know that Shane had come. Now, he can feel every inch of it, and the trail of kisses that Ilya is leaving all over his neck and his shoulder is enough to make him fall apart. He doesn’t think it could get worse, but then Ilya’s hands slide from his waist, find Luca’s ass, and push him forward.

The feeling of his cock dragging against Shane does make him black out this time. He can feel himself throbbing—he thinks he can, unashamed, far too turned on to care about the fact that he is currently rocking against Shane the same way that he did the other night. “I know your mother wanted to come with you last time,” Ilya suddenly says. “Keep doing that and he will.”

His words are enough to make an obscene moan erupt from Luca’s lungs, and he doesn’t even bother quipping before he ruts against Shane’s cock firmly, panting like a dog, letting his father dangle him from the tightrope. He has wanted this for so long. He almost wishes he was sober so that he can really, truly feel them, but he knows that if he wasn’t, then he never would have said something. He has wanted them for so long that he doesn’t know anything else.

The noise he makes at his own realisation is apparently enough to make Ilya bite down on his shoulder, and suddenly, this isn’t enough, no more mindless thrusting, no more clumsy, virginal grinding, and Luca gasps, “I need—mama, I need to take it off—”

Shane whimpers and presses Luca back.

Ilya’s hands slide underneath the waistband of Luca’s briefs and pull them down just enough to pull his cock out, but—

He is not hard.

Wait.

Why isn’t he hard?

“It’s not working,” he can hear himself saying. “Why isn’t it working?”

Shane’s hands find his face. “Luca—”

“I wanted to make you feel good,” Luca continues, voice faint even to his own ears. “Why can’t I make you feel good?”

Ilya says something, but Luca barely hears it, tears suddenly stinging his eyes. His body isn’t keeping up with what he wants. It takes a second to realise it, but when he does, a hot flicker of embarrassment burns through his stomach. He’s too drunk to keep his dick up. He’s too drunk to be doing this at all, balance slipping, far too unfocused to make any of it mean what he wants it to mean. There are hands all over him but the only thing he can feel is the sickening humiliation twisting his stomach into a million knots. 

He knows that he has to stop this now, or they will, but the idea that they might really not follow through exactly as he said is enough to make his entire body ache in frustration. He knows they can tell, too. Shane says something, but Luca just feels one arm give out, sending his body into a heap over Shane who just lets out a grunt.

Embarrassing. “I’m sorry,” Luca chokes out, “I’m so sorry—”

So fucking embarrasing.

“It’s okay, baby,” Shane says soothingly, a gentle hand sliding along the grooves of his sweaty back, and Luca hates that Shane sounds genuine. “We don’t have to do this today.”

“But then we’ll never do it!”

Ilya squeezes Luca’s waist. His voice sounds far too careful when he asks, “Why do you think that?”

“Because I had to beg for this,” Luca cries, barely able to tell what he’s saying. “Because you won’t help me.”

For a moment, nobody says anything, and then one of Ilya’s hands slide up the curve of his spine and finds home right underneath where Shane’s palms are around the nape of Luca’s neck. “If you want help,” Ilya says, voice heavier than Luca has ever heard it before, “all you have to do is ask, kid.”

Luca feels his head turn around until his gaze finds Ilya.

Suddenly, he knows exactly what he wants, and he feels the hot embarrassment turn into something—else. 

“How does mama like it?”

Again, Ilya is quiet, but Luca finds that he does not entirely mind the silence with the smile that grows on Ilya’s lips, as slow as the drip of maple syrup, and he gasps when Ilya shoves at his arm and sends him toppling over to the side. He scrambles to get up. He scrambles to hold onto Shane again, but Ilya is far quicker than him when he has spent over a decade memorising how much distance there is between him and the love of his life. 

The sound that Shane makes is obscene when Ilya yanks him into a rough kiss, barely waiting for a second before he is licking the inside of Shane’s mouth, hands greedily roaming and groping each inch of free skin like a blind man trying to map a surface. Luca has already seen it, so he knows that Ilya knows his husband far too well, but it was something else entirely to bear witness to it while they wanted him there, the teeth scraping Shane’s neck, the tongue on the shell of his ear, the grappling hands pulling his briefs down his perfectly toned, thick thighs and thicker calves, and—

Luca feels his mouth turn to sandpaper. 

Shane’s cock is pretty, flushed and pink and wet at the tip, and when Ilya grabs the back of his thighs and pushes them back, Luca sees the green plug winking at him from where it has been inside Shane for apparently—far longer than Luca had anticipated. 

“I don’t need any more lube,” Shane is saying, almost deliriously, yanking at Ilya’s shirt as if in a silent plea for their bodies to touch. “I don’t. I want to feel it. I really want it, I want our son to see how you—” 

Ilya doesn’t even take his shirt off. “Dirty whore,” he mutters. “We need to show the kid how to do this properly. Not give him excuses to tear that pretty hole up when he finally gets his chance.”

Then, he pulls his cock out, spits in his palm while Shane pulls out the plug, gives himself one, two jerks, and then seats himself between Shane’s legs. 

“Watch carefully, kid,” Ilya breathes. “I’ll show you exactly how it went the night we would have made you.” 

And, with that, he presses inside.

He barely gives Shane a moment to gather himself before he is pressing a heavy hand onto Shane’s stomach. To make him feel it, Luca realises stupidly, and his entirely body jolts when he realises what Ilya just said to him—as if they made him—as if they were able to conceive and they were taking their role of teaching and preparing Luca for the world far too seriously, and he doesn’t even realise he is touching himself until he feels the wet mess he is already making of his palm. 

Pure, unadulterated pleasure zings through spine and curls his toes. So fucked up, Luca thinks, and feels his fist get even faster, tighter, yanking in time to each one of Ilya’s punishing thrusts. The usual calm, collected nature that had caused him to follow Shane around is decimated to nothing in a matter of seconds, eyes visibly rolling into the back of his head, writhing underneath Ilya’s hulking body, moaning like the cheapest whore that Luca has seen, and—

Oh, God. 

He’s hard. 

Actually, is he?

It doesn’t matter, because he can’t even come. There would be no point to it when he is this drunk.

He simply watches, entranced, as Ilya returns to the home he made for himself in Shane’s guts. 

It made him want to join. It made him want to reach over and lick. It made him want to touch them all over and get a real hands-on lesson instead of simply watching. He knows that the rest of his body would not let him join in any other capacity, but leaning over, seeing the way Shane helplessly fists the sheets and his cock uselessly drips all over his stomach while Ilya is fucking him hard enough to slam the headboard against the wall and raise a noise complaint, he knows that he cannot simply sit through it like a voyeur. 

After all, tonight, he is the furthest thing from one.

He is their son. 

Ilya must think the same, because his voice is winded when he says, “You know something, kid?” 

Luca barely manages to look away from where his parents are connected and to his father’s face. 

“Yes?”

“Only the men in the family can get your mama this wet,” Ilya says, a low laugh leaving him when he reaches a hand down and slaps Shane’s dripping cock, making him moan loud enough that Luca can’t even hear his own thoughts. “Only us men. And you’re finally a man now, aren’t you?” 

He is. 

He is twenty-one now. 

Without thinking, he reaches over, gently wiping Shane’s hair away from his forehead. There is a clench in his jaw, but the furrow between his brows disappear when he looks up and sees Luca staring down at him, wet eyes and ruddy cheeks, and Luca watches as Shane melts for him even faster than he had for the man currently inside him. “Thank you, baby,” Shane coos, reaching up and winding a callused palm around the nape of Luca’s neck to pull him down. “Come here.” 

The kiss is far too slow compared to the way Ilya is fucking Shane, but it is still enough to make his head swim, breath leaving in one fell swoop into Shane’s mouth. 

This should be enough. 

Luca’s body disagrees, because again, his hand twitches to do something else about it. It makes his head swim, the breath leaving his lungs in a hurry. He wonders if it feels as deep as it looks, because Shane looks like he’s dissolving into a puddle, leaning into Luca’s touch with every single one of Ilya’s vicious thrusts. When Ilya pushes Shane’s leg back, Luca’s eyes betray his beautiful mother and return to where his parents are connected again, and he watches as Ilya’s cock slides inside Shane like it belonged there.

It did.

He knew that now.

He wishes he could feel it. He knows he wouldn’t be able to feel much tonight, and he wants to make sure he proves himself worthy of one night with this man. He knows Ilya would not give him the chance if he couldn’t. It is during this dilemma that Shane starts making that god awful noise, the one that rumbles in the back of his throat and haunts every single one of Luca’s wet dreams, and he knows that Shane is already very, very close. 

But so is his husband, falling apart at the seams, groaning with each roll of his hips, and Luca feels his own body clench in anticipation. What would be better, he wonders, to bury himself inside his mother and give himself a sibling, or to let their father bend his will until he breaks? He doesn’t know the answer, but he knows that his stomach is twisting itself into a million knots. Can he come even without being hard? He feels like it.

He doesn’t know if he’s saying anything, either, but he knows that he kisses Shane again in between thick mouthfuls of mama and Shane swallows every single one. Heat licks along his skin, white-hot flames in the pit of his stomach. A bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and sweat at the divot of his spine. Shane’s hands are fisting his hair. He’s moaning like a whore. Luca thinks he’s going to come. Ilya reaches up, fists Luca’s hair by covering Shane’s hand, and it turns to a vice.

Luca moans, and—

Someone comes.

Actually, both of them do, a strangled moan erupting from Shane’s lungs when he tips over the edge, and Ilya audibly biting down on his tongue when his hips slam against Shane’s ass once, twice, burying himself to the hilt. Luca thinks he’s going to black out. Watching Shane come all over himself while Ilya breeds him is almost enough for him to forget that this couldn’t be true, but when he blinks at Shane who dazedly looks back at him, he knows the truth: there can be no more lines in the sand when the tide has washed it away.

Hot heat burns through him like sticky glue. 

It takes a second, or seven, but when Shane finally blinks the haziness away, he flushes harder than he has the entire night, and jerks back as if he has just somehow realised the gravity of what they had done. It does little to offend Luca when his head is spinning. Regardless, Ilya’s hand feels like a salve when it slides way from his head, down the curve of his neck, and to his shoulder. “A shower might be a good idea,” Ilya finally says, voice hoarse.

“Yeah,” Shane rasps, and turns a glance at Luca again. “You still reek of tequila.”

“Will mama clean me?”

He does.

With no complaints, too.

Luca has the patience of a saint.

Okay.

Fine. That’s decidedly not true.

But it’s not as if he’s terrible, because if he was, then he probably already would have done something that would have gotten him traded, or worse, sent back to Switzerland with barely anything to show for it. Over the months he has been part of this household, he has come to learn one very important rule: good things come to those who wait. Ilya liked to challenge the concept, but Luca knew it was because he liked the attention that Shane gave him. When it came to him, however, Shane came as close to authoritarian as he could get, but Luca did not find an issue with it when it so obviously came from concern.

He and Ilya always met in the middle when it came to matters revolving around Luca.

That is why, even before they arrive home, Luca knew that he would not get what he wanted immediately. He was happy to keep playing the waiting game when it had already gotten him this far. He knew that simply telling them how he felt would not risk his life nor career, though it might impact how quickly they were willing to let him get away with things. It might be childish of him to think that way when he knew Shane and Ilya only wanted the best for him.

In this case, the best thing for him would be to be fucking his parents, but this isn’t exactly the sort of thing he could be writing home about.

It isn’t the sort of thing he could be asking his friends about, either, but he knew this much: patience is key, and they will give him everything he wants so long as he bides his time.

Three weeks later, when they finally get a day off in between games, Shane tells Luca not to bother making plans. For the first time, Luca didn’t feel the need to ask questions. He knew that family time, no matter how they spun it, would be the type of plan that required all mobiles off, all doors locked, and zero opportunity for distraction. The scripts that Shane designed always seemed to be far too detailed to allow room for error.

Luca finds it hard to complain when after close to forty-five minutes of teasing, he is finally buried inside Shane, while Ilya is fucking him from behind. 

They are all lying on their sides, and Ilya’s chest is sweaty from where it is pressing against Luca’s back, Ilya’s breath hot and harsh against the nape of his neck. At first, Luca almost asked to stop. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t think he could take Ilya—far too full, the twinge in the base of his spine, every inch as slow as a painful death sentence which drove him straight into—his mother, who was waiting for him with open arms, and a perfectly loose hole.

It’s his first time.

Well. 

Where it counts, at least.

His body trembles with relief once he feels Ilya’s thick waist meet his skin, filling him to the brim. He’s full, so full, nothing like what he expected. Luca knew that it would be different but he didn’t think that he would feel seconds from bursting just from something as simple as this. Perhaps it’s because he used to be the one doing the fucking. Now, he is held between a rock and a hard place, Shane clenching down on him with a whine, already bringing him to the edge.

They have only just begun, but Luca is already at the finish line.

“Good boy,” Ilya breathes, making Luca moan against Shane’s shoulder. “Fucking your mama for me. Look how good you’re making her feel. Is she making you feel good, too?”

The question is enough to make a nonsensical moan burst from Luca’s mouth, and Shane arches his back into him like a needy little thing. He isn’t little, but he feels like it when Luca is draped over him, messily mouthing at his neck, with Ilya hulking over them both. Truthfully, Ilya barely gives either of them a chance to be hearing him properly with how he keeps fucking Luca into his husband as if they weren’t currently breaking their wedding vows.

Actually—

Was it breaking wedding vows if they were looking after their family?

Would letting Luca, their son, fall into their bed with them count as a vow in the first place?

These are not questions that he thinks he needs to answer. Not anymore, at least, with Shane’s perfectly manicured nails painfully digging into Luca’s forearm and keeping them pressed together. The buzzing in his ears is an indecipherable drone even against the familiar rasp of Ilya’s voice. “Can you even hear me?” Ilya asks, and Luca feels his jaw unhinge with another loud moan when Ilya’s teeth scrape his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be fucking her, kid. Don’t be greedy.”

“Please,” Shane gasps, and when Luca lifts his head and looks at him, Shane’s eyes are glazed over and his cheeks are apple red. So completely at odds with the perfect picture of composure that Luca had known. All because of him. All for him, Luca realises stupidly, because Shane is begging. “Baby, please—please—”

The thought of it is enough to make Luca’s entire body jerk, and he feels himself fuck into Shane, eliciting a loud moan, and then fuck back, making Ilya’s teeth scrape his shoulder again. Oh, God. They used so much lube when Shane fingered himself open that he feels as wet as a girl, the slight impossibly easy, hips eagerly moving to take as much of Luca as he could, and—oh, God. Luca thinks he’s falling apart.

“She’s talking to you,” Ilya grits, and does something with his hips that makes an obscene moan tumble out of Luca’s mouth. “First rule: she doesn’t beg with you.”

He is, truthfully, because he feels like he can feel it in his stomach and his throat, and he wants Shane to feel the same. With Ilya’s arm wrapped around them and keeping them in one neat row, he is forced to feel the way his rim stretches around Ilya’s thick cock, the first thing to split him open that wasn’t his own fingers, and the fact that it would be his father is what will send him to his death.

The fact that his mother is orchestrating it is what will put him six feet under. 

“He’s too young to know better,” Shane breathes, squeezing Luca’s forearm. “You can’t expect him to know everything, Ilya. You have to teach him.”

“Like what?”

“Touch me,” Shane says sweetly, and Luca would be surprised at the sudden evenness of his voice if not for the fact that his eyes are wet and he looks like he really wants to beg again. “Touch me here, baby.”

His mouth falls open to ask—to moan—he doesn’t know—but Shane takes his hand and puts it right on his cock.

Fuck.

Shane’s cock is practically dripping.

Fuck. 

“Do you like it?” Luca finds himself asking, barely hearing himself over the harsh breathing by his ear, only turning his fingers into a fist around Shane’s cock and giving it one, slow jerk. “Do you like this, mama?”

“Yes,” Shane groans, head almost slamming into Luca’s face when he throws it back. “Yeah, fuck, baby. Keep doing that. Keep doing that and fucking me.”

And Luca does.

Or, well, he tries.

He can distantly tell that Ilya is still the one setting the pace, sending him toppling into Shane on every other second, and when he turns his head to look at Ilya, the older man is already looking at him. “Look at him when I’m fucking you,” Ilya murmurs, and Luca whimpers when he sees those blazing eyes dripping hot honey onto the sheets. “Look at your mother so that she doesn’t feel lonely by all the attention I’m giving you.”

“Talking about me like I’m spoiled—”

“You are,” Ilya huffs, a small laugh if anything, mean and knowing. “I spoiled my kotik too much. She is feisty. Only not when her son’s cock is in her.”

Shane clenches down on Luca, and Luca feels his vision blur.

If Shane is spoiled, he doesn’t know what that makes him, because he doesn’t really need anything else from them, and he knows that neither of them need to give him any more to know that he loves this. That his body was all theirs for the taking as much as they were giving themselves away, that his body slowly opens up for Ilya’s cock as well as it offers itself for Shane’s pleasure. Luca’s thumb presses against the head of Shane’s cock as his mouth falls open in another unintelligible groan.

He wants to come inside Shane.

He really, really wants to come inside his mother. He knows that they are also thinking the same thing, about what it would be like if they weren’t safe—what would be different if Luca filled Shane up and left it to take. 

Would his father let him?

He doesn’t care.

The only thing he cares about right now is being able to finally, finally come, with his parents tumbling over the edge with him. 

Shane’s body trembles, and a long, drawn out moan bursts from Luca’s chest when Shane tightens up around his cock—it’s almost there, Luca can tell. He might have never fucked Shane before but he has seen Shane like this enough times to know when it’s here. He has been touching himself enough to know that he’s going to come any second, too. The white-hot flames in the pit of his stomach, the way his toes curl and brush against the floor. The tingles zigzagging across the length of his spine, the way his body has entirely given up to Ilya’s control. 

He has never been in between.

If this was a liminal space, he doesn’t think he could ever leave. 

“So good, kotik,” Ilya is saying, almost rambling—Luca thinks he has been speaking for centuries and so has Shane but he hasn’t been hearing any of it. “C’mon, kid. Your mama is asking for you. Your mama needs you to fill her up.”

Shane moves Luca’s hand to his belly. “Right here, baby,” he says again, voice seemingly underwater. “Don’t you want our family to get bigger?” 

“Fuck,” Luca chokes out, feeling his hips automatically stutter once, twice, “fuck—”

Ilya sounds like he is a million miles away. “Gonna fill her up, kid?”

Luca thinks he nods. He thinks he might have said yes, too.

None of that matters when Ilya winds an arm around and holds their conjoined hands against the firm planes of Shane’s stomach. There is barely any room for movement, but Luca lets himself go, feels his nails dig into Shane’s body while Ilya’s mouth finds his shoulder again, sinking hard enough he knows there will be disjointed rows of fake teeth imprints behind. Luca can feel his cock twitch inside Shane with how hard Ilya is fucking him inside. He thinks Shane comes, too.

Yeah.

Fuck. He does.

Luca can feel it. For minutes—hours, days, centuries—this is the only place Luca wants to be. This is the only thing he wants to see. Wants to hear the sounds of slapping of skin, choked curses and wants to feel nails digging into his hand along with another pair of hands around his waist. The pressure in the pit of his stomach is rising, pathetic whines bursting out of him whenever Ilya presses in roughly, Shane’s hand squeezing his. His eyes roll back, stomach tightening, he can’t think, can’t feel, can’t breathe—he can’t breathe—

“Okay, kid,” Ilya murmurs. “Fill her up.” 

And he finds himself asking dumbly, “Inside?”  

“Yeah, baby,” Shane says breathlessly right as Ilya kisses Luca’s neck. “It’s the only way you can get another sister.” 

Luca comes.

He thinks he could have held off for another minute, at least, but as soon as Shane’s words register, he is coming inside Shane, nearly blacking out, and—Shane is coming again. 

Luca can’t see Shane’s face, still, but he thinks the way Shane keeps clenching around him says everything he needs to know. To remember. He only wishes he could see the look on Ilya’s face, as well, when he gasps against Luca’s neck, against the brand he left behind, hips stuttering far too clumsily for any man who would call himself composed. A soft moan catches in his throat when Ilya pulls out with no warning. With three strokes, Ilya comes all over Luca’s ass—and Luca feels his vision blur.

He doesn’t know what happens.

He doesn’t know how much time passes.

All he knows is that his mouth is hanging open, he’s sprawled out on Shane’s body and still buried inside him. He’s so out of it that he can barely make a sound when Ilya lets go of him, but he shivers when he feels the cold air against the sweat that was collecting where their bodies had met. Ilya makes him move—makes him do something—he doesn’t like it—he needs something, anything, and he thinks he’s about to cry, but as soon as a finger finds his mouth, the noise disappears and Luca feels his lips close around a thumb.

“You need something in your mouth, kid?”

Ilya.

“Mm—” he tries, immediately failing with no energy left in his jaw, “mmf—”

“Get up,” Ilya says, ignoring Luca’s moan of protest when he pulls his thumb back out. “Shane. Shane, sit up.”

His cock slips out of Shane in the process, and he thinks he cries about that, too.

“Come here, baby,” Shane murmurs, and Luca deliriously opens his eyes to find that he is now flat on his back while Shane is curled up against his side, chest hovering right above his face. “Open your mouth.”

Luca’s mouth falls open immediately.

And—

His lips find Shane’s nipple.

“Good boy,” Shane sighs.

He grew up in a family where affection had come easily, where his sisters would hold him after a long day, and his parents would say I love you as naturally as breathing came to them. Comfort had never been scarce. For some reason, it feels like nothing compared to suckling on Shane’s nipple like—like—

Is he hard again?

He might be hard again. He might be grinding his cock against Shane’s leg, but the fact that Shane is pretending to nurse him like his own mother, waiting for him in their home in Zürich, is enough to make his head spin, his vision blur, and his entire world fall apart. Distantly, Luca can hear Shane’s low whisper, “What happens now?”

He doesn’t hear Ilya’s answer.

The blackness that takes over his vision is an old friend he welcomes with open arms.