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    Summary

    The first time Ilya had seen Shane sweaty and flushed at the end of a hockey match-at the World Juniors in 2008-he had wanted to lick the salt right off of his skin. There was something so magnetic about Shane after a hockey match. Brown eyes bright, maybe a little cocky. Dark hair plastered to his forehead and flat from his helmet. Skin ruddy and glistening with sweat. And god, how he smelt. Salty and hot and masculine. Shane at the end of a hockey game was a fucking wet dream. Not only because he was the prettiest sweaty man Ilya had ever seen but because he was usually thrumming with confidence, especially after a win against the Boston Raiders. Every time they stood in the handshake line at the end of a match Ilya wanted to crush their mouths together and suck the sweat off his top lip.

    Or: Shane is sweaty after yoga at the cottage and Ilya is horned.

    Language:
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