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Shane didn’t know what possessed him to do it, he honestly didn’t. If you asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to answer you. And yet, he’d done it. He’d done it and now he was feeling stupid.
He was going through Ilya’s tagged posts on Instagram.
It wasn’t bad. It shouldn’t have been bad, really. Most of it was just team stuff, him out with teammates or him on the ice. There were some things about their rivalry, things with them facing off against each other, various things that highlighted them. The occasional throwback to the starts of their careers, them as rookies, their first games. Seeing the stuff from him at the Winter Olympics had been a fun one, actually, seeing him on the ice in his home country for his home team, even if it was stained with not so great memories.
But there was the occasional photo. A news article of him being seen out with another woman. Something of him being seen leaving an event in one of his cars, someone in the passenger seat that obviously wasn’t Shane. Photos at a nightclub with his arms around another woman. Him at a bar, another woman beside him. Another woman. Another woman. Another woman.
Not Shane.
The jealousy rose in him suddenly. He tried to fight it off, tried to combat it with the fact that Ilya came home to him, Ilya was his, and this was the past. The world couldn’t see it, but he got it every single day. No one could take Ilya away from him.
But, of course, there was that niggling voice at the back of his mind that told him that Ilya looked better with those women, that maybe he should be with one of those women, that maybe somewhere in that list there was a Canadian woman that he could get his citizenship with and then he wouldn’t need Shane—
“What are you looking at?”
Shane’s phone was taken from his hand before he could even say anything, and he scowled at Ilya. Well, not completely a scowl, but it was enough of a shift in expression for Ilya to notice and actually pay attention to what Shane had been scrolling through when he’d caught him.
Because, obviously, he had been deep enough in his scrolling that he hadn’t noticed Ilya walk into the room, hadn’t heard him come up behind him, and hadn’t realised he was about to steal his phone until it was gone from his hand.
Ilya, on the other hand, was leaning casually on the kitchen island (where Shane had been sitting at the counter) and took a bite into the apple he was holding as he scrolled casually, looking at everything that Shane had been looking through. All of his tagged photos on Instagram. Everything that other people had decided to show off about him, share about him, and make sure that he sees.
Ilya didn’t really see the point in most of it.
“You are looking at me?” Ilya asked, talking around the apple in his mouth. When he didn’t get an answer from Shane, obvious or boring or otherwise, he turned to focus on him again. “What is matter?”
Shane muttered something unintelligible, paused, and then spoke louder. “You looked good with the women.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow at him, before back at the photos. Huh. There were photos of him with women in there. interesting.
“I look good with anyone,” Ilya retorted, taking another bite of the apple. “Is nothing special.”
Shane’s cheeks flushed, and that was when Ilya realised that something was wrong. Shane was really upset about something, and now he had to figure out what before he had a full on meltdown and didn’t talk to him for an extended period of time (because those always hurt so fucking bad).
“You did not like the photos of me with women?”
Shane looked away. That was easy. Got it in one.
Ilya sighed, putting the phone down. “Shane—”
“I know, it’s stupid,” Shane cut in before Ilya could try and comfort him. “It’s stupid because you have me and you chose me and there’s no reason for you to think anything of the women you once met at nightclubs and danced with and… and probably slept with—”
“That is what is bothering you? That I fucked some random women?”
Shane went quiet at that, and that seemed to be enough of an answer for Ilya.
He put the phone and the apple down, taking Shane’s face in his hands. “You, Shane Hollander—”
“Your hand smells like apple,” Shane muttered with his cheeks squished.
“—are so stupid sometimes. Stupid, boring, fucking idiot. You know that?”
Shane knew Ilya was making a point, but he couldn’t help but pout a little at those words.
“You think I would be here, in kitchen, eating apple with you if I wanted to sleep with other women? I could be sleeping with any woman right now, fucking her through mattress and leaving next morning. I could be kissing any girl in night club. I could be getting blowjob from anyone I want.” Ilya squished Shane’s face a little more. “Instead, I have here with boring, idiot hockey player, who thinks I want to fuck anyone else but him. Who thinks I look at anyone but him. Who forgets I love him because he sees stupid photos from years ago.” He pecked Shane’s pouted lips, clearing the pout and bringing out a smile. “Good. No more pouting. Stop being idiot.”
Shane huffed out a laugh through his nose as Ilya let go of his face, moving to grab his apple again. “Could you fuck me through the mattress?”
That was enough to make Ilya pause, and he turned to look back over at Shane. Shane who looked calmer, less bothered on the outside, but his eyes said something else. His eyes said that he was needy, that he wanted Ilya, that somehow the idea of Ilya fucking girls through the mattress when he could do that to Shane right then was driving him crazy.
Ilya smirked as he moved to stand in front of Shane again, taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger and forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I do you better,” he murmured lowly, in the way that he knew got Shane on his way to half-hard in seconds. “I fuck you through couch.”