Chapter Text
Ilya is going to burst the seam of his pants. He’s out of breath with a stupid grin splitting his face, running full speed up three flights of stairs skipping every other step, with a hard-on.
Ilya has just arrived at Shane’s apartment in Montreal. It’s fall, preseason, they’ve been together together for a few months now, and they’re back to stolen time. Although now it’s long weekends and days off instead of just game days against each other, and Ilya would be lying if he said he didn’t love this feeling, but being without Shane is miserable, soul-crushing, unbearable, and pulling up to Shane’s house to have a reunion fuck and lay around for a weekend is maybe the greatest joy Ilya has ever felt.
They do other things, too. They work out together, eat with Shane’s parents, even talk about the future every now and then. They've hung out with Yuna and David a few times since the beginning of the summer at the cottage, when everything changed and they found out, and now their dinners are normal. Nearly routine. Yuna and Shane do most of the talking, about hockey and brand commitments and who-knows-what, and then sometimes someone asks about Ilya, and they all get to know each other. It’s nice, domestic or whatever. Ilya feels included.
They’re coming over for dinner tonight and to spend the weekend in Montreal, and Ilya is genuinely looking forward to it, after what he’s really looking forward to.
Ilya flew this time, because he doesn’t really trust the winding Vermont highways not to scrape up the bottom of his sexy cars, and he told Shane he would just get an Uber from the airport so that Shane can keep prepping dinner. He’s getting dropped off at Shane’s apartment around five o’clock, and Shane had texted saying that his parents would arrive around six, so they only have a tight but acceptable amount of time to finish each other off, clean up, and look busy with dinner prep before his parents arrive.
It’s been a month, their longest break without each other since they became them.
(It’s unthinkable now that they began this summer believing they would have two weeks, then part again for months.)
The car has barely stopped before he flings the door open, stumbling out with a perfectly respectable “thank you, have nice day” that’s only slightly ruined by his tripping over himself as he pours out of the car, and he barely manages to keep his duffle hanging discretely over his massive erection as he runs across the lot to the building’s backdoor and books it up the stairs.
He probably should have tried to relax in the car rather than get himself worked up, but where’s the fun in that? Why not fantasize about fucking Shane over the countertop, or on the couch, or even right there in the entryway, Ilya’s not picky. Or of course in bed, slowly, then not slowly at all, but he knows that will have to wait for after dinner, after Mr. and Mrs. Hollander are settled into bed and out of earshot.
He makes it to Shane’s door with pants intact, but as he furiously pushes at the apartment’s backdoor keypad with his right hand, he takes the liberty of undoing his belt with his left. After one failed attempt and an annoyingly angry beep-beep-beep!, Ilya’s shoving open the door, dropping his bag, and all but sprinting across the apartment. He barely remembers to toe off his shoes for Shane.
“I’m here!” he yells blindly into the hall.
“In the kitchen!”
Ilya turns. He skids on the hardwood floor in his socks, then all but slams into a cabinet as he rounds a corner. And there’s Shane, a cutting board and a few bell peppers in front of him, setting down his knife and turning before Ilya has righted himself.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Ilya grins wolfishly at Shane and yanks him in.
They kiss furiously, and Ilya can’t help but put his hands back at his own waist, undoing his button and fly and then reaching for Shane’s too.
“Ilya, slow down–”
“No.”
Ilya puts his mouth back on Shane’s, yanks his own shirt off so fast it makes a fwip sound in the air, and then he’s pushing his hand into Shane’s underwear.
Shane really pulls his head back then, slamming a hand down and around Ilya’s wrist in an iron grip to keep that hand from moving. “Ilya, stop. My mom–”
“Oh!”
“Oh!” Ilya yelps.
And over Shane’s shoulder suddenly, there’s Yuna, hovering near the fridge, having obviously just rounded the corner. She’s holding a bottle of white wine and two glasses.
In the presence of Shane’s mother, Ilya has to physically unwrap his fingers from Shane’s dick, pull them out of his underwear, and take two steps back. He felt the drag of velvety skin against his fingers as he locked eyes with Yuna, and it is so confusing and weird that he, Ilya Rozanov, blushes.
“Hi, Mrs. Hollander.”
“Uh– Yuna, Ilya.”
“Yuna, sorry.”
Thankfully she’s standing so Shane’s back is mostly to her, so there’s no chance she could see anything too graphic, but she’s a smart woman, she can figure out what she just walked into.
They all three just look at each other for another beat, everyone’s eyes wide, then Shane just lowers his face into his hands with a whispered “fuck”. Ilya takes that as his cue to retrieve his shirt, but when he looks down he realizes his pants are hanging completely open, and there it is, his hard dick, jutting out from his open fly obscenely, barely hidden by the fabric of his thin stretch-cotton boxers.
Ilya makes an undignified little “ope” sound, like an idiot, and quickly spins around to face away. He aggressively adjusts himself, as if this hasn’t been the biggest boner killer of his life anyway, then rezips and buckles and yanks the shirt back on. He scrubs a hand down his face too, blinks hard, and turns back around.
Shane still has his face in his hands, and Yuna still hasn’t moved, although her eyes have shifted to something more… calculating, so Ilya tries to multitask.
“I’m so sorry Yuna, I thought you would not be here yet.” He says it as he gently pulls Shane’s arms down and away from his face, but Shane just tucks his chin lower in response. Over his head, Ilya makes eye contact with Yuna.
She’s fighting a grin now. “That’s perfectly okay, Ilya, I know you haven’t seen each other in a while.”
Ilya has no idea how to respond to that, so he just grimaces instead. Subtly, he tries to shift Shane so that he’s facing fully away from Yuna, that way Ilya can refasten his pants without her seeing the movements of his hands. He just manages to accomplish it, and then bends a little and tips Shane’s chin up so he can look him in the eye.
Shane looks ready to kill either Ilya or himself. Damn.
“I’m sorry, you tried to stop me–”
“No, it’s okay, I got it wrong, I forgot they were already near the city so it wouldn’t take them the full two hour drive,” Shane says, already a little resigned, cheeks blushing darker by the moment. He shifts awkwardly, eyes glued to the floor. “Sorry you had to see that, Mom.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m glad you two are getting some time together this weekend.” She finally moves to put the wine in the fridge and set the glasses down, then even she, the great Yuna Hollander, does an awkward little step backwards. “I’ll go help your father with the rest of the groceries.”
When she’s gone, Ilya allows himself to freak out, just a little.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry this happened again because of me, I was just so excited to see you and I missed you so much–”
“Ilya, really, it’s okay. I told you the wrong time.” He shakes his head as if to clear away a fog, and then he finally makes eye contact. “It’s really okay. Now that it’s happened once… I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
Shane finally gives him a smile. “I missed you too.”
“Can I kiss you now? I will be quick, she will be back any second.”
“Okay.”
They kiss, a little more chastely this time, then relax into just holding each other and leaning against the countertop. Shane gives him a look up and down, approval on his face when he notices Ilya’s socked feet.
“Did you come up the back stairs? You should have seen them parked out front if you passed that way.”
“I was… distracted. In the car.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Shane says, finally seeming to relax.
Ilya kisses him on the nose, and then they really do pull apart as the front door closes and footsteps approach. David appears with a bag of groceries, Yuna somewhere behind him with a duffel and yet another bottle of wine.
Good idea, Ilya thinks.
David shakes his hand heartily. “Ilya! Good to see you again. The flight was fine?”
“Yes, thank you. It is good to see you too.” He means it.
“I hear I’m not the only one who’s learned their lesson about barging in on you two, huh?” He laughs, and Ilya takes a second to realize that yes, this is funny. He can laugh too. He side-eyes Shane just to make sure, and even he’s quirked up one corner of his mouth, even though he appears to be very carefully assessing the hardwood floors rather than looking at the people around him.
So Ilya laughs, and gives Shane a kiss on the side of his face. “Ha, yes, sorry again. Got ahead of myself.”