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    Summary

    He stopped for a moment to take the image in, Shane beneath him, hair a mess, skin flushed and lips slightly swollen, the large hockey jersey swallowing him up. The ridiculous Centaurs logo that Ilya could never take seriously suddenly looked so good. It made sense, Shane looked good in everything. Even at night, when he’d pad around the house in an old pair of oversized pajamas that had clearly seen better days, he was still the hottest person Ilya had ever laid eyes on.

    But there was something about Shane wearing something that was his, so much his that it had his name across the back of it. It drove him crazy.

    Ilya kissed along Shane’s neck and jawline as he got lost in his own mind, thinking about all the ways he could absolutely desecrate this Ottawa Centaurs jersey.

     

    OR:
    Shane puts on Ilya's hockey jersey while doing the laundry, and Ilya is not chill about it at all.

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