The Long Game

Shane was, Ilya had to admit, a pretty terrible coach. But in an adorable way.

“You’re unfairly handsome in the mornings, you know that?”

Ilya grinned. “Tell me in Russian.”

Shane’s nose scrunched up in concentration. “Um...ty ochen’ krasiv?”

Ilya’s heart fluttered the way it always did when Shane attempted Russian. “Close enough.”

“What I’m trying to say, and Yuna’s always been the better speaker, is I’ve always felt so lucky to have a son as wonderful as Shane that I never expected to be blessed with a second one.”

“Do you know what I want to do?”
“Is it filthy?”
“No. I want to make a video.”
“That sounds filthy.”

They kissed, and Shane said, “What do you need right now?”
“Sleep,” Ilya answered honestly. “In the morning, probably coffee.” He grinned impishly. “And maybe five or six blowjobs.”
Shane smiled so wide his eyes crinkled. “Blowjobs aren’t a cure for depression, Ilya.”
“Are you a doctor now?”
Shane laughed and kissed him again. “Go to sleep, idiot.”

After a week of being apart from Shane, he wanted to tear his own skin off.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He bent over Shane so he could speak directly in his ear. “I feel like I am fucking a king right now.”
“Ilya—”
He grabbed a handful of Shane’s hair and tugged his head back. “Do you know how powerful this feels, fucking a king in his throne room?”
“Fu—fucking hell, Rozanov.”

It was after ten o’clock at night when Ilya’s phone finally lit up with a text from Shane: I ate a Snickers bar.
Ilya sent him a FaceTime request right away.

“Fingers, Hollander. Put your fingers in me. And fucking relax.”
Shane scoffed. “You’re the one who needs to relax here.”
“You are the one who is taking forever.”
“I liked it better when you couldn’t talk.”
“Then make me forget how to.”

“You should design my next tattoo,” Ilya said. “Like, a cool animal.”
Luca stared at him. “Are you serious?”
Ilya shrugged. He hadn’t thought much about his next possible tattoo, but it would be nice to have one designed by a teammate. “Sure.”
“That is a lot of pressure,” Luca said.
“If it is too much I will get someone else to do it,” Ilya teased. “D, do you want to design my tattoo?”
Dykstra grinned. “You want a stickman or a heart?”