But being in Canada, near Montreal, made it easier to be with Shane. Ilya could build a life here, in Shane’s hometown of Ottawa. Eventually he could become a Canadian citizen, and retire, and start a new adventure with Shane.
“Do you need another Coke?” David asked during a commercial break.
“No, no, I am good. Full from the delicious dinner,” Ilya said with a small smile. David had made chicken parmesan, one of Ilya’s favorites. Ilya had eaten more than he’d needed to. Especially after eating two hand pies.
“There’s ice cream,” Yuna said. “If you want some.”
“No, thank you,” Ilya said. Then, “What kind?”
Yuna smiled. “Cookies and cream.”
Ilya put his hand over his heart. “Impossible to resist.”
A few minutes later, Ilya was tucked under a blanket on the couch, eating ice cream out of a little bowl. He felt like a child, and he kind of loved it.
They were showing Shane on the television, a close-up as he got ready for the face-off. His cheeks were flushed, his skin glistening with sweat. His dark hair stuck out from under his helmet the way it never had for most of his career.
“His hair is too long,” Yuna complained.
“No,” Ilya said quietly. “It is perfect.”
In the second period, Shane took a long pass from J.J. that resulted in a breakaway. Shane raced through the Boston zone, using his incredible speed to make sure no one caught him. When he reached the net, he switched to his backhand, and in the split second before he took the shot, Ilya realized what he was doing. Shane had left the puck where it was, faking the backhand shot and forcing the goalie to move. Then, lightning-fast, Shane fired a forehand wrist shot over the goalie’s shoulder.
And then, Shane winked at the camera. Winked. And Ilya knew it was meant for him.
“That’s my move!” Ilya said. The blanket he’d been wrapped in fell to the floor as he stood, one hand waving at the television, the other cradling his ice cream bowl protectively to his chest. “He did my move!”
David and Yuna were laughing. Ilya wasn’t.
“When did he learn that?” Ilya demanded. “I did not teach him.”
“You know Shane,” Yuna said. “He studied it, learned it, and, I would say, perfected it.”
“That move is called the Rozanov!” Ilya exclaimed. “He cannot do it.”
“He just did,” David pointed out.
Ilya dropped back onto the couch with a huff. “Is bullshit.”
“You should be honored,” Yuna said. “It’s a show of respect.”
“Is a show of being a thief.”
“You think kids aren’t practicing that move all over the hockey-playing world?” David asked. “I’ll bet half the NHL has practiced it, but no one can pull it off except you and Shane.”
Well. That was nice to think about, not that Ilya would admit it.
“I can do it faster,” he grumbled instead.
Shane was on the bench now, grinning and looking way too fucking proud of himself. Ilya shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth to stop himself from smiling back.
“You little shit.”
Shane laughed in face of his boyfriend’s fury. “Did you like that?”
“How did you learn it?”
“Like it’s hard,” Shane said dismissively, as if he hadn’t practiced it in secret for hours, visualizing this moment. Hoping for this exact expression on Ilya’s face.
On Shane’s phone, Ilya was scowling, but his eyes were glinting with the mixture of anger and desire that always made Shane’s knees weak. He was shirtless, and Shane could see the top of the grizzly bear head tattoo on his left pec, and part of the loon tattoo near his left shoulder.
“Were you trying to make me angry?” Ilya’s voice was low and dangerous, and it made Shane shiver.
“Did it work?”
“Are you alone?”
Shane moved the phone around to show his empty hotel room. “Yes.”
“Take that shirt off. Get on the bed.”
Shane took a moment to snap his phone into the tripod he’d had the foresight to set up next to his bed. He’d known his little stunt on the ice would make Ilya horny as hell. He’d been counting on it.
When he was settled on the bed, shirtless as instructed, Shane said, in Russian, “Do you have plans for me?”
Ilya’s mouth hung open for a moment, and Shane could practically see the bolts of arousal rocketing through him. “Fuck,” Ilya said.
Shane bit his lip, pleased with himself. Pleased that he could still make Ilya react like this, could still surprise him, after all these years.
“I think I should get a reward,” Shane said, in English. “For perfecting that move.”
“Perfecting,” Ilya scoffed. “Was just okay.”
“The puck went in the net.”
“Whatever. Hold on. One minute.”
Shane waited while Ilya set his phone up on his own tripod. When he was finished, Shane had a good view of Ilya reclining on his bed, wearing only boxer briefs.
“I hope that’s not what you wore to my parents’ house.”
“I dressed up for your parents. Nice shirt, very respectable boyfriend.”
“You don’t have to dress up for them. They love you.”
Ilya’s smile looked soft, and helpless. “I know. They made me chicken parmesan. And there was ice cream.”
“Sounds healthy and well-balanced.”
Ilya shook his head. “What is the point of life if you are not eating chicken parmesan and ice cream?”
“I can think of some good things,” Shane said as he gently caressed himself through his underwear. “Besides food.”
“High interval training?” Ilya asked dryly.
“Shut up. I’m trying to be sexy.”
“Oh. Okay. I was not sure.” He stretched one arm over his head and let his hand drape casually against the pillow. “So what is the plan?”
“Plan?”
“You are in charge, yes? You want a reward? What do you want me to do?”
“Um.” Shane wished he could respond to that sort of question without blushing. Ilya always managed to be perfectly filthy without embarrassment. “Touch yourself.”
Ilya poked his own nose. “Like this?”
Shane looked skyward in frustration. “Why are you like this?”
“Because it is fun.”
“You know what? Fuck this. Take your dick out and get yourself hard while I watch.”
Ilya was silent for a moment, blinking at the screen. Then, quietly, he said, “Yes. Okay.”
In seconds, Ilya was naked, and Shane could see him from his thighs to the top of his head. Shane was pleased to see his cock was half hard already, the head beginning to peek out of the foreskin. Shane licked his lips.
“I wish you were here right now,” Shane said.
“Be weird. With your teammates around.”
“Then I wish I was at your house right now. Stop being difficult.”
Ilya smiled lazily as he stroked himself. “I want to touch you. I miss you.”
“I always miss you.” Shane’s throat felt tight, which was a ridiculous sensation to experience when watching your boyfriend jerk off. He swallowed hard and said, “You look hot.”