“Probably.”
Shane’s lips curved up and he added, “For a guy who just had his move stolen.”
That made Ilya laugh and smile so wide his eyes crinkled. Shane laughed too, and tried not to be terrified by how much he felt for this man.
Ilya’s laughter morphed into a sigh of pleasure as he kept stroking his cock. “Is this all you want?”
“Yeah,” Shane said, barely above a whisper. “Just want to watch you.”
It was true, and it wasn’t true. Shane wanted to climb through the phone and sit on Ilya’s lap. Watching Ilya stroke himself was a decent consolation prize, though.
“I want you to be here,” Ilya said.
“Me too. Wanna touch you. Wanna…fuck, I want to see you come.”
Ilya spread his legs wider and leaned back more on the pillows behind him. “Put your glasses on, then.”
“So I can see better, or because you’re hot for my glasses?”
“Both.”
Shane reached for his glasses case on the nightstand. He made a show of opening the case, pulling the glasses out, unfolding them, and putting them on. Like a nerdy reverse striptease.
Ilya grinned as his big hand moved in an easy, sure rhythm over his thick cock. Shane took advantage of his own improved vision and let his gaze dart all over the place, from Ilya’s broad shoulders, to his twitching pecs, to his swollen balls, to the way his muscular forearms worked as he stroked himself.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Shane said.
Ilya smiled at him in that crooked way that had been making Shane feel crazy for over ten years. “Tell me.”
“As if you don’t know how hot you are.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Shane smiled and shook his head, but said, “You’re so fucking big. Like, everywhere. Your arms, your chest, your fucking thighs. I love how tall you are. I don’t even care that you make fun of my height because I fucking love being swallowed up by you when we’re together.”
Ilya groaned and moved his hand faster.
Shane laughed. “Figures that would do it for you.”
“Touch yourself.” Ilya’s voice was strained, making it sound less like an order and more like a plea.
Shane obeyed, humming happily as he finally gave his rigid cock some attention.
“Were you waiting for me to tell you to do that?” Ilya asked with amusement.
“No,” Shane said quickly. “I just wanted to see how long I could wait.”
Ilya huffed. “Playing your own game over there, yes?”
Shane shrugged one shoulder. “Needed to do something to keep myself awake. It’s not like you’re doing anything interesting over there.”
“Brat.” Ilya let his dick snap backward, slapping hard against his firm stomach.
“Wow,” Shane said sarcastically. “You’ve got tricks now.”
They both cracked up. Ilya flipped him off with his left hand while he went back to stroking himself with his right.
“How is this for interesting?” Ilya said when he’d stopped laughing. “I have not come for three days.”
Shane’s eyebrows shot up. “Jesus. Are you okay?” Shane regularly went at least as long between orgasms without feeling deprived, but he knew Ilya usually needed at least one a day.
Ilya chuckled softly. “Fine. Busy, I guess. Or maybe waiting for this. For you.”
“I’ll admit,” Shane said. “You have my full attention now.”
“Good. Please jerk off so we can come together.”
“I am. For fuck’s sake, give me a chance to catch up.”
“Like you need it.”
“Like you need it,” Shane mimicked with his best attempt at a Russian accent.
“That is what I sound like? No wonder you are so hot for me. Sexy.”
Shane laughed. “Shut up. Let me focus.”
For the next couple of minutes, both men were silent besides their quiet moans and heavy breathing. Jerking off together like this always felt like a competition, even when it wasn’t. This time, Ilya had explicitly stated that he wanted them to come together, but even that sounded like a challenge to Shane. Fortunately, challenges were a huge turn-on for him.
“You close?” Shane asked shakily.
Ilya smiled. “That was fast, Hollander.”
“I didn’t say I was close.”
“But you are.”
“You don’t—ah, fuck—know anything.”
“How long has it been since you came?”
Shane shuddered. “I don’t remember.”
Ilya’s head rolled against the pillow. “I am going to come so fucking hard.”
Shane exhaled, relieved that they were done pretending. “Fuck, me too.”
“I can’t wait to fuck you again.”
“Me too. Shit, me too. Ilya, are you—”
“Yes. Come on.”
Shane’s orgasm hit him so hard that he let out a weird whimpering noise as the first burst of come landed on his stomach. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open through the intense jolts of pleasure, but it was worth the effort to watch Ilya coming spectacularly all over himself.
“Holy shit,” Shane said, when he was able to talk again.
Ilya had his eyes closed and was breathing hard through his nose. He was still holding his dick.
“You okay?” Shane asked.
“I think there is more.” Ilya started stroking himself again, hard and fast. Shane watched in amazement when, a few seconds later, Ilya’s whole body tensed and arched as a small spurt of come joined the mess on his belly.
“That’s new,” Shane said.
Ilya’s chest was still heaving. “Like you said. I have tricks.”
They both laughed.
“That was hot,” Shane said.
“Yes. Very.”
“I really need to take a shower. Again.”
“Mm.”
“I love you.”
Ilya’s expression turned serious, and for a moment Shane’s stomach clenched as if he expected Ilya to tell him something awful.
But all Ilya said was, “I love you so much, Shane.”
Shane knew it, but hearing Ilya say it in such a raw, unguarded way cut through him like a blade. The pain of not being in the same room as Ilya felt physical.
“Ten days,” he said. God, ten. How was he supposed to endure ten more days without Ilya? And then only have him for one, maybe one and a half, before they’d be apart again.
“Ten days.” The number sounded just as enormous when Ilya said it.
They said goodbye, ended the call, and then Shane was alone again, and wishing like hell that there could be a solution to their problem.
Chapter Nine
Ilya woke from another dream about his mother. The same dream. Always the same dream.
He reached a hand out toward Shane’s side of the bed, but of course it was empty. He hadn’t shared a bed with Shane for two weeks.
He brought his hand to his chest and traced the crucifix around his neck with one fingertip, soothing himself with the familiar bumps and edges of the gold cross.
He had to go to practice. He still felt tired. He always felt tired these days. It could be because he was twenty-nine, which was hockey middle-aged. Or because his terrible team had lost five to one last night. It could be because of the frequent unsettling dreams he’d been having about his mother. It could be because he missed his boyfriend.