Shane knee-walked until he was straddling Ilya’s waist. “I can do it. Your limbs are all noodly.”
Ilya folded his hands behind his head. “My favorite show.”
Shane smiled and poured more lube into his palm, then got to work. Less than a minute later, he was on the brink of orgasm. “Sorry,” he gritted out. “I can’t—”
“Is okay,” Ilya said. “Come on.”
Shane stopped trying to fight it, and let his orgasm slam into him, spilling all over Ilya’s chest. Then, Shane collapsed forward and kissed him messily. “Love you,” he murmured against Ilya’s lips. “So much.”
Later, after they’d cleaned up and Shane had put the unfortunate pillow in the laundry for tomorrow, they cuddled up together in bed. It was late and they were both struggling to stay awake.
“Did I tell you,” Ilya said, “that Bood and Cassie had their baby?”
“No.”
“They had a boy,” Ilya said. “Milo.”
“Nice name.”
“Mm. I saw him. Very cute.”
Shane fiddled with the ring on Ilya’s chain. “What would you name your son?”
“Roger Crowell.”
Shane cracked up. “He’d love that.”
“Roger Crowell Rozanov.”
“Stop.”
“Or…” Ilya rolled on top of him, grinning. “Roger Crowell Rozanov-Hollander.”
“God, that’s a mouthful,” Shane said as his heart melted into goo. “Hollander-Rozanov is alphabetical, though, so…”
“Sounds worse.”
“Maybe we could combine our names. Hollanov. Rozander.”
“Roger Rozander. Terrible name.”
“We’re not naming our kid Roger, you sack of shit!”
They both laughed, and then kissed until exhaustion made their mouths sloppy and slow. Ilya fell asleep first, and Shane listened to his steady breathing as his own body fizzed with happiness.
Chapter Thirty-One
March
Ilya was, of course, happy to see all the support Troy got during the week following the Pride Night game. He was sure there was plenty of the other side being vocal online, but those people were getting drowned out, and they didn’t matter anyway. It made Ilya hopeful that things might be okay when he and Shane announced their relationship.
He was only a little jealous when he saw how much lighter Troy seemed. How easily he smiled now. How openly Troy and Harris were affectionate with each other, knowing they didn’t need to hide. Knowing they had the support of the team. Ilya imagined it felt wonderful.
When they were on the ice, waiting for practice to start, Troy approached Ilya. “Hey.”
Ilya nodded at him. “Barrett.”
Troy snatched a puck that was against the boards and began moving it around with his stick blade. “So, I want to, um, thank you.”
“For what?”
“Giving me the push I needed, I guess. Being…supportive.”
Ilya stole the puck from him. “It is called being a friend.”
“Yeah, well. Not in my experience.”
Ilya passed the puck back to him. “How has it been? Being out?”
Troy smiled. “Amazing.”
There was a twist of jealousy in Ilya’s chest, but he ignored it. “Good.”
“And also, Harris was wondering if you…” His voice dipped to a nearly inaudible mumble.
“What?”
Troy sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Harris wants you to come to dinner at his family’s farm this Sunday. As a thank-you.”
This was completely unnecessary, and possibly more than Ilya could deal with right now, emotionally. He was ready to politely decline, but something occurred to him. “Will Chiron be there?”
Troy’s lips curved up a bit. “Yeah. And a bunch of other dogs.”
Well. Ilya could probably make time for a bit of dinner.
“Aah! Harris, who is this good boy? He is even bigger than Chiron!” Ilya was crouching in the driveway in front of the Drover family farmhouse with an enormous brown dog’s paws on his shoulders.
“That’s Mac,” Harris said. “He’s trouble.”
Ilya rubbed Mac’s face with both hands. “He is not trouble. He is very good.”
Ilya had been to Harris’s family’s apple farm once before, but not to the house. He’d gone to the grand opening of Harris’s sisters’ cidery, which was also on the property. That had been nice, but the farmhouse looked fucking adorable.
And there were so many dogs.
“Why do I have a house?” Ilya joked as a second, smaller dog bumped its nose on his thigh, looking for attention. “I could live in a tent here and be so happy.”
“You should come inside,” Troy called from the front porch. “It’s freezing out here.”
“I have not met everyone yet,” Ilya argued as he twisted around to greet a third dog. “Who is this one?”
“Not sure yet,” Harris said. “She just got here.”
The unnamed dog was medium-sized with long hair that was a mix of brown and white and gray. She had floppy ears, big brown eyes, and the sweetest face Ilya had ever seen.
“You are new!” Ilya said to her as he scratched her soft ears. “You will love this farm.”
“She was found by one of our neighbors,” Harris said. “People tend to bring strays here because my parents are good with them. Mom took her down the road to see Linda to get her checked out.”
“Linda is a vet,” Troy supplied.
The dog licked Ilya’s fingers, making him laugh. “Not shy at all, are you?”
“She’s in good shape,” Harris said, “considering she was alone outside in the cold. Linda thinks she was found pretty quickly, thank god. She’s super friendly—the dog, I mean. Shannon’s been taking good care of her.”
“Shannon’s that dog,” Troy said, pointing to the smallest dog there.
“No one owns her?” Ilya asked as he stood up. The unnamed dog squeezed between his legs.
“Not that we’ve been able to find. We know everyone around for miles.” Harris’s face turned angrier than Ilya had ever seen it. “Sometimes people drive dogs they don’t want out to the country, though.”
“And leave them?” Ilya asked, horrified. He’d grown up in Moscow and had seen plenty of stray dogs, but the idea of someone abandoning a dog that loved them—a part of their family and their home—was monstrous.
Harris nodded. “Yeah. It’s gross.”
“It’s fucking horrible,” Troy said.
Ilya headed toward the front door with five dogs all around him. Chiron walked in front, but kept turning to make sure Ilya was following. The new dog stayed close to Ilya’s ankles.
The house smelled amazing, and it was just as charming as Ilya had imagined. Packed with family history and people laughing and, yes, dogs.
“I think most people are in the living room,” Harris said, leading the way.
“Buckle up,” Troy muttered, “it gets loud in here.”
There were five people sitting in the living room. Harris went around the room, reintroducing Ilya to his two sisters and their husbands. When he got to his mom, Ilya interrupted him.