Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov/Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags:

Threesome - M/M/M, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Goalie Shane Hollander, Dom/sub Undertones

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of #42 Shane Hollander

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-27 Words: 6,549 Chapters: 1/1

G G C

Summary

Ilya (Boston) named the conversation “Russian Sandwich”.

Notes

Hello all, and welcome to Filth City.

This humble one shot is the result of my twt followers voting on the variation of Ilya/Shane/Misha that they most wanted to see after Goalie Shane reached a ridiculous 100k hits, and thus the 'Russian Sandwich' was born.

It is unfortunately pretty darn essential that you read the main fic in this series to understand a) who the heck Mikhail Popov is, b) how Shane and Ilya end up in his orbit in the first place, and c) how flexy I can make the world's strictest monogamous pair until they end up hosting a third.

For readers of "good on my own accord" who aren't following along with my writing updates on hrtwt, this fic is set in the distant, ambiguous future after Shane and Ilya get together for real (I hope that's not a spoiler to anyone, haha) and does not have any implications for real Goalie Shane canon. Think of this as canon divergence of my canon divergence. Whoa, baby.

Anyway, what was meant to be ~2k of loose PWP became... something with a hint of character driven narrative and relationship exploration. Who's surprised? My verbosity strikes even when describing various appendages going every which way, with feeling.

June 20XX – Las Vegas

If you’d asked Mikhail Ivanovich Popov — seven years old, pre-growth spurt, and a nightmare in goal in the bad way — if he thought he’d one day be up for his fourth Vezina Trophy, he would have said ‘yes, absolutely.’

Mikhail had always been a dreamer, aspiring to a career in the KHL at minimum, even as he spent his youth in a rural area of Southern Russia not known for its hockey star output. Loud and goofy and easily distractible, his parents had shoved him onto the ice as soon as he was big enough for skates, forcing an endless series of strict coaches to channel his energy into elite sports performance instead. While his final size had not been a surprise (his mother, at 185 cm was the shortest in his immediate family), the eventual talent he developed in goal surpassed anyone’s reasonable expectations. By his early teens, Mikhail was being courted by scouts from the KHL and every major international league too, which had made him an easy choice to start for Russia in World Juniors. And that was, of course, where he finally met him. 

Rozanov. Mononymous, in the way the Western media described the surly, super-powered center by last name alone.

Mikhail had only just made the move to Moscow in the previous season, goalie space opening up in the big city leagues, so had yet to face the so-called teenage terror on the ice. But, while other players feared him and loathed him in turn, Mikhail soon found Rozanov — Ilya Grigoryevich — intriguing for other reasons.

It was something in the way his eyes had lingered on Mikhail, on his body, when they’d first met in the locker room at the practice facilities, gaze a little bolder than most boys their age would dare to be, for fear of… certain accusations. Mikhail, impulsive and always up for a challenge, had simply quirked a smile and stared confidently right back, watching with satisfaction as the surprise in Rozanov’s eyes morphed into quiet approval. Maybe Rozanov had heard the rumors about him already, or maybe he just knew, in the way that they all seemed to recognize each other eventually… but either way, he hadn’t said a word about it. Not that year, and not the next. The silence meant safety, a tentative trust even. Still, it was shocking to think that the brightest rising star they’d seen on Russian ice in a decade was maybe… a little like him. 

Supposed shared interests aside, Ilya had never propositioned Mikhail back then, which he’d been vaguely disappointed and bitter about at the time. However, now that he knew a lot more about Ilya’s preferences, the thought of them hooking up as teens only made him laugh. Less concerned about homosexuality on principle and more culturally concerned about being thought of as a bottom, a seventeen year old Mikhail would have scrapped with Ilya tooth and nail over any assumption of submission. It would have been a disaster. Plus, not long after they’d met, Ilya had immediately set his sights on a blushing, brown-eyed prize at Juniors in Canada anyway. In this, he and Mikhail had very overlapping tastes.

But anyhow, in his many years of sexual experience since, and with an American partner who consumed queer theory with a near-academic zeal, Mikhail had been convinced to broaden his horizons. It was with this particular mindset that he considered Ilya Rozanov more closely, seated next to him at their front row table at this year’s NHL Awards. Ilya was undeniably attractive, leaned back in his chair in his impeccably-tailored Armani suit and radiating easy confidence, though Mikhail was sure this aesthetic appreciation would earn him what Jake called ‘boyfriend twin’ allegations. Ilya wasn’t his type, not really, but he was Shane Hollander’s type — had belonged to Shane for years now, even if it was the NHL’s best (and worst, if you had even semi-functional gaydar) kept secret — and that made him very interesting to Mikhail indeed.

“Are you as bored as I am?” Ilya asked in Russian, startling Mikhail from his daydreaming.

The attempt at small talk made him smile. Though they weren’t exactly friends, the handful of polite exchanges they’d had on and off the ice over the years had been perfectly pleasant, not counting the rare gatherings where Shane would be standing between them and smiling like the cat who’d got the cream as they indulged in some peacocking on his behalf.

Still, Shane was one of his best friends — the best, probably — and Ilya was Shane’s… boyfriend? Common law husband by now, maybe? So Mikhail would behave.

“Would it start too many rumors if we got up and left at the same time?” he joked, watching a lopsided grin form on Ilya’s face.

“You know I have no problem with rumors,” Ilya replied easily, gaze cutting back toward a table in the second row in a way he probably thought was discreet. Worst kept secret, Mikhail thought again, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Might be worth the fines from the league too. Surely they can just mail us our trophies later.”

The walk-on music overhead blasted to life again just as Ilya finished his sentence, both of them watching Corporate Suit Guy #34 take the stage to deliver another ‘triumphs and tribulations of hockey’ monologue of Shakespearean proportions.

“Maybe we can up the drama? Stage a fight and get thrown out?” Mikhail teased, coloring his voice with faux-concern as he exclaimed, “Oh no! Banned from having to sit through hours of interminable speeches every year? What a shame.”

Ilya actually snorted at that, Mikhail’s chest filling with a strange warmth at the thought that he might have impressed the most famous Russian player in the game, even just a little.

“Shane is always saying how funny you are,” Ilya remarked. And ah, there it was.

Mikhail wondered, not for the first time, if Ilya knew it was obvious, and wondered even harder how no one in the league and the hockey world at large seemed to think so too. How the fearsome Rozanov spoke about the goaltender with more than just a fellow player’s admiration and seemed pathologically incapable of not injecting Shane’s name into every conversation, no matter how vaguely related it was. Or maybe Ilya just considered Mikhail safe enough to let down his guard even more. That was a nice thought. A little queer solidarity between Russian men far from home, not that home meant much these days, in the spotlight on the ice while they loved in the dark places in between.

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, both of their phones buzzed on the table in front of them in succession, making them jump. Mikhail almost laughed aloud at the contact name that popped up, and fought that laugh even harder when he realized he’d been forced into a group chat too.

Shane 🧱: Having fun up there?

Mikhail glanced over at Ilya, ready to tease, but Ilya had his eyes firmly locked on the screen and was already typing furiously. The expression on his face was as scheming as Mikhail had ever seen it, and he’d faced the vicious playmaker head-on too many times to count.

Ilya (Boston) named the conversation “Russian Sandwich”.

Mikhail choked out a laugh for real this time, ignoring the puzzled, slightly annoyed look from the New Jersey defenseman seated to his left.

Mikhail: hi shane 🤠

Shane 🧱: 😠

Ilya (Boston): ah, someone is pouting because we are not paying attention to him

Glancing over at Ilya, Mikhail took a calculated risk, knowing that Shane — despite his deeply monogamous attachment to a singular Russian in particular — still liked being toyed with a bit. He was less sure if Ilya would tolerate the flirting, though there was only one way to find out.

Mikhail: can you blame him? we look very sexy side by side

Ilya (Boston): 🙄

Ilya (Boston): true though. must be a nice view

Ah, so he would play along. For Shane, at least. Excellent.

Grinning wickedly, Mikhail looked back toward the nearby table where Shane had angled his chair more pointedly toward them. Feeling emboldened by boredom and a little champagne, he placed a hand on Ilya’s knee, only visible under the tablecloth from Shane’s particular view, and squeezed lightly. Ilya startled, head snapping in his direction. Too much, maybe. Mikhail swallowed and moved to pull his hand back, shocked when he felt calloused fingers wrap around his wrist instead, dragging his hand upward until it was sprawled across that deliciously muscular thigh.

The text notification was immediate.

Neither of them moved this time, frozen for a moment as Mikhail found himself kneading Ilya’s thigh, fingers drifting closer to somewhere he was sure was forbidden. After what felt like an eternity but was probably mere seconds at best, Ilya released Mikhail’s wrist and he quickly withdrew his touch, the move having been dangerously public, however brief. They locked eyes again, simultaneously huffing out a noise that was half amusement and half disbelief. Mikhail’s heart was racing now, and not just from the joy of baiting Shane Hollander. It had been a long time since he’d felt the press of Shane’s mouth, the moment chaste in his memory, but imagining that plush bottom lip melting against Ilya’s sharp cupid’s bow… both of those pretty mouths then seeking out his own… Fuck, it was foolish to imagine he could have either of them. Much less together.

Mikhail had always been a dreamer though, and it was hard to ignore just how much his confident delusion had been able to manifest: multiple Stanley Cups, broken records and goaltending awards, and now, maybe, the joint attention of two of the hottest players in all of professional sports.

In Russian, he whispered, “Your boy is very easy.”

Ilya’s eyes on him were intense, expression darkening in a way that had him fighting a shiver.

They both glanced down as another message joined the first.

Shane 🧱: You’re being very mean.

Shane 🧱: Don’t start something you won’t finish.

Mikhail swallowed, voice low as he hedged, “I thought you two didn’t—”

“Not usually,” Ilya cut in, amused, “And it has to be his idea.”

On stage, a new emcee concluded their introduction for the highlight reel of the season’s Calder nominees, Mikhail’s pulse accelerating until it rivaled the throbbing beat of the EDM track that followed.

“Both of you?” he ventured as they announced the next commercial break, heart in his throat.

Ilya’s expression turned serious then. “We are not like you and Jake,” he said plainly, “I am a very jealous man, but I would let Shane explore if it would make him happy. He doesn’t want to do things on his own though. And he won’t want me to just watch either.”

Mikhail sort of couldn’t believe his luck. “I know I’ve teased you before, and you know that Shane and I have—”

“Yes,” Ilya interrupted, a little testily, making Mikhail smile. 

Well, at least he was self-aware of the jealousy now. Messing with Ilya back when things were more complicated between those two oblivious idiots had been a particularly delicious privilege, but had also left Mikhail endlessly frustrated on Shane’s behalf.

“I do think you’re hot,” Mikhail barrelled on, “Obviously. And if the dick is as big as the rumors say…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

Ilya looked a little shell shocked at that, tugging at the collar of his tuxedo shirt as he all but visibly gulped. “You… wouldn’t want to fuck him?”

“Oh no, I absolutely would,” Mikhail replied, smirking at the way the balance of power seemed to flow between them. This would be very interesting. “And I don’t think the night could end without us filling him from both ends, hmm? But…” he pitched his voice even lower, leaning into Ilya’s space a little, “I can’t say I haven’t wondered myself what all the hype is about, Ilyukha. You were very popular back in the day.”

His phone lit up in his hand again then, insistently almost, with the way it buzzed half a dozen times.

Shane 🧱: Ilya.

Shane 🧱: Are you asking him?

Shane 🧱: This is me telling you to ask him.

Shane 🧱: In case that wasn’t clear.

Shane 🧱: ILYA ROZANOV 🚨

Next to him, Ilya was typing again, his expression so, so fond.

Ilya (Boston): we are discussing the terms, sweetheart

Ilya (Boston): patience

The tenderness between them made Mikhail’s heart ache a little, even as his horny brain was powering into overdrive, and he clicked through his phone messages himself, swiping over to his own favorite conversation.

Mikhail: baby i know you might be sleeping by now but

Mikhail: sos, alert, code BEARS 🐻

The reply came almost instantaneously.

Jake 💗: !!!!!!!!!!!!

Jake 💗: I’m tempted to tell you no just because I want to be there so bad but

Jake 💗: EVERY. DETAIL. You hear me, Mikhail Ivanovich? Every fucking detail.

Mikhail: i love you so much

Jake 💗: love you too, you lucky asshole

Ilya’s eyes were on him when he looked back up, openly appraising in a way that nearly made him blush.

“Penthouse two,” Ilya said, “Wait thirty minutes after the show ends. We’ll let you in.”

Mikhail could only nod, suppressing an even bigger grin.

Another win for the dreamers.

 🥪 & 🥪

When the knock finally came, Shane was nearly vibrating out of his skin, knowing the blend of anxiety and excitement was showing plainly on his face.

Ilya pressed a kiss to his cheek, rubbing at his shoulders, before he stood up from the couch where they’d been engaging in a bit of gentle foreplay. It wasn’t like he’d needed much. Shane had been so keyed up from the hours spent watching his boyfriend and his close friend talking animatedly, hands touching each other in casual but cruelly strategic ways meant only to tease him, that he’d practically swallowed Ilya whole with the force of his full-bodied kiss as the hotel room door clicked shut behind them. Ilya had eventually stopped them from going any further, after they’d tumbled hungrily around the room like a horny tornado, shedding clothes as they went.

“You can change your mind at any time, yes?” Ilya said, fingers sliding under Shane’s chin to force the eye contact.

Shane nodded slowly.

“You will not disappoint me or him if you say stop,” Ilya reiterated, waiting for another nod before he pressed a quick peck to Shane’s lips and made his way over to the door.

The reassurance quieted Shane’s brain a bit, allowing him to slip back into the dreamier headspace he preferred for these exceedingly rare encounters, with hands and other body parts to focus on that weren’t attached to the man he knew so well he could recognize him blindfolded, by a pinky finger or a singular exhale of breath.

Mm, blindfolds. Now there was a thought.

Shane, feeling perfectly floaty already, heard the mumbling of Russian at the door and then the shuffle of footsteps across the carpet.

“Hi there, pretty boy,” Misha said in his deep, accented English, wetting his lips, “I hear you’ve been very patient.”

Shane sighed happily at the praise, the hotel room’s AC a balm against his warming skin, even down to only his briefs as he was now. This had to be his best idea yet.

“What do you want tonight, sweetheart?” Ilya prompted, “We should discuss. No surprises.”

Shane tried to focus, vision zeroing in on the pair of statuesque, Adonis-like men standing in front of him expectantly. This had to be a dream, right? Or else a cruel trick — his greed judged as mortal sin, now standing at the gates of hell with one last chance to prove he could avoid temptation. (He very famously could not.)

“Um,” Shane said inelegantly, mind suddenly overwhelmed and spoiled for choice.

He openly took all of Mikhail Popov in, considering the possibilities. He’d kept his playoff beard from a month ago, now neatly trimmed, and let his blond waves grow long, framing his sharp cheekbones. Dressed in a simple loose t-shirt, the collar a little stretched out, and short black running shorts with the Crawfish logo embroidered across the right thigh, there was nearly endless skin on display. Shane wanted to touch every inch of it.

“What do you like?” he asked instead, watching Misha’s soft smile twitch at the question.

“I think Ilyukha and I have a lot in common,” Misha replied, moving to settle himself on the couch on Shane’s left side. With a wink, Ilya followed suit, mirroring him on the right. The proximity of the two men left Shane breathless.

Russian Sandwich, he thought, giddy and delirious as he remembered the ridiculous group chat name Ilya had invented on the spot.

“But, if you want specifics,” Misha continued, splaying a hand across Shane’s thigh, “You on your hands and knees, Ilyukha fucking into you from behind while I feed you my cock would make a pretty picture.”

Shane sucked in a breath, instantly harder than he’d ever been in his life, maybe, with the thought of being blissfully full everywhere, so completely absorbed by sensation that he would be unable to focus on anything else. The quietest quiet his brain could get (outside of the crease, of course). Euphoric.

“And if your man’s stamina is as legendary as they used to say,” Misha continued, sparing no time for Shane to recover from the initial shock, “I would not mind him fucking me too.” He lifted both hands and did a sort of jazzy wave, grin widening. “Big finish.”

Ilya snorted to Shane’s right, nosing into the juncture between his neck and shoulder to press a wet kiss there. “How does that sound?” he mumbled against Shane’s throat.

Shane shivered, letting out a groan as Ilya bit down, incisors indenting the skin there with a sharp prick of pain-pleasure. “Need an answer, солнышко,” he said, voice dipping low in warning. In a brattier headspace, Shane would have maintained a stubborn silence, pushing Ilya to punish him a bit, but the thought of being that vulnerable in front of a guest was too intimidating to feel sexy. This time, at least.

“Sounds really, really good,” Shane gasped out, leaning back into Misha’s firm chest as Ilya’s hands crept forward, predatory. Soon, he was basically perched in Misha’s lap, Ilya leaning over him at an angle, one hand braced on Misha’s thigh and the other on Shane’s own.

“And you promise to tell me if it is too much?” Ilya said, softer now. At his answering nod, Ilya’s eyes flicked up and over Shane’s head to look at Misha as well. “You too, Popov,” he said, sounding weirdly formal about it.

Predictably, Misha laughed, spouting off a little quip in Russian that was too fast and slangy for Shane to pick up on. “I appreciate commitment to consent,” he continued in English, a hand reaching up to grope at Shane’s pec, fingers finding his left nipple with a sharp pinch. “But if you are going to put your dick in me, I think you can be a little sweeter than that.”

“Take off your clothes,” Ilya deadpanned, tacking on an irreverent, “Misha.”

Shane felt the vibrations through his back as Misha hummed thoughtfully. 

“That is a lot of work,” he said, voice still even and remarkably unaffected, like he and Ilya were simply discussing the dry Vegas weather. 

It was as if Shane was almost invisible between them, being talked over like a pretty doll they’d brought out to share, and he found himself fucking delighted by the sick shame it swirled up in his gut. A large hand came up to his jaw, engulfing half his face as he felt his chin being turned to the side. Posed, almost, as if ready for use. Well fuck, this was something he’d have to take notes on for later.

Misha looked down at him, gaze hungry as he said, “Maybe Shane should take my clothes off for me.”

“Oh, a good idea,” Ilya purred as he slid aside to make room, clearly impressed by Misha’s quick read of their usual dynamic, “Go on, Shane. Unwrap your present.”

“Present?” Shane murmured, even as he was already helping Misha remove his shirt, sliding to his knees on the carpet to then tug at his shorts too.

“You are the only winner among us,” Ilya teased, making the flush on Shane’s cheeks flare even hotter, “We are celebrating. With gifts.”

With Shane down on the floor, Ilya scooted over next to Misha on the couch, spreading wide so that their outer legs pressed together from calf to thigh. Two big beautiful men sprawled out for him, waiting. Shane licked his chops, doglike and almost primal with the force of his desire.

“Off,” he said simply, a hand coming up to grasp at each of their bulges.

Power was never something Shane explicitly craved in sexual situations, but my god, it was indescribable how hot it made him feel to have the most talented hockey players he’d had the privilege of sharing the ice with scramble to get their dicks out just for him. Earning another Vezina Trophy tonight had made him feel appreciated, sure, but this? This was being wanted. Desired. Shane was almost dizzy with it.

Two delectable uncut cocks now on display before him, Shane crawled forward on his knees until he was angled between Ilya’s legs, taking him into his mouth in one smooth, practiced motion with a heady sigh. Misha’s dick was lovely too, slightly shorter but with a girth that made Shane salivate at the challenge; he just needed a familiar moment with Ilya’s weight on his tongue first to work up the courage. 

They had shared themselves with someone else only twice before, and each time with the buzz of alcohol in their veins and the adrenaline rush of a hard-earned victory fueling the moment. This was different. More intimate, with the way that Shane knew Misha cared for him deeply, if only just a small step to the left from the way that Ilya did. The sitting area was a barrier at least, the couch serving as physical and emotional distance from the bedroom. That was Ilya’s rule. The bed, hotel or not, was theirs and theirs alone.

Still, not wanting to leave anyone out, Shane reached over with his free hand and wrapped his fingers around Misha, stroking in time with the bobbing of his head. Mind emptied of everything but glorious warmth and skin, he focused in on the task— tasks plural — at hand, eyes falling closed with the pleasure of feeling so wonderfully used and useful.

“Fuck, look at him,” Misha murmured from above, making Shane hum around Ilya’s length at the praise.

Ilya moaned, a hand reaching out to yank harshly at Shane’s hair in response. The shot of pain that radiated through his skull went straight to his own aching cock, straining against its fabric confines. He would not touch himself nor ask for permission yet, knowing either option would only embolden Ilya to deprive him further.

“He loves it,” Ilya affirmed, releasing Shane’s hair to slip a finger along the roof of his mouth, prodding until he gagged a bit around the added intrusion. Ilya’s words were becoming less and less intelligible, as the cottony feeling of subspace began to draw Shane in entirely. Like pulling a heavy curtain over the world, dark and quiet and perfect.

“He will say he does not like it messy, but beg and beg until you make him choke on it,” Ilya continued, the admiration in his tone clear even in Shane’s fuzzier state. “And he is so well trained too.”

As if to demonstrate the fact, Ilya uttered a sharp ‘Stop!’, looking down with pride in his eyes as Shane halted his movements on cue, pulling off slowly and sitting back on his knees. He coughed wetly, chest heaving with the force of his subsequent inhale as he awaited his next instructions.

“Pretty boy,” Ilya whispered, echoing Misha’s words from earlier with a light slap to his cheek that made Shane whimper, “Why don’t you come up here and show our guest how good that mouth is, hmm?” He patted his lap, a little condescendingly in the way that never failed to send Shane’s subby brain into orbit. “And if you turn this way, I will open you up with mine.”

Shane was clambering back onto the couch immediately, butt arched up in the air without a lick of shame and mouth lowering onto Misha’s neglected cock, fat enough that it tugged at the corners of Shane’s lips as he sucked him in. He felt Ilya rearranging himself behind him, palming Shane’s ass cheeks before tugging his underwear down and delivering a resounding smack to each one. The impact had Shane rocking forward enough that the cock in his mouth slid to the back of his throat, making him pull off with a splutter as Misha babbled something high and strained in Russian above him.

“Do you hear that, sweetheart?” Ilya said, pausing to lick a teasing stripe up Shane’s perineum that had his knees going weak, “You are making our little Mishka so desperate. He will not last long.”

“Fuck you,” Misha hissed out in clear English this time, though it trailed off into a moan as Shane swallowed him down again.

“You do not want me to make terrible joke right now,” Ilya teased in reply, making Shane maybe the first man alive to roll his eyes into the back of his skull mid-blowjob, “But I am very tempted.”

Pulling off for a moment, Shane wiggled his ass in the air a bit, huffing out a bratty, “Back to work, please.”

Misha’s ‘ha’ of amusement had him feeling warm all over, drunk almost with all the attention directed his way. Still, Shane tensed, preparing for retribution, but was surprised (and a little disappointed) when Ilya only joined in on the laughter instead. Bastard. He must have known Shane was itching to be spanked again and that ignoring the bait was infinitely more cruel. Just how Shane liked it, unfortunately. Ilya must have been at least a little desperate for him though, the way his mouth was back on Shane not a moment later, circling his rim and sucking hard with unconcealed enthusiasm.

Dripping wet enough to feel rivulets of saliva begin to trace their way down the backs of his thighs, Shane let out his loudest moan yet as the tip of Ilya’s stupid, perfect tongue fucked into him, a finger quickly slipping in alongside it. He choked out a series of swears, head collapsing onto Misha’s abdomen as he continued to whimper, practically pathetic with pleasure. Misha had a hand in his hair immediately, whispering soft praises as Shane keened, Ilya’s second finger replacing his tongue and rubbing directly against that spot with practiced ease. He was mean with it tonight, applying a relentless targeted pressure that he knew could make Shane come untouched, before moving away from his prostate each time Shane even so much as tensed up with the first approaching waves of his orgasm.

“Taking it so well, honey,” Misha cooed, reaching out to rub his back and mumbling another string of soft compliments as Shane arched even prettier for the both of them. With his free hand, he slipped two fingers into Shane’s mouth, letting him suckle even as he sobbed through another round of Ilya’s edging, tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Ah, those freckles,” he continued adoringly, looking over Shane’s head to presumably meet Ilya’s eyes, “I am sure your Ilya is crazy about them.”

“I am,” Ilya huffed, pulling his fingers out and ignoring Shane’s loud protests at the emptiness, “First thing I noticed about him.”

“Don’t lie,” Shane whined, as the familiar sound of a lube packet being torn open crinkled behind him. He kicked a leg out, helping Ilya to pull off his soaking briefs, and continued, “You thought I was weird. I wouldn’t take my mask off back then.”

“I still think you are weird,” Ilya corrected, voice injected with so much fondness it nearly took Shane’s breath away. Funny, seeing as the air was actually punched out of his lungs not a moment later as Ilya entered him with one powerful stroke.

“But is one of my favorite things about you,” he continued affectionately, even as he carved into Shane so deeply it made him wonder if the phrase ‘guts rearranged’ might be literal. Snapping his hips forward, Ilya added, no less sweetly by the way, “Now shut up and suck Misha’s dick.”

Ah, right. Misha was here. Shane shook his head to clear a bit of the fog, almost giggling at the way Ilya’s ridiculous dick could still leave him so sex drunk after all these years. Misha, in the meantime, had rearranged himself in the corner of the sectional, one leg bent at the knee and the other splayed over the edge of the cushion, foot reaching the floor with the sheer height he possessed. Shane swatted his hand away from where he was palming himself, and licked his lips, speaking decisively into the silence.

“Fuck me. Both of you.”

“Jesus, Shane,” Misha breathed out, though he gave a tentative snap of his hips as instructed the moment Shane ducked back down to take him in his mouth.

Ilya was notably less shocked by the request, continuing to drill into him with the intimate knowledge of every living and dying cell in Shane’s body, years and years spent in one long science experiment to see if they would be the first humans to completely fuse their corporeal forms together, souls already inextricably intertwined. A little delirious, Shane was tempted to ask a bunch of weird questions in the middle of sex again (the one about being a worm had made Ilya so nonsensically concerned by the rules of spontaneous invertebrate transformation that Shane had finally caved and said ‘yes, fine, if you somehow found a way to become a worm too, then we could be worm husbands, you’re right’), but he managed to control the urge. Drifting, Shane drew the metaphorical curtain closed again, filtering out his thoughts and reducing his senses to nothing more than the rhythmic push and pull of the men at either end.

I’m the filling, Shane thought stupidly as he floated higher and higher, That’s wonderful.

His orgasm approached quickly, already edged within an inch of his life, and he came with a shout just minutes later, untouched and shooting like a fire hose all over the poor Fontainebleau resort’s luxury sofa. 

“Fuck, that’s so much,” Misha whispered, reaching out to tug at Shane even as he continued to twitch, the overstimulation making Shane whimper happily. Misha grinned, bringing the smear of cum that caught on his fingers to his lips for a taste.

Leaning over Shane’s back, Ilya eyed Misha’s still hard dick, and said, “Did you want—?”

“Yes,” Misha cut in, “Please.”

Ilya sucked in a breath, appearing to compose himself for a moment, before he said, “Misha, on your hands and knees like Shane was. Shane, come back here with me. You will want to watch, I think.”

Positions rearranged after a bit of fumbling, Shane had his chin hooked over Ilya’s shoulder, gazing down at where Misha was presenting for them.

“Oh, I see,” Ilya choked out, a finger reaching out to poke at the plug nestled between Misha’s admittedly ample cheeks. Glancing at Shane, he teased, “Sweetheart, someone is stealing your tricks.”

“It’s been a while,” Misha gritted out, face pressed into the cushions, “Needed a head start.”

Just as Ilya gleefully opened his mouth to deliver another crude joke, Shane and Misha let out a simultaneous ‘don’t’ that had the both of them bursting into giggles.

Ilya scoffed, tugging at the plug until it slipped out with a filthy squelch. “Here I am, doing all the work, fucking everybody, and this is thanks I get?”

“Poor strict tops,” Misha said with biting sarcasm, spluttering when Ilya got two freshly lubed fingers in him immediately, “You have it so hard.”

Oh no. Shane winced.

“Very hard,” Ilya said triumphantly before either of them could stop him. And then, doing fuck all to refute his dom top privilege, requested, “Shane, put the condom on me please.”

Shane rolled his eyes, tearing open the packet Ilya handed him and rolling the rubber on expertly.

“Do you think Misha here will take my cock as well as you do?” Ilya mused, pressing a thumb against Misha’s pretty pink hole as a placeholder.

Shane froze, realizing with sudden, perfect clarity that he was about to watch the man he loved fuck someone else. They hadn’t made it this far with … the others. Just hands and mouths, a little rubbing over the clothes in one chaste encounter. His lips started to form their safe word, a first instinct to the flash of discomfort at the question, but he took a breath and let the moment wash over him fully. This was hot. This was good. And they were both here because they wanted him, weren’t they?

“I think,” he said slowly, reaching out to wrap a hand around Ilya’s length and guiding him forward until the tip was pressed against Misha’s entrance, “that this is my cock. And that Misha will be very appreciative, knowing how generous I am for sharing it.”

“I am, thank you,” Misha managed, squirming impatiently, just as Ilya said something like ‘hold, please’ and turned to tongue into Shane’s mouth with the feral intensity of some of their earliest kisses.

When they broke apart, gasping, Shane blurted out a request, startling himself with the impulsive need to witness it. “Kiss him too.”

He watched eagerly as Misha rocked back on his heels, turning his body to meet Ilya’s eyes. Both men looked a little hesitant, their confidence reduced to something youthful and handwringing in its awkwardness.

“It would be… ah, poetic, Ilyukha,” Misha said gingerly, “Two big mean Russian boys like us, being tender and queer with one another.”

Shane watched as Ilya stared back for the longest time, something complicated warring on his features.

“For what they would not let us have,” Ilya agreed, beckoning Misha closer as he took his own step forward.

Shane bit his lip, blood singing with the intensity of the moment, almost certain his rabbit-like heartbeat was audible in the lingering silence that followed.

He watched as the two men crashed into one another with all the subtlety of a branding iron, clearly warring for control at first. Just as he thought it wouldn’t work, both Ilya and Misha seemed to give up the fight. The kiss turned sensual, deeper, and open-mouthed, hands scrambling for purchase against bicep and jaw and neck. Shane, had he not ejected his entire earthly consciousness out of his dick minutes beforehand, would have been painfully hard again at the sight.

“You are so very loved, Ilyukha,” Misha whispered softly, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s cheek in the way he often did to Shane, sweet and platonic. Not a moment later though and his expression darkened into something wicked, as he requested politely, “Now put that monstrous thing in me, please. I have an early fight out.”

🥪 & 🥪

“Fuck, that was so hot,” Shane mumbled happily, snuggling deeper against Ilya’s chest where they were now tucked into bed for the evening.

“And you feel okay?” Ilya ventured, not for the first time since they’d ushered Misha out, a few kisses exchanged between the three of them.

He felt a little itchy, skin tight over his bones. Something not quite settling right within him.

Shane propped himself up on one elbow, looking at Ilya closely. “Yes, I do. Do you feel okay? You keep asking. Usually that means you’re actually the one who wants to talk about it.”

“Ugh,” Ilya said, pulling the blankets over his head, “I’m just embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” Shane questioned, poking at him through his duvet exoskeleton, “Why? Because you came so quickly that I had to suck him off again to finish?”

It was bait and Ilya knew it, but it got him to emerge from the covers anyhow, spluttering, “That is not what happened, you brat. He came twice. And so did you. Spoiled babies.”

“Ah, now I remember,” Shane said, smiling at his perfect play, “But why are you embarrassed then?”

Ilya rolled his eyes, grumbling, “I was always so jealous of him. And a little mean because of it. But he is… nice. Good to you. Funny, a little.”

“He is,” Shane agreed, looking at him so, so fondly, “And he loves his boyfriend very much, just to remind you. I want that wedding invite with the plus one, by the way, so you need to keep behaving.”

“Would you call tonight behaving?” Ilya teased, smiling wickedly, “Because if so, yes, I can promise I will—”

“Don’t press your luck,” Shane interrupted, his eyebrows furrowing into Angry Kitten Mode, “This is very much on our list of extremely special occasions only.”

“You are so strict,” Ilya pouted, flopping back into the pillows with an exaggerated sigh, even as he too recognized there were very few instances where he didn’t want Shane Hollander all to himself.

“Someone had to tie you down eventually,” Shane said, sounding smug, as he molded himself back against Ilya's side.

Ilya, chronically incapable of Letting A Joke Go By, pretended to ruminate for a moment. "I bet Misha is really good with ropes."

"Ilya," Shane deadpanned, a hint of warning in his tone.

"Fine," Ilya whined, wriggling against him, "But if I find out there is a Popov Hex now, after we fucked, I am blaming you by the way."

"Doesn't really roll off the tongue like mine," Shane joked sleepily with a snort, then immediately tensed, "I swear to god, Ilya, if you indulge in any more fucking innuendo, you're sleeping on the sofa wet spot out there tonight."

Ilya bit his lip, wanting to tell Shane just how sexy it was when he was extra mean to him, like a nostalgic throwback to their earlier clashes on and off the ice. But instead, he took the threat as credible, and remained silent, leaning in for a kiss that he hoped conveyed everything he held in his heart for this man and more.

Alone in yet another hotel bed, just the two of them, Ilya truly believed they could one day take on the league and the hockey world at-large together. And if there were a few side characters to, er, support their journey along the way? Well, morale was important, or something.

But still. Sex and feelings were mostly all in the same bucket for Ilya now, had been for years really, disgustingly sappy as that seemed. At least where one, and exactly one, annoying goaltender was concerned. Kissing Mikhail Popov had only cemented that fact, hot as all the rest of it had been. Shane Hollander was it for him. A permanent and forever type thing.

I love you, Ilya mouthed against the back of Shane's neck, pulling him closer, Only you.