Chapter 1: The Win

Ilya knew they only had about three minutes left of overtime, and just scored a powerplay. Their time to win was now.

They had made it to the Stanley Cup finale. Against Montreal. The game so far had been difficult. Everyone had been full of nervous energy and Ilya knew Shane was still struggling to play against his old team.

He glanced over at Shane, who unfortunately was favoring his right side. It probably wasn’t visible to anyone else but Ilya knew Shane, inside and out. Shane had gotten boarded earlier and then landed on the floor. For a few agonizing seconds Ilya was pulled back in time, seeing Shane unmoving on the ice, not knowing if he was alright or not. But he had gotten up and sent Ilya a comforting, but shaken, smile.

Ilya went into his faceoff position and locked eyes with the Montreal player. He didn’t remember his name.

“Ready to lose?” he smirked. The other guy narrowed his eyes and promptly lost the faceoff. Ilya passed the puck over to Troy and took off towards the net.

The thrill of being one of the fastest skaters in the league never got old. He easily skated past the Montreal player, accepted the puck from Shane and made his way behind the net, barely had time to pass the puck back to Troy before colliding with another Montreal player.

After getting his balance back, Ilya accepted another pass of the puck and saw Shane mostly free in front of the net. With a precise shot, he passed the puck over. Shane gracefully spun around the Montreal player, which to Ilya’s utter glee, was Hayden. This was the perfect opportunity to score. Ilya held his breath and watched. With the precision he was known for, Shane neatly placed the puck into the top corner of the net. The whole arena broke out in cheering, screams and shouts of joy.

A bright grin spread on Ilya’s face and he skated over to Shane as fast as he could, joining the others in engulfing Shane, celebrating Ottawa’s first Stanley Cup win in years.

A few minutes later, Ilya was finally face to face with his husband. Shane bumped his forehead against Ilya’s, his cheeks pink and eyes bright. “So proud of you,” Ilya whispered. Shane’s whole face lit up. Then his smile dropped, a questioning look on his face.

It took Ilya a second to realize what Shane was asking. A few years ago they had joked about kissing after Ilya had won a Stanley Cup against Montreal, and now here they were, together, winning the Stanley Cup, against fucking Montreal. “You sure?” Ilya asked.

“Never been more sure in my life. We deserve this,” Shane said.

“Ok.”

Shane put his gloved hand on the back of Ilya’s neck and pulled him down. Their lips connected in a soft kiss, both of them being too giddy to keep their smiles down. All the sound faded away and it was just them. Ilya put his hands on Shane's waist and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss for a few seconds before pulling away again.

The cheers and applause came rushing back. Shane’s whole face was scrunched in the cutest smile while he bashfully looked around. Ilya couldn’t wait to get home and show Shane how proud of him Ilya really was.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a white Jersey approaching.

“Ugh, gross,” Hayden joked.

“So you are sore loser?” Ilya asked, cocking his head.

“What? No!” Hayden sputtered, “it was a joke. I came here to congratulate you two.”

“He’s just joking, Hayd,” Shane assured him, “Thank you.”

—

They lined up to tap helmets with Wyatt, Ilya slowly skating behind Shane until he was in front of Hayes.

“Great job, Hazy!” he smiled.

“Thank you, captain,” Wyatt replied. “Nice assist with the winning shot.”

—

Commissioner Crowell looked at Ilya with narrowed eyes.

"Congratulations, Rozanov,” he said.

Ilya gave him a cocky smile. “Thank you, Commissioner.”

Together they lifted the cup for the photos, then Ilya took it to hoist it over his head in a cheer, kissed it and skated over to his team for a quick team celebration. After a minute huddled together Ilya lifted the cup up again and made his way around the rink, observing all the happy faces of their fans. Ottawa's first Stanley Cup in years. They had really done it. Brought the team from the darkness and made it the best one in the league. Ilya couldn’t stop smiling.

His celebration round done, Ilya made his way over to Shane to hand the cup over. He gave him a quick peck on the lips. Shane laughed but his cheeks turned an adorable pink color before he took off. Ilya watched after him, seeing the fans cheer for Shane and supporting him after the disaster with Montreal tugged at his heart.

“You’re so disgustingly in love,” Troy said, sliding up beside him.

“You’re one to talk,” Ilya countered, bumping his shoulder against Troy’s.

Troy blushed but his eyes tried to find Harris in the crowd immediately.

“Are we talking about how sickening it is to watch both of you swoon over your men?” Bood came up beside Ilya’s over side.

“You’re just jealous,” Ilya replied.

Shane had made his round about the rink and handed the cup over to Troy, no kiss between them, before bumping against Ilya.

“Why is Troy blushing?” he asked.

“Is nothing. He’s just in love with Harris.” Shane chuckled.

Ilya enjoyed watching his team parade around the Stanley Cup. No team deserved this more than them. He put his arm around Shane, hugged him close and basked in the feeling of finally winning the Cup together.

The last player picked up the cup and Ilya leaned down to Shane. “I have great plans how we can end this night,” he whispered in his ear. Shane whipped his head towards Ilya and playfully shoved him away, but Ilya saw his pupils dilate slightly. A wicked grin spread on his face.

Chapter 2: The Prize

Chapter Notes

Happy New Years! Starting it off with a bang It was a few days after their Stanley Cup win. As the captain, Ilya was the first one to spend a day with the Cup. He had persuaded the official to leave it alone with him for a few hours. Shane was in the shower from his run while Ilya set everything up for his special celebration plan.

Shane halted when he entered the kitchen.

“What happened?” he asked skeptically.

“Nothing. Got surprise for you,” Ilya smirked. “Come.”

Shane followed Ilya to their trophy room. There was a giant mirror on one wall, the sides of the wall lined with all their accomplishments. Ilya had placed the Stanley Cup right in front of it and had moved the little loveseat facing the mirror. The lights were dimmed in an orange glow.

Shane stopped when he saw the setup.

“What is this?”

“My special day with the Cup! And the real celebration I had in mind the other day.”

Ilya pulled Shane close by his hand and kissed him deeply. Shane melted against him, letting out a low moan. They explored each other's mouths for a few minutes. Ilya felt his own cock harden inside his sweatpants and Shane’s hardness against his thigh.

He pulled away slightly. “Get undressed.”

Shane took one step back, his pupils blown wide and a blush on his cheeks, accentuating his freckles. He pulled his shirt over his head swiftly, then hooked his thumbs into his basketball shorts. Shane kept eye contact with Ilya while he slowly pulled the shorts and underwear down. The fabric hit the floor with a soft thump. His dick was curved up toward his stomach, nestled in a trimmed nest of hair.

Ilya licked his lips, Shane followed the movement with his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Bend over the couch,” he breathed. Shane obeyed immediately. Ilya stepped up behind him and ran his hand down his back until he reached Shane’s butt. He squeezed one cheek and Shane let out a small whimper.

Ilya bent over Shane’s back, his lips touching Shane’s ear. “I want you to watch again. While I take you apart, until you’re begging me to come.”

He stood back again and dropped to his knees behind Shane.

“You didn’t?” Ilya gasped dramatically and traced the plug that was nestled between Shane’s cheek with a little pressure. Shane tried to hold back a moan.

“I didn’t know you had anything planned. Was just horny.” Shane moved back against Ilya’s finger, trying to get some pressure on the plug. Ilya chuckled. He loved how desperate Shane could get.

“Is gonna fun,” he replied.

Ilya swatted Shane’s right cheek lightly and then leaned in, took the plug between his lips and moved it around. Adding a bit of tongue here and there. Shane let out a content sigh. After a bit of experimenting, Ilya took the plug out and let it drop against the ground before going right back in. He held Shane’s thighs in a strong hold while moving his tongue in and around his hole at a steady pace.

When Ilya felt Shane getting looser he added one finger to the mix. Shane moaned loudly this time, trying to get the finger deeper but Ilya didn’t give in. He wanted Shane a blabbering and begging mess.

He leaned back all the way, fishing a tube of lube out of his pocket and inserting his coated finger back into Shane’s hole. “Fuck, that’s cold,” Shane complained. Ilya stood back up and bent over Shane’s back so he could get close to his ear again. “Not for long,” he whispered. Shane shuddered.

Ilya picked up his pace and soon added a second finger. “Do you know how sexy you looked scoring that final goal. Embarrassing Montreal like that. Probably mad they let go of their best player. The best player the NHL ever had. Is my luck, though. I get to see you play almost every night. Is hot. I wanted to fuck you right there on the ice. Claim you as mine.”

Shane let out a sound between a moan and a whine when Ilya finally gave his prostate some attention.

He kept talking. “You would have liked that. For everyone to see that I have the hottest husband and best hockey player the world has ever known. With the most beautiful freckles.”

“Ilyaa…” Shane whimpered.

“I got you.” Ilya added some more lube with his free hand and circled Shane’s rim with another finger before slowly pushing in. He let Shane adjust to it for a bit, then started pumping his fingers at a fast pace.

His hard dick pressed against the back of Shane’s thigh, begging for some attention. But Ilya was content making Shane feel good for now.

“Ilya, please,” Shane moaned.

“Please, what?” Ilya knew he was being a little shit but he loved hearing Shane begging for what he wanted.

“Please fuck me,” Shane said, his breath fast. “Fuck me now!”

Ilya wouldn’t deny him that. He moved his fingers out of Shane’s hole and wiped them on Shane’s abandoned shirt. Then he picked up the lube again and coated his dick.

Placing the tip against Shane’s hole, he slowly pushed in, heat welcoming him, sucking him in. They both let out twin moans when Ilya’s hips met Shane’s ass.

Ilya put his left hand on Shane’s chest and pushed him so they were standing chest to back, looking at the mirror.

“I want you to watch,” he whispered. Shane let out a short nod. Ilya started moving slowly, his hips pushing and pulling. Skin on skin.

His eyes met Shane’s in the mirror. “We really built a dynasty. The two best hockey players finally winning the Stanley Cup together. You winning Ottawa the Stanley Cup.”

“It was a team effort,” Shane groaned, a more forceful thrust making him squeeze his eyes shut for a second.

“Alright. Now look at all our achievements. We did this. Together.”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “We did.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Ilya confessed. “I love you so much, Shane.”

Ilya took Shane’s neglected dick into his hand and started stroking it in time with his thrusts.

“I- I love you, too,” Shane moaned. “Oh fuck Ilya, I’m so close. Please.”

“Not yet.” Ilya smirked. He closed his fingers around the base of Shane’s cock to hold off his orgasm. Shane whined and dropped his head back against Ilya’s shoulder.

“You asshole,” Shane slurred. Ilya laughed but started moving his hips faster. He was closer to his own orgasm than he liked to admit.

“Watch the mirror,” he commanded, then moved his left hand up to circle Shane’s throat with light pressure. Ilya started to move his hand on Shane’s cock again. He was hard and leaking, so close to cumming. A blush all over his body.

He met Shane’s eyes in the mirror again, keeping them locked together while he sped up his pace. Shane’s lips were parted, bitten raw and shiny. His eyes were wet with unshed tears of pleasure.

“Please,” Shane begged. Ilya shook his head. “Just a little longer, Sweetheart.” He punctured his statement with a deliberately deep thrust that had Shane whimpering even more. Ilya kept it up for another minute before finally taking mercy on Shane.

“Come for me,” he whispered into Shane’s ear, adding a light bite.

Shane had kept eye contact the whole time but now, with pleasure overtaking his body, Ilya allowed him to close them. Shane bucked against Ilya’s hand a few times before cumming all over the couch with a loud moan of Ilya’s name. Ilya milked spurt after spurt out of him until Shane slumped back against him.

Ilya slowed his thrusts and let Shane come down for a minute or two.

“Use me,” Shane slurred against Ilya’s temple. He had leaned his had back and his lips grazed Ilya’s overheated skin.

“You sure?” Ilya asked. Shane nodded.

Ilya bent Shane back over the couch, probably smearing more cum all over it. Shane would complain later but at this moment Ilya didn’t care. He placed his hands on Shane’s hips and set a fast, hard pace, chasing his own pleasure. It barely took him thirty seconds.

“Shane,” Ilya cried out, emptying himself into Shane.

He slumped over Shane.

“Fuck, that was good,” he panted.

“Yeah,” Shane replied.

They laid there like that for a while, Ilya nosing against Shane’s sweaty nape and placing soft kisses on his neck until Shane complained about Ilya being too heavy. Ilya pulled himself up, slowly easing his cock out of Shane’s hole. He watched his cum leaking out.

“Wait,” he stopped Shane before he could stand up as well.

“What?” Shane complained.

Ilya dropped back to his knees behind Shane and sucked at his oversensitive rim. “Oh fuck, fuck,” Shane babbled, one hand reaching back and fisting into Ilya’s hair.

“Didn’t wanna make a mess,” Ilya said after he was finished.

“Too late,” Shane complained and watched the couch with a look of disdain on his face.

“I’ll clean up,” Ilya assured him. “Don’t think you hit the Stanley Cup.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Shane said and swatted at Ilya, but he was laughing while eyeing the Cup. “Thank you for this,” he leaned in for a kiss.

Ilya stopped him. “Really?” he asked, pointing at his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Shane murmured, leaning in again and pressing a soft kiss against Ilya’s mouth. “But we’re both brushing our teeth now.”

Ilya let out a loud laugh. “I love you,” he breathed.

“Я люблю тебя,” Shane said back. Ilya beamed at him before pressing another peck against his lip. He swatted Shane’s ass lightly.

“Go fill up the bath, I’ll be right there,” he replied.

Shane threw him a bad wink before he sauntered off towards the bathroom.

Ilya couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

A Stanley Cup winner with his husband and a bright future ahead. He never would’ve imagined this only a year ago.

End Notes

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