Summary:

“You are early—” Ilya stops dead in his tracks. Shane is standing there in the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He’s wearing Ilya’s Centaurs jersey. Not much else. “Solnyshko,” Ilya says hoarsely. “What are you doing?” Shane pushes off the wall and comes to greet Ilya with a long, filthy kiss, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s neck. Ilya’s hands seek his waist in return. Shane’s voice is low against Ilya’s mouth. “Reminding you,” he murmurs, “of who the fuck you are.” It was a tough loss in Boston. Shane knows how to make Ilya feel better.