Summary:

Shane barely gets inside the door before Ilya is pressing him against it. So hard the frame rattles. His back hits the door, his heartbeat still pounding in his ears from the win. Adrenaline and muscles and, oh, the pride in his veins. A tangle of it, slick and humming in his veins. Ilya is there right away, hands at his jaw and then at his jacket, mouth nuzzling at his neck. Mouth wide, hungry, and hot, and whispering victory against Shane’s throat. Shane laughs— short, happy, gasping—because they won. Because the arena is still ringing in his ears, because Ilya is staring at him like he hung the fucking moon. “You have been very naughty this year.” He says it low, right by Shane’s ear. The words are a purr of heat against Shane’s skin. “Oh yeah?” Shane says, and he doesn’t know how his voice comes out so loose. His head tilts back against the door. Ilya hums. Lips brushing the column of his throat. “Very.” OR hollanov smut where Ilya unwraps and takes care of his favorite gift