1 – 1 of 1 Work in Mel_1999

  • Mel_1999 ×

  1. Camaraderie by

    Heated Rivalry (TV)
    • E
    • ✓

    2026-01-12

    Ilya wants so many mornings with Shane that he takes waking up to those freckles for granted. He wants to know how Shane takes his coffee, how he picks out his clothes, what he puts in those stupid healthy smoothies he’s always drinking. He wants to know everything about Shane, all the little things that he’s never seen before. He wants to know him. Better than he knows himself. And it’s terrifying. So Ilya deals with his feelings the only way he knows how - (kitchen) sex Ilya has known Shane for his entire NHL career. Almost 10 years, off and on, in hotel rooms and apartments, through loss and trauma and stolen moments. Ilya knows what Shane looks like when he’s thinking too deeply, when he needs help to shut off his brain. When he’s desperate, needy and right on the edge. Ilya knows what he looks like when he cums, hands free, moaning out Ilya’s name into the air like a prayer. And he knows that look Shane has, impossibly fond, the one that always turns Ilya’s guts inside out. He knows he loves him, and he knows - terrifyingly - that Shane might just love him back. But he doesn’t know Shane. It’s never more apparent to him than now, standing in Shane’s cottage, waiting for the coffee to finish percolating. It’s the first time that he’s been alone in Shane’s home and he’s fascinated. It’s even more Shane than the apartment he’s only seen in the background of Facetime calls. Shane once admitted that most things in his apartment were picked out by a designer he hired when he first moved to Montreal. This place though? It has the little touches that just scream Shane’s practical taste - in the furniture, the art, and cheesy throw pillows his mom must have bought him. Ilya sees him in the family photos on the wall, moments in Shane’s life that he’s never even heard about before. Ilya wants to belong here. He wants to be in the photos on the wall, to have a say on the new rug that Shane talked about getting under the dining room table. He wants to wake up next to Shane beyond just these two weeks. Ilya wants so many mornings with Shane that he takes waking up to those freckles for granted. He wants to know how Shane takes his coffee, how he picks out his clothes, what he puts in those stupid healthy smoothies he’s always drinking. He wants to know everything about Shane, all the little things that he’s never seen before. He wants to know him. Better than he knows himself. And it’s terrifying. “You know,” Shane says, brushing past Ilya in the kitchen. “It doesn’t actually drip faster if you stare at it like that.” “No? Thought that was the saying - a watched pot always boils.” Shane laughs as he pours himself a cup, so at home here, in his loose t-shirt that’s wet at the collar from his shower. “A watched pot never boils. Coffee?” “Da. Your English idioms are stupid.” “Agree with you there. How do you take it?” “Black is fine.” Shane hands him the cup he just poured, in some cheesy tourist mug from some attraction in Ottowa. He pours another mug, and Ilya watches intently at the amount of milk that Shane pours into his mug. Shane’s oblivious to Ilya’s observation, he sips his coffee, looking at the lake out of the window. “Looks like it might rain today. I was hoping we could take out the kayaks.” “You have kayaks?” He’s distracted, not quite sure what a kayak is beyond some kind of boat. Ilya’s attention has moved to the way that Shane’s throat moves when he swallows his coffee, and the way that the water from his hair slides across it, soaking into the collar of his shirt. God, he wants Shane in so many ways but this is the most familiar. The heavy swooping in his gut, the way that he knows, instinctively, how Shane will react when he touches him. It’s familiar. He wants it now. Doesn’t think he’ll ever stop wanting it. “Yeah, it’s a good workout, going across the bay and back.” He crosses to the fridge, opens it to stare inside. “What do you want for breakfast?” He’s close enough now that Ilya can reach out, tug at his elbow until he’s closer. “What?” Shane asks, standing in front of him. “Hungry for something else,” Ilya says, taking the coffee mug out of his hands, setting them both behind him on the counter. “Want you.” “I just showered,” Shane sighs as Ilya’s lips land on the mark he left the night before, tongue sliding to taste every inch of him. “Ilya…” And god, Ilya’s addicted to the way that his first

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