“Wow,” Shane said sarcastically. “You’ve got tricks now.”
They both cracked up. Ilya flipped him off with his left hand while he went back to stroking himself with his right.
“How is this for interesting?” Ilya said when he’d stopped laughing. “I have not come for three days.”
Shane’s eyebrows shot up. “Jesus. Are you okay?” Shane regularly went at least as long between orgasms without feeling deprived, but he knew Ilya usually needed at least one a day.
Ilya chuckled softly. “Fine. Busy, I guess. Or maybe waiting for this. For you.”
“I’ll admit,” Shane said. “You have my full attention now.”
“Good. Please jerk off so we can come together.”
“I am. For fuck’s sake, give me a chance to catch up.”
“Like you need it.”
“Like you need it,” Shane mimicked with his best attempt at a Russian accent.
“That is what I sound like? No wonder you are so hot for me. Sexy.”
Shane laughed. “Shut up. Let me focus.”
For the next couple of minutes, both men were silent besides their quiet moans and heavy breathing. Jerking off together like this always felt like a competition, even when it wasn’t. This time, Ilya had explicitly stated that he wanted them to come together, but even that sounded like a challenge to Shane. Fortunately, challenges were a huge turn-on for him.
“You close?” Shane asked shakily.
Ilya smiled. “That was fast, Hollander.”
“I didn’t say I was close.”
“But you are.”
“You don’t—ah, fuck—know anything.”
“How long has it been since you came?”
Shane shuddered. “I don’t remember.”
Ilya’s head rolled against the pillow. “I am going to come so fucking hard.”
Shane exhaled, relieved that they were done pretending. “Fuck, me too.”
“I can’t wait to fuck you again.”
“Me too. Shit, me too. Ilya, are you—”
“Yes. Come on.”
Shane’s orgasm hit him so hard that he let out a weird whimpering noise as the first burst of come landed on his stomach. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open through the intense jolts of pleasure, but it was worth the effort to watch Ilya coming spectacularly all over himself.
“Holy shit,” Shane said, when he was able to talk again.
Ilya had his eyes closed and was breathing hard through his nose. He was still holding his dick.
“You okay?” Shane asked.
“I think there is more.” Ilya started stroking himself again, hard and fast. Shane watched in amazement when, a few seconds later, Ilya’s whole body tensed and arched as a small spurt of come joined the mess on his belly.
“That’s new,” Shane said.
Ilya’s chest was still heaving. “Like you said. I have tricks.”
They both laughed.
“That was hot,” Shane said.
“Yes. Very.”
“I really need to take a shower. Again.”
“Mm.”
“I love you.”
Ilya’s expression turned serious, and for a moment Shane’s stomach clenched as if he expected Ilya to tell him something awful.
But all Ilya said was, “I love you so much, Shane.”
Shane knew it, but hearing Ilya say it in such a raw, unguarded way cut through him like a blade. The pain of not being in the same room as Ilya felt physical.
“Ten days,” he said. God, ten. How was he supposed to endure ten more days without Ilya? And then only have him for one, maybe one and a half, before they’d be apart again.
“Ten days.” The number sounded just as enormous when Ilya said it.
They said goodbye, ended the call, and then Shane was alone again, and wishing like hell that there could be a solution to their problem.
Chapter Nine
Ilya woke from another dream about his mother. The same dream. Always the same dream.
He reached a hand out toward Shane’s side of the bed, but of course it was empty. He hadn’t shared a bed with Shane for two weeks.
He brought his hand to his chest and traced the crucifix around his neck with one fingertip, soothing himself with the familiar bumps and edges of the gold cross.
He had to go to practice. He still felt tired. He always felt tired these days. It could be because he was twenty-nine, which was hockey middle-aged. Or because his terrible team had lost five to one last night. It could be because of the frequent unsettling dreams he’d been having about his mother. It could be because he missed his boyfriend.
It could be because I’m depressed.
No. He was fine. Normal. It’s not like he ever stayed in bed all day crying.
Neither did Mom.
He hauled himself out of bed despite everything in his body and brain protesting. He’d gotten rocked into the boards last night by a New Jersey defenseman, and he was paying for it this morning. One more thing to deal with.
He missed waking up with Shane. He missed breakfast together, even though Shane only ate extremely healthy food now. He missed making Shane coffee and serving it to him in an Ottawa Centaurs mug. He missed showering together, and tumbling back into bed together after, warm and damp and unable to stop touching each other.
He sent Shane a text. How is St. Louis?
Shane began typing his reply right away. Raining. How’s Ottawa?
Ilya gazed out his kitchen window to the river behind his house. The trees were bright with autumn leaves, and the sun was shining.
Ilya: Fine.
Shane: Did you eat breakfast?
Ilya huffed. Shane worried about the weirdest things.
Ilya: Might go to McDonald’s for a McGriddle.
He’d mostly written it to annoy Shane, but now he really did want a McGriddle.
Shane: You shouldn’t be eating that shit.
Ilya: Should I be eating hay for breakfast like you?
Shane: It’s not hay. And yes, probably.
Ilya: I would rather have the sandwich that is made with pancakes as bread.
Shane: Gross.
Ilya smiled as he imagined Shane’s nose wrinkling, bunching up his freckles.