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May 10, 2026.
On the second Sunday in May, Yuna Hollander slept in. The robins squawking outside the bedroom window disturbed a dream quickly forgotten like a whisper in the wind. She rolled to her opposite side and burrowed her cheek into her pillow, awake but unmotivated to get up quite yet. David toed open the door, taking care to be quiet. Seeing her in their bed, her slightly greying hair splayed out around her face, he stopped and stared at her. His heart swelled just like it did the first time he saw her.
Twenty years old and fiercely beautiful, he saw her at an off-campus party and was done for at the first glance. She was arguing with one of his teammates over something hockey-related that he couldn’t remember anymore. He was struck dumb by her; her eyes, the passionate way she met every counter-point without having to think about it and was always absolutely right.
He was nervous to talk to her but he did it anyway. He was surprised when she knew not only who he was, but she knew his stats for the season and how well he’d played at the previous nights’ game. He wasn’t one to brag, but he had played well and it was flattering that she’d noticed. She asked for his number and a first date was planned before he knew what had happened.
Nearly 40 years later, she still made him feel like the luckiest sonofabitch in the world.
Apparently sensing him there, she opened her eyes and smiled softly at him. She pushed herself up on one elbow, and combed her hair out of her face with her elegant fingers.
“Hey there, Hollander,” she said. Her voice was thick with sleep but in a sultry way that could still bring a blush to his cheeks.
“Good morning.”
“Coffee? I’d love some, thank you.” She smirked at him. He looked down and realized he’d forgotten that he was holding two mugs in his hands. He carried them over to the bed and she sat up as he handed her one.
She closed her eyes to enjoy the first sip like always. He watched her drink it, practically able to visualize the warmth spread down her throat and radiate outward to her limbs while she woke up fully. He placed his mug on his nightstand and sat on the bed next to her. She put her mug on her own nightstand and cuddled under his arm. He kissed the top of her head.
“You have…surprises waiting for you in the kitchen.” He crossed his ankles. “A courier just delivered them.”
“Do I? I was hoping for a surprise right here.” She traced her fingers across his stomach.
Later, after a hot shower, she padded barefoot into the kitchen wrapped in a fluffy robe while toweling her hair. She stopped short at the sight of the items on the kitchen table.
A giant bouquet of flowers. An easily recognizable blue bag and several gift boxes tied with ribbons.
“David! What did you do?!” The towel dropped to the floor and she covered her mouth with both hands.
“Wasn’t me,” he said, entering from the hallway behind her. She turned to him and then back to the gifts. She tilted her head and felt her face get hot. In that instant, she knew who had sent them and it made her heart swell.
The Tiffany’s bag had a single greeting card attached to it; she opened it first. It was a generic blank card with peonies and violets on the front. She read it outloud, hiding a smile behind her fingers.
“To the woman who loves us both, unconditionally. Thank you for everything. Always, Shane and Ilya.”
She recognized Shane’s careful handwriting for the message but Ilya had signed his own name beside his. She placed the card on the counter next to the boxes and sniffled.
“The flowers are from me, the boys sent the rest,” David hugged her from behind and kissed her cheek. She moved to sniff the flowers in a crystal vase; fragrant purple lilacs, bright pink dahlias, and white peonies.
“Oh, honey they’re -”
“Not those. They sent those, too. These are from me…” He walked around her and sheepishly revealed a second vase full of lavendar roses, fushcia chrysanthemums, white carnations, dark purple snapdragons and eucalyptus.
“David…”
“Happy Mother’s Day, Yuna.”
He washed the breakfast dishes while she opened each package. A cream monogrammed leather Louis Vuitton purse with matching wallet. A lightweight cotton and silk YSL trench coat the color of rich bourbon. A gold and emerald green silk scarf from Versace. A 14 karat gold cocktail ring with an Asscher cut Russian Alexandrite set inside a diamond halo. A bottle of her favorite Chanel perfume. She saved the Tiffany’s bag for last. She couldn’t hold the tears back once she opened it. A palm-size box inside revealed a delicate bracelet; a thin gold chain with two interlocking circles.
David answered his ringing cell phone, she only heard his half of the conversation.
“Yes, she’s up. You want to - ok, hold on.” He held the phone out to her. She sniffled and accepted it, letting their fingers brush as he handed it to her.
“Shane, this is all too -”
“Happy Mother’s Day…Mom.” It was Ilya’s voice. It trembled a little with the last word and they both knew why. Up until that moment, he’d only called her by her first name when they spoke.
“Thank you.” She sat in one of the kitchen chairs with her hand on her heart.
“Did you like everything? The gifts? The flowers?”
“I do, but Ilya - this is all too much -”
“My Mama has been gone a long time. Almost longer than she was here. Ever since Shane and I…were in your kitchen that day, I…I have felt like I had a mother again.” His voice got softer. “I’m sorry if I never said this to you. I thought…maybe I was being disloyal to her. I don’t know.”
She rolled her lips inward and bit down. “She’s proud of you, Ilya. I’m sure she is.The man you have become, the husband you are to my son. You’ve given her millions of reasons to be so proud. I couldn’t ever replace her, but I love you the way I love Shane. David and I both do. You’re both our boys.”
“Hold on, let me get Shane.”
She held the phone away from her ear and wiped her eyes on the heel of her hand.
“Mom! Happy Mother’s Day!” She could hear Shane smiling through the phone.
“Thank you, honey - and happy birthday! I love you very much.”
“Love you, too! I hope you like the things we sent.”
She surveyed her kitchen table, covered in wrapping paper and boxes. It struck her that for all of his thoughtfulness, Shane wouldn’t have picked these specific gifts on his own. The flowers, maybe - he knew her favorites, but the luxury items screamed Ilya’s extravagant sense of style.
”They’re all beautiful, Shane. Thank you, I love everything.”
“We’re gonna win for you today. We’re coming for that Cup.”
She laughed. That’s the boy she’d raised, so dedicated. “Dinner’s on us tonight, for your birthday.”
“No, Mom. Birthday or no birthday, it’s our treat, Ilya already made reservations at Atelier. You deserve it.”
“Atelier? They’re not open on Sundays, are they?”
Shane laughed. “They are when you’re Ilya Rozanov’s mother-in-law.”
All she could do was smile to herself and shake her head. She started to say something but Shane interrupted.
“Shit, Mom - I gotta go, there’s a players-only meeting’s about to start. I love you - we’ll see you after the game!” He hung up before she could say another word.
The Centaurs locker room was abuzz with energy. It was Bood’s turn to be in charge of the music and he always kept it to fast-paced rock. They’d played a great, mostly injury-free season and practically sailed through the first round of the playoffs. They all talked excitedly about their plans with their mothers and wives after the game, all except Ilya.
Harris came running into the locker room. “Look alive, he’s coming!” He held his phone up at the door, recording.
They quieted down and Bood grabbed his phone, ready to switch the song on cue. Ilya smirked and twirled his wedding band around his finger.
Shane entered and the team cheered. Bood tapped on a new track on his playlist and Madonna’s B-Day Song blasted through the speakers. It took him a second, but Shane blushed and put his hands on his hips. Players-only meeting indeed. They rushed him, each one giving him a hug, high-five, or hard smack on the back.
“Hollywood! Happy Birthday!” Chouinard ruffled Shane’s hair.
“Yeah, Hollzy - half way to 40!” Troy shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. Shane flipped him off.
“Happy Dirty 35, old man!” Dykstra shook Shane’s hand and pulled him in for a hug. “How’s it feel?”
“Not much different than 34,” Shane shrugged. “Better to be in the playoffs this year.”
“You would say that,” Hayes rolled his eyes playfully. They hadn’t been so fortunate at the end of the previous season due to being riddled with injuries and a few less-than-stellar calls by the referees. The team celebrated Shane’s last birthday with a dinner and a lot of booze.
When everyone stepped away to let him pass, Shane saw a stack of gifts in front of his stall which bore every sign of being hastily wrapped by hockey players.
“Thanks, boys. Just want a win today, that’s all the gift I need,” Shane rubbed the back of his neck.
At their insistence, Shane opened each parcel and lined up his gifts.
A bottle of champagne from Harris, wine from Coach Weibe and his wife. A comically large bottle of Aspirin. A foldable cane. Anti-aging eye cream. A black t-shirt with ‘Over the Hill’ screen printed on it in white letters. Several boxes of Icy Hot patches. A candle in a brown glass jar that read ‘Smells like Your 30’s Are Over” - someone whose handwriting resembled Bood’s had squeezed the words “half of” on the label in Sharpie. A framed magazine cover calling him "Hockey's Millennial Heart Throb." The last package was a blue gift bag containing a soft cotton sweatshirt that read “Vintage 1991.” Shane peeked at the tag hanging from the handles and saw Haas’ signature.
“Geez, thanks fellas, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” Shane laughed. He pointed directly at Harris, who was still filming them. “I might be old, but we’re still coming for that Cup, baby!” Ilya slid in next to him and easily slipped an arm over his shoulders. Without hesitating, Shane kissed him on the mouth and the team cheered again. Harris ended the video, wished them well, gave Shane a birthday hug.
“You know you're getting something nicer from the organization, right?” he asked.
“I appreciate it, Harris.”
Harris quickly kissed Troy before he rushed back out of the locker room to edit the video. It would be up on the Centaurs’ social media pages by the time the game began.
“Hollzy, what did your husband get you for your birthday?” Troy asked.
Shane didn't mean to blush, he truly didn't.
“Oooh, I don't know if we can handle this answer,” Hayes laughed. “Looking very…relaxed today, Hollander. Must've been a very…thorough morning.”
“Not just that,” Shane laughed and his face in his hands. “He's good at gifts. Like, annoyingly good at it. Thoughtful.”
It was true. They were somewhat frugal for two people who made enough money to purchase whatever they wanted but Ilya always cataloged things Shane liked; things his eyes lingered on longer than usual, things he’d casually mention liking but wouldn't buy for himself. Gifts for Shane favored his more practical nature, with a few sentimental elements that made his eyes go soft.
As they dressed, Bood’s playlist kept going but had transitioned into just birthday-themed songs. By the time they were all ready, Birthday Sex by Jeremih was playing.
“Bood,” Ilya said while making a cut motion at his throat. Bood paused the music and the team all sat facing Ilya who was standing in the middle of the room. “Ok - listen up.” He took a deep breath.
“Hey, um, Cap, hold on just a sec,” Shane raised his hand. Ilya looked at him with raised eyebrows. It wasn’t like Shane to interrupt one of his locker room speeches, but Ilya was a simple man and hearing his husband refer to him that way was such a turn on, he didn’t protest. He yielded the floor with a hand gesture. Shane stood next to him, wearing a serious expression.
“Boys, it’s not just my birthday today. It’s Mother’s Day. My mom is gonna be out there, I know a lot of your wives and moms will be, too…” Most of the team nodded. “But there’s one mom who won’t be.” He lifted his eyes to Ilya.
Ilya’s left hand went instinctively to his crucifix and he pinched it between his forefinger and thumb. He saw recognition register on Haas’ face and he looked down at the floor.
“My mother-in-law, Irina Rozanova,” Shane continued and now everyone's eyes went to Ilya. “So, don’t just play for your own moms today. Play for her, too. Let’s win this one for her.”
“For Irina,” Chouinard raised his fist. “Let's get this W for Mama Rozanov.”
Hayes, Bood, Dykstra and Troy tapped their sticks on the floor, everyone else nodded in agreement. Shane pulled a Sharpie out of his cubicle and took the cap off with his teeth. He always wrote his own mother’s name on his hockey stick, but everyone watched as he neatly wrote “Irina” next to it. He passed the Sharpie to Luca, who wrote “Magda” and “Irina.” The Sharpie made its way around the room and each player wrote the names of their own mothers, their wives or girlfriends and “Irina.” Ilya watched with one side of his mouth quirking up.
When Shane got the Sharpie back in hand, he wrote the name in Cyrillic on Ilya’s stick. Ilya sniffled and straightened his back, absolutely refusing to let his team see him get emotional. He crossed to Shane and held his hand out, asking for the Sharpie. Shane handed it over, trying to read his husband’s expression, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line. Ilya took his stick from Shane’s hand and wrote “Yuna” right next to the carefully printed Ирина.
“You heard my husband,” Ilya said, only looking at Shane. “Let’s fucking win this one for our mothers, boys.” The team clapped and started to head out onto the ice to warm up. Ilya held Shane back by the elbow, ensuring they were the last ones left in the locker room.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to -”
He didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Ilya wrapped him in a strangling hug, his mouth pressed into his neck. “Happy birthday, мой любимый. Thank you.”
“I love you,” Shane kissed Ilya’s mouth and pressed their foreheads together. “You really spoiled my mom today, I saw the credit card statement.”
“She deserves it. Without her, I wouldn’t have you.” Ilya cupped Shane’s cheek and gave him one of those looks that had been making Shane’s stomach flip for his entire adult life.
“My dad had something to do with that, too.”
Ilya chuckled and tapped Shane’s cheek playfully. “Father’s Day is next month. We’ll go golfing with him.”
“We always do.”
“In Scotland, this year. I told you that, no?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Ilya nodded. “Booked trip this morning. All four of us. Seven days. Very nice courses, we will enjoy it.”
Shane's jaw fell open. “And what about Anya?”
“Anya will be having her own vacation with her favorite uncles, Harris and Troy. She'll be completely spoiled and get to play with Chiron for a week.”
“You’re really playing dirty in this competition to be their favorite, aren’t you?”
“I am already the favorite. I make their son very happy.” Shane interlocked his fingers at the small of Ilya’s back.
“After dinner, I am going to do very bad things to you, Rozanov.” He bit Ilya’s lower lip. Ilya growled deep in the back of his throat.
“You might find yourself…what is word? Incapacitated after dinner.” Shane tilted his head, questioning. Ilya released his hold on him. “You did not look closely enough at credit card charges. C’mon, birthday boy - we’ve got a game to win.”
The area was packed to capacity and it warmed Shane's heart to see a few fans holding up handmade signs with birthday greetings, that never happened in Montreal. The team purchased hundreds of Centaurs red roses which were handed out to all of the moms in attendance. It was impossible to count them all as the team skated laps to get their legs warmed up.
As the excited energy built, a montage that Harris shot the week before played on the massive Jumbotron above center ice. Underscored by an edited version of Tupac's Dear Mama, each player held up a photo of their own mother and said a few words about her. In between the players’ statement, live video focused on mothers and their kids in the crowd. They waved excitedly and were met with appreciative applause.
Ilya couldn't choose just one photo, not that he had many of them, so he'd used two. In the first, he was five or six years old, wearing red overalls, a wide grin and wild curls. His arms were wrapped around his mother's neck and she had him balanced on her hip. The second photo was one of the last they'd taken together - Ilya in his uniform, a gold medal from a tournament around his neck. He towered over her in his skates and had a gloved hand around her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder, they each held up one finger grinning at the camera.
“я люблю тебя, мама,” he smiled at the camera but there was something deeply sad in his eyes.
The video cut to Shane, holding a picture of himself, his mom, and Ilya taken at their wedding. They were all a little drunk when it was taken, evidenced by their rosy cheeks. Yuna in the middle, Shane and Ilya’s faces framing hers.
“My mom is the best, I…I'm just so lucky. Love you, Mom - thank you for everything.”
At the end of the Mother's Day video, an edited version of Shane’s locker room celebration began - the Beatles’ song Birthday blasted through the speakers, bringing fans to their feet. The final frame simply read, “Happy Birthday, #24.”
Ilya stalked around the bed. The leather contraption he’d purchased with the rest of Shane’s gifts looked even better in person. The listing on the website had a woman modeling it; she was perfectly attractive but now, seeing Shane face down on their bed all buckled into the thigh straps attached to the chest harness - he was struggling to keep his cool. He didn’t spend the last fifteen minutes getting everything just right only to last less than a minute. He might have to leave Shane there to squirm while he took a cold shower, just to calm down.
“Comfortable?” He asked.
Shane groaned. “Getting there. Kinda hard to relax.” He wriggled a little and tried grinding against the pillow Ilya had put under his chest for some support. He kept trying to pull one of his hands free, but they were locked into the leather cuffs secured behind his back. Ilya smiled with satisfaction and gently flicked the new plug Shane was clenching up on. Shane burrowed his face in the pillow, moaning hard. Ilya watched a thick, stringy drip of precum hit the duvet cover as Shane’s thighs shook.
“I’ll make sure you relax. Does it feel too tight anywhere? I can loosen it…”
“If you don’t fuck me in the next five seconds…” Shane warned. It had no bite to it, he was in no position (so to speak) to make any threats.
“Is ok. I don't mind fucking an older man. I will go easy on you. Don’t want you to break a hip.” He ghosted his fingers up the back of Shane’s left thigh to the base of his spine. Shane tried arching his back but there was only so much he could move.
“I’m only a month older than you, don’t start that shi- SHIT!” Shane’s breath was taken by the hard slap on the roundest part of his ass. Ilya smacked him again, and again, then massaged the sore spot. Shane leaned into it, groaning.
“That is what I said. Older than me.” Ilya got onto the bed and flipped the lid of a bottle of lube open with his thumb. The little snick sound it made rang in Shane’s ears. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready. What are you doing back there? Making a fucking sandwich?”
“Brat.” Ilya got on the bed and positioned himself behind Shane on his knees. He poured some lube into his hand and gently slipped one finger in alongside the plug. Shane hissed and made a tiny backward bucking motion into the sensation.
“Don’t forget, Shanya,” he said as he eased his finger back out. “June 15th.”
“What about your birthday?” Shane was a whining, drooling mess by this point.
“You have little more than a month to figure out how to one-up me.” He pulled the plug out agonizingly slowly. Seeing Shane's hole gape open made Ilya wish he’d thought to ask Shane for permission to take pictures with his digital SLR. They’d never risk taking private photos using their phones but the memory card on their Canon EOS Rebel in had enough images and videos on it to make the internet gossip sites implode.
“Ilyusha…pleeease. I’m begging you. I was so close already from the plug, please - please.” He was practically in tears.
“Shh…breathe.” He teased Shane’s wide-open hole with his finger, slipping it inside to the first knuckle, then the second, then pulling it out. He marveled at the heat humming off of Shane's sweat-slick body. He added a second digit and scissored his fingers apart. Shane beared down on them and whined. It was a thoroughly filthy sound that made Ilya’s cock twitch. He was leaking at a steady clip. He worked his hand up and down his shaft, squeezing himself at the base to relieve some tension.
He gently pulled his fingers free, only to thrust just his long middle finger inside. Shane cried out as the pad of Ilya’s finger stroked his core.
“You are being so good for me, моя любовь. So patient. Soon you will get what you want.” Ilya toyed with his prostate a little more while his hands helplessly grabbed at nothing in the leather cuffs. All Shane could do was shudder and moan helplessly into the pillow.
Ilya never felt as in control of Shane’s pleasure as he did right then. In this position, Shane was normally rocking backward, using his powerful thighs to fuck himself on Ilya’s cock. They’d collide against each other as Ilya thrusted forward, filling their bedroom with the lurid sounds of flesh pounding against flesh. This way, Ilya could go as slow or fast as he chose and Shane had no choice but to accept the pace and pressure. Shane's eyes were closed, his lower lip clamped between his teeth. His hair was a mess from Ilya's hands earlier in the night. Ilya wouldn't mention it but he liked the silver strands that had started to mix with the dark brown. The little wrinkles at the corners of Shane's eyes when he laughed bothered him but for Ilya they marked the passage of time. Ilya had loved Shane for what amounted to most of their lives.
He pulled his finger out, proceeding to kiss and nip at the firm flesh of Shane’s muscular ass. He ran the flat plane of his tongue over his hole, circled it and dipped it inside. Shane's body began to shake. He cursed Ilya’s name in English, Russian and a mindless blend of them both.
Deciding he’d made his husband wait long enough, Ilya gently caressed his fingers into the palm of Shane’s bound hand and they curled their fingers together. As Ilya pressed himself inside, the slide in was perfect and he was able to bury himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. Once fully seated, he stayed still for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of Shane squeezing his inner walls around his length.
“Yessss…fuck…”Shane rotated his hips as much as he could. Ilya gave him a few shallow thrusts, the drag of Shane’s rim was already making his vision blur at the edges. He reached underneath them and worked Shane’s leaking cock in his fist.
Ilya began brutally pistoning his hips. It didn't take long for Shane to fall apart after that, he shook when he came while making choked gasping sounds. Ilya was close but he wanted Shane on his back, he wanted to kiss him, wanted to see his face and to count all of his freckles hiding behind the gorgeous flush on his face.
Ilya unbuckled the wrist restraints. Shane put his hands underneath him and used his arms for leverage to chase the final aftershocks of his orgasm. Sated, he became a puddle on the bed, boneless and pliant.
Ilya pulled out gently. “I'm going to flip you over, ok?” Shane was panting, unable to form words. He acknowledged Ilya with a weak thumbs up. Ilya got off the bed and took a second to assess how best to get Shane onto his back without hurting him.
Shane made a muted “oof” as he rolled out of Ilya's arms. He settled between Shane's thighs and marveled at the spaced-out expression on his face.
It was gentle after that; tender and slow in spite of Shane's legs still being bound. Ilya pressed back inside and he rocked his hips. Shane arched his neck and threaded his fingers through Ilya's curls.
“Fuck…fuck…Shane…fuck, I love you,” Ilya moaned into his husband’s mouth, kissing him deeply. Shane sucked on Ilya's tongue until he felt the heat of Ilya's release filling him.
“Oh god, yes, baby - fill me up.” His tired voice was more of a sigh than anything else.
When enough blood flow returned to Ilya's muscles, he unbuckled the thigh straps and harness, then tossed it to the floor. Shane stretched his legs out, relishing in the freedom of movement. Ilya subtly checked Shane's wrists and legs for bruises or any marks that would indicate he'd used the sling incorrectly. Aside from a little redness from friction, everything seemed fine.
“Are you alright? Sore anywhere?” Ilya padded back from the bathroom with a warm wet cloth. Shane sucked air between his teeth when he felt the material against his puffy, sensitive hole as Ilya cleaned him up.
“M’fine. Best birthday ever. C’mere.”
Ilya padded to the bathroom and tossed the cloth in their hamper from the doorway. He didn’t look back to see if it landed inside or on the floor beside it. When he got back to Shane, he found him splayed out on his stomach on top of the covers. He chuckled under his breath and helped Shane get between the sheets, taking no small satisfaction at how uncoordinated he was capable of making him. He pulled Shane against him and kissed the back of his neck right before sleep overtook them both.