fluff? on mymansmoon? it's more likely than you think.
it's the year following s1. ilya is still in boston and shane is in montreal. they've just played a game against each other in boston and shane is staying over at ilya's house. after dinner they have a little fight about who's going to handle the dishes and ilya wins, play-snarling and biting at shane. shane rolls his eyes; ilya tells him to go into the living room and turn on the TV or something. so he does. settles into one corner of the couch. bundled top to toe in ilya's clothes: hoodie, sweats, socks. (he prefers his own, texturally, but he liked the principle of using everything of ilya's.)
he turns on some sports channel probably. five minutes later ilya comes into the room and flops onto the couch, head landing in shane's lap and the rest of his body stretching out lengthwise. he lets out a big 'ahh!' sound as he does and shane smiles, putting his hands on him. ilya turns onto his side so he can watch tv as well. maybe there's a hockey game on, i don't know. but they talk for a bit about whatever they're watching. relaxed observations traded back and forth. shane is absently playing with any part of ilya that he can easily reach. his hair, his ear, his neck, his shoulder. the night is winding down. they had a late dinner because they were having sex before. started the moment shane walked in the door. shane is full and relaxed. he has his favourite person in his lap. a silence descends on them both.
at some point something happens on the tv that warrants a comment from shane, but it receives no reply from ilya. "ilya?" he leans forward to check ilya's face and he's sleeping. eyes closed, mouth open. he's making those little clicking noises on his inhales that teeter on the edge of snoring. shane feels an unbearable swell of affection for him and watches him for a bit. then he very carefully reaches over to check the time on his phone. it's late. as much as he doesn't want to disturb ilya, he has an early flight out of boston tomorrow, and he isn't going to get a good night's sleep sitting up on this couch.
shane scratches ilya's scalp gently. "baby," he says. no response. he scratches him again, rubs his shoulder and then his jaw. "baby." ilya makes a noise and frowns, stirring a little. shane thinks his heart is going to burst out of his chest. "baby, let's go to bed," he says. this time ilya turns onto his back but keeps his eyes closed. he lifts his chin, sleepily asking for a kiss. shane smiles and gives it to him. soft warm press of lips for two seconds. when shane pulls back ilya sighs and makes a satisfied "hmmh" sound, before going still again. threatening to fall back asleep. shane's cheeks hurt. he rubs the backs of his fingers under ilya's chin. "hey, sleepyhead," he urges gently.
finally ilya inhales the inhale of a waking person, sudden and sharp and deep, and buries his face in shane's—rather, his own—hoodie. then he lifts himself off shane's lap. shane lets him go, reaching for the remote to shut the tv off while ilya yawns and rubs at his face in his periphery. he has groggy eyes. shane gets up and extends a hand to him; ilya takes it. shane pulls him up and leads him by the hand through the house, as familiar to shane now as his own place in montreal.
"I need to—" ilya gestures at the lights that are still on in the kitchen and entryway. "I've got it," shane says, and leaves ilya to hit all the appropriate switches. when he returns ilya is looking at him in a way. "what?" shane asks.
ilya shakes his head. "is just nice," he murmurs. "this is a little like your house now too."
shane breathes. takes ilya's hand again. "yeah," he says. he squeezes. the house is dark and blue-ish now. moonlight coming in through ilya's floor-to-ceiling windows. they look at each other for several long moments, then shane pulls ilya with him to the bedroom.
Man no one even remembers laptop in bed. It was laptop in bed for years. Now it's just phone in bed. Maybe tablet. But usually phone. So much has changed
Shane missing all social cues that a hot man is flirting with him until said man starts literally jorking it crazy style in the communal showers right in front of Shane's salad is something that can be so personal
the problem with the gay hockey show is that the acting is great, the lighting is great, the music and costuming are great, the care taken is incredible, but you can't recommend it to normal people without sounding like a pervert
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
origamiaround
germansingergirl
prguitarman
