Since people liked this post of Ilya proving to the internet why Shane is a good partner, let’s have a sequel of Shane doing similar
Ilya is in a depression low and the fact that his hockey persona is still “biggest asshole” no matter what he does has been getting to him even if he won’t admit it. So Shane posts a photo compilation titled “Every Reason Ilya Rozanov Is NHLs Biggest Asshole”
-“Bullies his teammates” with a picture of Ilya doing a celebratory fist pump next to Haas with his face in his hands, in front of a tv showing Ilya getting first in Mario Kart
-“Bullies his competitors” with a picture of Ilya laughing and Scott Hunter looking like he wants to set him on fire with his mind as he holds a birthday card labeled ‘Woah! You made it to 100!’
-“Bullies Hayden Pike” with a picture of Ilya and Jackie in the lake doing the Dirty Dancing lift while Hayden stands by with his hands on his hips and glaring
-“Stealing” with a group of pictures of Ilya wearing a Hollander 24 hoodie, wearing the Canadian Olympic fleece, and wearing one of Shane’s old jerseys
-“Dramatic” with a picture of Ilya in a feather boa at a karaoke night at a gay bar, eyes closed as he is clearly belting out some song
-“Takes jobs away from janitors” with a picture of Ilya in an arena post-game and picking up litter people dropped in the hallway
-“Bad role model to youth” with a picture of Ilya and a kid at one of the camps sticking their tongues out at each other
-“Child abuse” with a picture of Ilya playing paintball with a group of young boys
-“Animal abuse” with a picture of Ilya bathing an unhappy Anya in a kiddie pool in the backyard
-“Disturbing local wildlife” with a blurry picture of Ilya running away from a Canada goose
-“Encourages cavities” with a picture of Ilya letting trick or treaters take handfuls of candy from a bowl
-“Unfair sales tactics” with a picture of Ilya taking pictures with people at a Girl Scout cookie sale table, the table surrounded by a crowd of people waiting and holding cookie boxes
-“Trespassing” with a picture of Ilya shoveling a neighbors driveway
-“Fashion crimes” with a picture of Ilya in a pink baseball hat, a neon orange tank top, jorts, and neon green crocs
-“Not helpful at puzzles” with a picture of Ilya and David in front of a one thousand piece puzzle, both with their faces in their hands, pieces everywhere
-“Only falls asleep during movies when its his husbands turn to pick” with a selfie of Shane frowning at the camera and Ilya zonked out asleep on his chest
“So, Mr. Hollander,” He stressed Shane’s last name, “What are you getting?”
“Shane.”
The correction zipped out of his mouth in reflex, his sight trained on the desserts section of the menu, like the carrot cake was an actual option he was considering for dinner.
A few beats passed and Ilya still hadn’t responded, so Shane sighed, reiterating, “You can just call me Shane… The Mr. Hollander thing feels weird when we’re…” he still didn’t look up, “y’know…” and he waved a hand absentmindedly around, like he was trying to motion to the whole entire situation they were in. Out eating dinner. Spending time outside of school.
He didn't finish the sentence.
Shane Hollander built his life after college around safe choices. Safe job, safe routines, and a safe distance from the hockey world he abandoned years ago.
That is, until Ilya Rozanov walked into his second grade classroom.
i know a lot of people like shane enjoying and building legos and i TOTALLY respect the vision and the joy of everyone's #myshane, but i would like to propose for consideration: given his enjoyment of puzzles, ILYA is the one who likes legos. he wasn't allowed to play with them as a kid because mess and tiny pieces escaping containment, but he stumbles across an old set that shane had gotten for christmas one year as a kid (and not been remotely interested in), decides to mess with it because they got snowed in at shane's parents' house until the roads can get plowed the next day, and then really?? enjoys it?? like a lot?? david helps him out with the second one he finds because they are Puzzle Buddies and this falls under that category, but even as a solo activity?? very enjoyable and relaxing for him to sort out these tiny pieces into order, assemble them, and then have a concrete thing he's accomplished.
which then means he starts collecting lego sets as a hobby. shane reads his book, ilya does his latest lego, and they have very enjoyable parallel play time unwinding in the evening.
but shane also?? doesn't understand?? why everyone who comes to their house?? always thinks they're HIS lego sets??? man is undiagnosed and also has no real awareness of associations that people tend to have with other people who are also Shane Shaped, so he TRULY has no idea why every single person who comes to their house sees the legos and immediately turns to HIM to go, "oh? you're into legos? that's cool."
no!! he is not!! the legos ain't got nothing to do with him!! go talk legos with his husband!! leave shane out of it!!
airport - hollanov - @hollanovbingo - word count: 322 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
Shane nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw 'Lily' appear on his phone screen.
It probably wouldn't have been nearly as surprising if he hadn't been sitting staring at his screen, but that was another story.
"Hel–hey," he answered, swallowing all the eagerness he could, fighting to sound casual as he answered the call.
"Hello," Ilya replied, sounding anxious. "I am–I am at Boston airport. Just got through security. Um. Flight is on time."
He could have texted Shane that information, but neither of them pointed that out.
"Ah–good," Shane nodded jerkily, relief and terror flooding him in equal measure. Fuck. Ilya was actually doing this. Flying here. Coming to Shane's cottage.
"Man at security tried to–what is it called? Frisk me? But I told them I already have other plans for someone to touch my dick," Ilya continued, a little smile in his tone, now.
Despite his nerves, Shane snorted. "Shut up," he muttered, shaking his head fondly.
Silence.
"You are...ah...still picking me up?"
Shane gulped, looking around. "Yeah. Um...if you still want me to, that is. If it's too...weird, or whatever, I can get a car service, or see if there's taxis, or, um maybe there's public transpor–"
"Hollander."
"Yeah?"
"I want you to."
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay."
Silence.
"You will be there on time?"
He bristled. "Yeah, Rozanov, I'll be there on time!"
Ilya laughed. "I am just saying! You probably have to leave soon, yes? You don't want to be late."
Shane frowned, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. You're right, I should...yeah."
"Okay."
Silence.
"I will see you soon, Shane."
Fuck. It wasn't fair how much that made him smile. "See you, Ilya," he murmured.
When the line went dead, he sighed, looking out his car window to the deserted airport parking lot, where he'd already been waiting for half an hour.
film - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 397 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
Shane, sitting in the stands of the rink they were using for the first Game Changers camp, was completely caught up in paperwork. He barely noticed his mother’s hand fluttering at his shoulder, so it took her a few tries to gain his attention. But once he looked up, frowning a little, he saw her silently gesture to the ice, where Ilya stood with one solitary girl, about ten years of age.
Shane put down his pen and tilted his head to the side, listening in.
“...cannot say those things,” Ilya was saying patiently crouched down to the girl’s level. “Will not help you succeed. You have to believe in yourself.”
“But I’m just not good enough! I try and try and I just keep messing up! I’m so stupid!” the girl wailed, looking close to tears.
Immediately, Ilya pouted. “No, no! You cannot say this, I will not allow it. You are my friend and I do not let people say these things about my friends.”
Even through obvious tears, the girl smiled. “We’re friends?”
“Da, Милая девочка, of course. And I am not friends with stupid people.” He paused for a moment. “Well, except for maybe Hayden Pike. But normally is a rule, okay? So you are not stupid, and I will not let you say that. So come on, we will try again, and you will remember that you are my friend, so of course you are smart and talented and the best, okay?”
“Okay,” she sniffed, standing up straighter and moving towards a nearby puck. After a deep breath, she began to skate, maneuvering the puck in a complicated fashion before shooting it with obvious strength toward the upper-right corner of the goal. To her delight, it landed inside.
She let out a yell of happiness that was quickly overshadowed by Ilya’s bellow of pride, and the tall man quickly skated over to her and picked her up, swinging her in a circle and rambling how how proud he was.
Shane, from the sidelines, felt tears in his eyes, utter adoration for his boyfriend flooding his body. “Please tell me you got that on film,” he murmured to his mom, wanting to relive that moment again and again whenever he was sad.
“Mhm. I’ll send it to you,” Yuna said with a smile, patting his shoulder.
liars - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 410 - anonymous request for this tiktok trend - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
Shane is far too aware of his face. As he sits next to Ilya on the couch in Harris’s office, he’s a little terrified that Ilya will figure out what they’re doing, but the other man seems completely at ease, utterly unaware that he’s sharing a room with two liars.
“Okay, so, this’ll be super quick, like I said,” Harris details casually, fabricating information for a fake interview he and Shane had come up with. “Just something about you two discussing some of your favorites, so our fans can get to know you as people. Shane, why don’t you take the intro. Say who you guys are, and what you’re doing.”
He nods, trying to concentrate. Then, when Harris hits record on his phone and nods, he speaks. “Hi, I’m Shane Hollander, and this is my current husband Ilya Rozanov. We’re here to talk about–”
Immediately, he feels Ilya stiffen next to him and turn his way. Still, he valiantly goes on, fighting to keep the smirk off his face.
“-about some of our favorite things. Maybe–”
“Current husband?” Ilya interrupts, shifting his entire body so he is facing Shane, ignoring Harris completely as he gives Shane a look of utter disbelief. “Hollander. Solnyshko. Maybe I need English lesson, hm? You need to tell me what ‘current’ means?”
He can’t help it. He smiles, just a little, amused by the other man’s annoyance. “Uh, you know. Like ‘right now.’ I mean, you never know. Things can change in the future, and–”
“Oh, no,” Ilya said confidently, shaking his head like this is the most asinine statement he’s ever heard. “No, not at all. We have married, Hollander. We are like beavers.”
And now Shane blinks, taken off-guard, because yes, he’s heard that word used in a few ways, but not in this context. “Um…what?”
“Beavers, Shane,” Ilya says impatiently, like he should know this. He gestures between them. “Mate for life.”
He feels himself blush, eyes flickering over to Harris, who is doubled over in silent laughter. “Ilya, don’t say ‘mate,’ that’s–”
But Ilya’s jaw is set, and he wraps his arms around Shane possessively, kissing his cheek. “No, is true. Harris, tell the whole world. Shane and I have mated for life. End interview.”
And with that, Harris taps on his phone screen, ending the recording and bursting into hysterics. Somehow, Shane feels like the joke ended up being on him, though with Ilya’s reaction, he doesn’t mind it.
the centaurs WAGs (or SAPs) added shane and ilya as a joke to the group chat and turns out to be the best thing ever to them and to ilya. ilya thrives in the middle of them, he’s spiritually a WAG. shane doesn’t talk much - even in the cens group - he only see the messages that is directed to him. everything he needs to know his husband WILL tell him, very detailed. cus obviously ilya is having the time of his life, his nosy ass is now in everybody business. even in the players from another teams
in #mysandbox ilya accidently becomes a swiftie while trying to piss off hayden. the pike girls LOVE her and always beg to turn her on. this happens at dinner one night while shane and ilya are over and jackie asks what everyone wants to listen to. the girls ofc say tay tay!!!!! as usual.
hayden immediately groans and rolls his eyes openly. "god she is so annoying, all she writes about is the guy that broke up with her that week."
and ilya doesn't know much about her, sure he's heard the singles. he's danced to blank space in the club and has drunkly sang love story with cliff at karaoke one time. but he loves pissing off hayden so immediately says, "oh, wow pike. i did not know you were so... what is woman hater word?" "misogynistic" shane provides next to him. "yes, thank you moya lyubov; misogynistic. boys write about break ups too, yes?"
hayden is pissed at the insinuation [and at shane for helping him] and to further press his buttons, ilya goes to the living room so he can dance with the girls.
this becomes a thing, swiftie dance parties with uncle ilya, and as he keeps listening he starts kinda digging the music. he stumbles upon marjorie one day and cries so hard he almost throws up, and suddenly he's buying pit tickets to the eras tour for him, shane, and the girls off of stub hub.
a video goes viral of him doing the fate of ophelia dance with the pike girls. shane is next to him and shaking his head but smiling, and after the "cause now you're mine" part he smacks a kiss against shane's cheek. the video ends panning over to hayden mad as hell in the corner with his arms crossed
“Does this mean I can volunteer again?” His face mockingly resembled one of a pleading child, asking their parents for a candy bar. “Now that I am single man?”
Shane couldn’t help it. A breath of laughter puffed out of his mouth, and he dropped his head in exasperation. Ilya’s chuckle rumbled in front of him, and Shane reached up to smooth out one of his eyebrows, still fighting down his laughter.
He looked back up at him, giving a tiny roll of his eyes, “Yes, you can volunteer.”
Ilya’s face was full of satisfaction.
Shane Hollander built his life after college around safe choices. Safe job, safe routines, and a safe distance from the hockey world he abandoned years ago.
That is, until Ilya Rozanov walked into his second grade classroom.
suit - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 599 - ao3 request - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
It was stupid, to feel nervous.
At least, that’s what Shane told himself, as he paced around his hotel room in Vermont, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings.
Except…he was. Nervous, that is. Because he and Ilya hadn’t seen each other since before preseason, and now…now they were meeting up.
They were no stranger to clandestine meetings in hotel rooms, to be sure. But this time was different. They’d intentionally carved out this time, meeting in a city halfway between them both, booking a room specifically to see each other. It made the whole thing feel much more real.
And it was, wasn’t it?
They were boyfriends now. They texted, talked on the phone, kept each other updated on mundane things like what they’d eaten or when they’d last jerked off.
And it’d been good. Full of hilarious, bickering chirps over text and phone sex that’d left him seeing stars. Confessions on facetime and nights falling asleep with a smile on his face. It was so fucking good that Shane was terrified. What if, when they saw each other again, it somehow all went to shit?
So he paced back and forth, waiting for Ilya to arrive, trying to convince himself that he would be okay if something happened. That he would be able to go on, if his heart was ripped from his chest.
(He lied to himself a lot.)
A soft knock on the door made his stomach lurch, and for a moment, he wildly considered throwing up.
Instead, though, he shakily grabbed the door handle and pulled it open.
And…
Oh.
How was Ilya even more handsome than he remembered? Facetime couldn’t possibly do the man justice, a piece of technology as inept as a cell phone camera unable to pick up the way his easy smile and beautiful presence took the air from the room in the best way.
As soon as Shane saw him, he wanted to fall to his knees, but something held him back. “Hi,” he said softly instead, because what else could he say? He’d forgotten how to speak, his brain too focused on the way Ilya’s eyes were alight with joy; sparkling with what looked like happy tears.
“Hi.”
His voice was soft, too. Gentle, like Ilya was just as terrified to break the spell they’d cast. Reverent. Warm, worshipful.
“You’re–you’re here.” He didn’t need to point it out. But he did because all of a sudden, the ache he’d felt for weeks, the way he’d missed Ilya more than breathing, had welled up inside him, constricting Shane’s ability to breathe.
They still hadn’t touched, hadn’t reached for each other, but the tension in the air was so thick it could have been snapped in Shane’s palm.
Ilya smirked a little. “You are, too. And you are not wearing suit. I am disappointed, I think.”
It took him a second to understand. He’d told Ilya the story of how he’d put on a suit before they’d first hooked up as teenagers one night on a phone call, needing to hear his boyfriend’s laugh. Of course, he’d regretted it ever since.
Beaming, Shane shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Asshole.”
And then…they made eye contact.
It was like magic. Both men snapped together like magnets, connecting their lips, grabbing for jaws and hair and waists, swallowing each others’ moans, stumbling into the hotel room with such desperation Shane’s whole body shook.
And as Shane finally–finally–sank into the mattress with Ilya, he let out a sigh of relief. God, yes. This was real. And neither of them were going anywhere.
silent - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 369 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
It took him about ten minutes to realize that they’d been sitting in silence. That even though Shane had been enjoying the quiet, his body buzzing with a ridiculously happy feeling at the way his toes tapped firmly on Ilyas as they sat, feet-to-feet, on opposite ends of the couch, Ilya was probably ridiculously bored just sitting here scrolling on his phone.
Shane swallowed, struggling to think of what to say. “Um. It rained today.”
Light eyes twitched up from Ilya’s phone screen. “Yes. I was there,” Ilya nodded, lips curling upward as he rolled his eyes almost fondly.
He swallowed, flushing. Fuck. He’d never been good at this. But shit, Ilya was looking back at his phone, and oh god, he must be so fucking bored. Shane had to decide what to talk about, fast.
“Uh. We can have hot dogs. For dinner later. I asked the lady at the store which kind was best, since…you know…I don’t usually eat them.” He said this fact like a peace offering, trying to prove that even though he sucked at talking, he did desperately want Ilya to have fun while he was here.
Again, Ilya looked up at him with amusement in his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured. But…he didn’t seem annoyed or upset to be here.
It didn’t make sense.
And–fuck. Ilya looked back at his phone again.
“D’you want to–” Shane began, shifting uncomfortably, no clue where he was going with his offer but so damn nervous about Ilya’s attention slipping away.
“Shane.” Ilya put his phone down on his chest and looked at him, this time like he was looking through him, into the most vulnerable recesses of his soul. “Is okay. You do not have to…entertain me. I am here to be with you, yes? Is okay to just be quiet for a little. I am happy to just be here and relax, like you said. You do not have to…pretend for me.”
Relief, sweet and all-consuming, flooded Shane. Unable to stop the small smile that bullied its way onto his face, he nodded, looking to where their feet touched. “Okay,” he murmured, reaching back to his own phone.
“Hey guys, I have an idea!” Shane calls out. They weren’t too far into the drive, but he was already starting to get a little overwhelmed.
Shane loves his family so much it hurts. There isn't a single thing in this world he wouldn’t do for them. And individually, they were usually fine! For all his chirping, Ilya could always tell when his husband was getting overstimulated, knowing exactly when to pull back. And while Sofiya wasn’t necessarily the quietest child, she knew how to use her inside voice just fine, and Shane never wanted to be the one to dull her sparkle.
But sometimes, when you put the two of them together in a confined space with enough sugar to rile them up, things could get rough. They were still over an hour away from the cottage, and Shane was already starting to get a little tired of Disney karaoke. Hence the idea.
“Daddy idea!” Sofiya echoes helpfully, calling on Ilya to turn down the music. (If Shane ever caught Elsa, so help him god-)
“How about we play the quiet game?”
Ilya hums a little doubtfully, but in the end, his competitive spirit wins over. “And how is this game played?”
“Whoever can stay quiet the longest wins, doesn’t that sound fun, Sonya?”
It takes a little more convincing in the end, but they finally figure it out, and for the first time since they started the trip, the car is totally silent. Shane heaves a sigh of relief, glancing over to the passenger seat to see Ilya smirking back at him. Obviously, his husband knows what he’s up to, but Shane loves him even more for playing along.
Everything is going smoothly, that is until Shane chances a look in the rearview mirror. He sees Sofiya all buckled up in her carseat, face scrunched up and lips tightly pressed together as if even the slightest opening will let sound escape. Shane can’t help but burst out laughing at the total concentration etched on her face, a need to win that she could have only inherited from them.
“Daddy loses!” Sofiya calls out happily, and the statement sends Ilya into a fit of laughter as well.
“You lose too, Sonya,” Ilya calls back to her, “Papa wins this round.”
“No fair!” she yells out, ever Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov's daughter, “Play again!”
The subsequent rounds fail just as quickly, with the entire car dissolving into shrieking at the slightest bit of eye contact. Well at least Shane can say that he tried. And anyway, he’d prefer the sound of his family’s laughter to silence any day of the week.
(28. Clap, 1,319 words) inspired by this post @hollanovmicrofic
Ilya is not usually someone that backs down from a well-placed chirp. Words at the ready live behind his teeth; it’s all part of a perfectly constructed barrier he’s built for himself over the years. But he also knows that it’s pointless to allow others to get under his skin, especially since there are better ways of spending his time; like getting underneath theirs. His chirps never wander into something personal; why do that when he’s got plenty of things to comment on that has everything to do with the sport they share? There’s a reason that he’s one of the best players in the league, and Ilya knows it. He doesn’t shy away from letting others know it too. Just because he’s on Ottawa’s team now doesn’t change that.
The thing about chirps at this point in his career is that he’s heard it all. It’s almost more effective for him to look bored when someone opens their mouth about him. Besides—he’s got things in his life that he never thought he’d be able to have or keep. He’s married to the love of his life, they have a dog together, and they get to do something that they believe in through the Irina Foundation, all while playing on the same team. Words carelessly tossed in his direction are practically vapor, they pass right through him. He grins over chirps and plays twice as hard.
And the Centaurs fucking win because of it.
Now, that doesn’t mean he won’t clap back; Ilya has had years of experience trading chirp for chirp and blow for blow. But what he’s not used to?—Is someone else stepping in for him on his behalf.
Ilya loves fiercely; he’s always been like that. He just hasn’t been given room to feel that way, to be honest—ivy stuck underneath concrete. He’s learning that he can grow freely with Shane; that he can not only love someone else, but learn to love himself. That he deserves it. Maybe that’s why it still shocks the hell out of him when something like this happens.
It unfolds in a blur, Shane buzzing past him—Ilya didn’t even know his husband was behind him on the ice.
Another player chirps at Ilya, nothing he hasn’t heard before. He’s been doing it all night. Offhanded comments about being gay, about playing hockey, about his relationship—shit that no one can touch but him. He refuses to get penalties or to get kicked out of a game when he knows that’s their intention. The Centaurs need him. This other team can bask in their losses at the end of the night.
Except, the last comment number 15 makes is about his mother.
The Irina Foundation is common knowledge, so it’s not surprising in that sense. But the fact that he hears her name out of this player’s mouth who’s been throwing nasty shit at him all night, trying to get under his skin, makes him stop dead on the ice. His mouth actually falls open, stunned because…out of all the things he’s learned to expect, it’s not that. The sounds around him swirl down a drain in his ears, muffled and cottony, his skin burns hot along the back of his neck and cheeks, and there’s a visceral reaction of a lump in his throat that he nearly chokes.
He can’t claw words to come out of his mouth, but he doesn’t have to, because Shane comes out of nowhere and slams 15 into the boards so hard that Ilya swears he feels his teeth rattle.
But it doesn’t stop there.
15 shifts, like a bug with wings pinned to the ice and Shane tears his gloves off, “Go head, get the fuck up and say it again.”
Ilya blinks, like his brain is processing these moments in slow motion. When 15 doesn’t get up, Shane hauls him up off the ice. 15 spits and that’s when Shane throws his fist. It takes him a minute to realize Troy and Wyatt have skated over, that they’re trying to keep other players from joining in and—
Ilya finally moves, coming up behind his husband and wrapping an arm around his waist. He isn’t gentle, he pulls until he feels skates slide, “Shane,” He calls over the sound of the screaming fans, of 15 getting into his face, of Shane clapping back in equal fervor, his fist flying out again.
“Stop—moya lyubov',” The Russian lands, like it breaks through the fog of his anger, and Shane hesitates. Ilya squeezes him around his middle as the other team yanks 15 back as well,
“Enough.” He says gently, in his ear, “Eto togo ne stoit.” And that grabs Shane’s attention instantly, his eyebrows drawing together in a way that nearly conveys he’s in pain because he knows what Ilya has said. How could it not be worth it?
Shane huffs out a pissed off noise, shaking his head, but allows Ilya to pull him back towards their benches.
—
Ilya turns the corner in the locker room, the space empty for the most part. There are some other players lingering in the bathroom and shower area, but Shane is sitting on the bench in front of his stall. He’s still in most of his gear; pants and shoulder pads and a long sleeved thermal. His hair is damp from his helmet and he’s drawing in slow and even breaths in through his nose.
As someone who rarely gets pissed off, Ilya nearly shivers because he can feel that icy presence roll off Shane’s shoulders in waves. He pauses in front of him, waiting for his husband to tip his head up and when he does, Shane visibly relaxes. His shoulders unbunch from his ears and his expression softens as he gets a good look at Ilya,
“Are you okay?”
Ilya raises his eyebrows, shifting the icepack into his left hand before lifting Shane’s right. He presses a kiss above his knuckles, giving them a onceover before he sets the icepack against his skin.
“I should be asking you that. You are bruised.”
There’s a soft wince that scrunches Shane’s freckles together and Ilya nearly sinks to his knees, “I’ve had worse.”
“I have never seen you so angry.”
Shane smiles then and it’s somehow fond and livid all at once, “Well other players should keep my husband’s name out of their mouths.”
A tremble courses down Ilya’s spine, heat settling in his belly at the protectiveness in Shane’s voice. Something he doesn’t need but wants all the same.
Part of him wants to argue that it was his mother’s name that seemed to set Shane over the edge but the sentiment matters all the same. He cups Shane’s cheek, running his thumb over his freckles before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. A thank you, an I love you; a combination of all the things he can’t say or can’t translate fast enough.
Shane’s free arm wraps around Ilya’s waist until he’s gently tugged onto his legs, straddling them, their bodies pressed close together. Ilya unties Shane’s shoulder pads and gets them out of the way before they kiss, a soft hum leaving his lips when his husband grabs at his ass to haul him closer.
Ilya knows they can’t let things escalate here, no matter how much he wants it to. He’s reluctant to pull away, enjoying far too much the heat of Shane’s body underneath his own, the way his tongue feels in his mouth, the way he smells like skin and sweat and lingering soap.
“I like you like this,” Ilya says against his mouth, “A little bit riled up. Protective, —”
“Yours.” Shane finishes his sentence, fingers slipping underneath the sides of Ilya’s shirt.
Ilya smiles, nodding, his nose brushing his, “Yes.” He agrees, and repeats the same sentiment for emphasis, “Yours.” And kisses him just a little bit longer.
the thrill of using each other's first names lasts for months before it stops feeling vaguely illegal. the first few times, shane reaches for rozanov first out of habit before he catches himself. he knows the shape of it. he understands its weight in his mouth. three solid syllables. familiar. safe. almost a decade of meaning behind it. ilya requires a run up. he has to brace himself, like he's running straight towards a cliff's edge with no idea how how far the drop might be.
it's not until the cottage, until the first afternoon together, that he can reach for it without thinking. he's on his back, legs slung over the top of ilya's arms, spread wide and gasping the first time it escapes on a low, breathy moan. barely more than a hitch in his chest. as easy as a sigh.
and it makes ilya pause. he stills his hips to a slow grind that still has him arching off the sheets. ilya collapses around him, mouth trailing up his neck to the hollow behind his ear.
"say that again." he hovers above shane, lips parted and eyes blown out, and looking at him like he wants to eat him whole. "say it," he says, emphasising each word with a filthy roll of his hips, "again."
pleasure lights him up, sweet heat burning in his veins, and he almost chokes in his haste to do as he asks. "il-ya."
he receives the bitten off, "fuck, shane" right into his mouth as ilya kisses him in that all consuming way he loves so much.
ilya fucks him, wild and possessive, all mouth and hands, teeth and nails, and it's as if he's reaching into shane's chest and snuffing out every word he knows in two languages until all that remains is, "ilya, ilya ilya."
There’s a spectrum of Ilya’s attraction to Shane where the hottest he’s ever looked to Ilya is when he’s in his fuckboi fit (gym clothes, backwards cap, etc) and his nerd outfit (nice sweater, slacks, and crucially, glasses). Those are his slut fits when he wants to ruin Ilya’s day.
(And I say spectrum but really the range is damn Hollander to they’re going to minimum 30 minutes late)
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