Guys Ilya gets so good at knowing Shane’s needs. Like he just finds his way to make Shane comfortable, it becomes his most important job- to make the world more Shane shaped. His Shane, who’s pretty strong shoulders hunch and bundle and band with tension when it’s loudloudloud when it’s too much.
His Shane who can’t do too many noises his shane who finds some textures wrong, sensations sharp, lights overwhelming. His Shane who likes- needs things soft, his Shane who pushes, works, flourishes under fluorescent lights and on a ice cold rink and in skates that pinch, heavy layers of gear, gets pushed and slammed and then asked and photographed and posed. His Shane who needs things soft but lives in hard for so much of his time, for so long because of his passion for hockey, because he wants to fit in, because he wants to be good. Because the world isn’t made to be soft for him and he seems to accept it. His Shane who exhausts himself existing a lot of the time because it’s out of his comfort.
Ilya, however doesn’t think of one thing he wouldn’t try and change with his own to hands to make Shane feel safe, good. To make Shane realise he doesn’t always have to be good, that the world could owe him and accommodate go him to make it better. Ilya would bend anything to his will to make even one thing easier for Shane. And it’s small things at the start, he replaces his sheets in Boston with the ones Shane had at the cottage, at his apartment in Montreal (because he had been listening to Shane explain the high thread count and the softness of them even when he’d been pretending to shrivel up and die on the soft while Shane did laundry, he had been listening because he loves the boring Shane Hollander who cares deeply about the sheets he sleeps on).
Then it’s other easy things, tossing shirts and hoodies of his that seem to personally offend Shane. (He figures out quickly that it’s the synthetic and silk fibres that Shane hates most) and really it’s no chore because he loves the way Shane curls up into him like a content cat nuzzling his face into Ilyas shirt when it’s a fabric he likes (or even better, the best when Shane comes downstairs dressed in ilyas hoodie, sweat pants, his smile still a little shy all these years in like he’s getting away with something, like Ilya wouldn’t offer his heart from his own chest for Shane). Easy still to keep buying the body wash that Shane had loved, almost scentless but a clean soapy faint spicy smell, to get dimmers on all the light fixtures in his house in Boston (then in Ottawa). Easy to keep the volume a couple clicks lower on the action scenes in the movies he’s watching, to keep the bedroom cool and to play the games on his phone on mute.
It becomes natural to give Shane squeezes firm and strong on the back of his neck when he starts to get a bit too worked up, hands a little frantic (planning, talking, fighting, fucking). Its second nature to lay on top of Shane when he’s fidgeting while they try to relax (Shane is so bad at relaxing) to press his head to his chest and let his full body weight help sink Shane into the touch. He doesn’t even notice anymore letting Shane play with his fingers, his jumpers, his curls, fingers working soothing circles. (He really loves indulging Shane’s oral fixation, he’d feel greedy if he didn’t know how badly Shane needed it too, how he goes all glossy eyes and pliant and happy, sweet and calm and in his skin so comfortably with his mouth full of fingers or cock or Ilyas tongue. But also sometimes it’s Shane falling asleep after sex with ilyas thumb in his mouth, sucking it for comfort. Ilyas knows Shane won’t let himself have that unless it’s after sex, then he can hide it under being fucked out rather than desire. They don’t talk about it, but Ilya adores when Shane pulls his hand to his mouth just for that. He feels so needed, so good to help soothe shane)
There are bigger things that are harder to change, press conferences, lights of cameras, chaos of photoshoots, award nights where for so long Ilya just has to watch from a distance as his Shane winds up tighter and tighter and tighter because it’s all wrong (wrong sounds sights smells, too much too much) for Shane and Ilya has to wait and wait until they are finally alone and he can undo it for him, bring him back to himself safe and warm and comfortable, Ilyas. When he can be by his husbands side he does what he can to bend these to his will too, to offer the rookies or himself to do press after a long game or when he can see the twitch in Shane’s jaw the quiet of his eyes that tell ilyas he’s already a long way away in his head.
He keeps Shane tucked close to him at awards, gives them breaks away from it outside under the guise of him needing a smoke break. He enjoys it, caring for Shane, being the one to make a place for his boy to shine. To see his laugh soft and genuine with their teammates when they are out instead of it being tight and skittering. Love when Shane is relaxed enough to make jokes or indulge Ilya in a soft kiss, softened by not having to have his protective walls up from being overwhelmed.
It’s so easy, in a club or bar, to pull Shane into him, fit his head to his chest and to cradle Shane’s head in his large palm, hand fitted over his ear to muffle sounds, so worth it for the way Shane melts into him a little more, the way Shane can stay out longer and enjoy himself when Ilya makes it right for him.
And Ilya will never get over having the privilege of making the world more comfortable for Shane, the honour of knowing him so well.
