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[hollanovmicrofic]

Greetings, Hollanovers! Alas, a new month has begun, which means... new prompts! This July, we've gone for a (mushy) theme of Terms of Endearment. We hope these words inspire you to write some fantastic microfics this summer!

Please remember to refer to our Rules and FAQ for any issues. If these don't help, feel free to drop us an ask. Happy writing!

Want smoother translations for AO3 works? Click here for a guide!

Current Prompts: (text vers. + last month's prompts under the cut)

Text Version:

Baby

Love

Moya Lyubov

Darling

Sugar

Babe

Solnyshko

Honey

Kotik

Zaychik

Sweetheart

Amour

Chou Chou

Dear

Angel

Sugar Plum

Cutie

Gorgeous

Ange

Bébé

Lyubimiy

Malysh

Dorogoy

Precious

Sweetie

Coeur

Beau

Chaton

Cupcake

Sunshine

Hot Stuff

Last Month's Prompts:

[cameandgavewithouttaking]

Shane's hands shook as he held the bouquet in his hands. Each rose color had a meaning. Peach, yellow, white, lavender...the array of colors were there with a card that explained the meaning of each. He took a steadying breath as he walked into the hospital and glanced at Ilya.

"I hope Amanda likes them," he said nervously as they navigated the halls. "I just...I want her to know how much this means to us and what she means to us."

"Shane," Ilya said soothingly, "Amanda chose us as the adoptive parents for a reason. She knows we will give her little one the best life possible." They opened the door to see the exhausted teenager in the hospital bed, but she smiled brightly at them.

"It's a girl," she told them as Shane handed her the bouquet and Ilya kissed her on the cheek. The men turned their attention to the tightly wrapped newborn in the clear cot, sleeping peacefully.

Ilya gasped, tears filling his eyes as he lifted gently. "Moya lubyov," he whispered, "look at her. She's perfect."

@hollanovbingo @hollanovmicrofic

For 3. Moya Lubyov and my second bingo square

[my-castles-crumbling]

love - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 188 - slightly NSFW - click here to see my microfic archive!

“He’s like, definitely in love,” Hammersmith whispers to Marleau, smirking and shaking his head as they both watch Ilya grin and blush at his phone a few feet away in obvious delight. “Man can’t go two minutes without checking his messages. I swear, something happened over the summer, because he’s not even hiding how down bad he is anymore.”

“Right? I think I heard him say her name in his sleep the other day,” Marleau replies, chuckling. He makes his deep voice high-pitched and longing. “Ooooo, Jaaane.”

“Nah, man, but imagine? How fuckin’ crazy-hot d’you have to be to lock down Roz? Like, she must have four tits or something!”

“Definitely a model.”

“An absolute freak in bed.”

“Bet she was, like, a stripper in the past.”

“Maybe lets him have threesomes.”

“Yeah, brother, bet she gets into it, too.”

“Think she lets him hit it from the back?”

“Definitely.”

They’re both so wrapped up in their conversation, neither of them notice that a picture of Shane Hollander, fully clothed but wearing glasses, has popped up on Ilya’s phone.

Thankfully, they don’t notice how hard Ilya gets, either. 

[my-castles-crumbling]

baby - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 338 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

“Sorry,” Ilya says hoarsely, after texting Shane for the second time that day requesting medication. He’s sprawled in bed, a raging fever having completely knocked him on his ass and even stopped him from playing a game the day before. 

Shane, who doesn’t mind playing nurse at all, stops at his boyfriend’s mumbled words, pills and cup of water in hand, giving him a truly mystified expression. “What? Why?”

It looks like it takes all of Ilya’s available energy to pull the English words from his lips. Sitting up, he gestures for the pills. “For…being bother,” he grumbles, eyes cast downward. “I am baby when I am sick.”

Which…is fine. Shane gets truly miserable when, on rare occasions, he gets sick. Stuffed noses and tight breathing are absolute sensory nightmares for him, so he knows he’s insufferable in those instances. He can understand when people aren’t their best when ill.

But Ilya’s been fine. Just laying in bed, drinking his water, sleeping and playing on his phone. Not a single complaint or request, aside from a need for medication. He even sent Shane away, not wanting him to get sick as well.

“Ilya…what the fuck? You’ve been fine,” he says firmly, moving onto the bed and looking the other man in the eye. 

“I am not…too much?”

This is what makes Shane move forward and pull Ilya into an embrace, despite his own misgivings and Ilya’s earlier protests. This, and a sudden picture in his mind of a fourteen-year-old Ilya sick in bed with nobody to care for him. A sixteen-year-old Ilya shivering and cold, with nobody to hold him. An eighteen-year-old Ilya alone at home, even when he needed someone to help him. 

And when Shane does hold him, the giant, muscled Russian man gives off the smallest whimper. It makes Shane’s heart break. “Baby…whatever you need. I’m here,” Shane reminds him softly, pressing a kiss to his head.

Arms wind around Shane’s waist, pulling him close. They stay that way for the rest of the night.

[my-castles-crumbling]

miss - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 206 - slightly NSFW - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

“I mean…listen,” Marleau says drunkenly, spilling his drink a little as he shifts on his barstool to face Ilya with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Listen, man. I’m an ally, right?”

“This is starting in very promising way, Marly,” Ilya responds, smirking.

“Nah, nah! Put your dick in whatever you want!” the taller man beams. “But like…” he leans in conspiratorially. “D’you ever miss it?”

Ilya tilts his head to the side. “Miss what?”

“Pussy, Roz,” Marleau grins. “Girls. Like…their bodies. Tits. Ass.”

But Ilya just snorts. “Marly. You are ass man, yes?”

And the Boston player nods seriously as if this is the most obvious question to ever have been asked.

Ilya takes out his phone, scrolling for a few moments before he settles on something, holding up a zoomed-in picture of someone’s ass in tight yoga-type pants, the person clearly in the middle of bedding over. “What do you think of this ass?”

Marleau, too drunk to realize the trap, looks at the picture, his eyes nearly popping from his head. “Damn. Who’s that caked up, brother?”

But Ilya just beams. “My husband.”

The other man’s shout of shock is totally worth the fact that Ilya is forced to buy the next round.

[hollanovbingo]

HOLLANOV BINGO // ROUND 2

It’s game time! Get as many bingos as you can, and feel free to combine these prompts with other fests such as @shanesummerfest or @hollanovmicrofic 💛 This round runs from July–September. 🏒 RULES

[hollanovmicrofic]

hey just so you know, im pretty sure the russian word for love "lyubov" is feminine so the "my" should be feminine as well! so day three should be "moya lyubov". thanks for setting this up!

Thank you for this! It's been changed!

[ilyahugs]

(29. Longing, 906 words ) Spoilers for The Long Game @hollanovmicrofic

This is somehow the longest five minutes of Shane’s life. 

Waiting.

Ever since he heard about Ilya’s plane landing (he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay, okay, okay) he’s been hovering by the front door of the cottage. Waiting. It’s like he can’t get his body to move, his feet glued to the floor, his eyes stuck to the driveway. His phone is in his hand but he can’t bring himself to call Ilya’s number in the happenstance he might hear his voicemail one more time. He can’t listen to that voicemail ever again. 

Shane thinks about the ache that’s in the center of his ribs, the knot in his throat, the wetness living in his eyes, the way he’s a second away from feeling too many emotions at once—the way his legs are about to give out, the way he thinks he might start crying and never stop, the anger he feels sparking in his blood about how someone that he loves deeply might have been taken from him in an instant, how he couldn’t have done anything about that, choices being made beyond his control. 

There’s a general sense of longing he feels when it comes to Ilya, it’s embedded right under his skin and thumps with every beat of his heart, something automatic and intimate because of how much time they’ve spent together over the years. Time that was condensed and rushed and fabricated before it truly became theirs. 

And that yearning intensifies the more time he spends by the door. 

Waiting. 

A car pulls into the driveway and something pops in Shane’s chest with an audible noise; he has no idea what it is or whether he’ll need it ever again. All he knows is that he’s leaving the cottage on autopilot, his eyes on Ilya’s car. He’s not sure how he doesn’t tumble down the steps or bump into anything because his gaze blurs with tears and he’s already crying by the time the car door opens. 

“Shane,” Ilya whispers but there’s a desperation there as he grabs onto him, hauling him into his chest. 

A longing that matches Shane’s. 

A longing that’s composed of fear and anguish and urgency and love. So much love. So much that Shane feels like his entire nervous system is living outside of his skin. He hates that he’s crying so hard that he can’t speak, clinging to Ilya as he threads his fingers through his hair, mapping his hands down his back, memorizing him because what if it’s the last chance he gets? What if he had never gotten this chance—he can’t remember the last time he saw him, before he left for the airport. What was the last word he said? Did they kiss? Does it matter? Shane feels tears leak into his shoulder and when he pulls back, he wipes the tracks off Ilya’s cheeks with his thumbs. As difficult as it was to be the one on the ground, Shane also has to remember that Ilya experienced that terror of weightlessness, of considering that he might not make it through, of assuming his life would remain incomplete. 

He can’t imagine. 

Shane rests his forehead against his boyfriend’s—or maybe he can; 

Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.

Ilya massages the back of Shane’s neck, drawing in a sharp breath, attempting to get himself under control. Like he needs to be the stronger one for Shane. He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to Ilya’s lips. One after the other after the other. 

“Come on,” Shane sniffles, taking a step back and running his hands down Ilya’s arms. He’s got a tank top on, part of his typical airport attire. Despite the weather being warm, Shane can feel him trembling, “I’ll draw you a bath.”

—

They both get into the tub. It’s a little tight and not altogether comfortable but neither of them seem to care. Ilya tries to insist on sitting down first but Shane manhandles him in front of him, adding more hot water to the tub once Ilya is placed between his legs. He presses his nose and lips into the back of his shoulder, peppering kisses on his moles, breathing in the scent of his curls when they tickle his face. 

It’s quiet for a long time, just soaking in the sound of the cottage settling, the water trickling, their shared breathing. Shane washes Ilya’s back in lazy movements before moving onto his hair. He works the shampoo into his scalp, using the detachable showerhead to make sure he rinses him clean. He does this more than once when he realizes how much Ilya is leaning back into his touch, eyes closing as he regulates his breathing to be something calmer than when he first got home. 

Shane wraps his arms around him afterwards, one around his stomach while the other strokes his chest, a few kisses tucked into the warmth of Ilya’s neck and along his jawline when he turns his head. 

“You okay?” Shane asks softly, knows that it’s probably such a stupid question, but he can’t help but ask it. He plays with Ilya’s cross between his fingertips. 

Ilya nods, his hands securing themselves around Shane’s forearms, anchoring himself into place. “YA tebya lyublyu. Ty dlya menya vse.” 

Shane closes his eyes and presses their foreheads together, that longing becoming a permanent resident in his chest—you are everything to me. 

(If you liked this, you might like my other microfic about Shane making Ilya change his voicemail)

[my-castles-crumbling]

move - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 399 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

Shane wouldn’t admit it, even to Ilya, but he was a bit terrified to meet Marleau.

It wasn’t just that the guy was good at hockey–he’d seen the Boston player move on the ice, and he was definitely nothing to laugh at. It wasn’t that he was super outgoing, or even that Marleau was the one who gave Shane a concussion a few years back. It was that Marleau was one of Ilya’s closest friends–Marleau had been something like family to Ilya during his years in Boston. Even though Shane and Ilya were engaged, something deep inside Shane still wanted Marleau’s approval.

So when he and Ilya approached the older man at the bar in Boston, it was with a lot of trepidation on Shane’s part.

Until Marleau broke into a giant, shit-eating grin. 

Completely ignoring Ilya, walking past his open arms, Marleau strode up to Shane and pulled him into a back-breaking hug. “Jane!” he yelled, catching Shane by complete surprise. “Fuckin’ finally, man! D’you know how long I’ve been waiting to meet the person who can walk Roz like a damn dog?”

Ilya let out a shout of laughter while Shane broke into a grin. “Uh, nice to meet you, Cliff,” he muttered, moving to take the farthest barstool from the other man’s, leaving the middle one for Ilya.

But Marleau shook his head, beaming. “Oh, no. You sit in the middle, my man. I’m getting you so fuckin’ drunk. And shit, I have stories for you. Has Roz ever told you about the time he threw a damn fit because our flight was changed so we wouldn’t have time in Montreal to see you? Or the time he bribed us with cars to beat you? Or once when he nearly cried because a song came on in the bar that reminded him of y–”

“Okay, okay, enough of that!” Ilya cut in, flushing slightly. “You are supposed to be my friend, Marly, do not betray me!”

But Marleu had already signalled to the bartender for a round of drinks. “Sorry, Roz. I’ve been waiting for years. We’re not moving from this spot until Hollander hears everything.”

And, beaming, Shane took the middle stool, eager to listen as Marleau launched into a story about the time Ilya had waxed poetic about ‘Jane’s eyes after drinking far too much at a bar. Yes, this was going pretty well.

[my-castles-crumbling]

farewell - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 245 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

It was tradition on the Montreal Voyageurs to wish a traded teammate one last goodbye in the group chat. To post well wishes and old memories and embarrassing photos.

To make him feel like he’d be missed.

But of course, on Shane’s last official day on the Voyageurs, the group chat was completely silent.

He’d told Hayden not to write anything. He didn’t want to leave him with enemies, and he didn’t want the other guys to follow suit out of pity. But still, it made Shane’s heart ache to know that not one of his other teammates cared enough to say something.

So maybe…he got a little petty.

It wasn’t official. Not publicly, anyway, not until tomorrow. But they still had the picture ready to post: Shane and Ilya grinning like idiots in matching Ottawa Centaurs jerseys. And he figured…what could it hurt, to share the good news with his beloved teammates a day early?

He sent the image to the group chat with a very simple caption.

Shane: [Image Attached] Shane: Good luck next season 🖕 You'll need it.

It took only moments for the responses to roll in.

Hayden: 🤣 JJ: Fuck.

They just kept coming. 

But, grinning, he threw his phone to the side, allowing it to continue to ding!, moving to cuddle up to Ilya on the couch.

“You are popular today, malysh,” Ilya commented, smirking at him.

Shane just laughed. “You could say that.”

It was a hell of a farewell. 

[sliebman10]

Farewell

Troy looked at his phone and nudged Harris. “Babe, we gotta go,” he said, showing Harris the time. Harris nodded. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Chiron came bounding over with Anya at his heels. 

“Good boy, Chiron,” he crooned at the large dog who stood in front of him expectantly. Anya cocked her head in Ilya’s direction curiously. Shane gently took hold of her collar so she couldn’t follow as Harris clipped the leash to Chiron’s harness. 

“See you guys tomorrow,” Troy said, fist bumping both Shane and Ilya. 

“Say hi to your parents,” Ilya said to Harris, since they were headed for dinner at the Drover’s farm. 

“Of course,” Harris said, using both hands on the leash to keep Chiron from lunging back towards Anya. “I might even bring you some cider.”

Ilya chuckled. “Sounds good.” Anya was straining toward Chiron even though Shane was trying to restrain her. 

Once they left, her ears drooped and she looked at Shane sadly. “I know, Anya…it’s hard to say goodbye. We’ll see them again soon,” he said, scratching her ears.

“Should we go?” Ilya asked. The sun was starting to set and they’d been at the dog park for quite a long time. 

“Sure. I have that new recipe to try for dinner,” Shane said, taking Ilya’s hand. 

“It’ll be good.”

Ilya attached Anya’s harness to the seatbelt in the backseat of Shane’s SUV. She stared forlornly out the window. Shane chuckled a little as he settled in the driver’s seat. “It was the saddest farewell ever,” he said, gesturing toward her as he put the car in gear to drive home.

Word Count: 275

@hollanovmicrofic

[24liwan]

Avoided

@hollanovmicrofic / Prompt: Move (June n° 27) / word count: 1709

hollanov — school — soulmates — soul marks

Ilya knew he was being avoided.

It was pretty easy to tell, especially when the person avoiding him wasn't exactly being subtle about it. It would have been funny if it weren't so tragic.

The fact was: Ilya had found his soulmate, and he’d been getting the cold shoulder for nearly a month.

He knew that he was partly to blame. They hadn't known each other long, and their meeting probably hadn't exactly gone the best. Come to think of it, it hadn't been that terrible—just a bit awkward. But apparently, for his soulmate (whose name he now knew was Shane Hollander), it had been awful enough to make him determined to run away from Ilya every chance he got.

It was funny.

Whenever they ran into each other in the school hallways, Shane would change direction and vanish the moment he saw him. On one particularly memorable occasion—when Ilya decided to take the initiative—he was pretty sure Shane had faked an emergency just to avoid having that conversation. He still laughed whenever he thought about it.

The thing was, Ilya was trying to be patient. Trying to give him space.

Patience wasn't exactly his strong suit, but damn it, he was trying not to be a jerk about the whole thing.

He was trying to be cool about it for Shane Hollander’s sake.

Even though Shane was avoiding him, he knew the guy didn't hate him. At most, he was embarrassed by the awkward way they’d discovered they were soulmates and by what was written on their soulmate marks.

When he was fourteen and first saw the words written on his waist, Ilya hadn't known what to think.

"You can't smoke here."

The very first thing his soulmate would say to him was a complaint.

Great.

He didn't want to blame that phrase, but it was probably the reason Ilya had started smoking in the first place. He enjoyed the challenge, and in some strange way, it made him feel closer to the person destined for him.

Of course, when they actually met, he hadn't intended to reply with that insult, and he regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

S'yebis' otsyuda. “Fuck off.”

It hadn't been intentional; he’d spoken purely out of reflex. He would have said something nicer if he’d been paying attention, but—damn it—the words had slipped out before he could stop them, driven more by his reflexive irritation at being told he was doing something wrong than by any real thought.

He really hoped Shane wasn't upset about it. He didn't want to think about how Shane must have felt seeing those words appear on his skin for the first time and then translating their meaning.

Sighing, Ilya closed his locker while gathering his books. He was grabbing the textbooks for his next class when he spotted Shane at the far end of the hallway, walking toward him completely distracted. He was gorgeous. Ilya hadn't realized he had a "type" until he saw that boy—tall, with a serious expression and beautiful freckles dusting his cheeks. He was simply perfect.

When Shane got close and finally saw Ilya, he froze for a few seconds like a deer in headlights. Those brown eyes stared back at him, and he looked ready to bolt at any moment, though there was clearly no ill will in his gaze. He was probably just shy.

When Ilya took a step toward him—likely because he enjoyed teasing him and watching him get flustered—Shane turned around, ready to run.

He’d taken about three steps when Ilya couldn't help himself and spoke up:

“You can't keep running away from me forever, Shane,” Ilya said, loud enough for him to hear.

Shane stopped, looking almost embarrassed by the excuse he was about to give. His shoulders tensed for a moment, and he hesitated a few seconds before finally turning just enough to glance at Ilya over his shoulder.

"I'm just late for class," Shane replied. As he spoke, a flush slowly crept across his face, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He turned away again, though, and resumed walking at a brisk pace.

Ilya raised an eyebrow as he watched him walk off.

"Your class is in the other direction," he pointed out.

Shane froze mid-step.

Ilya leaned back against the locker and crossed his arms over his chest, an amused smile threatening to break across his face. He could practically see the exact moment Shane realized his mistake.

Shane turned to look at Ilya, blinked, and turned beet red.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Ilya repeated, amused and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

He watched Shane walk past him with hesitant steps, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. The effort it took, however, was almost painfully obvious.

Then, as soon as he’d put a few meters of distance between them, he started to run. Literally run.

Ilya couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched the other boy’s figure disappear down the hallway.

He was cute when he was nervous.

It was worth being patient.

He would wait until he was ready to talk.

A few days later, Ilya was smoking outside the school, leaning against the brick wall and watching the smoke dissipate in the cold air.

The break was nearly over, and the flow of students was gradually slowing down. Ilya took another unhurried drag, his eyes wandering distractedly across the courtyard.

He had an English test later and was so stressed that he couldn't resist the urge to sneak a cigarette.

That was when he saw Shane approaching.

The other boy hesitated for a few seconds the moment he spotted him. His steps slowed to a near-halt, as if he were debating whether to keep going or turn around and run while he still had the chance.

For an instant, Ilya truly believed that was exactly what he would do; after a month of being avoided, he had grown used to seeing Shane’s back every time they crossed paths. But to his surprise, Shane finally gathered the courage and kept walking toward him.

"You really shouldn't be smoking here," Shane said. A small smile played on his lips as he spoke. Even though he was nervous—his fingers fidgeting with one another—he avoided looking Ilya in the eye for too long.

Ilya laughed when he heard that phrase.

Shane Hollander knew how to be funny?

"Fuck off," Ilya replied, clearly amused. Shane smiled at him, his nervousness seeming to vanish for a few seconds.

For a moment, the two fell silent. It was strange how that simple exchange of words seemed to relieve some of the tension that had been building between them for weeks.

After a while, Ilya let out a sigh.

"Sorry about the... swear word on your chin."

Shane’s smile faltered.

Instinctively, he raised his hand to his neck, his fingers finding the exact spot where the other mark was written. At that same instant, Ilya felt his own mark sting slightly.

It was always strange when that happened—a silent reminder that they were linked forever.

"At least it was in Russian", Ilya thought. It would be a thousand times more embarrassing if it were in English.

"It’s fine. I stopped caring about it a long time ago. And yours..."

Before Shane could finish, Ilya grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it a few inches, revealing the phrase written on his waist.

It was a casual gesture. Impulsive, perhaps.

Shane immediately turned red. His eyes widened for a moment before darting away to anywhere but Ilya’s exposed skin.

"Cool," he murmured, his fingers fidgeting nervously again. "Cool. Very cool."

Ilya had to stifle a laugh.

Silence settled between them once more. Ilya took another drag of his cigarette while Shane stood beside him, restless. Shane seemed to want to say something, but he dint know how.

Then, suddenly:

"So, do you want to come over to my dorm for dinner sometime?" The words tumbled out in a nervous rush. "I can make something for us. Do you have any allergies or intolerance? Is there anything you hate? Because I could make pasta, or soup. Do you like soup? Or meat. Actually, I could make..."

Ilya started to laugh.

Damn, Shane was adorable.

Smiling, Ilya dropped his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his shoe. Then he took a few steps forward. Ilya moved closer slowly, until they were near enough for Shane to catch the faint scent of tobacco mixed with his cologne.

For a moment, Shane seemed to forget how to move.

Ilya tilted his head and planted a quick kiss on his lips. It was so brief that Shane barely had time to process it.

Then Ilya leaned in and kissed him again a little longer this time.

His hand rose almost automatically, without much thought, as if it already knew exactly where to go. His fingers found Shane’s chin—the exact spot where his soul mark was—and he used that hold to pull him closer, guiding his face with a gentleness that allowed their lips to align perfectly.

That simple touch made Shane tremble.

Ilya deepened the kiss calmly, grazing his lips unhurriedly. He gave the rigid Shane time to gradually yield and begin moving on his own. At first, Shane remained tense, as if still trying to figure out if this was real. But, little by little, that stiffness melted away.

Soon, Shane’s fingers touched Ilya’s waist, pulling him closer as well. His fingers found the exact spot where Ilya’s mark was, drawing a soft gasp from him against Shane’s lips.

They probably could have gone on kissing for a long time if the school bell hadn't rung.

When Ilya finally pulled back, he stayed close enough to still feel Shane’s breath. Blue eyes stared into brown ones with an almost fierce intensity.

Shane seemed to have completely forgotten how to breathe. His mouth opened and closed a few times until he finally said:

"Is that a yes?"

And Ilya couldn't help but laugh again.

He was already in love. note: Thanks to @pikachusthef for helping improve the English! This is a continuation of the soulmark fanfic on my profile. I remember seeing a repost where someone discussed Ilya's perspective, and I felt inspired—haha—so @remembersunflowers; you inspired me to come up with this!

[my-castles-crumbling]

future - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 310 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

"So, Ruby told me an interesting story today," Hayden said conversationally, chatting with Shane on the phone as Shane prepped his meals for the week. 

"Yeah?" he asked distractedly, making sure to measure out exact amounts of dressing on his food scale. "Was it another one about that imaginary friend of hers?"

"No, this one was about you and Ilya getting a divorce."

Shane nearly upended the dressing bottle. "What?"

"Yeah. I mean I'm all for it, but–" 

"Hayd, what the fuck? We're not getting a divorce, now or in the future. Why does she think that?" Shane demanded, cutting his best friend off and gesturing to Ilya, who was sitting on a stool by the counter. Ilya shot him a confused look. 

"Well apparently, you two got in a huge fight while playing Candyland."

Shane felt himself flush, remembering right away. "Um. Candyland?" Across the room, Ilya's confusion turned into a knowing grin.

"Yeah. Something about 'cheating assholes' and 'sore losers?'" Hayden asked smugly. 

He cleared his throat, jaw locking. "Ilya stacked the deck," he muttered, clenching his fist. Because it was fucking true.

"You and your husband, both adults and professional hockey players, got in a fight over a children's game for ages three and up because you think he stacked the deck?" Hayden confirmed, voice trembling with glee.

But Shane was getting heated now. "He made sure all the cards with shortcuts were at the beginning and stacked for his turn! He won in three fucking rounds, Hayden!"

Ilya cackled from a few meters away, joy all over his face. Shane flipped him off with a scowl.

"Yeah, and now Ruby thinks you two're breaking up, and Arthur knows how to say 'fucking asshole' in Russian. Was it worth it?" Hayden responded scathingly.

"Well I ended up winning, so..." he said unabashedly, and Ilya roared with laughter.

[my-castles-crumbling]

future - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 463 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3

He was already mid-dial when Ilya's name popped up on his phone. Shaking finger halfway to 'Lily's contact, heart hammering in his throat.

It was just...the bed felt so fucking empty. After nearly two months of sleeping next to each other, of sharing space, of blissfully waking up and dozing off in each others' arms...it felt like a piece of his heart was missing.

He was back in his place in Montreal. Ilya, he knew, was in Boston. He'd gotten the confirmation text, had responded with a few replies. But it wasn't just the feeling of being away from the cottage that had him out of sorts. It was the feeling of being alone. The feeling of wanting something he’d finally been given a taste of after years of thinking he could never have it.

Not that he was able to put any of that into words.

"Hello?" he asked eagerly, trying to hide the way his voice trembled. 

"Hollander?"

Fuck, Ilya sounded wrecked. The same way he sounded after sleeping in on a Saturday or after a particularly lazy fuck on a sunny afternoon. Shane swallowed, trying to stifle all of the emotion that threatened to bubble over. "Yeah?"

"Are we still being honest?"

That was a good question. Away from the safety of the cottage, away from the oasis of secrecy in their perfect utopia, would they still be brave enough to share their emotions? To strip themselves bare emotionally as well as physically?

Shane's whole body felt heavy, throbbing with anguish and need. He'd never wanted Ilya closer, never missed someone more. Tears prickled at his eyes. "Yeah," he croaked, because he needed something.

"You are not next to me, and I cannot sleep."

A mangled laugh-sob wrenched from his throat, relief and distress filling him in equal measure...because at least now, he knew they were in this together. "Fuck," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand.

"I think...I think we are fucked, yes?" Ilya murmured softly, his voice full of amusement and sorrow, like he'd never been more thankful to be in a shit situation.

"Yeah," Shane nodded, a watery smile on his face, his response echoing in the empty room.

But before he could think of something else to do or say, his phone vibrated against his ear and he accepted Ilya's facetime request.

Stomach jolting, Shane took in his boyfriend's face. Even in the unflattering light, he looked stunning; his eyes red and his lips curling a little. 

"Plug in your phone, sweetheart," Ilya murmured, laying back in his bed. "We fall asleep like this."

Shane nodded and sighed, doing what Ilya said.

They fell asleep staring at their phones on their pillows, thinking about a future where this wasn't necessary.

[kriemhildes]

Wine

Word count: 1585 | Prompt: Lovers | @hollanovmicrofic

Tags: sexual tension, they're both horny, and drunk on wine, continuation of "Anya" (pt.1) and "Lady" (pt.2)

When Anya had just run off into the forest, he felt his life flash past him. Hell, Anya had never done something this outrageous, so something bad must have happened. Maybe she smelled blood and someone was injured? Perhaps even worse, who knew?

He would have never thought to reach a clearing and be confronted with the embodiment of everything he was looking for in a person. The way Shane cared for Anya, patted her, made sure to put up his boundary - seeing as Ilya clearly overstepped into his territory - only to invite a complete stranger with a big dog to his small cottage at the bottom of the hill with the kindest smile and most welcome eyes Ilya had ever encountered.

Ilya couldn't remember the last time he'd felt an instant attraction like this. Couldn't remember the last time he had to hold himself back this much to not pounce on a person like an animal. He understood why Anya had done it, but he wasn't a dog. Or at least, he was praying he had himself under better control than an actual dog. Even if it was his beloved Anya. Perhaps it was Shane, the seemingly complete embodiment of the moon. Jet black hair, brown eyes, a warm and inviting smile, freckles - freckles. Fuck, Ilya never knew he could have a thing for freckles.

Ilya felt miserable. Not because he didn't like Shane - his heart definitely objected - but because for the first time in a long while, he felt his head go quiet. That's why he did his hikes in the first place. To reach a point of the world that felt more bearable. Far away from everyone and everything that seemed to always claw at the back of his head.

And now he was sitting here, watching Shane eat his rice with the precision of a master at their craft. The food was delicious, and Ilya had dug in himself, already eaten half his plate.

It had gotten dark outside, Shane had been right. Ilya had miscalculated his descent, and would have had to trudge through the snow during the night to make it back to the village in one piece.

The room was lowly lit with warm lights scattered all over the living area. The cottage seemed relatively big. He hadn't expected it to be just Shane living here. Ilya had expected a partner. The fact that Shane clearly didn't have one made it all the more difficult for Ilya. But just because there was nobody else here now didn't mean that there usually wouldn't be. Although yes, Ilya had checked, there was only Shane's pair of shoes and some slippers on the shoe rack at the front. Don't question his motives.

Ilya nibbled on a piece of vegetable, his eyes roaming, before he mustered up his courage. "So, you live here alone?"

Shane looked up from his plate, nodding. "Yeah, I got this place five years back. My parents come for visits, and I visit them regularly as well, but other than them, it's just me and Lady." He smiled and god, it had Ilya twitch.

Lady, Shane's cat, had finally calmed down and gotten used to Anya - both of them a lot more comfortable now than Ilya had expected. They were lying in front of the fireplace, the food devoured the second it was given, and now it almost seemed like both of them were dozing off. A white dog and a black cat. Ilya smiled.

"No girlfriend?"

Shane's spoon halted for a second, before resuming the movement. "No, no boyfriend."

Ilya nodded. Fuck. He bit his lip.

"How about you?" Shane asked, surprising Ilya with the sudden eye contact, the spoon laid on the table.

Ilya smiled as he leaned back slightly. "I live alone as well."

Shane hummed. "No girlfriend?"

"No," Ilya stretched the word out, "no partner."

Now Shane nodded, and it was adorable how Ilya could tell the information was being processed and categorized. The flush, however, made his throat go dry.

"Do you… want to drink some wine?"

Ilya blinked. He didn't know if alcohol was a good idea. And then he nodded. "Sure, actually. Would love to have a glass. Do you have sweet kind?" Shane's smile was devastating as he nodded once.

"Yes, well, I have a more fruity, red one -- my parents brought it over the last time they visited."

Shane got up and went to a cabinet at the wall, emerging with two wine glasses. He placed them neatly on each side, and made way his way back again. This time he opened a different door with a few bottles stationed inside. Shane grabbed the one he was looking for and snatched the cork screw before making his way back.

"If you would do us the honor," Shane said, placing the wine bottle in front of Ilya and handing him the screw. "I am shit at opening wine bottles." If he didn't stop looking at Ilya that way—

Ilya forced a smile, and he felt it stretch over his whole face. He got to his feet, cut off the foil on top and made quick work of screwing the worm into the cork. Ilya could feel Shane's gaze as he worked the bottle with a practiced hand. He looked up once discreetly and noted Shane's eyes trained on his arms, the gaze trailing Ilya's form. Ilya smirked as he jammed the fulcrum onto the glass and extracted the cork with a swift pull.

This time, Ilya faced Shane notably, placing the bottle to the side to air it out for a few minutes. He didn't sit down right away, and instead leaned slightly over the table, a hand placed on the edge to hold himself above their dinner. Ilya looked Shane directly into his eyes, knowing what kind of an effect he had on people. He licked over his lips, and preened when he noted Shane's lips falling open on a soft breath, his eyes snagged on Ilya's mouth.

"There. We wait for ten minutes then drink, yes?" Ilya asked, not breaking the intensity.

"Yes," Shane breathed, and god, this voice, those cheeks, these freckles - they all were doing things to Ilya's cock, but patience. Patience.

They finished their food and decided to drink the bottle on the sectional sofa propped against the window. It was warm, they felt sated, and Shane went to prepare them some snacks in case the alcohol made them snacky. Ilya didn't know if he should feel devastated or charmed.

Ilya poured Shane some wine first, not too much, but not too little. He did the same with his glass, rounding the bottle slightly to avoid drops. When Shane returned, he had snacks on one hand, and a towel on the other, placing it on the couch table and motioning for Ilya to place the bottle on top.

Anya was breathing heavily in front of them, knocked out by their hike earlier that day. Lady seemed to perch her ears every now and again, but had stopped checking a while ago as well.

"Well, to new acquaintances," Shane began, raising his glass to clank it onto Ilya's after he sat down a couple inches away from Ilya. Ilya smiled, repeated Shane's words and clanked the latter's glass.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It started when they were three glasses in.

Ilya noticed Shane's knee pressing against his leg. They were both slightly tipsy - the portions of wine in their glasses becoming bigger than appropriate. Shane begun relaxing as the evening progressed, his laugh translating to his body doubling over, unable to keep himself in check.

The first time it happened, Ilya felt sparks light up where Shane had touched him. Shane had immediately retracted his hand - the tipsiness not too bad yet.

The second time it happened, he remained a few seconds longer, his hand draped over Ilya's shoulder as his laugh sounded off.

Ilya was patient. But even his patience ran out at some point. He turned his head to the fingers on his shoulder, watching them sink into the folds of Ilya's top. He could feel the slight pressure Shane applied, needing to feel Ilya's muscle beneath the fabric. Ilya's eyes traveled from the hand to Shane's face and felt his cock twitch at the half lidded gaze Shane displayed, liking what he was touching.

Before Ilya could stop his body, his hand moved, slowly, and wrapped around Shane's thigh, applying pressure once he felt the muscle beneath.

There was a hitch. Shane's fingers clawed into his shoulder. Ilya kept his gaze trained to his own hand, watching Shane's cock fill out next to it. Fuck. He could feel his own cock straining.

With an urgency Ilya rarely felt, he lifted his grasp and patted Shane's thigh quickly. He turned his head an inch from Shane's and whispered with barely contained hunger, "get on my lap."

And god damn it, Shane's eyes were glazed over, his lips red from the wine and trapped by his teeth. Without another second, he angled himself up, his second hand on Ilya's other shoulder. He placed a knee over Ilya, straddling his lap and pushed Ilya against the backrest.

It was as if something had switched off. Electricity palpable as Ilya's hands followed the curves of Shane's thighs, up his hips to his waist and back down to a trained ass.

"Fuck." Ilya's skin felt on fire, his eyes searching Shane's and without wasting another moment, their lips crashed against each other.

End note: Sorry. 400 words were not going to be enough and wouldn't have done them justice, okay! Anyways, I hope I managed to get rid of most mistakes - I wrote this in delirium caused by 3 hrs of sleep. I hope y'all are doing better catching some sleep in this heat *sigh. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it <3

[kriemhildes]

Lady

Word count: 1723 | Prompt: Home | @hollanovmicrofic

Tags: physical attraction, fluff, domestic?, continuation of "Anya"

Lady was not pleased when they arrived at Shane's doorstep.

Anya shook out her fur outside, attempting to get the beading snow off her fur as best as she could. Lady wasn't having none of that. She hissed, loud and long, her ears folding over her head as she bared her teeth. Shane looked between Anya, who had perched her ears now, and Lady, standing inside the warm door frame, punching the snow in front of her.

Shane heard a chuckle behind him. He turned his head to notice Ilya watching the two as well, the corner of his lips quirked in endearment. He'd sat down on an elevated step in the small entrance space that lead into the inner cottage, taking off his boots. Shane quirked an eyebrow at Lady for not having reacted to Ilya invading their home. Instead she'd focused her whole mind to a dog who couldn't be behaving tamer.

"So you have cat?" Ilya asked, the answer obvious, yet Shane nodded.

"Yeah, this is Lady. She's five and usually nice around people. Not really nice to dogs, though. We've had too many come down the mountain and they… didn't always take nicely to her." Shane sighed, but ignored the war declaration Lady was communicating by buckling and pawing at the floor in front of her, blocking Anya's way in. She'd get used to her soon enough. Even if Shane had to make her, scooping her into his arms and blocking her view to Anya.

"You can leave your boots at the entrance, your jacket too," he called, already making his way past the small hallway, over to the living room, dropping Lady onto her favorite blanket on the couch. He needed to get the fire going before their heightened body warmth of their march down to the cottage would dissipate. The sun light was already dimming, and it wasn't even sun set yet.

Shane turned on the lamps around the living room, preferring lower lighting above anything else. He barely noticed the soft padding on the wooden floor, until suddenly, there was a silky voice behind him. "Can I help with something, Shane?"

Shane turned and immediately shook his head no, guiding the man over to the couch while veering over to the fireplace himself. Not a second later, Lady lounged up from her spot, hissing as Anya following close behind Ilya, the snow seemingly successfully shaken off.

Shane chuckled as he crouched in front of the fireplace, attempting to fire up some newspaper he had put aside as burning material. There was already some dry wood inside the fireplace - it just needed to be lit and cared for for a few minutes until it caught proper fire.

"I'll be done in a bit, so you can just sit, relax, maybe get something to drink, if you want. I'll warm us some dinner soon."

After a moment, a soft "okay" came as a reply, and he heard the light footsteps pivot to the kitchen.

"You want something to drink as well," Ilya called, the kitchen area being an open spaced one.

"No, I'll get something later, thank you!"

All the way back to the cottage, Shane had realized he'd never quite met anyone like Ilya. He seemed quiet, but not simply because that was his personality. He was guarded. Maybe because he didn't know Shane. But Shane suspected it be something else, having caught the one or other curious glance in his direction.

Shane had to admit that couldn't keep his eyes away for long. He didn't notice at first, but Ilya had such clear, crystal eyes that seemed to both, suck you in and push you away. His lips were artistically shaped and complimented his face, which appeared almost as if carved in stone. Golden locks made their way out his hat, and Shane remembered wondering how they must look if Ilya took his hat off. It was worse than what he'd imagined, his immediate thought being to run his hands through them.

So when he noticed his fingers slightly trembling as he put down the lit paper, he tried to calm down his clearly pent-up brain. Was he excited to see a new face? Yes. Definitely. Does this mean anything more than that? No. Definitely not. Yes, the man was attractive. Shane needed to admit it. But he was a rational man, not a touch starved animal, really, just maybe, maybe a teeny tiny bit… lonely.

He heard Anya approach his back and turned to watch her sniff the air. She made eye contact with Shane, before dropping her eyes on Lady, who was now sat next to Shane's leg, rubbing her head against his shin. He'd propped up one leg and knelt on the other for a more stable crouch in case he needed to react quickly. Anya seemed to take it as an invitation, tapping slowly forward, her snout now sniffing his thigh. And then, her head dropped on it, and Shane felt like he entered the gates of heaven.

He reached out both hands, petting Lady's head and at the same time fondling between Anya's brows to the back of her head, making her huff in relaxation. The fire in the fireplace started to crack softly, warming Shane's face as he smiled at the two animals.

The moment lasted for exactly twenty seconds, before Lady whipped her head around in renewed vigor. She jumped over Shane's other leg and pawed at Anya's face like it personally offended her. Shane took that as his cue to leave the two figuring themselves out, leaving the fireplace place and making his way over to where Ilya seemed to be: the kitchen. Only Ilya was now leaning against the kitchen isle serving as the room divider, watching Shane with a soft smile. He'd taken a coke Shane usually stored for his dad.

"Make yourself at home — grab a can whenever you feel like it," Shane said, passing Ilya. Shane made his way to the fridge, pulling out the boxes of rice and vegetables he'd precooked and stacked them on the counter. He put one box, let it heat for solid 2-3 minutes, and followed it up with another, careful not to burn his fingertips while doing so.

After a while, Shane turned around and startled when he noticed Ilya was standing right behind him, having shifted to the kitchen-side of the isle, observing Shane's hands with great interest.

"God, warn a man, jeez," Shane clutched imaginary pearls as he opened the fridge again to check on some chicken he could heat up as well. Definitely not to hide from Ilya's wide grin. And definitely not to hide the heat prickling his cheeks and ears.

"Is chicken with rice and veggies fine with you?" He asked over his shoulder, way too belatedly.

"Anything is fine as long as its not canned food. I've had too much past couple of days," Ilya chuckled to himself.

Shane smiled sympathetically, taking the plate with the chicken out the fridge and pulling off the plastic wrap. He turned on the over to preheat, before he could slide in the meat.

"Anya fine with some chicken strips?"

"Yeah, more than fine. Thank you Shane, this is really kind of you." Shane couldn't remember the last a smile had tugged this long on his face. Something was happening with his heart, and he had to will the tremble in his hands away by force. He dared not turn around, knowing it was probably written all over his face.

So instead, he kept his eyes on the food, plating the rice and vegetable after putting the chicken into the oven to warm it up. "Oh don't worry about it. I'm glad for the company," he said, and hoped his voice didn't give him away.

After a moment of silence that felt like a life time, he heard clothes rustle. "So," a low voice drawled, much too close for Shane's liking. "What do you do aside from going up the mountain and … hunt?"

"Ah," Shane responded, a small smile tugging at his lips, "No, no hunting. Just hiking. And well, I work as a soundtrack composer. For TV shows and such." He gazed to his left, locking eyes with Ilya, who had set camp against the counter.

Shane loved talking about his job - it was one of the few things where Shane could just lose himself in.

Ilya's eyes widened momentarily, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a stunned "wow" leaving his lips. "You do not look like someone who does that."

Shane let his eyes fall away, careful to not let his gaze snag on Ilya's biceps. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I've always loved music, especially when it's strung together in a way that makes your brain go," he raised his hand and snapped a perfect, resounding snap. "And then you roll it back, notice other patterns. And depending on the day and your mood the music begins to feel different."

The oven pinged, and Shane leaned down to check the chicken. It felt still a bit too cold, so he closed the oven again, and put a timer for five minutes. He caught Ilya's gaze snagging on him, but he couldn't let himself dwell on it. Not when he was still willing away his trembling hands. But Shane had to admit - it was difficult. Because why the fuck was Ilya looking at him like he was about to eat him alive.

Shane shook his head, gazing at the floor. "Anyways, that's what I've been doing the whole of my 28 years of life. How about you?"

Ilya seemed to take a moment, a deep breath resounding, and then he uncrossed his arms, leaning his hands against the counter. "Hmm," Ilya drawled, shifting where he was leaning, and maybe Shane was imagining it, but did he inch closer? "I am accountant. Of Ottawa Centaurs. Hockey team? Don't know if you're into that."

Well damn, that had Shane's attention. His eyes widened as he gazed into Ilya's, a wide smile stretching over his lips.

"No way."

Ilya's brows furrowed. "Yes?"

"My parents dragged me to every game when I was younger, and I've been a huge fan since!"

How were the stars aligning for Shane to be able to experience this day?

End note: I know this feels like scraps - sorry. Idk how hot it is where you live, but I hope you're staying safe and hydrated! The next couple of weeks will be quite turbulent for me, which is why I'll probably be only posting sporadically, sorry. But for now, I have another post lining up, and am working on the 3rd chap. of AB. As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it <3

[ilyahugs]

(25. Future, 1,594 words) @hollanovmicrofic

When Shane pictured his future, he thought about a hockey legacy, endorsements and opportunities overflowing. He thought about making his parents happy and how it’d feel to prove naysayers wrong (who looked and sounded like the kids that used to make fun of him on his junior hockey teams), and reminding himself that he could have whatever he wanted in the palm of his hands if he just worked hard enough for something he loved doing. 

He never saw Ilya coming, nor the family they would eventually have together. And now he can’t picture his future without them in it…even when their one year old son, Rowan, hasn’t let him sleep in the past twenty-four hours because he’s sick. 

It’s nothing that requires an emergency room visit, thankfully, but his heart aches in his chest at seeing Ro so miserable. Fatigue pulses behind his eyes as he walks up and down the length of the living room, gently bouncing Rowan in his arms as he cries. He hates to think that hopefully he’ll exhaust himself to the point of just…passing out, but they both could use the sleep. 

Shane had a feeling something like this was going to happen, moreso just because he’s alone this weekend. Ilya’s away for a conference for the Irina Foundation over the weekend and…and even though he’s coming home tomorrow, Shane desperately misses him. Not just because he, in general, hates when they’re apart, or because when Rowan starts crying he’ll ask for Ilya, but because they’re a team. Shane is someone who enjoys being the best at absolutely everything he puts his mind to, but the thing about being a parent is that he’s at his best when Ilya’s alongside him. 

His mom had come over to help for a few hours and assured Shane that with patience, warm baths, cool compresses, doses of Children’s Tylenol and sleep, Rowan would be just fine. Though maybe that’d be comforting if he could get him to stop crying. 

“I know, bug,” Shane soothes, rubbing Rowan’s back. He presses a kiss to his forehead, pleased to see that his fever is low, he’s not completely overheated. 

Shane’s heart aches when he thinks about Rowan having no understanding of why he feels so icky or when it’s going to stop. He can’t imagine how frustrating that must be. It’s also frustrating that he sort of just…has to let his son work through this, that he can only do so much. For someone who excels at putting plans into place, into always maintaining a cool and level head, Shane feels like crawling out of his skin.  

His phone vibrates in his sweatpants and he tugs it out with a relieved sigh when he sees Ilya’s name flash on the screen. He rests the phone on his shoulder, holding it in place with the side of his face, “Hi,” He breathes. 

“Hi,” Ilya pauses, “Is that Ro?” 

Shane hums lightly, “With this set of lungs, he’s definitely your son.” 

He doesn’t have to see Ilya to know that he’s wincing. There’s some gentle background noise around him, maybe because he’s walking somewhere private. “He has been crying a lot?” 

Shane debates how to respond to this. He doesn’t want to tell him that he has because he doesn’t want Ilya to worry. Worse, he doesn’t want Ilya feeling guilty that he went to an event for his mother’s foundation and left Shane to take care of their sick son. Ilya couldn’t have known that Rowan was going to wake up the day after he left with a runny nose, a slight fever and a generally prickly attitude. 

“Again, he’s about as cuddly as you are when you’re sick.” 

Ilya huffs, “I am joy to be around.” 

Shane laughs lightly, shifting Rowan against his chest. His son hiccups and wipes his face with the back of his hand. Shane carries him into the kitchen to set him down on the counter, wetting a warm washcloth to gently clean up his face. 

“Right, sure. After you stop hissing like a cat when I try to take your temperature.” 

There’s a soft hum, “Does not sound like me.” 

He shakes his head, smiling a little. His chest gives a solid thump, leaving an ache behind with how much he misses his husband. “Do you want to see him?” 

“Yes,” Ilya says instantly, “As long as it doesn’t make anything worse.” 

Shane doesn’t think it will. Rowan misses Ilya and even if he starts crying again after the phone call ends, Ilya doesn’t have to know that. He pulls the phone away from his ear and taps on the Facetime logo, transferring the call over to video. 

“You look tired.” Ilya states the moment he sees him, to which Shane gives him a colorful finger gesture that makes Ilya chuckle. 

“I got a crying baby keeping me up.” Shane tuts, tapping on the screen to brighten it and adjusting the volume, “And I’m not even talking about you this time.” 

Ilya huffs out another low laugh that makes Shane’s chest hurt. There’s a brief moment in which Ilya calls him a brat in Russian before his face changes. His eyes soften as he gets a good look at Rowan—Rowan who has a red tipped nose and slightly puffy eyes, cheeks flushed and curls absolutely wild. He’s due for another bath, which Shane intends on giving him after this phone call in hopes it’ll make him tired enough to sleep. 

“Oh malen'kiy zhuchok,” He whispers, little beetle. Rowan instantly perks up at the sound of Ilya’s voice, reaching for the phone. Shane helps him hold onto it, rubbing his back in soothing circles. 

“Ma,” He whispers. 

Ilya smiles, “Yeah, mama will be home soon. Okay?” 

Shane closes his eyes as he listens to Ilya talk to their son. If he concentrates enough, it feels like he’s right here beside them. 

When Rowan begins to get antsy, Shane turns the video back into a regular phone call, picking him up to carry into the bathroom for his bath. 

“I’m coming home tonight.” 

“No,” Shane replies gently, “Stay through the afternoon tomorrow like you’re supposed to. We’re okay.” 

He sits down on the side of the tub with Rowan in his arms, pressing a long kiss to his forehead as he reaches over to turn the water on so it begins heating up. He lets out a breath through his nose, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

“I am worried.” 

A small smile pulls the corners of Shane’s mouth at the warmth of Ilya’s voice, “We’re okay,” He repeats; a promise. “I got this.” 

“I know you do,” Ilya replies, his voice something Shane wants to crawl inside of, somehow, “It’s not that. I would rather be home. With you.” 

“Me too.” A soft hum sounds in his throat as he turns the water off, looking down at Rowan as he leans against Shane’s chest, “Make that three.” 

—

After the bath, he attempts to put Rowan down to sleep but he starts crying any time he’s pulled away from his chest. Despite his own exhaustion, the clinginess makes Shane smile. There might be a day in Rowan’s future in which he won’t want anything to do with hugging his parents, so he’ll take what he can get.  

He brings Rowan into his bedroom and lays down with him propped up against his abdomen, his son’s face tucked into his shoulder. One second he’s rubbing Rowan’s back and telling him a story about a frog prince while closing his eyes and the next Ilya is gently extracting their son from Shane’s arms. 

He frowns, running a hand over his face, trying to glance at the time but the clock numbers are blurry. Fuck, he’s so tired. 

“Ilya?” He croaks. 

“Shh,” Ilya sits down next to his legs, his one hand threading through Shane’s hair. “Go back to sleep, moya lyubov'.” 

Shane is distantly aware that he did not sleep for an entire day and a half, so despite the fact that he told Ilya they were okay, that they could last pushing through one more day, he came home anyways. He swallows over an emotion lumping in his throat, sitting up and pressing himself into Ilya’s side. 

A soft laugh leaves as air out of Ilya’s nose, wrapping his arm around Shane’s shoulders to keep him close. His face finds his husband’s shoulder, the tip of his nose brushing the warm skin of Ilya’s neck. He smells like lingering cologne, laundry detergent and home. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” Shane whispers. 

Ilya dips his chin, pressing a series of kisses along his jawline and cheekbone until he lands one on Shane’s lips. It’s slow and gentle and somehow everything he’s needed over the past few days. 

Rowan shifts, letting out a sleepy noise as he cuddles into Ilya’s chest. Ilya runs his hand over his back and scrubs through his curls before standing. He rounds the bed, settling Rowan down alongside Shane’s body, who turns to face his husband as he crawls onto the mattress. 

“Sleep,” Ilya plants a kiss to Shane’s forehead, “I’ll watch over him for a while.” 

Shane stretches his arm over his son, gently touching his belly as he lays on his back before anchoring his touch to Ilya’s hip. 

Even though some of these moments are hard, even though sometimes he struggles in knowing the right thing to do, that he might be failing (even though he’s not), he’d choose this future over others every single time. 

(if you liked this, you might like my other hollanov parent fics :))