shane was only allowed to touch ilya's hair when they were alone. this didn't make sense to shane at first but once he got his hands tangled in his hair, it all clicked.
they were at hayden pikes house of all places, babysitting for him and jackie while they were out on a date when it happened.
the kids had all been tucked into bed, read multiple stories by their favorite uncle ilya, with silly voices and all. ilya and shane were resting on the couch, ilyas head resting in shane's lap as they watched a quiet rerun of an admirals game, much to ilyas chagrin.
shane wasn't sure what to do with his hands, arms lowering from being crossed at his chest above ilyas head. he glanced down at ilya, deciding wether or not to test the past set boundaries of "hands off the hair." what better place to do it than in his best friends house? he thought to himself mischievously.
he lowered a single hand to rest on top of ilyas head, noting the way a soft puff of air escaped the russians lips, placing the other hand softly on his shoulder.
carefully, calculated, like everything else in his life, he wove his fingers into the blonde curls that sat on his boyfriends head. when ilya didn't protest, he emphasized his movements, tugging softly, dragging his fingers slowly through the golden strands. ilya shifted, shane paused his movements with a soft breath, but instead of shifting away, ilya pressed himself even further into shane's touch. though they had been together for quite some time now, ilya kept his vulnerability close to his heart, only allowing it occasionally. shane dug further, pressing his finger tips gently into ilyas scalp, massaging softly.
ilya let out a soft deep hum, grumbling low in his chest. it was almost as if he was purring. "malysh..." shane started, intrigued by the soft pliant lump ilya had turned into simply from touching his hair.
"how did i get so lucky?" shane asked, pressing a kiss on to ilyas head. "i can't believe i get to sit here with the worlds best hockey player," he teased, fingers still dancing through ilyas curls.
"Нет, это ты, моя любовь." no, that's you, my love.
and oh, isn't that interesting.
"hmm? oh are you sure? i guess that means you don't really think my backhand is weak?"
"В тебе нет ничего слабого." nothing about you is weak.
shane was thanking his lucky stars that he decided to learn russian, he couldn't imagine missing the truth that was being spilled from his boyfriends lips. and why not have a little fun? he was only human.
"so you don't really hate hayden, then?"
"Конечно, нет. Он твой друг. Он делает тебя счастливой." of course not, he's your friend, he makes you happy.
oh my god, he should really be recording this. he thought to himself, as he giggled quietly. so this explains the "hands off" policy. playing with ilyas hair was like truth serum for the man, and shane couldn't get enough.
"Хватит вопросов, моя любовь." enough questions, my love. ilya murmured, turning over to press his face in to the small, soft part of shane's stomach, arms coming to wrap around his waist.
shane's heart clenched. he should've broken that rule long ago, given ilya more chances to be completely and utterly comfortable with him. he knew hayden and jackie would be home any minute, but he selfishly wanted more time in which ilya was like this.
he twisted a few locks around his fingers, relishing in the way ilya hummed, and tightened his grip on shane's waist. he slowly lifted his hand away from ilyas head, not missing the way he lifted, trying to follow, before turning and squinting up at shane. "ah, i see you have discovered my secret." he whispered, a small smile daring to cross his lips. "i would've kept going, but hayden and jackie will be home soon. i wasn't sure how comfortable you felt with them seeing you like that." shane murmured, leaning forward to press another soft kiss against his head. ilya sighed, "yes. i have a reputation to... uphold. yes, that is the correct saying." he grunted as he forced himself up right, not quite all the way as he leaned his weight into shane's side.
shane grabbed his jaw, using the lasting softness to press a kiss onto ilyas lips, deepening it only slightly. pulling away, ilya whimpered, and then paused, "i have..." he stopped, shane blinked at him, "did you just... whimper?" he asked. ilya blushed, "no! no, russians do not do this." he grumbled. "right, just like they don't blush," shane said teasingly, running a thumb over ilyas now pink cheeks.
"okay, okay, enough. like will be home soon. do not need him getting the wrong idea that i am soft or something."
the room was quiet, save for the rhythmic, muffled sound of ilya breathing into his pillow and the tiny skritch-peel of sticker sheets. ilya lay as a dead weight beneath shane, his back a broad, pale canvas. he wasn’t moving, appearing for all the world like he’d fallen into a deep sleep, but the occasional twitch of a shoulder blade gave him away. he was hovering in that blissful state between consciousness and a nap, anchored to the mattress by the weight of his favorite person.
shane looked like he was drowning in fabric, the hem of ilya’s shirt trailing down past his thighs, the sleeves rolled up in thick, messy cuffs so he could use his hands. he was working with the focus of a diamond cutter, his tongue poked slightly out of the corner of his mouth. he found a small mole near ilya's spine—tap—now it was a holographic star. one near the shoulder blade—press—that was a tiny, grumpy-looking frog.
"you're running out of real estate," shane whispered, leaning forward and nearly tipping over as he reached for a cluster of freckles near ilya's neck.
ilya grunted, the sound vibrating through the mattress. "how many... is that?" his voice was thick and gravelly from the pillow.
"twenty-four," shane said proudly, smoothing down a sparkly dinosaur over a mole on ilya's lower back. "you’re becoming a masterpiece. don't move, the t-rex needs structural integrity."
ilya huffed a soft, tired laugh, his fingers twitching against the sheets. "i have to go to practice later. if i forget these are there, it's on your head."
"i think the guys would appreciate the glitter," shane hummed, already reaching for a sheet of tiny neon hearts. "hold still, i found a new one."
shane finally ran out of "premium" stickers, punctuating the masterpiece with a final, shiny gold crown right between ilya’s shoulder blades.
"finished," shane declared, patting ilya’s lower back with a satisfied flourish. "you are officially the most expensive person in this apartment." ilya groaned, finally summoning the strength to peel his face away from the pillow. he moved slowly, like a giant waking from a coma, while shane slid off him with a mischievous grin, the oversized shirt fluttering around his tights.
"i feel... sticky," ilya muttered. he sat up, stretching his arms over his head. the movement made the stickers crinkle—a tiny, plastic chorus of click-pop sounds radiating from his skin. he stood up, rubbing his eyes, and lumbered toward the ensuite bathroom with shane trailing behind him like a proud curator. ilya stopped in front of the full-length mirror, squinting through the dim light, and then he froze.
he turned his back to the glass, craning his neck over his shoulder to get the full view. his back was a chaotic, shimmering galaxy. there was a neon pink cat perched on his left lat, a sparkly "great job!" thumb on his spine, and enough holographic stars to map out several fake constellations. the gold crown sat perfectly centered, glinting under the bathroom light.
ilya stared. then he looked at shane, then back at the mirror. the initial shock gave way to a long, heavy silence while his brain processed the sheer amount of glitter. then came the realization: some of these were "puffy" stickers that would definitely show through his shirt. finally, the break: a slow, lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"moy dorogoy," ilya said, his voice vibrating with a mix of disbelief and genuine affection. "there is a strawberry on my kidney."
"it brings out your eyes," shane chirped, leaning against the doorframe and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
ilya reached back, hovering a hand over a particularly bright unicorn. he sighed, a deep sound that ended in a soft chuckle. "i'm going to be finding these in the shower for a week. and the guys at the locker room are never going to let me live down the 'princess' heart on my trap."
he turned around, catching shane’s waist and pulling him in close, the oversized shirt bunching between them. "you’re lucky you're cute," ilya mumbles, leaning down to forehead-bump him. "otherwise, i’d make you wear the rest of the sheet on your forehead."
ilya didn’t even wait for an answer. with a low, rumbling laugh, he hooked his large hands under shane’s thighs and hoisted him up in one fluid motion. shane let out a sharp, delighted gasp that dissolved immediately into a fit of bright giggles. he instinctively wrapped his legs around ilya’s waist, the oversized shirt bunching up around his hips, and locked his arms behind ilya’s neck to steady himself.
"ilya! you're gonna lose a sticker!" shane got out between breaths, his face flushed with a mix of surprise and mischief.
"let 'em fall," ilya grunted. he didn't care about the holographic stars or the neon hearts anymore; he was focused entirely on the weight of shane in his arms and the way the other man was vibrating with laughter against his chest.
he tilted his head up, catching shane’s mouth in a kiss that started out hungry but softened as shane’s giggles melted into a quiet, hummed sigh. it was a messy, perfect kiss—tasting like home and punctuated by the soft crinkle of plastic stickers pressed between their skin. ilya carried him out of the bathroom, his footsteps heavy and deliberate on the hardwood. he didn't put shane down; instead, he maneuvered through the bedroom with practiced ease, his eyes never leaving shane’s.
when they reached the edge of the mattress, ilya didn't just drop him. he leaned forward, supporting shane’s weight until his back hit the rumpled duvet. ilya followed him down, hovering over him with his arms braced on either side of shane’s head. the sight of him—broad-shouldered, covered in ridiculous glittery frogs and stars—looking down at shane with such raw, quiet intensity was almost comical if it wasn't so sweet. a few stray stickers had even transferred from ilya’s chest to the front of shane’s borrowed shirt.
"there," ilya whispered, his nose brushing against shane's. "now you’re stuck with me. literally."
shane reached up, trailing a finger over a particularly stubborn glittery star on ilya’s collarbone. "i think i can live with that."
ilya collapsed next to shane, pulling him into the crook of his arm so they were a tangled mess of limbs and oversized cotton. the bed springs creaked as they settled, but the room was mostly filled with the sound of their combined breathing and shane’s occasional, muffled snickers. every time shane caught sight of a glittery dinosaur peeking out from ilya’s shoulder, he broke into a fresh round of giggles, burying his face in ilya’s neck. ilya just huffed, his chest vibrating against shane’s side, and pulled him closer.
they traded soft, lazy pecks—little mwah sounds that drifted into whispers. a quick kiss on ilya’s nose. a lingering one on shane’s temple. a series of butterfly kisses along shane’s freckles and his jawline that made him squirm.
"you're ridiculous," ilya mumbled against shane’s lips, though he was smiling so wide it was barely a coherent sentence.
"you're the one covered in puffy stickers," shane reminded him, punctuating the sentence with a final, sweet peck to ilya's chin. they drifted there for a while, just two people in a sea of rumpled sheets and stray stars, happy to stay exactly where they wanted to be.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ୨♡୧
okay so after i wrote that hollanov short more ideas started popping into my head after watching some reels on ig, so i went straight to writing some more and this is what came out!! remember that english isn't my first language, so sorry if anything is misspelled. i had help writing it with a friend and i'm grateful to her bc the ideas she gave me helped a lot. i love you <3
՞. .՞𐦯 Summary: Svetlana calls the Hollander-Rosanovs to inform them Andrei and Alexia have been killed. And that Katarina, his niece, has less than a week before she's officially filed in foster care.
Nobody wants to grow up in Russia's foster system. And Uncle Ilyushka of all people, would not allow it.
՞. .՞𐦯 Tags and Themes: found family, hollanov domestic fluff, hollanov kid, hurt/comfort, ilya and shane being girl dads, soft and domestic
՞. .՞𐦯 Word Count: 3.8k - Only a preview | full version.
elle here! sooo, tumblr could not take the 7.6k words on the full fic. this is the sweeter, shorter, and more condensed version of it. if it feels like some context is lost, you can read the whole fic on ao3. thats all, enjoy!
divider credit - v6gue
April, Ottawa
The sky of Ottawa is pitch black, soft sounds of snoring fill the room, darkest hour cloaking the peaceful home with silence and sleep.
The faint, red glow of the clock ticks at 3:04AM, the pair barely getting two hours of sleep in, not with their naked bodies cuddled together in rumpled sheets.
Then vibrations break the monotonous sound, a groan coming from Shane, a light sleeper through and through as he groans and blinks, easily roused from his sleep as he peers over to see Ilya's phone glowing on his side of the night stand.
He shakes his husband awake, much to great effort. Ilya Rozanov slept like a goddamn bear, unbowed and unyielding. “Ilya,” Shane grumbles, jostling his shoulder. “Rozanov!” he says with exasperation as the Russian gives him a petulant groan.
Rolling his eyes, Shane reaches across and his brows immediately raise, annoyance turning into concern. “Ilya. Ilya, it's Svetlana,” he says, now worried.
“Ilya!”
“What?” the Russian finally budges, groaning as he blindly feels for his phone. Shane hands him the vibrating device, the call ending as silence fills the room again.
“Must be wrong dial,” Ilya grumbles but then his phone comes to life again.
He rubs his eyes and blearily swipes on the green button, pressing the phone to his ear, yawning. “This better be something important, Svetik.”
“Andrei is dead.” is the sentence that greets him.
Ilya's eyes fly open as he immediately straightens up, like a bucket of cold water is poured on him. “What…?”
“The bratva got him and Alexia in a shootout.”
Shane is looking at him with worried and curious eyes, barely able to grasp anything from the conversation as he sits at a distance from Ilya before his husband jumps off the bed, hurriedly wearing boxers.
“Katya? Is she okay? What happened to her? Where was she??” he asks in rapid succession.
Katarina Rozanova was five. Roughly just a few months when Ilya had cut ties with that family. But amongst his ire, only precious little Katya was free from it. He sent gifts annually through Svetlana, making sure she got them. He put a lot of money on a trust for her high school and college studies, was contemplating on a travel fund for her as well.
And now…
“She's fine, she's alive. A nanny was looking after her, and nothing bad happened to her..” Svetlana assures as he feels his legs turn into jelly, ducking down to try and hold back the emotions welling into him. “...Good,” he sighs in English.
“She will have to spend a week in custody before being released into the foster care system—”
“No!” Ilya nearly shouts through the phone and she has to flinch and distance it from her ear due to the sheer volume of his distress, startling Shane as well.
Nobody wants to grow up in Russia's foster system. And Dyadya Ilyushka of all people, would not allow it. Not with the shitty cell-like bunks, the less than nutritious food, the overloading of children, the mistreatment, the malnourishment. He could not allow it. Not on his conscience.
Andrei was a shitty brother. Grigori a horrible father. Russia was everything he despised and never wanted to go back to except her. And Irina would certainly be upset if he allowed her granddaughter to be stowed away like cheap garbage.
“Слушай. Я забронирую билет на самолет в Москву. Я позову Катю, ты должна мне помочь.” Listen. I'll book a flight to Moscow. I'll get Katya, you have to help me.
“Обязательно. Встретимся в аэропорту имени Кеннеди, но ради бога, хотя бы расскажи своему мужу, что происходит.” Absolutely. We'll meet at Kennedy Airport, but for fucks sake, at least tell your husband what's going on.
Right.
Ilya ends the call abruptly and swallows down the lump on his throat. “...My brother got killed,” he says, and Shane knows that's not the part that had upset him. “And they're throwing my baby niece in…in,” he struggles through English, not knowing what they called it. “Child prison. Like orphanage, but not,”
“Foster care?” Shane supplies helpfully as Ilya frantically nods.
“Shane,” he breathlessly says, collapsing by his husband's side of the bed, knees on the carpet. “I cannot let her.”
“Okay,” Shane sucks in a deep breath, “Then bring her here.”
“Ilya!” Yuna's breath clouds up as she rushes to him, giving him a firm hug as he shakily wraps his arms around her. It was at the asscrack of dawn, clocks striking 4:30.
“You take care out there, okay?” David's voice comes from behind him handing Ilya a steaming cup of Timmy's coffee, one for the road before he had to go through immigration for the earliest flight he could book to New York.
“We'll hold the fort down here,” he assures Ilya, rubbing his shoulder and giving him a firm hug while Shane unloads Ilya's bag from the car.
Ilya is trembling, and English is currently lost on him. Jaw sewn taut, the coffee barely nipping at the cold dread that seeped into his bones, but he was grateful. That his Hollanders would always have his back as Shane steps in and gently rubs Ilya's arm. “I'll have dad help you in,” he softly says as he glances at his parents to look away momentarily.
“Ilya,” he softly says. A voice that had always been good at tearing him away from the crutches of his own thoughts. “Ilya, look at me,” Shane softly urges, knowing he himself didn't hold eye contact just as long. But he had to see Ilya before he goes.
“I love you,” he mumbles, lips cold and slightly dry as Shane inches closer. And Ilya is careful to nurse the cup of coffee behind his husband as he desperately reaches across, his kiss scared and fervent. “I love you too,” Ilya whispers against Shane's lips.
“Thank you, Shane,” he sighs and closes his eyes, brows knit tightly. “I do not know why I am terrified,” he says, accent thicker than usual, “I am, Shane,”
“Shh, shhh,” Shane envelopes him in a hug, extending the hope that nobody that could recognize them in the dark car park would. “I know you are,” he sighs and rubs Ilya's back, “But I'll always be back here. You'll be with Svetlana, yes? And before you know it, you're back,” he assures with a soft smile, “And with Katya in tow,”
“With Katya,” Ilya nods and takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he presses one last kiss to Shane's lips. “Wait for me,”
“I will,” Shane nods with a smile, waving as David helps Ilya with his bags, walking towards the desolate and quiet airport.
Ilya's heart breaks.
She was so tiny.
What exactly did Andrei feed this little girl?
She was seated so primly, so properly at the Women and Children's Safety Department waiting room, the sterile white nearly swallowing her whole. Her hands were placed perfectly on her lap, eyes looking down at the floor, and her legs scarcely swinging. Ilya could tell she wanted to, to break the monotony and regulate herself but she had been stiff as a board.
She looked a touch like Irina with golden curls that were tied into twin ponytails, her pouty little lips so Andrei it made Ilya’s heart clench. And of course, the blue eyes that defined a Rozanov child. She looked nothing like her mother.
He slowly approaches her, immediately shrinking down to her level as she startles a little when he comes into view. And for the first time in Russia, his voice is soft.
“Hello, Katarina.” he offers her a gentle smile, “Do you remember me? ”
The little girl shakes her head with a small pout.
“Ah, maybe Uncle Ilyushka would help?” he offers as she finally looks up, seemingly scanning such a familiar yet strange face.
“Uncle Ilyushka?” she mumbled and repeats. “From the stories?”
Ilya smiles, gently placing a hand on her knee, looking for a negative reaction. “Yes. Yes, that's me.”
“You're papa's brother?” she tilts her head. Smart girl, and Ilya could only assume Andrei has not talked bad about him. Probably couldn't due to Katya's money from him.
" Yes, papa's brother." he softly says.
Steering himself, he takes her small hands into his, a hidden little sweetie now slipped onto her hand as a peace offering of sorts. "Do you know where your mama and papa went?" he asks, trying to grasp the situation.
And her response splits his heart into two. "Heaven." Katya softly says, looking down at her lap.
Ilya couldn’t help it, gently collecting the small girl into his arms as she easily wrapped her arms around his neck. She was so light, lighter than she should be for a five year old, and yet the burden she carried had nearly weighed her down just as easily.
And within his arms, a dam breaks, her lips quivering as Ilya rubs her back, the very first comfort she had received since watching her parent's coffins get lowered down the cold earth. "It wasn't your fault, Katya," Ilya assures her, hearing the small, broken sob tear through her lungs as he shuts his eyes tightly.
"Uncle Ilyushka is here now."
After a while, the door to the processing room swings open, Ilya looking over his shoulder when the clerk finally calls their names as Svetlana motions her head towards the door. Ilya sighs and gently takes her hands. "Uncle would make sure Katya is okay, yes? Come." he beckons her as she stands and fluffs her dress off before heading inside the office hand in hand.
"All handled?" Ilya subtly asks in English, and Svetlana gives him a subdued but certain nod. The both of them know this is just a formality, that ultimately—with 11 million Russian rubles, Katya was going to go home with Ilya. Money moved things ahead, that much Ilya knew.
Ilya gently guides Katya out the shower of his hotel room, not bothering to stay at his old home. He didn't know what he was doing, and he would've done it with Svetlana's help, but if he was going to raise Katya, he had to know how to do it himself.
He gently pats her hair dry with a soft towel, small head so delicate and nearly gets engulfed by his hand as she closes her eyes and lets him. Growing up with a nanny has made her acclimated to strangers and it scares him just how easily he had been able to take her home, his only obstacle the Canadian immigration when they finally obtain Katya's passport from the police.
And once he pulls over some jammies on Katya, his phone buzzes and they both look at the device. Is it the police? she softly asks as Ilya grabs it and he softly smiles.
Jane. All these years, and he hadn't changed it. Like an inside joke, rather than an actual secret.
“Sweetheart,” he greets, the FaceTime shifting to Shane as he tiredly beams at Ilya, glasses perched on his nose. “Hey, how is it there?” he asks before Ilya angles the camera down, facing it to Katya.
The little girl looks up at him with uncertainty. "Who is that?"
"My husband."
Katya blinks, eyes scanning Ilya, clearly calculating the arrangement laid in front of her. "So, you are a wife?"Ilya could only laugh. Soft and gentle. “She thinks I am wife,” he explains to Shane who he could see is already smiling.
"She's not wrong,”
“Yeah? So confident about it now, Hollander,”
“Introduce me properly to her, asshole,” Shane bites back a grin.
“Hey, watch language, there is a child!” Ilya immediately protests as he sees Shane chuckle before he places the phone properly against the bathroom counter, hoisting Katya on his lap.
"Katya, this is Shane. He is my husband and the one who is waiting for you at home."
"Home?" Katya asks, worried "What about home here, Uncle Ilyushka?"
Shane quiets, glancing at his husband through the screen as Ilya takes a deep breath. He could not find himself to lie to her, he had to have more faith in Katya's abilities to process certain things, underestimating Katya now wouldn't do her any good and he knows to a certain extent, she knows her parents are never coming back.
"Katya, since mama and papa are in heaven now, someone has to look after you." he whispers and gently caresses her face. "You have to come to Uncle Ilya and Uncle Shane to be safe."
"So I'm gonna come with you? To your house?"
"Yes, Katya. To Uncle Ilya's home."
"So that Katya would be safe?"
"So that Katya would be safe."
"My, my, crying already?" Svetlana pushes through Ilya's hotel room, the piercing cries of Katya ringing through the hallway.
Ilya gives her a tired, pained smile as he soothingly rubs Katya's back. "Do you think the hotel staff could be discreet about this?" he softly tells her in English to spare Katya the additional toll on her pride and Svetlana's gaze drifts through the soaked sheets where Katya had slept.
"Katya is a bad girl. I'm sorry Uncle Ilyushka." she sobs, clinging to his shirt as her eyes grow puffy and red, terrified of the repercussions she might face and it makes his heart crumble to bits by the base of his stomach.
He knows exactly what it was like, to soil the bed and be hit as a punishment in turn. By age six, he'd known how to hide wet and soiled sheets from his father, the first of his many lessons in hiding. And he decides that Katya was not about to suffer the same fate as other Slavic children. She had just witnessed her parents get buried six feet deep and now some strange man she could only recognize from stories had come to take her away from her home, Ilya could justified soiled sheets just as readily.
"No, no. You're not a bad girl, okay?" he soothes, "Yeah, you had an accident, but Uncle isn't going to hurt you." he placates and wipes her tears from her thin cheek, skin smooth and warm to his huge, calloused touch.
Her lower lip trembles, hiccupping so hard she's turning red and breathless as Ilya blows on her face to try and calm her down, rubbing her thin arms with a firm yet painless grasp. "Does uncle hate me now?" she asks heartbreakingly.
Ilya shakes his head, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead shaking his head, "Uncle could never hate you," he reaffirms in English before taking her hand, guiding her to the bathroom as he takes a deep breath.
"Hi," Shane breathlessly greets, immediately engulfing Ilya into a hug, relieved and nervous all the same as Ilya groans and presses a kiss on Shane's temple, then his nose, then his lips, tongue immediately slipping through as he holds his husband close. It had been too long.
"Hi, my love," Ilya smiles, caressing his husband's face before breathing in his scent, nose pressed to Shane's crown. "I'm home," he mumbles against the soft, black tufts. "Mhm, welcome home."
Ilya steps back just a little, gently lowering the pink bag by the entryway and finally moving aside as Svetlana gently guides Katya up the steps to their front steps with a smile to match her touch. "Meet Katarina," she smooths her hair down and Shane is positive he could have a heart attack right there, on their porch. Squatting down to the little girl's level, Shane sticks his hand out with a safe distance with an accommodating smile.
"Hello, Katya. My name is Shane," he softly greets. Katya looks up at Ilya with wariness in her eyes but her uncle simply nods, and she shyly takes Shane's hand, the strange man shaking hers gently. Not too long, but the touch was friendly. Welcoming. Warm.
"Welcome home." he tries, looking up at Svetlana hopefully as she stands by the door with Katya's bag in tow, receiving an approving nod for his pronunciation.
With her small hand encased in Ilya's, they guide her to the guestroom right beside theirs, Shane opening the door as the scent of vanilla diffuser greets them. Her name was carved out in wood with English letters, Katya.
“This is your room now,” Это теперь ваша комната. Shane and Ilya speak in tandem, one after the other.
“If you need anything, you tell Shane or Ilya,” Если вам что-нибудь понадобится, скажите Шейну или Илье.
Katya has a death grip on the hem of her grey dress, still unsure of the offer as Ilya softly chuckles and grabs Shane's hand, guiding his husband to sit on the lowered montessori bed, before beckoning her closer.
She pouts, lower lip wobbling while approaching them with gingerly taken steps as Ilya welcomes her into his arms and whispers, “В этом доме можно плакать, Золотце,” It's okay to cry in this house, precious.
And she does, sobbing quietly and clambering up into Ilya's arms, she cries her tiny heart out. Shane couldn't pin whether its the pressure of being in a foreign land with strange people, or the relief of finding a home after a devastating tragedy for her.
What mattered is that she could cry into Uncle Ilyushka's arms, safe at long last and never going back to Russia. Ever.
After a tumultuous afternoon of barely touched food and acclimating her to the home like a skittish kitten, Katya has finally gone to bed.
“Do you think we'd be…okay at this?” Shane asks, head now resting on Ilya's chest as he sighs and traces his husband's skin. “We're basically like, her parents now,”
“We have to try, sweetheart,” Ilya presses a kiss to his crown, missing him so much after a week of being apart. “I think I have to talk to Coach Wiebe for an extra time off,”
“But you just started,” Shane lifts his head with a small frown. “We can think of something else,”
“Shane,” Ilya chuckles softly, “Is okay, my love. Centaurs still at early stages of thawing,” he assures him, “Won't make it to play-offs this season, I am sure,”
“Thawing huh, big word,” Shane smiles with amusement.
“I am learning,” Ilya simply beams and settles into their sheets further. “I think you keep speaking to Katya in English. She is watching the English kid shows, downloaded some before flying,”
“I will. Not like I have much of a choice, her Russian is more advanced than mine,”
“And I heard uh…children's brains are like sponge, Yuna said. Fast at processing information at that age,”
“And it would take her a while to unlearn a few things from Russia,” Shane adds, which makes Ilya freeze a little before nodding. “Yes. The faster she grows out of those, the better,”
Shane pulls the covers over them with a ponderous, far-away glance. And Ilya just watches with a fond smile, waiting for his husband to give his sale's pitch. He always did, especially for situations like these. “When Katya is ready to integrate into school, I have looked into Elmwood. They're international and have a few Russian students among them,” he starts.
“But for now, if she can handle it with the stress of moving here, we can hire her an English tutor. I highly doubt she'd be comfortable left with me just yet,” Shane starts compartmentalizing while Ilya just stares and watches his husband like he had hung the stars.
“I don't know how she's going to be with doctors, but I have a pediatrician's number on standby, closest we have from here but also with glowing reviews, of course,” he mumbles with a focused furrow between his eyes, “She’s so thin, Ilya…what could we make to have her eat more? I do have a nutritionist's contact saved but I think what matters most is her preference for food,”
“...You really thought about it, huh?”
“How could I not?! Ilya, there's a whole kid right next door,” Shane looks at him like he had grown a third head, “You haven't?”
“Honestly? My only thought was getting her out of Russia,” Ilya sheepishly admits, “My plan would've…what's the word, come and go,” he shoots his husband with a boyish, almost apologetic smile.
“But that's why I'm grateful to have you, yes? Boring logistics and all that,”
“You're lucky to have me, asshole,” Shane couldn't hide the quirk of his lips while shoving Ilya's shoulder away playfully.
Suddenly, they hear the small patters of feet against the wooden floor and Katya finds their door ajar. Peering inside, she immediately starts to retreat when she sees her new uncles now in bed, resting.
But Ilya calls out to her, soft and gentle. “Katya,”
She peers through again, and he is getting out of bed before ducking to her level, “Yes, bunny?”
Katya shakes her head, “Nevermind, uncle. I'm okay.”
“No, no, tell me. What do you need?”
Katya fidgets with her small jammies, still hanging off her thin frame as she presses her lips together and finally caves, tiptoeing to whisper in Ilya's ear, still shy with Shane in the room. “I can't sleep, I'm scared.”
“Do you want uncle to sleep next to you?” Ilya asks as she shakes her head, clearly cognizant enough to not want to pull her uncle away from his husband.
But Shane just smiles and approaches the both of them, rubbing Ilya's back. “You can have Uncle Ilyushka,” he assures her. “When Uncle Shane couldn't sleep, I also look for Uncle Ilya to help me,”
Katya blinks, still hesitant but ultimately relaxing her grip on her now wrinkled pajamas. Both Ilya and Shane wait patiently for a response.
Shane doesn't take it personally, already expecting as much that Katya would prefer Ilya over her. The familiarity and family ties are right there, and he was foolish to be jealous of a struggling five-year old. And he knows Katya could feel that.
So before they both know it, Ilya is crammed with Katya in her bed, now fast asleep as she cuddles in close, drifting off to dreamland.
June, Ottawa
“More please,” Katya lifts up her plate to Shane as he and Ilya shuffle around the kitchen, accent still thick on her tongue, but trying nonetheless.
“How many do you want, princess?” asks Shane, glancing sideways to check how many were left of the tuna melts Ilya had made. It was one of the few things Katya could actually finish, and exploring her palate was not their number one priority.
Not when she had night terrors, or threw up occasionally, or made accidents on her bed. Their priority was trying to improve her quality of life.
Which Shane could only hope was working for Katya as she shows two fingers. “Here you go, princess,” he softly says, serving up two small slices of tuna melt. Katya gives him a small, shy smile, “Thank you,” she says.
Her English had improved significantly. With basic words such as ‘hello’, ‘thank you’, and ‘may i have’, and ‘need potty’,the understanding of the language easy for her impressionable mind. Her hesitance towards Shane had whittled down into instinctive shyness, but nonetheless, her acceptance of her current situation was steady. And that much was enough to relieve Shane.
In turn, Shane's understanding and reception to Russian had improved. He could keep up slow sentences and few words Ilya would use regularly.
“How do you like it, bunny?” Ilya asks while wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.
“It's good, uncle Ilyushka,” she says, while swinging her legs from the high stool of the kitchen counter.
“That's good,” Shane sighs and gently caresses Katya's cheek, unable to help himself. It had been filling out nicely, since she got here despite the off chance she expelled her food.
“If you need anything more, just tell us,” he says, now a regular mantra, an assurance for the young girl they could only hope she would never forget.
“Any plans today?” Shane asks Ilya, hands snaking into the back pocket of his husband's shorts.
“I was thinking…” Ilya says, draping the kitchen counter cleaner on the handle of the dishwasher. “Maybe its time we start to try taking her to the supermarket?”
“Both of us? Wouldn't that be risky if someone spots us? You take her, I'll stay home,” Shane frets. Being outed was one thing, but being swarmed with paparazzi would be a match made in hell for Katya's adjustment.
“Right,” Ilya sighs and squeezes Shane's free hand, “I'm sorry if there aren't opportunities for her to…bond with you outside,” he apologizes but his husband just gives him an assuring smile.
“We'll have our time, what's important is she gets to spend some time outside too,” Shane caresses Ilya's face. “I'll go prepare her clothes, have her finish her food,” Shane gently presses a kiss on Ilya's lips, unabashed in his love, especially in front of Katya. Ilya gives his butt a love tap, garnering a playful glare from Shane as he retreats to Katya's room.
“Bunny,” he addresses her, leaning against the other side of the counter, "You're coming with me to the supermarket today. ”
And a twenty minute journey later, with a very cute ensemble of denim overalls and a frilly blouse beneath, the pair had arrived.
“Me-tro,” Ilya pronounces as Katya parrots while they walk small hand in a calloused one towards the entrance from the parking lot.
“Meh-tro,”
“Close enough,” Ilya shrugs and smiles as he grabs a cart and gently deposits her into the child seat. “You tell uncle what you want, yes? We will practice English while buying things lunch,” Ilya says and taps her nose as she softly chuckles and nods.
He adjusts his shades and ballcap of the Phoenix Suns, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible because ESPN would have a field day if they spotted thee Ilya Rozanov with a child. But he could never hide Katya away, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.
Rolling the cart in, he could see Katya looking around, taking in everything as she blinks and nearly short circuits at the sights and smells of a Canadian supermarket. Not like the small grocery stores back in Moscow.
“What that?” Katya immediately points once they get to the meats section and Ilya sees the sign ‘Moose’. Good lord, Canada.
“Is moose,” Ilya says, “Something like Лось,”
“Do they sell moose here?” Katya's eyes widen and Ilya couldn’t determine if it was wonder or disgust as he shrugs. “Well, yes,”
“Try?” Katya looks up at him all amazed and awe-struck, Ilya's resolve immediately crumbling. He doesn't think Shane would partake, and if Katya decides she doesn't like it? Well, Ilya Rozanov's diet would be moose for a whole day. And that was a gamble he was willing to take, always.
“Okay, let's try,” Ilya chuckles. It was dangerous—unable to say no to his pretty little niece.
Shane was going to kill him for not sticking to the list.
Then again, if it was for Katya? He knows he'd get away with it.
Shane and Ilya immediately avert their gaze when Katya looks up. They don't mean to hawk over her while she tries seared moose meat, but every reaction was one they didn't want to miss. They hear the cutlery scrape against the plate and the pair look back when Katya takes a bite. Then chews, then sticks her tongue out when she spits the gamey meat back out.
“Ah, figured,” Shane softly chuckles, a little relieved that Katya didn't force herself to eat just about anything anymore. The first week she had arrived to them, she would force herself to keep everything down and be sick afterwards.
At least now, she wasn't scared to be honest.
“I don't like it,” she frowns as Ilya nods and takes the plate. “At least you tried it, princess,” Shane pats her head. “Now, would spaghetti be alright for dinner?”
“Yes, uncle Shane,” she nods, now a little shy but once she sees Ilya taking her spoils down the house, the calmness seeps into her with a warmth she couldn't explain. The safety these two men provide her.
Ilya, for the most part, slept like he was constantly hibernating. Save for the fact that he had edged Shane the night before six ways to Sunday, he was knocked out cold.
As compared to his husband who couldn't wake up any later than his body clock allows. No matter how tired, how spent he was.
And with ritualistic care, Shane has always started his Sundays swiffing, cleaning, and tidying up. He fondly smiles when he straightens the askew bunny Jellycat on the couch, Katya's presence making this house brighter. Her toys had been tucked neatly in the box by the edge of the couch, always so perfectly kept by the little girl, a poncho for summer showers hanging by the coat rack beside the foyer's console, tiny shoes beside their much bigger ones.
A full house.
Once Shane shuts the cleaning closet, he could feel a pair of eyes on him right by the stairs as he turns and sees Katya hide behind the wall. Chuckling, he faces the stairs and calls out to her, “Come, Katya. It's okay, you can come down here with me,”
And a beat later, the fluffy blonde curls peek out followed by baby blue eyes.
“Are you hungry? I can make you breakfast,” he offers, waiting for her by the base of the stairs as she shakes her head but ultimately takes his opened hand, just standing there all shy but wanting to somehow have his attention. And she had it.
“What do you want to do then? While we wait for our Ilyushka to wake up?” he smiles and bends to her level.
“Watch Blue's Clues? With uncle Shane?” she suggests and truly, who was Shane to say no to such a sweet request.
He nods, guiding her to the living room and putting on Blue's Clues from the hard drive Yuna had found while rifling through Shane's childhood things in hopes of finding something for Katya. He readies the couch for her and sits down, patting the space next to him while Katya stands in her jammies, curls unruly and still smelling like sleep.
She takes the spot, closer to Shane than he had expected and his heart just melts when she slumps down by his side. He hums and adjusts his arm, making sure she's comfortable.
He could cry. She was small, and warm, and so lovely. His and Ilya's baby girl.
She lays her head on his lap, an attempt at closeness while her show plays. And Shane finds himself digging through her small hair care pouch on the coffee table while brushing and carding through her curls, always looking for negative reactions. But the buzz of the television and Steve's voice simply fills the silence between them, the comforting caress of his hands and the brush lulling Katya into a sense of security.
Her uncle Ilya was clumsy, and didn't know much what to do with her hair, but her uncle Shane was good and nice at it. Katya liked uncle Shane, how he didn't hover but somehow was always a steady presence for her. She could see how much he loved her uncle Ilyushka, and that much was enough for her to love him too.
She likes it here. In this strange country, in this strange place, with her two uncles who would always catch her when she falls.
Ottawa had a more different smell than Moscow. But when the kitchen smells of tomatoes, or maple syrup, or when the sounds of laughter ring from the hallways, or the warmth of the water laps up her skin during bath time – she knew she was home.
🏆 kiss me one more time, make all my problems disappear
🏒 Haas was too focused on watching Ilya circulate around the room, the captain making his usual rounds with the teammates. Shane could see the awe in his features, how much he admired his husband.
But all it did was sour the feeling forming in his gut.
Stop. Stop it. Luca is just a kid. Be good. He strictly tried to reel himself in. Be good.
IN WHICH Shane drops before practice. Ilya has to do his best to bring his husband back up.
🏒 subdrop, hurt/comfort, semi-smut, frottage, shower sex, semi-public sex, soft dom ilya, sub shane, married shane/ilya. contains SPOILERS post season 1.
🏒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/76695626
🏒5.2k+
Shane knew practice was going to kill him as he put on his gear. The fabric felt unusually rough against his skin, scratching against places that made him feel like he was about to lose his mind. His head was stinging like a headache was threatening to come on, and no matter how many times Shane adjusted his neck, the feeling just didn't go away.
He was unusually cold, even for being at the ice rink.
His teammates were laughing and being rowdy as usual, Hayes and Dykstra trying to hit each other with towels. Barrett was talking to Harris in some corner, leaning suggestively close, which let everyone know what the topic was about. Boodram was telling Haas how to grill a steak to perfection.
"You have to sweet-talk it. The steak is doing you a favor. Giving you a delicacy. When you let it know how much you appreciate it, the juicier it turns out!"
Haas was too focused on watching Ilya circulate around the room, the captain making his usual rounds with the teammates. Shane could see the awe in his features, how much he admired his husband.
But all it did was sour the feeling forming in his gut.
Stop. Stop it. Luca is just a kid. Be good. He strictly tried to reel himself in. Be good.
The Ottawa Centaurs quickly felt like a family when Shane joined their team last year, freshly outed (fuck you, Brad) and married (thanks, Brad?). They had team nights where they would alternate between houses, play video games, cook food, and forget problems. Everyone's partner was intermingled within the group, a whole message chat that everyone was a part of.
Kids were handed off when they could be; exhausted parents were more than happy to take a break.
Shane appreciated the closeness. How fast they had welcomed him into their family when his own team found it impossible to accept Shane. His team, with which he played for more than ten seasons, disregarded Shane as if he hadn't helped them win three Stanley Cups. His team that thought he purposely let Ilya win.
It was a good riddance from that team that rarely got together, unless it was in a bar after a win. Otherwise, they only got together when crammed into hotel rooms or sat close at airports. No one invited the other for dinner, that was, until Shane had made friends with Hayden. Now he had a real team. A team that felt like a family. A team where the members would just casually stop by your house to drop off hard apple cider. Or extra steak. Or a niche comic to add to Shane's growing Nightwing collection.
No one to question Shane if he slipped on the ice on purpose.
Yet only being around people right now worsened Shane's mood. Even if they were his friends. Even if he usually appreciated their company.
The pit in his stomach deepened as sweat formed against his temple. Despite the cold shivers that wracked his body, Shane still managed to feel hot at the same time. His vision was going cloudy with unshed tears as he bit on his lip, willing himself to act normal.
What is wrong with you?! Pull yourself together. Not even a little over a year of being on the team and you're already showing how much of a failure you can be. He couldn't stop the thoughts invading his mind, his heart picking up with every pounding word.
The morning had started fine. Shane kissed Ilya awake until they had a quick fuck followed by taking Anya out for a walk, then they ate breakfast together. The weather was nice in early October. Rays from the sun beamed down on them, warming them from the chill that was starting to set in in the mornings. It was a nice difference from the freezing winters.
Everything about today was great, yet Shane didn't feel great. He didn't even feel fine. There was a nagging feeling in his gut. A feeling that roared at him to go home and cocoon himself in the room. Shane didn't want to listen to it because fuck, he never missed practice. He wouldn't start now when he'd only been on the team for a year.
He felt weighed down, like the ground was trying to siphon him in. Shane couldn’t help but sit on the bench, hanging his head as he rested his elbows on his knees. His gear hugged everything too tightly, sucking him beneath it until Shane felt like nothing. He wished it would just squeeze him out of oblivion by now. Shivers wracked his body despite the sweat forming, disappointment in himself clawing at Shane.
Ilya suddenly appeared at his side, half-dressed and missing his upper gear. Shane sat up straighter, following Ilya's happy trail up his body until he met hazel eyes. They were full of concern, reserved only for Shane. Shane felt himself almost crumble at that, barely holding himself together.
You can't even breathe properly. The voice inside him mocked. You're weak. Useless. Ilya will realize just how much he doesn't need you soon enough.
"What is wrong?" Ilya asked loud enough so only they would hear it.
Shane wanted to fall into the voice, wanted to let him take over completely. Wanted to not worry about a sinlge thing.
"I want to go home," Shane wanted to say.
Instead, he shook his head, not having the words to explain. Yuna Hollander didn't raise her child to be a quitter. Let alone to quit on something as simple as practice.
Ilya huffed through his nose, sitting on the bench next to Shane so they were eye level. Some of the other guys had looked at them, but as soon as their eyes landed on the scene, their gaze darted away. They were clearly curious about what was going on, but gave them privacy instead. If he were back in Montreal, half the guys would be in their business about now.
Shane jutted out his bottom lip against his will. He felt pathetic. Probably looked like it too.
Pathetic, Shane. Nothing new. You always find new ways to disappoint.
He wanted to cry. And he wouldn't be fucking crying here. Not in front of everyone. The cold feeling that surrounded him grew endless, the thick gear he had on doing nothing to stop the numbing that began to set in his fingers. He needed his gear off before it suffocated him.
But despite all he was feeling, his body remained frozen. Hands unwilling to extract the protective pads and everything else that came after it.
Ilya grabbed his chin, prodding the lip with his thumb. With this position, Shane had no choice but to look Ilya in the eyes. He wanted to listen, to follow orders without delay. Yet his tongue wouldn't move in accordance.
"Shane. What is wrong?" He asked more firmly this time.
It was a tone that left no argument between them. A tone that Ilya only used when he was actively domming Shane.
His eyes went lidded, the urge to follow his Dom's every order short-circuiting something within Shane's brain.
Be good. Be good for Ilya.
Shane couldn't say he wanted to go home. That he wanted to cuddle with Ilya without any clothes so that their bodies could become one. With how comfortable and accepted he felt on the team, he still didn't like overly public displays of affection. It wasn't because he felt ashamed of Ilya or their relationship in any way. It just felt… weird having eyes on them as they shared something personal. No one was meant to see Shane like that, just as no one was meant to see Ilya in such a way.
It was for them, and them only. An outsider's eyes felt like a bug under his skin.
He couldn't say that he was pretty sure he was dropping, because Ilya had pampered Shane all morning after they had fucked. He shouldn't be dropping, so he wouldn't be dropping. It had been a while since the last time he dropped, the enhanced emotions mostly finding him when Ilya and he were still working out their relationship and communication. Back then, they were meant to mean nothing, just a quick, exciting hookup that lasted years. So he would drop every once in a while, because shit—one of them was always gone so fast, and Shane never had the guts to ask for aftercare.
But that had been then. When Ilya was so hellbent on pretending he didn't feel the spark between Shane and him. It was completely different from the Ilya he knew now.
That morning, after Ilya fucked him hard and fast, Shane had rested his face against his husband's chest, listening to how his heart beat a rhythm that calmed into a steady one. Then they took Anya on a short walk, touching in some capacity at all times. Ilya was so reassuring, calling Shane his perfect, good boy. Reminding Shane that he was Shane and he lovedhim for that simple fact. He was pulled out of his earlier headspace, content in the quick scene they had.
Ilya had fed him his breakfast that morning. Shane went back into that dopey, floating mind space, unable to focus on anything besides Ilya and when to open his mouth to accept the food. It felt so easy to take what Ilya gave him. Each bite left him sinking further into that frame of mind. The frame of mind where only Ilya and his praise existed.
They left for practice soon after, Ilya driving as he gripped firmly at Shane's thigh. It took everything in him not to get hard from the touch. To not rut into the hand connected to his husband, who kept lathering the praise on throughout the whole ride. The floating feeling remained until they had pulled into the parking lot.
Ilya pulled him in by his neck, placing a dirty, rough kiss on Shane's lips before exiting the car.
Then Shane started to feel like shit.
"I don't—" He couldn't finish his sentence.
If he thought the tears were building up previously, they certainly were now. He could feel the weight of the droplets hanging in the ducts in his eyes, pure stubbornness refusing to let them fall. He stopped short on his sentence before they fell.
He bit his lip and looked down, forcing his mind to focus on the gear that wrapped around Ilya's thighs. It looked similar to Shane's own gear, but it was more worn out since he had had his for longer.
Shane didn't know how long he kept his gaze fixed on that central spot, feeling an icy heat rise in his lungs. The stupid gear was making it impossible to breathe. He could feel himself crashing, unsteady and falling.
He felt large hands engulf either side of his face, cupping his cheeks delicately. It forced Shane to look up, noticing that no one else was in the locker room anymore. Where had they all gone? To practice? When? Shane hadn't even noticed them leaving.
"What...?" The Canadian muttered under his breath, the words illegible in the real world.
Ilya's hands slipped until only one remained, the fingers working their way into his jaw. The slightly younger man kept his grip light, craning Shane's neck further until their eyes met.
The Russian man's eyebrows were furrowed into the middle, his lips puckered thin like they only got when he was concentrated or about to come. He tenderly rubbed his thumb against Shane's freckles, watching them disappear then reappear under his prints.
Before Shane could process what was happening, he kissed his forehead and let him go. He felt his heart stutter from the loss of touch, rejected without the use of words.
He doesn't want you—
But then the hands returned, guiding Shane to stand.
"Up, moya lyubov'." Ilya lightly commanded.
Shane recognized the firm tone and stood, no room for argument when Ilya was domming. With the blood rushing to his ears and air leaving his lungs, it was hard to understand and process anything. But Ilya's dom voice made Shane want to listen. To be good. To prove that he was more than trash that could be sent away without a second thought.
"I'm going to take off your gear, yes?"
Shane shook his head, his heart spiking. With his heavy tongue, he said, "We have practice! We need to..." he couldn't articulate his thoughts; the words jumbled into a mess of nonsense.
Ilya looked softly at him, pecking his lips that promised more later.
"Do not worry, solnishko. Today was optional practice. We do not have to be here." Ilya explained.
If Shane were in his right mind, he would have refused. Would have insisted they stay whether the practice was optional or not. Ilya was the captain and the season was starting next week. He was meant to be there and set an example for the rookies. But he wasn't in his right mind, so he didn't fight it as Ilya stripped Shane out of the hockey get-up until he was only in his boxers. His husband neatly folded his belongings, sliding them into Shane's cubby.
Hands caressed down his side, steadily placing on his hips. Shane couldn't stop the upper half of his body leaning forward on instinct, every part of him wanting comfort from his husband. It had been so long since he dropped. He forgot how horrible it felt.
"You are dropping." Ilya stated, running a hand into Shane's hair.
He pressed the other man more firmly into his collarbone, trailing down until he was gripping at the base of his neck.
"Nod if you are listening to me, Shane."
God, Shane was obsessed with the way Ilya said his name. He said it as if he were speaking to a deity, so loving and devout that Shane felt his heart rate rise every time he was reminded of Ilya's love.
He nodded.
The grip Ilya had on him hardened, pressing into the stiff muscles of his neck that left him sighing in gratitude as his hip was squeezed. A kiss was placed on the top of Shane's head, centering the man once more.
"We will shower here, because I know you hate sitting in the sweat from your gear. You do not like to be dirty, right, sweet boy?"
Shane nodded in agreement. He hated when he or Ilya left the ice rink unwashed, dragging back whatever germs the other men had brought into the car and eventually the house. Call Shane what you wanted to, but dirty was never one of them.
Shane pressed a light kiss to the exposed juncture between Ilya's shoulder and neck.
"Hm, I knew so. Maybe in the shower, I will rub your dick. After we are clean, we will get dressed and leave. Leave for home." Ilya clarified the last part, pulling Shane's head back so their eyes could connect.
As much as he avoided the contact, Shane wanted to melt into his Dom's hazel. Ilya wanted to keep Shane solid for a little bit longer. When Shane tried to drop to his knees, the other man kept a firm hold on his elbows.
"Net." No. Ilya took his gear off, even if he just denied Shane access. He didn't bother folding his stuff, uncaring if it stayed on the ground or not. "Did I say suck my cock, Shane?" He placed his leading hand on the small of Shane's back. "Be a good boy and come shower."
All Shane wanted to do was be good for Ilya, so he followed the man into the showers, mind drifting away from his rejection and into the hands expertly massaging the soap into his hair. The NHL provided a wide range of products for its players, but Shane noticed Ottawa got the cheaper brands compared to Montreal. And Boston, for that matter. And Toronto, according to Wyatt.
But still, even if the mint smelled more like chemicals and less like a toothpaste brand shoving a commercial down your throat, the person applying it was all that mattered.
Ilya deftly worked the shampoo into his hair, using his skilled hands in a controlled head massage. The water pelting against his chest was soothing, like a beat knocking against his skin. He could feel his husband's body all around him, the man surrounding him even outside of his thoughts.
"Mm," Shane moaned as he leaned into the touch, gripping Ilya's forearm behind him.
He closed his eyes out of tendency, drifting away from the bad place and into the headspace he adored. It wasn't immediate, but soon his depressing thoughts turned to studying Ilya's movements.
The touch wasn't to stop him, but to stabilize Shane.
"Feel good, sweetheart?" Ilya purred, the words ghosting on the back of Shane's neck.
Shane could only manage the movement of his head in agreement. Ilya stepped closer to him, placing his half-hard dick on top of Shane's ass. It took everything within Shane not to roll his hips into a seductive motion. Ilya hadn't instructed him to do so, so he wouldn't.
"Words, milyy. You are doing so good for me. So good, Shane." Ilya's Russian accent got thicker the longer he talked, arousal displayed.
His arms flexed with every passing motion, a determined look set in his eye. One that Shane could openly see once Ilya flipped him around, placing the crown of his head under the spray. He could sense the suds running down his shoulders and onto his back, effectively down the drain as Ilya maintained his tender touch.
"Ilya," He whimpered, hoping that alone would convey what it needed to.
Based on the way Ilya bit his lip and grabbed the body wash, it did.
"I am so sorry, Shane." Ilya said as he squirted the blue gel into his hand, spreading the soap along his hands before he placed them wide-palm on his chest.
Ilya squeezed his pecs with less fervor than usual, his eyes clouding with the same guilt that would stumble upon him anytime Shane dropped. Shane didn't like that look on him, so he tried to wash it away with his own kiss.
Ilya fell into it easily, setting the pace to a slow one. Controlled. Ilya explored the entirety of his mouth as Shane dociely took it, pacified by his husband's mouth on his. It was warm and everything Shane needed it to be. Their lips moved in sync without a rush, the couple languidly kissing each other in the team's public showers, the Russian towering over Shane's form.
Being four inches shorter than his husband wasn't that much of a difference, but when Shane wanted Ilya to cover him in every aspect… it wasn't a hard task to complete. All he had to do was give himself to Ilya and the rest came naturally.
"I should have known… this morning. You looked so—fuck, what is the word? Out of realm, like you were still far away." He didn't let his hands wander, strictly using them to clean his and Shane's bodies.
Ilya was placing tender kisses along Shane's neck, reverence articulated in the way his lips lingered on his husband's skin.
It electrocuted fire in Shane, the ruining cold that was in his body gone for good. "No, it's—not your fault."
Ilya nibbled his lips against the spot on Shane's shoulder that always made his dick harden. Shane could feel it reacting to Ilya's ministrations without fault, twitching between his legs. In this position, his and Ilya's cock's were so close together, mere inches apart from giving Shane the pleasure he desired.
Ilya had caught sight of it as well, teasingly pushing his hips into Shane's before pulling away. It was a small dose of what he had to offer, lips curling up as Shane whimpered from the loss.
His hands trailed lower, rubbing the soap into Shane's sides and hips. He hardened his touch, nothing to hurt, but a firm reminder that Ilya was there. He was with Shane, taking care of him like he always did.
"We discuss later?"
That sounded wonderful.
"Yeah, later's good."
Ilya pressed his lips against Shane's, no longer the delicate movements he had earlier. Shane leaned into the kiss, reveling at the way Ilya occupied his own. His time. His body. All of his thoughts were on Ilya and the teasing hands and sharp mouth. Even if he wanted to move his hips, they would be firmly denied by Ilya's awaiting grip.
They played this game often. How long could Ilya deny Shane before the older man attempted to control the situation, where Ilya and his pleased smirk would promptly stop him. Sometimes it wasn't Shane who caved first, but rather Ilya himself. In those moments he was just as needy as Shane, unwilling to let anymore distance or space stand in their way.
When Shane pulled away, it wasn't to catch his breath but to speak to Ilya. He wasn't in the mood for games.
"Please?" He looked down at his half-hard dick, looking especially pathetic next to Ilya's full erection.
"You like?" Ilya teased, kissing Shane quickly. Their lips parted with a smack that resonated over the water spraying onto them.
"Shut up—" Shane's insult was interrupted by a moan. His own moan. Because Ilya was suddenly stroking his cock at an impossible pace.
"Mmm, I don't think you want me to. Is this okay?" He bit Shane's ear, delighting as his husband shivered against him.
When Shane gave him the verbalized consent he needed, he kept on. "This reminds you of anything?"
Shane's brain was still fuzzy around the edges. All he could think about was this moment, how Ilya was leisurely moving his hand up and down. His back was taking the brunt of the water, so it was obvious when Shane's dick began to slick up from his excessive precum.
"You always leak so much, sweetheart. So good for me. So wet." Ilya didn't quicken his pace, rubbing his thumb over Shane's head, spreading the fluid around.
Shane couldn't find it in him to be embarrassed about it anymore. He's come a long way from hating how much precum the tip of his cock oozed, especially when Ilya was so taken by the feature.
"You remember all those years ago? The looks you were giving me in the showers?"
Shane shook his head.
"No? Oh, Shane. I don't think you realized what you were doing. Trying to wash your body, but your eyes couldn't help but keep looking at me." His R's rolled thicker against Shane's ear, the heat sending a blush to Shane's cheeks. "Just like now."
"Fuck off," He weakly managed in return.
"There was so much lust in the way you looked at me. Like you couldn't wait to have my big cock in your ass. Or maybe, your mouth? Would you like that tonight, Shane? Want me to fuck you and that mouth of yours? I know how much you crave both."
He sped up his ministrations, angling them so the water gave relief to the dry strokes.
"Ah," Shane whimpered as his body folded in half, his head resting on Ilya's collarbone. "Please, Ilya. Need—ah—need it."
Shane bit and sucked at the exposed skin, watching as the pale dermis turned darker the longer he sucked. Ilya groaned, tilting his neck to the side to give Shane more access. The Canadian happily trailed his lips along Ilya's pulse, lessening his force the higher he went up. While they liked to leave marks on each other, hickeys above the neckline were strictly not meant to last longer than a few hours during the season.
He found the special spot behind his husband's ear, rolling the skin between his teeth before letting go.
"Yours too. Yours too." He desperately managed out, bucking his hips into each stroke.
It felt wrong not to have Ilya's dick pressed up against his in this moment.
Ilya gripped the base of his hair and forced Shane's head up, sliding his tongue into the shorter man's mouth as he took his and Shane's cock in hand. His wide palm easily wrapped around them without problem, calloused fingers roughly smothering their heats together.
Chest to chest, Shane was tweaking one of Ilya's nipples with his digits, using the edge of his nails to bring the sharp pain Ilya liked applied to his nipples. His free hand roamed to Ilya's back, slowly falling lower until he had a grasp on the ass he adored so much.
It earned a moan from Ilya, so Shane gripped harder.
Sometimes Shane was sad that he wasn't a top, never getting to see the way Ilya's roundness would move on him. Then Ilya would fuck him as Shane clenched onto his globes for dear life, content to hold onto them rather than fuck into them.
They moaned into each other, Ilya maintaining a controlled pace that left both of them reeling. Shane could feel the bulging veins of Ilya's dick pressing against his, the head of their cocks rubbing together every time Ilya brought his hand near the tips.
Their vocal sounds were echoing around the room, fwap fwap fwap drowned out by their deep groans and the singular shower they hand running.
His foreskin nudged into the tip of Shane's cock every time, too. Stimulating him just a little bit more with each passing movement. Ilya's breathing was harsh exiting his nostrils, his silent sounds of pleasure spurring Shane on just as the audible ones. Their tongues were dancing together in a similar fashion their cocks were—wet and messy.
Shane let himself fall into the feeling, the building wave of relief washing over him entirely. He couldn't even remember why he was upset in the first place.
His hips unwillingly bucked into Ilya's hand, erratic and about to burst.
"'M gonna cum. Can—Can I—"
"Net. Such a good boy, waiting for me, Shane. You have been so good, so lovely." He picked up the pace, Shane crying out as he held off his impending orgasm.
"That's it, solnishko. Hold it for me." Ilya growled out.
It was the tone that would make Shane fall to his knees. The tone that left Shane only wanting for Ilya's cock to be in him, somehow, someway. But that wasn't a part of the plans he had set. At least not while they were still at the ice rink. Shane had to wait for that for just a bit longer. But if one thing served them true over the years, it was that the wait can be worth it.
When Shane let out a particularly gutting moan next to Ilya's ear, the Russian man pushed him against the tiled wall. He didn't care for the water that fell in his face, too preoccupied with ensuring Shane's head didn't slam against the tile.
Shane kept himself positioned as he was, satisfied with the way Ilya's long hair was pooling over his hand and how big his ass felt in his hand. He gripped both possessively tight, rolling his hips once more as soon as Ilya started.
Ilya was less rolling his hips, but more so slamming Shane into the wall with every thrust. He worked his hips as if he were in Shane, unforgiving and dominant. Shane wished his back was to Ilya, face forced against the wall as Ilya fucked into him good from behind.
As if reading his mind, Ilya snuck a finger into Shane's mouth. Shane sucked it in without a problem, wrapping his lips around the digit as if it were Ilya's cock being shoved down his throat. He caressed it with his tongue, dousing it in his saliva as he worked the finger like it was Ilya's cock.
"Fuuuck," Ilya pressed it deeper, his thrusts into his palm beginning to grow uneven and less measured. "You want to cum, Shane? Be good, cum for me. Now."
His words were precise and smooth, the voice of a man who had done this a thousand times over. His lips were scrunched up in the way Shane adored, jaw ticked at how hard he was clenching it.
Shane followed the command, his body working on overdrive to shoot the load out the second Ilya demanded it. "Mmf, shit. Ilya."
His head tilted back from the pleasure, pushing off the wall and into Ilya's grasp. It felt like too much, but not enough.
Ilya was following him soon after, punched out growls vibrating against his chest as he swiped another kiss from Shane. It was a swift peck, one involved with no tongue or lip locking of any kind.
"Shane," Was the first thing he said when they parted.
"Ilya," Shane's voice sounded heavier, as if he just woke up from a nap that left him questioning what time zone he was in. His eyes were lidded, a perfect compliment to match his dopey smile.
Shane knew he probably looked like he was high on a few different substances, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he could think about was Ilya. His husband, the man standing in front of him, who made it his life's mission to care for Shane.
Ilya planted featherlight kisses on the crown of his head, guiding him back under the water before he could get cold. "I love you,"
"I love you, too."
"We clean for real this time." Ilya instructed, pumping soap onto Shane's body once more.
Shane didn't respond, content to let Ilya's palms roam over his body. The man kept his touch delicate, cleaning Shane's cock without a hint of sexual arousal. It was almost like getting a massage, except the masseuse was a mouthy Dom who had more in store for later.
Throughout the aftercare, Ilya muttered words of encouragement and praise in Russian. They were phrases that Shane distantly recognized, but he was too far in his head to cling to them long enough to translate.
By the time he was coming out of the fog, he was already in his boxers with a Snickers bar pressed to his lips. Shane was sitting in front of his cubby in the locker room, and Ilya was standing in front of him expectantly.
"Eat, sweetheart." He tried shoving the candy into Shane's mouth.
Shane's eyes went wide, ready to smack the death bar (only during the season, now) away from his body. Nothing unhealthy should even think about entering Shane's perfectly curated diet.
"Yes, you eat it. Vy zhe znayete, chto sakhar pomogayet." You know sugar helps.
Shane begrudgingly took a bite. He tried to ignore how the flavor bloomed against his taste buds. It was a flavor he would do his best to forget after today, at least until the season was over and he could be more lenient about what he consumed.
"Where'd you get this anyway?" Shane asked around a mouthful.
Ilya was dressing himself, putting on the clothes he had arrived in. "Was there on bench when we got out."
He froze mid-bite. "You mean…?"
Ilya nodded. "Probably Harris. Nothing to worry about. That man and Troy go round after round in his office." The was something akin to pride in the way he said it.
And because Shane still had the content ball of yarn wrapped tightly around his heart, for once in his life, he let it go.
Ilya only speaks to his babies in Russian, he would not reply to them if they spoke in English. He just wants his babies to be able to always communicate with him.
Shane speaks to his babies mainly in English, sometimes in French and sometimes in Russian. He started taking classes when him and Ilya were dating.
When their babies had to go to daycare, they opted in choosing a daycare that was in French.
Shane and Ilya sent their babies to a francophone school, a full French elementary school.
Ilya cried when their babies went to daycare for the first time and he cried when they started kindergarten. Shane let a few tears fall , and then broke down in the car because his babies were getting older.
Ilya only ever shows up for one person.
That person is Shane Hollander.
A College AU story.
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Ilya Rozanov had come to the overwhelming conclusion that he was well and truly fucked. He watched from a distance as the very reason for his current predicament— Shane Hollander — skated around the ice. He couldn’t keep his eyes off him as he studied the way he moved. He remembered meeting him for the first time a year ago, cigarette in hand, attempting to hide away from everyone. He didn’t realize until now how much sense it made that Shane Hollander was the only one to seek him out.
When Ilya first joined the hockey team, he didn’t give much thought to team bonding. He was there to be the best, to win, and nothing else mattered more than making sure he was contributing to that. Shane, from what he heard, was the best player out there. Ilya having a similar reputation of his own, made them being on the same team a big deal. He knew that if he absolutely had to work well with anyone on the team, it would need to be Shane.
Unfortunately, there was one tiny problem. A problem with a pretty face wrapped in freckles. A problem that Ilya, sensing now as he stared at him, was in love with.
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Shane had been finishing up practice with one of their teammates, Hayden, when he felt eyes burning into him. He turned to find Ilya holding his gaze and his cheeks tinged with heat. He shot his eyes back down to the ice, attempting to hide the blush that creeped along his face.
“Hey, uh- you’re coming to the party tonight, right?” Hayden asked for what felt like the tenth time that day. “Because you said yes earlier but…” his voice trailed off as if in another question.
“I know, I know. I swear I’ll show up this time.” Shane said, turning to skate off the ice. He kept his eyes staring down as Hayden followed and nudged him, offering a smile. “We’ll have ginger ale. You won’t have to drink, just…come hang out with us. There will be plenty of girls to talk to if you get sick of us and besides…” Hayden paused, “I want you to meet Jackie.”
“That serious, huh?”
“That serious. And who knows, it could be for you too if you decide to show up. You might meet someone.”
Ilya was sitting on the farthest corner of the bench when Shane and Hayden stepped off the ice, sitting down to take of their skates. Shane stole a quick glance at him before continuing his conversation. “I don’t know about that,” Shane said, letting out a soft chuckle.
“Well you definitely won’t if you’re busy spending all your time here. But hey, no pressure man. I just want to see you happy.”
Shane could feel the warmth against his face again and before he lost the nerve, he asked “Is Rozanov going?”
Hayden turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “Rozanov? That guy hasn’t gone to any of our parties since he’s been here and trust me, the other guys have asked.” Hayden stood up, placing a hand on Shane’s shoulder and giving a little squeeze. “I’m heading out buddy, but…” he paused, as if to reconsider what he was about to say. “You should invite him. He seems to tolerate you more than the rest of us.”
Shane nodded, gnawing at his bottom lip. “I better see you later!” Hayden called out as he walked away. Shane suddenly felt a knowing presence. A deep voice interrupted his thoughts, the accent making the hairs on his arm stand to attention.
“You are going to party?” Ilya asked, looming above him.
“Uh- yeah maybe.” Shane glanced around. It felt impossible to hold eye contact. “I don’t know. Are you?”
“Mmm, maybe.”
Shane thought Ilya might take a seat next to him, but he just stood there, waiting. He didn’t know how to respond and the silence was eating him alive. He took a deep breath before finding Ilya’s eyes and saying “I think I’ll go. Hayden has been asking for a while.”
Ilya smirked, giving a quick “Okay.” He began walking away and Shane didn’t couldn’t understand why. Did he say something wrong? Should he have been more enthusiastic? He turned to watch Ilya walk out and let his head hang low in embarrassment. “Fuck.”
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Ilya partially regretted not saying more to Shane before he left the rink earlier. He’d been waiting for the day Shane would finally go to a party so it’d give him a reason to show up too. When he heard Shane say he would go, it was hard to hide the grin that wanted so desperately to spread across his face. He had to bite the inside of his cheek, settling for a smaller smile, and give a quick “Okay.” before leaving.
He stood here now in the bathroom of the obnoxious frat party he agreed to come to, running his hands through his hair and adjusting his shirt. He had no interest in actually hanging out with anyone in this house. No one except…
“Shaaaaaaane Hollander!” Ilya heard someone shout, followed by several whoops and claps. He cracked the bathroom door open a bit, taking a peak into the hallway. He could see Shane standing at the end of it, a bunch of the guys playfully nudging his shoulder. Ilya envied the way they were able to touch him in this moment so he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him loud enough that Shane could hear.
Ilya smiled when Shane whipped his head around, eyes widening at the sight of him. That was all the confirmation he needed that Shane wanted him here as much as he wanted Shane to be here. When he finally reached closer, he nodded in his direction, “Hollander.”
“Rozanov. You came.” Shane sounded out of breathe. If Ilya could guess he’d say he was nervous. He wanted to make a funny remark when Hayden interrupted.
“About time, am I right?” Hayden looked between the two of them. “It’s funny. The both of you finally showing up and to the same party. Feels like a holiday!”
“A coincidence, I think.” Shane said quietly, finding Ilya’s eyes.
“Yes, uh-coincidence.” Ilya tried to mimic the exact way Shane said it, holding his gaze.
He felt like there was something unspoken between them then. He wanted to grasp onto the moment but Hayden, clueless as ever, put his hand on Shane’s shoulder, stealing his attention.
“Buddy — Jackie has been dying to finally see you. You’ve gotta come say hi.”
Shane gave Ilya an apologetic smile, following after Hayden as he whisked him away. Ilya’s head dropped, letting out a defeated breath before finding a wall to lean on. He decided in that moment that he could wait a little longer for the right moment, any moment, with Shane.
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Shane zoned out as Hayden was speaking. He was introduced to his girlfriend, Jackie, who was really nice, but… he couldn’t focus. Other people at the party were dancing, having a good time but the only thing he could think about was the guy leaning against a wall, eyes scanning the room like he was waiting for something to spring to life. He tried to will Ilya to look at him once more. He thought maybe if he concentrated enough he could feel him.
Shane was about to look away when Ilya caught him, smirking as he moved himself off the wall and walked to the kitchen.
Right…okay. Maybe he shouldn’t have stared at Ilya for so long like a creep. He tried to listen to what Hayden and Jackie were saying when that familiar voice came from behind, ultimately settling beside him.
“Drink?” Ilya extended his hand out, holding a ginger ale.
“Oh, uh — yes. Thank you.”
“I am going to steal him now.” Ilya said with a straight face, angling towards Hayden but pointing between Shane and him. “Two best players, yes? We need bonding time.”
“Right…” Hayden looked confused, turning to Jackie for back up but Jackie smiled, nudging his arm as if to tell him to back off. This made Ilya smile and Shane watched as he turned around and began walking towards the back door.
Shane looked between him and Hayden, eyes wide with uncertainty. “Um — “
“Well you heard him. Team bonding!” Jackie pointed the direction of the door with a grin on her face, her finger making a circle in the air as if she were gesturing Shane to follow after Ilya. His words were stuck, scrambled in his mind as his feet moved him along.
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Ilya’s breathe hitched as he finally heard the back door open. He’d been standing outside for what felt like eternity, but in reality was just a few moments. Shane closed the door behind him, mimicking the way Ilya had been leaning against the wall behind him. He hated how far away he was.
“You are far.” he said, matter of factly.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you afraid?”
“Afraid?”
“Of me. I do not talk much but I do not bite.”
At that, Shane let out a laugh. “No, I’m not afraid.” He set his drink on the ground, walking closer to Ilya and Ilya swore he could feel the energy growing bolder as the distance between them became shorter. Shane settled a few inches away from him, back to the wall again. “You don’t usually come to these right?”
“Nope.” Ilya said, making a popping sound at the end. “You do not either.”
“Yeah, well…not really my thing. But I think I’ve turned down Hayden too many times.” Ilya watched as Shane nervously played with his fingers, his eyes trailing up to his face where his freckles lay, begging to be admired. Shane turned and caught him watching.
Ilya was not much of a nervous person, just an unsure one. He held eye contact as if to ask all the unasked questions. Can you tell I am in love with you? Have been all of this time? Shane interrupted his thoughts to ask
“So why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Wow, Hollander. I thought you might be more happy with me being here. I saved you, no?”
“Saved me?”
“From Hayden. He talks too much I think.”
Shane laughed. “You don’t like talking?”
Ilya’s mouth lifted to a smile. “Not really. It…depends.”
“On what?”
“On who I am talking to.” Ilya looked down at his feet.
He wanted a cigarette so badly in that moment, but he knew Shane hated them. He wanted to find a way to tell him how he felt. He wanted to get it over with— find out if Shane felt the same way so he could kiss those pouty lips the way his heart had been begging him too since they first met.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Shane spoke up, a bit nervously. “We already know why I showed up but… why did you?”
Ilya looked him up and down, taking him in. “You are here, yes?”
“Y-yes…I—” Shane looked so confused. Ilya wanted to kiss the confusion right off his face.
“Well…” Ilya interrupted, raising his eyebrows as if to say “Isn’t it obvious then?”
He pushed himself off the wall, turning his body so that he stood directly in front of Shane, faces just inches away from each other.
“Your freckles. They are very pretty.” He watched as Shane’s throat moved.
“Thank you.”
“They make it hard for me to talk to you. My mind gets lost. Is not fun.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Every time. I am a miserable man.” he threw his head back, groaning.
Shanes lips curved into a knowing smile. “Is that why you just stare at me when I’ve tried to talk to you all this time?”
“Mmm…yes.” Ilya looked up at him again and smiled back, bringing his hand up to Shane’s cheek, lightly brushing over his freckles. He brought his face closer to Shane’s, close enough that if Shane took a deep breath in, their lips just might touch.
Ilya continued before the words got away from him as they usually do. “I think, maybe I am in love with you.” He watched as Shane’s breath caught in his chest.
“You think?”
“From first day, probably.”
Shane’s eyes darted from side to side, questioning. “I tried to get the guys to invite you out just so I’d have an excuse to see you. It was the only way I’d ever want to be at one of these things, anyway. We — ” he paused, words getting caught in his throat. “All this time?”
Ilya found Shane’s eyes extremely hard to look away from. They were glossy now, almost as though he were about to cry and it sent a pang to his chest just to witness it. He didn’t know if he was going about it wrong, didn’t know if he was using the right words. He definitely knew he wasn’t using enough but he could blame that on the way Shane Hollander always managed to take his breath away.
He moved his hand to cup Shane’s chin, tilting it upwards so that their lips were lightly brushing.
“Yes?” he asked, eyes now closed and waiting for permission. He knew he could get his point across if Shane allowed him to kiss him. Even just once. The confirmation came from Shane’s lips in barely a whisper. “Yes.”
Ilya was never one to hesitate once he knew he could have something, but he wanted to savor this moment because he would never get this specific one — his first time kissing Shane Hollander — again.
He kept Shane’s chin tilted, his entire face on display. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. “Cute. Like button.”
He could hear Shane sigh as he moved to the freckles plastered across his cheeks. “So beautiful.” He was taking his sweet time and trying his best to capture each one when Shane interrupted. “Rozanov.”
Ilya had never heard Shane sound so stern. He pulled back to look at him, worried he somehow misunderstood what his earlier “Yes” meant.
“You do not want?” his heart paused, swelling in his chest.
“I want you to kiss me, Rozanov.” Shane’s eyes were a little wide, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.
Ilya couldn’t help but laugh. “You are like angry kitten.”
Shane glared at him. “Roz—” he began, but Ilya stopped him with a kiss. He could hear Shane let out a whimper and it only made him want him more.
Ilya brought himself even closer, his body caging his as he used both arms to steady himself on the wall behind Shane. He was hungry for him and he was starting to wonder if Shane could feel that when he felt hands suddenly grip his waist. Shane squeezed lightly, another whimper escaping as their tongues found their own rhythm.
Their breaths grew more ragged and Ilya felt like he could hear his heart beating louder than the music that was blaring from inside. If I die right now — he thought to himself — if my heart bursts out of my chest, at least I will die a happy man.
The warmth left his lips as Shane pulled away for a moment. “Wait, wait.” The words came out breathless.Ilya could see the shine on Shane’s lips and he smiled as he moved his finger across to wipe them. Shane was flustered and Ilya thought it was the cutest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
He watched Shane’s face as he seemed to be finding the words. “I am waiting.”
“I didn’t — ” Shane’s voice wavered. “I didn’t say it back.”
Ilya’s heart dropped. “Oh.”
“No, it’s not like that. I — ” he shook his head as though he were clearing the nerves. “I am in love with you, too.”
Ilya’s chest loosened and the biggest grin spread across his face. “Ah. I knew it!” he teased.
“Fuck off. You didn’t!”
“Mm, yes I did. Your cheeks do this,” he said making a motion with his fingers to signal something like a explosion. “Poof. Whenever I would talk to you. You get so red. Is cute.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Shane playfully shoved him backwards but Ilya chased him with another kiss.
He couldn’t help himself when he said, “You are not bad kisser,” shrugging his shoulder, trying to get a rise out of him. “Your lips” he brushed the pad of his thumb across Shane’s bottom lip, following with another soft kiss. “They are nice too.”
Shane rolled his eyes, his hands finding their way back to Ilya’s waist, tugging him even closer. Ilya leaned his forehead onto Shane’s, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I think maybe we should go on date.” he opened his eyes, searching for any hesitation in Shane’s eyes.
“Yeah?” Shane sounded hopeful.
“Yes. I will cook for you.” he placed soft kisses along Shane’s jawline. “And do not worry. I will have ginger ale for you.”
