Ilya notices it right away. Jackie is dropping Ruby off to spend an afternoon with her uncles like she's done countless times before. But something seems off with Ruby. She's not her usual chaotic self.
"How are you, sweetheart? Everything ok?" Ilya asks.
She just nods and makes her way to the living room. Jackie gives him a look and as they hug goodbye, she whispers, "She's going through her first little heartbreak."
"Ah." Ilya nods. He knows this is a very delicate matter.
He planned a full mani-pedi day for them. So, they're sitting on the living room floor with an assortment of nail polishes and accessories on the coffee table while Shane is reading on the couch. It's hard to miss how Ruby is sighing the whole time and Ilya knows it's not about the bright teal color he's currently putting on her nails.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, sweetheart. I'm here if you need."
She lets out her biggest sigh yet. "I'm sad.. about a boy." He's holding her hand while he expertly puts on another coat of polish on her nails.
"Mm. Do you want to talk about it? I promise it will help."
She nods determinedly. "There's this boy in class and.. he's really cute."
"Oh, I bet." Ilya smiles as he's switching to her other hand.
"I asked him to sit beside me at lunch one day." She continues, "And I gave him half my sandwich."
Ilya raises his eyebrows, intrigued. He makes a sound urging her to continue.
"Then I told him I liked him and he.. he just ran away," she says quietly.
Shane chokes on his tea in the distance. Ilya has to stiffen his face as he squeezes her hand in his.
"What is his name and where does he live?" Ilya deadpans, half serious. "I will find him and kick his ass, yes?" Then he playfully mock wrestles a nearby floor pillow.
This pulls a shocked but delighted laugh from Ruby. "Uncle Ilya! You can't!" They giggle at the silly thought.
Ilya goes back to holding her hand. "Sweetheart, thank you for telling me this. You are being very brave," Ilya says sincerely. "Now I will tell you a secret. I have a very similar story."
She's listening intently as he continues. "Some time ago, I invite a boy I like very much to my house and make him tuna melt. Then.. I tell him I like him and he runs away."
Ruby audibly gasps. "No!" Her face is astonished. "What did you do?"
"Well, I was very sad.. like you. But then I remember what my mama told me." Ilya's voice is getting tender all of a sudden. "She said, if you love someone, let them go. If they do not come back, it was not meant to be."
He pauses to give her a loving look before continuing, "But if they do come back.. then you know they are yours."
Ruby processes what Ilya said for a long moment. Then she asks, "So, did he come back?!"
"Yeah," Shane replies as he gets up from the couch. "Yeah, he did." And he walks over to give Ilya a chaste yet soft, sweet kiss.
It’s one of those beautiful days where the sun is high in the sky, the clouds like thick puffs of cotton spattered against bird’s egg blue. The temperature isn’t too hot, the summer day comfortable and breezy in a way some July days never are. It’s a perfect day to spend outside in some way; Shane’s hand interlaced with Ilya’s as they leave the Jeep parked a street over to attend a pop-up Farmer’s Market.
It’s one of those moments that feels like the embodiment of just because they can.
These days beyond all others, Shane thinks, feel more surreal than anything else. They’ve spent so long tucking themselves behind dark walls and harsh whispers that it feels odd to be out in public, in the sunlight, holding hands. But they’ve earned this, these unabashed minutes with one another, this time that feels precious, unyielding and theirs.
Which is definitely why Shane is doing his best to ignore the way his eyes won’t stop itching.
Both he and Ilya have seasonal allergies, so this is nothing new, but for some reason he just thought the universe would work with him instead of trying to kill him on this fine afternoon. Death by scratching his eyeballs out, apparently, just like that fucked up fairytale Cinderella was based off of. That’s what it feels like right now, like birds are poking at his eyes.
He sniffles, bringing the hand up that’s holding onto Ilya’s to rub his thumb along his eyebrow. His husband squeezes his fingers when he lets their shared hands fall between them, crossing the street towards the farmer’s market.
“I want a pumpkin.”
Shane kind of blinks at him, “What are you going to do with a pumpkin?”
Ilya purses his lips, smiley and giddy in a way that always makes Shane’s stomach flip. He’s happy—which he knows isn’t a one-off occurrence? But he feels like he collects Ilya’s smiles like small treasures. There was a time in which it didn’t always bloom so easily on his face. Like it took him far too long to relax, to be comfortable within himself and who they were to one another. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop or a door to close or for Shane to tell him that he just…didn’t love him anymore. That this wasn’t what he wanted.
As if Ilya could get rid of him so easily.
“Maybe make bread.”
Shane raises his eyebrows, “A pumpkin bread.”
“Da.”
He shakes his head, a small pull of amusement to his lips. He rubs at his left eye again, his sunglasses getting in the way. Jesus. It won’t stop running at the one corner, “They’re not in season, baby. Maybe try for zucchini.”
Ilya scrunches his nose at this, displeased.
“You can still make bread.”
“I do not want any other bread.”
A laugh rumbles in Shane’s chest as they enter the market, “Okay.”
“Insulting.”
Shane tugs him closer with their shared hands until Ilya tumbles a bit into his chest. He plants a kiss on his husband’s cheek and the sourness Ilya had painting his face over the lack of pumpkins quickly disappears, replaced with a soft smile that’s just for Shane.
The market is lined with tented vendors selling a variety of homemade goods and fresh fruits and vegetables. There’s a live band playing somewhere down the line, he can hear the soft tune of instruments mixed with people laughing and conversing about what’s being sold. Everything from candles, fat yarn scarves and patchwork bags, to local honey, coffee bean roasters, cruelty-free body lotions and woodwork for signs, ornaments and more. It’s an explosion of something that feels quintessential summer to Shane and this is the first time he’s been able to experience it with Ilya.
“I usually start down the left side and then come back up the right.” Shane says and gently tugs Ilya in the direction of where the fruit is, despite the haziness of his left eye.
He refuses to let seasonal allergies ruin this for him.
As suspected, it’s beautiful bringing Ilya here. He’s dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a flowy, short-sleeved white button down. It’s a little sheer, but mostly just when the sun hits it and half the time Shane can’t stop himself from staring at just how gorgeous his husband is. His curls are wide and golden, skin sunkissed, eyes bright and smile disarming. He’s talking to absolutely anyone managing whatever tent they slip under, confident and comfortable in his own skin in a way Shane never really has been. Not really. It’s not a mask.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that—right?”
Ilya turns his head at Shane’s comment, raising his eyebrows. Not because it’s seemingly come out of nowhere but because what he says surprises him. As cocky as Ilya is, as much as he probably knows how beautiful he is, there’s still something vaguely vulnerable and intimate to hear someone he cares about say it to him.
Ilya tugs him close, brushing a kiss over his cheek, “Yes,” He says, “You are.”
Shane rolls his eyes but his smile is small and warm.
They move lazily through the market, never really letting go of one another’s hands. Even as Ilya buys two small baskets of strawberries that they don’t really need and Shane rubs at his left eye again, a bit of wetness clinging to his cheekbone. He sighs a little impatiently, like he could somehow lower the pollen count by sheer force of will.
“Why are you crying over tomatoes?”
Shane huffs, turning his head to look at Ilya. He narrows his eyes, trying to resist itching at his left one again, “I am not crying.”
Ilya purses his lips, pushing his sunglasses up into his curls, “Your eyelashes are wet.”
Shane sighs, irritated with himself, “Why would I cry over tomatoes of all things?”
His husband hums, looks at the perfect selection of the vegetable in front of them before seeming to agree with this, “We could complain that lack of pumpkins at farmer’s market made the best player in league, Shane Hollander, cry—”
“Oh my god, I’m leaving.” But Shane is smiling, especially when he pretends to move and Ilya hooks his arm around his waist with a grin.
Ilya presses their bodies together, his front to Shane’s back, an intimate bubble being created where they’re the only two people on this street. In this city. In the world. There’s a playful nip in the form of a kiss at Shane’s neck, “Why didn’t you say your allergies were bothering you?”
There’s the end of a whine that leaves Shane’s lips, leaning back into Ilya’s chest. He rubs at his left eye with zero abandon, not even trying to hide it anymore, "Because I’m annoyed at how itchy I am,” He pulls back a little, turning to face his husband. “And I didn’t want to ruin the day.”
Ilya’s eyebrows draw together as he shakes his head, moving to gently take Shane’s sunglasses off his face before he clasps his chin between his fingers, “As if you could ruin anything.” He presses a kiss to Shane’s crinkling nose. “Did you take meds?”
Shane winces, “I didn’t think it was going to be that bad.” And honestly, he had been focused more on this. On spending time with Ilya, on getting a bunch of fresh goods that they didn’t need but were going to take home anyways.
Ilya hums lightly, a small smile pulling the corners of his mouth as he reaches into his shorts pocket and pulls out a foil square of allergy meds, “I know, I know,” He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “What would you do without me?”
A soft laugh rumbles in Shane’s chest as he plucks the allergy tablet out of Ilya’s fingers, “Probably have less strawberries.”
Ilya huffs as Shane takes the pill without water but then his husband is reaching into one of those small baskets he has in his hands and takes a strawberry out. It’s perfect, bigger than ones he might see tucked in plastic at a grocery store.
Ilya holds it up to Shane’s lips to take a bite, and he does. “We could make so many desserts with these to eat in bed.” Priorities, of course.
Shane smiles, licking his lips as some of the juice sneaks down his chin. Ilya follows it, leans closer and totally snags it with his tongue. Shane squirms, another laugh erupting from his chest, as if he’s not somehow more in love with Ilya every day over ridiculous and mundane things just like this.
“I love you,” Shane says after a moment, the tips of their noses brushing.
Ilya smiles, something warm and wholeheartedly touched, even after all this time. “I love you too,” He replies, reaching into the small basket for another strawberry. He bites into it, “Not more than these. Probably.”
Shane laughs, shoving his chest, stepping around him with a fond muttering of asshole before finding the woman working in this tent to take home some of the tomatoes to make a fresh spaghetti sauce.
His husband comes up beside him and slips his hand into Shane’s again and the next time they share a small kiss, Ilya’s lips taste sweet; like summer and home.
---
(Inspo for this came from Hudson fighting for his life during that one interview)
As you know, counting sheeps is perfect for sleep. Sheeps take that job very seriously. But some are still learning. It’s fine, I don’t think Wolf Hunter minds. 🐑🐑🐑
remember how utterly inescapable how i met your mother used to be with the memes and references and barney and bro code and wait for it... and then the finale was so hated it vanished overnight
The finale so successfully erased the show from public consciousness, that when people tried to come up with a name for the "extremely popular show with finale so bad that people just immediately stop talking about it" phenomenon, people called it... the Game of Thrones Effect. HIMYM got memoryholed so hard that people forgot it even existed
instead of david seeing shane and ilya making out against a window, both of shane’s parents find them wrapped around each other asleep on the couch. and they were already trying to be quiet out of respect for shane’s silent retreat, but now they’re truly speechless. until yuna breathes out an involuntary “oh,” and shane wakes up and sees them and sits up so fast he hits ilya in the face. ilya says “OW shane what the fuck?” and his nose is bleeding and shane holds his face and says “fuck i’m sorry are you okay” and yuna says “oh let me grab some ice,” and then suddenly shane is holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel to ilya’s face, still sitting in his lap, and ilya breaks the silence with a slightly muffled “hello. i am ilya.” david says, “um. two minutes for roughing?” and shane chokes out, “jesus fucking christ”
freckles (NC-17, 2,272 words) (i put a poll out about the number of freckles shane has but ilya has spoken for himself)
“How many do you have?”
Shane blinks, turning to look over his shoulder at his boyfriend as he cooks dinner. It’s another night at the cottage; the air is slightly cool as the sun goes down, but perfect to sit outside and eat. He can turn the fire pit on a bit early, maybe lay there with Ilya and look at the stars. It’s ridiculous how his stomach flutters at the concept, like he hasn’t spent time with Ilya in such an intimate manner before.
“What?” He laughs softly, unsure what Ilya is asking about.
Ilya steps closer to him, somehow predatory in his gaze; assessing. His eyes trail over his face, cupping Shane’s cheek. Shane feels heat gather behind his chest, dipping low behind his sternum like melting honey. Sticky and sweet. He finds himself closing his eyes as Ilya drags a thumb over his cheekbone,
“Freckles. How many?”
“Oh,” Shane shakes his head, pulling away just slightly so he can turn the fire off underneath the pot on the stove. He leans against the counter, “I don’t know.”
There’s a slight crinkle to Ilya’s nose, like this information somehow offends him. He leans closer, bumps their noses together and says, “There are thirty-two on your face.”
Another laugh rumbles in his chest because— “There is no way you counted the ones on my face.”
Ilya tilts his head, his hand moving to clasp Shane’s chin between his fingers, “Do you think this is something I joke about.” It’s not a question.
Shane touches the side of his own face, his eyebrows drawing together because he never…there’s really thirty-two on his face? Ilya seems to read that question loud and clear, his hand moving to drag his thumb down the bridge of Shane’s nose,
“They are here too.”
Shane should not feel so light-headed when Ilya leans in and kisses his cheek. Something soft and gentle and far too loving that it makes his chest want to crack wide open in the middle of the kitchen.
He clears his throat, “Dinner is done.”
Ilya hums, “YA sobirayus' dokopat'sya do suti etogo dela.”
Shane blinks, unsure of what Ilya’s said, but he knows him well enough to gather that it’s a promise.
—
It takes Shane one (1) time for him to realize what Ilya is doing.
They’re in the shower, slowly waking up together. Shane shifts to let Ilya slide under the showerhead, a soft yawn leaving his lips. He rubs his hands over his face and tries to mentally put his day together. He can feel Ilya step closer, pressing kisses along the back of his shoulders and neck and then—
“Fifty.”
Shane stills, turning his head to look at him over his shoulder, “Are you—what are you doing?”
Ilya runs both his hands through his curls, getting them out of his face, “I think you know.”
“Oh my god,” Shane reaches for the shampoo bottle only for Ilya to snatch it out of his hands. His boyfriend pours some into his palms and lathers it between his fingers before he begins to wash Shane’s hair. “There are probably more important things to keep track of.”
“No,” Ilya disagrees, one of his arms wrapping around Shane’s waist and tugging him back against him. A smile pulls at the corners of Shane’s lips. “Not for me.”
Shane rolls his eyes but it doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat, either.
—
It continues like this over the course of two days. Shane thinks he’ll eventually get annoyed with Ilya actively looking for patches of freckles all over his body.
But of course, he doesn’t.
—
“Ow.”
Ilya hums lightly, crouching in front of Shane as he sits on a large stone in the middle of the woods, “Who said hikes were good idea?”
Shane gives him a look, “They are when you’re watching where you’re going,” He winces, “Case in point.”
They’d been taking a walk (not a hike, a walk) through the woods in the back of his parent’s place while they waited for dinner to be made. It's a beautiful day, the sun high in the sky, lots of fluffy clouds, and a breeze. Shane’s always enjoyed being outdoors and he knows that’s not Ilya’s favorite, exactly, but doing things like this every so often isn’t going to hurt anything. Or well, unless your sneaker slides against gravel because you’re too busy looking at your boyfriend.
“You were checking me out,” Ilya grins, "Distraction makes sense.”
“Shut up.”
Ilya spills some water from the bottle he was carrying to clean the bit of road rash Shane has along his knee. It’s not too bad. When he gets back to his parent’s place he can get a band-aid and call it a day. His stomach does a ridiculous swoop when Ilya leans closer and presses a kiss right above the cut,
“Fifty-three.”
A huff of a laugh leaves Shane’s lips and he tilts his head back, “Right. That would be your concern right now.”
Ilya grins, another kiss, “Malysh.” Baby; a heated zing travels right down Shane’s spine. “Do you want me to carry you back?”
Shane playfully pushes on Ilya’s shoulder, “Fuck off, Rozanov.”
Ilya considers him for just a moment before he’s moving; a practiced speed. He scoops Shane up into his arms bridal style, regardless of the ridiculous squawk noise that leaves Shane’s throat, walking back down the path to Yuna and David’s home.
—
It’s one of those days where Shane feels exhausted. Between practice and obligations and expectations of tomorrow sitting heavily on his shoulders, he’s feeling worn down and slightly overstimulated. He tugs his shirt off his head, not wanting the fabric against his body. He tosses it towards the hamper in the closet and runs a hand over his face. He can hear patterned movement on the carpet approaching him, Ilya’s hand reaching out and gliding down his arm.
“Is okay if I touch you?” He asks, squeezing his fingers.
It takes a moment before, “Yeah,” Shane manages to reply, “Even though I feel like crawling out of my skin.”
Ilya gently pulls him closer, brushing his lips over his cheek, “You are tired,” He says softly, “Come here.”
There’s a depth of warmth inside his body that Ilya always seems to reach and understand without trying too hard. He knows that Shane’s overworked and drained and knows what he needs without Shane having to voice it.
Ilya tugs him towards the bed and pulls the sheets back. He props pillows along the headboard and turns to look at Shane, encouraging his sweatpants down and off. Shane plays with the hem of his briefs before he takes those off too. He waits, eventually allowing Ilya to manipulate his body on top of his own after he lays down in bed. Shane sinks into his boyfriend, his face tucked into his neck, his legs slipping between Ilya’s. Ilya, who has taken off all of his layers too, lets Shane get comfortable.
That skin to skin contact unlocks something in Shane, he can feel himself relax, muscle by muscle, bone by bone. He lets out a long sigh, no longer clenching his teeth, no longer trembling. Ilya guides his hand up and down Shane’s back, his nose and lips pressing a kiss to his head.
“That’s it,” Ilya soothes, “Dyshat'.”
Shane’s getting a little better at Russian but he still doesn’t know enough. Luckily, he doesn’t need that word translated, because Ilya takes deep breaths into his lungs, holds, and lets it out. He wants him to breathe. Shane closes his eyes, memorizes the pattern of Ilya breathing and copies until he completely unwinds.
Ilya’s hand strokes his hair, shifting his body a bit. He can’t see him smile, but Shane can hear it in his voice as he says, “Sixty.”
A laugh flutters from his chest, “Ilya.”
“Shane,” Ilya parrots back, his thumb tracing a circle underneath his ear, “Right here.”
He keens into the touch, isn’t shy about it, allowing Ilya’s touch to ground him. He keeps his eyes closed, listening to the solid beat of Ilya’s heart, “How many do you think I have?”
Ilya is quiet for a moment, then, “One hundred.” An amused noise rumbles in Shane’s chest at the very specific number, “I think I am right.”
And Shane knows he’ll figure it out, too.
—
Shane’s arms come up to cover his eyes for a moment, his chest heaving with shallow pants as he lays on his back. Ilya lies between his spread legs, arching one of Shane’s to rest over his shoulder. He peppers kisses along his inner thigh, getting close to his hard cock but never close enough.
“Fuck,” Shane pants, “Stop teasing.”
Ilya smirks, nipping at a spot near his knee, “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”
“I hate you.”
Ilya shifts to press a kiss underneath his belly button, mouth then brushing the head of Shane’s cock. Then the fucker licks his lips, “Mouth says one thing but dick says another.”
Shane swallows a whine when Ilya slips down his body again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of his thighs, sucking hickies—and then he suddenly stops.
“I swear to god, Rozanov, if you don’t put your mouth where it’s more useful—”
“Sixty-five.”
Shane’s mind goes utterly blank, “What?”
“Actually,” Ilya pauses, brushing his thumb over, seemingly, a cluster of freckles on his inner thigh near the swell of his ass, “Sixty-six.”
“Jesus Christ,” Shane pants, “I feel like you’re just making it up at this point.”
Ilya nips at the spot with his teeth, “I would never.”
All other thoughts melt right out of Shane’s ears when Ilya finally, finally, wraps his lips around his cock.
—
Ilya finds three more, in random places along Shane’s back, while he has him face down on the mattress.
—
While Shane drives them to the grocery store, Ilya holds onto one of his hands. He turns their palms over, smiling as he presses a kiss to Shane’s forearm. And finds two more freckles.
—
They’re drying off in the sun after swimming in the lake and Shane hands Ilya a bottle of sunscreen.
“Put this on.”
Ilya purses his lips, “You first.”
Shane rolls his eyes, a small smile pulling the corners of his mouth. Ilya thinks this will make him forget that he also needs sunscreen, but it won’t. Ilya squirts a small amount into his hands, lifting Shane’s arm to get his sides—
And presses a kiss to his ribs.
“Stop,” Shane lets out a breathy laugh.
“I forgot you are ticklish, but needed to be done.”
Shane hums lightly, “How many?”
Ilya grins, rubbing sunscreen into his skin, “Three.”
—
“How did I miss this one?”
Shane turns his gaze away from the book he’s reading, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion as he looks down at Ilya (who has been tucked against his chest for twenty minutes). Shane’s shirt has ridden up a little to expose a strip of his skin near his belly button and—
“This is getting ridiculous.”
Ilya pouts, “What’s ridiculous is that I somehow did not see this one.”
Shane squirms when Ilya presses a kiss directly next to his belly button, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, “How many is that?”
Ilya hums, getting himself comfortable again against Shane’s abdomen, nose burrowing slightly in his shirt. “Seventy-four.”
Shane smiles, a soft scoff leaving his lips as he trails his fingers through Ilya’s curls.
—
Ilya lets out a soft groan, as if he’s not exactly where he wants to be, when Shane plops himself down on top of him on the patio couch. It’s late, the stars winking in the sky, the fire pit at Yuna and David’s crackling as he and Shane wait for dessert to come out of the oven. Shane is wine tipsy, his cheeks flushed, his eyes a little unfocused, warm and top-heavy and his.
He wraps his arms around Shane’s waist, keeping him close, gliding a hand up and down his back before settling at the scruff of his neck. He squeezes, rubbing his thumb back and forth.
Shane lets out a sleepy noise that makes Ilya want to bite him, but he refrains. At least for now when there are glass doors that show Yuna and David in the kitchen.
“Dessert is probably cookies,” Shane says softly, “But I want ice cream.”
“I will get you ice cream.” Ilya replies instantly. He would figure out a way to get the moon if Shane wanted it.
Shane smiles against the skin of his neck, “Yeah?”
Ilya nods, brushing a kiss to his temple. “Whatever you want, moya lyubov'.”
There’s another hum that reminds Ilya of a cat purring as Shane settles against his chest, head tucked along his shoulder. Ilya strokes through his hair again and smiles as he pauses, fingering the top of Shane’s ear.
A freckle.
He feels like he’s done a pretty thorough job looking for these, as well as anyone can anyways. Shane must sense his hyperfocus because he clears his throat, “How many?”
“Total? Seventy-five.” He lets out a long sigh from his nose, as if in defeat. He thought one hundred was a good guess but, “The only time I do not mind being wrong.”
Shane smiles, pressing a lazy kiss to Ilya’s chest, his hand playing with the sleeve of his shirt. He tips his head down, brushing his nose along a mole on his bicep, “How many moles do you have?”
Ilya grins, “Maybe you should count.”
A soft smirk as Shane presses a kiss there, “Maybe.”
