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"Any fun plans this summer once camps are done Captain?" Bood's voice calls out from the opposite side of the ice where he's helping two young female campers skate off the ice. One of them hasn't stopped sniffling during her entire time at camp, only here because her older brother wanted to sign up for it, so Bood's taken her and her friend under his wing, providing them with special attention while they navigate the drills and lessons. Ilya watches the trio fondly from his position at the rink door, mechanically removing his gloves as he winds down from the final day of camp. The air conditioning within the rink has been set to a particular low today; the dreaded heat of the summer dredging into all cracks and spaces of the building.
"Shane and I will escape to our cottage for a week. Spend some time with his parents and have a small celebration. Time to relax I think." His hand reaches out to help the smaller of the campers over the lip of the door, the tiny hand swamped by his own. Ilya has mentioned starting a family with Shane, now that they're out and things are somewhat slowing down in their lives. Shane is fairly insistent they wait until they're both retired—an age old argument at this rate—while Ilya reminds him they're old men now. They wait much longer and they'll be too old to take care of small children. Yuna agrees with Ilya, surprisingly enough, while David finds Shane's argument more compelling. Regardless, each of them wants a compact mixture of Ilya and Shane to spoil rotten and turn into an athletic machine, if said child wants to pursue them of course.
Bood's grin takes up most of his face."Fun! Cassie and I will be spending the week tucked away in our house, caring for the baby. Excited for your birthday? Really becoming an old man now." Ilya's smile doesn't reach his eyes but Bood is too far away too notice.
It's June 12th, three days until he turns thirty-five. His mother, Irina, passed away at thirty-four.
Ilya will officially have lived longer than his mother and he's not sure how to process that. His chest feels tight whenever someone mentions his birthday. Only Shane, his parents and Svetlana know the whole truth of his mother: her illness, her decline and her eventual death. Every year more memories become hazy; her face having blurred edges, her eyes mixing between blue and hazel. The fear of losing her entirely is one Ilya has held his entire life.
He wasn't able to save any clear photographs of her when he returned to Russia for his father's funeral. Polina, his stepmother, had already thrown out or destroyed any of the remaining family portraits that Irina had been apart of. All that remained were sparing heirlooms she had shown him in his youth. A nesting doll passed down from her grandmother that featured a scene of a handsome man on a horse approaching a beautiful woman in a flowing red dress, seemingly rescuing or possibly courting her. Various fake jewelry she would wear on the rare occasion Grigori would take her out for an evening (he insisted that her real jewelry should be kept locked away, protected). A crudely drawn sketch of her and Ilya done at a street carnival when he was either eight or nine, Irina holding him on her lap and nuzzling into his nest of curls while Ilya grinned toothily at the artist.
These items were locked away in a hand-painted box that Ilya keeps under his side of the bed. Shane knows of the box's existence but has never pried into why Ilya keeps it tucked away. There was one night, following a particularly brutal loss against Toronto where Ilya had been shoved so hard into the boards he blacked out for a few seconds, that Shane wandered into their bedroom and found him with the box on his lap. He was simply resting it there while staring quietly at the scene painted along the top. Vibrant colors swirling around two swans in a lake; a mama and her baby, cygnet. The mother swan's wings are covering the baby, seemingly wrapping around him, while staring off into the distance, as if waiting for a predator to appear. Shane's taken the box out many times to run his fingers across the smooth, indented surface, examining every detail of the art. He slowly approached him in that moment, careful not to startle, and sat beside him gently on the bed.
"Ilya? Are you okay?" Ilya's shoulders tensed at the light touch of Shane's hand on his back before melting under the soothing motions over his spine. He leaned into Shane's side and rested his head on his shoulder.
"I miss her. Today was hard. This week has been hard." His voice scratchy from disuse following the game. Shane's heart hurt at how tired his husband sounded. There were times he missed being captain, missed being the figure who his teammates turned too for encouragement and praise. There were also aspects he did not miss. Being the "face" of the team, constantly bombarded with questions that did not pertain to him, gossip being the forefront of most of the interactions between him and the media. A part of him was relieved to be traded to the Centaurs and give up his title, to simply be "Shane Hollander, Ottawa Centaurs Center" rather than the ostensibly long list of titles he's acquired throughout his career.
If he were able to take Ilya's pain, his stress, and rid him of any negative emotions by taking up the mantle of captain once more, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
Shane's touch had become firm as he moved in closer and wrapped his free arm around Ilya's front. They sat there for a little while and just held onto one another. Sometimes words weren't strong enough to express how deeply they felt for one another. Sometimes it took the action of clinging to each other, as if being separated caused physical pain, and simply waiting for any pain to lessen. Eventually Ilya began feeling better, kissed the side of Shane's head and returned the box underneath the bed.
He stood up and reached his hand out for Shane to take. "Let's make dinner, the salmon needs time to sauté." They had moved to the kitchen, the moment passing without a glance back, and began dinner.
"Ready to go?" Shane's voice appears behind him successfully breaking him out of his daze. Ilya turns halfway to find his husband already showered, dressed and carrying their bags. "Oh you haven't showered yet, I'll wait in the locker room while you clean up." Ilya nods while moving to follow Shane down the quiet hallway.
Once in the locker room, Ilya strips his gear off in silence. He's still stuck on Bood asking him if he's excited for his birthday. In his twenties his response would have been "hell yes". The Boston Bears knew how to throw an all out party that was for damn sure. His first few seasons on the team always involved some illegal element and strippers at every birthday celebration. Now all he wants is too spend an evening with his Shane and their loved ones.
Hollander really has domesticated me, he thinks. Turned into a fat, happy house cat.
"Was thinking we could grab some dinner on the way home. Maybe call ahead for an order from Aroma Meze then we pick up to take home?" Shane's fidgeting with his equipment bag, rearranging the smaller, organized bags he uses inside to keep each part of his gear separate. "Maybe we grab dessert cannolis from Bella's Boys? Remember that time we had them at three in the morning while tipsy? Had to eat salad for a week after that but it was worth it." Now finished with his organization, Shane sits relaxed on the bench while watching his husband continue to undress. He bites his lip when Ilya slips his boxers off, completely naked. "Or maybe we skip dinner and head straight home."
Ilya huffs a laugh. "Always so horny. No sweetheart," he places emphasis on the pet name, accent dripping over the pronunciation, "we won't skip dinner so you can complain to me later about not eating. Let me shower while you call restaurants, we pick up, eat dinner and then I'll take of you."
"Since when are you the poster child of taking care of yourself." Shane grumbles under his breath but is a note too loud so Ilya hears him. Ilya stiffens at the comment, one he is sure isn't meant to be more than a throwaway gripe, and gathers his shower supplies.
"Will be quick. Go ahead and call." He calls softly over his shoulder. Under the spray of the warm water, he finds himself sinking back into his earlier spiral. He is right. I am not a good example of someone who takes care of themself. Should not mother-hen him, he might get tired of it. Eventually. Maybe too tired. Then what do I have if he decides I'm too much. The last thought places a lump in his throat so large it hurts to swallow. He shakes his head, ridding himself of his destructive thoughts, and quickly scrubs the sweat and grime off. The locker room is quiet when he returns, water dripping down his chest as he holds the towel securely around his waist. There is a fresh bruise blooming on his side from where two of the older teen campers playfully shoved him into the boards, not realizing their own combined strength. They profusely apologized as Ilya winced while righting himself on the ice, him waving them off and reassuring them it was okay but to be gentler with their fellow campers. Those two would probably go on to be scouted as both of them wracked up points during the skirmishes. He lightly presses into the mark and hisses at how sensitive it still is.
Shane enters back into the room at the exact moment Ilya is pulling his shirt on. He tries to quickly pull his shirt all the way on but Shane catches a glimpse of the bruise before he can. He gasps, moving to Ilya's side and rucking the material far enough to see the mark. "You need ice, that looks so painful. Was this from when those two teen boys shoved you into the boards?"
"It's nothing, just little bruise. Will be okay, will put ice on it once we are home." He gently removes Shane's hold from his clothing and pats his hand. "Let's go before we get trapped here overnight. Carl did not like us staying so long last time we were both here late." Shane blushes at the memory of the ice technician finding him and Ilya making out in the locker room like a couple of horny teenagers. Shane couldn't look him in the eyes for a month, even though the man insisted that they weren't the first players to be caught "dry-humping" in the locker room. Ilya wanted to delve further into that assertion but Shane had cut him off and ushered them away.
"Fine. As long as you actually put ice on it this time and not just frozen peas."
"They work the same—" Shane's glare at him could cause a small animal to burst into flames. "Okay, okay. Will actually grab pack and put ice on. Now can we go?" He grabs their bags but Shane places a hand on his chest. "What—" He grabs the bags from him and heads out of the door.
"Shane I can carry my bag. And yours." Ilya calls after him as he trails behind. Shane ignores him, continuing down the dimly lit hallway to the back parking lot exit where their shared car sits alone. He presses the unlock key on the fob and carefully throws their belongings in the backseat before clambering into the driver's side.
"Ilya." His husband is climbing into the passenger side when he turns his attention back to Shane. "Let me take care of you. At least sometimes. Please. I love you and want to make sure you're okay." He moves his forehead to lightly rest against Ilya's, golden curls smushed as they retain eye contact. "I know it's hard to discuss things, trust me. You were the first person I've ever opened up too." His left hand raises to Ilya's cheek, thumb caressing gently across the skin underneath his mole, a touch much more gentle than his masculine physique presents. "We've already been through so much, please let me be there for you."
Ilya turns his head to press a delicate kiss to the pad of his thumb. "Okay. I will talk to you when I need to talk. Am just tired. It's been a long week of camp and my husband needs to be dicked down." Shane gasps softly and swats at Ilya's chest. "Was not truth? You were asking for us to skip dinner less than an hour ago."
Shane rolls his eyes, turning back into the driver's seat proper. "Yeah well if you're so tired," his tone turning teasing, "we don't have to do anything more than head back, eat and go to bed."
"Noooo," Ilya whines, his hand resting on Shane's thigh as he starts the car. "We haven't fucked in over a week. Need to pin you to our bed and fuck you hard." He watches Shane's dick twitch. "Or maybe you ride me on the couch hmm. Pretty husband riding me while I hold his hands back and let him use me for his pleasure."
"Fuck Ilya." Shane says breathily. "If you don't stop, we won't make it home."
Ilya hums. "Maybe is my intention." His hand moves further up Shane's leg and along the seam of his inner thigh. "Maybe I want you to ravish me in car like feral animal. Like puppy in heat, simply desperate for it." He moves to Shane's ear and blows wetly before licking the outer shell. His hand continues crawling upwards slowly until he's directly over Shane's erection and grinds downwards, feeling Shane grind up.
"Fuck Ilya, stop." Shane grips his wrist, forcing him to pause his ministrations. Ilya waits for Shane to calm his breathing before pressing a wet kiss to the side of his neck. "Ilya." The firmness in his tone has Ilya sighing and pulling himself back into his seat. "We have to go pick up dinner and make it home first. We can just throw the food in the oven."
A smirk grows at the edge of Ilya's mouth. "Oh? You aren't hungry anymore?"
"If you can't behave for another hour, there will be no having sex tonight." Shane's eyes meet his in the rear-view mirror; clear in his meaning of "I'm being serious and if you don't listen, I will withhold sex". Ilya settles his hands into his lap and turns to look out the window. Music is softly playing through the speakers—some new Ariana Grande song he's fairly sure—while he watches the Ottawa skyline zip by blurrily. Allowing his mind to wander is dangerous, hence why he was adamant to get home and be with Shane, but here in the calm of their nightly commute he feels at ease. The next few days of birthday mentions, congratulations and celebrations will be difficult but Ilya has gotten good at hiding how sad he really is.
His mama could never truly hide how she was feeling; her tired body outwardly weighing her down as if she was constantly wearing wet clothing. Ilya feels much the same most days but he refuses to show weakness. He loved Irina with his entire being but she simply was not strong enough for him. Her sickness convinced her that leaving behind her twelve year old son to fend for himself against a venomous father and an older brother who had already been poisoned with the wrath of the family tree was the only way.
A small part of Ilya hated her which in turn made him hate himself. It wasn't his mama's fault for her illness. Grigori and Alexei were always so hard on her. She struggled for so long, fought to leave her bed most days. It wasn't her choice to leave. It wouldn't be his choice to leave if it ever came to it. Ilya hadn't had a thought that dark in a while but remembering how his mama fought and fought and fought to be there for him but just couldn't, reminded him how much he too has to fight some days. He wants to talk to Shane about this feelings, about how some mornings he wakes up and feels as if he's paralyzed in their bed, but everytime he opens his mouth, a cottony feeling prevents him. Metaphoric wool trapping his emotions and preventing him from being honest.
Shane's hand finds his across the console. "We're almost home. Then your birthday week actually begins." He's teasing but Ilya's stomach churns. It will take much effort to maintain pretenses in front of their loved ones. He must prepare himself to be mentally and physically drained by the time his actual birthday rolls around. Bringing Shane's hand to his lips, he presses a kiss to the back before returning his attention to the passing lights of the city.
***
"They forgot our side of roasted asparagus." Shane calls from their kitchen as Ilya closes the garage door. He makes his way to their kitchen, the scent of Greek spices floating through the doorway, and moves to stand behind the broad back. "Here's your shakshuka." He hands the plate to Ilya, topped high with steaming lamb, peppers and egg. Shane's own plate had tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, red onions and a light dusting of feta cheese. While his diet has relaxed some—thanks to consistent visits to Galina—he falls back onto his reliable choices when coming down from the combination of the season ending and camps finishing. Ilya pecks his cheek and takes his plate to the table.
Dinner is comfortably silent; Shane's leg resting on Ilya's lap as they make quick work of their meals. Neither man has time to spare, ready to ravage one another after such a long week without having sex. They finish, bring their plates to the kitchen to wash, then find themselves sitting on the couch, the TV playing some random rom-com at a low volume. Shane's ankles are back in Ilya's lap as Shane absently rubs along the side of his feet.
"Hmm," Shane hums contentedly. "Keep pressing there, feels good Ilya." His eyes are slipping shut, which he does his best to fight but he's simply so cozy under the blanket and Ilya's touch feels so good and they've had such a long week. Refusing to fall asleep, Shane gently removes his feet from Ilya's lap and climbs onto his lap. Immediately he closes the gap between them, kissing hungrily at his husband, and grinding downwards onto his half-hard erection.
Ilya's tongue licks across Shane's bottom lip and is granted immediate entry. His hands find their way to Shane's ass where he gropes and uses as leverage to grind against the man in his lap. Pants and breathy cursing fills the room as they find themselves lost in one another. Shane bites down on Ilya's bottom lip and tugs as Ilya slides his right hand into Shane's loose shorts and palms at his dick over his underwear.
"Fuck 'Lya," Shane breathily moans against his mouth, "need you. Now."
And who is Ilya if not an adoring husband who fulfills his partner's sexual needs?
Dipping Shane back against the cushions on the couch, kissing down his neck and collarbones, Ilya strips him of his shirt first. Then quickly takes Shane's shorts off so he's left in his boxers, a tight black pair that drives Ilya crazy because his ass truly looks "nation dividing" in them (Ilya's words not Shane's). A trail of kisses down Shane's chest to right above his waistband and Ilya's moving so slowly to take them off, Shane's hips lifting naturally to slide the offending material all the way down, and honestly if he takes much longer Shane may have to get himself off alone and neither of them wants that so Ilya needs too—
Vibrations rock through the wooden surface of the coffee table. Shane's phone is going off and the call won't send to voicemail.
"Ignore it." Ilya growls from his spot above Shane's crotch. He begins pressing wet kisses to the material-clad dick in front of him. Shane curses but becomes distracted when his phone begins buzzing once more.
"Ilya I need to check and make sure it's not an emergency." Ilya glares lightly at his husband but moves off of him so Shane can pick up the call. "Mom? Hi what's going on? You've called me like five times. What I can't hear you, hold on." He moves off the couch, still hard, and heads towards their kitchen, where the signal tends to be the strongest in the house. Ilya flops face down onto the couch and prepares himself to be alone for at least an hour.
He's drifting off to sleep, eyes fluttering shut of their own volition, when Shane comes back to the couch and sits down beside him. "Yuna okay?" Ilya's voice is gravely; he was close to being fully knocked out.
Shane cards his fingers through the short loose curls at the back of his neck. "Yeah it was some legal issue with the Foundation's paperwork for camp, it was an emergency." Gentle pulls of the hair begins lulling Ilya back to sleep.
"Let me up," he insists, "want to fuck you now." Shane smiles fondly at him. The glow of the TV hits the side of his face and turns his freckles into a lit-up piece of art. They remind Ilya of disorganized groupings of constellations on bad days but on good days, he swears he can map the stars.
"You're almost fully passed out, come on," Shane stands while holding a hand out for his husband. "Let's take a shower then go to bed. We have all the time in the world over the next week."
Again something inside Ilya clenches at the mention of passing time and how much they have. His mama never got to consider how much time she had left, she had to struggle for years without someone properly taking care of her. He's careful not to let any anxieties show. Taking the offered hand, he stands and follows him to their humongous walk-in shower (Shane insisted they indulge in a few modifications in their Ottawa home) and strips quickly while Shane turns the water temperature to the perfect warmth. Once they're settled inside, the cascade of the stream hitting their sore muscles and soothing the tension they hold, Shane faces him. He's so beautiful, Ilya thinks, too beautiful for me. He's not worried that Shane will find someone else or cheat but there are fleeting moments where he remembers that he is too good for him, too kind, too passionate. He leans in and presses open mouthed kisses along his neck.
"Ilya." Shane whispers, barely audible under the storm of the shower. "Not tonight. Tonight let's go to sleep and you hold me." Ilya pulls back and presses one final kiss to Shane's collarbone. "Want me to wash your hair?" He nods then turns around, bending slightly so Shane can reach the top of his head.
Once finished cleaning off the remainder of their exhausting day, they dress for sleep and climb tiredly onto the massive bed. Shane does his nightly routine of fluffing the two pillows he sleeps on, taking his glasses off to place on his nightstand—he's truly an old man now—and cuddling into Ilya's side while waiting for him to be ready to go to sleep. So many small fragments of time are taken for granted. Ilya would never miss the opportunity to study his husband's relaxed form at its most comfortable. The flush of his cheeks when he's embarrassed. The slight droop of his widow's peak as their age begins to show. The permanent scar on his right shoulder from when one of the Pike children accidentally smacked too roughly with a hard plastic toy while he gave them a piggyback ride.
Shane Hollander is the most caring individual in Ilya's life and he doesn't believe he deserves even half of his attention.
"What'sit?" Shane slurs drowsily where his head is burrowing further into his pillows.
"Nothing malysh." He feels Shane shiver at the pet name. Baby. He nuzzles into the back of Shane's neck, breathing softly against the warm skin. They sink lower and lower into the comfort their bed, their home, provides.
A decade ago Ilya never would have given himself the chance to imagine this life with Shane. Too cruel of a fantasy for him during their time of growth and self realization. Now he isn't sure what he would do if he didn't have the family he does. Not entirely sure if he'd even still be alive.
"Goodnight Shane."
"Goodnight Ilya."
***
Three days have passed and Shane Hollander is pumping hot air into miscellaneous shaped balloons. Yuna has taken Ilya to town as a distraction while Shane, David and Hayden work on party setup at the cottage. Hayden's grumbles have been drowned out by the voices of his small army of children while Jackie works on the cake in the kitchen.
"Why does he need so many fucking decorations?" The balloon slips off the air pump nozzle and floats noisily into the air before fully deflating and smacking onto the pavement. Hayden growls with frustration and grabs the next one.
"Dollar in the swear jar Hayd." Shane chides. "Ilya went above and beyond for my birthday last month and deserves the same. Don't argue." He cuts Hayden off before he can argue. David watches the paid amused as Hayden continues fighting with the pump and Shane gently coaxes him into helping elsewhere.
"Boys," their attention turns to the command in his voice, "time for us to get serious and finish. Your mom and Ilya will be back in about an hour and we still have to decorate the living room." Shane smiles sheepishly at his father. Hayden pokes his side and mutters something that sounds vaguely like kiss-ass under his breath but Shane ignores him and joins his father further out on the patio.
"This patio brings some good memories. And some not as ideal memories," David jokes. Shane's cheeks flush with embarrassment at his father's reference to the summer he caught Shane and Ilya making out, half-naked on the same patio. "Ah you know I'm teasing." David brings a hand to Shane's shoulder and squeezes gently. "You two ended up being the best things to happen to one another and your mom and I couldn't be more grateful. You gave us the second child we never got the chance to have."
Shane looks up to find his father holding back tears. Yuna and David tried for a second child two years after Shane was born but due to unforeseen circumstances, the pregnancy led to a miscarriage in the second trimester. Shane was a toddler at the time and no recollection of there being a potential younger sibling but his parents were silently devastated. They didn't mention their attempt to him until the summer before he was drafted. "It was too difficult to burden you with until you were ready sweetheart," Yuna had calmly assured him. Shane hadn't known what to feel, never having had experienced a secret that large.
If it was any consolation, he ended up keeping his sexuality a secret from them for almost the same amount of time. One could wonder where he picked that trait up but the proof is in fact written on the walls. It appears the Hollanders would rather carry their burdens close to their chests than inflict them haplessly onto their loved ones.
He pauses and thinks of Irina, who felt entirely alone in one of the largest countries in the world, even though she had two growing boys. How she had tried really hard but some things in life aren't that simple. A brief reminder that Ilya was the one to find her, only twelve, probably rushing to tell her something that had happened that day only to find her already gone. His stomach twists, tears burning the corner of his eyes. Ilya has already been through so much. He deserves to be taken care of.
"Dad," Shane says softly, "I'm glad it was you who found us. I was freaking out terribly, so worried what you and mom would think of me. For being gay. For choosing Ilya. And he was the one who talked me into going to talk with you two. Even offered to come with if it helped. That's when I knew I had chosen the right man in Boston, no Montreal men needed." David chuckles.
"Point taken. Alright enough mush, time to finish setting up before your mother flays us alive once they get back." He claps his son's shoulder twice before grabbing various colorful ribbon to messily hang inside. Shane shakes his head fondly at his father's sudden bout of energy—he's climbed atop their coffee table and begun throwing the ribbons over the light fixtures—and turns at Hayden's approach.
"Will Rozanov really like all this? Doesn't it feel too… girly?" Shane's smile drops as he turns towards Hayden fully.
"It's not girly." His tone is clipped; he has turned on "Interview Hollander Mode". Hayden winces already opening his mouth to apologize.
"I didn't mean it like that, you know what I meant."
"I'm not sure I do. Colorful party decorations have been assigned to a specific gender? I hadn't heard that yet, I'll make sure to alert the press."
"Shane, come on." Hayden waves his hand in the direction of the interior of the cottage. "This is all just a bit much for someone like Rozanov don't you think. He's used to strippers and drugs at his birthdays, I mean he was a bit of a "whore" back in the day—"
"Hayd I love you." Shane effectively cuts him off. "You're my best friend besides my husband but if you're going to make snide comments under your breath all night, I'd rather you stay away from Ilya."
"But that would mean staying away from you!"
"Not my problem. Ilya has been nothing but civil to you for years. Your children and Jackie adore him. He is family and you need to reign in whatever issues you have with him because he isn't going anywhere." It's clear that Shane has been wanting to get that off his chest for a while, possibly years even, and with everything simply mounting and mounting and mounting, it was high past time to check Hayden for his weird behavior towards Ilya. Shane and Ilya are godfathers to all of their children for fuck's sake. "Is that understood?"
Hayden lowers his gaze but nods. He looks similarly to a scolded child, which he essentially has been, his brows furrowed in frustration. "Yes, I'll keep my mouth shut." He raises his head. "But that means Rozanov also has to chill with his chirping!"
"No promises there Hayd, it's his birthday after all." Shane picks up some of the hockey themed inflatables and begins walking towards living room. He calls back over his shoulder. "He'll behave if you behave, that's all I can guarantee."
Before he fully turns around, he watches Hayden lose control of the balloon he was inflating. The offending purple and blue rubber zips dangerously across the sky before smacking him squarely on the nose. Shane fights to hold his laugh in but a shape noise escapes him when Hayden proceeds to trip backwards onto the deck while holding his hurt face.
***
The party is winding down, fireflies gently glowing around the remaining few guests, and Ilya can't stop smiling.
Most of the Centaurs were able to make it so the inside of the cottage became overcrowded fairly early on. Tables and chairs were carried outside, grown adults sprawling across the yard and dock, children of players running wild, giggling and having fun. The cottage was alive that evening.
Bood, his wife Cassie in his lap, raises his half empty beer can towards Ilya. "Happy Birthday Cap, here's to another year and even more hockey." The surrounding hockey players cheer while their spouses roll their eyes. Harris cuddles further against Troy on the love seat, his own can of cider tipping dangerously, and sighs.
"Can't believe Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are both in their mid-30s. Teenage me never thought I'd be working with them much less good friends." Troy's thumb traces along the back of Harris' wrist, humming in agreement.
"Good friends? Since when did you designate us as that Harris? To me you're still a social media manager who baby trapped Troy Barrett." Ilya teases. Shane is sitting on his lap, feet tucked underneath the arm of the chair. Harris glares playfully at him.
"Oh fuck off Rozanov. Remember who posts all those ridiculous video ideas you come up with in the middle of the night." He pauses. "Also baby trapped? We don't have kids, what are you talking about?"
Ilya faux gasps. "Don't ever refer to my nephew as not your child." He makes a display of reaching to the floor and petting a half asleep Chiron. "Don't worry, you can live with your fun gay uncle and his sexy husband." He yelps as Shane pinches his side in retaliation. "What! Is true! You're the fun gay one and I'm the sexy husband."
"Watch it dear," Shane's tone teasing but dangerous, "otherwise you'll sleep outside on your birthday and your back already can't handle that." A chorus of whistles sounds around the space, Wyatt even going as far as enthusiastically clapping at Shane's chirp, while the man in question blushes at the sudden attention. Ilya presses a soft kiss to the side of his neck, grinning into the warm skin, and sighs. A large, winded dramatic sigh. Giggles start up at his theatrical display of betrayal. He bends backwards while clutching his left hand to his chest and the back of his right hand to his forehead. Muttering about how his husband "despises him" and wants nothing more but for him to "suffer".
Shane kicks his foot into Ilya's leg and takes the hand on his chest into his own. "My husband should have taken to the stage rather than shoot pucks for a living." The group murmured in agreement before a loud yawn. All heads turn towards Luca Haas, who is sheepishly looking at his feet where he sits on the deck.
Ilya raises a brow and says, "You are tired Haasy? Past bedtime for rookies? Makes plenty of sense as you all tend to party too late and have random hook ups."
"I don't have random hookups!" Luca protests. "Not that it's any of your business but I've actually been on three dates with the same—erm, individual." The group ignores his deliberate use of a non-gendered term and cheer for him.
"Let's go, Haas getting some finally!" Wyatt places his palm in front of Luca, intending for him to highfive him but instead the younger player playfully shoves it away.
"It's not like that. We're just going out sometimes. Nothing serious, taking it slow."
"Taking it slow can mean also getting laid Luca."
His head spins so fast, Shane is worried he may have seriously injured his neck. "Cap that is quite literally the opposite of taking it slow." Ilya waves his hand back and forth in a so-so gesture.
"Irregardless—" "Regardless" "Yes regardless, thank you malysh, is good for you to explore and meet new people who are not your teammates. You spend so much time with just team Haasy, we wish for you to go out and make non-job related friends."
It's Luca's turn to be confused. "I have friends outside of hockey. Most are back home but I've made quite a few friends here in Ottawa. You all thought I didn't have friends outside the team?" No one wants to fess up so Shane gently directs the conversation.
"It's not that Luca. Take Ilya for example, he came to Boston with no friends or family and was a pain in the ass to everyone for years." "Hey!" Shane adjusts his position on Ilya's lap before continuing. "Coming to an entirely new continent alone is terrifying. We just care about you rookies in way many of us didn't receive when we started out. The locker room has always been an area where either you join in or get ostracized. Good people in hockey don't want that anymore."
Luca nods while listening to Shane's concerns. "I understand but no need to worry about me. I have plenty of people outside the team that I consider close friends." He tilts his head up to meet Ilya's eyes. "Thank you Captain." He stands up and stretches his back, twisting side to side, popping joints that may get him in trouble with the team's physical therapist. "Well, I do have to call it a night. My flight back to Switzerland leaves early tomorrow. Goodnight everyone, happy birthday Cap." As time ticks on, more and more couples begin saying their goodbyes. The Pikes had wrestled their children into their van and left a few hours earlier—"Happy Birthday Rozanov." "Ah thank you Hayden Pike, maybe it will finally get easier for you to beat me now that my bones have begun to ache."—and only Troy and Harris are left to leave.
"This was a good party Cap, thank you for inviting us." Troy awkwardly claps Ilya's shoulder in the manliest way he could. Harris hides his laughter behind his hands while the two stare at one another, waiting for someone else to say something. Shane moves around the two to give Harris a quick hug goodbye.
"Thank you both for coming. Tonight was a lot of fun and I think everyone combined helped keep the old age at bay." Ilya swallows and smiles at the group beside him.
"Yes, feeling much older being surrounded by rookies all the time. Nice to hang out with the older crowd." Harris shoves his shoulder lightly.
"Who are you calling old grandpa? I had pictures of the both of you on my wall before I knew I was gay. You both are pretty old now." Ilya again smiles but Shane notices it appears forced. He takes his husband's hand and they say one final goodnight to the couple and finally close their front door.
Shane turns to Ilya and watches him for a minute. His eyes rake over Ilya's face, his body, his posture. He knows something is wrong but he has to analyze how best to approach the situation. When Ilya feels backed into a corner, he turns mean, viscous in an unintentional way. "Did you enjoy the party?"
He notices how Ilya's jaw twitches before replying. "Da. Thank you for surprise it was nice." He moves towards Shane and grips his hips before placing a kiss on his jaw. "Now is time for us to celebrate."
Shane's breath catches as his husband nips along his neck, leaving small, red bite marks and finally pressing another kiss firmly onto his jaw. "Ilya," he breathily says. "Wait let's—I want to talk about what's wrong first."
"Nothing is wrong." Ilya licks his way down to Shane's collarbones and begins adorning them with hickeys. "Can't want to fuck my husband on my birthday? Is not a normal request? Or maybe he'd rather blow me with those full lips of his?" Shane shivers as Ilya thumb moves across his bottom lip.
"Ilya please." He tries a second time more firmly. "Something has been going on the last few days and I want to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine Shane!" The outburst startles them both. Shane leans away from Ilya and looks him directly in the eyes.
"Clearly you are not fine if you're snapping at me. Now please talk to me." Ilya's shoulders drop as he realizes his husband is simply as stubborn as he is. Blissfully ironic. He steps away from Shane, takes his hand and leads him to their room.
"We aren't having sex until we talk Ilya, I'm serious.'
"Shane." His voice suddenly so tired. Shane sits on their bed and waits for Ilya to sit beside him but he does something much more surprising.
He lies down on the bed and rests his head in Shane's lap, just as he had during their first trip to the cottage. Shane waits for Ilya to say something—anything—but they just sit in silence. He cards his fingers through the curls at the base of Ilya's neck and feels his husband sigh into his thigh.
"My mother passed away at thirty-four."
Shane's body stills but his hand keeps brushing through Ilya's curls. He remains quiet while Ilya gathers what he wishes to share.
"I've started forgetting her some days. Sometimes I wonder if I remember her features correctly. Were her eyes green? Or blue? This past week has been very hard." He pauses, a wet breath escaping as he shakily continues. "Should have told you this before but this week… bad thoughts have started again." Shane bites his lip to stop a whimper. His husband who remains so strong in public has had crumbling walls his entire life. "I remember mama's struggle and how hard it was for her and think, it's not fair. It's not fair that I'm still here but she can't be." A sob releases from him as he holds Shane's thigh against his cheek. "I miss her Shane. I miss my mama."
"Oh baby, come here." He helps Ilya clamber into his lap and hugs him as tight as possible. He guides Ilya's face into his neck; warm tears flowing down the front of his shirt. "I'm so sorry Ilya, you've been struggling on your own this entire week? I should have noticed sooner, I'm so fucking sorry."
"No, no Shane is not your fault." Ilya tries to lean back to reassure him but Shane simply holds his head tightly into his neck.
"Ilya, you felt as if you couldn't talk to me about how you were feeling. So I am sorry. I love you so fucking much." They rock back and forth on the bed, soothing one another as emotions continue to overflow and spill out. "I wish I could have met your mother. The way you've described her too me, Ilya, she was so strong just like you. She fought as long as she could and for that I thank her." Ilya does lean back now, confused why Shane would thank his mother for her suicide.
Shane raises his hand and traces Ilya's cheekbone with his thumb. "If she hadn't fought for as long as she had, we may never have met." A fresh bought of tears fills his eyes and he dives for Shane's mouth. Their kisses are open sobs of need for one another; displays of intimacy that no other person has ever been graced with. Shane pulls away this time.
"Let me take care of you. Please." Ilya nods and Shane places his hands underneath Ilya's massive thighs. "Wrap your legs around me." He'd never admit it but Ilya does, in fact, let out a squeak when Shane lifts him easily.
His husband carries him to their bathroom: equipped with a shower, bidet and a claw-foot bathtub. Shane sets Ilya on the toilet seat and draws warm water for a bath. They don't indulge in overly-frivolous beauty products but there is a delicious smelling bubble mixture that Shane will purchase cases of if they ever discontinue it. Lavender and persimmons. He pours some into the water and mixes it with his other hand. He then walks over to Ilya and helps him take his shirt off.
"Let's take a bath together then I think we need some sleep." Once naked, Shane walks them over to the bath and helps Ilya step into the water. The Russian's chest clenches at how gentle Shane is with him. No one has been this careful with him since, well, his mother. He leans back into Shane's hold once they're both settled in the water. Shane grabs the bottle of shampoo Ilya loves and pours some onto his hand. "Going to wash your hair now okay?" Ilya nods and dips his head forward.
Shane's slow and methodical with his hair washing, ensuring he scrapes gently over Ilya's scalp, while applying enough pressure to actually wash his head. He grabs the water pitcher to rinse the suds out then repeats the process with the conditioner. Shane's never washed anyone besides himself. Ilya placing his trust into Shane, faith that he would not tug too hard at his hair or accidentally get soap in his eyes, sends butterflies through his stomach. Neither man has ever wanted to take care of someone like this before. Ilya was thrust into caretaker when his brother refused too help take care of their sick father. For someone else to decide he's worth it, that he's meant to be taken care of, means the fucking world to him.
His hands work their way down Ilya's back, kneading into the knots along his spine, drawing small noises of content from the other man. Shane presses kisses along his shoulders, his back, his neck. Taking care of Ilya is one of his favorite things to do, but he especially loves how much Ilya clearly loves it. He watches as his shoulders relax, tension slipping away, as the warmth of the water seeps into their skin.
Once out of the tub and dried, Shane leads them back into the bedroom and helps Ilya into his softest pair of sweats. Shane sits him down on the bed--not necessary but Ilya enjoys the manhandling--and runs back to the bathroom to grab them both a cup of water. He comes back with two glasses of water and a bottle of Tylenol under his arm. "Take two of these for your headache." Ilya follows his instructions, the headache being from the loss of hydration in his body, and waits for how Shane will direct them next. Shane isn't "babying" him in the sense that Ilya could manage all of these tasks on his own. His husband is taking care of him because he desperately wants someone to notice how badly he needs to be taken care of. They forego a shirt, skin-to-skin contact will provide the best comfort, and climb into bed together. Shane drapes himself across Ilya's back, making him the little spoon, and kisses the back of his neck.
"I love you so much. You're the most important person in my life Ilya and if you ever need me, tell me. Please. I don't know what I'd do if… If I woke up one day and you weren't here anymore, that would be it for me." Ilya sniffles softly into the pillow, pulling the arm wrapped around him closer. "You mentioning that today reminded me of the almost plane crash all over again and it took everything in me not to break down." Shane whispers.
"No, never. I couldn't do that too you Shane."
"I know. I know. Just please talk to me, I want to be there for you when you need someone. Or call Galina. Don't suffer in silence anymore."
"I promise sweetheart." He presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Shane's wrist. "I promise to talk to you next time I get sad like this."
And this is a promise he could keep. He couldn't protect his mama like he promised her over two decades ago but he could protect Shane from the same grief he endured.
For the first time, in a long time, Ilya whispers a prayer in Russian before falling asleep.