Shane and Ilya don’t know Cliff’s full name.
And they should, because they all live together. Shane and Ilya are married. They joke-but-not-really-joke that Cliff is their common law third spouse. They are deeply devoted to and in love with each other. They’ve been talking about having kids together.
Which is why Shane is stunned one day when he realizes he doesn’t even know Cliff’s fucking name.
He’s pretty sure he’s asked in passing at least once if it was short for anything, and he thinks Cliff just kind of laughed and said no. But Shane doesn’t think he was being serious. Not like Shane had been when asked what his middle name was before the wedding and informing both Ilya and Cliff that he just… doesn’t have one.
So finally, when they’re all piled on the couch one day, Shane asks him. “Cliff is short for something, right?”
Cliff glances up from the tabloid TV he and Ilya have been watching religiously. “Uh, yeah, it is,” he grunts, and doesn’t offer anymore than that.
Shane isn’t letting it go. “Well, what is it? Clifton? Clifford?”
Ilya, the shithead, starts snickering on Cliff’s other side. “Like big red dog,” he needles.
Cliff looks decidedly uncomfortable. “No, neither of those.”
Shane gives Ilya a Look. The smarmy grin slides off his face like water. Oh. This is important. He sits up a little, leaning toward Cliff at the same time Shane does. Careful not to box him in, but also showing they’re not making a joke.
“Will you tell us?” Shane asks quietly. “I wanna know. Please?”
Cliff eyes them both. “You have to promise not to laugh.” He pins Ilya with his glare when he says this, because that’s the one he’s most concerned with.
“No laughing,” Ilya replies, and his voice is even and low. Serious. Intent.
Cliff takes a deep breath. There is a subtle, yet recognizable shift in his face. His eyes soften at the corners and shine faintly with a glimmer of vulnerability. That loud, affable shield of masculinity drops, just for them. Shane wants to hold him whenever he looks like that.
“It’s… it’s short for uh,” he fumbles, glancing down and swallowing hard. “Heathcliff.”
Shane can’t help it; he gasps a little. It’s not what he was expecting. It’s so… sophisticated. And he recognizes it, too, because his dad likes Wuthering Heights.
His gaze snaps to Ilya to make sure he’s not dissolving into giggles. Ilya is smiling at Cliff, but it’s a genuine, kind smile. A loving smile. “Heathcliff,” he murmurs softly, and Shane can see the shiver that passes over Cliff when he hears it.
“My mom read a lot of the classics when she was pregnant with me and my siblings,” Cliff says sheepishly, as if he has to justify his own name. “But it always sounded so weird and pretentious, I just went by Cliff for, like, ever.”
“It’s not pretentious,” Shane argues, patting his thigh. “I love it. Heathcliff. It’s… rugged. It’s cool.”
Cliff relaxes by degrees as the two settle closer to him. They kiss either side of his neck and take turns whispering his name against his mouth. He’s quickly overwhelmed by the emotions it stirs up, but it’s okay.
He never could have imagined he’d ever hear his full name spoken by either of these magnificent men, let alone both of them at the same time.
It’s a very good name, he decides, especially when they both whisper it into his skin like a prayer.