-Ilya just lost his father to an illness affecting the brain and the person he loves most just got a brain injury and he doesn’t yet know how severe
-Ilya has been made to feel unwelcome by his family for years and probably isn’t sure if Shane will be mad that he’s there, tell him to leave, be embarrassed that he’s there, or laugh at him for thinking he wants him there
-It’s also notable that this is one of the few times they’ve interacted where hooking up isn’t an option, and when it wasn’t an option in Russia Ilya reacted coldly to Shane and told him to leave, and doesn’t know how Shane will react to a situation now where the only thing he has to offer is his presence
-And Shane’s reaction is unbridled delight at seeing Ilya and he makes grabby hands until Ilya comes close enough to hold hands with him
-Ilya’s family have never had problems showing how they feel about him, which is usually insults and contempt. Shane is affectionate with him but clearly has emotional walls up a lot of the time. This is the first time Ilya has interacted with Shane where he has no inhibitions blocking how he treats Ilya, and he treats him with so much delight and love and affection, showing that the only thing he’s been holding back is just how much he cares, rather than any judgements
-When Shane asks Ilya to come to the cottage he doesn’t say “We could have so much sex” but “We could have so much fun”. Showing that Ilya is not just a hookup but someone whose company he enjoys just as a person
-Shane mentions that he was already planning to ask this. Meaning it’s not a spur of the moment impulse because he’s high on pain medication, sober Shane was going to ask Ilya to come be with him as well
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(Inspired by @hutsonwoolyums post about Shane's scar)
(Buncha talk about god in here so if that's not your speed. Here's your warning)
Ilya was never much of a church-goer.
Wearing a cross wherever he went had certainly convinced some people otherwise, and it was easier to let people believe what they wanted rather than explain himself, but in truth he had about as much of a relationship with god as he did with a distant planet. Someone once told him it was there, so it probably was, but it had no impact that he could see. In truth he hardly thought about it at all.
His family had attended their local orthodox church every week on the regular for the sole purpose of keeping up appearances and never mentioned the teachings again for the rest of the week. Ilya sometimes had seen his mother pressing her cross to her lips and gazing listlessly upwards, but he never knew why, and knew better than to ask when he shouldn't have seen it at all.
The only time he remembered actually caring what his pastor said was when they held her funeral in that very same church. Even then, he couldn't bring himself to swallow it all down. If she really was gone, she had to have gone somewhere nice, no matter how she ended up there. It had been too horrible to consider anything else.
Church had slipped out of his schedule as easily as school after the draft. He just... grew out of it. And hadn't touched it since.
Still, rainy evenings like this one have a way of unearthing old things from the soil caked deep in his heart. Not usually good ones. Usually bad. But with every rainy night before, he hadn't had his husband lying shirtless over him on the back patio couch, tipsy on wine together as they listened to the summer rain.
Shane's head is tucked into his neck and his hand is pressed up beside his chest, thumb brushing idly along his ribs. The heat trapped between their chests wards them from the chill of the rain and the petrichor mixes with the smell of Shane's hair. Ilya's fingers trace gently back and forth along his spine. From this angle he can map out the expanse of Shane's back - every dimple, divot, scratch, and his favourite: the scar. A dark smudge along his left shoulder, a little raised in the middle, a little tougher than the rest of the skin.
Early in their hookup days, Ilya has suspected it was a hockey injury. Hockey seemed to be all Shane was; it wasn't feasible that anything else would be allowed to write on his skin like that. But the more they saw each other, the more Ilya allowed himself to think of Shane when he wasn't there, the more he saw of Shane behind the hockey of it all, the more stories he came up with, picking one of his choosing for his fantasy of the night. Sometimes he earned it saving someone from a burning building. Other times, he'd caught a stray bullet before neutralizing the shooter in a bold tackle. Often, he got it from the edge of a knife while defending some faceless damsel in distress in an alleyway fight. (If the faceless damsel grew progressively more blond and muscular and Russian the more Ilya played the fantasy, nobody else needed to know.)
When Shane finally told him he'd just slipped on a camping trip and landed the wrong way on a sharp rock, he'd expected it to feel a bit anticlimactic or disappointing. Oddly enough, he'd been pleased, strangely protective of the new little factoid, carefully tucking it next to the other little pieces of Shane he'd been jealously hoarding.
He doesn't need to hoard anything now. He can glut himself all he wants, and he does, fingers trailing all the way up Shane's spine to brush his long hair away from his warm neck.
He still likes coming up with new backstreet for the scar. Tonight, he thinks the scar looks like a perfect little lipstick stain. Like an angel kiss. Except he hopes it isn't, since the idea of anyone else kissing Shane, even an angel, almost threatens to pop the tranquil, drunk little bubble they're in. Almost. But not quite.
It's thoughts of angels that bring his mind back to church, and it's thoughts of Shane that remind him of Adam and Eve. The first humans. The first couple, the first lovers. Ilya wonders if they ever felt just as he does right now, if the nature of love hasn't changed since it was invented.
As his pastor told it, or at least as he remembers, Eve was created from one of Adam's ribs to be his perfect partner. To complete him perfectly, to be two parts of the same being always walking outside the other's body. Ilya knows the feeling. That's how Ilya knows love hasn't changed, not in all these thousands or millions of years.
Ilya circles a clumsy, gentle ring finger around the edge of the scar, dragging a little on Shane's humid skin, and hums something low and content deep in his chest.
"I think. This is where they took the piece of you that they made me with." This late in the evening, with this much wine, his voice is husky and his syllables have gone lazy.
"Hm?" Shane intones. Hardly a word at all, more of a slight buzz of lips against Ilya's neck.
"Right here," he taps, once, twice. "Tiny little piece of shoulder."
Shane laughs. Or, he would, were he not half asleep, so he makes a sort of chuffing noise in his nose and twitches his lips. "What're you saying."
Ilya turns his head to the side, just a little, bringing his lips even closer to Shane's ear, careful not to budge him. "When they made you, when they made my Shane, they said, 'oh, we have made such a good Shane. The best Shane.'"
"'M the best Shane?" he smiled.
"Best anyone," Ilya declares with a blind kiss to the tip of his ear. "Anyone ever. And then they said, 'this Shane we made, he is so good. He needs someone to love him, to care for him, make him lie down on the porch and drink wine, so this Shane must have an Ilya.'"
Ilya can see only a little sliver of Shane's eye as he squints it open to gaze up at Ilya. He looks like nothing bad has ever happened to him in his life, like all his pain has rolled off of his body like rain off a patio roof. "That's the best idea."
"Mmhm. Very smart. And they took little piece of you, from right here," he presses his thumb lightly onto the scar, right in the middle, "to make me." Ilya smiles down at him and brings his hand back up to Shane's hair. "Is why I was born after you."
"Oh yeah?" Shane hums. Ilya can feel the twist of his lips against his chest as he smiles. "Glad they made you, then. Just the way you are. They made you perfect."
"Only because you are so perfect to start with, lyubimyy."
Ilya looks down at Shane, gazes back at that little sliver of his dark brown eye, and feels like it all makes sense. Like he's clicked into place, exactly where he was designed to go, two parts finally made into a whole. He feels full. He feels complete.
As he tips his head back and closes his eyes, hands resting heavy over Shane's broad back, he listens to the storm and wonders if it rained in the garden of Eden.
I've been thinking more about the Grandpa Scott chirp situation. I liked playing with it at the end of this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/80197701 but I want it to reach a point where Kip tells Scott that the best thing to do is just lean into it, and after spending some time digging his heels in, Scott concedes this might be a reasonable option. If anything associated with Rozanov is ever reasonable.
Scott adds "The Grandbaby" to the list of cocktails in The Kingfisher. It's not really a cocktail, it's just a double of very nice russian vodka.
Scott starts sending Ilya birthday cards that say "To My Favourite Grandson" with ten bucks inside
Ilya LOVES this. Like, actually it makes him slightly teary. Obviously he can't tell Scott that though. Shane tells Kip that it's such a nice thing for Ilya, though, as he has no grandparents or parents left...and of course neither does Scott. Kip doesn't tell Scott what Shane says, but does encourage him to continue.
Ilya does a "shout out to my Grandpa on his birthday" during a post game interview, which the press accept at the time, but social media immediately has questions - a grandparent in Russia??? It didn't seem like he had support from family in Russia? His parents are both dead?
Scott scores a hat trick and the next day a fruit basket is delivered to the locker room with a card attached to the top reading "still got it Grandpa 🧡"
Scott gets asked about post game plans when the admirals play the centaurs, and says "family time" and the press are too confused to ask further questions. He later puts a pic on insta of him with Ilya out for drinks with #grandbaby on it and no other comment - the comments are a MESS. The comments are more of a mess when Ilya reposts it with #grandpa. Is this some weird sexual thing?! It's very much a pals picture though, and Ilya is definitely seen leaving with Shane.
Scott is mic'd up during their next game against each other so Ilya's chirp that "grandpa you need to speed up if you are going to score today" gets picked up followed by "swearing at your grandbaby isn't nice" after Scott flips him off. After that game Ilya gets asked about it by the press - "what's going on with you and Hunter referring to each other as grandparent/grandson?" "My grandfather is hockey fossil and still good enough to play in league I bet you all are jealous, no?" This backhanded compliment clears up precisely nothing.
Scott sends a "favourite grandson" Christmas card, and Ilya keeps it up on the fridge after the other cards get taken down
Scary Shane Hollander in between shifts on the Centaurs bench just staring into space thumping thumping thumping his stick on the ground to the beat of whatever industrial EDM track is going in his head because the team isn't playing well they aren't doing their job thump thump thump he can't be on every fucking shift he can't do it all for them thump thump thump "shane open your mouth and drink some fucking water" open mouth Ilya squirts water in swallow thump thump thump Haas misses another pass because Dillon ain't getting any better and should be sent down to Belleville to cook and pull up their winger who's showing some promise thump thump thump hockey is a team sport they gotta lock in they gotta put pucks in nets thump thump thump Shane has three cups and he wants four they need four the most important thing is getting another cup but at this rate they won't even make playoffs thump thump thump why is the centaur mascot a beaver thump thump thump
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Shane is spoiled. He knows that, his parents know that, his teachers, teammates, coaches, etc. He’s not blind to it. He would try in highschool but he couldn’t bring himself to care about algebra when his backhand needed work and he was preparing for international championships. Since he was first scouted for top youth teams at 10 and he started his first development camp, he knew he was headed to the NHL. His teachers had no problem passing papers that shouldn’t have passed, or folding to the weight of his mother’s emails when she demanded his homework be excused. Ms. Hammerson used to say, just remember little old us when you’re famous, dear and stamp an A on his lackluster book report. He’s an only child, an athletic prodigy, and the only grandchild on both sides of his family. Since he was 18, he’s been rich. Even before that, his family was comfortably middle class. He’s had twice weekly house cleaners, private nutritionists, prep chefs, personal trainors, agents, personal shoppers, stylists, wealth managers, accountants, his mother acting as conductor to everything, and so many more advantages. He’s used to hearing whatever you need, Shane. Don’t worry about it, Shane. Focus on the game, Shane, don’t worry about this. So yes, Shane is very spoiled. No is not a word he hears very often.
“No.”
They were sitting on his parent’s couch towards the end of their first summer in the cottage. Yuna and David were cooking and Shane was in the middle of watching a hockey game before Ilya, after a sideways glance, plucked up the remote and switched channels.
Shane blinks. “Give me the remote, Ilya.”
“Hm,” Ilya said, who is just as spoiled, but did grow up with an older brother. “Nope.”
“I was watching that game.”
“Is old recording,” Ilya said, flipping through channels without looking over. “It is my turn now.”
“Your turn?” Shane said. “This is my parent’s house. Give it.”
“Your parents house, my turn.”
Shane made to grab the remote and then Ilya did the unthinkable.
He yanked his hand up, away from Shane. “Go away, Hollander, I’m watching Ancient Aliens."
“Ilya.”
“Shane.”
That’s when Shane reached again and Ilya - Ilya flicked him.
“You - you!” And Shane pounced.
“Give me the remote!”
“Nyet!”
“You’re being a child!”
“You are not respecting turns!”
“Turn it back!”
The wrestled - Ilya only had one hand to fight with since the other was holding the remote far away from Shane’s grabby hands. Of course, neither one was using their full strength and Shane’s playful smile betrayed his actions. At one point, he tucked the remote under his chest and curled around it, but that led to Shane rolling them both off the couch. Now on the rug, Shane had just put hands on the edge of the remote when they heard a sharp -
“Boys!”
They both whipped their heads around to see a wide-eyed Yuna taking in the messed up couch, blankets strewn around, cushions everywhere, her son and his boyfriend tangled together on the rug, Shane's fingers brushing the remote Ilya was holding away from him.
Ilya, having more experience, immediately took the opportunity. “Yuna! Shane is not letting me have turn.”
“Shane,” her eyes zeroed in on Shane and narrowed. “Ilya is our guest.”
“But! Ilya isn’t a guest, he’s my boyfriend.”
“And he’s my guest. Honestly, you two.”
“I will clean pillows, Yuna,” Illya suggested sweetly.
“Thank you, honey.”
“But!”
“It would be nice for you to offer to clean sometimes, Shane,” Yuna uncrossed her arms.
“Yeah, Shane,” Illya smirked and it filled Shane with an unreasonable amount of rage.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Yuna said. “Shane, come help me.”
“But mom!”
Yuna turned to go back into the kitchen, catching her husband’s amused glance.
As Shane trudged into the kitchen, David told Yuna, “we always wondered what two would be like.”
“Mh,” Yuna said quietly as David wrapped an arm around her. “I haven’t seen Shane play like that for a long time.”
#myshane has a policy, after they're married, of never apologizing for Ilya. Partly because if he starts, he'll spend the rest of his life doing it. Mostly because he agrees with pretty much everything Ilya says/does, or at least finds it hot.
Chirping other players, on and off the ice? That's just hockey. Ilya knows where the line is and if he crosses it, you deserve it. Saying shit in press conferences that no one else ever would? Shane's actually more upset that his years of media training means he'll never be able to bring himself to respond that way. Being unhinged on the internet? Shane is blushing and kicking his feet.
Furthermore, Shane knows the importance of being a united front now. Even if Ilya did something that upset him (I think talking candidly about their sex life to the public would do it, and pretty much nothing else) he would never scold Ilya in front of others. Because Ilya is his partner, not his child.
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ilya had to broach something with shane. he really didn’t want to, but he had been working on his reticence issues in therapy and really was trying to be a better communicator in his relationship.
“shane?”
his husband had just opened the bathroom door after his shower, steam billowing out into the bedroom.
“yeah?” shane called back. a moment later he’s exiting the en suite, one towel around his waist, the other drying his hair.
ilya is not sure how to start this conversation. “i want to tell you about something,” he tries.
he sees the flicker of a hundred different thoughts in shane’s eyes as he processes his words: confusion, fear, wariness. he immediately wants to placate him, but isn’t sure how to. he’s trying to regulate his own emotions right now, and doesn’t have the energy to also regulate shane’s.
“okay…” shane says. he takes a deep breath and then takes a seat next to a shirtless, just woken up ilya on the bed.
ilya takes a deep breath to steady himself, before placing a hand on shane’s bare thigh. “something has been bothering me.”
okay—maybe not the most solid start. but he’s using his words!
“okay…” shane says again. “you can tell me anything ilya. i love you.”
ilya smiles a little at that and squeezes shane’s knee. “i know, moy lyubimyy.” he looks down to the floor before continuing. “i was wondering if … if you could maybe … not go for runs in the morning?”
shane’s eyebrows furrow, almost comically, with confusion, but ilya misses it, still having his gaze on the floor. “um? yeah? i guess? why?”
ilya hesitates for a moment before deciding to just come out with it. “i don’t like not waking up next to you. ever since you moved in you are always up and on a run when i wake up. and i don’t like it.”
shane is quiet for a moment, which prompts ilya to lift his eyeline back to shane’s. shane’s lips are parted and his eyes are already turning glossy; just a rim of water on his lower lash line.
shane then tackles ilya then to the bed, straddling his legs and wrapping his arms firmly around him. they breathe like that together for a second, before shane says, “yeah, ilya, of course. maybe we can switch to evening runs instead? and go together? we’ll have to work something out on game nights but—”
ilya cuts him off by flipping him over, taking shane’s position on top. shane’s towel is nowhere to be found, so he’s bare, and ilya is still in his sleepwear, which is just boxer briefs. ilya starts planting kisses all over shane’s face. “are you sure? do you mind? i could try and start waking up earlier instead?”
shane squirms from the attention and chuckles. “no ilya, i don’t mind. i don’t want you to wake up earlier; you don’t always sleep well. i’ll just adjust my schedule and go to bed a bit later so we have time for a run after dinner.”
ilya is surprised with how shockingly well this is going. he knows shane loves him, but he also know how much shane loves his routine. but maybe they can find a new routine together, now that they are husband and husband, and playing on the same team.
“thank you,” ilya says before flopping himself down into a full body embrace, still on top of shane.
he feels weirdly raw and emotional, tears forming in his eyes. shane just holds him tightly and doesn’t make a big deal about the crying, like usual when ilya gets like this. he rubs his back in soothing strokes, kisses his forehead a few times and whispers a barely audible, “ya tebya lyublyu.”
You asked for fic prompts and I am here to provide. After the events of TLG, Shane comes up with a creative way to make sure Ilya isn’t anxious on planes. This can be sexy or fluffy or funny…dealer’s choice! (No this isn’t on my mind because I’m on a plane right now why would you say that)
"Turbulence is not inherently dangerous," Shane says, flipping the lock on the bathroom door. The plane lurches again. It's been doing that on and off, not enough for the captain to even turn the seat belt sign off. Still, their honeymoon had been heaven, and now flying home feels like hell.
"Will first class save us from death in the air?" Ilya asks, bracing himself against the tiny bathroom wall. "We can throw money at this problem, yes?"
Shane shakes his head, pulling the drawstring on Ilya's joggers. "No. But Turbulence isn't dangerous. Are you listening?"
Ilya hisses when Shane's hand hits the bare skin of his belly. Shane's hand is one million degrees. Hot hot hot when he shoves it down Ilya's pants, grabbing his sweaty travel dick in the plane bathroom like it's nothing and jacking him to a semi. Even mortal fear gets Ilya a little hard.
"It's just air, baby. Spit?" Shane holds up a hand to Ilya's mouth. Ilya's mouth is dry, he hadn't drank any water because he didn't want to piss himself when the plane went down, but he works a sad string of spit onto Shane's palm. Because Shane asked. Shane gets his hand back around Ilya's dick, crowding him further against the bathroom wall, sliding his nose along Ilya's cheek. Ilya opens his mouth to breathe, panting onto Shane's lips. There's a little stubble on Shane's cheek. He shaved less, in Spain.
"Just air. And it wouldn't matter, even if it was dangerous."
Ilya threads his fingers in Shane's hair. Softness against his skin.
"Why doesn't it matter?" Ilya asks.
Shane's mouth covers Ilya's ear, his tongue flicking the lobe and sending a delicious shiver down Ilya's spine. Shane whispers his next words, letting his lips draw over the shell of Ilya's ear:
"We'd go down together. Never letting you fly alone again. Never letting you out of my sight, if I can help it."
He sucks Ilya's earlobe into his mouth and that, along with the fatalistic words falling from Shane's lips, sends Ilya over the edge. He groans, sliding half-down the wall with a wince. Shane kisses him quiet.
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Imagining that Shane & Ilya, who knew only each other’s bodies for years, have a rule where if one of them brings up a specific hookup or old injury, they both have to share a memory from that same year. Ilya brings up the first time he fucked Shane against a wall & Shane tells him that was the year he had to babysit Hayden’s kids while they had chickenpox. Shane mentions season where Ilya missed the playoffs because of a knee injury & Ilya says that he & Svetlana spent that summer day drinking & reading hockey RPF to each other in bad American accents. It’s almost an apology to one another. A way of saying “I’m sorry I couldn’t let you in back then, I’m so glad you’re here now”
