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But there’s something about his Shane like this, wine drunk and a bit top-heavy as Ilya tries to maneuver him through the cottage front door and towards the kitchen. His body is solid and warm, smelling like laundry detergent and mint shampoo and something purely Shane. His cheeks are rosy and eyes glazed and he won’t stop smiling, especially when Ilya locks eyes with him. 

“Hi.” He says, possibly for the twentieth time since they left the bar. 

And Ilya smiles right back, pressing a kiss to the bridge of Shane’s nose, “Hi.” He whispers. 

They pause in the entryway, Ilya closing the front door with his foot. Shane is wobbly and off balance, like some sort of baby deer, something he’d never be on the ice. The dichotomy never fails to blow Ilya’s mind a little bit. His hands come down to Shane’s hips when he tries to move. 

“Shoes.” He says because Shane won’t want them on in the house. 

Shane blinks, like he somehow forgot he’s even wearing anything on his feet. He nods, looking down almost too quickly, his hand clamping over Ilya’s shoulder as he struggles to toe them off. A soft whine leaves his throat and Ilya hums lightly, 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “I got you. Hold still.” 

Ilya crouches to the floor, encouraging Shane to hold onto his shoulder as he unties his sneakers. He slips the right off, then the left, and then makes the mistake of looking up at his husband in this position. Shane is staring at him through his pretty lashes, his mouth slightly open and it takes everything in Ilya to stand back up and not put his mouth to better use. He presses a few kisses to Shane’s cheeks, gently clasping his chin with his fingers, 

“Bed?” 

“Pancakes.” Shane replies. 

Ilya’s eyebrows draw together, like he’s somehow not translating something correctly, “Bliny?” 

And Shane smiles like Ilya has offered him the sun, as if this pancake thing wasn’t wholeheartedly his idea. He wraps his arms around Ilya’s waist with enough force that they almost teeter off balance, “Yes.” 

A warm chuckle rumbles in Ilya’s chest, running a hand down Shane’s spine. Pancakes. It’s one AM and they both have practice in the afternoon but Ilya isn’t going to pretend that he won’t give Shane whatever he wants. They wander towards the kitchen and Shane sticks to him like a barnacle as he gets out the bowls and ingredients. He turns his head every so often, shivering when Shane’s lips brush against his cheek. 

He’s done mixing the batter when Shane announces, “I think you should kiss me.” 

Ilya swallows over heat that sparks embers in his chest, turning his head again to look at Shane. His Shane, who is so beautiful as he stands close in the golden light of the kitchen, shirt a bit ruffled and hair a bit messy, longer as some strands bow over his forehead. Warm cheeks and wet lips and it’s taking everything in Ilya not to press him against the counter and fuck him. 

He grabs at his chin again, running his thumb over his lower lip, “You think?” He says softly, “Say what you want.” 

Shane leans his forehead into Ilya’s, his hand moving to thread through his curls, tugging just a little. He speaks against his mouth when he says, “Kiss me.” 

Ilya does. The words are barely out of Shane’s mouth before he’s gently backing him into the counter and kissing him. A soft moan vibrates against Ilya’s chest and his hands move from clasping the sides of Shane’s face to slide down his neck and shoulders. Ilya squeezes his sides before his fingers grab onto his hips, hoisting him up in a fluid motion so that his husband is sitting on the counter. Ilya slots in-between his legs, Shane’s ankles hooking along his lower back. 

He turns his head into the kiss, licking into Shane’s mouth, making him keen out the sweetest noises that go straight to his groin. He pulls back after a moment, breathing a little heavily, kisses peppered along Shane’s jawline until he presses one to his freckles. 

“Ilya,” Shane grabs onto his shirt, not wanting him to move. He’s incredibly squirmy on the countertop, inching closer like that’s somehow possible. 

Ilya hums lightly, tipping his chin up to look into Shane’s eyes. “You are too tipsy, Hollander.” 

“I don’t care,” Shane huffs, his eyes closing. His head dips forward until it’s resting on Ilya’s shoulder. 

Ilya rubs the back of Shane’s neck, gently squeezing the muscles for a moment. “I do, malysh.” He whispers, turning his head to plant kisses behind Shane’s ear. His husband shivers, swaying against him, tipping between staying awake and passing out. He cups Shane’s cheek, running his thumb over the bone, “Bliny?” He asks again, just to be sure. 

Shane smiles and nods. 

Ilya smirks, pulling back to get the pan out. Shane tries to follow him but Ilya shakes his head, firmly pushing on his hips, “No, sit.” Then nips at his lower lip with his teeth, “Stay.” 

The soft directive spills over Shane like warm honey and he nods, obeying, as Ilya makes pancakes. He pauses in the middle to get Shane a glass of water, rubbing his knee with one hand as he flips pancakes with the other. 

Once there’s a stack of three on a plate, he sets them down near Shane’s thigh and gets out the butter and syrup. He grabs at the edge of one of the pancakes with his fingers, breaking off a piece to pop into his mouth as Shane slathers the top with butter and haphazardly drizzles syrup over everything. He nearly gets it on Ilya’s hand but he doesn’t seem to care, he’s too busy stabbing a forkful and taking a bite. 

The sound that leaves Shane’s lips is downright diabolical and Ilya has to shift on his feet and breathe out slowly through his nose. 

“Good?” He asks, moving to brush syrup off Shane’s chin with his thumb. He puts it directly into his mouth, Shane watching with keen interest. 

“So good.” 

Shane eats the majority of the pancakes, sighing contently as Ilya cleans up. He reaches out for Ilya and hooks a hand around his elbow, tugging until he’s standing between Shane’s legs again. 

“The room is still spinning,” Shane tells him a moment later, crinkling his nose in such a way that it bunches up his freckles. Ilya almost drops to his knees right there and then, “Which is rude.” 

“Very,” Ilya agrees instantly, cupping both sides of Shane’s face. “What do you need?” He seems a little more sober than before, the pancakes and water doing their job. His gaze isn’t as distant, his smile a shade softer, his squirming just a touch more regulated than before. 

Shane leans forward, their noses brushing in a bunny kiss. It’s late, they should get to sleep. Ilya needs to clean up plates and pans from the pancakes because he doesn’t want Shane to wake up hungover and grouchy to a messy kitchen. 

And yet Shane kisses him, slow and steady, intimate but not hinting at anything more—an indication that they’re not moving from here any time soon. He cups Ilya’s cheek, his fingers stroking through his curls, keeping him close, “Just need you.” He whispers against his mouth and Ilya wraps his arms around Shane’s waist, squeezing him, kissing him again. 

Ilya says and puts the dog down who just bounds around Ilya’s feet, panting and looking up at Ilya expectantly, pawing at him until Ilya begins to scratch and pet behind his ears, now settled with the attention he’s receiving.

(Shane empathises with the dog for half a second before he kills that thought dead in his own mind)

“Isn’t he cute?”

Ilya asks and Shane is so taken by Ilya’s panting sweating beaming smile, sun backlit Ilya, all white crooked teeth and moles and dimples and sweat patches under the armpits of his uniform.

He smells like sweat and body wash, and nothing like the hospital, the bitter pinch of antiseptic that burns Shane’s nose by the end of a shift. The afternoon air is fresh and warm around them and Ilya smells like a man.

Shane blinks hard and looks down at the dog who is settling down to lay on Ilya’s feet, its big brown eyes and dark brown coat and wet nose and he is, very, very cute.

“Mm it’s nice you finally have a friend here” Shane replies and takes a long sip of his coffee. He doesn’t always like dogs but this one seems settled, less unpredictable than others. It’s not that he doesn’t like dogs really- it’s just they don’t always like Shane? Animals can make him feel confused because he can’t tell their vibe. Shane doesn’t like that.

Ilya is looking at Shane still and Shane is keeping his eyes on the dog because he can literally feel Rozanov’s body heat rolling off him and that’s enough as is, he needs a break from his face. and body.

“Do you like dogs?”

Ilya asks and Shane nods automatically, wanting to go with the conversation, like usual it’s easier to agree than have a conflicting opinion. Who doesn’t like dogs. Whenever people find out they freak out- how can you not like dogs !!! And it’s tiring it’s just he doesn’t always like all of them, ok- it’s just it’s a case by case thing.

“Well. Um” he shrugs and doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t really- Ilya has a way of making him tell the truth somehow and-

“Is ok, if not- but this guy is very nice, maybe you can say hi” Ilya says and then he’s sitting on the concrete ground of the carpark, the dog between his legs and then he’s looking up at Shane. Puppy eyes. Shane thinks.

“You want to say hello to my friend Shane?” Ilya is speaking to the dog then, in the same patient voice Shane’s heard him speak to the kids at work before.

“He is a mostly very grumpy busy man but I think he could do with a friend” Ilya pets at the dogs sides, two hollow pats and turns her so she’s sat in his lap, looking up at Shane, her dark face and panting tongue under Ilya’s chin.

Shane bites his teeth into his bottom lip hard and he frowns a little an says “I’m not grumpy” and then realises his tone of voice and literal frown and then he leans back and relaxes his face. He is not grumpy.

Ilya shrugs and seem content petting and loving on the dog and Shane doesn’t want to go back to the department yet, his ears are still ringing from the screaming kid they had to get a cannula in and the dog looks patient and sweet and it’s quiet and fresh aired out here and Ilya is at his feet, with a stupidly cute dog and well.

Shane reaches one hand out, just a little sway of his arm and then the cool wet nose of the dog is nudging and nuzzling at his wrist and it makes Shane shiver a little but it’s not bad.

“He stinks like hand sanitiser, kinda yucky huh baby? but it’s ok” Ilya coos to the dog and Shane tells him to “fuck off” and Ilya gasps and covers the dogs ears. And Shane rolls his eyes.

Idiot.

Handsome idiot. Shane will not be playing back hearing Ilya say those words he won’t acknowledge the flip in the pit of his stomach at it.

Shane turns his hand to pet at the dogs snout and over his head and down, gentle pets over and over that the dog leans up into panting happily and Shane ignores how close his hand is to Ilya’s skin, the skin of his neck and and jaw and he can almost feel Ilya swallow, pinky so close to crazing his Adam’s apple with each long pet.

The air feels like summer and Shane wants, his mouth feels, empty.

It feels like spring in his fingers. A breeze rolls around him, pushes through his hair and over the back of his warm neck and he blinks hard. His eyes drag over Ilya’s face quickly, a wash of hazel eyes and pink mouth and white teeth. He presses his lips together and breaths slow, feels his heart pulse.

“Wow. He cured your grumpy! This is miracle” Ilya beams then and his warm voice, bright laugh makes goosebumps break out over the back of Shane’s neck and down his arms.

“Mmm. He must be a miracle worker to stand you for this long” Shane mutters and then Ilya laughs again, bright and loud and now Ilya’s whole hand is in the dogs mouth, letting the dog use it as a chew toy, swaying his hand back and forth to make the dog chase it, laughing at its little nips.

“Ah Shanya you are funny man” Ilya says and Shane frowns.

He’d started calling Shane that sometimes two weeks ago- and Shane can’t figure it out still.

He knows he’s making fun of him he’s just not sure how. It doesn’t seem obvious like the other ones he’d gotten in highschool like brace face or specs.

He’s tried google, (tried asking his 20 year old new grad like about like new insults or nickname trends and somehow that ended up in her getting Shane to make a tiktok with her (pleaseeeee Shane! It’ll be so good) and like he did because she is a total sweetheart and gonna be a great nurse and Shane knows she had a rough shift yesterday and if it’ll make her day a bit better then- fine) But anyway the point is that Shane did have to learn a dance to some song called midnight sun but he did NOT find out about the meaning of Ilya’s new teasing nickname.

One of these days Shane would find out what exact way Ilya was making fun of him.

“Get back to work Rozanov” Shane replies and starts to back away, hiding his laugh behind his coffee cup when the dog turns and headbuts Ilya’s chin hard, making his eyes shoot up in surprise.

“This is work! He is most important client” Ilya calls back and Shane rolls his eyes, turns to walk back to the ward and ignores the feeling of eyes on him all the way back.

Shane does NOT lie in bed that night and think of the beam of Ilya’s face. He doesn’t think of the heat and mass of his body, the teasing tone of the “Shanya”.

He does NOT think of the way Ilya hadn’t pushed about the dog, but given Shane a way to approach it, safely if he wanted.

He doesn’t think about it at all, he gets into his cool sheets of his empty neatly made bed and pulls his weighted blanket high on his chest.

He pulls his extra pillow into his arms and doesn’t think about the cold and the space and quiet. Doesn’t think of the warm warm of skin and the low light of the afternoon and the breeze and the smell of a man, doesn’t think of the pant of Ilya’s breathing and the ghost of his Adam’s apple bending Shane’s knuckles.

Shane takes a deep breath in his too big bed, stretches his legs out across the cool mattress and curls his toes down once, twice. He shifts a hand to rub at his chest, between his pecs when parts of his day flow back through his mind, his discomfort that he’d pushed to the side over for the last twelve hours. It has a way of blooming back at the end of the day when the mask has slipped off.

He pushes his palm in, and rubs in slow circles the way his mum has taught him for the first time when he was six and he’d come home from kindergarten shivering and stinging everywhere inside, feelings so big and faceless they were pulsing and hurting. And his mother had whispered “you are here baby, you’re here. with me, and you’ve got it, you’ve got it”. He doesn’t usually get to the shivering stinging inside anymore, but it still helps, for even just the days that stretch him that little bit too thin.

He puts on a podcast his dad recommended about orcas to fill the quiet and closes his eyes to sleep. Not for one second does he think about hazel eyes and big smiles and warm skin.

That’s not for him. Not his.

“At home” Shane answers, flat and honest.

Ilya whines, a sad sound in the phone, a sound Shane has never heard the alpha make before.

“Need you” Ilya exhales, and then he cuts into rambling Russian, the slick sound picking up.

Shane is listening shamelessly, phone pressed to his ear and fucking Rozanov is calling him in his rut? Shane scrubs a hand over his eyes. Things with them are already so impossible. So- so. Shane sighs and hears Ilya let out a small moan.

“Come here. I have my knot. For you, puppy, to fill” his words are stilted, accent so thick- like when Shane first met him all those years ago, he sounds far away- out of it- high.

“I can’t” Shane answers, swallows hard. “I’m hours away Rozanov, it’s your rut, we- we can’t” he exhales, shakes his head, trying to tell himself that. They can’t.

Ilya growls. And the sound makes Shane bite back a whine, shove his fist again his mouth.

“don’t want?” Ilya asks and it’s a taunt, it’s horrible, it makes Shane’s stomach ache. The wet sound of Ilya working himself is quicker, messier and Shane thinks of Ilya’s hand around his cock, of him fitting a toy over his pretty thick cock, of pushing his knot into it.

Ilya starts whining in Shane’s silence, a low horrible sound that makes anxiety twist in his stomach. That makes him want to go to him. To make it feel better.

“No- it’s not that” Shane confesses, sure that Ilya won’t remember this anyway- must have been in some thick haze to have even called him in the first place. They had their rules, this was breaking one, clear and obvious.

“Why” Ilya grunts and Shane exhales hard, drops his head and presses his fingers firm into his eyelids.

“It’s. Rozanov I’m in Montreal, you’re in Boston. I can’t get there”

“Fuck” Ilya grunts low and angry and more Russian, jumbled words that Shane can’t follow but they sound so pretty, even if they are garbled and frustrated.

“It. hurts” Ilya grits out. “Won’t. Won’t stop” he huffs.

Shane is so hard he might die and his head is spinning and he feels starving and dizzy and he fuck- he’s so fucking wet, he can feel it between his legs, messy and slick.

“Keep making knot” Ilya continues. “Knot for puppy” he croons and Shane almost drops the phone, bites down so hard into his own fingers they throb.

“I just want. Fucking need to- I Want” Ilya rambles Shane interjects, nervous of the end of the sentence.

“Give me your knot then, alpha, please, it’ll make it better okay? Let me hear you” Shane asks, heart thundering in his chest wild and rampant.

Ilya croons, mumbles a “yes yes” before it’s slurred and spacey Russian, words Shane doesn’t know.

Shane feels his own cock pulse and he pictures Ilya there, over him, mindless. His need desperate as he ruts inside of Shane, hands and mouth pulling at him biting him, pinning him on his knees, presented up to his alpha.

Fuck. Shane’s hands might be shaking.

“Please alpha it will be better if you cum, if you give me your knot yeah? It’ll feel all better” Shane says in a soft tone, clenches his thighs and relaxes them, squirms at the hard throb of his cock pushing against his sweats.

“Please” Shane says again and Ilya cums then, a harsh desperate whine, shaky moan that draws out and leaves Shane feeling raw, chest cracked open. So so wet oh god fucking wet it’s dripping down the backs of his thighs.

Ilya goes fuzzy in the line then, almost complete Russian, happy croons and a few sad sounds, ruffles of sheets, fabric. One soft utterance of “puppy” before Ilya falls asleep. Shane’s hand is numb wrapped hard around the phone, legs heavy and mind reeling. He hangs up when he can make himself, fits a hand around his cock over his cock and comes in three squeezes of it, making the mess inside his sweats even worse.

Shane can only hope Ilya was as faded in his rut as he seemed to be, that he won’t remember it. What Shane said.

The air is biting and fresh when Shane pushes the fire stairs door open into the evening air. He forgot to grab his jacket but the cool air is nice after ten hours in the ward, the recycled air and sting of hand sanitiser under his nose. Shane takes a long pull of fresh air and his shoulders drop a few centimetres being in the open, cool space. Then he smells the smoke. Shane turns his head and there here is, Ilya leant against the wall, exhaling smoke in the low light of the evening. His face is still drawn, blank, it still makes Shane’s stomach twist. Wrong wrong wrong.

Shane walks over and leans against the wall a few meters down from Ilya, scuffs his sneakers against the concrete under his feet. It’s silent and he listens to Ilya take another long drag, then exhale. He tries not to wrinkle his nose at the smell.

Shane seems Ilya move out the side of his eye line and turns, sees Ilya’s hand has extended his cigarette towards Shane. “You smoke now?” He asks and Shane shakes his head.

“Ah” Ilya says and ashes the cigarette towards his own feet before he brings it back to his mouth.

“Needed fresh air” Shane says with a shrug and Ilya just nods. He’s so quiet. Shane feels unmoored.

“Me too” Ilya says after a moment and Shane watches Ilya turn his head to exhale the smoke through his nostrils away from Shane.

“Looks like it” Shane muttered before he can think it through and it does draw a small scoffed laugh from Ilya.

“Ah.” He says, and then he drops the cigarette and stubs it out with his shoe.

“You ok?” Shane asks, and bites the inside of his cheek- he’s never been subtle, and he can feel awkward navigating around tension.

Shane chanced another look at Ilya who shrugs, is not biting at his thumb nail. “Yes” he says and it’s quiet again. It makes Shane’s palms itch. He feels useless. He hates it.

“Okay” Shane says softly and he pushes off the wall, regretting his decision to come up here. He doesn’t even know Ilya that well, he’s a work acquaintance at best. Maybe he’s pushing one of those lines other people seem to know, but not him.

“Is um” Ilya’s voice comes rushing out and Shane pauses.

“Angry father- code was just long. I’m tired” he says and Shane nods, pushes the pad of his thumb over the inside of his middle finger.

“You must be. It’s a lot. Here” Shane says and then doesn’t have any other words because that’s the truth of it really. Ilya just nods, nods. Shane watches him pull out another cigarette and tuck it between his lips but he doesn’t light it, just fiddles with the lighter between his fingers.

It’s quiet and the air is nice and when just stays, closes his eyes and listens to the click of Ilya’s lighter. Shane’s device buzzes and he sighs, can see one his patients has pressed their call lights.

“I gotta” Shane says, points to his call device and turns to face Ilya properly then, and sees the drawn look of his face, the shine in his eyeline. Shane feels this horrible ache in his stomach, he wants to- he wants to hug Ilya, or brush the curls up out of where they have grown long and spilled into his eyes. He looks young and alone and Shane wonders not the first time what Ilya goes home to, who he goes home to.

If someone sits and has dinner with him and asks him about his day, holds his hand when he talks about the bad parts. Wonders if someone knows how bad the part parts of his job are. Shane wonders if he goes home to an empty quiet apartment like himself, wonders if he turns the tv to sleep on so it’s not silent like Shane does, so he doesn’t have to keep thinking. Shane grits his jaw and swallows that feeling away.

“Of course” Ilya nods, his mouth twitches in an almost smile. “Thank you for fresh air” he mutters and Shane watches the way the cigarette in his mouth jumps with the movement of his lips.

Shane smiles and nods, turns around and listens to the sound of Ilya finally lighting his cigarette. Shane wonders how many he’s had and he shoves that thought all down with the worry with the rest of it, with the pull in the low of his stomach to turn around and smooth a hand over Ilya’s shoulder, the back of his curls, for try fix him, make him better. It’s what Shane’s good at.

When they are together for real, they talk about it, all of it- Shane understands who Ilya’s father was, how he lost his mother, the depression that seeps in. All the detestations that made up his lovely Ilya. All the things he never would have guessed lived under the surface of him. All the ache. Ilya brings it up, that night on the roof, when Shane tells Ilya he wants to know how he be there for him. Tells Shane he’s always know how to be there- that him coming up and just being with him then, listening, not letting him be alone or forcing him to speak. Shane already knew then.

Caring is something that comes naturally to Shane, had lead him into his work, something important, demanding, challenging, but guided by looking after, keeping safe. Shane had faced his one challenges with comfort in the world, finding ways to be, and if he could afford others some comfort, relief, care- that mattered to him, help them navigate the ‘big scary’ of illness and injury.

Ilya- it’s different, he has aches that are invisible, deep. But Shane knows he is devotional to making him feel safe, supported. Understood. Comfortable. In the big and small. Make him a part of his family, make him feel safe to speak his mind, to use ‘lazy English’ as he calls it around Shane. To be silly, to be vulnerable.

But Shane has gotten so good at loving his Ilya. Especially on his bad days.

Ilya comes home after a particularly bad day- a violent aggressive father in the ED, a trigger for Ilya already and the man had gotten physical, gone to push a nurse and Ilya had gotten in the way. He knows he can’t lay hands on anyone and he doesn’t, but he’ll take the violence so others don’t have to. It hasn’t mounted to much- the police had arrived shortly after. Ilya had been left with very little damage to him- some scratches across his shoulder and chest, a small bruise on his arm.

Ilya had called him on his break, short stilted words to explain, rough sounding and Shane had pressed his head to the dining table as Ilya spoke, explained, in short sentences how he was loud and mean and cruel to the staff how he yelled and the kid had heard and seen it all, had only been ‘so little Shane’.

When Ilya gets home, Shane already has the bath almost full, a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and on the bench in the kitchen by a small glass. Ilya walks in and Shane is right there, in a pair of sweat shorts and his glasses, his book abandoned on the couch. “Hi baby” Shane says softly, and he’s opening his arms and a split second later Ilya is fitting himself into them, face smushed into Shane’s neck. He stinks like cigarettes and sweat and Shane smooths his hand over the back of Ilya’s head, over his thick curls.

“Hi” Ilya voice is small and Shane scratches gently at the base of Shane’s neck with his blunt nails.

“Я скучала по тебе, мой маленький червячок” Ilya whispers and Shane smiles, he knows those words, missed you and little worm. He was always worm to Ilya when he had his glasses on, born of Ilya’s delight at learning the English phrase bookworm.

“Okay?” Shane asks, still scratching at the base of his neck in slow circles, feeling the weight of Ilya sink down onto him, leaning into Shane with his full warm weight.

Ilya just shrugs and Shane feels wetness on his neck, a small sniffle.

“Better with you” he mumbles and Shane wraps his arms around his shoulders, squeezes him hard to his body, shivers when Ilya’s arms wrap tight around his lower back, squeezing until his feet lift off the ground.

“Alright baby, come on” Shane says after a few moments, brushes at Ilya’s cheeks when he pulls back, clean his face with his knuckles.

Ilya pouts his lips a little and Shane smiles, leans in to kiss Ilya softly, sweet pecks of their sliding lips, trails them around Ilya’s mouth and chin and nose.

“Let’s wash up yeah?” Shane says and it’s easy then, Ilya follows Shane like a heavy shadow, wrapped around him as he gets Ilya a glass of vodka, then guides them up the stairs, into the bathroom.

Shane gets ilya out his uniform, piece by piece and tucking them away into the washing basket. The lights in the bathroom are low, dimmer all the way down, and Ilya watches him with heavy eyes. Shane lets him. Once he’s naked Shane kisses across the marks on his chest, noses against them.

They climb into the bath, Ilya first with his glass in hand and Shane slots himself in behind him, pulls Ilya back into his chest.

“There we go” Shane breathes, guides Ilya’s head into his neck, and feels Ilya settle there with a big heavy sighs Shane gets his nails against Ilya’s scalp, begins long slick scratches that he knows Ilya loves. Scratches along his hairline and around his ears, rubs at his earlobes. Shane waits till he’s drained the glass of vodka, placed it on the ground beside the tub before he asks.

“Want to talk about it?” Shane asks and Ilya shakes his head. “No” he says then softly and Shane nods. Sometimes you have to let the bad things live there- in the hospital, not bring them home with you. It’s something he’ll always respect, both of them do, when other says it’s not something they want to talk about.

Instead, shane washes Ilya’s hair, slowly and with the fancy hair mask that smells rich and a little sweet and Shane loves smelling on Ilya’s curls days later. They don’t talk, just Shane’s soft instructions to tilt his head, lean back. Ilya’s eyes are droopy heavy by the time his hair is clean, a big heavy weight on Shane. Shane holds his head in one hand and kisses over his forehead, his brow, his eyelids, across the highs of his cheekbones.

“What do you want for dinner honey?” Shane asks between pecks, hand between Ilya’s pecks, rubbing gentle circles.

“Ooo take away?” Ilya asks, voice heavy and half asleep. “On a Tuesday? Naughty Shane” he jokes but his voice is syrupy and slow, missing his usual teasing bite.

“Mmhm” Shane smiles and sucks little kisses along Ilya’s cheek, down to his mouth and nuzzles their lips together.

“Even McDonald’s if you want” he muttered into their kiss and feels Ilya smile against his lips.

“Woooow” Ilya whispers back and Shane feels a small smile there, between their kisses.

It makes his heart go warm. There he is.

They kiss lazy and slow in the bathtub until the water is cold. Ilya sulks at them having to get up, whining and Shane collects his big sad puppy in a towel, around his waist bundles him into his chest and kisses his nose, under his eye, the corner of his mouth.

“Love you ilya” he whispered, Ilya’s curls dripping water drops down their faces, between their mouths. Ilya nods.

“So much” Shane breathes, knocks their noses together in a nuzzle.

“And I’ve got you” Shane mutters, tucks the words into Ilya’s cheek, and feels Ilya’s arms squeeze him closer, another little nod.

“Okay. Okay” Ilya says and pulls back to press their foreheads together.

“Pizza?” He asks and Shane smiles because he knows Ilya would prefer McDonald’s but he knows Shane will eat pizza with him, where as he’ll eat his meal prep if he gets McDonald’s.

“Pizza” Shane confirms.

They make a nest of the couch, blankets and pillows and Love After Lockup on tv- nothing like trashy reality tv to clear the mind. They kiss and eat pizza and Ilya kisses him with pizza greasy lips and tucks fingers down Shane’s shorts with a cheeky little smile and Shane sees his Ilya coming back, in slow pieces, finding himself here again where he’s safe to be. Safe to let the feelings surface when they do and wash under when they do. To just be with Shane. However that looks.

Shane blows him on the couch, slow and wet, fingers tangled up in Ilya’s, keeps him in his mouth after until he goes soft and shivery, tugging at Shane to come back up to kiss him.