ᴍ ᴇ ɴ ᴀ ᴄ ᴇ

[]Make a deal with God.... Indie Selective Maxine Mayfield from Netflix's Stranger Things Bee est. 2022

Which he realizes once the door closes, and Ilya has left him, just as he requested, but done so with a melancholy that lingers in the air. He leans his head back over the edge of the tub, closing his eyes, taking a shaky breath and shaking his head. "Fuck." The tightness that coiled in his chest when he was talking to the therapist that hadn't stopped when he'd sat in his car for almost an hour, or gotten home to his husband.

There's no use sitting here after saying he wanted out, though the water is still warm, meaning it felt more like a waste, particularly because he had been so shut down about it all. He didn't want to do that again, talk about Montreal more than he had to when he had to. It was a place he'd lost: been thrown out of the organization basically, and lost the respect of the fans, and no one really quite seemed to recognize that, not that he was willing to talk about it if they did. He had lost the respect of his teammates, his fans, all because of a trip - which could have happened to anyone. It's just that it happened to him, right after he had been outed with Ilya, which had caused everyone to doubt him.

He does get out, drains the tub, takes a towel and dries off quickly, before going into the bedroom, putting on something comfortable - he highly doubts Ilya wants them to go out anywhere that day, and they have no practice, no game. Ilya had been the one to make sure he chose a day that had no other obligations. Sweatpants, and a Centaurs shirt, before walking out of their room, through the house, seeking out his husband.

He definitely owed him an apology, even if he was still wound up tight, ready to snap, but he cannot figure out how to let that go, how to relax, how to shake the uneasiness in his chest, but he needs to settle Ilya first, because he knows he was rude, he fucked up. Ilya was just trying to help, to relax him, to help him through this. Because Ilya has done this, has spent over a year in therapy himself now.

He has two theories about where to find Ilya, and the latter is more likely, and the one that turns out to be true. He might have preferred to find Ilya just sitting with Anya on the couch watching the end of that action movie, rather than outside smoking a cigarette, but he was hardly surprised. It wasn't as though he didn't know about the pack of cigarettes in the freezer, or that it would miss one when Ilya was having a particularly bad day. Shane takes a deep breath, before walking forward and wrapping his arms around his husband, resting his forehead against the back of other man's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I just needed a minute." Not that it had helped, because he was now dealing with the guilt of how he knew he'd made Ilya feel, but it was true. He just wanted the conversation to change, and he doubted it would just then.

✘ ♕ ✘ The sound of the sliding glass door opening heralded Shane's appearance on the back porch. Ilya didn't turn, his eyes still trained on a tree in the distance by the edge of the water. Its leaves moved so easily in the wind, giving up complete control and trusting the wind to take over. The warmth of familiar arms wrapping around him caused Ilya to close his eyes and give a small, appreciative hum. He marveled at the way they fit together, as though they were made for one another. It didn't matter which one was hugging who, arms fell perfectly into the grooves and curves of the body, allowing them to almost melt together. Despite everything, whatever mental struggles or fights or miscommunications existed between them, Ilya knew they'd always be okay. Shane's breath warmed the back of his neck and only one word hovered in his mind as he thought of his husband: home.

The apology felt unwarranted. It was true that being told to leave had hurt Ilya, but he also understood (at least tangentially) what the other man was going through. He knew that the last thing Shane would ever want to do was upset him. The gentle kiss on the back of his neck had Ilya leaning further into him. Reaching out, he snuffed the cigarette in the now rarely used ash tray on the table next to them. Then he let his head fall back onto Shane's shoulder, turning slightly to look at him.

"Is okay," he finally replied with a small smile. "Is not easy, what you did today. But I am proud of you." And it was true. Having to leave his husband was heartbreaking and certainly pulled some dark thoughts into his head, but Ilya did understand. There had been times, albeit very rarely, when he'd return from therapy and need to be completely alone. Sometimes he was more than sad; he was agitated and frustrated.

he almost fell over when ilya pushed him. it was unexpected, and it hurt, hitting shane in the pit of his stomach. had he misunderstood? ' ilya, i-- ' but then he was being pulled in, and ilya's breath brushed against his ear as he whispered the room number. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. the last thing he wanted to do was leave ilya alone, even just for the time it would take each other them to get to his room. but before shane could reach out again, ilya was pushing him away, vanishing right in front of him.

ilya to the elevator, and shane bolted for the stairs. faster than he should, almost eager. carter vaughn was saying something, but shane wasn't listening. he was struggling not to freeze the entire bar, to keep the frost from following him up the stairs. he took them two at a time, practically sprinting out of the stairwell when he got to the right floor. it wasn't hard to find the right door, not when it was slightly ajar and there was a crashing sound coming from inside.

shane slipped inside and closed the door before he could think that the situation might be dangerous. ' holy fuck, ' he cursed. not because of ilya. no, vourdalak might be dangerous, might be frightening monsters in stories, but shane wasn't afraid of ilya. no, he was cursing because it was insanely hot in this room. why was it so hot?

✘ ♕ ✘ The temperature of the room hadn't even registered for Ilya when he returned. He forgot that in his petty anger, he'd turned the thermostat way up to keep Shane out. It was truly sibling level petty, but it had felt justified in the moment. Now, however, his whole body felt as though it were baking in a oven, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. His body was changing, the monster inside starting to take hold. By the time Shane had caught up to him, his face had nearly contorted into something hellish. It was the most he'd ever transformed before, and given that it was involuntary scared him. He knew the warnings. Without the blood of a loved one, he'd eventually be trapped as a wolf-like creature for the rest of his life. Surely the threat of that happening wasn't upon him yet, right? He was still young and felt as though he still had time, but the reflection he'd seen in the mirror before he shattered it said otherwise.

It was the cool touch against his cheeks that seemed to calm him. Ilya stilled in Shane's hands, his breathing still heavy as he closed his eyes, trying to force himself back into control. It was difficult, though, especially with the object of his desires so close. He could actually hear the blood pumping through the other's veins. For a long time, Ilya had assumed that the other man's blood tasted so divine to him, so unique and amazing, all because of his yuki-onna heritage. It was in that moment that he finally admitted the truth to himself. It was for the same reason his heart had shattered when Shane left that afternoon; why he'd gone into a spiral ever since he learned about Shane and Rose's relationship.

Ilya was in love.

Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the exposed neck being offered. The veins were visible to him just underneath. Even if he wanted to refuse and back away, he couldn't. He was starving and the animalistic side of him took control as his lips parted and his elongated teeth bared. Before another word could be uttered, he bit down. It wasn't as gentle as the last time he'd done this, but he couldn't help it. The instant that blood hit his tongue, a wave of relief washed over him. His arms wrapped strongly around Shane, holding him close as he drank deep. It was heaven, enough to almost get lost in.

Almost.

The man in his arms wasn't just a meal, and before long, Ilya threw his head back, breathing in air. Crimson fell down his chin and he wiped it as best as he could with the back of his hand. A hand that was already looking more human. "Fuck, Hollander," he breathed in relief. Putting a hand to his face, he felt that it had also mostly returned to normal. Though he couldn't see it, his eyes were as red as ever, the iridescent crimson giving away how much he enjoyed that. Then he spotted the wound he'd created in the other's neck, and though he echoed the same words, they were said with a much different inflection.

It was a silly thought really, brought up while by JJ when they were talking about what they thought was attractive.

"Mon cheri in nothing by my jersey? Oh putain!"

Shane raised a brow, "You really think that's hot?"

"Don't you? You don't think you would go insane seeing Landry with only the words HOLLANDER on her skin?"

He wasn't going to tell his teammates that, no, he really wouldn't. But it did get him thinking, wondering really, if Ilya thought it was attractive? How many women from his past played coy and laid themselves out on hotel beds, or his own in Boston, with the name ROZANOV stitched along their backs?

All Star weekends were always times when he felt a bit more adventurous. Everyone around them was more relaxed, which meant Shane was more relaxed, willing to let himself go to enjoy it. So he went back to his room to do just that; enjoy himself and relax...

...in Ilya's jersey...

And this one was one of his game worn ones. Taken stolen from the Russian's closet during Shane's last trip to Boston, and hidden in his bag to take back to Montreal, saved for this very occasion. He'd been hyping himself to just do it all day, but Ilya's teasing just egged him on even more...

After a shower, Shane stood in front of the mirror and just stared at himself. He was surprised how big the jersey was on him since they were both around the same height. Though, Ilya's shoulders were broader than his, and apparently that made all the difference, the hem falling all the way to the top of his thighs, the bottom of his boxer-briefs just peaking out underneath.

His cheeks blushed, freckles sticking out more against his skin, trying hard not to second guess himself for doing this. This was hot, Ilya will think it's sexy, right? Fuck, he didn't want to wait too long, he wanted to see his boyfriend's reaction now...

Before he could stop himself he grabbed his phone and snap a quick picture against the mirror, the name on the back of the jersey reflecting backwards in the image.

[sms: Lily] -image sent-

✘ ♕ ✘ As the players cheers together at the next bar, Ilya was feeling smug about himself. He had no way of knowing that his boyfriend had actually manipulated everything and was glad that Ilya had gone out. If he were to find out, though he might be a bit pouty, he'd also be impressed. It was clear that he'd been a bad influence on the good, proper Canadian boy all those years, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Shane had become quite devious in his own way, and it always excited Ilya, taking him by surprise.

The All-Stars were always an interesting time because of the teams he was paired with. Most of the time he'd find friends there, but given his usually antagonizing style of play, he often found enemies. Which of course, he loved. The men were all genial as they ribbed each other, throwing harmless chirps back and forth, laughing loudly over something dumb.

Feeling his phone buzz, Ilya pulled it out to see a photo. He nearly choked on his beer and quickly pocketed the phone before anyone could see the screen. Setting the half finished glass down, he made up a bullshit excuse about his head hurting and left. Behind him, he could hear his teammates laughing that he was clearly running off for some sexual rendezvous with a fan. Little did they know...

On the way back to the hotel, Ilya allowed himself to stare at the photo more properly. Though they weren't "rivals" anymore, seeing Shane in the Boston jersey, his very own old jersey, did things to him that he hadn't expected. His own name emblazoned on the back as though staking claim satisfied his possessive side in ways it hadn't when other girls had worn it. He didn't pack that jersey for the All-Stars, which meant Shane had planned this. That thought alone was almost enough to make hard on the spot.