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i really am tickled by the idea of scott hunter being canonically only 3 yrs older than ilya and catching stray after stray for being old. yet also in my mind cliff is fully in his mid 30s when ilya is a rookie and whenever they get drunk together cliff gets emotional and is like “do you think im washed lil bro…..” and ilya is like “NO are you kidding me……you are stud…..just now in your prime…..”
Hollander is on the wrong side of the bed. Ilya wills him to move, to answer the question himself. The underwear are by the chair, where Ilya sat while they were still laughing. While they were playing. Right before Hollander really started to perform. Boxers flying across the room. Fingers inside for Ilya to see.
Hollander frees the blanket from the bed while he walks around looking. Clutches it to his chest, stumbling over the too-long lumpiness of it. Hollander shouldn't be uncomfortable being naked. This shouldn't be different from the locker room.
Over there, Ilya says, with a pointing movement of his chin.
It's not a helpful instruction. Hollander looks around, barely breathing, the frown deep on his mouth like a scar. He doesn't look like he can see well. It's dim, sure. But he looks like he is seeing something other than the room in front of him.
Ilya taps another cigarette from the pack. Hollander looks at him because of the noise, like Ilya will be holding what he's looking for. Ilya has nothing.
Oh, okay. Over here, Hollander whispers, to no one. He doesn't put on the underwear. He holds them to his chest, letting the blanket trail behind him until he releases it totally, disappearing into the next room.
Ilya listens to Hollander ready himself to leave. He must unfold his clothes. He must pull them over a sweaty body. Hollander likes being clean. He would normally shower. Ilya doesn't offer and Hollander doesn't ask. Ilya doesn't feel like showering either. He feels like taking an imprint of the night with him. Maybe the empty shell of Hollander's body around him will work to keep him upright when daylight comes. A husk to one side and the cup on the other, uneven pillars. Maybe a memory can keep him whole.
He puts the cigarette in his mouth.
Okay, I'm off.
Goodbye Hollander.
Ilya will think about what it all means another time. For now, he has summer to contend with.
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I hc that one of Hollanov’s favourite sex positions (top 5) is Shane straddling Ilya’s lap with Ilya sat upright against the headboard. It doesn’t allow for a huge range of movement, so it’s mostly for the lazy days where the need for connection outweighs the rush towards pleasure. They just hold each other like they’re trying to crawl into each other’s ribcage and whisper soft sweet things in time with the slow, molasses sweet grind of Shane’s hips. When they finally do cum, it’s with misty eyes and whimpered I Love Yous <3
in my irina lives verse , ilya doesn't leave russia and goes up through one of moscow's teams' academy as a junior and then plays for them in the khl. sveta still goes to the US, maybe california this time, and does try to convince ilya to come with her. but, as we know from irina dead verse, ilya is willing to put his own ambitions aside and prioritise geographical closeness to loved ones, even if it's pretty fucking horrible for him, and there's no way he's leaving his mam continents away from him.
he's still famous, in moscow at least, but not as much as in canon where he's The Russian All-Star. and he's less hungry for that anyway in this world, where, though his mam drifts in and out of lucidity (in a way that really mirrors grigori in canon), he's able to get some of his emotional needs via proximity to his mam. his dad still stings and grinds at him, but his skin is able to regrow and heal slightly quicker, more of a hide.
i think sasha still happens, but not because ilya "likes trouble". because he's still very alone in this world, and sasha still sees something in him, and sasha's still pretty and ilya still wants to kiss him, and other things. maybe they have more of a relationship, even. ilya's a bit less harsh and jagged and he's staying rather than itching to leave sasha, and the secrecy isn't a ticking time bomb but a haven. and this time sasha leaves first. ilya has a tuna melt incident years before any such incident with shane and it's sasha leaving him for paris, an argument had over pelmeni
so this closes him off a bit more and he doesn't need relationships anyway, he's busy with his mam and the khl and being the best russian player in the world but stagnant and less well known than any of the russians who could leave for the nhl. he's got more freedom for cruising, explores that side of moscow more than he was ever able to in canon.
and when the sochi olympics happen, he's not captain. why would he be? he is not an international symbol of russia. but he's on the team and he can be quite anonymous in the village and he runs into Shane Hollander, who introduced himself to him at Juniors, who is considered the best hockey player in the world, without competition, though Ilya's team—kind of Ilya in particular—beat him at Juniors. and they both remember that. they both know what maybe could have been.
ilya isn't worried about drunk shane running away bc he knows that if he just whistles really loud shane will appear about 30 seconds later with a big stick or a cool rock he found
with the candor of a hostage who has a sniper mark on their forehead i just think that sometimes shane assumes that ilya is on the same page when ilya is not necessarily on the same page. sexually.
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ilya would never admit to this because it would betray a weakness to his soul that would be unforgivable in the eyes of his father and therefore in his eyes too but there is a part of him that fantasizes about getting his bell rung and everyone comes to his hospital room and tells them how much they love him and how sorry they are that he’s hurt and the doctors come in and tell him that they did a scan and found the cause of what’s wrong with him and they fixed it and they can’t believe that he had that and still managed to be best player in the league so now he’ll be unstoppable and then of course when he does actually get a bad injury on the centaurs and he’s high on painkillers in the hospital and shane comes in and is talking to him like he’s a dog about to to be put down ilya starts crying and can’t stop until shane is out of the room because he doesn’t want shane to see him like that and it doesn’t matter how far he is with galina or how secure their relationship is the fantasy of shane coming in and taking care of him utterly crumbles around ilya when it actually happens.
@hollanovmicrofic - Word Count: 725 - General Audiences
CWs: migraines, loss of sight for extended time, chronic illness
He wakes up with just moderate throbbing in his head and a now fully thawed ice pack below it. He doesn’t remove his eye mask, though Ilya will have kept the lights off and blackout blinds closed for him—the room squeezed as tightly shut as his eyes.
The doctor had said that it was likely stress making them worse. That he needed to start taking them more seriously, to stop playing through them, to try things other than an overreliance on medication to treat them, or they’d keep getting more frequent and the symptoms more severe. That he needed to relax. Medically required to chill the fuck out.
Shane had nodded as she’d told him all this and decided to find a new neurologist. Maybe the one he’d seen in Juniors was still practicing. His mom might know. He’d been happy to simply increase the Sumitriptan prescription as requested. He’d never strongly suggested lifestyle changes while trying to catch Shane’s avoidant eyes.
He’d left the appointment, started taking one and half pills when symptoms started and just tried to just get on it. And he had, until a migraine had lifted but he still couldn’t see anything for over 12 hours.
In the ER, when Shane told him that maybe the neurologist had mentioned other treatment options at their last appointment, Ilya’s face had turned murderous. Vowed to never let Shane see a doctor on his own again; marched them back to her office; returned home with pages of notes, suggestions and occupational therapist recommendations. Ilya has been dogmatic about it since: ensures Shane holds shavasana for a full 10 minutes; top of the line TENS machine bought and hooked up to Shane’s chest to, apparently, vibrate his stress away; even twice daily meditations, together, prompted by the tinny gong alarm on Ilya’s phone. Still, they’d been told progress could be slow, which was abundantly clear to Shane as he lay there entombed in his migraine mausoleum.
“Moy solnyshko, you are awake? Any better?” It’s barely a whisper from the door. He hadn’t even heard it open. Ilya moves in silence when Shane’s like this. Shane knows Ilya would pad the house—soften the edges of the whole world—for him, if he could.
“Yeah.” The sounds feel strange in Shane’s mouth, like they’re forming around pebbles filling his cheeks. Sometimes, crushed under the heel of the migraine’s boot, he doesn’t think he’ll ever speak again. That he’ll never make his mouth form the right shapes, let alone summon any sound for them.
“And you can see?” Voice closer now. Its urgent tendrils can’t stay stuffed coolly in their pockets. They reach out and grab for Shane’s head, twist it for inspection, stroke his cheeks, while Ilya keeps his own hands away, hovering between the bed and the door.
“Mhm.” That hurts more. Buzzes all through him.
“You have not taken off mask, moy vrun.” He can hear Ilya’s smile. It always makes his voice a notch higher. “Please, quick check.”
“Yeah,” says Shane. Ilya’s fingers graze under his eyes as they slowly pull the mask away so they can slide under the band. He’s this exacting in his touch in their non-migraine life, but never this gentle, which makes a different rock slide on to Shane’s ribs to sit next to the heaviness from earlier, still seeped into his bones. He tries to bring his focus back to the breath. To fill his lungs like balloons that’ll lift the weight and fears and struggle off his chest. He wishes the breathing exercises from his OT actually delivered results that easily.
Little by little, Ilya shimmies the mask up. His hands form a crown that shields Shane’s head from the elastic band as it’s pulled off. Shane blinks his eyes open and he can see. He sees the bright, worried blue of Ilya’s eyes and the crease in his brow and that he’s crouched by the bed, keeping his weight off it so he doesn’t shift the mattress and Shane with it.
“You can see?”
He tests movement. Nods.
Ilya squints, suspicious, and lifts his hand. “Hmm, how many fingers I am holding up?”
Shane laughs. It’s barely that, more of a cough, but Ilya smiles back. Shane says, “one, asshole,” and lifts his hand from under the duvet to give Ilya a middle finger back.
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18 yo Ilya on draft day not being able to sleep feeling so unsettled like his nerves are on fire he needs to get out of bed he needs to put his shoes on he needs to leave his room he needs to go down to the gym he needs to go there's something for him there there's something he should be doing there's someone he should be with nothing feels right his skin is itching his mind is racing his heart is pounding. Until the moment he steps inside the gym and his eyes land on a sweaty Shane Hollander on a bike. And suddenly he's never been more sure of what he wants.
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