Cowboy Fangirl

and so what if shane teasingly calls ilya his little puppy and then it spirals from there

and ilya is fucking shane into the mattress with his hole plugged up with a cool metal plug with a fuzzy tail on the end, and a collar wrapped nicely around his neck as shane tugs on the lease attached to it, begging his good boy to fuck him faster, deeper, harder

Shane knew the anniversary of his mom's passing had been hurtling towards them, and he tried as best he could to prepare for the inevitable blow out. Ilya had been working closely with Galina around his grief, and from what Shane had been reading on various forums, this revelation would not be smooth.

It started with Shane waking as a side effect of Ilya's fitful slumber. The nightmares had become more frequent, as they always did this time of year. He tossed and turned as he relived the horrid memory that plagued his head.

"Ilya, wake up," Shane promoted gently, softly shaking the man next to him.

Ilya awoke with a gasp, chest heaving, taking gulping breaths like he was a man starving for air.

He choked on the sobs that clawed out his throat, swallowing his pitiful noises, trying to slow his heart that seemed to be beating too fast.

"You're okay, Ilya. I'm here. Let it out," Shane murmured, gently caressing the soft curls on Ilya's head.

"I am not okay, Shane." He croaked.

"What do you mean?"

"I am bad," Ilya started, "No, baby-" Shane began to interrupt. "Yes!" Ilya snapped, Shane pausing his movements ever so briefly. "I- I am sorry, Shane, I did not mean... I- I do not know what to say, I did not mean to yell." Ilya hiccuped, breath falling fast past his lips.

"I am just as bad as they are," He whispered, voice full of shame.

"As who?" Shane asked.

"Papa and Alexei." Ilya admitted flatly.

"What? No. Ilya, you are so strong, you are so much braver than they are. You could never be like them," Shane defended, tone incredulous.

Ilya shifted off the bed, moving to stand and pace around the room. "I am. I hate her..." Ilya paused. "I hate her." He shouted, sobs returning, tears streaming steadily down his face. He buried his hands roughly in his hair, tugging harshly in attempts to ease the pain that was erupting from his heart. "She left me here with them and no one else. I hate her, how could she do this to me? She said she loved me. She lied." Ilya voice cracked from the force he used to push the words that had lodged themselves in his chest for years.

"Why did she lie?" Ilya sobbed, knees buckling as the hit the floor. Shane stood from the bed finally and met his husband against the cold hardwood. He curled himself around the other man, clutching Ilya's head to his chest. "Baby," Shane soothed softly, "hating her for leaving you does not make you bad. It makes you human. You are strong, so, so strong," he emphasized, tightening his grip around Ilya.

They sat there for minutes, hours, neither of them were quite sure. As Ilya's cries and pleas softened, he tilted his head up to face Shane.

"я тебя люблю, Shane."

and maybe it's whatever's going on in his brain, because even though he isn't diagnosed, something's.... different. not wrong, per say, just different.

yuna first noticed this when shane was in kindergarten and a little german boy joined his class. she thought it was cute the way shane picked up his timid "hallo's" and tried to pronounce "gesundheit," in a mouth that was too small for the big word.

the habit kind of wore off after a while. or shane just got better at catching himself and made the effort to quit.

which is why, in this moment, she was so perplexed at the action of shane, high in a hospital bed, greeting the nurses with an oddly russian sounding "hejlloh." she raised an eyebrow at david who was watching his drugged up son fondly, "he hasn't picked up an accent in a while." she said coolly, trying not to run wild conspiracies in her head. had he met a girl? a russian girl? there's no way...

it was even more interesting when he had later relayed that a very russian ilya rozanov had come to visit him in the hospital. there's no way rozanov was hanging around shane long enough for him to pick up the accent right. right?

but then months later david came home, shell shocked and quiet, followed by a quite anxious shane and none other than THE russian ilya rozanov, who was saying things like "lovers," and "boyfriend," in the familiar cadence that shane had recently adopted.

suddenly his quiet "okey's" and heightened interest in russian literature made a lot more sense.

"ilya rozanov," she muttered to herself one night in the weeks following that day. "hm," she hummed short, before laughing to herself softly, and shrugging.

she stops abruptly, promptly remembering herself uttering the words "fuck him. fuck him, right up the butt." mouth dropping in horror at herself, and dropping even further at the memory of "yes, maybe," as shane's odd cadence of a response.