florphy

like in the phonecall ilya says he's coming to the cottage because what other one would he be talking about, but i feel like in casual conversation, he would say things like, "you have this at your cottage as well?"

until it slowly starts to consistently just be THE cottage when he talks about it. because of course it's theirs together. it's shane's so it's his, too, just like everything of ilya's is shane's if he wants it.

and there's never a discussion about it, but ilya will be doing something like scrolling and come across a new table or deck chair and hold his phone out to shane and ask, "we should have this for the cottage, yes?" and shane just :) because his fortress of solitude isn't a fortress of solitude anymore.

Shane could tell the moment Ilya answered his facetime call that something was off.

His normally-alert, full-of-life irises were dull, and the easy smile that was reserved only for Shane was painfully lacking. Deep circles were etched under his eyes and his lips were chapped.

Shane's heart ached for him.

"You're not feeling well," he said, foregoing his usual teasing greeting.

"I am fine," Ilya replied stubbornly, furrowing his eyebrows.

But Shane had tried for years to not know Ilya. He’d avoided the reality, for far too long, that he understood Ilya Rozanov sometimes more than he understood himself. So he wasn't going to pretend, now, that he didn't see the love of his life suffering. "You're sick," he stated, already calculating how long it would take him to get from Montreal to Boston by plane, train, or car.

"I cannot be sick. I have game tomorrow," Ilya insisted, making the whole thing sound a lot less convincing when he began a hacking cough into his elbow.

"Have you taken your temperature? Medicine? A hot shower?" Shane rattled off, looking around his room to see if he had a bag packed. As always, he had a go-bag by the door, in case he overslept before an away game.

"No," the other man pouted. "Because I am not a-"

"Temperature. Pozhaluysta, Ilya," Shane murmured softly, looking his boyfriend in the eye.

The tone he used was one he very rarely used outside of the bedroom, because he knew the power it held. But now, as he saw Ilya melt a little at his words and sigh, he decided it was the right choice. 

"Fine," Ilya muttered, standing and grabbing a thermometer from his bathroom. "But you will see. I am right."

"What was that about being right?" Shane said smugly a few moments later when the screen of the thermometer flashed red, indicating Ilya's illness. 

"I was right about you being asshole," Ilya murmured, already reaching for a bottle of medication nearby.

"Mm. Well I have a flight to catch, so-"

"What? I thought you do not have game until Thursday?" Ilya asked, and he looked so upset about Shane having to hang up that Shane gave up on surprising him. 

"Yeah, it's a flight to Boston. I have to go take care of my asshole boyfriend who's a stubborn baby when he's sick," Shane said with a small smile, rolling his eyes fondly at the screen.

Instantly, Ilya's eyes widened. "Oh. Sweetheart, you do not have to-"

"I want to. But if you don't take that medicine every four hours until I get there, I'll kick your ass when I do, alright?" he said threateningly, the whole thing ruined by the grin stretching across his face.

Ilya gave him a tired smile. "Da. Yes, solnyshko."

"Okay. I'll see you soon."

"Shane?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you. Nobody...nobody does this. Takes care of me. I am so lucky to have you." Ilya looked almost nervous to say it, like he didn't want to admit how thankful he was for Shane's care. 

So Shane smiled. "I love you."

"What would you be doing today? If I was not here?" Ilya asked, lazily joining Shane on the couch, a bowl of ridiculously sugary cereal in his hand.

Shane grimaced, a bit nauseated. "Sorry. I can't hear you over the amount of sugar you're consuming."

Ilya stuck his tongue out at him, then smirked. "HOW DO YOU RELAX WHEN I AM NOT HERE, HOLLANDER?" he yelled, grinning.

"Fuck you," Shane shot back, rolling his eyes. 

"Ah, but in this scenario, I am not here, so you definitely cannot-"

But Shane decided it was best to just answer his boyfriend and stop him from any more ridiculousness. "I'd probably be training. Or doing yard work. Or maybe doing yoga."

The other man scoffed. "Not one of these things is relaxing, Hollander. No wonder your asshole is so tight."

Slightly offended, Shane frowned. "Okay, I'll give you the first two, but yoga's definitely relaxing!"

"Bending body into pretzel? No, thanks," Ilya replied, slurping up the milk from his bowl and placing it on a nearby table. 

But Shane decided that he was going to take the bait this time. "Get up," he ordered, standing.

"Why?" But Ilya was already off the couch, grinning.

"I'm teaching you yoga. We'll start with something easy, like the Warrior poses or-"

"Ooo, let's do dog pose. You know I like doggy style," Ilya interrupted, waggling his eyebrows.

Shane felt himself flush. "Downward dog can be a little deceiving…It's difficult to get it exactly right."

"Hollander, I am hockey player. My body is temple. I can do doggy yoga pose, no problem," Ilya rolled his eyes. "Tell me what to do."

"Okay, fine. Um...get on the rug, then," Shane ordered, knowing Ilya would be far too impatient to wait for him to get a proper mat. "On your hands and knees. Hands shoulder-width apart and knees aligned with your hips."

"Kinky, Hollander," the other man said suggestively, but obeyed.

He snorted. "Right. Then, you're gonna just...press with your hands, tuck your toes under, and make a V with your body."

With a bit of a grunt, Ilya heaved his body up, being anything but graceful. When he stopped, he looked like some sort of crazed animal, his arms and legs bent and his neck arching forward. He was not in a V shape at all.

Shane burst into laughter. "I–oh my god. No, Ilya."

"What, I am not image of relaxation?" Ilya demanded, his voice strained.

He chuckled. "No, just.." He walked over and bent down, helping Ilya straighten his arms and hang his head. Then, he adjusted his boyfriend's feet and knees before straightening up and standing behind him, straddling Ilya's legs and placing his hands on Ilya's hips. "You sort of...sink into it, you know?" he murmured, pulling Ilya's ass back a little, so it nearly brushed with Shane's own groin. "And...breathe. Let yourself go. Relax." His voice had gone soft, quiet, breathy. He couldn't stop staring down at Ilya's flexing arms and thighs, the way his ass was in the air. "Just feel the stretch."

They stayed that way for a moment, the room quiet, Ilya's body flushing and flexing, Shane staring down and admiring as Ilya's shirt slowly slipped down, revealing his mole-covered, muscular back. 

Shane resisted the urge to bite him.

"Shane?"

He cleared his throat, jumping a little. "Hm?"

"I...am not relaxed. But for different reason than I thought."

"Yeah...yeah, same."

"So," Yuna said a little stiffly, obviously struggling to land on a neutral topic of conversation as they sat around the table. "How have you been enjoying the cottage, R–Ilya? What've you and Shane been getting up to?"

It was a testament to both of their desires to make a good impression that neither of them so much as smirked at the other...though Shane cleared his throat rather loudly. "Uh..." Ilya nodded, swallowing his mouthful of pasta. "Yes, is very nice. Shane gave me tour. He showed me indoor rink, told me about well, all of these things. Very...impressive."

Shane kicked Ilya's leg under the table, suppressing a smile.

"Did he take you out on the lake yet?" David asked conversationally, loading a second helping of pasta onto his plate. "The weather's been great, perfect to get the kayaks out."

Ilya looked over to Shane, unsure about the word 'kayak.' "Um, no, not yet. Maybe we will do this soon."

Furrowing his eyebrows, David looked to Yuna, then back at Shane and Ilya. "Wait, how long have you been here?" he questioned, sounding a bit confused now.

Shane, who had yet to take a bite, sighed. "Like a week, Dad. Why?"

"Because usually you're out on the lake the second you get out here! What else have you two been doing for a whole week?" he asked bemusedly, eyes wide and ridiculously innocent.

Immediately, both Yuna and Ilya spoke at once.

"I think is time for another drink, yes?" Ilya said, reaching for the vodka.

"I'm going to get the dessert!" Yuna announced quickly, at the same time.

"SWEET CAROLINE. BUM BUM BUM." - Eleven highly inebriated hockey players and David Hollander, who's having great memories of his own wedding where they played the same song.

"Good times never seemed so good..." - Ilya Rozanov, whisper-singing to himself and completely unaware of it as he rails his husband into next Tuesday.