hollanov microfic

“qu'est-ce que c'est?” ‘what is that?’ shane asks softly, pointing at the tv screen.

“chatte.” sofiya says, head resting on shane’s chest. she wiggles her arm out of her red spider-man blanket to point to the fluffy white cat on screen, “maman chatte.”

“mhm,” shane hums, turning his head towards ilya returning from the kitchen with a cup of milk, “et comment appelle-t-on les bébés chats?” ‘and what do you call baby cats?’

“chaton.” sofiya moves her finger to the kitten sitting beside her mom, “bébé chatte. chaton.”

“bon travail.” ‘well done.’ shane smiles, kisses the top of her head.

“по-русски,” ‘in russian,’ ilya prompts, handing sofiya her sippy cup which she takes eargerly, “как называют молодых кошек?” ‘what are young cats called?’

sofiya blinks at him a few times, big hazel eyes starting to get sleepy. shane thinks she’s probably satisfied now that she has her milk and won’t bother answering. prize acquired means no reason to keep playing the game. but he and ilya both wait and let her process anyways, if she does want to play it might take a minute to translate.

“котёнок.” she declares before promptly shoving her sippy cup back in her mouth.

“очень хороший.” ‘very good.’ ilya grins, taking his place on the couch, one arm wrapping around shane and the other wrapping around sofiya from the front. “мои котята.”

shane leans his head back onto ilya’s shoulder and whispers, “so which one of us is going to teach her english?”

welcome to heated rivalry nice notes, a place where you can (on or off anon):

tell someone that they are an awesome poster to watch

leave nice notes to friends (birthday wishes, 'thinking of you's, general love and joy)

show your appreciation and love for gifmakers, artists, fic writers, creators of any kind

shout out somebody’s tags that deserve more than just a 'prev'

send anyone or anything in the fandom love! if you dont have anyone specific to shoutout, you can say something you like about the fandom or the community you have found through heated rivalry.

i'm staying anonymous, but i've made this blog to show appreciation for fans and creators who have made heated rivalry feel like something truly special over the past 6+ months, and to keep building up our community as we look forward to the next seasons being filmed and released!

"Lancer de Hollander, et il compte! Quel beau but!" (A shot by Hollander, and he scores! What a beautiful goal!)

"Let's go, Shane!" Yuna cheered at the TV as David laughed heartily, clapping his hands.

It was Ilya's first time watching Shane play with the Hollanders at their Ottawa home. He hadn't known what to expect when they invited him, but watching the Hollanders put a goofy smile on his face. It was so heartwarming to think that Shane's parents still got this excited watching him score, even though they must've seen it a million times by now.

"Wow, this is his best goal of the season yet," David said as the broadcast replayed the goal in slow-motion.

"Close, but not quite," Yuna stated. "It's not like that slap shot goal he had against Buffalo. The one all the way from center ice. Accuracy from that distance? Hard to beat that."

David hummed. "How about his breakaway goal last week against Toronto? I mean, speed and style points? That was a beaut!"

"Ah, sorry. But you are both wrong," Ilya said carefully. Both Hollanders turned to look at him, expressions expectant.

"How about this? How do you say this in French?" Ilya placed his hand on Shane's beating heart.

Shane melted. It amazed him how easily his husband could make his heart swell even after all these years.

"Mon couer," Shane replied warmly. "And in Russian?"

"Grudak," Ilya said, and Shane echoed it back for confirmation.

They were teaching each other words in each other's languages. The scene was so sweet it made Shane's teeth ache just thinking about it.

Ilya gave him a crooked smile. "Shane, j'aime beaucoup tes couers." (I really like your hearts.)

"You're close! But not quite," Shane explained. "It's singular. So just one is ton couer."

"What?" Ilya said, confused. "But you have two, yes?"

Now Shane was confused. "No, I don't."

"Ah, no. Everyone has two." Ilya held his pinky and ring fingers up. "They come in pairs."

"What are you talking about?" Shane's eyebrows furrowed.

"What are you talking about?" Ilya shot back. Then, he made a gesture, his hand hovering over Shane's chest as he said, "I like them. Your tits."

"Ooh." Shane resisted the urge to facepalm. "I thought you were talking about my heart, Ilya."

Ilya laughed, then his eyes softened. "Well, obviously, I like your heart too, lyubimyy."

"Wow, thanks." Shane rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked into a smile.

After a beat, Ilya raised his eyebrows. "So… about the word?"

Shane laughed fondly. "The word for that in French is similar to English, pecs."

"Ah, boring," Ilya said, nodding. But he still took a moment to note it down on his phone.

"Wait, I thought Ilya was the mommy," Shane said, confused.

"He is. And so are you, Uncle Shane." Emma was pulling Shane by his hand towards the living room. Ruby was pulling him by the other.

"You're both mommies!" Ruby agreed.

"Ah, no. One of us has to be daddy," Ilya said matter-of-factly, following closely behind them.

Emma paused thoughtfully and asked, "Why? My friend from school has two mommies."

"Well, you see—"

"No! Ilya! It's fine!" Shane said quickly, glaring daggers at Ilya. "I'll be a mommy too."

They were babysitting Ruby and Emma while their parents were running errands. The twins were obsessed with playing Doctor lately. So, apparently, for the afternoon, both Shane and Ilya were playing pretend mommies-to-be.

"So Mrs. Rose-noff, your baby sounds healthy," Emma stated as she examined the bump on Ilya's stomach—a throw pillow he stuffed under his shirt earlier—with her toy stethoscope while he laid on the couch. "And I think you're having a boy."

"Ah, am I?" Ilya smiled.

"You are! Congratulations!" Emma cheered, nodding. Then she took out a Polaroid from a pocket of her lab coat and handed it to Ilya. "Here's a sonogram."

It was a photo of a bear plush toy.

"So cute!" Ruby smiled as she clasped her hands. "What will you name the baby?"

“I don't want to watch this movie,” Ilya sulked.

Tonight was movie night at the cottage, which Ilya usually looked forward to, but today’s pick made him reluctant.

“Why? 'Cause Rose is in it?” Shane asked despite already knowing the answer.

“No,” Ilya lied. “Is boring movie.”

“Well, you picked the movie last time,” Shane reminded him. “So it’s my turn, and I say we’re watching X-Squad.”

Ilya crossed his arms. “Is more like I don’t want to watch your Ex-Squad.”

“Ilya, you’re not still jealous of Rose, are you?” Shane asked, in disbelief. “Need I remind you that I’m gay and happily married to you?”

“Yeah, not so gay you can watch Rose Landry,” Ilya retorted.

Shane sighed. He held Ilya’s hand in his and squeezed. “It’s been a long week, and I just want to watch a movie with my husband. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Ilya mumbled, squeezing back. “Is okay.”

---

“This movie makes no sense.”

TW/CW: i don’t know if one is necessary but ilya is struggling with his depression and existential thoughts. NO sh or suicide mentioned, there is discussion of prescription medication but not drug abuse.

—

when ilya looks at his fingers he sees time slipping through them. he knows these years are precious. all everyone fucking tells him is that these years are precious and they’ll be gone soon. but knowing time is precious only sees to speed it up. like the harder he tries to hold on, the more he’s really letting go of.

he heard the door creak first then he heard her little socked footsteps. he felt her climb up onto the bed.

“papa! papa wake up!” she had grabbed two fistfuls of the quilted comforter covering his back and she shook him, “stop playing papa, wake up!”

he had woken up, hours ago, and had been awake since. but he couldn’t tell her that. his body was made out of bricks. but he couldn’t tell her that. he’d dreamed about his mama again. but couldn’t tell her that. he begged himself to roll over, to grab her and tickle her and pretend to bite her toes to make her laugh. he begged himself to do something! but he didn’t. he stayed still. he thought of himself and he thought of his baby girl. he thought of that hollow look people have in their eyes when they’re gone. bricks layered upon brick upon his body kept him stuck.

“sonya,” shane’s voice was at the door, “what did i say? on days off we don’t wake papa up.”

“but daddy, it’s lunchtime!”

“i know what time it is, sunny. c’mon,” ilya felt the mattress as shane leveraged his knee against it, scooping up their little girl and setting her down on the floor again, “go see what i have for you in the kitchen.”

“did you buy more spider-man popsicles?”

“i don’t know, you tell me.”

something clattered and a stampede of footsteps fled the room. shane laughed under his breath. his hand curled around ilya’s shoulder.

“i love you.” shane is close enough to him that his breath tickled ilya’s neck. he pressed a kiss to his nape, “i’ll save you a popsicle.”

and then shane was gone.

ilya did get up. when sofiya went down for her nap, he got up. ilya put on shorts and a t-shirt, not bothering if they were shane’s or his. he had a chocolate protein bar. shane made him a cup of milky coffee. he brushed his teeth but avoided his hair or washing his face so he didn’t have to see what they looked like. an hour or so later they took their girl to the park down the street. ilya pushed her high on the swing and ducked to run underneath her as she flew. then he spun the two of them fast on the merry-go-round, sofiya holding onto to the bars, shane holding onto her. they had left-over pasta for dinner. ilya read to her until she fell asleep next to him.

“пусть твой ангел-хранитель защитит и сохранит тебя от всего зла.”* he murmured, tucking her in like his mama did, “good night, солнышко.”

now they’re in bed and he’s looking at his hand resting on shane’s chest. he thinks back on the day. how long can he keep doing half days of full time parenting? he sees time slipping through his fingers.

“your next appointment is in two weeks,” shane’s nose is in his hair. ilya wishes he didn’t seem so far away, “you want to move it closer?”

ilya nods from his place underneath shane’s chin and presses his eyes shut, "the pills. they are not working like they used to."

"okay," shane brushes his hand up and down ilya's arm were its latched across his torso, "there's other options then. maybe a higher dose?"

ilya nods again, slower this time, not out of hesitation but out of blessed exhaustion. he kisses the skin nearest him, landing somewhere near shane's adam's apple, "я люблю тебя."

"люблю тебя, ilya. always.”

—

"Shane, how do you feel about the commissioner and the league's reaction to the events of your outing last season?" A reporter asked.

Shane and Ilya were at a press conference directly following the announcement of Shane's signing with the Centaurs. It was an environment the MLH's brightest star and long-time media darling, Shane Hollander, thrived in. He was a seasoned pro. He always knew what to say and how to say it.

"I'll be honest. The commissioner and I don't always see eye to eye. But I hope he's able to seize this opportunity to make lasting change in league culture. Change that, honestly, is much needed and long overdue."

As expected, Shane's response was perfect and poised. But Ilya couldn’t help but recall how Shane talks about the commissioner in the privacy of their own home. Because in private, Shane swore like a sailor. And Ilya loved his potty mouth.

( "I fucking hate that asshole. And the way he's running the league right now is a goddamn shit show. If that fucker ever messes with us again, I'll make sure he regrets it." )

Ilya held back a smile while another reporter asked, "Shane, how do you feel about leaving your old team?"

"I've accomplished a lot with the Metros over the course of my career. Montreal was my home for many years. It's bittersweet to be leaving, but it's time."

Shane kept calm and collected despite Ilya knowing his true feelings about the Metros.

it’s only another ten minutes before shane hears the clicking of anya’s nails on the floor and the sound of the glass door opening to let her outside. before he can turn away from the coffee pot, ilya latches onto his back, face tucking into the crook of his neck.

“you could have slept in longer.” his hand finds its way to ilya’s hair on instinct, scratching his scalp.

shane hollander is a morning person. ilya rozanov decidedly is not. however, shane is used to waking up to open eyes already on him, by virtue of the fact that ilya just never sleeps- at least not more than three or four hours at a time. so it was a special kind of treat this morning when shane’s internal alarm clock went off around 6:00 am and he heard snoring, loud, deep sleep kind of snoring. it was a small thing, but if he had had any doubts that he made the right decision they would have all been washed away by the sight of ilya so at peace. he stretched his restraint as far as he could, balancing the opposing forces of his need to move and feel productive with his desire not to leave ilya’s side. he made it to almost 8:00 doing nothing admiring and agonizing before eventually he caved. he pressed a kiss to ilya’s temple, whispering to him about how he’ll be in the kitchen if he needs him. having gotten an affirmative grumble in response shane was finally free to stretch his legs. it seems to him now that his plan had failed (but not completely unsuccessfully?)

“no, i could not have.” he doesn’t sound upset, just factual, still, shane hates what that implies.

“sorry,” shane cringes, looking down at the mug of dark coffee he poured for himself on the counter and wondering if it’s cool enough yet not to scald him,“i should have just left you alone.”

“shanya, that is not what i said,” ilya scolds lightly before he starts kissing the base of his neck, “i couldn’t have gone back to sleep because i am too happy.”

“oh.” his shoulders’ drop back down to normal levels. “that’s good.”

“and you know why i’m so happy?”

his voice is much too low and close to his ear for shane’s face not to start heating up. he’s going to feel so stupid if this is wrong, “because we got married yesterday?”

“he shoots! he scores!“ ilya grips him tight around his waist, hoisting him just a few inches off the ground and smacking a big ‘mwah’ kiss right on his cheek. a full celly, “another goal for hollander!”

“put me down you asshole!” shane laughs and kicks his legs in perfunctory protest, grateful they’re moving backwards now away from the hot coffee.

“yes, yes. relax.” ilya does put him down, but not before man handling him over to the marble kitchen island. now face to face, he wastes no time in giving shane proper kiss, tongue and all. shane is surprised but pleased to find that ilya has already brushed his teeth.

“мой дорогой муж,” ilya whispers, resting there foreheads together when they need time to catch their breath. “you learned what that means?”

“yeah. i like that one.” shane smiles, having looked up the word for husband in russian an embarrassingly long time ago, “say it again?”

It is not often that Shane Hollander, someone who prides himself on being organized and planned and stringent with some (all) of his routines, allows himself to unravel. It’s usually not on purpose—outtings with the Cens or house parties thrown at a player’s home encouraging that comfortability that Shane rarely felt when out with the Metros. Because he’s relaxed, because he’s safe, he indulges in a bit more than he usually allows himself too. 

Ilya loves so many versions of Shane; the dedicated Captain, the best player in the league (not cocky, exactly, but so well-versed and trained and knowledgeable that he can make those kinds of short comments about other players and other teams because he’s earned it), the polite dutiful son (who holds doors and thanks the waitress and always makes sure Yuna has a sweater), and his blissed out husband (someone who is warm and pliable and wanting; eyes big and brown, lower lip wet, cheeks pink under his freckles) 

—to name a few. 

Ilya opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. He and Shane must have fallen asleep while they were watching…something. It was still snowing heavily outside; they were lucky they made it back early that morning before all of the flights were cancelled. With the season in full swing, it had been a string of road trips recently. They were grateful for this short respite. He didn’t move, he was so warm and comfortable lying there against his sleeping Shane. Shane, who was so snugly in his sweatshirt with the hood pulled up and his plaid pajama pants. His long lashes skimmed his cheeks, his full lips were parted. His freckles were lighter now in the winter but they were still there, spread like constellations over his cheeks.  

Unable to help himself, Ilya pressed a soft kiss to his jaw and then another and another. There were never enough kisses. He could spend his life kissing Shane. Shane sighed a little, turning his head back as if looking for Ilya. Ilya moved to his lips, kissing him until he kissed back, his hand coming up to thread through Ilya’s curls. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you, lyubimiy,” Ilya said, running his fingers over Shane’s cheek. 

He smiled softly, still sleepy. “It’s ok,” he said, nudging Ilya closer, kissing him again, slow and sweet. 

Shane reached for the throw blanket on the back of the couch. They stopped kissing long enough to tuck themselves in, cocooned in each others’ warmth under the blanket. Their lips found each other, never able to stay apart. 

Word count: 260

They'd been apart for too long. Ilya was hungry for it, starving for Shane. So he didn't waste any time.

He kissed his way down from Shane's lips to his chest. "Moy malysh," he said reverently, before licking at Shane's nipple, then dragging his teeth lightly across it. Shane hissed. He watched him intently, his full focus on Ilya.

Making sure to give equal attention, Ilya said, "Moy dorogoy," as he moved across Shane's chest to gently bite down on his other nipple before soothing it with his tongue. He heard Shane let out a choked sound, noticing his breathing turning shallow.

Then, Ilya licked a line from Shane's chest down to his pelvis, pressing a wet kiss there, before he grabbed Shane's hard cock, grip loose on the base, whispering, "Moya lyubov," to the tip. This earned him a low groan from Shane, which turned into a full-blown moan when Ilya's mouth took in the head and sucked lightly.

Ilya's patience was running low now, his craving reaching its peak. So he lifted Shane's legs and folded them at his knees, spreading him open so he could press a messy kiss on his hole, finally tasting Shane on his lips.

"Moy lyumibimyy."

Then, Ilya proceeded to lick at his entrance relentlessly, pressing his tongue inside like he was taking Shane apart, like he needed to devour him.

"Uhn yeah, Ilya," Shane exhaled as he let the pleasure consume him. Fuck.

---

Later that day, they dropped by Shane's parents' for an impromptu Sunday brunch. There was a spread of waffles with a variety of fresh fruit and locally sourced maple syrup. But Yuna noticed that Ilya was barely having any, seemingly content with picking off some berries from Shane's plate every so often—despite Shane's warning glares.

She offered Ilya his own plate, but he declined, shaking his head no before sipping his coffee.

"Ilya, honey, you're not eating?" Yuna asked.

"Ah, no thank you. I already ate."

Shane choked on his green juice and promptly proceeded to die while Ilya patted him softly on the back.

@hollanovmicrofic / Prompt: Bebe (July n° 20) / word count: 2000

hollanov - single father shane - mecanic ilya

Shane was having a terrible day during what was likely the worst week of his life.

For starters, the promotion—the long-awaited, coveted promotion he’d wanted for months—had gone to someone else. It was completely unfair, considering how hard he worked for the company, but these things happen, so he’d let it slide. But as if that stress weren't enough, his coworkers had suddenly lost all sense of personal boundaries, messaging him even outside of work hours.

Simply awful.

And now, to make matters worse, his car—a model that reviews claimed was a veritable war machine, suitable for any occasion and great in the snow—had simply decided to die on the way home.

Just great.

Our song of the day is – Lauv - I Like Me Better

Post TLG; Husbands Hollanov

MOOOORE Hollanov Bingo! 5! 🎉

@hollanovmicrofic prompt: Ange // @hollanovbingo prompt: Drive // Word Count: 1,085~

⸙

He was out of town for a few days due to some brand deals. Now that his commitments are done, he's bound to go back home.

It feels calm. With his window down, feeling the air on his face, a gentle sounding melody is heard.

(Chelsea mon amour: Philippe B.)

Chelsea mon amour.. Je marche et toi tu cours.. Je dors et toi tu rêves.. Et on s'aime chacun son tour

Rhythmically tapping his thumb along with the music, he smiles. It's going to be an exciting day ahead. Who doesn't love going out on a date after days of hard work?

⸙

Following the paved drive way, the crunching sound of the gravel can be heard while Shane parks the car.

Click. The door opens. Anya is curled up, sleeping, on her favorite dog bed at the corner of the living room. As soft snoring sounds can be heard Shane calls for Ilya sofly. “Ilya. Are you upstairs?”

“Yes.” Ilya responds. Hearing the confirmation, Shane nods as if to answer and went straight to the kitchen. He can take a breather after that drive. Sitting on one of the island stools with a glass of water.

With their day packs on hand, Ilya descends the stairs and did a quick scan to spot where his husband is. With a wide smile on his face, he thought – Oh how he misses this beautiful man sitting in the kitchen. Carefully, so as not to startle Shane, he crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around the other's waist. “Hey,” planting a kiss on the cheek.

As if on cue, Shane relaxed and rested his back on Ilya's chest. Hmm, he let out a soft hum. Grabbed the back of Ilya's head as he slightly turned around to catch a quick peck on that luscious lips. “Hey to you too.”

“Ready to go?” Ilya asked. “I have our bags and food prepared.”

“Did you pack my bag as I kindly instructed?”

“Of course, mon ange.” Ilya responded confidently with a wink. “I listen very well to instructions.”

Shane laughed tenderly. “Thank you very much.”

⸙

While driving through the city traffic, Shane had to double (or actually triple) check the console screen to make sure Ilya has entered the correct address for today's destination.

Noticing the little bit of nervous energy beside him, Ilya playfully comments. “I hope we don't get lost.”

“Oh, I hope not.” Shane side eyeing him with a cute huff.

“Google map is correct and I'm following it.” Ilya insists.

“I'm just making sure.”

“I have to find and cross the bridge first..” Ilya confidently says. “Then we're good to go.”

That's right. Just follow google maps. Simple. Shane thought.

Nature; Fresh air; Green scenery; The simple things that actually heals the soul. A feel good, relaxing way to also get some exercise in.

Where? You might be curious. From Ottawa to Gatineau. This is where they will end up today—the Pink Lake. To hike the trail, to look at the view, to simply just be together, and you know? Breathe. It's been a whirl wind of a season.

Ilya's driving has been surprisingly smooth, not too fast like how he is usually with his fancy cars. It's a steady pace and Shane took this opportunity to fully relax in his seat. From time to time they'd engage in random conversations—from hockey (as always) to the most mundane thing like the random bakery they had passed by a minute ago. Which according to Ilya, smelled like a delicious sourdough bread.

“According to the map, you need to turn right at the next light.” Shane prompted. “and then we should be there.”

Ilya nods and an okay follows. A few meters of driving and the prompt on the screen indicated their destination is to their left. It clearly looks like a parking lot and a full one at that. Ilya doesn't seem convinced so he slows down at the curb, looks for a safe spot and turns on the hazard light.

“Hmm..” his eyes are scanning the area. “I think this is not it.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asks in confusion. “This is the Park's visitor center. Aren't we supposed to start here and leave the car?”

“No.” Ilya said. “I did my research. This is not what I imagine.” he takes out his phone and ran google maps again. Shane looks at him with amusement. Zooming the map in and out with such concentration on his face. Did the glorious Hollander spirit posses Ilya to be this invested?

“Aha! I know.” Ilya smirks.

“Alright,” Shane pulls a thumbs up. “Drive away.”

The drive is towards a long and winding road. As you would imagine of the entirety of the park, it does not fall short in terms of trees. A variety of species, structure and age. Ever inch of land holds a tree proud and tall.

“I was imagining we were to take the shuttle from the bottom.”

“No,” Ilya replies. “I can drive us to the spot.”

“Is there a parking lot up there?” Shane asks.

When planning came up, one of the things Shane wanted to make a 100% sure of was parking. He knows how this can go south if not planned properly and god knows he doesn't want to get their car towed for whatever parking violation it might occur. He had skimmed through the park website and one advice that came up was to take a shuttle for convenience and to avoid traffic congestion. It was highly advised to say the least.

However, for some reason, Ilya managed to convince him to let loose a little. As much as he tries to hold on to the idea of having control of most things in his life, he did end up saying yes to Ilya doing the research and some planning.

“There is. Mon ange, don't worry.”

Shane nods in agreement. This is their day off and Ilya did his due diligence. It's supposed to be a relaxing day after all. There's no need to worry. And, it didn't take long for them to arrive at their first stop.

“Then why is called Pink Lake?” Ilya asked curiously.

“Huh?”

“You ever think about that?”

Good question quite honestly, Shane thought quietly. “Wait. I'm sure there's an info graphic of it somewhere. Let's keep walking.”

“Yes, sir” Ilya salutes playfully. “You can lead the way this time.”

Onward we go. Hold my hand, my darling and let's make more memories together.

“ilyaa,” the aforementioned man barely has enough time to set his vodka down in a safe location before his husband deposits his full body weight into his lap, “bébé, did you see what they did?”

this happens sometimes when shane is tipsy (or fuckdrunk) enough that his normal measured speech starts to get a little fast and loose around the edges. especially with accents. toilet becomes toilette, even sometimes an almost russian sounding tualet. chair becomes chaise or worse, some strange combination of both like chers. so while the english baby and the french bébé are for all intents and purposes the same, ilya does take some pride in being able to tell which one his very wasted husband is referring to.

“what did they do, sweetheart?” ilya knows exactly what they did, it’s the reason they’re even at this club in the first place (not to mention that this the third time shane has come over to him to have this same conversation), but like the thesp that he is, ilya plays along.

“they made me into a drink.” shane lifts his left hand triumphantly into the air. the glass in his hand is mostly melting ice and candied ginger by now so it doesn’t spill. ilya tightens his grip on his waist a little regardless. “hollander on holiday!”

“wow, signature cocktail.” he grins, still not tired of how proud drunk shane is to associated with the groundbreaking idea to put ginger ale, club soda and vodka together, “ottawa must have missed you.”

“yeah! fuck yeah they did! cause like soo many places in montréal” he pronounces it the very french way like mon-re-al and ilya bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh, “named drinks after me but all of them were smokey and gross. this though,” he holds the glass much closer to ilya’s face than he needs to, “this is fucking gold. you need to try it.”

“ah no, thank you,” he shakes his head and gently pushes the cup away from his lips, “more for you, Любимый. you deserve it.”

shane tips back his glass and gets no actual liquid, only a piece of candied ginger in his mouth but he hums happily regardless. he’s swaying side to side with it as he chews. ilya gently brushes his bangs away from where they got sticky and sweat matted to his forehead. shane smiles, his eyes closed, just enjoying the feeling. ilya hooks a finger under his chin and leans into him. he kisses his cupids bow, then the left corner followed by the right corner of his mouth.

“you’re happy.” he declares, kissing the tip of shane’s nose as well.

“i’m drunk.” shane corrects with an honest to god giggle, and then he realizes, eyes blinking open wide, “ilya, i’m actually so fucking drunk.”

“да, that seems to be the case.” ilya nods with slightly teasing solemnity. his hand leaves shane’s waist to find the back of his neck.

“you can drive?” shane shudders, relaxing into the feeling of ilya kneading muscles he forget were even tense.

“yes my shane i will drive.”