I am not locked in, I am DEEPLY locked out

Shane Hollander routinely uses sunscreen(for safety against skin cancer) and washes his face with a sensitive skin friendly soap in the shower. He uses the same bar for his entire body.

Beyond that his smooth skin is entirely coincidental. Ilya is very jealous of this. Ilya wears hair products, styles himself meticulously and has tried multiple skincare routines. None of which are giving him the supple skin he desires.

The first time Ilya goes to Shane's real apartment and not the sex condo he is outraged by the number of unused samples of skincare products, mostly because these brands are choosing to work with Shane when he knows for a fact that Shane does nothing to properly take care of his skin.

Shane's bathroom sink is barren.

Shane *enters Ilya's bathroom*: why do you have so much clutter in here

Ilya *outraged*: is not clutter Hollander we did not all climb out of womb and become world's prettiest man by accident

Shane *having no filter*: why do you bother with it if it doesn't work?

Ilya always had been a light sleeper, so no matter how lightly they stepped he was awake moments after the first shocked gasp.

Ilya knows it’s over for him. There’s no mistaking that there’s a man asleep on his chest in a clearly non-platonic cuddle. Usually Ilya would be punching the intruder, threatening violence to try and ensure they kept their mouth shut but he has quickly realised something far more important. With the way they are sleeping, Ilya on his underneath on his back and Shane on his stomach on top with his face pressed into the gap between Ilya’s neck and the couch, they can’t see his face.

He quickly pulls Shane’s hood up over his head to hide hair and rests a hand over it to gently discourage Shane from moving it should he start to wake up.

So Ilya just stares down his team and goes “you can be upset, but are going to be fucking quiet about it because if you wake my guest I’m sending all my blackmail on you to your wives, and then start fucking them to help them get over the divorce.”

So the whole “You’re fucking gay!” “No, I’m a fucking bi who is fucking a gay” conversation happens at a furious whisper, with Shane blissfully sleeping on Ilya’s chest as life implodes around him.

Shane may be a deep sleeper - and the argument in whispers - but even he starts to stir at the noise.

Ilya can’t have him moving his face into visibility now, so he just scruffs the back of his neck harshly and pressed him deeper into his shoulder.

Shane lets out a pleased (and not at all quiet) moan, and - worried that he is going to start talking - Ilya realises he needs to shut him up.

So he glares at the Bears to be quiet, while suddenly putting on the softest voice they have ever heard him use as he goes, “shhh quiet time now mоя любовь. Back to sleep.” And then shoves his fingers into Shane’s mouth.

So when they’re lying in bed one day after a long evening practice, scrolling on their phones, Shane turns towards Ilya and asks, “what’s a ‘slavic stare’?”

“What?”

Shane turned his phone screen towards his husband. It’s a list of ‘Top 10 Athletes with Best Slavic Stare’.

“I am only number four?” Ilya frowned.

“What is it?” Shane pressed.

“Is this,” Ilya tossed his phone aside and rolled over on top of his husband. He had himself propped up on his hands, strong arms bracketing Shane’s head.

Shane looked confused at first. Ilya closed his eyes and set his features. When he opened his eyes, they were gazing up at Shane, chin tilted down. His jaw was set tight with a hard line at his brow. All playfulness had fled his features.

It was the same expression Shane had seen during important games. Games where Ilya wasn’t just trying to win, he was trying to destroy the other team.

“Ilya?” Shane breathed.

But Ilya just stared. It was intense, focused, like his world narrowed down to a single task.

It felt like… how Shane imagined a rabbit would feel caught in the eyes of a wolf.

“Ilya, stop it,” Shane wiggled, hands on Ilya’s chest to push him off. The fact he used about 10% of his strength to do this meant nothing.

Ilya grabbed both of his hands in one of his and pinned them above his head.

He said something in Russian that Shane only caught fragments of. His voice was deeper like it got when he spoke his native language. Shane got “you” “wanted” “good boy” and “me” but it was enough for him to vaguely catch onto the meaning.

“Ilya, I’m…,” Shane whined and unsuccessfully tried to yank his hands back. “I’m tired. I just wanted an…explanation.”

“But you are hands-on learner,” Ilya said in English but with a thick accent, not dropping the stare.

Shane squeezed his eyes close as Ilya dipped to capture his prey.