angry chihuahua

Shane (staring intensely at where puck is about to drop, with the most casual voice): So where're you from, originally?

Player (star struk and also confused enough to answer): uh- wh- um, Texas?

Shane: huh, not much hockey there, how'd you get into it?

Player(excited about talking hockey with Shane Hollander!): yeah, my uncle played for the Maple leafs.

Shane: oh, cool, does he still play?

Player: no, he only played two seasons.

Shane (kindly, like a kindergarten teacher): You might want to follow his lead on that.

he tries telling her the same things ilya did in his calm voice (myshane doesn't use baby voice. he speaks to her normally) and she remains quiet as he talks, but even after he's done she won't look at ilya. eventually experienced mother yuna tells them Baby just needs a little time and takes her away to have a nice hot drink and maybe to do some drawing.

ilya looks CRUSHED. he feels absolutely terrible. shane ends up having to console him too:

"I didn't mean to, shane, the box slipped—"

"I know, baby, of course you didn't mean to."

"I'm a terrible fucking father."

"ilya, no you're not. you're an amazing father and she loves you."

"she has never looked at me like that. ever. like I betrayed her."

anyway, later in the day they're all in the living room together, david in the armchair doing a crossword, shane and ilya on the couch facing the tv, yuna and Baby on the floor playing with building blocks. ilya is only half-paying attention to whatever show is on; he keeps looking over at Baby, pained, and shane keeps stroking his hair comfortingly.

at some point Baby yawns.

"oh? feeling a little sleepy?" yuna asks.

Baby shakes her head. she moves some more blocks. then she yawns again and abruptly decides yes, actually, she's had enough of playtime, and stands up. rubbing her eyes, she turns towards the couch.

shane says, "hey, baby, you wanna go to bed?" and she nods as she walks. but she's walking towards ilya. and ilya is shifting up in his seat faster than lightning, hopeful—and when she stops in front of his knees and reaches up to him his face crumples. he sweeps her up into his arms and holds her close, one hand under her bottom and the other cupping the back of her head. he's murmuring to her in english, "my baby, my baby" and then in russian, "papa loves you so, so much. papa didn't mean to hurt you, baby. I love you so, so much, darling." and she murmurs vague baby things back, face hidden in his neck now and arms circling it.

the scene is so sweet there isn't a dry eye in the room. definitely not ilya's, and not shane's or david's or yuna's either.

anyway they're all sitting around a fire pit having cunty little cocktails or smth and just enough has been consumed that the convo turns scandalous. someone (we'll say his stylist) is waxing poetic about her gorgeous new fwb and their equally gorgeous friend and says "that's a sandwich i'd love to be the jelly in."

and shane - tipsy but ever present - his ears sort of perk up puppy style across the fire like, "sandwich...?"

which inspires this whole conversation about handsy threesomes. and shane's gonna be honest, in theory that sounds hot. he's had his fair share of late-night jerk offs around the idea, don't get him wrong. but he's got ilya locked down - he's not sniffing around for a third. the concept, however...the physical sensation of being caught between two hot sweaty dudes? yeah that's juuuust enough to get him zoning out into the fire, tipsy mind having a field day filled with sweaty muscles and tight, delicious pressure crowding him in on all sides.

ilya recognizes this look in an instant, of course. he's sitting right next to him after all. "making your imaginary sandwich in front of your husband..." he tsks, but it's all in good fun. he's obviously very interested, just like everyone else who has tuned into the convo because shane's kinda-

"panini..."

"what?"

"meat in a panini," he drowsily explains, in what he thinks is a perfect and impressively cohesive explanation of the image in his head right now. "absolutely fuckin' crushed..."

ilya can't even pretend to be surprised because he knows his man. and his needs. and his frequent desires to be smashed into oblivion under ilya's full weight. not even fucking him, most times. just squeezing him. pressure for pressure's sake. "ah... of course." this makes perfect sense. even if the rest of the group doesn't seem to be following. "and who is bread for your meat, my panini?"

that gets a couple giggles, but shane is fucking locked in, brother. like he's making plans already. "well you, obviously."

"obviously." okay thank god. "and who else?" he's reaching out to run his fingers through the back of his husband's hair while he speaks. "who will help me keep you still? maybe bood would if we-"

"marleau."

ilya pauses. blinks. "what?"

"cliff marleau," shane says. as if ilya is seeking clarification on which marleau is being discussed and like-...

ilya tilts his head and it's a little judgy. he knows. like the careful tone he carries with what he says next but like...hello? "sweetheart, cliff marleau fractured your collarbone and put you in hospital..."