Here, Queer & Everywhere

it's the year following s1. ilya is still in boston and shane is in montreal. they've just played a game against each other in boston and shane is staying over at ilya's house. after dinner they have a little fight about who's going to handle the dishes and ilya wins, play-snarling and biting at shane. shane rolls his eyes; ilya tells him to go into the living room and turn on the TV or something. so he does. settles into one corner of the couch. bundled top to toe in ilya's clothes: hoodie, sweats, socks. (he prefers his own, texturally, but he liked the principle of using everything of ilya's.)

he turns on some sports channel probably. five minutes later ilya comes into the room and flops onto the couch, head landing in shane's lap and the rest of his body stretching out lengthwise. he lets out a big 'ahh!' sound as he does and shane smiles, putting his hands on him. ilya turns onto his side so he can watch tv as well. maybe there's a hockey game on, i don't know. but they talk for a bit about whatever they're watching. relaxed observations traded back and forth. shane is absently playing with any part of ilya that he can easily reach. his hair, his ear, his neck, his shoulder. the night is winding down. they had a late dinner because they were having sex before. started the moment shane walked in the door. shane is full and relaxed. he has his favourite person in his lap. a silence descends on them both.

Baby baby baby yes. Ilya is sat up against the headboard, leant back against a mess of pillows and Shane is in his lap, lotus style with his legs around Ilya. Shane is slumped into Ilya’s warmth, his head laying on Ilya’s chest, and Ilya’s hand is cupped under Shane’s jaw, holding gently, thumb rubbing at sweat slick skin. Ilya’s other hand is holding Shane’s, tucked against Shane’s stomach, by his warm hip and Shane is playing with Ilya’s fingers.

Ilya cooes whenever tears slip down form Shane’s lashes to his fingers on his jaw, soothes the back of his knuckles up to wipe them away. Kissing at the top of Shane’s head, nuzzling his nose through his dark hair. Ilya is muttering to Shane mostly in Russian about how good he did and how good he made Ilya feel and his love, his baby, voice low, more like a warm rumble for Shane than the actual words. After a while Shane starts to get a little squirmy and then he’s turning his face into Ilya’s chest more, rubbing his face into his skin and leaving some wet tear smudges, whispering “thank you” and it’s gonna make Ilya’s heart explode probably.

And Ilya is all “sweetheart you have to stop these tears, or let me get up to her a cloth to clean your face hm?” Ilya whispers, his whole hand cupping Shane’s flushed wet face, cradling his head to his chest.

“think you should stay here” Shane just huffs and Ilyas laughs, warm and low and tugs Shane’s earlobe. “Ah yes, I can tell” he teases, hand smooths down Shane’s back as if to say, yes I can feel you making sure I don’t leave. Then his fingers Shane’s ass and his soft wet hole stretched around Ilya still and then Ilya is petting there and Shane is wriggling in his lap, thighs jolting. Fresh tears spring into Ilya’s chest and he croons down at Shane “so good here” and Shane is half squirming into and away from the touch, too much too good, perfect.

"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.

the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like. 

So you know.