local bitchy shane enthusiast

The title is innocent enough, “Cozy night in with your Russian boyfriend (voice only)”. He’s immediately entranced by the cadence of the stranger’s voice. It’s soothing, and it calms him down. Shane closes his eyes and just listens to the stranger talk about his day.

He throws in a few compliments here and there that make Shane blush. The deep melody of the stranger’s almost whisper coils something in his stomach, and by the time his fake boyfriend invites Shane to their fake bedroom, he almost wishes he could follow.

"You told him what?" Svetlana asked, eyes wide and an incredulous smile on her face.

"I...I said that I could marry you," Ilya repeated casually, shrugging as he looked into his phone's camera while they facetimed, still a bit unsure as to what he'd done so wrong.

"Ilya. Ilyusha. Ilya," Svetlana repeated, shaking her head slowly and closing her eyes, looking like she was very close to either laughing or yelling. 

"Sveta," he shot back, smirking just a little. "What? What is wrong with this? It's the truth, right? You would marry me."

"Not if you propose like that," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "But tell me, what happened? How did your genius plan end?" Her tone was sarcastic; clearly she thought things'd ended terribly. Showed how much she knew about Hollander.

He grinned wider, unable to hold back his utter glee. "I have a boyfriend now. I am staying here for four extra weeks."

For a few long moments, she stared, blinking, utterly shocked. Then she sighed an exhausted sigh. "Boys are so stupid," she mumbled.

English, in Ilya's opinion, was an absolutely ridiculous language.

Though he'd been studying it for some time now, taking classes in Russia during his childhood and practicing with the other Russians hoping to be drafted, the stupid language seemed to always fuck with him.

There were rules of the language, yes, but they always had exceptions. Words with definitions, but then phrases that made absolutely no sense. Things that sounded the same but meant basically the opposite. 

Yes, English was, at it's core, really fucking annoying. Which was why he often had to ask Svetlana about certain stupid words.

"What is the difference," he asked one day as they lay together, skin sticky and chests heaving, some stupid American soap opera on the TV in the background, "between the two words 'house' and 'home?'"

Svetlana, who was already scrolling on her phone, looked over to him. "What?"

"Americans use these both," he explained bluntly, gesturing to the TV, where one of the characters had just said one of the terms. "'I am going to my home. I am going to my house.' Why? What is the difference?" he pushed, the thought taking root in his brain.

Svetlana blinked, tilting her head to the side in thought. "There is not a big difference, not really. It's just...a feeling, I think."

He frowned, frustrated. "A feeling? I thought both mean where you live, no?"

"Yes. But also, 'home' is like...it does not need to be so defined by locations. It is just any safe place. Where you are happy and loved," she explained simply, staring for a few seconds before looking back to her phone.

Ilya's frown deepened. He thought about his family house, in Russia. The dark shadows, the loud voices, the pressure that seemed to push down from every available surface.

It was not, it seemed, a home.

And he thought about his place in Boston.

Welcoming, yes. Bright and distinctly his own. But...empty. In a way he couldn't exactly describe.

It didn't seem to fit the English definition for 'home,' either. 

Did he have a home? 

Would he ever?

"English is stupid," he murmured, rolling away and reaching for his own phone, pleased to find a text from 'Jane' waiting for him.

-

"Ilya? What're you doing?" Shane called to him, his voice travelling out the doorway and onto the porch, where Ilya crouched, fussing with the mat he was placing by the front door.

"I am here!" he called back, not looking up from his work. It was silly, usually perfectionism was Shane's thing, but for some reason, he really needed this to look perfect.

Footsteps clued him into his husband's arrival. So, standing up and brushing off his hands, Ilya stepped back, admiring his work."What do you think?" he asked Shane, who'd stepped outside to stand next to him and look down at the mat.

"Welcome to our home," Shane read aloud, grinning. "I like it. You can get something in Russian though, if you want. I don't mind."

Ilya had done a lot of interviews in his life. 

He'd been asked a lot of questions–some stupid, some prying, many repetitive, and many that he'd asked people to repeat.

But as he sat in a squishy armchair in Harris's office, he honestly thought that he'd never enjoyed an interview more.

Well...

Maybe some of the interviews he'd done with Shane. But he wasn't about to admit that.

They were laughing together about the team's abysmal choices in vodka, about Dykstra's terrible taste in music, about how Coach Weibe was terrible at giving directions when they took the team bus anywhere–and Ilya felt relaxed. Happy.

Then, Harris said cheerfully, "Okay, Ilya. Now we're going to do something a little silly, but the fans always love it. I'm gonna say a word, and you have to say the first thing that comes to mind when you hear it, alright? No thinking, just go."

He grinned. "And if my responses are not appropriate for...young, impressionable audience?"

Harris chuckled. "That's why we're not live."

Ilya smirked. Of course Harris didn't trust him to do any of the Centaurs' livestreams. "Okay,” he agreed.

"Hockey." 

"Winning," Ilya replied quickly, grinning at the camera. "Always."

Harris laughed. "Alright. Goal."

"Rozanov," Ilya shot back, still beaming.

The other man chuckled again. "Okay. Gym."

"Water bottle," Ilya replied before thinking better of it, his mind instantly going back to a moment ten years ago in a dingy hotel gym with two stationary bikes and two nervous teenagers.

But the answer was acceptable and innocent enough, so Harris moved on. 

"Food."

"Uh...Pasta."

"Happy."

"Summer."

"Home."

"Shane."

It took Ilya about two seconds after he spoke to realize what he'd said and freeze, eyes widening as he stared, terrified, at Harris.

But the man just looked at him, understanding and kindness in his eyes. "....you...want me to delete that part, buddy?" he asked carefully, reaching to press a hand to Ilya's slightly-trembling knee before leaning back again.

- the weekly towel. Who knows if they’re both using the same one.

- sex blanket to throw over the bed so that they don’t have to keep changing the sheets. Easier to throw in the wash and then go to bed.

- they put a load of laundry in and forget about it for days and then have to run the cycle again. And at least one more time

- bathing suits don’t get dirty

- water cup on the side of the sink that is never dirty, Shane

- worn comfortable ancient OHL hoodie that is never dirty, Ilya

- the adventure of Ilya versus the swiffer wetjet

- whose turn is it to handle the ring in the toilet, we can’t live this way, my mom is fucking coming over

- they meal prepped some healthy stuff in glass containers and some of it gets old and crusty and you bet they toss out the whole container lids and all

No one show this photo to Shane Hollander

Well yes !! I’m addicted to it !! Completely !! I’ve got it in a few of my ficlets hehe but I could talk about it foreverrrr

Ilya loves to praise shane, to coo and sweet talk him, to let him know how Ilya loves him, how he cares for him, how precious he is to him. And Zaychik, it’s perfect, Shane does remind him of a little bunny, cute and sweet but also determined and kinda sneaky and well there’s the easy fucks like a rabbit jokes. But also Ilya love how the word feels so perfect for Shane, soft in his mouth, adoring. It just spills out.

Shane in Ilya’s lap, riding him, keeping Shane deep and pressing as he rolls his hips feverishly, working in dizzying movements that are making Ilya’s head spin.

“Fuck, you’re so good you’re so fucking good, my Zaychick take me like you’re made for it huh? Perfect for me”

But then sometimes it’s sweet and comforting, a tender word between them. Shane on his tummy with Ilya sprawled over top of him, heavy and pressing him down into the bed, sliding into him in deep stretching weighted thrusts. The slick sound of it, the two of them holding hands either side of Shane’s head, fingers tangled up, playing with each other. Ilya’s face tucked over Shane’s chin, faces close together, noses knocking, sharing breaths, shaky small gasps. They’ve been going at it for ages, a long stretch of fuck it’s too good I don’t wanna come yet, staying on the sparkling edge of it together, biting and kissing and pressing closer and closer. Shane lets out a small squeak that makes Ilya’s chest squeeze with fondness and Shane’s eyes blink open just so from where they had been blissfully closed just before. Gold brown warmth sinking around Ilya, homehomehome and Shane smiles this dopey happy little grin, hums and mumbles “I fucking love this” his voice dripping with such pleasure such joy as being tangled up with Ilya, being fucked by him.

“Yeah zaychik? Love cock?” Ilya asks and kisses Shane’s nose, cheek, top lip.

“Your cock” Shane clarifies and Ilya groans, shoves his face into Shane’s neck.

“Fuck my sweet needy little zaychik, you love this so much huh? Me so much? Made to take me like this” Ilya cooes and Shane just nods and nods and happy sigh of “yeah. yeah I do” a breathy joyful confession and Ilya feels Shane’s toes curl and wriggle wriggle against his ankle.

“My perfect zaychik” Ilya croons, stroked his fingers down over Shane’s flushed freckled cheek. “So beautiful, huh? So sweet, my zaychik huh? Belong to me don’t you?”

Thank you for ASKING baby!

I think Ilya uses bunny and zaychik a lot! It’s not as rare as sweetheart, but it’s also not all the time all the time. I think Bunny is more playful, sweet, and Zaychik is total adoration. His sweet little bunny.

Here are some examples because I think that will help explain better.

Shane gets fucked up during a game, he’s dark mottled bruises all up his side and chest. He walks out from the shower in just a towel and Ilya sees them properly for the first time. “Oh bunny. Come here let me see”

Shane half asleep on top of Ilya, forcing big hard blinks and wriggling to try keep himself awake, eyes attempting to keep themselves on the movie Ilya had selected. “Just sleep bunny” Ilya whispers into the top of his head, hand petting his hair

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Shane’s gotten Ilya a kinda embarrassing amount of bouquets, large a bright flowers in huge bundles. Ilya pulling Shane into a tight cuddle, nuzzling his face down into Shane’s hair. “You’re so sweet bunny, thank you”

Shane fucked out and soft, loose limbs smudged across the sheets, laying on his stomach, Ilya’s pillow clutched to his chest. Ilya had stepped out to grab them some water, walked back into the bedroom to Shane curled around Ilya’s pillow. Big sleepy slow blinks as his eyes focus on Ilya walking toward him. “Missed you” Shane sighs, and Ilya’s heart explodes. It’s been two minutes. Max. Ilya getting Shane up into his arms, laying on his chest, cheek pressed to his peck, Ilya bringing the bottle to Shane’s mouth for little sips. “My zaychik” kisses all over his face