I Could Come Here And Scream As Loud As I Want

Shane knows it’s a risk. Almost the entire team is gathered in the gym working out, and anyone could look at either of their phone screens to see exactly what he’s about to send. But as soon as he’d realized that Ilya’s fancy new earbuds read his texts to him as he receives them, well…the idea wouldn’t leave his mind. 

So, looking again over the absolute filth he’d typed in his text thread to his husband, he smirks only slightly before hitting the ‘send’ button and stowing his phone away, watching Ilya from across the gym.

And there he is. Ilya’s on a stationary bike, pedaling at a modest speed, earbuds jammed in his ears and eyes on one of the room’s many televisions. But as the text hits his phone, his eyes flicker in recognition, lighting up a little.

His joy makes Shane smile–for some reason, Ilya never tires of him. He’s not sure why, but he tries not to question it.

It’s obvious, though, when Ilya starts to hear the actual text. 

His eyes glaze over.

His mouth falls open.

His legs and feet slow to a stop and his cheeks flush a light red. 

His gaze zeroes in on Shane, and Shane does his best to stare right back, not giving anything away.

And suddenly, Ilya looks fucking hungry. 

Getting up from the bike–and stumbling a little, much to the amusement of both Shane and Wyatt who’s nearby–Ilya makes a beeline to Shane.

“You do not play fair, solnyshko,” he murmurs when he gets close, causing Shane to shiver with anticipation as Ilya’s eyes rake over his skin.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Shane replies lightly, gesturing to the weights he’s been lifting. “I’ve just been–”

But Ilya steps closer, right in his space, a smirk on his face as he grips Shane’s waist tightly enough to make him bite back a groan. “I think we should go home now.”

Ilya had never felt so stupid in his entire life. 

Standing at Shane’s doorway, bag on his shoulder, anxiety eating away at his lungs, he turned the small, square package over and over in his hand, wondering if it was too late to throw the thing into the nearby trees. However, that felt morally wrong and he worried that Shane would find it later, so he was kind of stuck with this idea now.

Just as the thought of simply running in the opposite direction popped in his brain, Shane opened the door.

“Hey,” he muttered, face completely alight with joy.

“Here,” Ilya grunted, shoving the package in his new boyfriend’s face.

He understood why Shane looked surprised. They’d never given each other gifts before and there wasn’t even any real reason for this one. Ilya had just noticed that in the cottage, Shane was a minimalist to the point of being irritating except for one thing–mugs. He seemed to have quite the collection. Novelty mugs and plain ones; odd-shaped mugs and mugs from locations. It’d endeared Ilya to the point of making him bend Shane over right there in the kitchen, because it was so nice to learn such a fun quirk about the man he was so in love with. Shane Hollander: hockey phenomenon, painfully rigid, collected mugs.

So, when he’d returned to the arena to start the season’s practices and noticed that the fan shop now stocked ‘Ilya Rozanov’ mugs, he’d bought one without thought. But now came the terrifying part–actually giving it to Shane.

So he made sure to make himself very busy taking his shoes off at the door as Shane carefully opened the box, peeling back the protective tissue paper and pulling out the black-and-yellow mug. But the anticipation was killing him so much that the moment he sensed the other man recognize what the object was, he had to say something.

“Is no big deal,” he said, shrugging as his heart raced and he fought not to make eye contact. “I notice you have many. Something you like, you know? And I get discount of course. So I–”

But he was interrupted by Shane’s lips pressed firmly to his, Shane’s arms winding around him and the mug digging into his back as Shane licked into his mouth.

“I love you so fucking much,” Shane murmured when they parted, a grin on his face. “Of course you got me a stupid Rozanov mug, you asshole.”

"Hey sexy, can I buy you a drink?"

Shane declines. "Oh, no thank you. I don't really drink."

"Then what's this?"

"It's just ginger ale."

"Oh really?" This jerk doesn't believe him. "Can I sit here?"

"I'd rather you not." Shane says.

"I mean, it's a bar, right? I can sit wherever I want."

"Then why bother asking?" Shane mutters.

"You've got a mouth on you huh?" And suddenly the jerk is grabbing Shane's wrist.

Shane freezes. He doesn't know what to do. He really doesn't want to start a fight. He just wanted to watch the hockey game playing on the bar screens in peace. Then, suddenly, he hears another man's voice from behind him.

"Hey babe, sorry I'm late." Shane turns towards the low, accented voice. The man had curly blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. He's eyeing down the jerk who sat beside Shane and asks, "Everything ok?"

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.

And most importantly: it’s Ilya’s birthday.

Even though they’ve never discussed past birthday celebrations, Shane knows that Ilya hasn’t had a family celebrate his.

Yes — the Bears will have undoubtedly taken Ilya out to get drunk, celebrate their captain, and that they are a family of sorts (far more than the Metro’s are, Shane has come to realize, but that isn’t the point right now) but it hasn’t really been about Ilya.

It was more an excuse to go out.

Tonight is about Ilya.

Shane double checks the plate with the extravagant chocolate cupcake he picked up earlier, glancing around like he was buying porn instead of a sweet treat. Everyone knows Shane Hollander doesn’t eat this type of thing though, so someone will say something if they spot him. He’d even prepared an excuse (“My dad got a promotion. Loves chocolate cake.”) just in case.

But no one had spotted him. Even better because Shane knows for a fact Ilya has notifications set up for any time Shane is posted about.

Glancing at the clock, Shane twists his hands together. Ilya will be here in a minute. He’ll let himself in and Shane will be standing here waiting and then they can celebrate Ilya.

It’ll only be for a night, a handful of hours, before Ilya has to go and fly back to Boston, but it’s something. It’s everything.

“Shane?” Ilya calls out from the entry way. Lost in thoughts, Shane hadn’t heard the door open.

“I’m here!” He calls back, wondering if his grin is evident in his voice. He steps around the counter and smooths a hand down the jersey he’s wearing (one of Ilya’s — Shane had it delivered to the apartment below the one they used to fuck in so no one knew Shane Hollander of the Metro’s was buying a Boston jersey) and waits for Ilya to walk in.

His boyfriend stops the moment his eyes land on Shane. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Shane replies, suddenly breathless. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Ilya’s eyes drop down, widening as they take in the jersey Shane is wearing. “Oh my god.” He whispers as Shane turns slowly, letting Ilya see the name and number on the back. It probably helps that Shane only has his underwear on too.

“There’s also this.” Shane points at the cupcake, “Double chocolate. You’re favourite.”

“Shane…”

“And I’m going to have a bite too.” Shane adds on, “Because it’s your birthday cake.”

“Shane.”

“And there’s presents from Mom and Dad. For you. Plus I have some.” Shane clasps his hands together in front of him. “It’s not much, but…” He shrugs, “Happy birthday, Ilya.”

There’s tears in Ilya’s eyes as he strides forward, cradling Shane’s face in his hands as he presses their mouths together in a loving kiss.

“Thank you, moya lyubov. This is…perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Shane replies softly, winding his arms around Ilya, “And I can’t wait to celebrate every birthday with you from now on.”

ilya and shane have their own signal to each other during games where they're not playing each other.

goals that say "for you" and "guess who's ahead in the scoring race now asshole"

I think they started unique things, ilya would hit his chest, shane would reach towards the camera. over time a language was created, without them every addressing it was being made.

two sharp hits to the chest, "for you"

a bow of the hand towards a camera "are you watching?"

chest to extending their arm towards eachother "I miss you"

one hit to the chest "fuck off"

over time, shane would catch himself hitting his chest twice in succession after ever goal of ilyas he'd watch, in time with ilya.

BEST DAY EVER ☀️🌸❤️🦋

based on this

and another species called the splendid fairywren

...and one called the lovely fairywren

-“Mhm…”🥰

• Shane playing with the curls at the nape of Ilya's neck when he lays his strong arm around Ilya. Also Shane absentmindedly brushing hair out of Ilya's face

• laying in the bed at night, facing each other, telling each other stories before they fall asleep and often they giggle just like at sleepover parties they never really had

• discovering a new TV show they love and watch it religiously together and share the euphoria of hyping each other up and exchanging wild theories (my vote is on them watching Money Heist)

• they are firmly team wired headphone, so they can share a pair when they sit next to each other in am airplane and listen to a playlist they curate together

• Ilya lightly scratching Shane's thigh in easy circles, enjoying the sensation of strong muscles under soft hair, and more than often Ilya draws the letters of Я тебя люблю on Shane's skin

• Shane taking Ilya's hand and leading him through a crowd

• Ilya adjusting Shane's cap (a backward cap obviously)

• Shane tying a scarf around Ilya's neck in the cold canadian winter

• Ilya sweeping a crumb or a blotch away from Shane's lips (and licking his thumb clean afterwards)

• Ilya resting his hand on the small of Shane's tuxedo clothed back during galas or other formal events that stress Shane out

• Ilya picking out clothes for Shane to wear the next morning (he says it's because he has better style but actually he picks the normal athletic  things Shane feels most comfortable in)

• Shane bringing home the most random little things that remind him of Ilya, from flowers to a new type of hot sauce

• bitching about golf and other boring sports together  <3 they love being haters together and noone gets them like they get each other

Ilya: that didn’t quite work. Maybe I should just give him the eye? While I tell him I hope he likes his new city?

Ilya: okay. But surely if I make him drink from my water bottle and brush his fingers when passing it over…?

Ilya: call him pretty. To his face. No way he can miss that

Ilya: desperate measures, I’ll have to tell him I orchestrated this whole ad campaign just so I could see him again