a mixture of beautiful pictures, quotes, and my writing, with a splattering of nerd stuff here and there. she, her. literally have been here since middle school.
a selection of photos taken by other people from their first year of marriage:
towards the end of their wedding reception, sun setting, looking rumpled and tired, Ilya kissing Shane's palm while Shane is very seriously talking to Scott Hunter
the two of them with a fan, taken at the dog park, Ilya holding Anya and Shane with one arm around his husband's shoulder and the other trying to prevent Anya from licking the fan's face
Shane Hollander sitting on the Centaurs bench with blood on his face, mouth wide open, Ilya Rozanov gripping his chin and glaring at the gap where Shane's bottom canine used to be
Ilya Rozanov with his fist in the air after a goal, a smear of red in the corner of his mouth
sitting next to each other at team tape review, heads bent together, Ilya's hand on Shane's thigh, Shane's hands sketching out a play in the air
Ilya Rozanov leaning against his car in the airport arrivals line, a coffee in one hand and a forest-green smoothie in the other
Shane Hollander giving his husband the middle finger after losing the shot accuracy competition at ASG by half a second
piggyback racing across the yard with a Pike twin each clinging to their necks
Ilya Rozanov, outraged, with a face full of snow, as his husband doubles over with laughter
wearing identical blank expressions the seventeenth time a journalist asks about their "off-ice chemistry"
Shane Hollander throwing his head back and cackling in a booth at a random dive bar in a random city, Ilya Rozanov grinning into his drink
asleep on the team bus after game 5 of the conference finals, Ilya curled into Shane's shoulder
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people so badly want ilya to be âthe manâ and shane to be âthe womanâ in hollanovâs dynamic when that isnât supported in the books or the show lmao. like this weird reaction people give the scene where shane rims ilya and the pearl clutching reaction iâve seen across all social media is odd. and i like that hollanov have a set top/bottom dynamic, but people donât understand that queer relationships are not binary and it can be true that shane rims ilya occasionally and is still a bottom. furthermore, it can be true that shane is a bottom and is also masculine. people try to baby girl-ify shane so hard, and thatâs fine if itâs for fun and for a fic/making jokes, but when it bleeds into your actual analysis of who shane is that is a problem imo. it feels a bit racially charged, especially when ilya is stereotyped to be a hyper masculine cold stone top when ilya is arguably more emotional than shane and is more comfortable in his queerness.
like itâs okay to prefer hollanov having a rigid dynamic (esp because they do prefer their top/bottom dynamic in canon and that is also a true aspect of queerness), but people often make the mistake of treating hollanov as if they are a heterosexual couple and are operating on a traditionally patriarchal dynamic when that couldnât be further from the truth. like idk maybe if you feel strange about the idea of ilya being rimmed in s2 and thatâs super gross to you, you should look inwardly at that instinctual reaction and examine why itâs so uncomfortable/gross to you.
Shane doesn't want kids. He's never said so in so many words, but Ilya's read between the lines. He remembers Shane's interview after Pike asked him to be his daughter's godfather. How the interviewer had asked if he hoped to have kids of his own one day. How Shane had gone a little blank and guarded the way he does whenever he's asked a difficult question. How he'd come back with a perfect media-trained answer ("Not sure. Right now, my responsibility is making sure the cup comes back to Montreal. That's my baby.") How every similar question after that was met with a similar answer, until eventually reporters learned to stop asking.
So Ilya knows that Shane doesn't want kids. And that's fine. Ilya thinks he does want them, but not so badly that he couldn't live without them if Shane didn't want them. Their family is already perfect, just the two of them. And Ilya gets to help look after Pike's kids sometimes, and he adores those kids, so that's good enough.
That's why Ilya is completely blindsided one day when Shane turns to him after settling all the Pike kids down for their afternoon nap, and says, "Do you think our kids would be this easy to settle if we ever had them?"
And Ilya's so shocked that his brain has to buffer for a moment. He's just staring at Shane, whose cheeks are now flushing with colour. Ilya can't figure out where to start with this conversation, and the longer he's taking to reply the more awkward Shane is getting, until eventually his eyes drop to his hands. "I mean, uh, nevermind. Forget I said anything. I just thought... nevermind."
This snaps Ilya out of it. "Where is this coming from? I thought you didn't want kids?"
And Shane has a little confused frown on his face. "I've always wanted kids. I thought you might not want kids. You always get a little weird when anyone brings it up in conversation. I can't ever get a good read on what you want."
And this is truly not how Ilya thought this conversation was going to go if they ever had it.
"But what about all those interviews where you avoid the question? All that 'the cup is my only baby' stuff...?"
"That's because it's a stupid fucking question and none of their business," Shane laughs. "And also because it's not something I thought I'd ever be able to have. Not when I couldn't imagine ever being happy with a woman. Not when I thought I'd never be with someone I actually wanted to build a life with. But with you? Yeah. Yeah one day when hockey is done, Ilya Rozanov, I'd really like to have kids with you. But only if you want it to."
And Ilya smiles Tampa-bar bright, and swoops in to kiss Shane all giddy and messy, following it up with at least a dozen more peppered all over his face.
"Of course I want to have babies with you. They would be the most beautiful babies in the world," he says. And then he looks around the living room. "How mad do you think Hayden would be if we made our first one right now?"
He's waggling his eyebrows, and Shane laughs and shoves him.
"Fuck off, asshole," he says, leaning in to kiss him again. Before pulling away, lips still brushing Ilya's, Shane mutters, "When we get home, I'll let you try to make as many as you want."
yuna getting really lovely, thoughtful, sometimes extravagant mothers day and birthday gifts from ilya never really understanding why hes going through all this effort even if she does appreciate it and thinks hes so so sweet for it all, even after the boys tell her and david about ilyas mother and the irina foundation it doesnt fully click for a while. it only comes together on some random day, ilya has a game later that night and heâs had lunch with yuna and david planned for a while and he shows up with the good vodka david likes and this small package of candies that ilya hands to her very shyly for the first time probably in his life, definitely since shes known him, and he explains with shaking hands that they were his mamaâs favorite, and it was her birthday today.
yuna feels her heart break a little bit when he tells her that she would have been younger than her, maybe too young for how old her children are considering he had an older brother, but he thought about his mama when he was happy in the hollander home, and wanted to share his mamas favorite candy with the woman who was mama to his favorite person in the world. like they got to meet, in a way. and yuna realizes very suddenly that he does the birthdays and mothers days for both her and irina because she is the closest thing he has to a mother, and she looks at him and realizes with it that he is in some ways still 12, finding his mother, and she has never met a little boy so tall and tired when she pulls him into a hug and doesnt let go till david suggests they get inside for lunch.
shane is known to have the bitchiest RBF in the league, and the only person he canât help but look with the loveliest expression is his husband and it doesnât matter where, the moment he looks at ilya rozanov he will have a gentle smile and heart eyes on his face. but as soon as he looks other way the rbf is back instantly and it makes some people feel bad if theyâre in the vicinity of that coldly expression.
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Shane âdo it scared, but do itâ Hollander. We forget to put respect on his name. Shane applying an achievement mentally to everything he does. Shane saying, fine, Iâll fucking do it:
Go to Tampa, get his man â
Show his man that he cares â
Get man to his luxury wilderness getaway, ply him with burgers and beer and kicking around a soccer ball and video games and honestly and tenderness and solitude â
Make plan to keep man forever, AND preserve their fucking lives and careers â
Look at parents and says âno actually he fucks me good and I love him, no more lies, and also weâre all gonna be a family now Iâm done with compartmentalizingâ â
Win another fucking Stanley cup using latent adrenaline and serotonin from landing hottest baddie in the NHL â
Propose marriage like a boss: candles, ring, forgot second ring but who cares, carpet frottage, sincerity â
âI choose him. Come on, Ilya.â â â â â â â
Shane and Ilya like to have a hold on each other. And yes of course obviously in the sexual way, manhandling and pressing and tugging and hands grasping literally everywhere without restraint. But more than that, they like to be able to feel the other no further away than the tips of their fingers, greedy for the proximity they now get to have.
Itâs fingers hooked into belt loops, hands in each otherâs pockets, arms looped around waists as far as they can go without interfering. Itâs toes pressed to socks, ankles locked against calves, thighs bracketed around hips. Itâs held stands of hair and chins settled on shoulders and full body constrictions.
If they could theyâd hold onto each otherâs ribs, press their fingers through the barrier of skin and muscle and pull the cage cradling their loverâs heart. Just a bit closer, right there, right at the ends of their touch where they can always find it. No longer so far away.
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I think part of the reason I am obsessed with the show is that theyâre animalistic in their need for each other. Like itâs not a fuck scene edit were you see a finger carefully tracing the curve of the sacred human body or the rhythm on tempo of in and out with an awkward face with flawless makeup and zero strain on it. In the show the sex is fast paced, bold, sweaty, messy, a little uncoordinated and you feel like a voyeur looking at it but you donât even question the fact those two people want each other bad
During the pre-tuna melt era, thereâs a few accidental sleepovers (that both Ilya and Shane unspokenly decide mean nothing)
The first time, Shane accidentally dozes off after sex. Itâs after a game, late in the night, and Ilya decided to challenge himself to see how many Os that he could get out of Shane. Add in a soft bed and a Russian hockey-player weighted blanketâit doesnât take long.
Ilya flops onto the bed beside him, catching his own breath. He turns to Shane, a chirp on his lips, when he noticesâShane looks peaceful and blissed out, cheek half pressed into the pillow. Ilyaâs heart warms (but he tries very hard to ignore what the feeling is).
He should rouse Shane and coax him back to his room. It would be the smart thing to do.
Instead, he gently cleans up Shane with a damp cloth (Shane grumbles a little but doesnât wake) and pulls the duvet over both of them.
I just KNOW Ilya is unknowingly possessive of his husband. Mr. Evolved who used to not believe in monogamy and is a man for the people wants everyone to know that Shane Hollander is HIS. Bro doesnât even know heâs doing it but Shane fucking loves it. Every time theyâre out in public Ilya has to be touching Shane. Hell even in private, Ilya needs to be all up in Shaneâs grill. He always has a hand on Shaneâs hip or ass and Shane secretly loves it though complains about it when itâs brought to their attention by one of their friends. âEasy Roz heâs all yoursâ Wyatt jokes one day at practice when Shane is taping his stick in the locker room, an Ilya wrapped behind him with his face in Shaneâs neck. Ilya just flicks him off and makes a meal of Shaneâs neck, making Shane turn bright red and try to wiggle his way out of his husbandâs grasp.
I do really love the idea that Shane is bad at being gay and doesn't get queer culture at all and kind of stands on the edges.
But I also really enjoy the idea of him saying something bitchy under his breath once, that just happens to be caught by one of the gay guys at the party, and now he's surrounded by the loudest, outest, gayest men who are all gleefully pointing to various people at the party or shoving their phones in his face to hear his bitchy opinions.
They form a big group, and eventually Ilya comes along thinking he has to rescue Shane, but he quickly realizes Shane is having a great time being judgemental with the lads.
To be clear, Shane still knows nothing about fashion, but he knows what looks stupid, and he knows when people are trying too hard, and he knows what good, expensive shit looks like so he can clock any knock-off from a mile away.
And the gays can help point out why the things he thinks are ugly are, in fact, ugly.
I also really like the idea of him ganging up with Kip at the awards night and just reading all the other hockey players to filth. Like, Kip just giddy and giggling at his side while Shane systematically destroys every person who walks by (his husband included). He's quoting stats. He's bringing up known (and sometimes unknown) character flaws. He's pulling old plays from memory and breaking down exactly why and how that player fucked up and what it means about him as a person.
And Kip is just like "No! Oh my god, stop!! No, don't actually stop, say more right now!" đ
At the cottage- Ilya leaving a massive fucking hickie on the soft skin of the back of Shaneâs neck. He doesnât realise till he pulls back, dizzy and panting and trying to blink his eyes open to check Shane is okay under him, ears still ringing- and sees the purple red welt, angry teeth marks around it and blood blisters patterning the skin.
Itâs all shiny from his saliva. He didnât realise how hard heâd been sucking and biting and mouthing at Shaneâs neck as he fucked them through their second orgasms. Ilya is like oh fuck a little worried he bit too hard and heâs leaning down to brush his mouth mover it in tiny little kisses and Shane shivers and tightens around Ilya so hard Ilya gasps, hand gripping Shaneâs hip. And Shane is all âdonât I canât. I need like a few minutes at leastâ and Ilya is like oh đ my perfect pervert.
Shane finally sees it later in the afternoon, after a nap and shower with the help of the bathroom mirror and a phone. His eyes go dark and hes blushing and Ilya is all âyou like this?â And Shane is shrugging and nodding and heâs leaning into Ilya again like they have a string tugging between their navels. He blows Ilya there in the bathroom, his knees on the tile, wet and worshiping and pulls Ilyaâs hand to the back of his neck. He cums wet and messy against Ilyaâs shin when Ilyaâs fingers press down hard into the bruise while his cock is in the back of Shaneâs throat.
Shane sending Ilya a picture of the bruise faded, but still there dark and the shape of Ilyaâs hungry mouth abs to the, pressed into his skin. With the caption âalmost goneâ the â:(â is implied. The ache of being apart was enough and now the marks would be gone too. Ilya sucks another hickey, dark and small but there, between Shaneâs thighs the next time they see each other, right in the crease between thigh and his ass so Shane doesnât have to worry about anyone seeing it, but he can have it, the ache of Ilya with him. It helps both of them to know itâs there.
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Actually FUCK IT list of times Shane calls Ilya baby:
- Ilya gets a sunburn during the first cottage summer and neither of them realize it until Ilya is taking his shirt off that night and Shane sees the lobster-red flush across his shoulders. He sucks in a hiss through his teeth and says, "Oh, baby, ouch," and presses the big, broad pads of his fingertips so tenderly to Ilya's shoulder and Ilya has to close his eyes because he feels like he's going to crack apart.
- When he answers the phone and he's alone. "Hi baby," said so softly if it's been a long day. Or a hard one. Or if it's late. "Hey baby," more energetically, usually in the morning, in a way that reminds Ilya of how his teammates answer the phone to their girlfriends and wives. Masculine and jockish and very North American in a way that makes Ilya feel pleased for Shane, in a weird way.
- Glass on the floor in the kitchen. Ilya blindly following the sound of the shatter and not really even thinking about it until he's standing amongst the shards and Shane is gesturing frantically with the broom. "Put on some fucking shoes, baby, please! Fuck, where are your slides--no, don't move, I'll get them--"
- Said gently, as a question, on days when he perhaps stays in bed longer than can be justified by sleepiness.
- "Hey, baby," said some mornings when Ilya comes downstairs dressed for the day and Shane really likes his outfit. Usually an indication that Ilya will not be wearing those clothes for very long.
- In bed less often than you'd think. Really a vanilla sex only thing, because being called baby can sometimes bring Ilya out of it when he's really in the groove. But Shane will lose it a little sometimes, when Ilya says, "Tell me you like it," and Shane says, "Yes baby fuck fuck I like it fuck please don't stop fuck baby please let me cum" and that's. Very good. Obviously.
- Said with a very particular warning lilt and only AFTER Shane has already said, "Ilya." and then, "Rozanov." In the same tone. This is actually one of only two circumstances where the very elusive 'babe' comes into play. If Shane REALLY wants Ilya to stop whatever he's doing or saying, it's a hand around the wrist and the word, "Babe," quiet but firm. And it does shut Ilya up approximately 100% of the time.
- Other instance of 'babe': Any sort of crowd. 'Ilya' is three syllables (Because Shane...pronounces it a bit wrong.) and unique enough that Shane sometimes worries about drawing attention. 'Babe' is one syllable and can be barked above the crowd in the Captain Hollander voice loud enough that Ilya will have no choice but to hear him if he's within the surrounding 500 feet. They have Marco-Polo'd themselves back to each other with 'BABE' and 'SHANE' multiple times in multiple countries.
- One time someone accidently brings several bottles of fortified wine to the barbecue. It's quite high proof for wine and several people get tipsier than normal, including Shane. Halfway through the evening he puts his head on Ilya's shoulder and plays with his fingers and murmurs, "My baby," into the seam of his shirt and Ilya, looking down at him so fondly, says, "Yes. Yours. Drink some water for me, sweetheart."
- "YES BABY." Yelled directly in Ilya's face during goal cellies. Obviously. This is also the first thing Ilya hears when the ringing in his ears stops after he scores the game-winning goal in overtime in game seven of the Stanley Cup finals. Knees on the ice, sobbing, screaming, laughing, and his husband barrels towards him at damn near light speed, tackles him, skids onto his knees and sends them sliding along the ice together, knocks Ilya's helmet off and puts his hands on his face and yells Yes baby! Fuck yes, baby! We did it!
What if Ilya actually broke it off? (There's a happy ending, I promise) (also, some details are from the book Heated Rivalry)
What if Shane didn't get hit that night, and Ilya went back to Shane's hook-up building as planned, where he kissed him and kissed him and kissed him with everything he had, and then fucked him with everything left, trying to get just one last taste, one last beautiful noise from Shane Hollander. Then, before the sweat has cooled on their bodies, he's ripping himself away and making his way through his 'we can't do this anymore speech'?
It kills him. Absolutely kills him. But he forces out every word, because if he doesn't, he'll do something stupid. This boring Canadian with beautiful freckles brought him to tears. Tears. He didn't even cry when his dad died, but a gentle kiss from Shane Hollander, four thousand miles away, on a fucking screen, and he's breaking down? No. He can't do this.
For a moment, Shane just gapes at him, still half-naked, hair mussed and gorgeous, before he launches into excruciating detail of everything that has been going right. He asks Ilya if he feels it too - that closeness, that need to be together, the way the itch under his skin only settles when they talk. Then even worse, he tells Ilya, point blank, that he'd be his. That he'd try to make it work. That they could work something out. Try to actually go somewhere, just like they talked about. He throws Ilya's own words back in his face 'I thought you wanted to know when you could have me for as long as you wanted'.
And then he just. Nods. After Ilya's managed to say 'I can't do this anymore, Hollander', chest too tight and voice punched out, Shane swallows, tears swimming in his eyes, and fucking nods. And somehow, that silence is worst than if Shane had screamed at him for hours.
Shane turns away from him, throwing clothes back on, and there's nothing left for Ilya to do other than leave. So, biting back an apology, he does. He drags himself out the door, and starts trying to convince himself that this is better.
Of course, it doesn't work. Even for a second.
It's more luck than anything that secures them a spot in the playoffs. His play is awful. He can't focus. Can't sleep. Can't go for a run. Can't do anything he'd usually do because there's just this constant weight around his neck, choking him. At one point, he saw the team doctor because he lost his voice, only to be told there was nothing physically wrong. The doc said something about grief. That sometimes, because you had nothing to say after someone died, your voice could die with them, for a little while. Ilya crawled into bed straight after and didn't get up until Sveta came and dragged him out.
After every game, he checks the playoffs schedule, as if he hasn't got it memorised. If they get through to round three, they're facing Montreal. Facing him. The idea alone makes him feel actually physically sick.
He needn't have worried. The pressure gets to the team and, without him holding them together, they're eliminated shortly after. Sitting in the empty locker room afterwards, he waits to feel something. Anything. Relief, disappointment, annoyance. But he just feels tired. So. Fucking. Tired.
He doesn't watch the next few games. Can't bring himself to see Shane looking perfectly fine whilst he wastes away, being eaten from the inside out. Or worse, can't face Shane looking as awful as he feels, knowing he caused that.
But of course, it's impossible to avoid Shane Hollander. The man is everywhere. Cliff drags him to the cinema after too many weeks days of festering in his own shit, and while he's taking a pre-movie slash, a group of teenage girls start discussing an interview with Mr Hollander, then playing the clip.
For some reason, Shane's being asked about his love life. Questions like if he's ever been in love, if he has anyone special, what he'd want in a partner. The kind of stuff Shane would never usually do. Even through the shitty phone speaker, Ilya can hear how uncomfortable he is. It makes Ilya want to scream. Run away. Stamp on the phone until it shatters into a million pieces. But he just stands there, frozen, hooked on every word as his throat gets tighter and tighter because EйаŃŃ has he missed his voice. And-- and Shane's saying things like it's not fair for the interviewer to know if he's been in love before he told the person themselves. Things like he'd thought he had someone special. Once. Maybe. Things like he'd want someone that challenges him, and is snarky, and a bit of a menace, but is secretly the sweetest person ever. Someone that he can just be himself with, instead of having to be The Shane Hollander all the time. Someone with the most beautiful eyes, and thick curls. Someone who... (Shane pauses, clears his throat like there's something lodged in it. Ilya's heart races). Someone who isn't too scared to be his, even when everything seems stacked against them.
The girls all start cooing and giggling and comparing who's hair is curlier and therefore more likely to have a chance with him, and Ilya's moving. Striding away, sweet and salted popcorn still in hand, because he just. He has to go. He can't breathe. He can't see through the tears in his eyes. But he has to. Now. Because otherwise he's going to collapse into a sobbing, heaving mess right there in front of everyone. Because--- because it sounds like Shane is talking about him. Like he wants him. Even though he shouldn't. Even though Ilya screwed everything up. Even though Ilya always screws everything up. He might still want him. And after weeks of choking on the pain of missing him and pretending it will get better, he knows he's not going to be able to breathe until he sees him.
He books a flight there and then, choosing to trust his gut over the horrid voice that keeps whispering Shane could never still want him. Choosing to believe that he can figure something out. They can figure something out. As long as Shane doesn't slam the door in his face.
He doesn't actually know where Shane lives. Just that it's close enough to the rink that he's happy. But he makes it work. Uses his charm. Until he's parked in front of a beautiful building with a scrap of paper with an apartment number scrawled on it. He takes the stairs two at a time, thinking the building itself is unremarkable. Much to normal for a beautiful man like Shane Hollander to live in. And then he's standing outside a door. Hopefully Shane's door. Heart pummeling in his chest. Breath choppy. Stomach clenching.
There's an entire age between Ilya's knock and the sound of the lock turning, but he's still not ready when the door opens to reveal a soft, tired, sweatshirt-clad Shane Hollander.
The rings around Shane's eyes are too big. Too purple. His hair ruffled, like he keeps running his hand through it. And his skin is too pale. Like he's not been getting enough sun, or sleep, or vitamins. It makes his freckles too light.
Each detail is a punch to Ilya's chest, and he all but crumples.
'I'm sorry,' he tries to say, but it comes out garbled. Too strangled by the sobs that force their way out. Still, he can't stop. 'I'm so sorry. I thought I could do it. I thought it would be better. But is worse. Is so much worse Hollander. I- fuck, I-'
He chokes on a sob right before the words 'love you' can burst out of him, but he almost wants to say them anyway. Nothing can make him feel worse than he already does.
'You didn't text,' Shane murmurs, tone flat. No, tone heartbroken. EйаŃŃ, apparently he could.
'I- I did not want to make it harder.'
Shane's mouth presses into a thin line. 'For you?'
He lets out a pained sound. 'For both of us.'
Slowly, Shane nods. 'So... what do you want, Rozanov?'
It's not said in a mean way, but still, Ilya's heart breaks a little more with the almost detached tone. With the way Shane's avoiding his eyes. With the tightness in Shane's whole body, screaming how uncomfortable he is. Ilya flounders for an answer, too many things he wants fighting to be said first.
'To... to see you. No, wait-' he says quickly, when Shane's face twists and he steps back, like he could close the door on them. Forever this time. 'To try. Hollander - Shane. Please. I... I want to try and be- be yours, even if everything is stacked against us... If is what you want, too'
'Holy shit,' Shane breathes. When Ilya chances a glance at his face, he finds Shane staring at him, open mouthed, eyes too bright, body frozen. And then he's being pulled inside and engulfed by warm, strong arms as the door slams behind them, locking them in together.
It's everything he's wanted for weeks, but still Ilya reels, disbelief clutching at him for a terrible moment. His arms come up to hold Shane, but only instinctively. Every whiff of his shampoo throws him for a loop. He's surprised he can smell it at all, he's barely breathing. But somehow, his mind whispers that Shane's there, hugging him. He didn't lose him.
It's that thought that finally breaks through, and then he's clinging to him. Burying his face in Shane's neck, squeezing his shoulders, his waist, shoving his hands in his hair all the while apologising over and over and over.
And Shane's just as desperate. He squeezes him tight, cradles his cheek, presses firmly into the centre of his back, just how he likes. Still, Ilya screams out for more.
He's still trying to find a way to crush him close enough to stop the ache in his chest when he feels Shane start to pull away. Whimpering, he clings tighter, scenes of Shane changing his mind or yelling at him flashing through his mind. But Shane just hushes him gently, caressing his cheek and saying he's not going anywhere, just trying to get them over to the couch. And he can do that. He can. So he nods, let's Shane pull back a bit, and sniffs hard, trying to force the tears to stop. It doesn't work.
He's suddenly too aware of the fact that he's never been to Hollander's actual apartment. The couch he's being led to is unfamiliar, the route foreign, and it hurts far more than he wants it too. Hollander never wanted him here before. Can things really change so quickly? But then he's being pushed gently down onto the cushions, and Shane's straddling his lap. Shane's knees press into his thighs on either side, and his chest pushes against Ilya's as he re-wraps his arms around him, bringing Ilya's head back to tuck under Shane's chin. Like he's a small, precious thing, instead of a huge hockey player who just caused them both so much pain.
'God, I missed you so much,' Shane murmurs, a few moments later. And all Ilya can do is whine, because fuck, he missed him too. And fuck, he needs to kiss him. Right now. If- If Shane lets him.
He swallows hard, starting slow by pressing a kiss to Shane's neck. Just on the collar of his sweatshirt. Light enough that he can pass it off, if needed. But Shane just sighs, melting a little more, and all Ilya has to do is tip his head slightly before Shane's meeting him hungrily.
It's chaste, for them. Every press of their lips lingering, and firm. Their tongues only lightly swiping the inside of their lips. But it's everything. Ilya hopes he's not the only one thinking they're making each other a promise.
'Tell me again,' Shane murmurs eventually, pressing their foreheads together. 'Tell me why you're here. What you want.'
To have you, always. To be able to tell the world that you're mine. To find out if you really do love me, like the interview hinted. To never, ever let you out of my sight again.
'To try. And be... more. Yours. Even if everything is stacked against us.' He swallows hard. 'If is what you wa-.'
Shane cuts him off, devouring his mouth.
'I do want,' he says between kisses. 'I told you. I don't think I can keep pretending I don't like you anymore, Rozanov - Ilya. I want. So much.'
His hands are slipping under Shane's sweatshirt, grasping his warm, soft skin, tugging him closer. Still, he has to know -
'Even now? After I...'
'Even now,' he says without hesitation. 'I'm still mad at you. You made me wait a long time. And you're never allowed to do that again,' he pauses, staring into Ilya's eyes. Ilya nods, wishing he could kiss away the pain he sees in them. He tries anyway, heart fluttering at the small quirk to Shane's lips as he does before Shane pulls back again. 'But I'd always rather be mad with you, than without you, Ilya.'
I love you, Ilya thinks as Shane caresses his cheek again. I love you so much. It's always been you. I would die for you.
'Okay,' he nods. Takes a deep breath. 'I will not run again.'
'Good,' Shane sighs, closing the distance between them again. And finally, finally, as the kiss deepens, as Shane pushes him back into the sofa and starts tenderly rubbing circles on his hip, the ache begins to settle. He's here. In Shane's apartment. Shane wants him. Wants to be mad with him. And is still holding him close. They can figure something out.
And if he and Shane have the most tender, loving, toe-curling sex he's ever had, and fall asleep curled around one another, as though scared to be more than a few centimeters away, that's no-one else's business but theirs.
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