you know what is real

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.

Mostly because he’s loud. If you’ve ever heard athletes get these massages, they hurt/feel amazing and it is common for athletes to moan/groan/gasp loudly throughout.

So when they’re living together, Ilya is white-nuckled in the kitchen gripping the counters as his husband is laying on his massage table sounding like he’s getting fucked six ways to Sunday.

He can’t even watch because Amanda is there and Ilya doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

He finally caves and heads to the shower when Shane gasps out, “yeah, right there, fuck.”

Shane goes back and forth between weird pointless jealously that people think Ilya is fucking Cliff and relief that this is like a weird added security around their real relationship.

link

But now, he gets so tired whenever Ilya is around. His eyelids start to droop and, even though he's spent days or weeks looking forward to reuniting with his boyfriend, all he wants to do is fall asleep in Ilya's arms.

He decides to go to the doctor for some labs, checking for conditions that would make him fatigued. Words like leukemia and lupus came up on his Google searches, so he braces for the worst.

"Everything is perfect, Shane," his doctor tells him over the phone a week later. "But, you know, if you're worried about it, you could talk to a psychiatrist."

He makes an appointment for the next day with the first psychiatrist he finds. He explains the issue again: extreme sleepiness, maybe even narcolepsy, if Web MD is right. After more prompting, he specifies that this happens specifically around his partner.

The psychiatrist smiles at him. "Do you know much about nervous system regulation?" she asks gently. When he shakes his head, she explains further. "There are some people or settings that cause our nervous systems to feel calmer, and, especially for people who spend a lot of their lives in a state of fight or flight, those soothing feelings can make us tired and sleepy. Maybe your body finally feels safe and able to rest."

“Party’s inside”.

Like, how exactly did this conversation go???

"My name is Andrew Minyard and I am in the team of delinquents your son is a part of. Matt is using drugs and my brother is an ex-addict so I cant have him near your son for risk he might relapse. So my plan is: I am gonna give your son a non addictive drug that will cause a horrible reaction when mixed to the shit he has already taken. It will leave him miserable for at least a week. If he doesnt die, he will be clean by the end. Do I have your authorization to proceed?"

This must have been the phone call of the century, because WTF

The worst is Randy going like "By all means, go on. Offer drugs to my son"

What I would give to have an extra chapter just narrating their talk. This must have been hilarious.

Andrew Minyard character of the century. He will ask for your mom's authorization before drugging you. If you dont have a mom then he will just drug you, but If you do, he will ask her.

What a fucking icon.

Initially, he's too worried about how the conversation between his wife and his son is going to really think too much about the enormous hockey player opposite him. But after a few moments he realises that it's too quiet.

It's not that he's expecting Rozanov – Ilya – to be as loud and showboaty as he is in interviews, but he's definitely not expecting the man to be intently staring into his glass like it holds all the secrets of the universe, not moving a single muscle. David is sure this isn't just normal meeting-the-parents nerves. It's terror, like Ilya is scared to do or say anything. Like he's scared it'll provoke David or something.

And suddenly Ilya doesn't seem like an enormous hockey player at all – just a scared kid in a situation he didn't plan for or expect anymore than his son did. After all, David has also accidentally outed him.

He regards Ilya for a moment before clearing his throat.

"So, Ilya, what do you like to eat?"

Ilya's head snaps up and his eyes meet David's.

"I'm sorry?" He says it carefully, like he's waiting for it to be a trick question, and David's heart gives a little pang. What has happened to this kid to make him so suspicious and anxious?

"What's your favourite thing to eat?" David asks with a smile, making sure his voice is as calm and gentle as possible. It feels a bit like he's trying to coax a scared and cornered animal out from under a car. "I think you and Shane should stay for dinner. Since I think we'll be seeing more of you from now on, I'd like to know what kind of food you enjoy so that we can make it for you when you visit. So what can I get you? Burgers? Pasta? We have a pizza oven if you'd like a pizza?"

"Pasta," says Ilya, the corners of his mouth turning up in an encouraging way. "If it's like the pasta Shane makes, I think I will really like that."

"Pasta it is then," says David, smile growing at the way Ilya's shoulders settle. He resolves right then to make sure that Ilya will never feel this terrified in his home again. "Want to help me get it started? Beats sitting here worrying about how the conversation outside is going, right?"

"Right," says Ilya with the first real smile he's ever seen from him. And David sees it then – sees the man that Shane must have seen beneath the bravado, beneath the act.