Chapter Text
June 2014
This whole thing was bullshit. At least Ilya had gotten the pleasure of taking a picture of the two of them in public; his hand smoothing the tension out of Shane’s back enough to get a picture right when his smile went softer and real. It was the first photo either of them had ever taken together, the thought settled like a stone.
He focused back on Shane, rubbing hands up and down his back. Ilya had followed Shane straight to the bathroom when they had been released from the stage, where he was now leaning heavily against the locked door, half an ear on the world outside, the rest of his attention on his- on Shane. Shane, who had immediately buried his head into Ilya's neck, breathing heavily.
“It’s ok, solnyshko. You are good here,” Ilya whispers reassurances into Shane’s hair. His breathing eventually evens out and when it does, Ilya pulls his head up to look at him. He was so beautiful; Ilya had to kiss him.
“Better?” Shane nods, letting his forehead fall against Ilya’s.
“Good. Now get on your knees.” Shane rears back.
“What the fuck, asshole!” Ilya doesn’t hold in his laughter.
“Don’t worry, kotenok. I will not make you get on dirty bathroom floor.” Shane is still glaring at him. Angry kitten face. Very cute.
“You’re still an asshole.” Ilya leans in and kisses him again, feeling Shane melt.
Ilya has to be the one that pulls back, steadying them on their feet and smoothing out Shane’s suit.
“We will go and watch stupid, boring awards, then we go to stupid, boring party, and tonight, when I win MVP, you will do whatever I want.”
“Whatever you want?” Shane challenges, “What if I win?”
Ilya smirks, “Nice try, kotenok. But, ok, if you win, we do what you want.”
Neither of them are surprised when Ilya wins. Not after his hockey performance post-Olympics. Skating like he had something to prove and doing exactly that with the Stanley Cup.
They're laying in bed later and Ilya is mentally reviewing what is some of the best sex they’ve ever had — and the bar is high — when Shane shifts against him far earlier than his post-multi-orgasm laze usually allows.
“Ilya.” His voice alerts Ilya to something wrong, “Ilya, I feel… I feel weird.”
That has Ilya lifting his head from Shane's chest to look at him properly, “Hurt?”
“No? I don’t know,” Shane feels floaty, but the edges of that pleasure are tinged with an unfriendly static. “M’head, feels…”
Ilya lets himself review the last few hours, trying to find what could have caused Shane to drop. He alights on what had been missing since Shane arrived in penthouse 1 and he cannot let the night go on any longer without remedy. Ilya brackets Shane's head with his arms, letting as many points of contact as possible exist, “Prosti menya, kotenok.”
Shane relaxes into the kiss, tension bleeding out of him. “Forgive me. I never forget again.” Words peppered with kisses, lips never leaving Shane's face or lips. How could he have forgotten to kiss Shane? It’s his favorite thing to do. Ilya resolves this to never happen again, and a small, warm feeling settles in him around the fact that Shane told him — trusts Ilya to take care of him.
“I take care of you, yes? No сабдроп allowed.” Ilya dragged Shane to the edge of the bed as gently as he could so he could carry him to the shower. Settled on the toilet, Shane whined when Ilya had to pull away to turn on the warm water. Ilya kept up a steady stream of encouragement in Russian.
Once under the warm spray, the routine of Ilya washing him seemed to settle Shane further. Ilya made sure to continue placing kisses everywhere he washed.
Back in bed, limbs tangled, Shane comes back enough to say, “Spasibo.”
Ilya looks up at him from where he’s been resting on Shane’s chest, “I’m sorry,” His voice is a little hoarse. “I did not mean to-“
“I’m ok, Ilya. You fixed it. I’m ok,” Shane reaches to pull Ilya up to his lips.
“You know what happened.” It’s a statement and question in one.
“Yeah, I, uh, looked it up once. Well,” Shane blushes, “I was doing, um, you know, research. And I came across it. Read a lot about it, and other things.”
Ilya looks delighted, “Shane Hollander did sex research.”
“Leave me alone, asshole.”
“Nooo,” Ilya growls. “I stay right here. You are stuck with me.”
Shane laughs at his antics. “God, how did that happen?”
“Because you secretly like to break rules.”
“Not true. I actually love rules. I’m very by-the-book.”
Ilya pushes himself up to leer over Shane, “No, no book, just Shane Hollander breaking rules in secret.”
“Well maybe if there was a playbook for falling in love with your rival—”
Shane promptly forgets whatever he was going to say because Ilya freezes above him, and his brain processes what he just said, “Um.”
Eyes wide, unsure of if he should start taking it back or if Ilya is going to say something. They've never talked directly about this. They've mastered the art of being honest while talking around it, never directly addressing the elephant by name. So it sat in the corner of every room they were in. But, Shane reasoned, they said exclusive two years ago now. They showered together after sex, had been to each other's homes, more recently started planning around days off to see each other. Jesus Christ they were dumb.
Ilya makes the decision for him by kissing him hard; a reassurance and answer all at once. This is the easiest language for them to speak, a fall back when verbal words are too hard or not enough. Ilya's mumbling in Russian against Shane's lips, never quite pulling back between kisses. When he does, it's to say, ya tebya lyublyu in a soft, choked voice, eyes shiny.
Shane pulls him in for another kiss, gentler this time. “Ya tebya lyublyu” he echos, “God, Ilya, I love you.”
Ilya buries his face into Shane's neck, lets the other man wrap his arms around Ilya's shoulders, holding him against his chest.
“I'm scared,” admits Ilya in a small voice. Shane just strokes his fingers through curly hair and waits. This is Ilya's confession.
Without moving any more than turning his head so his voice is audible he continues, “Of how much I want you. What it means for us and Russia and-” He cuts himself off with a huff, continuing in Russian, “I’m scared of how willing I am to leave my home behind, because it doesn't feel like home anymore. Terrified that someone will find out and take you away from me. I feel safe here, when you hold me, and I want it forever. I’ve never wanted anything more. I want someone to tell me I can have it, have this, because I love you more than I know what to do with.”
His face presses back into Shane's neck, breath stuttering. “Ilya. Ilya, look at me.”
He only presses further into Shane. Like he could just crawl inside him and solve every issue by fusing themselves together. Shane doesn't let him hide very long, he never does, and Ilya finds himself on his back. Shane is kissing his face, cheeks, eyes, nose, over and over. He pulls back to look at Ilya, watery eye to watery eye, “I think I got most of that.”
Of course he did. Because Shane had always let Russia exist around them. He didn't flinch away from it or force Ilya to suppress it. When Ilya needed to use his first language, Shane listened, encouraged him even. Before he could translate words, he could understand tone, and only asked for translations occasionally, when he felt he needed to make sure.
“You make me feel brave, Ilya.” Shane whispers, “We don't talk about this, but we need to. So I'm going to be brave. Do you want this Ilya? Us? Because I want it so bad, it's killing me. And we’re either in this together or not at all. I'm not letting anything be left unsaid, no matter how this ends.”
Ilya understands, they have to decide tonight if this is forever or never again. Or Shane will have to walk out of the door and leave them both heartbroken and they will only see each other for hockey and at hockey events. The thought of never kissing Shane again, of going the rest of their lives as strangers who once knew each other in the most intimate way - Ilya wants to throw up. Shane is right. So if he can be brave, Ilya can be honest.
“You are easy, Shane.” He sees an eyebrow raise, trying to figure out if the double entendre was intentional - it wasn't. He clarifies, “Hockey is complicated, Russia is complicated, rivalry is complicated, other people out there,” he gestures vaguely, reminding them both of the full hotel around them.
“You are easy, Shane. Easiest thing in my life. Here, when we are Shane and Ilya. We can just… be.” The look Shane is giving him bolsters his next words, “I want us Shane, so bad. I want forever. I want us to work, I want more. And I don't know how to have it.”
“Marry me.” Ilya stops breathing, “I mean- just. Fuck. You have me Ilya, you've always had me, remember? Tvoy. You can have me forever, and we can work on all the complicated stuff together. One of those is Russia, and safety, and I just- I love you, ya tebya lyublyu. We've never said what we are and my brain said it would be easier to keep you safe with a new passport. Then if anyone finds out, they can't take you away. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it would un-complicate some of the big things and—”
Ilya cuts him off by kissing him again, pushing up until he has Shane sitting in his lap, arms around each other, foreheads resting together, “Da. Da, yes Shane. I will marry you.”
“Really?” Ilya wants to laugh at this man and roll his eyes.
“Yes really. Shane, you could have proposed on the floor of the dirty gym and I would have said yes. I'm yours too, since we met.” Shane does laugh at that. Small giggles are music to Ilya’s ears as he kisses Ilya again, more smiling against each other than swapping spit.
“Holy shit, we just got engaged.” It's a statement and a question, followed by a delighted, if hysterical, laugh. “Holy shit. We went from something to engaged in like 15 minutes. There's so much to do.”
His Shane, already making plans. Taking a problem, finding a solution and making a plan. He pokes his fiance - fiance! and says, “Good thing my fiance is good at making plans.”
He feels entirely too giddy at the feeling that word provokes in him. That Shane-shaped space in his heart is overflowing. He stops himself from thinking the words future husband because he might actually explode or orgasm. Or both, but that would be bad, he cant explode before he spends the rest of his life (holy shit!) with Shane Hollander.
Shane has another look in his eye, the one he gets when Ilya has just said something that made him unexpectedly horny. Good thing him and Shane are always in the same chapter, and can usually find themselves on the same page.
“We have engaged sex now?” He gets a moan when he flips them again.
“I have to-" Ilya cuts off the thought with a hand around his hard dick.
“No. First I fuck my fiance until he cannot think, then we make plan.” And he does exactly that. He kisses down Shane's body, working him up and open. Setting a slow pace and fucking his fiance like the most precious thing in the world.