Chapter Text
'I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you
I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you
I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night
And now I see daylight, I only see daylight' (-TS)
Shane slams through the front door after his morning run, panting and sweating. He feels like he's full of adrenaline, and he wants.
He’s sporting the green running shorts, the ones that Ilya always calls so much attention to. (“Ridiculous, SO slutty, painted on, for gods sake, you will kill me HOLLANDER.”) Shane smirks, whipping his tank over his head. He’d convinced himself to sprint for the last 5 minutes of his workout, motivated to seek a certain reward back at their Ottawa house.
That reward, almost obviously named Ilya Rozanov, (and, well, Ilya Rozanov’s fucking off the hook body tea), was going to have to wait.
Shane stood catching his breath in the doorway of their bedroom, eyes landing on his husband’s face. Ilya was just staring off toward the en suite bathroom. He was beautiful, as always, but something wasn’t right. His gaze was disconnected, and his face was white as a ghost. He’d seemingly shoved his computer off his lap, where it now sat precariously on the side of their bed, threatening to fall. “Um…Ilya?’ Shane asked, as he moved toward the laptop to place it on a solid surface.
“Hey……” Shane climbed onto the bed, straddled Ilya’s lap, and softly eased his head into his hands. “Ilya. Babe. What’s going on? Where are you right now? You okay?”
Ilya’s eyes finally snapped toward Shane’s, as if he was just realizing that Shane was in the room. His hands brushed up Shane’s arms, made their way back down, then up his chest, toward his throat. “Mmm. Warm…,” Ilya murmured, bending to trail kisses up the side of Shane’s neck.
“Ilya….fuck…” Shane tilted his head, allowing Ilya’s searching mouth to find what he wanted.
“I’m right here, moya lyubov,” Ilya whispered, easing Shane’s back down to meet their bed. “I am with you, right here, and where else could I possibly be?” Shane melted underneath him, already falling, body opening for Ilya like a gift. The world faded, and all else was set aside.
****
But later, it was happening again.
"Babe, “ Shane said, hand hovering over the Scrabble board, seeking his next letters. “Babe, what are you thinking about? Something going on in your head? You look… lost.”
Ilya blinked, then fixed a crooked grin onto his face. And Shane could tell, after all these years, that it was a cover. It was... forced, and one of Ilya’s efforts to convince Shane that everything is how it should be.
“You are worrying always, Hollander. Why? Am just trying to find right letters to spell in stupid English language game.” Ilya sniffed, fidgeting with his game pieces. Shane swallowed, not believing a word his husband was saying. He knew better now, had learned the small cues that signaled his husband was struggling with demons. While therapy had been supportive to him over the past years, Shane knew Ilya still felt like a failure when he had to address his feelings. Ilya hated to refer to his past as traumatic to begin with.
So, he knew he’d need to tread carefully in this moment to avoid triggering Ilya’s walls of defense.
“Ilya……” he started, setting down his scrabble pieces, and leaning forward to place his hands on both sides of Ilya’s face. He pressed a gentle kiss to Ilya’s lips, communicating what he couldn’t say. I hate the pain that you feel. I hate what you’ve had to endure. My resilient husband who learned how to be strong at age 10, maybe even younger, just so fucking unfair. And somehow, you still found your way to a place where you love so softly and freely. You still found your way to me.
Out loud, to Ilya, Shane tried his best.
“So...I want you to know that you don’t have to talk about this with me if you don’t want to. You can tell me to fuck off, and I promise, I’ll leave it. I can go back to beating your ass at Scrabble. But, earlier….before we…after I got back from my run. You looked white as a ghost, like something had happened. I just want you to know that I love you. So fucking much, I love you, and I’m here if you need to talk. Okay?”
Ilya swallowed, his face turned away from Shane. It was the same way he’d turned away in those thick, quiet moments before the first time he’d told Shane he loved him. Shane was patient, waiting for any response Ilya was willing to give.
“I had a virtual therapy call today. I called Galina because of the nightmares, and wanting to stop leaving our bed in the middle of the night to clear my head.” Shane nodded, encouragingly, his expression open, without judgment.
And to Ilya, it felt insane to do anything but trust him. So he kept talking.
“She thinks I need to do some crazy, weird therapy. Is called ADRM, maybe? She said it’s because of my fucking trauma.” He stopped to take a breath, then kept going, and Shane stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. “She doesn’t get it, Shane. What I went through, I put it away, almost everyone involved is fucking DEAD, or dead TO ME, what use do I even have for it now? What use is there bringing it up? I mean, isn’t it just pathetic? Oh, fuck. EMDR. That’s what it was. You know, the stupid weird therapy. Can you not look it up right away? I don’t need something meant for people who’ve been kidnapped, or who were… soldiers in war? Anyway, is….” Ilya waved his hand back and forth in a ‘whatever’ motion. "But, thank you…for asking.”
Shane nodded, recognizing that he understood some of what Ilya was saying. His therapist had once told him that his accidental coming out, before he and Ilya had been ready to tell the world about them, was a reason to diagnose him with PTSD. He’d scoffed, openly. He’d reminded her that people with PTSD had dealt with much worse, and didn’t (most likely) have insanely fuckhot husbands who moved across the world to fall asleep with them every night, and that he was fine.
“Shane,” Nicole had said, gently. “Our feelings aren’t valid because they’re stronger than someone else’s, or because we’ve gone through worse things compared to someone else. That’s just not how the brain works. Our feelings are valid because...they are our own. And they impact us, no matter how much we deny it.” Shane, who typically loved his sessions, had walked out of Nicole’s office that day while internally rolling his eyes. He’d figured his next session had to be more useful.
That was several years ago. Since then, he’s realized that Nicole wasn’t as full of shit as he’d thought that day.
“I do get that,” Shane said to Ilya, still cradling his face in his hands. “Really, you know I thought Nicole was a complete pain in my ass when she suggested that my history was traumatic. But I’ve really kind of thought, since then… what’s the point of pretending anymore? Ilya...we don’t have to be robotic and emotionless and always okay because we’re men. You’ve never told me to shit talk myself, or dismiss my own trauma. Or to pretend like it doesn’t exist. Why would you do that to yourself? I’m here, no matter what you’re feeling. I’m here, I’m always here.” Shane lightly dragged his lips across Ilya’s face, continuing down his neck, landing on his shoulders.
Ilya sighed, and Shane felt his own body lighting up from the inside.
Ilya looked up at Shane through his lashes, and said, “Oh, my love. Growing up in Russia…it taught me to ignore my feelings. That having them is weak and wrong…pitiful. It’s exhausting to constantly try to remember that is lie. I’m sorry. I do want to share, but maybe not tonight.” Shane kissed him gently, letting his fingers slip softly into Ilya’s hair. “I know, babe,” Shane said quietly. “It doesn’t matter when. I love you. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
Ilya gave Shane a long look that started as grateful. But Shane watched as it gradually became something else.
He watched his gorgeous husband’s eyes start to become glassy, and noticed his breathing change to shorter, quicker bursts. Ilya slid down off his chair onto his knees, fucking crawled over to where Shane was sitting, and rested his head on Shane’s thigh. Shane dragged his fingers through Ilya’s hair. He sucked in a breath when Ilya mouthed at Shane’s cock through his sweatpants.
Once he’d taken Shane into his mouth, swallowing him so far back that Shane couldn't fathom it, the demons of the past had once again been forgotten. Shane came down his husband’s throat, pulling his hair enough to hurt, while Ilya’s hazel eyes never left his own.