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Family is something that Ilya has lost over the years and found instead in the arms of his husband and friends. Found or not, he’s grateful for the love and care he receives even from Anya, who licks over his socked feet sometimes (which irritates Shane and brings about a whiny ‘Ilya that’s gross don’t let her do that’).
‘You are just jealous that she likes me more’, he’d say in return.
‘Is not gross when I do it to you’, he’d add.
Family is Yuna giving him advice in marketing himself more blatantly after the swap to the Centaurs, to repair his Boston bad boy image. She takes the initiative sometimes and offers to book photoshoots for him. She ruffles his hair when a curl or two is out of place - reminds him to make a dentist appointment to replace the chipped fake tooth sitting at the front of his mandible.
Family is David texting him and asking for more Russian vodka recommendations - because who else would know better than the living, breathing Russian at their disposal? David shares recipes with Ilya, has him taste the spoon and hint at adding more salt. They sneak more salt into recipes together while Shane is distracted. David presses a hand over his chest and nudges him back from the stove when he flips a pancake over in the air, a trick he’d learned from his cooking shows that Ilya watches segments of on Youtube sometimes.
Family is Shane’s soft, unguarded smile that he has when he tapes the sonogram results to their fridge and crosses his arms while he stares at them. Worries and insecurities swim through his big, beautiful brain alongside the unfiltered joy and optimism. Ilya can usually hear the cogs turning in the well-oiled machine that is his husband's brain. He’d come behind him and whisper in Shane’s ear about how they’re going to make for the kindest and most loving set of fathers anyone would see. Shane will nod and will away the glossing of his eyes.
Family is Svetlana, Marleau, the other Raiders he’d grown close to during his stint there, and the Centaurs all making the trip to join their little to-be family for a gender reveal party (and late birthday celebration). Family is the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed surrogate waddling her way through their yard to toss a toy for Anya.
Family is Alexei reaching out to him the month prior to wish him a happy - at the time, early - birthday and express an uncharacteristic interest in reconciling.
Naturally, he’s hesitant at first. He asks ‘why now?’
“I guess he had some sort of accident at work - he’s a cop, of course he is - and now he wants to reconcile with Ilya,” Shane explains to his mother as the two of them stand with their lower backs leaned against the countertop.
They’re mirrors of each other without even realizing. Each of them holds their wine glass in their left hand, right hand tucked between their bent elbow and ribcage. They even take sips at the same time.
“What kind of accident? Was he hurt? I’ll bet you he had those epiphanies people have, you know? When they see their lives flash before their eyes and decide to become good people all of a sudden,” Yuna adds, nodding.
They sip from their glasses.
“Can I interrupt the gossip session to ask for a taste test?” David asks, lips quirked into a little smile as he glances over his shoulder.
“Where’s your favorite son, he loves taste testing,” Shane jokes dryly, lips twitching into their own little smirk.
“Ouch, you’ve got some claws on you when you’ve had a few glasses.”
Yuna laughs and smacks David’s shoulder gently, leaning forward to take a taste of the spoon fed to her. She hums and nods, covers her mouth with a poised hand while she swallows. That’s where Shane gets that habit from, makes sense.
“Yeah, well, maybe that’ll make Alexei stay far away from me. From what I’ve heard, I don’t think I have anything nice to say to him.”
“Probably best to say nothing at all then,” David agrees. “You’re sure it’s good? No extra salt maybe?”
“No extra salt,” Yuna and Shane say in unison.
He raises a hand in mock surrender, “Alright, alright. Thank you peanut gallery.”
“You’re welcome,” Shane adds before ducking out of the kitchen entirely.
The party is in half-swing. Everyone - except for the previously mentioned - is here. Marleau sits in the backyard with Ilya and it looks like they’re attempting to form an alliance between the Raiders and the Centaurs. It should go over well, cut from the same cloth and all that. Hayden and Jackie are sitting in the living room talking with J.J., the few people Shane had gotten in his divorce from the Metros.
The sliding door opens and Ilya steps in, glass empty and shoulders holding none of the tension they had earlier that morning when they’d discussed Alexei’s arrival today. Shane smiles softly at his husband and takes the glass from him.
“I’ll make you another?”
“Mmm, my sweet wife greets me at the door with a drink, is like ‘Love Lucy’.”
“‘I Love Lucy’.”
“Shane, you are gay.”
Shane rolls his eyes and checks his shoulder against Ilya’s when he walks by him toward the kitchen.
“You’re hilarious,” he says, voice monotone.
Ilya’s arms wind around him from behind while he dumps a few ice cubes into the glass. The blond rests his chin on Shane’s strong shoulder, hooking over the muscle and watching him pour vodka into the glass. Their bodies are warm and firm pressed together. Shane has to will himself to not think about the way Ilya’s hips have nowhere to go except up against the swell of his ass through his shorts.
Down boy, he tells himself.
“He will be here soon with Karina and Natalya,” Ilya says after a quiet moment of just enjoying their joined bodies.
Shane nods, opens the can of soda and pours it into the vodka. He swirls it around, jaw tense where Ilya presses a soft kiss to the hinge of it.
“You are more nervous than me,” he notes.
“Yeah, well, I have to pretend to get along with someone who fucked out of your life for years after basically extorting you for your hard-earned money and now only wants to come back because he had some bullshit near death experience and realized he has no one else left, so-“
Ilya chuckles and Shane almost wants to wriggle out of his grip if not for the warmth behind the sound. Ilya presses another kiss to the spot behind his ear, nuzzling his nose into the patch of hair there to disarm his lover.
“So vicious, my котёнок,"kitty," he whispers, the pet name for them and only for them.
Shane glances at where his parents are enthralled in their own conversation, his cheeks hot to the touch and tinted pink.
“You do not have to pretend anything, Shanya. You are…not comfortable. He is in your house, your space. No one will be mad at you for not talking to him. He does not have the best English, so if you can talk to him at all, it will be a big surprise.”
Shane nods once, curt. He hands Ilya the drink and turns around in his husband’s grip to face him. Ilya has him caged against the countertop, the granite digging into the small of Shane’s back. Ilya takes a sip of the drink and licks his lips, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by starry brown eyes.
“Thank you, for letting him come,” Ilya says, voice low and reverent while he tracks his eyes over constellations of freckles.
“Your birthday,” Shane mutters. “And yeah….he’s all you’ve got left, so…I’m not gonna let you lose that. You’re an adult, you make your own choices.”
“Ah, but still.”
Shane parts his lips to protest.
“Oh my God, just say ‘you’re welcome’, yes?”
Shane chuckles, crossing his arms and letting his shoulders drop from his ears with a sigh.
“You’re welcome.”
Ilya smiles behind his glass, moves it away from his lips to lean in and press a feather-light kiss to his husband’s plump, pouty lips. He speaks low against them, breath vodka scented.
“Better,” he whispers, “need you to be a good boy for me, hm? For my birthday? For your poor husband’s birthday?”
Shane shudders, jaw twitching to the side as his eyes dart to where his parents are still lost in conversation just a few feet away. He returns his gaze to meet Ilya’s again and nods, eyebrows twitching. He’s rewarded with another soft kiss.
“Good. Have more of this,” he says, voice still hushed as he traces the rim of Shane’s nearly empty wine glass. “Need you nice and sloppy for me later.”
“You dick,” Shane huffs, face hot. “Stay there until it goes down.”
Ilya laughs and makes a show of wrapping an arm around Shane to hug him. Their fronts are pressed together, hiding Shane’s wanton arousal with a simple display of affection between the pair. To anyone else, it looks like a slightly drunken, fully affectionate hug.
It’s an hour later when Ilya slips back into the house from the backyard and bounces his eyebrows upward at Shane. He nears the front door, pausing in front of it for a brief moment - running a hand through his hair to hide how it shakes - before yanking it open. Shane walks over and stands just to the left of Ilya and a step behind, hands stuffed in his pockets.
The little family of three looks so much less threatening than whatever Shane had expected. Maybe he expected Alexei to be evil looking, however that might look. But he didn’t. He has sandy brown hair, cropped short and styled with some gel. His cheeks are round like the rest of his features, a scruff beard overtaking the bottom half of his face. He’s shorter than Ilya by a few inches, frame much more filled in and namely around the gut. He isn’t portly, per say, but he definitely takes after a different parent than Ilya had.
Karina is the same height as Alexei in her wedged heels. She has full hips and pouty lips, face carved unnaturally. Apparently, lots of Slavic women have work done. Her hair is long and dark brown, cast over one shoulder. Her hands are elegant, nails long and painted a deep plum.
Their daughter, Natalya, stands at about half their height between them. She has round cheeks like her father - a pale blue shade like Ilya’s. Her hair is long and dark brown like her mother’s, cheeks that pink shade that those with lighter complexions tend to suffer from in cold climates. Shane is immediately endeared by her shirt that displays a cartoon dog.
“Alexei,” Ilya nods, “Karina. Come in.”
Shane follows Ilya’s lead and steps aside to allow the small group in. They don’t have bags with them, having checked into a hotel before arriving here. Natalya’s wide blue eyes scan the room, shrinking into her mother’s legs when she finds that there are other people in the home.
“This is Shane,” Ilya says, taking Karina’s coat to hang up.
Shane offers them what he can manage of a smile, tight-lipped. He holds his hand out, shakes Karina’s first. He hesitates on Alexei, deciding in the split second that his grip stutters to swallow down any negative feelings about the man and grip the awaiting limb in a too-tight shake. His eyes are hard-set, unlike himself. Releasing the man’s hold, he holds his hand out to the young girl next, lips relaxing into a smoother version of the same awkward smile.
Natalya hesitates, eyes her mother. The woman encourages her in hushed Russian, then there’s a small hand filling his and shaking bashfully. Shane smiles.
“Мне нравится твоя рубашка. Ты знаешь, что у нас есть собака?”"I like your shirt. Do you know we have a dog?" he asks, stuttering nervously over a bit of the pronunciation and how it hits his ears wrong.
The little girl perks up, clearly not expecting this stranger to know any Russian, let alone as much as he does.
“Щенок?”"A puppy?"
she asks, voice small while she fiddles with the ends of her hair.
“Щенок, Anya.""A puppy, Anya."
She looks up at her mother, who offers Shane a kind smile. Ilya watches with a grin of his own, eyes flickering over his husband’s form frequently while the freckled man opens up the sliding door to let Anya run in and greet the new people. Immediately, she flops down onto her back and whines happily as Natalya crouches by her and rubs her exposed belly.
Ilya steps to stand beside Shane, sliding a trembling arm around his husband’s waist and holding onto his shirt for some comfort. Karina and Alexei track the movement, having been informed beforehand the exact nature of the relationship. And they still chose to show up, which was hopefully a sign that they weren’t bothered.
Alexei’s jaw tenses and he looks away. Karina, surprisingly, instead makes direct eye contact with Shane.
“You speak Russian?” she asks.
It’s Shane’s turn to perk up.
“A little. Enough to make a little conversation,” he shrugs. “Are you thirsty? We have vodka, wine, beer…”
Karina pushes her hair behind her ears and nods, following the duo to the kitchen. Ilya’s arm falls from Shane’s waist. He turns to face his brother, stopping in the hallway just outside of the kitchen and speaking to him in a hushed voice.
“Это не Россия. Если не можешь этого сделать, если не справляешься — уезжай.”"“This isn’t Russia. If you can’t do it, if you can’t handle it—leave.”"
Alexei seems taken aback by the assurance in Ilya’s voice. His younger brother's hard-set jaw and pressed lips give him pause. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.
“Я справлюсь. Я говорил искренне, когда сказал, что хочу всё исправить,”“I’ll handle it. I was sincere when I said I wanted to fix everything,” he says, nods once.
Ilya’s eyes scan over his features, head nodding minutely.
“Не давите на него. Он на самом деле не хочет разговаривать,”“Don’t pressure him. He doesn’t really want to talk,” the blond adds, then joins Shane and Karina in the kitchen.
Alexei lingers in the hallway as his jaw tenses, then relaxes. He steps into the kitchen behind them, watches Shane pour a glass of white wine for Karina. She takes it gracefully, lips curling around the rim and a pleasant hum leaving them at the first taste. Ilya fills Shane’s now empty glass with more red wine and there’s a knowing look exchanged between them when the man passes the glass to his lover. Nerves calmed in that second that their fingers brush, Ilya winks at him - their guests in the back of his mind for the briefest moment.
Rose is flitting about the party, shoving her phone camera in people’s faces. It’s Shane and Ilya’s turn when they finally step outside to join the party. Alexei, Karina, and Natalya trail behind them. The young girl rushes off to follow Anya around the yard. Rose approaches them, lowers her phone and greets them with a beaming smile.
Ilya introduces Alexei as his brother - something oddly warm about it settles in his stomach, he hasn’t called Alexei his brother in a long time - and Karina is his brother’s wife. There isn’t much conversation to be made as he makes these rounds, because not everyone speaks Russian. Svetlana does - she greets Alexei with a neutral tone, instead focusing her attention on Karina and how big Natalya has gotten.
They’re settled into the outdoor seating, Ilya relaxed into a seat with Marleau pressed against his side. Shane is balanced on the arm of the loveseat, tending to the grill a few feet away every so often. Rose comes over again with her camera, giddy in her step.
“Your turn,” she squeals.
Their surrogate - a woman just a couple of years younger than them with long, blond Irish curls and pale blue eyes - sits a few seats away with Karina, who feels her belly of nearly six months. They’d found her through an agency and Shane was drawn to her personality upon their first meeting, easily getting along with her and entrusting her with this arduous, nine month task. They’re a kind pair to her, generous in their payment of bills - always checking in, always there to talk to.
Rose starts recording, Ilya tugs Shane down by his elbow so that his husband falls into his lap. The last bit of wine in his glass sloshes and a droplet of it lands on his knee.
“Ilya,” Shane scolds.
“Shanya be careful, do not get wine on the couch,” Ilya teases, rubbing a soothing hand between Shane’s shoulder blades as they settle into a comfortable seating.
Shane scoffs, downing the rest of the drink and setting the glass on the table by their legs. His shirt rides up just a bit in the back at the stretch, Ilya’s fingers trace a teasing pattern over the exposed sliver of warm skin and Shane tosses him an indignant glare over his shoulder before settling with his back against the blond’s chest.
“You guys ready? ‘Cause I’m already recording.”
“Hello baby Hollander,” Ilya beams, eyes bright and cheeks pink from the alcohol.
Shane waves to the camera, shifting in Ilya’s lap discreetly, enough to get comfortable. Ilya’s strong arm snakes around his waist and hugs him close, chin hooked over his shoulder like earlier.
“Wait, you took his name?” Troy asks, holding a little bean bag in his hand from where he’d paused his and Wyatt’s game of tossing them.
Shane rolls his eyes at the interruption - a sassy little action that doesn't go unnoticed by Rose behind her phone.
“Say the thing!” she giggles.
“I am your papa and I think,” he makes a show of pursuing his lips and looking to the sky in thought. “I think you are a girl.”
Shane smiles.
“I’m your dad, and I think you’re gonna be a boy.”
“Ah, this is because-” Ilya starts.
Shane rolls his eyes, and nudges his shoulder back against his husband.
“I didn’t provide any commentary for you-”
“This is because - Shanya I am trying to speak, so rude, oh my God - is because-”
“You’re such a di-”
“This is because he does not understand girls and thinks raising a boy will be easier.”
There’s laughter around them. Shane huffs and snatches Ilya’s glass from him. Rose laughs and stops the recording, then turns to Alexei and Karina.
“Do you guys wanna…?”
Ilya watches Alexei's eyes dart around at each face awaiting his response. There’s that uncomfortable look he’d used to wear all those years ago, fresh-faced in Boston with not a single friend and very little english. There’s sympathy for his brother that swims behind his eyes. He clears his throat, addressing him and Karina.
“Скажите: «Мы твои тетя и дядя, и мы думаем, что ты будешь...» — а затем добавьте: «девочкой» или «мальчиком»,”“Say: ‘We are your aunt and uncle, and we think you’ll be...’ — and then add: ‘a girl’ or ‘a boy’,” he explains.
Karina smiles, nodding and fixing her hair as Rose starts up the recording again. Alexei nods at his brother, a silent ‘thank you’ in his eyes.
“Привет, малыш,”"Hello, baby," he begins, eyes finding the lens pointed at him.
Karina cuddles into his side, waves to the camera.
“Я твой дядя Алексей, а это тётя Карина. Наталья, иди сюда!”“I’m your Uncle Alexei, and this is Aunt Karina. Natalya, come here!”
Karina motions to their daughter, who comes barreling over. She stands to the left of them, waving to the camera and hiding behind her hair.
“Это твоя двоюродная сестра Наталья. Думаю, ты будешь мальчиком.”“This is your cousin Natalya. I think you’re going to be a boy.”
Karina nods in agreement. Shane meets Natalya’s eyes, offers her a small smile.
“Девочка или мальчик?""Girl or boy?" the freckled man asks her.
Natalya returns the smile, happy to have her opinion acknowledged.
“Такая девушка, как я!”"A girl, like me!"
Ilya smiles, tightens his grip around Shane’s waist and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
Rose makes her rounds, finally ending on Yuna and David, who both hope for a boy. The score is as follows:
Girl: Ilya, Svetlana, Rose, Natalya, Jackie, Bood, Cassie, Harris, Evan, Luca, LaPointe, Carmichael, St-Simon, Connors, Hunter (Ilya called him in order to break their tie).
Boy: Shane, David, Yuna, Alexei, Karina, J.J., Hayden, Wyatt, Lisa, Troy, Caitlin, Marleau, Holmberg, Young.
The reveal comes later when Yuna sets up the toy goal net and hands both Shane and Ilya each a little kiddy sized plastic hockey stick. There are black balloons tied to various parts of the inside of the net. She sets a row of pucks down on the ground.
“Alright, no cheating! Do not move from your spots. One of those balloons has the color-coordinated confetti in it, luck of the draw. The more of them you hit and break, the higher likelihood you have of being the one to break the one with the confetti. Ready?”
Almost everyone is recording on their phones. Natalya pets Anya while she watches with rapt attention, having never seen such a tradition. Anya whines, wants to dart forward to her dads, but stays put when Shane snaps his fingers in her direction.
Yuna moves out of the way of the net and blows a whistle. There’s a raucous of cheers for both Shane and Ilya respectively. The two married fools grin, hitting puck after puck. Ilya knocks his shoulder against Shane, already disregarding the rules and trying to throw him off balance. Shane returns the favor, knocks his aim off so that he misses one hit. Ten balloons are popped, five are left. Shane swings his stick and drives a puck into the upper right corner of the net.
The balloon pops. Pink confetti rains down on their turf.
Ilya throws his stick to the side and picks Shane up by his waist, hosting his lover up so that when he loses his balance just a bit, he hinges at the waist and nearly sends them toppling over when he catches his hands on Ilya’s lower back. When Ilya sets him back down and hugs him tight, Shane feels the other’s joyous tears wet his own cheeks. Shane kisses him, unable to really commit to the affection because of how much they’re both smiling.
Their party guests approach them once Ilya turns away to wipe at his eyes and clear his throat. Yuna pulls Ilya in for a hug first, rubs his back in soothing strokes. David hugs Shane, presses a kiss to his son’s hair and grips him tight. Rose winds her arms around Shane’s neck, then drags Ilya in a second later and kisses the both of them on the cheeks. It leaves a glossy lip print on their faces. Svetlana sways with Ilya when she hugs him, then kisses Shane on his other cheek and leaves behind a wine-colored lipstick stain.
They get many hugs, many ‘congratulations’, and plenty of handshakes too.
Alexei approaches Ilya and offers him a hand, which is taken with just a second of hesitation. Karina hugs him and pats his back, expressing her excitement at their to-be girl-dad journey. Shane and Alexei lock eyes, a reluctant handshake on Shane’s part being the extent of their contact. Shane holds the same hand out to Natalya, fully expecting to shake the nine year old’s hand when, instead, she turns his wrist for him and smacks their hands together in a high-five.
He finds himself smiling down at her softly.
Guests begin to say their goodbyes and filter out until it’s just David, Yuna, Rose, Svetlana, and Alexei’s little family. Shane is in the kitchen setting uneaten food - cut fruit, primarily - into containers, when he senses a presence a few feet behind him. He whips his head around, sees Alexei standing there. There’s an awkward aura to him - like he can’t figure out what to do with himself. Shane’s been there. He’d rather not think of whatever he might have in common with this man.
“I put the vodka in the freezer to keep it cold,” Shane says, turning his attention back to his task.
Ilya is outside cleaning the grill off at Shane’s behest.
“Ah, no…” Alexei says, clearing his throat.
Shane glances over his shoulder again, blinks.
“Okay,” he says, then opens up the fridge and sets the packed foods inside, tucked neatly between eggs and Ilya’s sodas.
There’s a lapse, silence.
“Did you want something? The bathroom, or?”
Alexei fidgets with his fingers, glances out the window at Ilya - who is distracted talking to David.
“You…do not like me, yes?”
Shane furrows his eyebrows. He watches Alexei for what feels like a long time, studies the other man’s body language - the way he stands with much less authority than Shane would expect, given the stories he’d heard.
“I don’t know you,” Shane puts bluntly. “I know you were awful to Ilya for years, took his money, threatened him, called him - names. Really bad things. But he invited you here, so…”
Shane shrugs one shoulder.
Usually, it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact, especially in confrontations like this. He’s in his own home, he’s supposed to be comfortable, safe.
“I am sorry-”
“I don’t need your apologies,” Shane says all too quickly.
Alexei’s jaw hardens. He almost looks angry. There’s a petty part of Shane that chants ‘yes, get angry, do something so I can get you out of here’.
“Whatever you guys have going on, it’s between you two.”
There’s a notes app paragraph he’d been studying - all his thoughts written down and translated and studied relentlessly in every lone moment he’d had since Ilya had first come to him about Alexei’s outreach. His pronunciation might not be the best, but he's sure he’ll get his point across. Alexei is starting to lose cohesion in the conversation; Shane switches to this impeccably practiced monologue in Russian.
He takes a step closer, broad and imposing - the blank expression on his face all the more daunting to someone like Alexei, who sees a quiet reservation about Shane upon first meeting.
“Илья сам принимает решения, я ему доверяю. Если он хочет видеть тебя в своей жизни, а ты хочешь, чтобы твоя семья присутствовала в его жизни — что ж, пусть так и будет. Возможно, он тебя и простит, но никто из нас ничего не забудет. Но помни: это Канада, а не Россия. Ты в моей стране. Ты в моем доме. Ты родственница моего мужа. Я потратила немало сил, чтобы обеспечить комфортную жизнь себе и Илье, и я никому не позволю это у меня отнять,”“Ilya makes his own decisions, and I trust him. If he wants you in his life, and you want your family to be part of his—well, so be it. He might even forgive you, but none of us will forget. But remember: this is Canada, not Russia. You are in my country. You are in my home. You are my husband’s relative. I’ve worked hard to build a comfortable life for myself and Ilya, and I won’t let anyone take that away from me.” Shane says, usually warm brown eyes hardened, determined as he stares into the other man’s.
Alexei nods once - curt. He doesn't look away, jaw twitching while Shane takes a step back.
“Если вы это понимаете, то я уверен, что мы сможем вести себя цивилизованно.”"If you understand this, then I am sure we can conduct ourselves in a civilized manner."
Alexei nods again just as the sliding glass door opens and Ilya saunters in. Shane’s expression warms the slightest bit when they meet each other’s gaze. Svetlana emerges from the hallway, eyebrows bouncing as she passes by and meets Shane’s gaze.
“Ilya, I did not know your husband was so stern…”
Shane looks away, face warm at having been caught.
Ilya raises an eyebrow at him.
“Refill your glass, Shanya.”
It’s later when everyone has finally gone home that they - sort of - talk about it. There isn’t much talking to be done while Ilya sits in bed and watches TV with the duvet pooled at his waist and talking to Shane through the wall. Shane is in the bathroom - cleaning up for bed, cleaning up for before bed.
“You are not going to tell me what you said? Ever?”
“Ilya-”
“Svetalana said it was so sexyyy…”
Ilya groans and thumps his head back against the headboard. Shane shuffles around in the bathroom, casting a shadow underneath the door where it’s closed.
“And now you ignore me and make me go to bed alone-”
“You are so-”
“With my balls full, Shanyaaaaa.”
The door swings open.
“You’re so drunk,” Shane slurs, downing the rest of his wine.
Glass number five of the day.
Ilya’s throat goes dry at the sight before him.
Shane looks angelic in white - virginal even in this get up. He has his socks on - pristine white, fresh scented - along with a white jockstrap, a white snapback turned around, and his glasses. The blanche against his sun-kissed skin littered in freckles is a contrast so stark that Ilya feels like he’s staring straight into the sun. Admiring the star’s beauty.
Ilya tosses the blanket off of his waist and crawls towards Shane on all fours, lips shiny with drool, he’s sure. Shane laughs at him, nears the edge of the bed and stops just as Ilya drags his lips along the ridges of his husband’s abs.
“Fuuuuck,” Ilya drawls, voice muffled when he smashes his lips against Shane’s sternum.
“Made you forget about that,” Shane mutters, tugging his lip between his teeth as Ilya runs the flat plane of his tongue over bistre-tinted nipples that harden under the attention.
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Ilya huffs. “Not with my slutty wife dressed up for me.”
He winds an arm around Shane’s middle and yanks him onto the bed. Shane crashes onto the dark colored sheets with a drunken laugh. Ilya is over him, back arched while he stalks closer to his lover and drags his bottom lip along the ridges of his body. There’s a soft hum from above him, fingers threading into his blond curls and attempting to tug him upwards impatiently. Ilya flicks the tip of his tongue over the waistband of the jockstrap, hooks his front teeth - grateful now for the height of them working in his favor.
He pulls the waistband and releases it, listens to the gasp it elicits when it snaps back into place over the trimmed patch of hair at the base of Shane’s cock. He smells good here - not clean like he’d just taken a shower. Ilya had requested he not and Shane had listened. He smells natural, musky, masculine. And despite it all - Shane’s bravado with Alexei, how he smells here between his legs, his frat boy attire while he writhes on the bed - he’s still Ilya’s pretty wife.
"Smell good here, котёнок,”kitty," he praises, running the warmth of his palm up the side of his lover’s leg and mentally cataloguing each goosebump prickling under his touch.
Shane hums a response, fixes his position to lean his shoulder blades against the headboard and readjusts his backwards cap to sit right again after being thrown onto the mattress.
Ilya licks a slow trail with just the tip of his tongue, up over his husband’s quivering tummy, between the mounds of pectoral muscles that he pushes together with both hands to nuzzle. He nips at the warm skin there, kneads the thick muscle and listens to Shane whine in frustration at the time he takes here. He inhales deep, shuddering and rutting his hips forward against Shane’s thigh while he presses his face as deep between the man’s pecs as he can manage before they merge into one person at the sternum.
Dazed, he moves his mouth along the curve of muscle and bites down. Shane makes a noise, his grip tightening in golden ringlets. Ilya continues his assault, digs his teeth in until he’s sure there will be an array of jagged, teeth-shaped marks left with spit on them when he does eventually pull away. He shakes his head left to right just slightly, something instinctual making a low growl emit from deep within his dry throat. Shane’s thighs twitch and cage Ilya’s hips, chest rising and falling when the gentle thrashing mimicking a dog with a toy raises his heart-rate.
Like an apology, he licks over the marks his teeth make when he unlatches. He surveys the marks, brushing one gentle fingertip over them and smearing the spit around towards one brown nipple. It’s hard already when they’re usually puffy and soft and so easy to press into like buttons that emit the prettiest noises from his lover. Ilya licks over the hard nub once, twice, then clamps his greedy mouth down over it and moans. His eyelashes flutter while he lets his heavy lids fall shut, mind preoccupied with ‘I could fall asleep like this’.
“Il-ya,” Shane breathes out, crown of his head tilted back against the headboard.
Ilya makes a sound of acknowledgement, doesn't move. He huffs a sigh through his nose, hard cock digging into the inside of Shane’s thigh and driving him insane at the disuse of it.
But it’s Ilya’s birthday (or it was three days ago, at least).
Shane resigns himself to his fate and combs gentle strokes of his fingers through Ilya’s hair. He winds the ringlets around his thick fingers, pets a thumb over the prominent ridge of Ilya’s brow, turns the TV to a documentary channel when his husband winds his thick arms around his soft waist and just holds himself there.
Shane’s cockwarmed Ilya before and it’s something they both enjoy, though usually it comes after some sort of sex. But it’s been a long day full of drinking in the sun, entertaining guests, and reconnecting with estranged family. Shane himself feels weight settling deep in his bones as he sits and watches a documentary on David Blaine, Ilya’s body warm and heavy on top of his.
His husband’s muscles relax and even as Shane hears him start to snore ever so quietly - mouth still latched onto Shane’s nipple - he pets his lover’s hair and sits in the quiet calm with him.
They’d have the rest of their lives to have sloppy, spitty sex with Shane’s chosen ‘lingerie’.