Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Alexei Rozanov's Daughter, Alexei Rozanov's Daughter & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova, Alexei Rozanov's Daughter, Sasha | Ilya Rozanov's Coach's Son, Hayden Pike, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Troy Barrett, Farah Jalali, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Eventual Smut, Shane Hollander Speaks Russian, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Post-Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Whump, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Visits Irina Rozanova's Grave, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Russia, Prison, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Men Crying, Imprisonment, Wrongful Imprisonment, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Author is an Alexei Rozanov Apologist, Author is an Alexei Apologist, Injury, Injury Recovery, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Suicidal Thoughts, Redemption, Healing, Good Boy Shane Hollander, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Shane Hollander Gets Therapy, Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-28 Completed: 2026-06-06 Words: 142,860 Chapters: 21/21

Return to Moscow

Summary

Shane joins Ilya on a quick trip to Moscow, which soon transforms into a nightmare. Ilya is arrested and targeted so harshly that he's not sure Russia will let him go this time.
-
Shane witnesses Ilya's family.
Alexei and Ilya's relationship is explored.
Yuna flies to Russia.
Lots of Svetlana.
Healing journey fluff afterwards.

Chapter 1: Call Back

Chapter Summary

Alexei calls Ilya back to Moscow. Shane's not happy about it.

Chapter Notes

Do I think Ilya would actually ever risk going back to Russia? Nope! But I love the hypothetical "what if", and that's what this story explores (with a good amount of research included).

So, no. I don't want your unwarranted "I don't think this realistiiiiiiiiic" opinions on this wonderful website where Shane is constantly pregnant (no judgment - mad respect for Mpreg, just illustrating a point). I worked hard to make a hypothetical situation as canon-compliant as I could, so to those of you who'd like to indulge... Thank you, and enjoy ❤️

I will, however, ALWAYS appreciate help in correcting the Russian used :)

*Italicized dialogue indicates Russian

Ottawa, Canada

December 9th, 2023

"Chto?"

"Da, Ilya. Mne tozhe priyatno poluchit' ot vas soobshcheniye." His brother flatly opened with.

It was, in fact, not nice to hear from Alexei, and he knew it. 

"Well, you only call when you want something, so what is it?" Ilya questioned in Russian, pinching the bridge of his nose and wanting to get this over with. He prepared his statements in his head: Is my niece sick? Does she need things for school? Are you about to lose the condo? No? Then fuck off.

"You're married now." Alexei stated plainly. Not a question, and certainly not a congratulations. Even though Alexei's tone was sour, Ilya's heart fluttered a bit. 

Fuck yeah, I'm married.

"Oh, so this is a call to congratulate me? Very sweet." Ilya grumbled without a hint of sincerity.

"They are tearing down 997."

Ilya stopped, mid-pace. He swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly tight. He knew "997" referred to their childhood home- the house that held the last memories of his mother... including the very last memory of his mother. Ilya had always avoided it as much as he possibly could.

"What? Who?" 

"The city. It's not safe anymore, and they want to buy the plot." 

Ilya tried not to let himself feel anything.

"You can sell the plot." The last thing Ilya needed was unfinished business in Russia- especially not with that house.

"Whatever! Thought I'd give you a heads up before everything's destroyed."

Destroyed.

"Oh, how fucking thoughtful of you, Alexei. Your Nobel Peace Prize is in the mail." 

To be honest, Ilya was kind of glad Alexei called to let him know. A little shocked, even.

"Then don't come! We don't want you and your faggot husband anywhere near Moscow anyway." 

That was more like Alexei.

Ilya saw red. His whole body seized up, fists clenched.

Shane froze, eyes blown wide. What was that? It sounded like something fell hard. 

"... Dorogoy?" He hesitantly called, glancing up from his laptop on the kitchen counter. No response. Plus, there was no longer a muffled, angry slew of Russian coming from the other end of the house. Even if the Russian wasn't clue enough, Ilya's demeanor told Shane everything he needed to know once he answered that phone call: Alexei was on the other end of the line. He hadn't spoken to his brother in nearly two years. Shane would never forget how that last phone call had ended. 

"Ostav' menya v pokoye, Alexei." Ilya had said, and even though Shane hadn't been fast enough to translate that part, the next sentence he had understood. "Ya zanyat i vlyublyon."

I'm busy and in love. 

Then, Ilya had hung up on the sound of Alexei trying to argue on the other end of the line and attacked Shane with kisses all over his neck.

It didn't seem like Ilya would be left in such a good mood this time.

Shane felt a pang of worry shoot through his chest as he got up and slowly made his way down to the gym where Ilya had retreated. Shane had tried to assure Ilya that he didn't have to hide at the other end of the house every time his brother called, but Ilya admitted that he didn't like Shane seeing him like that. But by the end of their phone calls, Ilya was usually too loud to hide from Shane anyway. Hollander didn't have siblings himself, but he felt the pain in Ilya's voice every single phone call. 

Now, Shane was trying to prepare himself for whatever state Ilya was in this time. 

It wasn't great. 

The first thing Shane noticed was the hole in the wall. Immediately after, he found Ilya crumpled below it, his eyes set forward beneath eyebrows that pinched together angrily. His shoulders rose and fell dramatically with his breaths. 

"Ilya..." 

The sound of Shane's voice alerted him, and Ilya's eyes locked with his own.

"Um..." He seemed to almost come out of a trance, glancing down at the drywall on the floor and the hole above his head. "...sorry." He shyly offered, his accent wrapping around the "r's" in a way that still made Shane's stomach flip. 

The guilt was prominent in his face despite Ilya's whole body being wound tight, his jaw set, and his knee bouncing anxiously.

Shane crossed the room, mirroring Ilya's position on the floor- knees bent, back against the wall.  The only difference was that Ilya's arms were wrapped protectively over his middle like he was trying to shrink into himself. Shane reached over to try to take Ilya's hand in his own. The stubborn prick kept his arm tightly wound around himself, though, making Hollander frown. He nudged at Ilya's arm again, pulling at it until Ilya's hand was revealed from where he had tucked it away from view. 

Jesus. 

Every knuckle was bleeding, and Shane was positive there'd be bruising setting in soon.

"Ilya..." Because he still didn't know what else to say at the moment. Shane took his injured hand in his lap and ghosted gentle fingertips along the back.

"Sorry," Ilya repeated, barely audible. 

"Sh." Shane murmured, gentle but final. He leaned over with a firm yet gentle hand on the opposite side of Ilya's face and pressed a long kiss on Ilya's temple before standing up and reaching for his good hand. Ilya accepted and allowed Shane to lead him upstairs.

A moment later, they were on the couch, and Shane was carefully bandaging Ilya's wounds. He hadn't said anything yet, but Shane could sense the shake in his hand and the fire in his eyes.

"All done." Shane sighed, setting the bloody paper towels and bandaging aside. When he turned back to start asking Ilya questions, he was already lowering his head into Shane's lap. Shane immediately moved one hand to play with Ilya's hair and the other to rub his shoulder without thinking- like he had an automatic setting built into him. He felt the anger slowly melt from Ilya's body underneath his touch.

Shane wished he could somehow soak up his pain- take some of it for himself, if not just to give Ilya a fucking break for once.

Finally, Rozanov let out a big sigh. 

"I have to go to Russia very quick." 

Shane's mind short-circuited while he processed what Ilya had just said, but he willed his hand to continue its gentle stroking of Ilya's curls. It was quiet for a long while, Shane's brain churning with all the horrible possibilities until he simply said, 

"No." 

He could feel Ilya's eyebrow twitch into a frown underneath where the palm of his hand rested. He scoffed. 

"No? I'm not?" 

"No."

It was all Shane could think to say at the moment- his mind was racing too fast to catch up with. He felt Ilya freeze in his lap and was sure he was a little shocked; Shane was hardly ever this assertively short with him. But this? This was... this was... No. 

Ilya rose from Shane's lap to look him square in the eye, but Shane didn't dare alter his stony expression- he couldn't if he tried. He and Ilya bickered about silly things often, but Shane was dead serious about this. So serious, in fact, he began to feel his eyes sting.

"Hey," Ilya immediately swooned, studying Shane's face that undoubtedly came off as pouty, but he didn't care. "Zloy kotik," Ilya murmured, running his undamaged knuckles gently along Shane's cheekbone. He decided to ignore the annoying pet name that Ilya knew just irked him further.

"No." Shane repeated again, remaining strong in his resolve.

"Shane..."  

"Nope. It's too dangerous." 

“I will be fine, moya lyubov. Just a few things from the house before it's gone. Easy."

"Yeah, as the most notable Russian to ever come out, like... fucking... ever."

"Pfft..."

"The death threats and- and- accusations of treason, and-" 

"Yes, please. Remind me more how my country hates me." 

"Is that not the point?"

Ilya sighed and flickered his eyes back and forth, seemingly searching for words. Eventually,

"If I don't go and collect stuff now, it'll be gone forever."

Shane's shoulders slumped a bit at this. He didn't know what Ilya was referring to specifically, but he imagined there must be plenty of stuff from his childhood that he might want. Pictures, keepsakes, documents... maybe even drawings that little Ilya did? Maybe a tattered old stuffed animal that little Ilya couldn't go to sleep without every night? 

Jesus. Stay strong, Hollander.

"Can't Alexei, like..." Shane stopped short of saying 'send you stuff' even though that was the way more practical answer if Alexei wasn't such a tool. Ilya gave Shane a look, and he immediately dropped it. Stupid. There's no way Alexei would do shit, and Ilya wouldn't trust him to even if he did. "Okay, yeah... I know."

"Listen. Shane. It won't-" 

"I- No. Still no." Shane sputtered out, the awful hypotheticals still infiltrating his thoughts. Ilya seemed to give up on words at that point and elected to just stare at Shane instead... which he hated. Whenever Shane was far past entertaining Ilya's side of an argument, he'd just look at him. His eyes would rake over Shane's face before settling on his eyes. Ilya's blue orbs would desperately search Shane's, flickering back and forth before softening... begging, Shane to understand. 

Goddamnit, Rozanov. 

Shane groaned and let his head fall back, his arms covering his eyes. Of course, he understood- or at least as much as he could with his admittedly perfect life. Ilya had little to no remnants of his childhood or Russia. His whole life, while Shane knew he loved it, was completely transformed when he officially moved to Canada. He desperately wanted Ilya to still have things that connected him to everything that made him the man he loved. 

But did it have to involve Ilya putting himself in danger?

“Fine… then I’ll just come with you.” Shane decided. Ilya snorted in response, which just annoyed him. 

“Yes, this will make it better. I will flaunt my new husband all over Moscow.”

He knew they were arguing, but the sound of Ilya calling him his husband always gave Shane wonderful pause. 

“We can be… inconspicuous.”

Ilya shot him a look that said, 'I forget that one- different English, please'.

“Nonchalant, like... quiet, secretive. In case you’ve forgotten, we did get pretty good at that.”

“And how is that going?”

Ilya knew how it was going. The whole world found out against their will. 

“You are not coming.” Ilya reaffirmed, pushing himself off the couch to his feet. 

“Why not?” Shane stood and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Because.” 

“Yeah, because it’s dangerous. Like I said.”

Ilya threw up his hands in frustration.

“Shane! Obviously, it’s dangerous. I get in, I get out. Never return again.” Ilya tapered off it as if he were trying to comfort himself more than Shane. Shane sighed and tried to redirect his approach. It wasn't like he thought coming to Russia with Ilya would protect him from everything, per se, but it was more than that. Shane knew Ilya was horrified by the idea of going back to Russia even before they were outed to the world. He could already see the ways that the mere idea of it all was affecting him, and he didn't want Ilya to have to face it alone.

“It’s not just that.” Shane cornered Ilya, forcing him to meet his eyes as they spoke. “I know you hate the idea of going back- of being back. I know you hate that house. I know it’s going to suck, so just… I want to be there for you." Jesus, Shane didn't know how it still made him feel slightly nervous to say these things after all these years. Maybe because he was genuinely afraid Ilya was going to deny him the chance to be a good husband. Here it goes anyway. "Please?”

Ilya felt his face soften.

Goddamnit, Shane Hollander. The minute Shane got all shy and vulnerable with him, it tore Ilya right open. He cocked his head to the side and stepped into the final bit of space separating him and Shane. He raised the back of his fingers to skim a freckled cheek. 

“You would take that beautiful gay ass all the way to Russia just to be there for me?”

Shane huffed a laugh.

“I would take this gay ass anywhere for you.”

Ilya buried his face in the crook of Shane’s neck. He couldn't help himself as he pressed slow kisses along Shane's throat.

“Mm… beautiful gay ass.”

“Sure.”

“Say it.”

“Beautiful gay ass.” Shane scoffed and whispered the distinction with a small smile and eye roll. Ilya relished the familiar pink tinge to his cheeks. 

“Mmm… maybe I will let you come.”

Ilya sank down to his knees, immediately moving to undo Shane's belt buckle. It earned a small noise of surprise from Shane, and Ilya mustered up his best mock-concerned expression before turning his eyes upwards.

“Oh, you thought I meant to Russia?”

The realization spread across Shane's face before he tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling in frustration. Ilya couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. He loved toying with Hollander, and somehow, Ilya got lucky enough to do it for the rest of his life. 

Shane turned his gaze back down and gripped a comfortable handful of Ilya’s locks. He playfully tugged Rozanov's head back to reveal his mischievous smile. Ilya knew he looked much too happy with himself, and he didn't care. Shane shook his own head with disapproval infiltrated by adoration. 

His tentative grin soon fell, though, and the hand gripping Ilya’s hair released to gently card through instead. Shane's thumb gently grazed the top of Ilya's forehead. 

"Ilya," He breathed, the fight gone out of him and replaced with a quiet, sad beg.

And for once, it isn't for my dick.

Ilya scolded himself.

He let out a deep breath and gently gripped Shane's hips in his hands. Ilya fought the urge to let his eyes drift close to the feeling of Shane's hand in his hair, and he looked him softly in the eye from his knees.

"Okay." 

Shane's eyebrows rose cautiously. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yes." Ilya plainly confirmed, turning his gaze down and pulling himself into Shane to kiss the skin just above the waistband of his jeans underneath the hem of his shirt. When he turned to look back at Shane, he noted the slight fluster in his face. Ilya loved that he could still have the effect he had on him. "You can come to Russia," He leaned in and gave Shane's stomach a final kiss before raising to his feet and holding his husband's face in his hands, making sure his eyes were locked with Ilya's. "If you go straight to the bedroom and promise to be good for me." 

As always, Shane didn't hesitate. 

Chapter End Notes

Also, I haven't edited this story yet! It's just been a mad sprint to the finish line, so in the next week or two, it'll be freshened up :)

Chapter 2: Mine. Yours.

Chapter Summary

Smut n Fluff! But mostly Smut

Chapter Notes

Ilya's hands gripped Shane's wrists and pinned them to either side of his head on the mattress. His damaged hand was a little sore from punching through the drywall downstairs, but his lust for Shane created the perfect wall of ignorance against the pain. He took no time to attack Shane's neck, nipping and kissing along the column of his throat, but being sure not to leave marks- they had practice later, and they were still getting shit for the state of Shane's neck following their honeymoon. But he wanted to leave marks. He wanted it to be clear that Shane was his in every way possible.

"Stay." Ilya instructed, giving Shane's wrists a commanding squeeze before releasing them. Shane did as he was told and kept his hands in place. Rozanov lowered himself to hover over Shane's spread body.  "Mm...Ty takoy poslushnyy dlya menya..." He murmured against Shane's collarbone. So good for me. Shane groaned and arched his back with a contented shudder. Ilya soaked up the sight before regretfully letting a more serious tone seep in momentarily. "Shane..."

"Mm?" Shane mumbled, eyes heavy and entranced as he peered up at Ilya, who hovered over his chest. "If we run into any trouble... anything even a little weird, I need you to trust me and do what I say."

Shane hummed and slightly nodded before attempting to roll his hips up into Ilya's for more friction. Rozanov refused to give him the satisfaction, pressing the palms of his hands into Shane's hipbones and pinning him to the mattress. Hollander whined his disapproval, eyebrows twitching together with the start of that adorably frustrated expression Ilya was so obsessed with.  

He kept himself accountable, though, pushing down his own libidinous cravings. The thoughts of all that could happen in Russia were swirling through Ilya's head, overpowering. He'd do anything to keep Shane safe. 

"I'm serious, moy konvert." 

Shane stilled briefly and blinked as he thought. 

"Envelope?"

"Da." 

Shane snorted at yet another odd choice, but sucked in a sharp breath when Ilya rewarded him with a deliberate thrust. The heat was building deep in his own stomach, their bulges threatening to tear through the fabric in between.

"But, yeah. I know." Shane let out a shaky breath. "I'll follow your lead." Ilya watched Shane's eyes flutter closed and his hands bunched in the sheets, trying to continue to obey Ilya's orders and stay still. 

Fuck, it was hot. Shane looked so good spread out beneath him, squirming and needy but wanting to please Ilya. It struck him again, because he could hardly believe it- Shane was coming to Moscow. The most beautiful man on earth, his favorite person in the universe, the love of his life, his husband in Moscow. How odd. He didn't know how he felt; scared mostly... but also a bit tickled? He had never been able to share such a large part of his life with Shane. He'd see where he grew up. He'd meet his last surviving relatives. He'd see the house where the last of mother's memories lived.

So, yes. Scared. Raw. Vulnerable. But also excited, and enamored, and somehow even more in love than when the day had started, which should've been celestially impossible. Shane doing this for him meant everything to Ilya, and he planned on showing him just as much right here in their bed for as long as Shane could take it. He wanted him to remember this one forever. 

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Ilya muttered against Shane's chest as he pressed kisses down his body. His hands went to Hollander's belt a little faster than he could help. 

"Hey, I was the one who begrudgingly allowed this trip." 

"Sure, Hollander." 

After getting Shane fully naked, Ilya began a mix of brutally teasing and wantonly worshipping him. He kissed and licked and nipped down his body, always just barely avoiding Shane's hard cock that was not-so-patiently waiting to be touched.

"Ilya..." Came the first breathy beg as Ilya laid kisses to the inside of Shane's thighs. He smiled against Shane's hip and rested his chin there, his eyes peering up at that angry little freckled frown he loved.

"Yes? Do you need something?"

Shane let out a frustrated huff, but his eyes softened as he gazed down at Ilya's face, so close to where he needed it.

"Please touch my cock." 

Before he even finished the sentence, Ilya put his mouth to work. He took Shane's entire length, swallowing around the head of his cock and pulling a guttural moan from his husband. He worked his mouth up and down Shane's cock until his breathing picked up and his legs started to tremble.

"Ilya," he gasped a warning, and Ilya immediately pulled off and returned to gentle kisses along Shane's stomach. The next groan from him was one of displeasure, but Shane didn't argue. He must've caught on to the game Ilya wanted to play with him. 

For the next few minutes, Ilya continued to torture Shane, bringing him to the edge multiple times. 

"Need to come. Please?" Shane arched his back off the bed and tried to push his hips up to find Ilya's warm mouth again, but he was already leaning back and enjoying the sight of the whimpering mess in front of him. 

"No." 

He wanted to see how much he could take, even if it was truthfully killing Ilya as well. His own dick was begging to be touched, but he focused on Shane by running the tip of his tongue up the length of his shaft. He ever-so-gently licked the slit before slowly sucking him. Shane tried to raise his hips for more, and Ilya held him down, his thumbs pressing firmly into the soft places just inside Shane's hip bones. 

"Hey. No moving. Do what you're told." 

"Screw you, Rozanov." 

"Only if you are a good boy." Ilya winked at him before returning his mouth to his dick.

He brought Shane to the point that Ilya lovingly referred to as “bessmyslennoye otchayaniye” which indirectly translated to Shane being so gone that all he could do was make these desperate mewling noises that sent shockwaves straight to Ilya’s dick.

God, he was going to fuck him so good.

"Ilya," he whispered, pleading. Ilya pulled off and wrapped his good hand around Shane's cock, feeling the blood rush through as he stroked him agonizingly slow. He watched Shane shake with the effort to keep himself together, his abdomen tight and his hands still bunched in the sheets beside his head. Dangerously dark brown orbs peered at him through eyes scrunched in pain. He was suffering deliciously.

"Don't you dare." Rozanov wrapped his mouth around Shane again, bobbing up and down on his cock a few times and gently massaging the area right under Shane's balls. He felt Shane tense and glanced up to see him throw his head back and groan. If possible, Ilya felt Shane's cock grow even just a bit more in his mouth, and he knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. Besides, Shane's frantic panting was making him feel a little bad for him. 

When Ilya was sure Shane couldn't take the sensation of his dick reaching Ilya's throat one more time, he slowly pulled himself off Shane's cock. He made sure to give the tip a little lick for good measure, then looked up at Shane to assess the damage. 

He was wrecked. His forehead was covered with a sheen of sweat, his entire body was vibrating, his eyes were screwed shut, and his dick was granite hard, wet from Ilya's efforts. His breathing was so fast and sharp, sounding more on the edge of hyperventilating. He took his finger and pulled Shane's dick back towards himself before letting it go and enjoying the wet slap as it hit Shane's stomach. 

"GOD. FUCK." Shane gasped, knees bending and toes curling into the mattress. He repeated the motion two more times while continuing to massage over Shane's perineum. Watching the love of his life completely unravel in their bed was starting to get to Ilya. 

He suddenly swallowed Shane's dick a couple more times before it seemed he, too, would lose his mind if they kept at it like this. 

Alright, enough. 

“I can’t, I can’t- please,” There was a break in Shane's voice that almost devastated Ilya into actually feeling guilty. He tried not to show it. Instead, Ilya gave the tip of Shane's penis a little kiss before once again hooking his index finger around it and pulling it back away from where Shane's chest was heaving. Ilya held his dick hostage there while he spoke. 

“Mmm, as long as I can still have my way with you after. I’m hardly finished with you, Hollander.”

“Fine. Ye- yes. Whatever you want."

Ilya brushed the pad of his thumb across Shane's slit. He gasped, and his body shook.

“Mmm... Still not convinced.” Ilya dipped his head down next to Shane's cock that was begging for release and licked a stripe along his shaft.

“Ilya... Ilya, Il- Oh FUCK. Ilya. Ilya please. I’m yours to do whatever you want with, just please, Ilya. Let me come.”

The amount of "Ilya's" thrown in there was amusingly endearing and incredibly hot. He moved himself up Hollander's body so that he could lean down next to Shane's ear while still holding his cock pulled back at an angle. Ilya's nose nudged Shane's ear, and he took a moment to nibble at his earlobe. Hooking a leg around Shane's, Ilya's body now hovered over his desperate trembles. With the hand that wasn't holding Shane's dick back, he grabbed a firm handful of his hair and tugged, earning another gasp. 

Ilya's cock was pressed up against Shane's hip, separated only by his box briefs. Plus, Shane's uncontrolled quivering only stimulated him further. Ilya moaned and ground himself into Shane as he listened one last time to the pleading whimpers and choked gasps that came from his husband.

And then, finally, Ilya whispered against Shane's ear: “You may come for me.”

Ilya released the hold he had on Shane's cock, even giving it a little flick so it thudded harder against Shane's abdomen one last time. Ilya wasn't confident that it would be enough, but it was. The moment Shane's cock came into contact with his stomach, Shane arched and cried out, his entire body tensing into stillness. Ilya kept gently grinding into Shane's hip as he reached down and fondled Shane's balls while he came all over his stomach. Shane's head was thrown back, which allowed Ilya to gently suck right over the pulse of his throat that was beating so fast it was almost alarming. Shane made the most adorable, sexiest fucking choked whimpers Ilya had ever heard.

Not to mention, all of his work seemingly paid off, because Shane came for a while. Ilya was pleasantly surprised by how long it took until his cock ceased pulsing and his body gave its final shudders. He could feel Shane's muscles unwinding, leaving him limp and sunken deep into the bed, stomach painted in cum. 

“Moy krasivyy shlyushka." Ilya cooed, nuzzling Shane's cheek. Hollander took a long, shaky breath that ended in an embarrassed chuckle. 

“Jesus, I am a slut for you.”

"Are you just realizing this?" Ilya smirked and bent down to press a light kiss to the tip of Shane's nose. He then hurried to the bathroom to wet down some paper towels because he knew how much Shane hated to be dirty, even if it was after one of the best orgasms of his life. 

When he returned, Ilya was delighted to see that Shane hadn't moved an inch. He stayed in perfect position, hands still raised, pressed to the bed.

Ilya took his time cleaning him up, laying little kisses across his body and ending with a long one on Shane's forehead. 

“Can I move now?”

“Mm-mm. What did I tell you, moy lyubimyy?” He held his face firmly in one hand and commanded Shane’s gaze.

“….thaaaat you’re not done with me?”

"Not even a little." 

Ilya jumped on the bed in between Shane's legs, grabbing him behind the knees and suddenly bending him in half.

It didn't take long for Shane to get hard the way Ilya was tonguing him... everywhere. His body was an absolute puddle in Ilya's hands, and he was acutely aware that he had zero control right now. He needed Ilya so fucking bad, he'd do anything. Not to mention, his husband had been worshipping him a little extra right now, and it was sending Shane into the best spiral.

Ilya had moved to sucking Shane's dick again when he eventually pressed the first finger into him, eliciting a sharp inhale from Shane. Ilya took his time with him, massaging Shane's entrance before adding a second finger and starting to loosen him up. For the next minute, Shane couldn't help his grunts and moans as he shamelessly humped Ilya's hand while he stroked his prostate. It was excruciating for his hands to be stuck up where Ilya left them in their invisible binds, but admittedly even more sexy. 

“Fuck,” Shane complained when Ilya removed himself and got off the bed. He felt empty and shaky and wanting... wanting Ilya's cock inside him specifically, but he was really making Shane work for it today. Something had definitely come over him, and Shane knew it must've been the thought of returning to Russia, but he figured he'd address that later. Besides, he was hardly complaining. 

Distracted by his thoughts, Shane suddenly felt something blunt and slicked with cold lube at his entrance, and his eyes snapped open. Ilya had the slightest mischievous grin as he hovered over Shane. Hollander frantically ran through a mental list of their growing supply of sex toys, but before he could figure it out, the vibrating started against him.

Oh, it was that one. 

“Ilya…” he said in a warning tone. He didn’t even know what he was warning against; it was just his go-to.

“Shaaaaane” Ilya grinned cheekily back, gripping Shane’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Shane watched as Ilya’s eyes flitted back and forth, searching his face for confirmation. Shane nodded his head and admired the way Ilya bit his lip and gave that coveted lopsided grin.

“Relax,” Ilya cooed, expertly easing the vibrating plug in. Shane inhaled sharply before settling into a stuttering sigh. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the feeling of something literally vibrating from inside of him- not to mention the way Ilya was slowly fucking him with the toy all the while- not only pumping it in and out, but rotating and hitting every single nerve ending possible. Eventually, Ilya lowered Shane’s legs back down but kept a finger on the end of the plug, pulsing it inside Shane. Hollander’s eyes widened when he glanced down through heavy eyelids to see Ilya engulfing his cock in his mouth.

“Fuck.”

It took Shane an embarrassingly short amount of time to reach the same state as he was before- a trembling mess without a thought in his head except,

Ilya. Ilya. Ilya.

And admittedly, possibly…

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

And because he literally couldn’t take it anymore, Shane voiced as much.

“Ilya I- you have to fuck me. I can’t last like this.” He barely managed to get the plea out. 

“Ay. What did you tell me, ah? I’ll do whatever you want, Ilya. I’m all yours, Ilya. Anything to come, Ilya.”

“FUCK you.”

“You wish.”

Shane rolled his eyes but wasn't convinced that it came off as a gesture of annoyance at all, rather one resulting from the tightening bundle of pleasure in his gut. Ilya resumed playing with his cock and the plug in his ass until he was heaving. To both Shane's delight and dismay, though, Ilya had gotten to know his body so well over the years that he always clocked when Shane was about to fall over the edge and could always keep him on the brink. Today, he was being extra mean, though, and Shane made a mental note not to let him forget it later.

Typically, he didn’t hold it out this long, but he was enjoying watching his freckled mess below him. But Ilya's cock was desperate to feel Shane around him, and said Shane didn't look like he could hold on much longer. His hands were white-knuckled, twisting the sheets. His cock was hard, red, and straining; his body was heaving. 

Ilya's cock twitched in his boxers. 

Fuck.

Feeling bad for both of them now, Ilya slowly eased the plug out, but after a few pumps with the vibration still on- he didn't feel that bad. Shane clearly tried his best to stay still, his arms flexing but still held in place, his heels digging into the mattress. 

“So pretty. So fucking beautiful.” After the plug was tossed aside, he kissed up Shane's body to his face, scrunched in painful concentration. 

"Need you. Need you, please." Shane begged. Ilya couldn't wait to see what would happen next... he ran his hands along Shane's forearms until he reached his wrists, still "locked" in place by his own order.

Ilya leaned down next to Shane's ear. “Okay," he murmured in a low tone. He gently tapped both of Shane's wrists. "You are released.”

It was a flash... Faster than a flash by the time Shane had leaped up and shoved Ilya to his back, propped up against their pillows. He was on top of him so quickly that Ilya was genuinely impressed. He didn't have long to think about it, though, because Shane was furiously humping him through his underwear. Ilya didn't even have time to be, once again after all these years, shocked by the force of Shane's need- he was in his own pleasurable hell, clothed cock rubbing against Shane's. Ilya groaned and let his forehead fall against Shane's shoulder.

“Mmm. Sweetheart...” Ilya tries to manage, pressing greedy kisses to Shane's collarbone. He was going to tell Shane that he better let him fuck him before they both finish too soon, but it seemed Shane understood without the words. He moved to tear Ilya's boxers off, but he wasn't expecting him to literally tear them off. The sound of fabric ripping as Shane aggressively pulled it out of the way had Ilya scoffing. 

"Shane Hollander!" He jokingly berated, and he thought for sure he'd get a mumbled apology back, but instead,

"Shut up." Shane practically commanded, and Ilya was reeling. 

I've created a monster. He thought, both amused and insanely turned on. 

And then, without a second to spare, Shane sank down onto Ilya way sooner and swifter and deeper than he was prepared for. He was going to suggest more lube, but it seemed like Shane didn't care.

“FUCK.” Ilya couldn't help the shocked groan that escaped him as he felt every single nerve ending on fire. How was it that after all this time, being inside Shane always felt like home and brand new at the same time? Ilya reveled in the way that not only did his dick feel incredibly good sheathed inside Shane, but his heart felt safe, too. They stayed like that for only a second, but it felt like a lifetime as they breathed heavy against one another, as close as they could possibly be. 

But Ilya knew he had teased Shane to the point that he was operating on a hair-trigger; he needed more, and he needed it now. Ilya gasped as his husband rode him hard, gripping Ilya's shoulder and arm almost painfully as the headboard rammed the wall repeatedly. 

"Holy shit, Hollander." Ilya breathed, reaching up a hand to grip the back of Shane's neck so he could thrust up and pull him down simultaneously. He must've hit the right spot like that, because Shane cried out in his shoulder, the choked sound of pleasure making Ilya's cock twitch inside of him. 

God, I love him. Ilya managed to have one single thought, as he was currently losing his mind. Still keeping their punishing pace, Ilya grabbed Shane's face in one hand and crashed their lips together, the kiss sloppy and hungry. Shane moaned in Ilya's mouth.

I'll do anything for you.

And in that moment, Ilya knew especially how true that was. He wanted to give Shane everything he wanted and more.

I will always take care of you. Always.

Ilya grunted as he whipped them over and shoved Shane down so his chest was pressed into the mattress. He gripped his hips and slid his cock back into Shane, reaching forward to grab one of his shoulders for leverage as he started pounding him so hard that he almost surprised himself. He was about to ask Shane if he was doing okay, but-

"FUCK. Yes, yes... please..." Shane mumbled, barely intelligible. Ilya had noticed he had tried to give more affirmation during sex over the years, especially when Ilya would get rough. It was cute. Plus, they both knew he'd be getting a few "Is okay's?" if he didn't. It was important to Ilya because he genuinely did lose himself when he fucked Shane. He wanted him so fucking bad. He wanted more. Harder. Deeper. Anything to be closer to Shane.

Ilya leaned over Shane's body, putting more of his weight on his back and driving into him at a new angle. Shane gasped and gripped the sheets while Ilya glanced up at the precariously placed bedroom mirror and watched them. 

Damn, we're hot.

Ilya marveled at the way Shane shook and grunted with each thrust, his mouth hung open, eyes fluttering. Ilya moved his hand from Shane's shoulder to run through his hair and push his face further into the mattress. They both were covered with a sheen of sweat, and Ilya could tell that they both weren't lasting much longer. Wanting it to be a mad sprint to the finish line, Ilya took a deep breath and doubled his efforts, holding Shane tight. He was struck by how this whole need for Shane started today- Russia. His husband was coming to Russia, and somehow that was hot and terrifying. Right then, Ilya realized that he felt like Shane was his to keep safe. The fact that his home country would do anything to break that up made him even more protective of Shane. He was his, and he'd burn down the world if it meant showing that to everyone.

"Ty moi. Mine." He bit Shane's shoulder and growled against his skin, lovingly kissing and sucking at the already-fading bite mark. 

"Y- Yours." Shane gasped in a breathy agreement, the choked word punctuated by Ilya's thrusts. 

The sound of the headboard banging (they were planning on securing it to the wall), the slap of skin, and their frantic pants and moans were going to be the death of Ilya. Luckily, he felt Shane tense underneath him, his body straining. 

"Ilya-" He tried to warn him, barely able to get the word out.

“Konchi dlya menya.”

Ilya wasn't even sure if he had taught Shane that one yet, but he seemed to understand, or at least not be able to help himself, because Shane stilled with a scream muffled by the bedding. Ilya felt him tighten around his cock, and that was more than enough to do him in. Ilya was shocked by his own involuntary cry out as he bit Shane's shoulder again, snapping his hips into him a couple more times before stilling and kissing his shoulders and back over and over again. 

"Ya tebya lyublyu... Ya tebya lyublyu... Ya tebya lyublyu..." He whispered again and again, hardly even realizing it. 

He slipped out of Shane and collapsed beside him, his arm falling over Shane's heaving back. They both took a moment to gain their composure and enjoy the remaining post-orgasmic buzz throughout their bodies. When their breathing finally returned to normal, Ilya noticed that Shane was still trembling. 

"Dorogoy? Are you okay?"

“Yes." Shane breathed out quickly in a dazed and dreamy tone. He hadn't even moved from where he had finished all over the bedsheets, which was more alarming than anything. Ilya gently rolled Shane over onto his back as he limply let Ilya do what he wanted. Sleepy brown eyes peered up at him adoringly, but there was still a hitch to his breathing.

"Shane... are you sure?" He sat above Shane's head, his knees on either side of his head so he could peer down at him. He gently massaged Shane's shoulders, trying to ease the tremor from them.

"Yes, fuck. Yes. I’m- wow. Fucking hell, Ilya.” His voice shook like his limbs, but a big, cheesy smile broke out on his face that dashed away Ilya's worries.

“Yeah,” Ilya humbly shrugged a shoulder. He didn't know where that had come from either. "I don't know." 

Shane let Ilya wipe him down, still feeling like his limbs were noodles.

"Thanks," he whispered lazily. His whole body still tingled, and he couldn't get his legs and arms to stop trembling, no matter how hard he tried. Shane didn't mind, though. He didn't mind one bit. He couldn't remember a time when he'd come so hard. 

"Mine." Ilya had said as he had railed him into their mattress. Shane stuttered a happy sigh at the memory, as if it weren't two minutes ago. 

Yours. 

Shane was too soupy and lost in his thoughts to notice Ilya wrapping him in a throw blanket until Ilya lifted him off the damn bed. 

"Hey!" Shane protested with a small laugh, forced to wrap his arms around Ilya's neck. Ilya knew Shane didn't like it when he did that, but to be honest, Shane didn't have any confidence in his legs to take him anywhere right now. 

Ilya took him to the living room, set him on the couch, and ensured the blanket was fully wrapped around him. Shane watched him in wonderment as he turned on ESPN, flew to the kitchen, and returned with a ginger ale. He opened it, put it on the coffee table in front of Shane, and leaned in to press a long kiss to the top of his head. 

"Stay." He said, but instead of the domineering way he had demanded it an hour ago, this one was soft and sickly sweet. Ilya gave Shane one more forehead kiss before he went back to their bedroom, no doubt to strip the bed. 

Shane was left with the biggest, stupid smile on his face. He thought back to the first time he and Ilya had hooked up- how it was always awkward after, and they both felt the need to revert back to pretending like they didn't care- like it was no big deal. 

Now, look at them... disgusting. So wonderfully disgusting. 

God, Shane was so in love. 

Ilya returned after he had thrown their bedding in the wash, sighing and sinking down into the couch next to Shane. Hollander threw some of his blanket over him, and they cuddled closer. 

"Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu." Shane said after a few minutes of them mindlessly staring at the TV, minds elsewhere. He saw Ilya smile out of the corner of his eye as his husband leaned in and kissed his shoulder lovingly. 

"Stopped shaking like chihuahua?"

"Shut up." 

"No, is cute." 

"Well, you fucking tortured me for, like, over an hour. You asshole." 

"You loved it." 

Shane didn't respond, and he didn't have to. Instead, he shot Ilya a side glance, his own grin spreading. 

For the next ten minutes, they cuddled in silence, both on their phones. Shane's brain was only just starting to work at full capacity again when he noticed the time. 

“Ilya, we have practice in two hours. Fuck.”

"Mm... yes. I will have the image of you squirming and begging all practice."

Shane rolled his eyes. 

“Did you see this?” Shane reached over to show Ilya a particularly wild play by the Admirals posted on Instagram. Ilya glanced over and nodded simply before his eyes returned to his own phone. Shane chuckled. He always saw reels before Shane. “You need to get offline.” 

“But they love me on the line.”

“Online.”

“I know,” Shane swore, Ilya messed up English on purpose just because he liked it when Shane got all matter-of-fact. It was quiet for a little while longer before Shane swallowed and put his phone down. He guessed now was as good a time as any. 

“Are you nervous?”

“For what?”

“Being back? Russia?”

Shane glanced over at Ilya nervously, trying to read his face. His jaw set, and his eyes stared forward. For a terrifying moment, Shane thought he was going to go rigid and shut him out. But Ilya's eyes flitted over to meet his, and his whole body softened. Almost as if Ilya had realized where he was in that moment, he melted into Shane's lap instead. Shane's hand went to his hair.

“Yes, mostly just… to see old things. Old things I haven’t seen in a long time.”

Shane nodded, twisting one of Ilya's curls in his fingers. He was considering asking for more clarification, but Ilya broke the tension. 

“Such as Alexei’s old, fat fuck of a face.”

Shane snorted and kissed Ilya's shoulder. He already knew that might be the toughest part, even if they really were only meeting to swap keys briefly. 

“Maybe you should see if Svetlana wants to come too… to Moscow, I mean.”

Ilya cocked an eyebrow. Shane had admittedly always been a little weird about Svetlana, but he loved that Ilya had her as a friend. He just wished he didn't have to think of them fucking every time he saw them together.

"This is a good idea. She may already be there for Christmas and such." 

"Oh, yeah..." 

Shane had almost forgotten about that part. They hardly had any time off, and most certainly couldn't both miss any practice or meetings on the same team. They had four days off for Christmas, and it was the only way they'd make it to Russia and back. His mother was not going to be thrilled. 

"Want to shower?" Ilya peered over at Shane, who glared back at him. He threw his hands up in defense. "No funny business! I'll leave your dick alone." 

Shane chuckled and finished his ginger ale before standing, letting the blanket slip from around him. 

"Uh-oh..." Ilya muttered from the couch. Shane glanced over his shoulder. 

"What?"

Ilya's eyes were wide, but a smile was spreading across his face as he looked at something on Shane's back. He tried to crane his neck to see what he was looking at, but couldn't reach. 

"What? Ilya! What?"

Ilya rose from the couch to give the back of Shane's shoulder a gentle kiss. 

"Nothing."

Chapter End Notes

Any help correcting my Russian is greatly appreciated!

Chapter 3: Moscow, Russia

Chapter Summary

The boys arrive in Moscow.

Chapter Notes

Ottawa, Canada

December 24th, 2023

🎶 Дорогой Человек 🎶  (Right-click/Hold down to open in new tab)

When they boarded the plane, Shane was struck by the fact that this was only the second time he and his husband had flown together as a couple, as opposed to their many flights with the Centaurs. The first time had been their honeymoon in Spain.

But Ilya and Shane had also been married for two years. They had been together for six, and… whatever the fuck that was for more than ten. Was that… weird?

Of course. Our whole situation was weird.

Either way, Shane made a mental note to go a lot more places with Ilya once hockey was over. Or maybe even this summer if they could swing it, but he didn’t want to voice as much because he knew Ilya would get all excited, and he hated to see him disappointed.

They splurged on a private flight to Moscow, because there was no world in which it’d be a good idea for the public to know Ilya Rozanov was returning to Russia with his very gay husband. Every precaution had to be taken, especially because Ilya still didn’t have his Canadian citizenship. They were so close in the multi-year process, and Shane hated that they couldn’t wait, but if they wanted any last remnants of Irina, it was now or never.

The FBO was perfectly private save for one employee on the tarmac who tried (and endearingly failed) to hide his excitement. But it wasn’t until they were fully in the air with their small cabin crew that Shane felt he could breathe again… until they were dropped off in Moscow, of course. The plane ride was also the last time they could show physical affection publicly again- it wasn’t something that was voiced, but rather understood between the two of them. And even though Shane knew that they were safe here 15,000 meters in the air (depending on who you asked- Ilya didn’t like flying much ever since the whole Centaur’s plane debacle), he still found them both a little tense… a little distant. If he was thinking of all his fears regarding Russia, then he knew Ilya was doing the same tenfold. It was strange that he wasn’t reaching for Shane’s hand as they settled down into their seats, his face hard and eyes locked out the window as they took off.

So, Shane did it. He held Ilya’s hand and drew circles over the back with his thumb. He rarely instigated physical touch with Ilya in public, but not because he didn’t want to. Granted, it took Shane a lot longer to avoid flinching once they were officially outted- hiding something for so long will do that to you- but he was much better at relaxing about it now.

Though it wasn't always easy when you had a whole team of hockey players constantly heckling you. 

For instance, a couple of weeks ago, following that fated call from Alexei; after Ilya had practically fucked Shane into oblivion and proceeded to leave out the fact that Shane had mouth-shaped bruises across the back of his right shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Shane had shot at Wyatt in annoyance, feeling his teammate’s hand at Shane’s bare back and noting the wide, dopey grin on his face.

“I’m measuring.” Wyatt had said, pulling back his hand to reveal his fingers, indicating a small distance of space. Shane scowled at him and glanced around the room to realize it wasn’t just Wyatt; most of the team was either holding back unbecoming giggles or waggling their eyebrows at Shane over teasing smiles. Ilya stepped into the locker room, clearly not privy to whatever shenanigans the team was brewing. Wyatt flew across the room and held his “measuring” indication up to his face.

“Roz, open your mouth for a second.”

“Fuck, off.” Ilya habitually slapped his hand away from his face, but the room had already broken out into,

“Oooooooooh’s” and nondescript teasing.

“Fuck you, guys.” Shane tried to crane his neck around to see his back again, but he realized he had already tried that earlier when Ilya was doing his own teasing… and hadn’t given him a single warning. God… were back hickeys even more embarrassing somehow? “I hit it at the game the other day."

“I hit it at the game! I hit it at the game!” The room burst out into mocking laughs as everyone finished gearing up and heading to the ice. Shane made sure to grab Ilya from the scruff of his shirt and yank him back to stay in the locker room a moment longer. Ilya yelped and looked back, a cocky smile spreading over his previously confused frown.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shane demanded in a hushed tone. Ilya’s eyes sparkled with his half-shrug, having the audacity to wink at Shane before following the rest of the team onto the ice. The asshole loved it- loved that people could see that Shane was his. And even though he wouldn’t be caught dead voicing it, Shane did too. Hollander was glad no one else was in the locker room to see the ghost of a grin on his face before he joined his team for practice.

So no, the reason Shane rarely instigated public intimacy wasn’t about being uncomfortable. The real reason was that Ilya would beat him to it every time, all the time. It was deeply rooted in his husband’s love language (most likely after years of deprivation, Shane always guessed), so it was nearly impossible for Shane to ever be left wanting. Now, Hollander knew he had to step up. This whole trip, he was going to have to step up; be there for Ilya in every way he could. It terrified Shane that maybe he wouldn’t do enough or be enough in a situation like this, but he focused his anxieties into the patterns he was drawing across Ilya’s skin.

The flight was over 9 hours, which was still a massive improvement from flying commercial. Once Ilya loosened up a little, he pulled out his tablet and pulled up the show he and Shane had started last week in preparation for Russia.

“What’s the name of the show again?” Ilya knew the name; he was just testing Shane.

“Melochi Zhizni.”

“And that means?”

“Um… Worries, or like… Trifles of Life?”

“Good job.”

Shane tried to hide the beginnings of a prideful smile. 

They watched the show, and Ilya quizzed him. He’s happy to do it because it seems like a good distraction for Ilya, and Shane is admittedly terrified of sounding like a complete idiot in front of Ilya’s friends and family. He realized he had never truly given Ilya enough credit for all the work he’d done to learn English.

“What did she say?” Ilya tested him again.

“Um… I’m tired of your attitude?”

“Wow, Hollander. Good, you’ll need that with Alexei.”

Shane snorted and rolled his eyes, but he knew he wasn’t 100% joking.

“Now, in Russian.”

“Mne nadoyelo tvoye otnosheniye.”

Ilya smiles at him particularly sweetly this time and lingers. Shane exhaled a short, uncomfortable breath from his nose.

“What?”

“Your accent is very cute.”

“Stop! Oh my god, Ilya. Why would you say that? We’re like two hours out- don’t tell me I have an accent!”

“It is barely there. Calm down, moy vesnushka.”

“Freckle?” Shane guesses flatly, still not happy about the comment despite the way his stomach flipped at Ilya’s adoring gaze and cute nickname.

“Mm. Yes. See? You will be great.”

They continued watching, and Shane noticed that Ilya was the one to reach over for his hand this time. He tried not to act as excited as he felt as he ran his fingertips over Shane’s knuckles.

“Wait, what was that? She’s had a what?” Shane asked, frowning at the screen as if the deeper the line in his brow, the deeper understanding he’d have of Russian.

“Miscarriage. Vykidysh.”

“Oh, yikes… wait, was it Sergei’s or Igor’s?” Shane questioned about the characters in the show.

“What do you think?” Ilya asked him in Russian.

“Igor’s, probably.”

“Yes, probably… if you consider the timeline.”

“You know a lot about this show.”

It was a fact that Shane was surprised by from the first moment they began Melochi Zhizni. It was so… not Ilya. No action or explosions, and all soap opera drama.

Ilya gave the smallest of shrugs and kept his eyes glued to the screen even though Shane knew he could feel his own gaze. He gave him time, though, not pressing further and hoping his husband would remember just that- that he was his husband. Shane wasn’t going anywhere, and Ilya could tell him anything.

“My mother loved it.” There it was. “We’d watch reruns when I was little.”

“Oh.”

Nice, Hollander. What’s the point of wanting Ilya to open up if you have nothing good to say?

“Is it okay? Us watching it?” Shane cautiously ventured. Ilya nodded and finally dared to meet Shane’s gaze.

“I was a little worried. But it is nice.”

Shane smiled and gave Ilya’s hand a squeeze. Their sweet moments in their bubble of safe privacy didn’t last forever, though. After an unintentional nap on each other’s shoulders, the flight staff informed them that they were landing in twenty minutes.

Ilya was back to being uncharacteristically quiet after that, and Shane wasn’t sure what to say, so he just found little ways to tell him he was there. A kiss on his temple, a squeeze of his hand, laying his head on Ilya’s shoulder, and getting a top-of-the-head kiss in return. Still, Shane’s heart hurt watching Ilya’s jaw steel-set, a constant nervous bounce in his leg. There was fear in his bright blue eyes as they scanned the inky blackness of the sky.

It would be no time before Ilya Rozanov was on Russian soil for the first time since publicly coming out and marrying a man. It would hardly be an hour before they’d be face-to-face with Alexei.

Shane squeezed his husband's hand tighter.

The feeling of the plane’s tires hitting the tarmac felt more violent than normal.

Almost like a warning. Shane thought as he tried to subdue his anxiety. Ilya needed him.

It. Was. Cold.

So was Ottawa, but something about this cold was different. It penetrated Shane’s bones and made them ache, even with the parka he wore. It was dark out, and snow billowed around them in sharp slices through the air. The wind howled past their ears and turned them to a numbingly bright red.

Thankfully, a large black SUV was waiting for them.

Svetlana.

She was indeed already in Moscow for the holidays and insisted on picking them up in her family car.

“The driver has been with us for fifteen years. You can trust him.” Shane had overheard her say on the phone with Ilya earlier that December.

Now,  “Ah! My favorites!” She squealed, popping out of the car with grace, her curls billowing in the wind around her. She threw her arms around Ilya before promptly turning to Shane. When she threw her arms around Shane's neck, she didn't let go so quickly. Ilya cleared his throat, and Shane tried to tame his amused smile. 

“He’s not very good at sharing, is he?” Svetlana winked at Shane, who, despite the fact that he was a married gay man, went extra pink in his cheeks. He braved looking at Ilya, who clearly was actually jealous. Shane knew Svetlana liked him as a hockey player, and yes, Ilya had begrudgingly told him that Svetlana had also found him hot, but he didn’t think Ilya cared. He thought it was a bit. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

It was fucking hilarious. After all, Shane was gay, and Ilya was the one who had fucked Svetlana many a time.

Once secure in the warm, plush interior of the car, Shane instantly zeroed in on the incessant shaking of Ilya’s leg. The single-minute walk from the plane to the SUV hadn’t just been excruciating because of the cold, but also because it was the first time since coming out that Ilya and Shane had to hide their relationship again… it seemed silly since they were very famously married, but it still felt… necessary. It was sad, and Shane had never wanted to touch Ilya more than that short walk.

Now, safe in the car, Shane didn’t hesitate to put his hand over Ilya’s shaking knee. It stopped immediately, and Ilya’s gaze whipped around almost defensively- as if someone had shocked him. The moment sent a pang of hurt to Shane’s chest until Ilya’s face spread into a small, kind of sad smile. Shane let out a relieved sigh when Ilya covered his hand with his own.

He peripherally watched Svetlana’s eyes flicker down their joined hands on Ilya’s knee. She seemed genuinely happy- like, as in, for them.

Shane hadn't had tons of time to get to know her. She was at their wedding, and they'd all been out to dinner once in Boston. She occasionally came to a couple of their games every year, but that was about it. It was enough for Shane to release whatever jealousy he had been hanging onto for years, but not quite enough to get a real read on her. 

However, the more he spent time with her, the more Shane thought he really liked her. 

“Okay, so. I know most of tomorrow will be spent at the old house, and I can help with that too, but-“

“You don’t have to do that,” Ilya said in Russian. Svetlana looked a little hurt for a second before Ilya rushed to explain. “English. You don’t have to do English. He can manage.”

Ilya looked over at Shane and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. Svetlana threw up her hands in mock defense.

“Wowwwwww. Ya i ne znala, chto tvoy muzh takoy vpechatlyayushchiy!”

Svetlana continued the rest of her conversation in Russian, which was admittedly harder for Shane to follow all the details from, but he thought he got the gist. He created bullet points in his head:

• Svetlana wants to go to a party on Christmas (tomorrow)
• Ilya said it's a bad idea
• She says he has turned boring

This one actually stuck with Shane and not in a good way, because maybe Ilya thought it was true, too.

• Ilya responds by correcting her; not boring, just publicly queer
• She says there’s a club meant for them to be safe

And because it was awkwardly quiet for a beat after that, Shane cleared his throat.

“Mozhet byt'. My pogovorim ob etom. Bylo by priyatno uvidet', khot' raz, podderzhivayushchuyu storonu Rossii.” 

Maybe. We'll talk about it. It could be nice to see the supportive side of Russia for once.

He knew he probably was mispronouncing something, but maybe not with the way Ilya was looking at him. Eyebrows raised, he was clearly a little shocked. He constantly told Shane that he was impressed with his Russian, but now he could really see it on his face. The expression settled into his infamous gaze of affection, and suddenly, Svetlana was giggling.

“Ty ot nego bez uma.” She jeered at Ilya, who, despite the dim light of the car, was turning visibly flush. Shane didn’t quite catch the specifics, but he knew she was making fun of Ilya for how in love he was.

Shane forced the corners of his mouth down before he looked just as lovesick, though he knew he was failing.

“Zamolchi. God forbid I like my husband a little.”

“Husbaaaand,” Svetlana squealed happily in English, reaching forward to grab both of their hands. She joined them together once again between her own and gave them a little squeeze.

Shane couldn’t fight his cheesy smile anymore. He felt the same way whenever someone called them "husbands". 

To say the mood shifted when they turned onto more suburban streets was an understatement. Shane knew nothing of where they were or how long it’d take to get to Alexei’s, but the sudden tightness in the air between them was enough to guess they were approaching. The fact that not only Ilya, but Svetlana too, was stunting her personality so quickly didn't help Shane's nerves.

By the time the car turned into an uneven gravel driveway, Ilya was wound tighter than Shane had ever seen him… and he’s known him for over fifteen years.

Shit.

“I’d come, but I’m just a whore, so I’ll wait in here.” She said in Russian, and Shane cringed. “If you need me, come get me.” Svetlana finished, not only giving Ilya a small smile of reassurance, but Shane too.

Ilya threw her an apologetic glance before he exited the car. Shane’s hand braced the handle of his own door, but before he could even push it, Ilya had rushed around the car to pull it open instead. Something about his husband opening his door for him in front of his brother-in-law’s house felt incredibly domestic in a way they’d never quite experienced before. It was always Shane- Shane’s family, Shane’s properties, Shane’s hometown, Shane’s country….

Somewhere in the anxious pit of Shane’s stomach, he felt warmth. He was going to learn so much about Ilya, and as scared as they both were, he couldn’t fucking wait.

Dying to take Ilya’s hand but knowing it could be potential suicide, Shane instead swallowed the lump in his throat before looking over and catching Ilya’s eyes intentionally.

“Okay?” Shane tested the waters.

Ilya took a stuttering breath that condensed into a cloud in the air. He looked… beautiful. Like, really beautiful. Shane always thought that, but there was something different about seeing Ilya against the frozen-tundra backdrop of a Moscow neighborhood. His lips were bright red, recently wetted by his tongue. His cheeks were rosy, and his skin was pale but pristine against the falling snow.

“Okay.” Ilya gave him a smile that was way more peaceful and confident than Shane would’ve expected. It gave him comfort in his own rapidly beating heart.

His little Russian doll.

Oh, Ilya’d HATE that. Shane mused to himself, making a note to use the pet name later… and in Russian, for good measure.

Before they could take their second step down a snowy pathway to an old oak door, it flew open, and a dainty shadow flew out almost too fast to see.

“Dyadya, Ilya!”

It isn’t until the dark mass was thrown into Ilya’s embrace that Shane could make out what was happening- a girl, undoubtedly Ilya’s niece… well… their niece, Sophia. Not only that, but she was sporting an #81 Ilya Rozanov Centaur’s jersey. They were starting off the quick visit with some pretty big shocks, Shane thought. Not only did they have no clue that Sophia even knew who Ilya was, but they certainly didn’t think she’d be a fan of his hockey.

For a moment, Shane thought maybe Ilya had left out some details, but he could see the pause in Ilya’s face as well. It quickly melted into that soft Ilya smile reserved for only children. He opened his mouth to respond, but a large shadow and voice emanated from the open doorway.

“Privet, Ilya.”

Shane turned his gaze from Ilya and Sophia, his grin (that he hadn’t even realized he was sporting) fading. He was difficult to make out from the way the inside glow created a distinct silhouette, but it was definitely him. The man who still had a chokehold on Ilya similar to his father, the man who harbored violent jealousy his whole life, the man who still had the power to make a man as great as Ilya Rozanov feel small. Shane was staring at Alexei Rozanov for the very first time.

Ilya was statue still.

“Privet, Alexei.”

Chapter End Notes

I just can't wait to witness Shane attempt Russian in the show!
NEXT-UP: Alexei and family. A full day at Ilya’s childhood home. Confronting Irina's deathbed and grave. Family dinner turns into a huge fight.

Chapter 4: Holiday Allies

Chapter Summary

Alexei and family, the boys exchanging Christmas gifts, Ilya fulfilling a fantasy of fucking Shane in his Moscow apartment.

Chapter Notes

Italicized dialogue = said in Russian

Moscow, Russia

December 24th, 2023

“Privet, Alexei.”

The only sound was the sad howl of wind. Even Sophia looked uncomfortable glancing between her uncle and father. He heard Shane awkwardly shuffling his feet from just behind him, followed by him clearing his throat.

“Uh… Ya Shane,”

Oops. Bad husband, Ilya.

“Da. Izvini. Eto Shane.” Ilya said. Yes. Sorry. This is Shane. “Moy muzh.” He is sure to emphasize husband and relishes the fact that even though he can’t see it in his silhouette, Alexei’s eyes were probably ablaze. His brother's stare was directed at Shane instead, and Ilya wanted to jump in front of him. Alexei didn’t deserve to even lay his eyes on the best part of his life; the only thing untouched by this hellish place.

Shit, was this all a mistake?

Sophia broke the tension and threw arms around Shane, startling all of them.

“Dyadya Shane!”

Uncle Shane. Oh, his heart. His fucking heart. Maybe this moment was worth it in itself. “Number 24, second-line center.” She said in English with a matter-of-fact tone, making Shane laugh.

Fuck. Ilya hoped he wasn’t outwardly swooning.  He had no idea his niece knew so much about him and Shane, let alone anything at all. The last time he saw her was during his father’s funeral, and she was, like, eight and just past his elbow. Now she was just under his chin. He felt a swirling guilt in his stomach for not even saying goodbye to her that day.

To be fair, he had just socked her father in the face.

“Eto verno! Ochen’ vpechatlyayet.” This time, his Russian was effortless. He wondered if Alexei was surprised by this.

That’s right! Very impressive.

“Hi, boys. Come inside while Alexei gets the keys.” A new voice said from inside the house in Russian.

“Absolutely not,” Alexei responded with admittedly impressive reflex.

“It’s freezing out!”

“It’s dangerous.”

“More dangerous than them standing in our front yard? Christ, Alexei!” The voice, Katya, ended the intermarital spat. Alexei grumbled something as he receded into the house.

“Come inside, Sophia. Out of the cold.” He called over his shoulder. Ilya guessed that was his way of passively giving in, but he didn't budge. He told his feet to move, and they just didn't. Shane spoke up behind him, and he could feel his anxious fidgeting from a foot away.

“Should we-“

“Ilya,” Katya appeared now, waving them inside frantically. “Don’t you be stubborn, too.” Then kindly, and switching to English, “Hi, Shane. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” He replied in exhaustively practiced Russian.

His sister-in-law was pretty cool, and he never understood what she ever could have seen in Alexei to begin with. Ilya forced himself to move by glancing at Shane and nodding his head towards the front door. On the way in, Shane lowered his voice.

“What’d she call you?”

“Stubborn. Upryamyy.”

“Oh, yeah. How could I ever forget that one?”

Ilya rolled his eyes but forced a small smile for Shane. If it wasn’t trying to convince Shane, then it was trying to convince himself.

It’s fine. This is fine. I can take my fucking husband into my asshole, bigot brother's house; it’s fine. 

The smile must not have been as much of a shield as Ilya had hoped, because Shane glanced around the dark and empty neighborhood before putting his hand on Ilya’s arm and giving it a squeeze. It helped, and Ilya was grateful.

While the refuge from the cold was at least welcome, nothing else about Alexei's house was. Ilya was overwhelmed by how the senses around him made him feel as if he were being transported back, and not in a good way. Alexei had always tried to be just like their father, and everything he did parroted that, including his taste in decor, alcohol, brands, clothes, morals... lack of morals. All the things that reminded Ilya of what his Father never failed to remind him: He was nothing. Useless. Worse than useless, but a shame to Russia. A shame to the family. A shame to him. 

Papa, if you could see me now. Ilya thought bitterly about the hypothetical of his father being alive and well when everything about him and Shane had come out. 

“Zaika, you are basically an adult rabbit now, yes?” Ilya pressed out the sentence through a tight throat, hoping it wasn't noticeable. He needed to distract himself, and his niece made it easy. She obviously adored Ilya (and the feeling was mutual), which probably drove Alexei crazy on a daily basis. How did his brother even allow such a thing to happen?

“I just turned 14.”

“Yes, I think there are a few things about that in this bag,”

“A few?” She asked, she asked politely as she could, the excitement seeping through. They had gotten her a few things that Svetlana had helped them pick out, as Ilya and Shane were, to say it lightly, hopelessly lost when it came to teenage girls.

“Yes, but these are just for your birthday.”

“Christmas presents are tomorrow.” Shane jumped in, seemingly too excited to let Ilya finish. It warmed his heart.

He knew it probably annoyed Alexei that they were showing up with so many gifts. They were mostly to make Sophia happy, a little due to the guilt of being absent from her life, and maybe… just, maybe, Ilya worried that a part was just to rub it in Alexei’s face.

Ilya hated what this place did to him.

And if it was partially because Ilya was that much of an asshole, it was working. Alexei was glaring, jaw set and ready to say something, but his eyes flitted to where Sophia was excitedly tearing open wrapping paper and seemed to decide against it.

Now he really felt like an asshole.

“Ilya,” Alexei called tersely, in a low voice. He felt his stomach twist as he walked over to his brother’s side. He felt stupid for the way his body tensed increasingly in tandem with how close he got to his own brother.

"We didn't know she likes hockey so much." Shane carefully told Katya in Russian, wanting to say "We had no idea she was such a big fan", but not being able to conjure it nearly as fast. Poor Ilya. His chest clenched every time he realized truly what a nightmare it could be to not be able to say what you mean to anyone around you.

"Ah, yes. The more you two were on the news, the more she asked about him. You guys are kind of famous, you know." 

Shane cringed. Infamous may be the better word from the Russian standpoint. 

"Yes. I guess that is true."

Katya didn't seem to say it with the same hatred that Alexei held, though. Shane was surprised that she was entirely her own woman and found himself feeling guilty for ever assuming otherwise. He liked her. Ilya had told him that he had liked his sister-in-law fine enough as well, but the only semblance of a relationship they had ever gotten close to was always dashed by the black hole between Ilya and Alexei.

"She's been obsessed ever since," Katya concluded, setting down some tea in front of Shane before sitting in the chair next to him at the kitchen table. He thanked her. And because Shane felt comfortable with her and was a little desperate for a lifeline, he muttered, 

"Bednyy Alexei." Poor Alexei.

Katya burst out laughing and instantly covered her mouth; the two brothers glancing over from where they were, both squared off, tensely at each other; it was like they were about to box rather than just exchange some keys. Katya waved at them, dismissing their attention before turning back to Shane, who was now smirking as well. 

“Yes, he doesn’t love it. But he will do anything to make her happy... as long as no Centaurs merchandise leaves this house.” Katya smiled as she watched her daughter excitedly open a variety of skincare and hair products from Canada and America. Shane hummed and nodded because he didn't know what else to do with this information. It didn't fit with everything else he'd ever known about Alexei, and Shane began to realize that things between him and Ilya might be a lot more complicated than he'd thought. 

He glanced back to where Alexei was explaining the use of each key while completely avoiding eye contact with Ilya. Ilya gave a curt nod between each explanation. Both looked ready to jump out of their skin. 

"They are very..." Shane looked for the word "intense" in Russian, but was coming up short. "Much?" 

"Intensivnyy?"

"Yes! Ugh," Shane rolled his eyes at himself at the ease of that one. "Kak ya mog zabyt'?" How could I forget? 

"Hey, your Russian is very impressive!" Katya assured him, and he even earned a little nod from Sophia, who had moved on to the larger wrapped gift. "And yes. They are. It's nice to now have a soyuznik." 

Shane blinked, searching his brain. Finally, he had to ask, "Sorry?"

"Soyuznik. Tipa... drug." Like friend. Shane suddenly realized she was trying to say they were allies and started laughing, mostly out of pure relief.

"Of course," he affirmed back in her language, and for a moment, Shane let a forbidden thought enter his head. 

Would it really be so bad if they sucked it up and buried the hatchet?

He knew the response it would elicit from Ilya, and he knew it wasn't really his place, but Shane found himself wanting more. He loved that Ilya loved Shane's family back in Canada. He loved that his family loved Ilya. But Shane wanted that on the other side too. He knew it'd never be the same for a million reasons, but he wanted as much of Ilya as he could get. That included his fucked up family.

"Spasibo." Shane heard Ilya deliver the tightest, most unfriendly thanks he's ever heard in his life before his husband was already gathering him from the table, a ring of keys in hand. "Gotov, Shane?"

"Thank you for the birthday gifts," Sophia stood and gave Ilya and Shane another hug each. Shane smiled at the way Ilya's statue-stance from interacting with his brother melted when he gave his niece a tight squeeze.

"Anytime, Zaika. We'll be back with Christmas presents from Santa tomorrow." 

"You know I'm too old for that." Sophia shook her head at Ilya, who wadded up the discarded wrapping paper and playfully tossed it at her head. 

"Fine, from your rich Uncles then." He mused like the prick he was, and Shane wished he'd at least leave him out of this. He avoided even glancing at Alexei, even though the man had avoided him completely. 

"Why aren't they just staying with us?" Sophia asked.

"They're going to the apartment, sweetie." Katya glanced awkwardly between Alexei and Ilya.

"You still have that?" Sophia gawked, spinning around with wide eyes at her father, who tiredly shrugged at her. Shane cringed. He really hoped it wasn't being used for what Ilya had previously thought- a drugged-up whore house. But when Ilya had called Alexei a few weeks ago to inform him that they were indeed coming to Russia, his brother revealed that the apartment was available and virtually untouched since Ilya had left it. Shane could see that Ilya had been a little taken aback by this.

"...But they can come to dinner tomorrow." Katya sent the room into a spiral, and Shane caught himself getting a little excited. 

"Katya..." Alexei's voice instantly cut in from where he was discarding wrapping paper in their trash can. 

"Uh..." Ilya stumbled, seemingly too shocked for words yet.

"It's Christmas!" Katya focused on her appalled husband.

"No! It's not!" Alexei argued, and that was actually true. Russia didn't celebrate Christmas for another week.

"It's their Christmas." Shane was flattered by Katya's statement for a number of reasons, but it seemed to make Alexei even more furious.

"No. Thank you, but no." Ilya piled on. At least they are agreeing with each other. Shane thought to himself flatly. 

Alexei and Katya continued arguing back and forth, much of which Shane couldn't catch due to the speed. 

"Katya. It really isn't a good idea." Ilya spoke up again. Shane was planning on staying silent and supporting his husband, but Katya's eye caught him from across the room. Her look was desperate, her eyes were questioning, and she raised an eyebrow at him in expectation. He glanced over at Sophia, who was giving him the same look. 

I have a niece... a sister-in-law. I have family in Russia now- Ilya's family. That's so fucking cool. Not to mention, this was their last chance. Ilya and Shane would likely never return to Russia if things didn't change there. This was the last chance for Ilya to get any time with the last of his family, and he certainly would never take that leap for himself.

Fuck.

"My budem tam." We'll be there. Shane shocked even himself. And if Alexei had succeeded at avoiding Shane's eye all night, he certainly was failing now. He was staring at Shane, and Hollander was a little ashamed to admit that it knocked the breath flat out of him. Not only was Alexei a much taller man, but his stare was the scariest. There was something dark there that made Shane's veins feel icy. Out of the periphery of his vision, he felt Ilya staring at him too.  Both Rozanovs. Shane wanted to sink into his shoes.

Ah, fuck. No one's going to know where they hid my body.

He refused to meet the dark eyes of his brother-in-law or the possibly scarier piercing eyes of his husband, and instead focused on the very loud celebration of his niece. 

"Really?" Sophia asked, her voice rising in pitch with each passing second. "Really? Oh my god, yes! Best fucking Christmas ever!" 

Shane wasn't totally sure he had heard the swear word right until Ilya couldn't hold back an amused snort, and Alexei exclaimed in shock. When his brother-in-law's gaze broke from Shane's, he felt relief flood his body.

"Ah! Language! Go finish your homework." Alexei scolded Sophia.

"Papaaaaaaa," 

"Go." Alexei kissed her on the top of her head, and she rolled her eyes, but told him she loved him before waving goodbye to her uncles.

Weird. Alexei Rozanov, normal-ish Dad. 

Ilya and Shane said their own awkward goodbyes with Alexei, once again avoiding all eye contact. Shane was fine with that. Katya made them promise one last time that they'd stay for Christmas dinner tomorrow, and once again, Shane responded for the both of them despite his natural survival instincts telling him not to.

It was like a huge weight had been lifted when they finally found themselves back in the car with Svetlana. Shane thought he might get a moment of peace, but Ilya was quick to the punch. 

"You just had to say yes." 

"Ilya... Look how excited she was." And it was true. They had obviously made Sophia's Christmas, and it'd be cruel to take it away. 

"Shaaaaaaaaane," Ilya didn't even try to hide his ornery whine. Shane smirked and held Ilya's hand. 

"Sorry, I'm in an ally." He tried a little too confidently in Russian.

Ilya just stared at him, jaw open. 

"A what?"

"Soyuznik," Shane repeated, trying not to grin. And then in English, having the audacity to pretend he was teaching Ilya Russian. "An alliance."

"Okay. One, "alliance" is soyuze. If you were in an ally, we'd have a different problem." 

Shane couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped. 

"And two, we are marrieeeeeed. We are in the alliance, Shane." Ilya huffed and fell back into his seat, the corner of his mouth threatening to rise as Shane and Svetlana both failed to hold back giggles under their breath. "Is that what you were doing over there with Katya then?" 

"I couldn't say no, right?"

"Well, I for one am more worried for you and Katya." Svetlana's comment made his stomach twist. "Good luck, Shane." 

Shane's smile faltered. Maybe he really didn't think this one through.

By the time they had reached the apartment, they had resigned to silence, mostly out of exhaustion. They all were jet-lagged.

"Are you coming up?" Ilya asked her. She regretfully said she was retiring early, but flashed a mischievous smile as she switched to English.

"Only so I can be ready for the very fun, very gay party we are all going to tomorrow."

"Svetlana..."

"What? You said you'd talk about it!"

After mumbled promises to think about it, they hurried inside, sporting caps and sunglasses in the dead of night. Shane suddenly worried if this was more obvious.

The hallways of the building were completely empty, thank God. Shane was transported back to the early days of sneaking around hotel hallways. This time, the consequences of getting caught could be quite a bit higher, he realized with a chill.

They could relax inside Ilya's apartment. It was large yet cozy, bathed in warm light that contrasted the inky blues outside. It wasn't modern-minimalist as all of Ilya's homes had been in the US and Canada. This one was so... European with its wooden moulding and tall, decorative window panes. Shane couldn't help his smile as he fixated on all the little choices Ilya had made to furnish and decorate the place years ago. This was his home before there was Shane- this was Ilya before there was Shane. Baby-faced Ilya with his alleyway cigarettes and broken English phrases. Shane had never seen someone smoking look so beautiful before that day in Saskatchewan.

Making his way into the kitchen and admiring the large display case of records, a thought came to Shane's mind. He wondered how much Ilya would think about him while he lived here. The thought of Ilya had certainly haunted the walls of Shane's Montreal apartment long before they were official. 

You're married now, dummy. Shane realized. So, 

"Ty dumal obo mne?" Did you think of me?

Ilya raised his eyebrows from across the kitchen island. He must've caught Shane's suddenly shy tone, because the corner of his lips began to tug upwards. 

“In this kitchen?” Shane specified, nodding to their surroundings. Ilya's smile spread full, but a tinge of sadness was evident in his eyes. 

“Postoyanno.”

And suddenly Shane was sad too. He didn’t know why- they were right there, together, rings around their fingers with loyalties to the same team. Same house, same schedule, same life. And yet it still killed Shane to remember what it felt like to be so close yet wrenched apart by this invisible wall of fear, and confusion, and shame, and-

Ilya's lips were on his, incredibly gentle and politely exploratory, like they were doing it for the first time. Shane sighed into him, letting Ilya kiss away all the tightness in his chest until his eyelids felt heavy like lead. He wondered if he was actually going to fall asleep in the middle of the kitchen, standing up, wrapped in Ilya. Shane knew it was possible with the way this man was holding him and caressing his tongue with his own.

“Moya lyubov,” Ilya murmured against his lips. “I want sooooo badly to fuck you in this apartment. But-“

“I’m literally falling asleep standing up,” Shane murmured in English with a smile of agreement, shamelessly not bothering to open his eyes. Ilya chuckled and took Shane's bag, setting it aside and leading him to the bedroom.

When Shane blinked awake the next morning, he realized he had been so tired that he didn't remember changing into different clothes. Luckily, they did, because the fact that they didn't shower after a 10-hour flight already had Shane reeling.

The next thing he noticed was the heavy arm secured around his ribs and the warm breath on the back of his neck. He also couldn't ignore the persistently hard cock pressed up against his ass. Shane, too, was achingly hard and couldn't help but shift back, rubbing against Ilya's boner a bit. He palmed his own cock through his boxers.

Ilya stirred and before even realizing where he was, his hips thrust forward, and his arms weaved around Shane's hips, tugging him closer. 

"Mmmm... Morning." He mumbled against Shane's shoulder, lazily rutting against him. 

"Dobroye utro,"

Ilya froze for a moment, and Shane glanced over his shoulder to grin at Ilya's adorable, sleepy confusion. With one eye still squeezed shut and brows pulled together with concern, Rozanov groaned. 

"Eto byl nie koshmar?" That wasn't a nightmare?

Shane laughed.

"We're in Russia," He confirmed. He tapped Ilya's arms, and he unwound himself from around Shane. He moved to the bathroom, too tired for more Russian at the moment. "And I need to shower. You can sleep for a while longer if you'd like." 

"Are you fucking kidding me? My dick is about to fall off. Wait for me." 

It wasn't long before they were forehead to forehead with each other's dicks in hand, water pounding down keeping their safe little bubble nice and hot. Shane had the foresight to make them brush their teeth beforehand and was rewarded for it now. He attacked Ilya with needy kisses, their tongues fighting for dominance as the water drizzled down between their faces. 

"Fuck... Fuck, Ilya-"

"Yeah, me too." He breathed hot into Shane's mouth. "Davay, milyy."

Shane cried out as the intense build of pleasure erupted inside of him, and he was sure, very much outside of him as well. His staggered breaths came out in small gasps, but he kept his hand moving. He felt Ilya's cock thicken before he was pulsing in Shane's hand. He let out a surprised grunt into the crook of Shane's neck, murmuring Russian sweet-nothings that Shane just closed his eyes and enjoyed instead of trying to translate. They slumped against one another, the shower covering them in a comfortable warmth and washing away evidence of their morning activities.

“Merry Christmas,” Ilya murmured into Shane's wet skin, pressing a kiss to his neck before he stood up fully to finish getting washed up. 

Shane laughed in disbelief. 

“Oh. Merry Christmas.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, lathering his own chest with soap, which was already getting Shane's dick interested again. 

"Schastlivogo rozhdestva." Shane translated, offended that he even asked this one. "It's not really Christmas anyway."

"It's our Christmas," Ilya repeated what Katya had said the other night, making Shane smile. He had picked up on that, too. 

Ilya had breakfast ready before Shane even made it into the kitchen, freshly washed and in new clothes. He wasn't sure what the dress code was for visiting his husband's childhood home for the first/last time, so he eventually settled on a simple beige sweater and dark jeans. Ilya was in black jeans, no shirt, and was buzzing around the kitchen as steam hazed the room. His crucifix occasionally glinted when he hit the light just right. 

Rozanov seemed to be in an alright mood considering what they were doing today, and Shane felt like he could breathe a little better because of that. They found themselves sitting on cushioned stools at the counter, devouring eggs, toast, and sausage. Shane hadn't realized how hungry he was until he noted that they hadn't said anything in five minutes. After downing half a glass of orange juice (that he didn't even bother to ensure was 100% juice, no sugar added), a question popped into Shane's mind.

"Hey... How did you get the food when- ow! What the fuck?" Ilya had fucking flicked his head.

"Skazhi eto po-russki." Say it in Russian.

"Nakhuy." Fuck off.

Ilya went for his head again, but Shane was irritated and ready. He caught Ilya's wrist in his grip and quickly flicked Ilya's bare ribs with his other hand. 

"Ah!" He tugged himself away from Shane in giggles, giving him a shove for good measure. Shane couldn't help his own chuckles escaping as he tried to remain on his stool by gripping the counter. 

"I had Svetlana hire someone to fill the fridge," Ilya answered Shane's previously unfinished question.

"Wowwwwww," Shane got the reaction he wanted, managing to get Ilya Rozanov to blush. After all these years, he still prided himself on being able to do that.

"Shut up."  Shane couldn't help but be tickled at all the preparation Ilya had done for him, though. He was typically a last-minute, figure-it-out-as-he-goes type of guy, but he never failed to go the extra mile for Shane; something he always noticed with butterflies in his stomach. “Sorry that it is not…” Shane raised an eyebrow as Ilya gestured around the room, his eyes avoiding Shane. “…prazdnichnyy.”

Shane narrowed his eyes as he tried to think, but he ended up conceding and shaking his head at Ilya in confusion.

"Prazdnichnyy. Festive." Ilya clarified.

Shane's heart swelled even further. He smiled softly at Ilya, the playfulness in his eyes making way for the adoration spilling over. Shane reached forward and ran his thumb along Ilya's cheekbone, forcing him to look Shane in the eye. Ilya relaxed as soon as he did, his face pushing gently into Shane's palm. 

"Ya..." Shane looked away just for a moment, searching for the right words in Russian, but he couldn't. He needed to say this just like he wanted to. Sheepishly looking back at Ilya, he nearly whispered, "I'm right where I want to be." 

Ilya smiled; not his cocky "gotchya" smile, or his excitable boyish smile, but his self-proclaimed "I'm so in love and am all soft and gooey inside" smile. Shane loved them all, but that one was his favorite by far. 

Shane smiled sweetly back, and then a little evilly.

“I’m sure your brothers’ house will be very festive tonight.” He said in Russian, admittedly quite bitchily.

“Why do you ruin a good morning?” Ilya reprimanded in English, turning back to his breakfast with a pout.

“I’m just reminding you,” Shane didn't want him avoiding it until Ilya came up with some half-ass reason to let the idea fade out completely. 

“Reminded,” Rozanov grumbled over his eggs.

Shane stood and kissed Ilya all over his neck, face, and shoulders until his grumpiness unwound. It never took long.

Ilya had suggested they pull up a Christmas movie on one of their laptops, but Shane insisted on keeping to the Russian TV channels to practice. Ilya was proud of him, even though Shane's unwavering persistence irked him a little. He wanted to watch the movie with the little reindeer and all of the weird little toys on that island of weird little toys. He missed their Christmases with Shane's family. A pang of guilt twisted in Ilya's stomach, and as if one cue, Shane spoke up from where he was cuddled beside him.

“Gotta call my mom later.”

“Mm," Ilya feigned casualness. "Is she still mad at us, you think?”

Yuna had been furious, only trying to hide it when Shane informed her why they were coming to Russia for Christmas. Then, upon remembering the dangers of them being in Russia in the first place, was furious all over again. Ilya hated making her upset. He hated it.

“Nah,” Shane seemed to think for a moment. "There was this comment that may have been considered a little passive-aggressive, but... Well... Maybe a couple…"

“Shaaaaane,” Ilya didn't even try to hide the whine in his voice. Of course, they were passive-aggressive. Shane couldn't pick up on certain social cues if they were a bowling ball being thrown in his face.

“She'll get over it. I promise. She's mostly just worried, and we're doing Christmas when we get back.”

Ilya decided it was as good a time as any to pull out the little wrapped box in his suitcase. He tossed it to Shane, who caught it just in time. 

"Oh," 

"Oh." Ilya ruffled Shane's hair like a child, earning an eye roll and smirk. Shane was just as giddy as he would've hoped when he opened up what looked like a stupid, old hockey puck (because it was a stupid, old hockey puck that just happened to be signed by Daniel Alfredsson in 1999). Not to mention, the highly coveted signed picture of the 1980 Miracle on Ice team. Admittedly, Ilya was impressed with himself. The lengths he had to go to for these stupid pieces of junk had him excited about the additions to their trophy room as well.

"Wh- Ilya... I waited four days on auction, not to mention-" 

"Oh, trust me. I know." Rozanov didn't need reminding of those four days that Shane was infuriatingly buried in his phone instead of letting Ilya be buried inside of him. 

"How'd you do this?" 

"I'm Ilya fucking Rozanov." 

Shane huffed a sarcastic laugh, but Ilya could see the flicker of admiration in his husband's eyes. It made Ilya's heart soar. 

“Ilya,”

“Yes, yes. I am best husband.” Ilya waved him off, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed by the obvious lengths he was willing to go to in order to make Shane smile. After years and years together, Ilya wondered if there would ever be a point when Shane Hollander stopped making him bashful like a schoolgirl. He hoped not, and highly doubted it. 

“Maybe... until you hear what I did.”

That piqued Ilya's interest. He sat up a little straighter from his place on the sofa. 

“What?" He couldn't help the grin growing across his face. "What did you do?”

Shane looked like he was regretting even mentioning anything. Just to further confirm it,

“I’m so regretting this, Ilya.” He said, not able to meet his eye. Oh, this had to be good. Ilya was now smiling so much it hurt.

“Tell me! Tell me!” He bounced on the couch, gripping Shane's forearm and giving it a nagging shake. 

Shane shot Ilya a look that said, 'Think," and Ilya did have an idea of what it was, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. 

“No...”

“We’re scheduled in June.”

No fucking way. 

“Shane Hollander. Are you going to jump out of a motherfucking plane for me?”

Shane smiled and shook his head, looking away from Ilya who was absolutely buzzing. 

“I’ve got 6 months to think about it.”

Ilya tackled him. He couldn't help it. He'd been begging Shane for over a year now. It had started off as a silly pipe dream to annoy him with, but the more Ilya talked about it, the more he wanted to do it. He knew it wasn't Shane's thing in the slightest, but he couldn't help fantasizing. Ilya loved adrenaline, and skydiving was something he was ashamed that he hadn't knocked off his list yet. Now that he had a husband he was sickeningly obsessed with, he wanted to cross things off that list together.

“That’s so romantic, moy lyubimyy.”

“It’s so stupid.” Shane corrected despite his clear love for Ilya's enthusiastic kisses all over his face and neck. 

"We'll be so high on adrenaline," Ilya breathed into Shane's ear, a handful of his hair gripped tight in Ilya's hand, keeping his head still. Ilya's other hand gripped Shane's hip as he ground down into him, their bulges rubbing hard against one another. "And then I'll fuck you until you come so hard it'll feel as if you jumped out of a plane all over again,"

Shane moaned, followed by a nervous laugh. "Your English is getting too good."

"Verno podmecheno," Good point. Ilya switched to Russian, raising himself up so he could haul Shane's sweater over his head and toss it on the chair across the room. He did the same with the t-shirt underneath.

Ilya murmurs, “I'd sit here. Sometimes text you. Sometimes, just think about you. Think bout taking you here in this room. Against the wall. Over the counter.”

"Then do it. Take me.”

And that’s all Ilya needed before he stood up, dragging Shane with him before shoving him against the wall. He kissed him with ferocity before gripping Shane's jaw in his hand and pulling back. 

“On your knees.”

Shane sank down and immediately went for Ilya's belt, his hands fumbling from his eager motions. Ilya enjoyed watching him as he went, taking fistfuls of Shane's hair and tugging his head back just a bit every so often, just because he could. He ran his thumb along Shane's hairline and pushed his fingers through his hair just as Shane took Ilya's cock into his mouth. 

"Fuck, yes..."

Ilya never used the hand on Shane's head to push him; he just enjoyed feeling Shane's hair and the bob of his head over his dick. Shane was past eager this time, though, because he reached back and made Ilya's hand grip him harder, guiding Ilya's hand to push at his head and insisting on him being rougher. Ilya did for a moment before moving back to caressing more than pushing, and he smirked as Shane rolled his eyes from beneath him. 

Ilya suddenly felt a sharp pinch at the back of his thigh. He yelped, and his hand tightened in Shane's hair out of reflex, his hips jerking away from the pinch and into Shane's mouth further. Shane gagged a bit but then moaned in satisfaction around Ilya's cock. 

"Ty malen'kaya suchka," You little bitch. Ilya moaned under his breath in frustration despite the surprise smirk that was threatening to take over. Hollander really did still surprise him sometimes. He gave Shane what he wanted, holding him a little tighter, pushing himself a little deeper. Shane took him into his throat in earnest, his fingers gripping Ilya's thighs and no doubt leaving faint marks. Ilya didn't mind one bit. 

Where Ilya always drew the line was when Shane's eyes would get all watery and brim with tears. Even if the tears were caused by the gagging of Shane's throat rather than the breaking of Shane's heart, he still couldn't take it when yego lyubimyy looked like that. Not to mention, Ilya was getting close anyway. 

“Stop." He said more forcefully than he meant to before Shane sucked him one stroke too far. "Stop. Idite syuda." Ilya took Shane's arm and hoisted him up to his feet, already pushing him back towards the kitchen, kissing all the way. Once he had Shane backed up against the counter, he whipped his husband around with a firm hand on his hip. Ilya's other hand pushed on Shane's back, bending him over. 

"Fuck," 

"Podozhdi."

Ilya grabbed a blanket from the couch and rolled it up, stuffing it between Shane and the counter so his hips had something softer to rest on. He would need it. Ilya grabbed their lube from his bag too, and from there it wasn't long until Ilya had Shane trembling around three fingers. 

"Ilya," Shane's beg finally came, making Ilya's cock twitch. His less-busy hand was holding Shane down at the small of his back, frequently stroking soothing patterns along his skin. Ilya took that hand and managed to get some lube without stopping his fingering ministrations. Shane gasped when he felt the cold lube being coated over his cock. Ilya gave him a few slow pumps before he leaned over Shane further, feeling the heat radiating off of him. He removed his fingers and used one hand to grip the base of Shane's dick, the other hand moving up so Ilya could run his thumb along the head and tease Shane's slit. 

Hollander shuddered and whined, and Ilya couldn't hold back a groan. He loved breaking him down like this. 

Lubed, thoroughly fingered, and shaking, Shane was past the point of needy now, right where Ilya liked him.

“Please fuck me, Ilya.”

Ilya growled and leaned further so his chest rested against Shane's back, his fist tightening around Shane's cock. His lips rested against Shane's ear.

"Ya ne ponimayu,"

I don't understand.

Shane groaned loudly in frustration. 

"Pozhaluysta, trakhni menya." 

It struck Ilya that he had always wanted this. He couldn't count the number of times he had sat alone in this apartment, wishing Shane were there so he could fuck him where he ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Ilya snapped his hips and buried his cock to the hilt, Shane's body jolting against the countertop. Rozanov took a half second to make sure that the blanket was still providing cushioning for Shane before he was pounding into him.

“Shhhhhhh,” Ilya purred- Shane was definitely being loud enough to be heard from neighboring apartments. After pulling back slowly and driving his cock back forward, Shane cried out even louder. Rozanov, who himself was having trouble keeping quiet, leaned forward and covered Shane's mouth with his hand, gripping but trying not to hold him too roughly. 

Shane sighed happily against his hand, his dreamy moans continuing. Eventually, Ilya tapped Shane's hip and told him to roll onto his back; he wanted to see him, this beautiful man who came all the way to scary Russia for him. 

Once he had Shane's hips pulled to the edge of the counter, fingers digging into Hollander's thighs, Ilya took a moment to grind against Shane, their cocks trapped between their bodies, and rubbing up against each other. With a strong hand holding the back of Shane's neck, Ilya dipped down and kissed him hard, swallowing Shane's moan. 

When Rozanov couldn't take it any longer, he regretfully pulled back from Shane's lips to line himself up at his entrance again. Ilya reached forward and gripped the opposite edge of the counter, sinking deep into Shane at a heavenly angle. 

"Fuck!" Shane grunted much too loudly. 

"Hollander, that beautiful mouth is going to get us in trouble," Ilya murmured in Russian against Shane's collarbone while pinning him to the counter, switching away from sharp thrusts in favor of deep rutting. 

"Oh my god, you- You feel so good," Shane murmured, obviously trying his best to keep the volume down. Ilya gripped the counter tighter, using it to drive himself possibly deeper than he had ever been inside Shane. 

"God," Ilya breathed into Shane's neck, his cock pulsing dangerously between his hips that were pressed flush against Shane's. "This counter was made for us, moya lyubov." He was pressed so hard against Shane that he was barely standing on solid ground anymore. “I’m the luckiest fucking guy in Russia,” Ilya murmured in Russian before he could help it, getting a little whimper of adoration from Shane as a reward. 

It wasn't long after that when Ilya felt Shane's cock twitch between their bodies, warm cum covering both of their chests. Shane arched off the counter and clenched around him as he came with choked gasps. It was more than enough to send Ilya over the edge as well. He kissed Shane to at least bury the sound of his unintentional cry of pleasure, his orgasm rushing through his body so hard that Ilya was forced to collapse all of his weight onto Shane, the two of them heaving against one another on the countertop.

"Fuck," Shane breathed with a little chuckle. Ilya felt a hand come up to play with his hair. He sighed happily against Shane's chest. "Ya tebya lyublyu," 

"Ya tebya lyublyu." Ilya repeated it back with his whole heart. "Sooooooo much." 

A sudden knock at the door jolted the boys from their cozy cocoon. Ilya swore his heart fucking stopped.

“Join me outside if you are finally done.”

Svetlana. Outside the door and on-time, because he and Shane had definitely lost track of it. Not to mention, she had definitely heard them.

Ilya couldn't help but enjoy the way Shane's eyes were wide with horror. Desperate, dark orbs searched Ilya's eyes for anything that might make the situation better, but he had nothing. So instead, he gave Shane a peck on the nose before pulling out and calling past the door,

"...okay." 

They both scurried to get dressed again, thoughts elsewhere despite the mind-blowing sex. Shane was clearly reeling over the fact that they were practically caught with their pants down. And now, without the distraction of Shane's beautiful little gasps and mewls, Ilya was reeling for a whole different reason: Soon he'd be at Sadovaya 997 for the first time in a decade. A certain image of his mother's cold hand flitted across his mind, but Ilya pushed it down. 

This would be fine. Easy peasy. 

Chapter End Notes

I'd assume Shane started learning Russian in 2017. He's an ambitious perfectionist, so I have full confidence in his 2023 abilities!

Chapter 5: Sadovaya 997

Chapter Summary

Shane learns a lot about Ilya's childhood and finds himself falling in love all over again. Rozanov is clearly battling some demons, so Shane makes sure to take good care of him (smut).

Chapter Notes

- This is the last smut before I tear these two apart and ✨torture✨ them for our entertainment, so enjoy while you can.

- NO AI... EVER. Photoshop/hand-drawn... Even though the Cyrillic alphabet will be the death of me, wtf.

Domodedovo, Moscow Oblast, Russia

December 25th, 2023

“Good morning?” Svetlana asked them, though she full well knew the answer already. Shane squirmed uneasily in his excessively padded seat, but Ilya wasn’t playing this game.

“Um... yeah. You?” Shane just had to fill the silence.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Quiet.

“I can’t imagine it was as good as yours-“

“Ugh. 6:30 tonight.” Ilya jumped in, deciding to save Shane from Svetlana’s games by changing topics to Alexei’s stoic text. Usually it’d be fun to watch, but today he wasn’t in the mood. "Shane, this was stupid."

“Did you want me to refuse my niece from the “best fucking Christmas ever”? If you want to break her heart-"

“Okay, Dyadya Shane," Ilya shot sarcastically. "You’ve got a total of 8 minutes under your belt. Don’t get cocky now.”

“So I’m going to the club alone, I'm assuming?” Svetlana pouted.

Shane and Ilya looked at one another. They had talked about it a little that morning, but the answer seemed obvious.

“It’s just too dangerous. I’m sorry, Sveta.” Ilya said.

She changed from pouty to apologetic.

“No. I’m sorry," She said in solemn English, "that things are not different.”

It was quiet the rest of the ride to 997 Sadovaya. The house was South of downtown Moscow in a much more rural area. As city streets began giving way to forests and glimpses of the river, Ilya’s stomach twisted in knots.

997 Sadovaya: The Abandoned Rozonav Family Home

Ilya did everything he could to attempt mentally preparing himself for seeing this house, but none of it seemed to matter. Gut-wrenching nostalgia and anxiety gripped him wholly upon climbing the driveway, Rozanov actively trying to ensure it didn't show on his face. He remembered the last time he left, right before his father died. He had watched the place that raised him fading into his rearview mirror. Now that he was back, it looked mostly the same from afar, but that changed the closer he got.

Upon slipping the key into the lock with shaking hands, Ilya took stock of everything that was different, and the list was long. Not one surface was safe from the fresh layer of dust and dirt; their surroundings were spattered with speckled patterns. The wood siding itself seemed to have shrunk, leaving deep gaps in the walls' structure. The windows that weren't smashed out were tattered and foggy with age. Ilya remembered a time when his father shouted at him for leaving fingerprints. 

What do you have to say about them now, Papa?

Not to mention, the giant spray-painted word crudely splayed across the kitchen cabinets; that sure was new. It was the first thing anyone could notice upon entering the house.

"педик"... faggot.

"Nice," Svetlana commented bitterly, putting a hand on Ilya's arm before checking to see if it could easily be removed. It couldn't.

The home invasion and slurs directed straight at him weren't what was bothering Ilya the most, though; it was the sweet, happy memories that made his stomach hurt. Ilya tried to dispel the thoughts from his mind, but they invaded his brain like a strobe light:

His mother making breakfast at that dark green stove that had faded gray.

His mother trimming flowers at the empty kitchen table in the center of the room.

His mother packing his and Alexei’s school bags next to the splintering front door.

His mother singing and rocking him to sleep on that now dust-covered couch.

His mother... dead.

Stop.

"Remember when you scaled that pear tree out back? Only for stupid, horribly mediocre fruit?" Ilya was grateful to Svetlana for the distraction, despite the memory not being his best moment. "He fell on his arm, and you could see it poking through his skin." Svetlana grimaced while telling Shane the gory details. Shane shot him a worried look as if he could do something about 10-year-old Ilya getting hurt.

“Yes, I was screaming very loud. Spooked the neighbors.”

His father had been angry about that, too; his mother had been beside herself. She had held Ilya in the back of the car, stroking his hair while he cried all the way to the hospital. Rozanov was glad Svetlana was here to distract Shane, or else his husband would've noticed the shake in Ilya's hand and his stupid, mopey eyes.

"This was his best hiding spot." Svetlana was showing Shane the crawlspace behind a faulty wall panel. "Took me thirty minutes to find him. He was so quiet." 

"Just determined to win, which I always did." Ilya liked to reminisce about playing Pryatki with Svetlana at 7-years-old. Not all the memories had to hurt. 

"Mm.. You always let me win at S'edobnoye-Nes'edobnoye, though. He knew I'd get upset if not. Since you married him, I guess you figured out his big secret?" Svetlana asks Shane. They both frowned at Svetlana. "That he is just a big, scary sweetheart." 

Oh, whatever.

Svetlana flashed him a teasing smile, and Ilya rolled his eyes. She patted him on the cheek before brushing past him into the living room to start snooping and sorting. Ilya was left standing in the kitchen with Shane who was peering at him with love-filled orbs of dark brown.

"You doing okay?" Hollander's eyes flickered with worry; Ilya preferred the way they looked before. Rozanov took a deep breath and gazed around at the room that seemed so small compared to when he was young. Most of the decorations his mother had chosen were gone by now, anyway, the carpets so caked with dirt and dust that the once-familiar patterns from his distant memory were indistinguishable.

His heart was a little heavy, yes. His pulse was a little accelerated, yes. But Ilya also realized that, yes... he was okay. Shane was right in front of him, staring back with all the love in the world. Svetlana was in the next room. Ilya felt... grateful. Lucky, even. 

"Yes," His arms snaked around Shane's waist, pulling a smile to his lips. "I'm doing very okay." Ilya kissed him slow and sweet right in the middle of the kitchen he grew up in. Shane's fingers came up to run through Ilya's curls, pulling him closer. Ilya felt his dick jump a little at the sigh Shane released into his mouth. 

"Are you two sucking face in there?"

Shane pulled back from Ilya like he zapped him, face flush and eyes wide. Ilya grinned. His husband was such a geek.

"Yes!" Rozanov called back despite Shane's horror. 

"Ilya!"

"Chill out, Hollander." He pecked him again before moving towards the living room. On the way, Ilya stiffly walked by the closed door at the end of a shrouded, narrow hallway. He’d save that for last, if at all. Unable to bring himself to come anywhere near the room since he was 12, it was Ilya’s most daunting task of the day. He caught Shane’s eyes but looked away.

You just said you were okay, idiot. He scolded himself.

"Ohhhhh my god." Shane swooned at the family picture hanging over chipped living room wallpaper. It was an old one where Ilya couldn't have been more than seven. He willed himself not to go pink in the face. Having Hollander digging in his childhood was new to him. Usually, Ilya was the one lucky enough to tease Shane about all the adorable photos around his parents' house. 

"Cute, huh?" Svetlana was no help.

"Fucking adorable." Shane smiled back. Ilya didn’t find the same joy in looking at the picture, knowing that half of the family pictured was dead and gone.

There wasn't much left in the house. Anything of value or use was moved to either his or Alexei's place after their father was too sick to live alone and Polina stopped coming around. They sorted through what was left, though- shelves and drawers of game boards, books, and junk mail. Ilya's stomach lurched when he found an old shopping list written in his mother's handwriting. He had almost forgotten what it had looked like, and that fucking killed him. Ilya stuffed the paper in his jacket pocket, noting the side eye from Shane. He'd tell him about it later. Now just felt like too much. 

"Uh-oh, Ilya..." Their attention turned to Svetlana, who was dusting off an old projector stashed in the closet. 

"There is no way that works." Ilya wasn't sure he could take it if it did, but if there was a chance of getting footage of his mother, he needed to know.

"We'll see." Svetlana brought out a box of film reels and began messing with the projector. Ilya raised his eyebrows at her, trying not to be a dick and mock her confidence in the old piece of junk he had no prior knowledge of. "Just fucking give me a moment." She sensed his impatience.

Rozanov pretended not to care and slipped his hand into Shane's because he suddenly felt like he needed it. Ilya played it off as cool, or at least he tried to.

"Wanna come up to my bedroom?" He waggled his eyebrows at Shane, earning a nervous chuckle. 

"Keep the door open, you two."

"So you can listen, pervert?"

Svetlana flipped him off as Ilya dragged Shane up the creaking staircase. 

The whole experience was pretty surreal for him, so he couldn't imagine what Ilya was feeling. It looked like the house had already been mostly vacated, giving it a "half-lived-in many years ago" kind of look. That, mixed with the low howl of wind through a few broken panes and the knowledge of what had happened there made it feel... haunted. Not by ghosts per se, but by memories. Even though they weren't Shane's, he could sense them in everything- the half-filled calendar from 2009 on the wall, the framed photos, medals, and documents covered in dust, the old trunk full of worn blankets that had been heavily used by a family that hardly existed anymore.

Ilya's room was similar: a mattress without bedding, a desk without a chair, mostly empty shelves. There were some remnants of a teenage Ilya, though, such as Shane's favorite: A hot woman in a bikini sexily posing over his husband's bed. There was no keeping his snort of amusement from escaping.

"Stuff it, Hollander."

"Who's that?"

"My relationship with international modeling superstar Eugenia Volodina is none of your business."

Shane's snarky retort was interrupted by an abrupt scurrying from inside the closet. Before he could figure out what was happening, Ilya was grabbing him and screaming, jumping behind Shane and using him as a shield... from a chipmunk that ran out of the room.

"Jesus, okay. Okay," Shane grimaced as he loosened Ilya's death grip from around his arm. "Did you throw me at a chipmunk?"

"Yes. Protect me, Hollander. Is your job." 

“You are such a baby sometimes.”

Ilya gave him an annoying peck on the cheek and cautiously made his way back past Shane, eyes wide and flashing back and forth in high alert for more rodents.

“This is the window I snuck out of in high school,” Ilya tapped a window with a pane missing, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Let me guess- you've never done that?"

Shane's smile dropped, and he glared at Ilya, who stole his smirk. How dare he try to act all cool when he was just practically jumping into Shane's arms.

"Yeah, yeah. Boring." Shane huffed. He felt Ilya behind him and his husband's hand on his hips. Warm breath grazed the back of his neck, making Shane shiver. Ilya pressed a kiss right behind his ear.

"Adorable." Ilya corrected before regretfully slipping away from Shane and stooping down for a box under his bed. He started to sift through what looked like mostly CD's. Shane moved to his desk, where a drawer was half open. He felt excited to see a notebook inside, taking it out and praying for-

Yes. 

The pages were mostly full of Russian scribblings and, to Shane's delight, drawings in margins and corners. The only thing he understood was Ilya's name written in Cyrillic at the top of most pages, but it didn't matter. The smile on his face almost hurt.

Shane flipped through, his fingertips running along the pages and imagining a distracted young Ilya doodling in the back of class. He closed the notebook and tucked it under his arm. He was suddenly aware that Ilya had been watching him with a weird look.

“What? I can’t have my own collection?”

Ilya rolled his eyes.

"Ilya, look. Look at the little hockey-dog. It's good." Shane flashed the drawing at him, earning a shake of Ilya's head.

“Shut your pretty face.” The red tinging Ilya's skin was Shane's favorite trophy.

Speaking of trophies, Shane looked up at the shelves on the wall, grinning at the little hockey awards and miniature sports cars covered in dust. He almost missed the lonely, one-armed, heavily-used action figure posed in one of the vehicles.

"I'm really glad I came." Shane couldn't help but voice it. When he braved looking back at Ilya, his bright blue orbs were transfixed on his. The little smile on his face made Shane feel warm and tingly all over. It was one of those moments where time slowed, and his senses faded to leave room for Ilya and only Ilya. Shane tried not to let his knees go wobbly while captivated in the all-encompassing gaze.

"Me too," Ilya said, and the way he was looking at Shane had him wondering if he was really going to fuck him right here in his childhood bedroom with Svetlana right downstairs. But then,

"Bud' ostorozhen, milyy. Ostorozhno. On zhe sovsem malysh," A voice cut through the house, loud and crackly from broken audio but not from her voice- the woman's voice was soft and sweet and-

Holy shit.

If context clues weren't enough, then the sudden change in Ilya's face was. His eyes lost their sparkle in an instant, his soft smile fading. The color drained from Ilya's face before Shane's eyes. He looked terrified. It had to be Irina. Svetlana got the projector working. 

"Uh, do you wanna go and-" 

"Yes." Ilya was suddenly very drawn back, his eyes avoiding Shane's at all costs. Their sweet little moment was burst, but Shane couldn't blame him.

They wordlessly joined Svetlana in the living room. She had projected shaky video upon the clearest wall, fuzzy images fighting to keep in focus. Shane's face was sore from all the smiling today, but he couldn't help it as they watched a tiny, curly-haired toddler stumbling around a summery yard of grass and flowers. Another older boy ran into frame, tackling baby-Ilya and hugging him in a way that looked more like mauling.

"Bud' ostorozhen, Alexei. Pomni, on vsego lish'l malysh." The woman's voice said from behind the camera, her sing-song voice sandwiched by her light laugh. 5-year-old Alexei loosened his grip on his baby brother, gently embracing him instead until Ilya grew bored and fought his way back to his abandoned toy across the yard.

Shane's heart hurt in all sorts of conflicting ways. He wanted to watch the video and just gush over baby Ilya all day, but he was more worried about adult-Ilya who stood stock still beside him. His eyes were fixed on the screen, unmoving. His hands were clenched at his side, and Shane could see the rise and fall of his chest more than usual.

The scene switched to inside the house, and Shane instantly recognized a livelier version of the kitchen table behind them. Little Alexei was opening presents, but baby Ilya was most interested in the camera, reaching straight for the lens with those familiar, piercing blue eyes. Irina laughed from behind the camera, a hand reaching forward to run through Ilya's bleach-blond hair. That's when Shane caught sight of the silent tear down Ilya's face, and he couldn't hold himself back if he tried- Shane let himself fall forward until his chest was firm against Ilya's back. His arms wrapped around Ilya's chest and tugged him gently back into him. He held him firm to his own body, resting his chin on Ilya's shoulder. Ilya's chest shuddered underneath him, but he managed to keep his breathing predominantly even. It was a relief when Shane felt Ilya's hand come up to cover his own, resting right above his thumping heart.

"Ilya..." Svetlana seemed to have caught on to the emotional tangle in the middle of the room, and Shane didn't hesitate to reach out his free arm towards her. She gladly accepted, her body crashing into them until Ilya was wrapped in both of them. He tried his best to look irritated about it, but he wasn't fooling Shane and was doubtfully fooling Svetlana. They stayed like that for a bit until Ilya let his head fall against Shane's while simultaneously giving Svetlana a little squeeze.

"Okay." He sniffled, taking a deep breath to ground himself. "Now get off me." 

Only two tapes were unharmed; the rest of them were lost to corrosion. Shane saw deep-seated guilt settle in Ilya's eyes as he gazed down at the dirty box. He quietly put a hand on Ilya's back, but wasn't sure what to say past that. It was a loss, and it sucked, but at least they had a little of Irina's voice to take back with them. 

They found old photo albums in the office, giving Shane what he could only dream about in the past- evidence of every-aged Ilya he could imagine. And fuck, he was just as cute as Shane had always thought he'd be. He was never bothered by the fact that he and Ilya wouldn't have their own biological children... until right now. He'd love any child with Ilya, but what he wouldn't give to pass those adorable golden ringlets and bright, curious eyes. Shane tried to keep his composure as Ilya peered over his shoulder down at the photos:

1-year-old Ilya looking into his mother's eyes, 3-year-old Ilya covered in cake, 6-year-old Ilya holding a fishing pole that was much too big for him, 8-year-old Ilya in his little hockey uniform, 10-year-old Ilya with one arm in a cast, the other around 14-year-old Alexei in front of a large, beautiful summery lake...

"So you haven't always hated each other." Shane felt brave enough to notice out loud. It was a mistake.              

"He still did then." 

"Doesn't look like it." 

It was quiet for a beat, which was much worse than a quick, witty retort from Ilya.

"And you’re the expert now, yes?" Shane cringed. Okay, maybe he wasn't saying this in the right way...

"I'm just saying... maybe one day you could be near him and, like... pout less."

“Pout!?” Oh shit. "Ser'yezno, Hollander?"

"Ilya-" 

"No, tell me your professional opinion on my brother. Please. Tell me how my brother is just a big fucking teddy bear when one week after that photo he was taken, he beat the shit out of me for no fucking reason. Or how two days after my mother died, he told me to stop being a baby over a mistake she could be so stupid to make. Or how he-"

"Alright, okay... I'm not saying-" 

"No, because you don't have siblings. You can't say shit." 

"Oh, fuck you. I can tell when you're being a fucking child." 

"Not everything can be in your perfect fucking little Canadian bubble of sunshine and rainbows, Hollander!" Ilya erupted, seemingly too heated for English.

"I'm... going to go get us some lunch." Svetlana cut through Ilya's overflow, awkwardly reminding them that she was there at all. Shane himself was stunned by how things had exploded. He considered begging her not to leave him with Ilya, but watched Svetlana leave.

Ilya must've seen something in Shane's expression that broke him down, because his harsh blue eyes softened into something more familiar.

“I’m sorry. I- He just..." Ilya's shoulders slumped, defeated. "I know how I am around him. Obviously, you are right." Shane shook his head, trying to dismiss the concept of “right”, and pulled Ilya into his arms instead.  

“I’m not saying Alexei isn’t an asshole,” Shane said in a low voice, kissing Ilya's temple through a sigh, and then breathing a short laugh. “Hell, he didn’t even acknowledge my existence.”

“Probably for the best.” Ilya chuckled too.

"Probably." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Me too."

They held each other for a moment, letting any remaining anger seep out of their bodies. Ilya was the first to speak up, his question shy.

“Join me for a skate?”

Shane had heard a few stories about the giant lake a quarter of a mile behind Ilya's home. It was where he'd learned to skate and where he practiced every winter. Seeing it was something else, though- stunning was an understatement. The mountainous forests of looming evergreens spread so far back that they faded into shades of atmospheric blues. The lake itself was a deep, dark turquoise yet glassy and clear. The surface glittered when the sun peeked through the clouds for fleeting moments. Snow blanketed the land around the lake, untouched and pure.

Shane imagined 3-year-old Ilya waddling around on skates, barely able to hold a stick.

“Did your mom or dad teach you, or did you just kind of... figure it out?” Shane asked when they made it to the little shed beside the lake. Ilya had explained that it's where he kept all his old hockey equipment and where they let their neighbors store their ice-fishing supplies. Since it was still occasionally used, it was in much better shape than the house. Ilya had even brought a small space heater to keep them comfortable while they sat on the bench and tied on their skates.

“Alexei did, actually.” Great. Shane didn't dare say anything about that. Things were still tense. He wasn't sure if it was from the unexpected films they watched or the tiff they just had, but Ilya was on edge, and Shane tread lightly.

Skates fastened, they glided easily across the ice. Shane thought for sure it'd be rougher after what he'd gotten used to in the rink, but it wasn't. When he got over marveling at the way his tracks left such neat slices in the dark plateau, he turned his attention to Ilya, whom he rarely saw skate without hockey gear. Hell, he himself never skated without hockey gear. It was nice to be freer on his blades for a change.

And for the millionth time in the last 24 hours, Shane was struck by how especially gorgeous his husband looked. The cold tinged his nose, cheeks and lips red, his skin pristine and more of an olive when parallel to the bright white snow. Little flakes landed on Ilya's open parka and the dark knit sweater underneath. His longer curls moved in the wind as he easily slid across the icy surface. 

Shane felt embarrassingly flushed, stomach flutters reminding him of stealing glances at Ilya during games back in the day.

I have a massive crush on my husband. Shane realized with an inner grin. Being introduced to all these new parts of Ilya was like falling in love all over again. 

“If you go down that way, you can make it pretty far… go very fast." Ilya interrupted Shane's quiet pining with an unsuspecting glance to the side. Shane looked beyond the stretching lake that curved into narrower passageways ahead.

Is he implying what I think he is?

Shane caught a little mischievous twitch on Ilya's lips and knew it was game on. Before he could let Ilya jump into a head start, Shane pushed off and skated fast over the ice. He could hear Ilya behind him, then closing the gap, then in front of him. Shane wished he could say he let it happen, but Rozanov (who Shane knew damn well was the fastest player in the league) was especially quick today. He had gained on him enough to allow Ilya to turn and scrape to a stop some ways ahead of Shane. Hollander slowed himself, heart pounding and breaths dramatic. He had dwindled his pace enough to slide right into Ilya gently, their bodies colliding but remaining stable save for a wobble.

"Jesus," It was as much of a compliment as Shane was willing to give.

"Still got it." Ilya was breathing hard too, a smile on his face. Shane smiled back and kissed him, holding him a little tighter than usual. Their tongues danced, and their hot breath mixed in a light cloud between them. 

“Did you ever think of doing speed skating instead of hockey?” Shane asked when he pulled back. Ilya loved anything fast. Rozanov shrugged sheepishly and casually skated backwards. 

“Yes, very much... But it was too gay, according to my father.” They both laughed at that, neither needing to point out the irony in the statement. “Plus, I’d miss all shoving and punching."

They continued skating, now nearly a mile away from the lake shed. Shane let himself zone out while watching the trees swirl by in his peripheral vision. “Yeah. Probably not a lot of that in skating.” 

“There are pipes to knees." Ilya raised his eyebrows cheekily. "Maybe I should have tried that instead of fucking you all the time.”

Shane smiled and shook his head, about to say something about how it would've been less shocking than their actual relationship, but Ilya's voice suddenly sent a cold chill down his spine. 

"Shane, stop." He was terrified, all the playfulness gone from his voice. Shane stopped pushing off his blades and let himself slide to a stop, turning a frown to Ilya, whose eyes were wide, his face pale. He was staring at the ground below Shane.

That's not a good sign. 

With his heart nearly pounding out of his chest, Shane glanced down slowly as if a look too quick would mean the end of everything. There was a crack that was quietly traveling its way across the ice underneath him, but it wasn't as bad as Shane would've thought from Ilya's reaction. 

"Moy lyubov... Just... Carefully, this way," Ilya was reaching for him while trying not to add his own weight in the wrong place. Shane knew he was most likely fine, but his chest clenched at the way Ilya was clearly panicking. If their situations were reversed, he'd be the same. Shane shuffled enough to grab Ilya's hand. He immediately pulled him to safer ice and tugged him into his waiting arms. Ilya cradled Shane for a moment, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"I think that is enough skating, yes? Let's go back."

They held hands the whole way back, which did slow them down considerably. Shane tried to pull away just to skate easier, but Ilya gripped his hand harder. 

"No, I don't think so." 

Shane chuckled and shook his head. If it made Ilya feel better, then fine. He hoped it did, because the longer skate back was quiet, and despite Ilya's newfound worry for Shane's safety, he felt far away. He didn't even notice the way Shane let Ilya kind of just drag him for a while, allowing Hollander to study his face better. Rozanov's features were hard, his eyes like the ice below his skates, and his thoughts loud yet so-far nondescript.

Shane recognized this type of moment. Ilya had them from time to time when everything he had been pushing away came crashing back at him. Shane worried that they may be on the brink of a breakdown and mentally prepared himself. Today would be the day if any. Sifting through the emotional ruins of your old life was bound to do that to a person. 

Back at the shed, Shane went inside to start taking his skates off immediately. He and Ilya were just one size off, but it still wasn't ideal, and his feet were starting to kill him. Ilya didn't follow him, and Shane felt fear course through him upon realizing this. He started stuffing his boots on much faster, bounding out the door into the cold again. 

Ilya was just standing there, back to Shane and eyes scanning the lake before him. He was lost in thought, and Shane decided that maybe he should let him be. When Ilya's eyes landed on his house in the distance, Shane watched his hand clench momentarily. 

There was only one room left that they hadn't gone through yet. It was the master bedroom- the room where Irina took her own life. The room where Ilya's life crumbled around him. 

Shane went back into the shed and noted the snow pants, jackets, and waders hanging on the wall hooks. 

Maybe we don't have to go back to the house quite yet. 

By the time he emerged back outside, Ilya hadn't moved an inch. Shane approached him from behind, making sure to go slowly and not disturb his thoughts too harshly. Ilya didn't flinch when Shane snaked his arms around his waist, his cheek resting against the back of Ilya's coat. 

"I'm okay," Ilya said immediately without prompting; it did him no favors in trying to convince Shane. Hollander's next statement was hesitantly crafted. 

"Can I take care of you?" Shane tilted his head back so he could press light kisses to the back of Ilya's neck. 

"Da... Please." 

After he admittedly got over the relief of not being rejected, Shane took him into the little nest he created inside the shed. He had pulled all the winter outerwear hanging on the wall, and latticed them together into a neat cushion on the floor. He was slow and gentle with him as he guided Ilya down onto his makeshift bed. His husband was still a little dazed as Shane slowly stripped him of his clothes, but his cock was hard and threatening to tear through Ilya's boxers already. Shane removed that last bit of clothing and ran his hands over Ilya's arms, making sure he was warm enough. 

"Mmm... Moy vozlyublenyy." Ilya whispered when Shane began sucking and kissing across his collarbone. He moved downwards, relishing in the way he could feel Ilya's muscles flex and tremble underneath his lips and tongue. His hand moved to Ilya's waiting cock...

“My jacket pocket,” Ilya says. Shane smirked. There was no way...

Except there it was: Lube packets in Ilya's pocket. The horny fiend was always ready, and Shane didn't know why he still managed to be surprised. 

Once Shane's hand was properly lubed and stroking around Ilya's cock slowly, he leaned down and flicked his tongue over Ilya's nipples and kissed down his sternum, using his teeth every so often like he knew Ilya liked.

"Chert voz'mi, da," Ilya breathed. It was tantalizing how Ilya's body responded under his touch, muscles tensing against Shane's lips. He licked the "V" of Ilya's pelvis, and Shane relished in feeling his husband's whole body shudder. He'd do this forever if he could. 

Ilya was absolutely tickled by the work Shane had done to make the little shed cozy for them.

"Ty takoy krasivyy," Shane breathed against Ilya's hip, eyes and lips smiling shyly up at him. Ilya felt heat rise to his face at being called beautiful so earnestly and unexpectedly. He certainly didn't feel beautiful right now. "Like extra beautiful. S momenta nashego priyezda v Rossiyu." Ever since we got here. Shane reiterated. 

Ilya’s eyes got foggy against his will, and Shane kissed right between them, then the bridge of his nose, then his lips, chin, sternum... Ilya closed his eyes and focused on the happy hum and little shivers throughout his body caused by Shane's mouth, not to mention the slow but steady hand around his dick. When he got back to Ilya's hips, the scrape of Shane's teeth so close to his cock was driving him insane. As the lube around his cock was running out, Ilya was going to tell Shane that he didn't have to-

Shit. 

Shane didn't always love going down on Ilya after he had just used lube, but he was already in Shane's slick mouth. Ilya couldn't help but push upward instinctively, and Hollander took him willingly. He watched the most gorgeous man in the world move up and down his length with ease, and Rozanov suddenly remembered their very first time. Shane was so comfortable with Ilya now. He knew everything he liked and eagerly gave it to him every time.

"Ideal'nyy," Rozanov brushed his fingers through Shane's hair. Ilya was already losing his mind a little when Shane retracted from his dick- Ilya wasn't proud of his needy groan that followed, but he was soon rewarded for his patience when he felt Shane's hand around his cock again and heard the sound of another lube packet being opened. Ilya cracked his eyelid and was met with his favorite show; Shane with one hand on Ilya's cock, the other slowly easing his fingers into himself. 

Ilya groaned and humped himself into Shane's hand, eyes flitting between Shane's face and where he was stretching himself.

When he eventually lined himself up over Ilya's cock and sank down, Rozanov swore he saw stars in his vision. His breath caught in his throat from overwhelming pleasure shooting up his spine, trying to keep himself from gripping Shane's hips too hard. When Shane was fully seated on him, Ilya reached up and slid his hand around the back of his neck. 

"Pomedlenneye, moya lyubov. Be slow with me, you feel too good." 

Shane grinned proud, yet shy as he slowly began grinding himself into Ilya. He fucked him like that for a while, neither of them wanting to rush this time. He was so, so, so pretty with his knees straddling Ilya, his abs slick and clenching as he humped their bodies together. Shane's freckles speckled over the remaining red blush from the cold, his eyelids heavy and mouth open to let out his adorable little pants. He leaned down further, capturing Ilya's mouth with his own and kissing him so affectionately that Ilya's head was buzzing.

When Shane pulled back, the windows behind revealed that it had started to snow gently outside, and Ilya was reminded of where he was: Russia. Not just Russia, but his childhood home... and he didn't feel terrible about it which truly was a testament to the absolute angel riding his cock right now.

For the first time since his mother died, Ilya was at peace here, and that was because of Shane. 

He couldn't take it anymore- the love was becoming too unbearably big in his chest, not to mention he was getting much too close to finishing watching Shane like this. He didn't want it to end. So, Ilya pushed himself off the ground and covered Shane’s body in his, swiftly but delicately guiding him down onto his back. He cradled Shane while he lined up the head of his cock.

"Ty slishkom dobr ko mne," Ilya whispered as he began to press himself inside of Shane. They both groaned as he slowly bottomed out, Shane's arms wrapping around him and running over his back. "Just... need a second." Ilya managed to grunt, feeling Shane pull him tighter so that they were lying still with chests flush against each other. Rozanov hid his face in the crook of Shane's neck, pressing slow kisses there before nibbling Shane's earlobe. 

"Mm..." Shane's fingertips ran along the length of Ilya's spine, sending chills through his body. He snuggled closer to Shane, cock still deep inside his homey warmth. "You know, last time we were in Russia together, I couldn't touch you. Couldn't hold you. Couldn't tell you I loved you."

Ilya propped himself up on his elbows so he could gaze down at Shane's love-drunk eyes that were tinged with sadness. 

"Not to mention, you were kind of a dick." Ilya laughed against Shane's chest because, from what he could remember, he couldn't argue that. Shane's thumb came up to run along Ilya's cheekbone, then his eyebrow. "You weren't mine, and it fucking sucked. Ya tak rad, chto ty moy. I'm so happy you're mine." Shane finished, which also nearly finished Ilya in turn. Instead, he shuddered and kissed his wonderful husband, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue before he slipped it into Shane's mouth. Ilya started to move with deep and long thrusts that had them both moaning and panting against one another.  

When Ilya's movements became more frantic, and Shane's breathing quickened, they rested their foreheads against one another, grasping and embracing to grow closer and closer. Rozanov reached a hand between them to stroke Shane's cock because there was no fucking way Ilya would last much longer. It was all too much; the love of his life underneath him, around him… here, in Moscow where Ilya was first made who he was. Ilya worked Shane's cock faster between their heaving bodies as he began to unravel.

“I can’t- Shane-“

“Come for me, dorogoy.” Shane thankfully cut over him, because no tangible words came to Ilya’s mind. Their eyes met just as Ilya felt all of his nerve endings explode. With a grunt and shudder, he came hard inside Shane, their heat radiating against one another, and their eyes staying locked. It wasn't easy to time it often, and usually it'd happen mostly by accident, but Shane came at the same time, and the sensation of him milking Ilya's cock had him near-blackout. Their mouths clashed together in sloppy but firm kisses before Shane peppered the rest of them across the side of Ilya's face.

Rozanov eventually collapsed on Shane, loving the way his whole body rose and fell with the breaths of his tan freckled chest.

"Fuck," Ilya relished in another unexpected shiver throughout his body, pulling out and snuggling back into Shane's hot skin. Shane's heavy breathing was answer enough as he raised a hand up to play with Ilya's curls. He was obsessed with his curls. Ilya didn't mind it one bit.

He stayed as dead-weight on Shane for quite a while after they murmured "I love yous", their cadence of breaths having slowed long ago. Ilya never wanted to leave this snapshot in time. 

And I never want to go in that room. He imagined the stretching dark hallway ending with the door he still saw in occasional nightmares. Would it be like he was walking it to find his mother all over again?

Ilya shooed the thought away and cuddled closer to the one who was now his true home. 

Chapter End Notes

NEXT-UP:

Confronting memories of Irina's death, visiting Irina's grave, and an explosive fight with Alexei that leaves Ilya spiraling.

Chapter 6: The Rozanovs

Chapter Summary

Shane comforts Ilya's guilt. Irina's grave. Family dinner turns into Shane breaking up a Rozanov fight.

Chapter Notes

Dust hung thick in the air, creating a haunted, milky haze. Light rays seeped through the window slats, slicing through the room.

Ilya’s feet cemented themselves to where they stood in the threshold of the master bedroom. He could feel Shane's gaze on him, but didn't dare to meet it; those giant, rich puppy-dog eyes weren't going to help Ilya keep his composure. He felt a hand slip into his own, and that did help reboot Ilya. He took in a breath that he didn't realize he was holding, and entered the room. 

It's just a room. 

But that room had a bed, and that bed was where he last saw his mother's corpse. He was taller now, and the room felt so much smaller than how enormously consuming it had seemed that day. Still, he could see the scene so clearly- the unmoving swell of her body under the covers.

Ilya felt sick, but pushed through. He avoided looking at the massive memorial of the worst day of his life and instead moved to the dresser.

There was jewelry that still haunted Ilya's memories: His mother's dainty gold chain bracelet when she felt his feverish forehead. Those floral, amber earrings that always caught the sun just right. The necklace of tiny pearls that she wore only for special occasions...

"This was your grandmother's grandmother's necklace. See?" Mama would let a small Ilya curiously handle her precious heirlooms. "It's important to hold onto loved ones, even in little ways."

Then there were the century-old woven tapestries from the grandmother he never knew. They always stored them away, but they had meant everything to Irina. There was a pocket watch from his great-grandfather on his mother's side, a box of ancient photographs... There were lots of things Ilya still hadn't found, and he was starting to worry that he was too late. He didn't care enough to come collect the last remnants of his mother, and now they may be gone. 

“Hey,” Shane touched his arm, and Ilya jumped embarrassingly. 

"Sorry. I'm okay." 

"No sorries." Shane must've noticed the pain in his eyes, but instead of letting him address it, Ilya moved to rifle through the closet.

Rozanov was forced to remember something against his will: The time he had gotten into his parents' closet at 8-years-old. Svetlana was with him, the two of them giggling and trying on garments much too big. He recalled feeling so proud and adult as he slipped on his father's favorite silk tie. It was back when he was naïve enough to believe he wanted to be anything like his father.

When Grigoryevich walked in on them later, he hadn't hesitated to strike Ilya across the face so hard that he collapsed on the floor. His father didn't hit them often, but when he did, it was over the most unexpected things and hard.

The bad memory paled in comparison to the real reason he couldn't actually stand being here.

"Is stupid." 

"Huh?"

Ilya didn't turn away from the closet.

"I have the best life ever," Ilya said, unable to hide the guilt in his voice. "I shouldn't be upset by any of this. Not anymore."

With no answer from Shane, Ilya was forced to turn around when his curiosity won out. Hollander looked slightly horrified. His gaze raked over Ilya's features as if he were searching for signs of it being a joke. 

It wasn't.

“Hey…" Shane coaxed gently. Ilya was surprised when Shane finally moved to take his face in both of his hands. He shook him softly until Ilya allowed their gazes to meet. "You found your mother dead, Ilya. That’s horrible.” 

It was also horrible to chortle at the statement, but Ilya did anyway. 

“Well... when you say it out loud, yes. Is not very good, is it?”

They exchanged sad grins, finding comfort in small linings of levity. Shane leaned in and kissed him slowly. Ilya forced a final smile for him before moving to a large chest up against the windows. He crouched down and began searching through it.

"I just think of this room all the time. Strange that now it won't exist." Ilya admitted hesitantly but was soon reminded of why he allowed himself vulnerability: Shane. Shane, who crouched next to him with a hand that massaged Ilya's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. It- Is it like... a grief feeling?" Shane stumbled over his words cutely. Ilya sighed and sank sideways until his husband wrapped his arm fully around him. He was tired of looking through things. 

“I guess. But also... maybe a little relief?" He swallowed painfully. "And that makes me feel guilty." Galina would be so proud, he thought bitterly.

"You have nothing to be guilty about."

Ilya was going to leave it there; let the thoughts stir in his head rather than in the air. But once the first word came out, he couldn't stop.

"Maybe I should've kept up with the house. The memories of her are here. Maybe I was selfish for leaving it like this." Ilya switched to Russian as his mouth outran his brain. Plus, the admissions were embarrassing,  and he secretly hoped to lose Shane in translation.

He didn't. Of course, he didn't.

"Ilya. Eto nespravedlivo." That's not fair. "Hey," Shane took Ilya's hands in his, turning to face him head-on. Hollander took what looked to be intended as a solid, grounding breath, but it ended in a quiet shudder accompanied by that heartbreaking glaze over his eyes. Then, in a near whisper that almost sounded painful, "She's not here anymore." 

It wasn't meant to be cruel, and Ilya knew what he meant; keeping the house wouldn't have meant anything. It was just another way to keep grasping at something that would never be there. Ilya nodded and swallowed. His throat was tighter than before, but the guilt diminished. 

"You're right, and-" He took a deep breath, looking away from Shane for a moment. "I don't know. I guess maybe I am being hard on myself." 

"You think?"

He did "think", and that was a relief.

Shane stood and pulled Ilya with him, taking him into his arms. Rozanov gladly buried his face in Shane's shoulder and squeezed him extra tight. God, Hollander was so good for him, and Ilya loved him so much. It should've been a horrible day. A horrible moment. Somehow, Shane had turned it into a memory he wanted to save forever.

Shane's hand canvased the expanse of Ilya's back. Tiny kisses were laid against Ilya's temple, making his heart hurt in a good way.

Svetlana cleared her throat from behind them. They untangled to look back at her. Ilya refused to be bothered by the hint of a smile on her face. 

"It's getting dark. Are we almost ready?"

They never did find the tapestries, the jewelry, or the family heirlooms. Ilya supposed he'd ask Alexei, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know his answer.

Once outside, Ilya tossed his backpack into the car and went to follow. Shane interjected first.

"Do you-" 

"No." Ilya was certain Shane was going to try to coax him into some big, emotional farewell to his house. Fuck that. He just wanted to leave. 

When it became clear that Ilya also wasn't talking on the car ride back, Svetlana and Shane got started up about hockey. Ilya zoned out, but kept his hand loosely clasped with Shane's.

He did, however, snap out of it when the car randomly slowed on the side of the road. But when Ilya looked up, it wasn't random after all. 

“No. Keep going.”

"Ilya…” Svetlana tilted her head at him.

“I did not ask you to do this.” 

“You didn’t have to.” There was a stand-off of sorts between Svetlana and Ilya, but deep down, he knew she was right. Ilya's vision was already getting foggy. “It may be the last time.”

Ilya sat there for a while, trying to will his limbs to move. Shane and Svetlana seemed to both understand and just let him exist there quietly. Finally, he twisted in his seat to look at Shane, who was clearly confused but biting his tongue. Ilya tightened his grip and ran his thumb along the back of Shane's hand. 

“I’m going to go see my mother for a bit, okay?” The sentence was foreign in his mouth. Shane blinked like he had short-circuited for a second before he nodded.

"Yeah, yeah…” Then, trying in Russian. “Whatever you need, I’m here. Okay?”

Ilya kissed the back of Shane's hand and gave Svetlana an appreciative nod before stepping out into the cold.

The plot was small and close to where her parents were buried. She was right up against the forest line, which Ilya knew she would've liked. His father was on a whole separate plot with his own parents. Ilya was glad he wasn't near her. His father couldn't bother her post-death. 

Ilya felt pathetic being this affected. He knew she wasn't here; not the part of her that mattered. But the thought of her body's remains- the same body that held Ilya like he was the most precious thing on Earth- being underneath the ground he stood on was dizzying in the worst way.

There was her name: Irina Rozanova etched into the stone. It wasn’t as clear as Ilya recalled- the weathering had nearly erased her. He wanted to blame Alexei (and did), but he hadn’t been here in ten years. He wondered if strangers saw the headstone and assumed no one cared to remember her. Guilt consumed him.

I'm a horrible son.

Then out loud,

"I'm so sorry, Mama."

His voice broke at the end, his throat too painful to help it any longer. He took in a stuttering breath, his eyes swimming with tears. He looked down at where his feet imprinted the snow and tried to compose himself. He had so much to tell her.

"Moya zhizn' teper' tak sil'no izmenilas'." My life has changed so much now.

"Ya sobirayus' stat' kanadtsem." He said with an amused snort. I'm going to be a Canadian.

"U menya yest' druz'ya," I have friends. Then Ilya paused, the corner of his lip twitching upwards. "I sem'ya." And family. He felt the tears come back, spilling hot over his cold face.

"I ya tak vlyublennyy." And I'm so in love. He thought of that dopey little smile Shane gave him upon waking up every morning; the way he'd later cradle his mug with both hands while peering at his laptop through his adorable glasses.

Or, God... The way Shane would hold his head in his lap and play with Ilya's curls until he dozed off, warm and safe. 

"Ya znayu, chto ty, navernoye, ozhidal uvidet' khoroshuyu pravoslavnuyu devushku, no ya znayu, on by tebe ponravilsya." I know you were probably expecting a nice Orthodox girl, but I know you would love him.

He told her about Shane- about how he was kind, caring, and charmingly naive at times. How he was irritatingly ambitious and has never half-assed anything in his life. He was crazy particular about little things. He was sensitive, careful, thoughtful, and the most talented hockey player in the world (but don't tell him that). He allowed Ilya to be himself completely. Other than being a perfect husband, he was a good friend, a good son... In every sense of the word, he was good, and he would've been so proud to share those parts of him with her.

"No chto by ya ni delal," But no matter what I do,

"Kak sil'no ya lyublyu," How hard I love,

"Naskol'ko ya schastliv," How happy I am,

He choked a sob back in his throat. The wind picked up with a particularly strong gust that howled low and sad. Part of Ilya hoped it was somehow his mother trying to reach out and comfort him.

"Ya vsegda skuchayu po tebe, Mama." I miss you always, Mama. 

It was quiet while Shane thought about the weight of the day. This was Ilya’s life. After one day of being around it all, Shane himself was exhausted.

"This was really thoughtful of you. I was getting scared to ask him." Shane tried to distract himself from how badly he wanted to hold Ilya in that moment.

"He is a little on edge, yeah?" Svetlana observed.

"I think this dinner with Alexei may have been a mistake." 

"Like I said, this may be the last time... for a lot of things." Svetlana shrugged.

"Have any advice heading into the front lines?"

"The less they speak, the better. They suck at talking to each other." She shook her head and turned her gaze into empty air, carding through unreachable memories. Shane swallowed and nodded. 

"Is Alexei really just that big of a dick? Is it jealousy, or... The money? I don't understand how it all got so volatile."

"Mm, yes. It's that and many other things. Ilya doesn't always help either. Mainly, they are just stubborn and Russian. And have terrible communication skills. Must be Ilya's hetero side."

Shane chuckled as his phone buzzed, and he saw Ilya's name appear on his screen. After all those years, he still loved to see it proudly displayed on his phone: Ilya. 

The text said: Join me?

Shane didn't know why he felt nervous.

The snow was floating slowly enough to look suspended in time. Ilya stood at the far end of the cemetery with his back turned to Shane, his black jacket stark against the snowy forest. The last bits of golden light were fading to a purple dusk. He approached Ilya cautiously, Shane's feet crunching against the blanket of white. Immediately, Hollander noticed the redness in his husband's eyes. 

He felt his chest cave in. 

Shane went to slip his hand into Ilya's, but immediately flinched. His hands were freezing.

"Ilya..." He didn't know why he whispered. Shane took Ilya's hands and held them between his own, trying to transfer all the warmth he had left. Ilya hummed in ways of "thank you" and sighed before,

“Mama, eto Shane.”

The shy introduction gutted Shane. He could tell Ilya was trying his best to keep his voice level, and if Shane wasn't such a Rozanov expert at this point, it may have worked on him. Ilya was peering at Shane in a way that melted him amidst the unforgiving Moscow winter.

He reluctantly broke his view from Ilya to look at the headstone. It wasn't fair. He so badly wanted to change things for him.

“Ya khorosho o nyom pozabochus'. Obeshchayu.” I’ll take good care of him. I promise. Shane watched Ilya's eyes light up with tears as his own emotions swam in his vision.

"Ugh," Ilya looked up at the sky, blinking his way back to his composure. "I am tired of today already... And yet," Ilya groaned and threw his head back in frustration. "Mama, he's making me have dinner with Alexei. I don't want to." 

Shane chuckled at the thought of Ilya tattling on him to his Mom.

"You'll survive." 

"I guess she would've been happy about it. The dinner." Ilya admitted, surprising Shane.

"Definitely." He was relieved by Ilya's saying that; it felt like a good omen for the rest of the night. 

Unfortunately, that's not how things played out. 

___________________

The whole day had been a swarm of biting nostalgia and resurfaced grief. However, nothing hit him as hard as the meal Katya had cooked for them. When she had first put down the bowl in front of Ilya, he thought he had done an okay job at hiding his shock. 

Pelmeni. His mother used to make it all the time. Now that he was staring at the little steaming dumplings in front of him, Ilya realized he hadn't had it since she died. He felt like his world had shaken him where he sat, but he refused to let it show with Alexei across the table. 

Luckily, the conversation between Sophia, Shane, and Katya was flowing as it had been all night.

If he thought he could hold it together through taking his first bite, though, Ilya was sorely mistaken. He had never experienced such a sudden and unexpected rush of emotions from the simple taste of anything before, and it frankly terrified him.

You're fine. This is normal. Normal experience. Normal feelings. 

No. No, I'm spiraling. 

Nope, stop. You're being dramatic. 

Fuck. Am I panicking? 

Not here, you're not. Pull it the fuck together.

"Ilya?" He raised his gaze from where it had remained locked on the bowl before him. He realized he had frozen long enough to be obvious. Katya was looking at him with soft, questioning eyes, and now that she had said something, everyone else turned to look at him, too. 

Great. 

"What do you think?" She asked him, gesturing towards the food.

He couldn't help his eyes flickering to Alexei. He was surprised to find him watching for Ilya's reaction as well. He cleared his throat. 

"Um... Eto-" He felt stupid for not being able to find words in any language.

"Eto Mama's. Her recipe." It was one of the only things Alexei had said all night. It was as if he was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Ilya avoided his gaze this time.

"I haven't made it in a while." Katya humbly offered, and Ilya shook his head. 

"It's good, Katya. Perfect." It was true. It tasted just like Ilya hadn't remembered, but now that he did, melancholy pooled in his stomach. Katya smiled sweetly at him, which helped untwist the knot of resurfaced grief. That, and Shane's hand that found his underneath the table. 

Once he was sure he was safe from tearing up, Ilya braved a glance at the sable irises next to him. He gave Shane's hand a little squeeze and got a reverent smile in return.

Once the shock wore off and Ilya ate more, a warmth returned to him twice as strong. It started to feel good to re-experience something that brought back so much of his mother.

Glancing around the table, it was so strange to see Shane there among his family- family he thought he'd never see again after threatening as much to Alexei.

Speaking of which, their eyes accidentally met over the table again, and Ilya saw him quickly glance away before he did the same.

No matter what changes, this will always be the same. He thought miserably of his brother. He willed himself to focus on the positives of the night, tuning back into the chatting at the end of the table. 

"Yes, I used to play first line." Shane was telling Sophia, who had devolved back to hockey talk. Alexei seemed even less enthused than usual by this, but kept his mouth shut.

“But Uncle Shane is trying to steal it back from me.” Ilya joined in.

“I am not. Second makes more sense for me.”

“And my C.”

“F- Screw you." Shane snorted. "I like my A.”

Sophia looked like she was going to burst, her face alight as she gazed between her Uncles.

“So, Ilya. Is it good to be back? At all?” Katya asked. He wished they were still talking about hockey.

“Yes, some.” It was as honest as he could be while remaining polite.

“Not as new and shiny as the West,” Alexei muttered, and Ilya fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes. Old buildings. Old ideas.”

He felt Shane kick him under the table. Why did he have to be the one to behave?

"Did you see the cabinets?"

Of course, he had to bring up the giant slur painted across our childhood home at the fucking dinner table.

"Yes, Alexei. I saw the cabinets. What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. I was just asking." 

A moment passed, and Ilya briefly reconsidered what he was about to say. 

"Have you seen Mama's jewelry and the tapestries?"

It was quiet, and Ilya probably should've stopped there. 

"Our grandfather's pocket watch? His old knife?"

The only sound was the scrape of forks. Alexei's eyes were trained down to where he pushed around a lone dumpling in his bowl. 

“They're gone.”

“Gone?” No reaction from his brother. “What do you mean, gone?”

Alexei took a second before he turned his gaze slowly to meet Ilya's. His eyes were hard, his jaw clenched. Ilya felt his own teeth grit together, his mouth tightening into a scowl. Both of their eyes bore forward, the both of them refusing to back down.

“Sophia, go play your new record player,” Katya said.

“But-“

“Sophia." Alexei said, remaining stock still. Ilya heard his niece sigh and retreat from the table. If he didn't feel such fire rising in his chest, he would've felt worse about it.

Gone. 

Like it was no big deal. 

“You fucking sold them, didn’t you?” Ilya tried to keep his voice low even when Sophia exited the room.

Alexei broke their stares, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“Fuck, Alexei. At least answer me.”

“You were gone for ten years, Ilya. Ten years. A lot happens in a decade when you discard your whole life like trash.”

Ilya stood so fast his chair almost tipped.

Shane put his hand on Ilya's arm, but he shrugged him off and walked into the parlor room out of sight. Alexei sighed from across the table, tossing down his napkin and rising from his chair. 

"Such a drama queen." He followed Ilya.

Shane turned to Katya with wide eyes, but her eyes were closed. She sat there, head slightly tipped back and breathing slowly. It was like she was preparing for a storm.

And there was one. The arguing in the other room started low but intense, like it took everything in their power to keep the volume down. That idea soon flew out the window.

The night had been going so well up until then. Well, that may have been a bit of an exaggeration for Ilya and Alexei. Ilya was noticeably tense all night, and Alexei hadn't said more than two words. The silence between the two of them was what Svetlana had suggested, though, and Shane really thought they'd make it through the evening. 

No such luck.

Shane was able to catch a few phrases being hurled around. Something about not caring, something about abandonment, something about cocaine...

"Do you want help with cleaning?" Shane suddenly felt uncomfortable sitting there and listening. Katya smiled sadly at Shane, and he did the same back. 

"Da." 

"You needed coke that bad?"

"Shut your fucking mouth." Alexei poked at his shoulder, and Ilya let him. Yelling that in Alexei's house with his daughter down the hall was a dick move even for Ilya. "You don't even know what the fuck you're talking about. You haven't been here. You left."

“The amount at which you don’t give two fucks never ceases to amaze me,” Ilya scoffed.

“If you gave a fuck yourself, you would’ve been here! You could’ve come and gotten all the crap you wanted, whenever you wanted to!”

“Crap? Alexei those had been in Mama's family for like, a century. It's all we had of them. And mom’s jewelry? Really? The bracelet she wore every fucking day, are you serious?” Ilya was furiously pacing. If he didn’t, he’d punch a wall or Alexei's face.

“Why would we need jewelry? We're not women.” It was an obvious jab at his sexuality.

“BECAUSE IT'S ALL WE HAVE LEFT. SHE FUCKING KILLED HERSELF, SO IT'S ALL WE HAVE LEFT, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.”

“ENOUGH.” He shoved at Ilya, whose back hit the wall. He instinctively shoved Alexei back, feeling his face burn hot. “ENOUGH WITH THE BULLSHIT, ILYA." Then, quieter with a glance towards the hallway. "She didn't kill herself. Don't you dare bring that shit into my house!”

“Oh my god! Congrats, Alexei. You got what you wanted! You are fucking just like Papa."

"Didn't matter," Alexei mumbled, and if Ilya wasn't so deep into his angry monologue, maybe he would've noticed. 

"Just like him, she was just a fucking maid to you."

"Are you fucking kidding me!?"

"Or is everything you do just to fucking spite me?"

"Fuck you, Ilya. You find a way to make everything about you! Every time! I couldn't even grieve Mama properly because you sucked up all the space!"

"No one said you couldn't grieve because of me, Alexei!"

"Papa did!" Ilya was shocked, but Alexei didn't give it time to marinate. "You were such a brat, and still everything was about you. Everything was Ilya, Ilya, Ilya, and you took it all and threw it away to prance around disgracing Russia, sticking your dick in faggots, and-"

But the minute Alexei implied bringing Shane into this, everything was over.

Shane and Katya were huddled over the sink, washing dishes and trying to ignore the shouting.

"I'm sorry. Dinner was amazing." Hollander meant it wholeheartedly. Getting to eat a dish from Ilya's childhood, surrounded by his blood relatives in fucking Moscow, was one of Shane's new favorite memories... like, ever.

"Don't be. And, I'm the one sorry for Alexei. He doesn't know when to shut his mouth. I swear he tries to rile Ilya up." Shane didn't catch all of what Katya said, but got the gist. He nodded as she handed him another dish to put in the drying rack. 

"It's not your fault that he hates him."

Katya stopped what she was doing and looked over at Shane, surprise flickering over her face. 

"Alexei doesn't hate him. Does Ilya think that?"

And as if on an ironic cue, Ilya was shouting obscenities, and there was a loud bang and clatter from the parlor. 

"Fuck." Shane didn't hesitate to rush himself towards the commotion. He was met with a blur of movement, the two brothers shoving at one another and nearly knocking over a shelf full of items in the process.

Shane didn't think; he just saw them on top of one another and jumped into action. Ilya swung, but Shane grabbed his bicep just in time, immediately pulling them apart. He threw his own body in between them, catching a few shoves back and forth in the process. 

"ENOUGH." Shane shoved a hand against each of their chests with all his strength, widening the space between them. 

"Now, who's like Papa?" Alexei spat, his chest pushing against Shane's still-outstretched hand.

That set Ilya off again, and he lunged, attempting to elbow past Shane. He was ready for it, though, gripping Ilya's shirt in his fists and pushing him back until he was pressed against the wall behind him. 

"Hey. Calm. Down. Go outside." 

He felt Ilya's chest rising and falling dramatically beneath his hands. He didn't meet Shane's eyes, glaring past him at Alexei, who thankfully stood down when facing two hockey players.

Ilya was clearly not listening to him, though. Shane could see the vein in his temple and the twitch in his jaw. He gently shoved Ilya against the wall again. 

"Ilya Rozanov. I'm fucking serious. Go." Ilya finally glanced at Shane, and he felt some of the tension melt from Ilya's chest. He huffed and softly shoved Shane off of him, begrudgingly doing what he was told. 

Alexei tried to call something after Ilya, but Shane cut him off, not even bothering to translate to Russian.

“Fuck off, Alexei.” 

And then, quieter as if to himself, Alexei said with deflation, "I didn't know he'd want them," before he stalked out of the room and retreated into his bedroom. Shane was left standing alone with Katya. Their apologetic looks mirrored each other. 

"Do you guys want to say goodbye to Sophia?" She asked.

Shane glanced out the window and saw Ilya pacing back and forth angrily while, strangely, on a phone call. 

"I'll say goodbye."

Sophia's shift from earlier in the night made Shane's chest tighten. She had been so alive and bubbly the entire evening, but now she timidly opened her bedroom door. 

"Privet," Shane said, also shy. "Well... Na samom dele ya zdes', chtoby poproshchat'sya." Actually, I'm here to say goodbye. This seemed to upset her further, but she let him follow her into her room. 

"Thanks again for all the gifts. My friends will be jealous."

Shane smiled and nodded. "Of course."

A beat went by, and Shane shuffled awkwardly, about to make his final goodbye when,

"Why the hell do they fight so much?"

Shane froze, words caught in his throat. He wished he had a satisfactory answer for her. 

"I think... I think they have been through a lot, and it's hard to talk about." 

"Like grandma?"

"Yeah, like your grandma."

Sophia nodded as she considered this, sighing and offering up a sad smile.

"Hey, you have our numbers. You can text and call anytime. We'll get you a bunch of Centaurs stuff, okay?"

Sophia smiled bigger, then, with a very familiar Rozanov-glint in her eye, she said,

"Your accent is funny." 

Shane scoffed in shock, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at her. 

"Alright." He responded flatly. He wasn't safe from anyone in this family. His niece giggled as he went for a final hug, a sudden rush of sadness flooding Shane's chest. He'd miss her. 

Outside, the younger Rozanov had finally ceased pacing. His leg bounced as he shifted his weight back and forth, phone clutched tightly in his hand.

“Svetlana's picking us up,” was all Ilya said when Shane stepped up beside him. 

“Oh. Okay…”

An 'I'm sorry' would be nice. Shane tried but failed not to think. He nudged Ilya to show him his jacket, helping him into it as his brow furrowed. Svetlana wasn't in the original plan. And then, as casual as discussing last week's game, 

“I think we will go to the club after all,” 

...The fuck?

Shane froze for a second, but finished tugging Ilya's jacket over his shoulder. Ilya zipped it up while avoiding Shane's gaze. He knew this was fucked up. He had to.

“Um… do I get a say in this, or-“

“I’m sorry," Ilya instantly broke, twisting to catch Shane's gaze. His eyes were still fiery, his face flushed. But Ilya's features softened as he kept talking. "I know. I’m sorry, I just... wanted a distraction and Svetlana said we could get a private section, and it's already really underground and secretly really gay, and-"

"I- Fine. Yeah. I guess. Are you sure you feel up for that right now?"

"Trust me, Hollander. I could use a drink."

Shane wasn't enthused, but Ilya did seem to be calming down. Shane wanted nothing more than to talk about what just happened, but he knew his husband often needed time to process.

For example, he finally sighed guiltily beside Shane. 

"Sorry that you had to do that." Ilya was looking down at his feet, dragging one through the snow and making patterns. Shane took a deep breath that ended in a chuckle of disbelief. 

"I definitely learned my lesson."

Which is that you both can't handle one simple fucking dinner.

Shane didn't want to fan the flames again, so he kept it to himself. Instead, they were silent while Shane waited to take an emotionally raw, especially erratic Ilya to a public Russian night club. 

What could go wrong?

Chapter End Notes

"YOU are like Papa!" - The Rozanovs
NEXT-UP:

They go to the club, and Ilya crashes out a bit.

Chapter 7: Klub Avrora

Chapter Summary

Someone from Ilya's past is at the club. Ilya gets very drunk.

Chapter Notes

Club Aurora: Moscow, Russia

December 25th, 2023

🎶 Maps - STRFKR 🎶   (Right-Click/Hold Down to open in new tab)

The bass pounded so loud that the couch rumbled beneath him. It wasn't consuming enough to quiet Ilya's thoughts, though, and that was a shame. He was constantly replaying his fight with Alexei in his head.

The worst part was the accusation that Ilya couldn't deny: He could've come to Russia at any point in the last decade if he really wanted his mother's old things. He hated himself for failing her, and Alexei pressed on that bruise. He'd much rather redirect his anger at his incessant, jealous piece-of-shit brother anyway. 

Svetlana had delivered on her promises. They had a private section near the back of the club, bathed in deep indigo. It was the three of them, plus two of Svetlana's girlfriends. The backdrop of the rest of the club was packed with sweaty, dancing bodies. A wide array of hats, sunglasses, and masks was being worn. It didn't surprise Ilya to see people disguising themselves at a "queer-based" club. 

It made it less weird for Ilya to be wearing a backwards ball cap and his Ray-Bans. Shane was just wearing his sunglasses. It was inconvenient to wear sunglasses in such a dark room, and if Shane weren't here, Ilya would've said fuck it to the accessories. If it were just up to him, he wouldn't care anymore. 

"Yeshche raund?" Svetlana's friend Anna asked where she was seated between Ilya and Shane. She had been leaning over and flirting with Shane since they had arrived almost an hour ago. Ilya wished he wasn't still so angry and could fully enjoy how adorably uncomfortable Shane was when getting female attention. 

"Da. Spasibo." Ilya accepted her offer for more drinks. They had already had two rounds of shots and a drink each, but Ilya had to finish Shane's second shot for him, so they both were pretty buzzed. Ilya was just waiting for the point where he was too drunk to care about his fucked up family. 

"Are you okay?" Shane slid over on the couch and spoke loudly over the thumping music. Ilya didn't look at him but nodded. He knew it wasn't fooling Shane. And then, remembering Shane's frequent distaste for loud clubs, he turned. 

"Are you?"

Shane grinned in what looked like relief when they finally looked at each other. He nodded.

"I kind of like the sunglasses. The lights are less overwhelming." 

Ilya couldn't help his lips mirroring Shane's at that. He did look hot with his dark tousled hair, white T-shirt, and ominous shades. There was just enough light for Ilya to make out his spatter of freckles. 

"You should wear them every time we go out then." 

Shane scoffed. 

"Yeah, and look like a total asshole?"

"No. Look like the superstar you are." Ilya corrected, earning an embarrassed shake of Shane's head. He wanted to kiss him so bad.

A vodka soda was suddenly in front of Ilya's face, so he took it from Svetlana's outstretched hand. He smirked at Shane being handed a second beer, only having finished half of his first. 

"Hey, um... I ran into someone at the bar, and they kind of- Well..." Svetlana was uncharacteristically stumbling over her words and avoiding Ilya's eyes. Interest piqued, he frowned and shook his head in confusion. 

"Chto, Sveta?"

"Izvini, Ilya... He wanted to say hi." 

And before Ilya could ask who she was apologizing for, he got his answer with a jumpscare from his past. 

Sasha.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

"Ilya." 

He had swaggered his way into their section with a black silk shirt that cut so low you could almost see his belly button. Rozanov tried to maintain his nonchalance. He wasn't in the mood for Sasha's childish games. More importantly, the concept of Sasha meeting Shane was not something Ilya particularly enjoyed.

"Sasha. Kakoy syurpriz." 

"Me a surprise? This is practically my club, what the hell are you doing here?"

Skipping past the question, he nudged Shane. He could feel his husband's gaze drilling holes in his head, even through his sunglasses.

"Eto Shane, moy muzh. Shane, eto Sasha." 

"Priyatno poznakomit'sya." Shane politely removed his glasses and extended his hand. Ilya wanted to sink beneath the floor. He had never told Shane Sasha's name, and his husband had no clue who he was offering his hand to. 

Sasha's face warped into that mischievous grin that always meant trouble.

"Shane Hollander." He looked amused by Shane's kindness, taking his hand but leaning down to press a kiss to each of Shane's cheeks instead. Ilya watched Shane's body go rigid with surprise. If it were anyone but Sasha, Rozanov would've been amused. Instead, his face started to prickle with heat. And then, before pulling back, Sasha said as low as he could above the music, "Even cuter in person."

Sasha glanced over at Ilya and gave him a wink before standing straight again. He shamelessly admired the blush he had caused on Shane's face, making Ilya's muscles tense. Still, he kept his face as straight as possible.

"Don't worry, Ilya." Sasha laughed at him, and he realized that maybe he wasn't hiding his emotions as much as he had thought. "I got us a round of shots, and then I'll be on my way. I know you're being... inconspicuous tonight."

Thank God. Maybe they could get through this interaction without Shane asking-

"So... how do you know Ilya?"

FUCK. 

Sasha grinned wider, raising an eyebrow at Ilya before pulling up an ottoman to sit perpendicular to them. 

"Wow. He speaks Russian and everything. Impressive." 

Shane shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Rozanov didn't like how Sasha was treating Shane like Ilya's pet. He was his fucking husband, for God's sake. If anything, Sasha was the pet.

"Ilya and I go way back. My father was his coach." 

Fuck. There it was.

Out of his periphery, Ilya saw Shane's polite smile disappear. His body went rigid. Sasha raised his eyebrows, seemingly confused by Shane's response. 

He misread it as the language barrier.

"Oh, sorry. English? My father was his coach." 

JESUS. Say it again in French, while you're at it! Ilya silently commiserated. 

A server with a tray of shots arrived, and Ilya didn't wait to take one and throw it back. He heard Sasha chuckle and ignored him, going to take Shane's, but getting his hand slapped out of the way. 

"Yeah, I think I'll take this one." He said, shooting Ilya a glare. Ilya gave him an apologetic grimace, and Shane took the shot faster and more eagerly than Ilya had ever seen from him. 

After Sasha said his final farewells, he stooped low and nestled himself right up against Ilya's ear. He cupped his hand like a child telling a secret. Ilya watched Shane's face go stone hard, his features sharp and hostile. He even saw his jaw quiver with tension.

Angry kitten.

"Napishi mne, yesli vy oba zakhotite priyti pozzhe," Sasha whispered, before giving Ilya a boop on the nose that he recoiled from. Then, turning to Shane with an amused smirk,

"Nice to meet you, Shane Hollander." Sasha winked at Shane and then disappeared into the crowd, hopefully for the last time. 

Ilya procrastinated making eye contact, but eventually forced himself to turn slowly toward Shane. He already had his sunglasses back on and had an eyebrow cocked towards Ilya.

"What'd he say?" It was clear that Hollander was feigning casualness. Ilya fought the urge to smile evilly and shrugged at Shane without emotion.

"Doesn't matter."

"Ilya!" All nonchalant pretense was thrown out the window when Shane practically whined at him. It was getting harder for Rozanov to remain straight-faced. 

"What? You jealous?" 

"No... But why won't you tell me?"

Rozanov was warm all over, and the pains from today were starting to fade. He was getting drunk.

Good.

But it meant he was too drunk to control his face, and the smile came through. Shane's own face broke open, and he laughed upon realizing Ilya was fucking with him.

"You asshole. C'mon. Tell me."

"He invited us back to his place."

"Oh. Like... for drinks?"

Ilya was now beaming. 

"Oh my god. You are so cute, Hollander."

"Oh."

"Yes." Ilya rolled his eyes and took a sip of his vodka soda. "He wishes." 

Shane was looking at Ilya with a big, dopey grin that gave away his own inebriation.

"What?" Ilya was afraid of the answer.

"Is there anyone in this club you haven't slept with?" Shane looked much too proud of himself for the jab. Adorable.

"Fuck off."

Ilya was telling Svetlana's friends some grandiose story from his and Svetlana's party days, and she'd occasionally laugh and add in details. Shane was trying to listen, but keeping up with Ilya's speedily delivered Russian was hard enough without the pounding music in the background. 

Instead, Shane thought about how badly he wanted to hold Ilya- just crawl into bed and be with each other. It had been killing him ever since they visited Irina's grave. He'd never understand how Ilya could prefer to be here at this nightclub with all these strangers after the day he'd had. Hollander tried not to let it offend him. 

Having to hold back their relationship in public again resurfaced old wounds, too. After all these years, it still hurt when he couldn't reach out to Ilya when he wanted to. Even though the club was deemed secretly "safe" for queer people, there was no such thing as truly safe.

And did it have to be a fucking club? Between the fear of being recognized, his worry for Ilya, and his own exhaustion, the last thing Shane wanted was overstimulation and hordes of drunks. It was too loud to even talk to each other without yelling, and Shane was beginning to wonder if that was Ilya's intention. 

"Do you want to go back to the condo soon?" Shane still tried to give it a go. He saw something like fear cross Ilya's face, before it was painted over with a grin. Ilya shook his head, shooting Svetlana a mischievous glance as she handed him a new drink. 

"I want to see you dance with Svetlana." Ilya shouted over the cacophony. 

Shane was going to say no, but Svetlana got so excited that he couldn't deny her. Hollander shot Ilya a glare as Svetlana took his hand. Rozanov was all grins. At least he wasn't brooding. 

Shane let Svetlana pull him through the tightly packed crowd until they were amidst the dancing bodies. Shane glanced towards their seats and saw Ilya sitting back, legs spread, drink in hand.

Cocky bastard. He had no business looking that hot. 

Svetlana was not shy, and that translated to the dance floor. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled them in close together, noses nearly touching. Even with the limited mobility of being wrapped around Shane, she still danced in a way that was languid and just objectively sexy. 

"English?"

Shane smiled with guilty appreciation.

"Yes, please. I'm exhausted."

"So... How are you liking Moscow?" She shouted over the music. It wasn't like they could carry on a real conversation, so he settled for,

"It's really cool to see where Ilya came from."

"I can tell you love him a lot." 

The unexpected statement struck Shane. He didn't know if it was the alcohol or today's mental load, but Hollander felt pressure behind his eyes. He willed himself not to get emotional.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." 

"He loves you, too. You should've seen him over the last ten years. He was obsessed." 

"Yeah?" Shane laughed. "Do tell."

Svetlana went on to explain how irritated she'd get with Rozanov later on, the way his face was always buried in his phone with his beloved "Jane". She told Shane how his features would soften, and his eyes would light up with every text. That's when she knew there was someone special; someone he loved.

Shane's eyes were fully swarming now, the mass of bodies around them a teary blur. He swallowed thickly and nodded.

"In hindsight, I should've figured it was you. He watched every interview you did like an absolute psycho."

Shane laughed before his smile grew emotional again. Svetlana smiled back, reaching up to brush a few of Shane's bangs from his forehead. Her hand settled on the back of his head, and Shane found himself embarrassingly flushed as a fully gay man. Hollander realized that not only was Svetlana fierce, but also surprisingly maternal. Even though he had his moments of jealousy before, Shane couldn't be happier that Ilya had Sveta in his life. 

"He's lucky to have you." He said.

"You're both lucky to have me." 

Shane nodded shyly and was about to glance over at Ilya again, but Svetlana started unwinding her arms and stepping away. Strong hands gripped Shane's hips from behind, pulling him back into a solid chest. 

Ilya watched Svetlana and Shane move against one another. They looked good together, and it was exciting for Ilya to see his two separate worlds collide. He also got off on watching Shane do things outside of his comfort zone, and Svetlana made everything sexy- even Shane's renowned stiffness on dance floors.

He wondered if there'd ever be a day in Russia where that could be him out there with Shane. With how things were going, probably not. 

And you wonder why I left. Ilya thought bitterly at an imaginary Alexei. 

His country hated him and wanted him to be miserable. It wanted to force him back to the agonizing days when he hid his overflowing love for Shane. Just then, he got flashes of Shane with Rose at the club. How jealous he had been. How painful it had been to be so close and yet so far.

How fucking dare Russia do it to him all over again. 

Fuck this. 

Ilya finished his drink, set down the empty glass, and swiftly made his way to the dance floor. Svetlana saw him coming and gave him a teasing roll of her eyes. She stepped back and left Shane open for him, though, and he was grateful. He needed him, and so he took him. Ilya reached around and gripped his hips, pulling him back into his chest, being sure to be gentle as not to scare him. It didn't work. 

"What the- Hey!" Shane jumped, but perked up when he glanced back and recognized Ilya. He shook his head with mock disapproval. Ilya relished the fond twitch of his husband's lips when he peered back at him. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing with my husband," And then he took Shane's earlobe between his teeth before gently sucking it. He felt Shane tense before he melted into him. 

"Fuck," He could barely hear Shane over the relentless bass, "You got jealous, didn't you? It was your idea, you know." He added. Ilya ignored him and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Shane's neck. He swore he could feel his pulse quicken beneath his lips. He felt Shane look around the room nervously.

"Ilya, this..." Ilya nipped at his neck, and Shane's voice tapered out, his body going slack underneath his touch. "This is not a good idea." His body didn't seem to agree with the way it was submitting so eagerly. Ilya hummed and decided he'd at least refrain from kissing him, focusing on moving their bodies lazily to the music. 

It doesn't appear as if anyone's focused on them. Shane notices a lot more gay couples near the center of the dance floor, so they don't stick out in that way. Around them, the crowd is a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies, but inside the small pocket Ilya created, everything felt narrower. Focused. 

They had gotten each other off three times that day, but they both were getting hard and couldn't possibly keep this up without it getting dire. After two beers, he needed to hit the restroom anyway.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom." Shane turned and said into Ilya's ear. His husband pulled their hips together, Ilya's eyebrows raising at the feeling of Shane's growing hard on against his. 

"Mm... Should I come with?" 

"We're already pushing it, and you know it." 

Ilya pouted, but agreed and broke apart to look for Svetlana.

After a successfully inconspicuous trip to the bathroom, Shane pushed back through the crowd toward their section and rehearsed another request for them to leave. In the bathroom, he realized that nothing good would come of staying when Ilya was throwing them back like he was. 

Shane stopped short.

There was a small crowd swarming Ilya, disguises abandoned. Phones were flashing, and Ilya had a Sharpie in hand. He was sporting his signature "celebrity" smile as he made large marker strokes against a girl's collarbone. She giggled and showed off the obnoxious signature to her friends. Three more people noticed the commotion and rushed to meet Ilya. People from across the club were peering over, curious.

Shane closes his eyes for a second.

"Inconspicuous" had officially left the building.

As Shane anxiously approached their seats, he was met with an infestation of his name. Napkins, papers, and pens were shoved in his face. Overwhelmed and just trying to get to Ilya, he absently signed a few. Someone asked for a photo, but Shane stumbled through rough Russian, 

"No. I'm sorry. I'm not taking photos tonight."

That's when he caught Ilya’s eye over someone’s shoulder. Ilya winked at him.

Winked.

Shane squeezed through the rest of the cluster and grabbed Ilya lightly by the wrist, pulling him aside. The simple interaction had everyone going wild with excitement. Shane ignored it.

"Cat's out of the bag. Oops." Ilya didn't seem particularly sorry about it. 

“You’re drunk,” Shane said, removing his now unnecessary sunglasses. 

"So are you," Ilya shrugged. 

"Not as drunk." 

"I didn't realize it was a competition." 

"You're being reckless."

"Is not dangerous here. Everyone loves us. See?" Ilya raised his drink at the buzzing group of fans.

A bunch of people toasted back, some cheering, some yelling professions of love for Ilya.

“Oh my god,” Shane muttered. He was not going to try to wrangle Ilya when he was this hammered. He instead rolled his eyes as Ilya was approached by a gorgeous woman. She asked for a photo with them both, but Shane pretended not to hear and retreated towards Svetlana in the corner. Her expression was tight and unamused.

Shane dropped unceremoniously into the seat beside her.

“He is three vodka sodas past charming.” She muttered.

“I noticed.”

Ilya was dragged back onto the dance floor. He was magnetic, the way people orbited him. He's laughing, autographing, clapping strangers on the back... To his credit, Rozanov looked like he belonged there; spotlit, adored, untouchable. If Shane hadn't known the emotional wreck Ilya had been all day, then he'd be happier for him. This wasn't just some innocent fun on a night out, though- Ilya was more fragile than he looked, and it just took the wrong person to recognize them. Shane's thoughts flickered to the frightening number of death threats Ilya would get from Russians online.

Ilya suddenly reappeared in front of him, and Shane tried to make it look like he wasn't sulking. His husband was slightly breathless, eyes bright yet hazy and unfocused.

“They want both of us, Hollander.” He was holding his hand out for him. Shane didn’t move. 

“They want you.”

“No.” Ilya grabbed his hand and tugged. “Both of us. Power couple. Very sexy. Come.”

Shane dug his heels in for half a second, then sighed before standing.

"Only if we leave after this song."

Ilya grinned. “Deal.”

It seemed like the entire dance floor was watching them this time. Ilya pulled Shane close, arms resting around his hips with instinctive familiarity.  Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya's waist as well, their foreheads falling against each other. They fell into a comfortable rhythm as people danced and cheered around them. There were tons of pictures being taken, and Shane tried not to care. As much as Ilya was freaking him out, he did look sexy as hell in front of him right now. 

"You know people are going to post these photos."

"We are out of Russia by 9 am tomorrow anyway. Chill out, Hollander."

"Even more of a reason to get to bed soon."

Ilya rolled his eyes and tilted his head back in theatrical frustration. That's when the chanting started.

"Potseluy! Potseluy! Potseluy!"

Ilya's face lit up at the demands for them to kiss. He shook Shane enthusiastically in his arms, but Shane just limply rolled his eyes.

"Pleeeeeeease," Ilya begged. He brazenly pouted. Even when he was being a drunken dickhead, Shane couldn't bring himself to deny Ilya- especially not when he was looking at him like that. Besides, he was pretty sure everything they'd worked to hide all night was totally thrown out the window. 

“Fine,” he muttered, pulling at the back of Ilya's neck until their lips met. The crowd erupted with their approval, and Shane couldn't deny that it felt amazing. Ilya looked happy when he pulled back, and Shane felt his own remaining anger melt. Yes, Ilya had basically blown up their night and was acting dangerously, but at least he was smiling. They'd go home, Ilya would sleep it off, and then they could deal with all of the difficult crap on the plane ride home tomorrow.

But the minute they returned to their section, Ilya had ordered another round of shots when Shane wasn't paying attention. He felt angry heat shoot up his spine, rising to his face.

"Are you serious?"

"What?"

"One more song. That was the deal." 

"I'm having fun, Hollander." 

"You're pushing it. Did you forget we're in fucking Russia?"

"Thank you for reminding me." Ilya spat bitterly, his smile disappearing scary fast. "If you want to go back, then go back. I'll see you later."

Shane blinked. Even the tipsy fans that were loitering around Ilya seemed to get the hint and gave them space.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I am not 'fucking' kidding you. I need a cigarette." Ilya said as if he couldn't be bothered by Shane's distress. He fished a pack of cigarettes from his discarded jacket pocket. Then, Rozanov had the audacity to kiss Shane's cheek before moving past him towards the patio exit. 

Shane shot Svetlana a look. She shook her head before they wordlessly followed Ilya outside. 

"What are you doing, Ilya?" Shane pressed after they had broken into the frigid twilight. Without the relentless music and lights, Shane felt like he could fully breathe again. The relief was short-lived.

Ilya groaned and threw his head back. 

"Oh, I don't know Hollander. Maybe having one good memory before I leave Russia forever? Can't I have one good thing?"

Shane tried not to let it sting. What about the memories they had just made together? But Ilya was drunk, and Shane wasn't about to bring his own emotions into this- not when it made him feel so pathetic.

"Look, I know today was rough. I know you're avoiding-" 

"No, you don't know. You don't know with your perfect little life and perfect little family and- and- perfect country..."  

Ilya always reached for that blade when he was cornered, and Shane was tired of it. He was tired of feeling bad for not having a fucked-up enough life for Ilya. It was bullshit anyway, considering it was Ilya's "perfect" life too, now. 

“I’m just trying to be here for you without you throwing it back in my face.”

Ilya huffed before lighting his cigarette.

“Well, if you remember correctly, Hollander, I didn’t ask you to be here.”

The second it left his mouth, something in Ilya’s expression flickered- regret, maybe. Anyway, his pride slammed the door on it. He looked away, taking a drag.

Shane just... stood there.

He wished he were stronger in that moment. Wished he could let it roll off and recognize the vodka talking. He knew Ilya was drunk. He knew this wasn’t really about him, but knowing didn’t make it hurt less. Especially not when Ilya was perpetually so sweet now. So careful. So openly, fiercely in love. Sometimes Shane forgot what he was like when they were younger: When Ilya was pushing emotions down so deeply that his walls were more like fortresses. When he could be an absolute asshole. 

The dichotomy killed Shane.

And technically, Ilya hadn't asked Shane to come to Russia, but Shane insisted anyway. This whole time, he had been so nervous to try and support Ilya through this trip; nervous that he'd be out of his element and completely inadequate.

Consider Shane feeling pretty fucking inadequate.

Shane nodded, small and with eyes cast down. He turned and walked away without a word.

The music inside felt muffled now, like it belonged to a distant world.

Shane barely made it to a vacant table at the back of the club before his vision blurred. He couldn't even return to their section- not with the fans milling around. Svetlana found him anyway, sliding into a seat.

Shane blinked quickly, furious at himself. 

"Are you okay? I'm sorry he's being a dick." Shane felt her hand on his shoulder. He attempted a grounding breath.

“I just- I didn’t know it could still feel like this.”

“Like what?” she asked gently. That’s the thing about Svetlana. She will dig past generalities.

Shane remembered the old days with a clarity that made him nauseous. The way loving Ilya had once felt like standing on the edge of something enormous and unstable. Rozanov would be so sweet before abruptly lashing out, or worse, going cold. Then Shane would be left with that sinking feeling. That humiliating doubt.

I didn't know it could still feel like I'm an idiot for loving him. An idiot for loving my fucking husband. Shane finished bitterly in his head, because it's too embarrassing to admit out loud. So he pivoted.

“He’s been doing so well." Therapy. The communication. "Not… this.” He gestures vaguely toward the door. “Maybe coming here was a mistake.”

They both knew it may have been. They were just unaware of the gravity of that statement quite yet.

Svetlana's hand fell from his shoulder, and they sat quietly for a moment. 

“We should go get him.” Shane finally said, rolling his eyes. He would fight Ilya into the back of the car if he had to. Svetlana offered a sad smile, and the two of them headed back outside. 

Ilya felt horrible for what he had said to Shane, but the cigarette in tandem with the vodka created the perfect out-of-body haze that he wanted to stay in for a bit. He'd finish smoking, agree to go home, and do all the further grovelling he needed to.

The streetlights smeared halos into the night. His head spun, and not just from vodka.

The thought of some stranger wearing his mother's favorite earrings invaded his mind. 

He needed to walk.

The cold air bit at his flushed skin, sobering him just enough to make him aware of how unsteady he actually was. He felt untethered from his body, the ground always half a beat behind his foot. The streets weren't empty, but they didn't feel particularly friendly either. The occasional shout or laugh was too sharp, club music thudding faintly through the walls. Bar hoppers were too busy rushing to the next heated building to pay Ilya notice. 

He found refuge from the wind between two buildings to light a second cigarette. Rozanov promised himself this last one before going back to face the mess he'd made. 

That's when Ilya had a bad feeling.

Soon after, a lighter flicked deeper in the alleyway. Ilya noted the spark out of the corner of his eye. Another man was ten feet away, smoking his own cigarette. Another figure appeared on the street on the other side of Ilya. He didn't have a cigarette and has no reason to be stopping like he was. 

Chapter End Notes

I really went back and forth with including Sasha, but in the end, I couldn't help myself!

Chapter 8: Ilya's Arrest

Chapter Summary

Shane takes care of Ilya. Then Ilya's arrested.

Chapter 9: International Extremist

Chapter Summary

The world learns of Rozanov's arrest. Shane stays with Alexei's family. Ilya survives his first day in jail.

Chapter Notes

New Chapter Friday evenings EST.

Moscow, Russia

December 27th, 2023 | 2:03 AM

🎶 Drink Before The War - Sinéad O'Connor 🎶   (Right-click/Hold down to open in new tab)

Alexei's house was too quiet. Shane lay on the pull-out bed in the parlor room that Katya had made up for him. All Shane's brain seemed capable of was replaying the events of yesterday:

The slam of Ilya's already-damaged chest against the car. Ilya yelling... begging him to stand down. The door of the cruiser closing.

He hardly even remembered calling Svetlana:

"Hollander... what's wrong?"

"I- Oh my god... He- They arrested him." 

"What!?"

"They arrested Ilya."  Saying it out loud made the dread all the more real. 

"What do you mean? For what?" 

"I don't know! I couldn't- They were talking so fast. Oh my god..."

"Okay. Hey. Shane..."

"FUCK, oh my God. What do we do?" 

"Hollander-"

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." 

"Stay there. I'm coming to get you."

While Shane waited and panicked alone on the runway, he noticed the outline of Ilya's phone in his abandoned bag pocket. He had used trembling hands to unlock it and search for Alexei's contact. After 8 unanswered calls, Svetlana just took them both to Alexei's house:

The door swung open, revealing an already grumpy Alexei. His mood didn't seem to improve when he saw Shane and Svetlana on his doorstep, but his expression shifted after his eyes searched the porch.

"Where is Ilya? I thought you were leaving the keys in the apartment."

Shane was already losing it over the 'Where is Ilya?' and couldn't answer. He felt his jaw tighten as his eyes prickled hot. Shane looked away, and Svetlana jumped in. 

"Ilya was arrested." 

God, he hated hearing it out loud.

"What the fuck? How? Why?"

"It is very cold out here." 

Once they were invited inside, Alexei said more words than Shane had ever heard him speak combined. However, Hollander's brain wasn't accepting Russian well through his inner panic. Even English words from Svetlana slid past him without sticking. 

"Kakovy obvineniya? Ty slyshal, kak oni chto-to skazali?" Shane suddenly realized Alexei had been angrily throwing questions at him for a while now. Svetlana was looking at Shane with concern, but he was frozen.

"Shane? Did you hear them say anything?" Svetlana translated. He blinked, searching his brain and reliving the awful scene over and over again. He finally shook his head, and Alexei threw his hands in the air. 

"Bespolezny." Alexei muttered under his breath in frustration: Useless. Shane could actually translate that one.

Fucking asshole. He wanted to be angrier at Alexei for it, but he was right- Shane was useless. His husband was fucking arrested and dragged away, and he couldn't do fuck all about it.

At least now, 17 hours later, Alexei had allowed him to stay the night. It was more by Katya's insistence, but Shane appreciated it all the same. Besides, if anyone was going to get a call about Ilya's whereabouts, it was Alexei after he had spent all day reaching out to his police and jail contacts.

17 hours... and still nothing. 

Chapter End Notes

Teaser for Chapter 10 on my Insta: @anotherhraccount
The stuff about the extremism law being expanded quietly in late 2023 is true, btw!

NEXT-UP: Yuna arrives and visits Ilya with Alexei and his lawyers. Inmates start moving in on Ilya. Shane has a panic attack.

Chapter 10: Remand Center

Chapter Summary

Yuna and Alexei manage a visit with Ilya. Shane panic-scrolls through Instagram.

Chapter Notes

Fic updates on my Insta: @anotherHRaccount
If anyone's wondering, I'm on the EST timezone, so I plan to update in EST evenings on Fridays! I did really run it up to the buzzer this time, sorry y'all 😅 I just added some cute things I thought y'all would appreciate, all last second.

Moscow, Russia

December 27th, 2023

Champagne Coast - (Hold down or Right-click to open in new tab)

Waking up the first morning was like realizing Ilya's world was ending all over again. He wasn't even sure if he had fully fallen asleep. Every time he'd gotten close, loud banging on the frame of his bunk bed would spike his adrenaline all over again. More than four times, Ilya jerked awake to a dark figure snickering from his bedside. They'd pull off their shoes and slam them against his bed just to watch him flinch awake. 

They were circling jackals- not quite ready to pounce, but stalking him- breaking him down mentally. With a pang in his chest, Ilya was viscerally reminded of a time he was watching yet another boring documentary with Shane; his husband loved them... obviously. 

"I'm shocked." Shane had said from the other end of the couch. They both were splayed out lazily on their phones. Shane's socked feet were in his lap, Ilya's phone rested on Hollander's jeaned ankles.

"Shocked, why?" Ilya continued watching a reel that the Centaurs account posted of Chiron, not looking up. 

"You haven't complained at all about the 'boring animal show.'"

Ilya couldn't help but look up at Shane's attempt to imitate his accent, a smile growing on his face. Ilya's stomach butterflies never failed when he did that.

"Mm... Big cats are fine." Ilya said, looking at the TV where a jaguar was stalking its prey. "Big cats are cool. Fish are boring." 

"Hey. They, like... regulate the food webs. Cycle nutrients. Graze algae." 

"Oh, do they graze algae?" It made Shane giggle, which in turn had Ilya inwardly swoon. He tried to hide it behind his favorite cocky facade, replying flatly, "Riveting." 

"Where'd you learn that word?"

How did Shane always know when he was testing out new English words? He was always conflicted by it; both embarrassed and head-over-heels.

"A review for new Top Gun movie. You know- something actually interesting." 

"Hmph." 

Ilya watched Shane roll his eyes, the side of his lip twitching up just a bit. He didn't feel like it was necessary, but Ilya turned off his phone screen and gave Shane's ankle a couple of squeezes. He felt particularly mushy all of a sudden. It was a frequent phenomenon that Ilya "suffered" ever since meeting Hollander. 

"Did you know I like your boringness?" He asked before he could help himself.

Shane's eyes immediately turned up from his phone, his expression a cross between softness and surprise. He clicked his own phone off. 

"Is that so?" Hollander was doing a horrible job at hiding his abashment, and it was adorable.

"Mm. Yes. I like that you keep all your receipts." Ilya reveled in the way that Shane's blush deepened.  "I like that you always know exactly where we parked. I like that your calendar is organized, and that you watch David Attenborough talk about fish." 

"Hmm," Shane's amused smile softened into something much deeper. His eyes shone in that way that Ilya always tried to sear in his mind forever. His husband huffed and shook his head, almost as if he, too, couldn't believe that this was their perfect little life. Shane's face then went deadly serious. "Did you know that I love you?" 

Fuck.

"I had some idea of this, yes." Ilya sappily smiled back. "Love you, too, Hollander." 

Rozanov had slid over on the couch after that, the two of them wrapped up while watching pumas stalk and circle unlucky victims for the next half hour.

So, as Ilya was stalked by similar predators throughout the night, he kept repeating a sickening thought: Would he never watch boring documentaries with Shane ever again? 

If he thought the morning was rough, the day only progressively deteriorated from there. It started small with a shove in the corridor during headcount.

“Watch it, hotshot.” An inmate grunted at Ilya. Another voice, quieter but sharper: “Bet he cries pretty.”

Ice flooded his veins.

Constantly, guards looked at him too long. Inmates looked at him longer. Someone knocked his tray during lunch, semi-warm soup sloshing onto his sleeve (soup was generous; it was more like bitter vegetable broth). Another inmate crowded his space on the way to the bathrooms, pressing his massive body against Ilya and menacingly breathing vile threats into his ear.

For most of the day, Ilya thought of all the things he may never do again. The list was agonizingly long, but he had nothing else to distract himself with. Between two cell-checks (they had all the inmates line up while they tossed their bunks), three nonsubstantial "meals", and a couple of fight outbreaks that resulted in everyone being forced to the ground... There wasn't much to do. 

They couldn't sit. There weren't any seats anyway, and the cells were only for sleeping. Mostly, people gathered in their pockets of allies, chattering and jeering together.

Ilya, on the other hand, stayed as far away from everyone as physically possible. Since the place was so overstuffed, movement was often. It got to the point where he just slowly walked the perimeter of the expansive room, trying his best not to make any sudden movements. Besides, his ribs ached with each breath, and his eyebrow thumped in rhythm with his pulse.

After a couple of hours of letting his mind torture itself with "what if's," Rozanov started counting steps. 

Ilya was up to step 12,132 when a shoulder slammed into him from behind. Hard. He stumbled forward, but stayed upright.

“Balance off ice isn’t so good, huh?” the man snarled, stepping into his space. Up close, he smelled like sweat and something sour. Ilya forced himself to meet his hard gaze. 

“Move,” Ilya said as evenly as possible. Fear coursed through his body, but his better instincts knew he couldn't show it. The man smiled, slow and ugly.

“Make me.”

"Hey! Fedorov. What the fuck did I say about your fucking grins?" A guard hollered.

That's one thing Ilya hadn't previously known about Russian jails- smiling and laughing was strictly prohibited. It wasn't like that was going to be a problem for Ilya anyway. 

There was a beat, and the yard went quieter. They were testing him- all of them. A small gaggle of inmates gathered behind the man: Fedorov, Ilya guessed from another inmate's comment. 

"Going to give him a warm welcome, Fedorov?"

Ilya weighed his options. If he swung, he'd be overpowered. If he backed down, he'd be marked as prey. Luckily, Rozanov had hours to think about this very situation. Ilya held onto his last ounces of bravery before enacting his plan: he stepped closer. Just enough so that their chests nearly brushed. Ilya clenched his hands at his side, trying to keep them from trembling. 

“I am not in the mood,” Rozanov muttered, quiet but sharp. “Find someone else.”

I'm bigger. I'm stronger. I have my reputation for being aggressive on the ice. These were affirmations Ilya kept telling himself to fuel his fake confidence. Fedorov searched his face for fear, but Rozanov refused to let it show... for now. The inmate spat near Ilya’s shoe instead.

“Thought you fuckers liked attention.”

The men behind him chuckled. Fedorov grinned like... Well, Ilya couldn't think of his name, but that horrid cat from Alice in Wonderland. 

"Hey! What the fuck did I just say, Fedorov?"

And sooner than he could react, the guards were slamming elbows and knees into this "Fedorov", almost as if they'd just been waiting for the green light to do so. Ilya froze in shock and diverted his eyes, but he couldn't block out the sounds of foot and fist connecting with the man's body over and over again. He couldn't ignore the blood splatter on his sleeve either. Ilya just stiffened further, holding his resolve until it was all over.

When the beating had finally ceased and it seemed the room could move again, Ilya heard Fedorov sputter. 

"You're fucking dead, Rozanov," As if he had a single thing to do with it. "Fucking dead."

An enemy- a group of enemies.

And it hasn't even been 24 hours. Great.

Yesterday was bad, but today was longer. In fact, it was the longest day of his life. 

And I have to do it again tomorrow. 

And the next day. And the next.

And maybe forever?

It was sheer torture not knowing what was going on. He had no clue why he was here, where he was, or if he'd ever see Shane again. Gritting his teeth against the thought, he turned over stiffly in his cot, facing the cinderblock wall just in time for hot tears to streak down his face. Ilya held his breath to keep from sobbing, only letting up when he desperately needed air. He tried to control the shaking of his shoulders the best he could as he silently cried himself to sleep for the second night in a row. 

"Muzhik, sprosi yeyo, yest' li u nikh kakiye-libo svyazi s okhrannikami." Alexei directed at Shane. 

"Do the lawyers know any of the guards at the jail?" Shane translated for his mom, who patiently waited seated next to him at Alexei's kitchen table.

Alexei had gotten a call right before his mother had arrived- a guard he knew said Ilya was in his jail. A "remand center" right outside Moscow, Svetlana had helped explain to Shane. The way that Sveta and Alexei exchanged glances when they'd found out didn't help Shane's nerves. After some research with a shaking finger on his phone, Shane discovered it was a giant, overpopulated jail with a wide variety of criminals and little to no order amid the chaos. The conditions were terrible, the guards non-caring, and riots frequent. It was fucking anarchy. 

Anything could happen. Shane tried not to let his mind run away with the possibilities.

"They said they know how to get a hold of a few that would accept bribes, but the warden is the main problem. They don't know him." Yuna said. Her tone was organized. Ambitious. It was as if she were talking about a new brand deal, which somehow comforted Shane. 

Fuck. Bribes in Russian. What the fuck was "bribes" in Russian? 

"Uh, Yest' neskol'ko izvestnykh korrumpirovannykh okhrannikov, kotorye budut prinimat' den'gi. Nachal'nik tyur'my - glavnaya zabota. Oni yego ne znayut." He replaced "bribes" with "money", and Alexei got the idea. 

Svetlana had left Alexei's house shortly after his mother arrived. There was some sort of underground gathering of supporters who wanted to fight back for Ilya. It warmed Shane's heart, but he was terrified for Sveta. He was terrified for all of them. The moment they were figured out, they'd all be charged with the same thing Ilya was. He didn't even know what they could do.

Regardless, Svetlana's absence meant that the only person who could translate between his mother and Alexei was Shane. It was getting harder the more exhausted he got, the clock ticking well past ten. Not to mention, Alexei and his mom had a meeting with the lawyers and Ilya early tomorrow morning.

"I know two guys there who may be able to help out. Remember... it'd be for a price." Alexei revisited, and once again, he responded in the same way. 

"I don't give a fuck about price." 

They had already spent an extravagant amount of money to get themselves and Yuna here. Private flights were far from cheap, and while they were substantially wealthy, it's not like Shane and Ilya had a bunch of money just lying around. They were tied up in investments, assets, etc... It seemed smart at the time, but now, as the payments racked up, it was just annoying to be moving things around. 

The flights, the top-notch lawyers (both Russian and Canadian, on retention), and the upcoming bribes... But Shane couldn't care less.

"It's unlikely we'll get your mother in there. It's already a stretch that they'll let me through." Alexei took a sip of his vodka.

In Shane's mind, that wasn't an option. He needed her to see Ilya, since he couldn't. No one would let Shane forget just how dangerous it was for him to so much as show his face in public, let alone waltz into a Russian prison to visit his husband.

So Shane needed his mother in there. He needed Ilya to see her face- have someone in there that really loved him. He needed Ilya to know they would never give up on him- that they were doing everything they possibly could. 

"Trust me. She'll find a way." 

Yuna was turning her gaze from Alexei to Shane as they conversed, clearly growing a little impatient. 

"Shane?" She cut in, finally. Her voice was strained, like it always got when she was holding back her frustration. 

"He's, uh- He's doubtful you can get in to see him." 

Yuna turned to Alexei, her hands folded neatly on the table's surface. 

"Oh, I think we'll make it work." She directed at Ilya's brother. He didn't need a translation. He held out his hands in surrender and shrugged, conceding. 

Alexei was very different around Shane's mother. Hollander noticed this immediately; he was polite... gentle. Maybe it was the way she gave everyone a hug upon arriving, including Alexei. He had gone so rigid that Shane was sure he was a statue for a moment. And maybe... probably... something about Yuna's maternal inclinations brought something new out in Alexei, just as it did with Ilya. 

"Oh. Here." Shane reached down in his backpack to pull out Ilya's antidepressants. He gave the little orange bottle to his Mom, who looked less confident than Shane would've liked. She didn't say anything, though, slipping the medication into her purse. 

"What's that?" Alexei frowned at the bottle.

"Ilya's medication. Make sure they know he needs them every day. Every morning." 

"Meds for what?" 

Shane was not having this conversation with Alexei. 

"It doesn't matter," He dismissed instead.

"It will to them." 

Shane scoffed and looked away. He hated that he had to reveal this vulnerable sliver of Ilya's life to Alexei. He knew Ilya would hate it too. 

"For depression. If he stops taking them abruptly, it won't be good." 

"Depression?" Alexei had the audacity to look as though he wanted to argue it.

"Jesus Christ, Alexei. Just do it, okay?" And then realizing he had just snapped aggressively at Ilya's slightly terrifying older brother, "Please?"

Alexei's eyes processed, flitting over Shane's face before softening. 

"Hollander, I really don't think that they-" 

"Just try. You have to try. Pay someone, I don't know. He needs them. Especially now." Because if Shane was already worried about Ilya's mental state outside of Russian jail, then he had no words for his level of panic now. 

"I guess we'll see tomorrow, right?" Alexei muttered tiredly, and to Shane's irritation, mildly sarcastically. Still, he was grateful for the transition. After speaking with the lawyers over the phone, they continued discussing strategies for nearly two hours. But the truth was, all they could do was wait to see what would happen. The lawyers were good... the best they could get who would dare represent Ilya. There was somewhat of a plan. It allowed Shane a few inklings of hope here and there, but mostly, he was just feeling numb at the moment.

Alexei drove them to Ilya's apartment after that. There wasn't much room for both he and his Mom at Alexei's place, and they were trying to keep Sophia out of things as much as possible. It seemed like a fruitless effort considering it was all over the news and social media- not to mention, she shared a last name with Ilya. Sophia told Shane herself that everyone at school was talking about it. 

"I'd like to see more of that, Sophia. I've never had a grand-niece before." Yuna said from Alexei's passenger seat. For the first time since he'd seen Ilya get slammed over the hood of a police car, Shane smiled... just a bit. 

"Yeah, she's the best." 

"What about Sophia?" Alexei seemed unable to help himself. The turn signal clacked obnoxiously loud in the silence. 

"My Mom would love to see her more."

"Oh. Yes, well... I think she liked her."  Alexei awkwardly muttered. 

The concept of his Mom meeting Sophia would've been so beautiful and sweet if the circumstances weren't so vapid. For the infinite time that day, Shane wished Ilya were there to witness it.

Night two of being worlds apart from his husband: Shane was exhausted in every way- emotionally, mentally, physically... and yet, sleep felt so far away. Shane hadn't realized how dependent he had gotten on Ilya's large presence next to him. He missed the way he always breathed heavily, his mouth slightly parted. Sometimes, even in deep sleep, he'd roll over and sling a warm, heavy arm around Shane. 

God, I miss him. I fucking miss him so much. 

Shane tried to distract himself from the growing lump in his throat. He opened his phone but immediately ended up agonizing over article after article: Why did Rozanov risk it? One headline said before Shane closed his browser. Guilt gripped his insides. He opened Instagram instead. 

Shane remembered that FaceTime call with Svetlana so well. It felt so far and foreign to him, even though it was less than a year ago. 

He flipped through his story, all of it in the Cyrillic alphabet: Shane was utterly and completely lost if the romanized alphabet wasn't used, so he screenshotted the slide he was most curious about and ran it through Google Lens. It wasn't long before he wished that he hadn't, because Svetlana's words gutted him:

I couldn't help but take a screenshot. 

I'd never seen him so happy than when he was showing off his new family. 

Shane wiped the tears from his face more aggressively than he needed to.

Fuck. He had never even seen the photo that Luca posted. It was like a knife through his heart.

It was so strange seeing everyone post about Ilya when he couldn't respond. Ilya was on Instagram way more than Shane was, and was a constant voice on all their friends' posts. Now, his absence was loud even on this stupid fucking app. 

Shane went to Ilya's Instagram instead, hoping it might make him feel a little less far away.

The tears had already started falling, but Shane couldn't stop once he started scrolling. 

A thought suddenly crossed Shane's mind: a horrible, terrible thought. What if this was it? All these memories. All these snapshots in time he shared with Ilya... maybe that was all he was ever going to get. All he was meant to get. Unbeknownst to either of them, his last Instagram post was just that- his last Instagram post. Was he just scrolling through a fucking memorial? Would Shane scroll through his page like this again and again for the rest of his life, trying anything to hold onto him long after he was gone?

Holy fucking shit.

Shane shot out of bed, his body having a mind of its own. He paced wildly. The room was smaller and shrinking still, his chest heaving for breath that wouldn't come. He could feel his wet face pale rapidly.

This is it. His brain told him. This is it. This is it.

He paced around the room, somehow finding himself in the dark kitchen, then the living room. He didn't know how much time had passed before Shane found himself outside of the guest room where his mother slept. He felt sheepish approaching her door at 3 am. Shane hadn't done this since he was little and had a nightmare. Before he could even knock, the door swung open. She looked like she had been ready for him, and Shane realized that maybe he was hyperventilating a lot louder than he'd thought. 

"Come here, honey." She pulled him into her arms instantly, and Shane felt the last remaining dam break. He sobbed into her shoulder as his mom rubbed a hand over his heaving back. 

"What- What if this is it? What if that's all I get with him?" He was saying it before his brain was even registering the thoughts, but there they were, thrust into the world: Ugly and much too possible. 

"Oh, Shane. No. It's not, okay? It's not."

He wanted to tell her that she couldn't possibly know that, but the sobs wouldn't let him. They were soon on Yuna's bed, which looked hardly slept in. Shane curled into her side. In any other situation, he'd feel pathetic being held by his mother like a child, but he'd never needed it so bad. She held him as Shane attempted to control his breathing. He swore he could hear her sniffle a few times, but it was hard to hear over his own panic.

Moscow, Russia

December 28th, 2023

Shane didn't mean to fall asleep like that, but the next thing he knew, he was squinting against new morning light. 

Hollander blinked and cringed away. His head throbbed, undoubtedly from all the panicked sobbing the night before. Speaking of which, where was his mom? She wouldn't have left to see Ilya without telling him, right? 

"Mom?" He sounded more frantic than he meant to. 

"I'm still here." She called from the kitchen. Shane felt a little anxiety unwind from his chest and pushed his palms to his eyes. They were swollen from crying and pure exhaustion.

Another day of this shit. 

His mother was already ready and waiting with coffee made in Ilya's kitchen. She smiled sadly, delivering him a steaming cup as he sat at the counter. 

"I leave in ten." 

Shane nodded. "Don't forget his meds." 

"They're in my purse." 

"He needs them every day. Make sure Alexei or the lawyers tell them." 

"I will," 

"Like, if he misses days, then he'll be all fucked up. He takes them in the mornings and-"

"Shane," his mother's tone dipped into her commanding mom tone. He pulled back on his rambling. 

"Okay, yeah. Sorry." 

Yuna gave him sympathetic eyes before leaning over her coffee. 

"Is there anything you want me to tell him?" 

Oh. 

"Um..." Shane felt horrible for not having a manifesto ready. Of course, he wanted to say about a billion things to Ilya. He didn't think any one of those billion things would help, though. "I mean, tell him that I love him," 

God, Shane thought he had been all cried out, but his voice broke a bit. "So much, and... and to not blame himself. Because I know he is."

She nodded, reaching a hand forward to hold Shane's. He forced what he thought was an unenthused smile, but he's not sure if it even made it that far. 

"Thank you," he whispered through a clenched throat. "For everything, Mom." 

"Rozanov!" 

He jumped, then cursed himself for it. Everything made him flinch. He was exhausted from constantly fighting the urge. 

The source of the voice was a guard who approached him briskly, handcuffs ready. Ilya frowned, confused. He held his wrists out instinctually, and they were encased in cold, heavy metal once again. 

"Your lawyers are here." 

Oh, thank FUCK. 

With a little shove, they were walking back into the hallway he'd come in from.

And I get a break from being shark bait? Ilya took the moment to take the first real breath since he had arrived. He knew it was a temporary respite, but he would take what he could get. 

"Five minutes." The guard said before a door clicked open. 

Five minutes? That's nothing.

But Ilya's inner complaints fell away completely when he saw her. He thought he was so sleep deprived that he was hallucinating. He blinked a couple times, but it was really her: Yuna fucking Hollander, all the way from safe and comfy Canada in this godforsaken fucking Russian prison.

For him.

"Oh my god, what are you doing here?" 

He knew it was a stupid question, but he couldn't help himself. Yuna was sporting her own shock when she laid eyes on him, making Ilya want to cringe away. He knew he felt banged up, but he forgot that he must look it, too. There were no mirrors in hell.

"Oh... sweetheart..." 

She sat on the opposite side of a metal table, centered in the room. Ilya moved to sit in the seat across from her. They were only a couple of feet away, but the distance felt infinite. His cuffs clanked crudely against the table. 

"I-" Ilya was truly at a loss for words, looking at his mother-in-law. She was so obviously out of place here; her usual warmth nearly glowed in the abysmal, slate-gray room. Her eyebrows were pulled tight, her eyes sad. "I didn't think-"

"That I'd fly across the globe for you? Ilya, I'm offended." 

He smiled for the first time in days, before taking a terrified, shaky breath. 

"Is Shane?" He didn't need to finish the question.

"He's okay. He's safe. Just worried sick." 

Ilya swallowed thickly and nodded. Okay. Safe. 

"I told him to go home." 

"You know that wasn't going to happen." 

"Nam stoit perestat' govorit' o Shane i nachat' obsuzhdat' strategiyu." An annoyingly familiar voice cut in. Ilya's eyes flickered back to where Alexei stood in full police uniform near the opposite wall- Ilya hadn't even noticed him once he'd seen Yuna. 

We should stop talking about Shane and start talking about strategy.

"What are you doing here?" Ilya's voice held more venom than he had intended, and Alexei immediately reacted defensively. At least some things weren't any different. 

"A club, Ilya? Really? What the fuck were you thinking going out in public like that?"

"FUCK you, Alexei. What do you want me to do about it now?" 

"Okay! Okay, we don't have time for this. Please ask Alexei to go see his guard... friends." 

Ilya was thrown off by the concept of his mother-in-law interacting with Alexei at all. The two worlds in front of him shouldn't mix, and yet, here they were. Ilya felt the heat in his chest dim. 

"Yuna says to go talk to your friends." 

Alexei grumbled something under his breath before rapping on the further door, and was instantly let out into the hallway. Ilya didn't know what this was about Alexei's "friends", but he didn't care. He only had a couple of minutes left with Yuna, and he intended to hang onto every single one. 

Unfortunately, the man beside her started talking instead. His lawyer- one of his lawyers. The man went through a laundry list of items that Ilya had a hard time concentrating on when the only thing he wanted to do was ask about Shane. 

His interest was piqued when he heard a word he wasn't expecting: Extremism. 

"What the fuck is that?" 

"It's... new." 

The lawyer launched into a bunch of jargon with "lawmakers" and "frameworks" and a bunch of other shit that didn't mean anything to Ilya. Then he asked him questions, to which Ilya tiredly responded:

• No, I didn't attack anyone. 
• Yes, I was attacked. 
• Three men. 
• One knocked unconscious, and the other two fled. 
• No, I don't know what "LGBT literature" they're talking about. 
• Yes, it's possible I had something from that night in my wallet. 
• No, I've never been associated with any Russian LGBT groups.

After the questions, details started to fill in the blanks of a darker narrative: they would've pinned anything on Ilya to get him in here. This was punishment. For making a mockery out of Russia with his marriage to Shane. And what better way than with a shiny, new law to show people what could happen if they were as careless as he had been?

"So, they're making an example." Rozanov didn't need to phrase it as a question when he already knew the answer. 

"It would appear so, yes." 

Ilya stared at his cuffed hands that rested on the table. He couldn't believe that just a few days ago, he was cuddled up with Shane in bed without a care in the world. They had Christmas plans... New Year's plans... aspirations for the end of the Centaurs' season. They had talked about going to L.A. that summer to see Rose. They had Amber's birthday party at the Pikes' in just two weeks. 

How the hell did it get to this? 

"What do we do?"

The lawyer surprised him by glancing at Yuna before switching to English. 

"Well, we lean in on the media attention- the public outcry for your safety. Your importance to Ottawa, your near-citizenship. We're speaking with Canadian officials to see what they can do, if anything."

"I'm not yet a citizen."

He and Shane had gotten so busy that they had procrastinated the final hoops Ilya needed to jump through. They thought it was no big deal- that they'd have all the time in the world.

Stupid.

Fucking stupid.

"No, but you're married to one, and you're important to Ottawa. More than important. We've got our work cut out for us over here- you just need to focus on staying alive and keeping your head down." 

Ilya noted Yuna's flinch when the lawyer instructed him to stay alive. It was a momentary break in her character- a stutter he'd never seen before. But as soon as he noticed it, it was gone, and her quiet strength was restored. Yuna turned determined eyes to him, reaching for one of his cuffed hands.

For a split second, Ilya freezes. It took everything not to break down at her familiar warmth.

"Honey-" 

"No touching." The guard supervising from the wall behind Ilya barked. 

Ilya tried to jerk his hands back- the last thing he wanted was to put Yuna in any danger on top of it all, but she just gripped his hand tighter.

"We are not going to leave you here. You're coming home with us. It's just a matter of when. Do you understand me?" 

"NO. TOUCHING." 

Ilya blinked the hot tears from his eyes and nodded briskly before Yuna retracted back to her side of the table. 

"I'll make sure to come visit as much as I possibly can. Just stay strong, okay?"

Ilya sniffed and gritted his teeth together painfully. If he let the dam break now, there was no going back. 

"This isn't exactly how I wanted my mother-in-law to see me," He tried to break his own tension with a bitter chuckle. Yuna tilted her head, shaking it in disagreement. Ilya bounced his knee anxiously, pushing his emotions down as far as they could go before painful words squeezed through his tight throat.

"I'm so sorry, Yuna." His voice broke.

"Hey. No-" 

"I-" He sucked in a sharp breath. "This was so stupid. I took your son, here. I acted like an idiot. I put him in danger. This is all my fault." 

"Ilya. Ilya, look at me." 

He looked at the ceiling first, willing the tears to seep back into their place rather than escaping down his cheeks. When he finally turned his gaze to her, Yuna's expression was something of a beg. 

"Did you attack that man the other night?" 

"I- No..." 

"And is it a crime for you to love my son?"

"Of course not." He brokenly whispered. 

"It is not your fault, the cards you were dealt. Okay? This extremism stuff is a doozy, but we'll figure out a way." The way she said it was so firm, so maternal, and so... Yuna. Fuck, he was so relieved that she was here.

Still, Ilya shook his head, looking away again. He should've known better. Why hadn't he known better?

There was a heavy knock at the further door, and Alexei reappeared with two other guards. 

"Time's up." One of them said. Dread pumped back thick through Ilya's veins. There hadn't been enough time. There'd never be enough time. 

God, don't make me go back. Please, don't make me go back. 

"Besides, Shane asked me to tell you two things," Yuna said as she rose from her chair, the guards surrounding the table and ushering them out of the room. Ilya watched her intently, pulling away from the guard's grip and trying to stay as long as he could. 

Shane. It was all his mind repeated over and over like a mantra. Shane. Shane. Shane.

"First, that he loves you. So much." 

Ilya knew it was coming, but it didn't soften the blow. Hold it together, Rozanov. 

"And second, to not blame yourself." 

Jesus Christ, he knew him so well. Even if Ilya didn't fully believe it, it was the most comforting thing Shane could've said.

"Tell him I love him. And that I'm okay," As the guards dragged him back into the hallway, Ilya stole a final glance at Yuna. "And that he needs to eat! And sleep!" He called one last time before there was nothing but gray again.

I love you. Don't blame yourself. Shane had told him. Ilya held onto the words like a lifeline.

His head throbbed, and the angry chaos around Shane wasn't helping. Everyone seemed to have something to say, all at the same time. It was either Katya yelling at Sophia to get back in her room, or Alexei accusing the lawyers of not doing enough, or Shane's mother begging him and Svetlana for constant translations.

At least the lawyers were clearly well-versed and genuinely for Ilya- a testament to how much research happened between his mother and Svetlana. Still, the room was overflowing with conflicting opinions

At one point, Shane had to disassociate for his own sanity. He only zeroed in on the things that mattered- the problem was, those things were starting to sound like his worst nightmares. 

"Not a single guard in there will take any amount of money to protect him. Do you understand that? It's that fucking bad, okay?" Alexei was more animated than Shane had ever seen him.

"Mr. Rozanov, we understand-" 

"No, you obviously fucking don't! He's such a heavy target that- FUCK. Do you know how much I offered? How much they turned down?"

Simultaneously, his mother was delivering a slew of questions that were previously presented by their Canadian representation. 

"Mom... Mom. Slow down. Svetlana needs to, like, breathe."

"Sorry," Yuna immediately put a hand on Svetlana's shoulder, who politely shooed off the apology. 

"What did they say about Ilya's meds?" Shane looked expectantly at his mother. 

Suddenly, he regretted asking. 

"Shane. They just.. They don't... do that, sweetheart."

Alexei continued to argue in the background, but the room suddenly tightened on Shane. Sounds sounded... different. Further away.

"If he stays there, he'll die. Do you fucking understand that? It's only a matter of time before they fucking kill him." Alexei was arguing about the facility where Ilya was being held.

And if they didn't kill him, then Ilya-

Shane shook his head as if to dismiss his own thought. It didn't work. Breathing got difficult fast. Shane's logical brain didn't understand; he should be getting air. There was nothing wrong physically; there couldn't be. Yet, here he was, gasping.

Horrified by his sudden lack of control, Shane shot up from his seat at the crammed kitchen table. The awful scrape of the chair quieted everyone instantly, but he couldn't even process their attention. Shane's legs took him to the darkest corner of the house in the parlor room before he knew what was happening. His stance gave out, and Hollander sank to the floor.

Any semblance of hope that Shane previously had was nonexistent.

He's dying.

There were so many ways in which this ended in losing Ilya- too many ways.

I'm dying.

He was tired of pretending like this was anything less than an absolute nightmare. 

He'll die. Then, I'll die. We're dying. 

Was all Shane could think as his world shrank faster than a black hole.

Chapter End Notes

Love Shane having to be a translator between Yuna and Alexei. It'd be cute if the circumstances weren't so awful.

NEXT-UP: A rough chapter. Ilya is brutally attacked.

Chapter 11: Crime & Punishment

Chapter Summary

Ilya is attacked

Chapter Notes

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There is NO sexual assault in this story, but the looming threat of SA and constant lewd comments towards Ilya will be present.
Also, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Moscow, Russia

December 28th, 2023 - Evening

“Shane,” He was vaguely aware of his mother in front of him, but his eyes were squeezed shut, and the violent thumps of his heart were drowning everything out. It was like it was trying to bust out of his chest.  “Hey,” she coaxed softly. “Look at me.”

I can't. I can't do anything. I can't protect him. I can't save him. 

Oh my god...

"I- I promised her," His voice didn't sound like it belonged to him.  "I fucking promised her."

Shane only then realized that the overpowering loudness of the room around him was his own panicked heaving. The more he tried to regulate it, the harder it got. He was hot and cold and numb, somehow simultaneously. 

"Who?" 

"Irina."

He heard his mom click her tongue, but she still felt so far away.

"Shane." His mother's voice was firm now. "For me. Please. Look at me, sweetheart." 

He felt her hand squeeze his. When did she take hold of his hand?

Shane focused on relaxing his face enough to blink an unfocused room into his vision. For a second or two, he didn't even remember that he was in Alexei's house. His mother was there, her eyes soft but brow pinched with worry. 

"You're panicking. I need you to stay with me, okay?"

His gaze is unfocused, darting. 

“They’ll kill him,” he gasps. “They’re going to- and- and if they don't... then... Oh my god,"

The room started to spin again. For a brief moment, he wondered if this was something else. A heart attack, an embolism... Something.

“Shane.”

She cupped his face, and his gaze finally locked with hers. He's known those eyes since day one. Despite it all, it helped. 

“Right now, you are okay. He is okay. But he needs you. He needs you to keep it together, okay?"

“I can’t. I- I can't even breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” she replied without hesitation. Yuna guided him through taking some breaths. She kept one hand steady against his cheek, the other on his chest. He focused on that and her counting. 

“Again,” she said. She breathed in deliberately, and this time it came a little easier for him. The corners of his vision were untightening, and sounds became even again. 

One. Two. Three. Four.

When the static of pure dread finally died down in his mind, Shane was left almost wishing it hadn't. It allowed him to notice that he and his mother were not alone; the entire house had gone quiet to make room for his little meltdown.

Svetlana stood in the crossway between the kitchen and parlor room, braced as if she was ready to help Yuna if needed. Alexei was watching him with a pale expression from far off in the kitchen. He immediately looked away. Anton, Ilya's top lawyer, cleared his throat and tapped his pen on his notebook. 

"I think we can call it a night for now, yes?" 

“Hey. Focus on me." Yuna brought his attention back. She asked him to name things he saw. Then she asked him to name things he felt. He hadn't done that since he was 12 and had a particularly bad panic attack. Usually they wouldn't get this out of hand, but if there was ever a time...

"Better?" 

Shane’s hands were still shaking, but the dizziness had receded. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, still managing to be humiliated through his exhaustion. “I’m sorry.”

"Shane. Stop." 

He rolled his eyes at himself, sick of feeling this helpless. He let out a stuttering sigh and shook his head. 

“I can’t lose him,” he whispered, the panic starting to resurface before his mom brushed a feather-light touch against his cheek.

"I know. Not an option."

Shane had never had so little to do. If things had gone to plan and they had flown home, they would've had two practices, a team dinner, and Christmas with his parents by now. Not to mention, Irina's annual birthday drive was coming up, which was always nice, but a lot of work. And in between it all, he would've been finding time to work out, take care of Anya, and fuck/cuddle Ilya in every moment in between. 

But now, there was nothing... nothing but waiting and hoping and waiting some more. 

He could answer some of the 200 messages that sat idle on his phone. Or he could call back the dozens of friends and family who had been trying to reach out for the past couple of days. But Shane wasn't ready to welcome other people into the situation. It made it all seem much too real for him to handle.

So, to keep himself busy, Shane cracked open Ilya's old notebook that he had snagged from the Sadovaya 997 house. He armed himself with his phone and the Cyrillic keyboard before attempting to translate every letter that Ilya had penned himself nearly two decades ago. 

A soft knock at his door made him jump. Shane cleared his throat. 

"Yeah. Come in." 

He was expecting his mother to come to say goodnight after her phone call with their Canadian consultant lawyers, but was surprised to see Svetlana instead.

"Oh. Hi." 

"Hi. How are you doing?" 

Shane set the notebook down on the bed and averted his eyes.

"Um..." 

"Stupid question. I know." 

"No, I- better than... before. Thanks." He tried to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. Svetlana crossed the room and sat at the edge of the bed. 

"I thought maybe you could use some company." 

Shane felt warmth in his chest, which was a relief, but also made him feel guilty. He doubted Ilya was experiencing any warmth where he was.

"That'd be nice. Thanks." He scooted over on top of the comforter, and Svetlana joined him in sitting propped up against the headboard. She reached for the notebook and plopped it into her lap, flipping through a few pages. 

"Can you read it?" 

Shane shook his head. 

"I know some of the letters, but I haven't gotten around to it yet." 

"Want me to read some to you?" 

Shane, again, felt guilty for his small smile. 

"Yeah, would you?"

Sveta smiled warmly at him, giving his shoulder a squeeze before finding a good page. 

"Hmm... Raskolnikov's guilt isolates him from others, which suggests that people cannot escape the consequences of their actions. In Dostoevsky's..." 

She trailed off before skipping the page. 

"Maybe Ilya's paper on Crime and Punishment isn't the move right now." 

Shane huffed a shocked breath of air. He hadn't read it before, but he got the gist: More Russian suffering of mind and law. No thanks. That was already their reality.

"Oh. Here." She cleared her throat theatrically, glancing at Shane with a glint of mischief before starting. They both knew Ilya wouldn't approve of them fawning over his high school assignments. What Shane wouldn't give to have Ilya here, berating them right now.

"The Overcoat demonstrates the lengths society can go to ignore and mistreat ordinary people. Gogol uses Akaky’s story to show the importance of respect..." 

As she went on, Shane found himself unable to shake the small curve of his lip. It was like hearing from Ilya, even though he hadn't known him at that age, and everything was cadenced like a forced school paper. Still, it came from Ilya's brain, so Shane was grateful. Not only that, but he rarely got to hear full transcripts of Ilya's Russian. Sure, Rozanov was technically fluent in English. Plus, Shane was less fluent, but managed in Russian. 

There were still certain things that didn't translate across the languages, though. Ilya's "voice" was different when he wasn't marred down by the more complicated English vocabulary he hadn't learned yet. Ilya was annoyingly sharp and witty even in English, and he never let Shane forget it with the constant jabs and quips. But this was different, hearing him fully translated in his native tongue. Even as a high schooler, he could be shockingly eloquent.

He'd be mortified if I told him that. Fuck. I miss him. 

"I thought this was a history notebook," Shane said after Sveta finished the page, trying not to fall into a new hole of grief.

"Pfft. It's Ilya. I think this is whatver-the-fuck-he-needs-it-to-be-at-the-time notebook. See? 8th grade and freshman year." 

Shane smiled and watched as Svetlana flipped through the chaotic mess. 

"I had a different notebook and binder for everything," Shane puffed out an air of embarrassment, shaking his head at himself. He could hear Ilya making fun of him in his head. "Labeled..." he further admitted.

"Of course, you did." 

"We would've hated each other in high school." 

Svetlana chuckled.

"Yeah. We went to different schools, but I just know he was the type of student to ask to borrow a pencil every single day without ever giving them back." 

They shared a smile that turned sad too soon. Svetlana sighed and took Shane's hand. 

"Another one?" She gestured towards Ilya's notebook.

"Yeah. Please." 

Butyrka Prison

December 29th, 2023

🎶 Good For You 🎶 - Porridge Radio, Lala Lala Right-Click/Hold Down to open in new tab

When Ilya woke up on the third day of his incarceration, the first thing he thought was,

Wow. Shocking.

He used to be winning fucking Stanley Cups. Now, every day he woke up alive was a win. It was another night with hardly a wink of sleep. The inmates weren't slamming things into his bed frame anymore, but that didn't assuage his fear of them. The glares and jeers had only intensified in the last day. 

He had come back from his meeting with Yuna so much lighter- so much more full of hope. It just took one comment about "pretty, cock-sucking lips" to have all that come crashing down. 

And to make matters worse, his cell was slated for showers today. He wasn't dumb. He knew the stereotypical reputation for prison showers.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Shy?” Someone baited him nearby. Ilya didn't dare look up. He had hesitated just a moment before pulling his stiff prison uniform over his head, and of course, they noticed. Not wanting further analysis, he wiggled out of his shirt the best he could with his injured arm.

Being a professional athlete, Ilya was used to being watched. He’d step onto the ice and feel it immediately- the weight of thousands of eyes tracking him. It never bothered Rozanov. If anything, it had sharpened him.

In here, it was not the same. They didn't look at him as stats or a larger-than-life parasocial interest; they looked at him like he was a piece of meat.

For a split second, he considered walking out and taking whatever punishment came with it. It'd be better than-

No.

He'd be fast. Get in. Get out. 

Ilya exhaled slowly through his nose before removing the rest of his clothes. 

There were instant whistles. Lewd comments. Hard gazes from what felt like every single person in the showers. He tried to ignore the coil in his stomach. 

He’s dealt with worse- at least, that's what he tells himself. It didn't feel quite true.

Forcing himself to move, Ilya turned the squeaky shower head, cold water stinging his shoulders. He didn't dare flinch or jump out from the water's spray, though- he stuck his ground and kept his posture straight, shoulders squared, back turned... like he’s not aware of every pair of eyes on him. Or that he's calculating every single second. Or that he's not constantly wondering: If something happens, how fast can I get out?

Ilya stared straight ahead at the stained tile wall.

By some miracle, he made it through his first shower without incident. 

First shower.

First of many. Don't get so cocky.

How many?

After horrible, partially dried porridge, guards barked his name again. They cuffed him unceremoniously. 

Please be Yuna. Please be Yuna. Please be Yuna. 

Yes.

"Hi, Yuna." 

"Hi, sweetheart." 

They smiled at one another despite everything. 

He rushed through the boring parts with his lawyer, explaining how far he was into the Canadian citizen process and recounting more details of that horrible night at the club. He told them about his family. About his past. Rozanov didn't know what it would do to help, but the man was thorough. 

And then, as the time ticked by, he hurriedly asked about Shane. 

"He's... hanging in there."

Ilya didn't like Yuna's tone.

"What? What happened?"

"Nothing," 

"Yuna..." 

"He's just... worrying. You know him. He'll be okay." 

"Panicking?"

"Ilya..."

"He is having panic attacks?"

Yuna looked caught. 

"Ilya, how is this helpful for-"

"They are bad?"

His mother-in-law sighed before tapping her fingers on the bolted table in resignation.

"He had a particularly bad panic attack last night, yes. He's doing better now. He'll be even better when I go tell him about our visit. Okay?"

"Time's up."

Fuck.

"The only thing that is going to help Shane is you taking care of yourself the best you can." Yuna continued as they both were led out of the room. "I love you, Ilya." 

At least he now knew his heart still beat.

"I love you." 

"I'll come back as soon-"

The door slammed on Yuna's last words.

At dinner, his tray was snatched before he could even place it down. Ilya was met with the snarling face of a man with a patchy beard and yellowing teeth. The inmate grinned maniacally.

"You don't need this, Rozanov! Your fancy lawyers can fetch you some caviar." 

"Yeah, whose cock do you have to suck to be treated like a king?" Another hit the back of Ilya's head with his open palm. It didn't hurt much, but it made him jump. 

Rozanov ground his teeth, but kept hard eye contact with the inmate who took his tray. Backing down was a mistake, but so was making a move.

Finally, the man grew bored and slunk back into the crowd with two trays of food. It wasn't him or any of the other loud-mouth bullies that Ilya was worried about- it was the group of men on the opposite wall just staring at him without a word- like they were viewing the phenomenon of a man in his last moments. 

Goosebumps cascaded across his arms. For once, it wasn't due to the prison's perpetual cold. 

Turns out, he was right to be afraid- it happened during evening movement.

The corridors were louder at that hour. Men shifted between cells and washroom lines, and guards were distracted. The noise was just chaotic enough to swallow something ugly. 

Even though it was just his third night, Ilya knew the rhythm. He had to be aware for moments like these.

As if it'd help.

He stood near his bunk- the guards would've yelled at him if he had dared to try to sit down before curfew. There weren't any guards around right now anyway. 

A shift in the air left Ilya terrified. The block's volume lowered- like when Shane entered a room and always shifted the knob down on Ilya's music. He caught sight of a large figure entering the cell out of the corner of his eye. 

What worried him more was the quiet shuffling of about six other men leaving the cell... like dutiful drones; like they knew something was about to happen. 

Another man entered, and Ilya dared to look fully. They exchanged glances with each other. They looked... excited.

Ilya's stomach dropped. 

Oh. 

All he could do was breathe. In. Out.

His phone screen created the only small haze of light in the dark kitchen. Shane was sitting at the counter doing his usual 3 AM scrolling as he agonized to himself quietly. He kept checking the post he had finally made about Ilya- the lawyers and his mom had been on him to do so for a while, but Shane didn't want to. It had made everything feel so much more... permanent. 

His mother assured him that it didn't have to be anything grand or even emotional. 

It was to keep people talking- to keep people angry, and wanting to do something. 

Shane stared at the picture of him and Ilya, feeling his eyes get hot all over again. Then, the last thing he wants to see pops up on his screen: A call from Alexei.

It's 3:12AM. He should not be calling at 3:12AM.

Shane feels his heart fucking stop.

Why is he calling?

He knew why. There was only one reason: something bad had happened. Maybe something horrible. Maybe something that would collapse Shane's world around him where he stood. He couldn't even bring himself to think of the obvious answer in his mind.

"No."

Instead, he tried to push it all away. 

"No, no, no..." He paced into the kitchen, staring at the phone and wishing it were a nightmare. It kept ringing. Alexei's name remained. 

"They just called. It's over."

"They killed him." 

"I'm sorry, Hollander. He's gone." 

Shane's mind started going through all the possibilities on the other end of that phone line.

"Mom?" He called out into the dark, empty kitchen. He already heard her rustling around in her room once his phone went off. 

"I'm here. I'm here," She rushed out of the room, tugging her robe tighter around her. 

"Alexei's calling me. Why is he calling me? It's fucking 3 AM. Why is he calling me?"

The look on Yuna's face and her lack of an answer was horrifying. Instead, she moved around the counter and wrapped an arm around his back, holding his free hand with the other. She was bracing him- telling him he was there, for whatever was about to happen. 

She was scared, too. 

"Maybe we should sit down." 

"I can't."

The phone stopped ringing, and Shane just stared at it. He knew he had to call back, but-

Ring. Ring. 

Alexei called again. 

"Fuck," 

"Shane..." 

"I can't," He repeated.

"Do you... do you want me to try and-" 

"No," He knew it had to be him. His mom didn't know Russian. "Oh my god," He whispered before his shaking hand answered the call, holding the phone to his ear. The other end of the line was silent, and Shane swallowed dryly. 

"Alexei?"

"Hollander. I just got a call from the jail." 

Oh my god. This was it. 

"Ilya was attacked." 

Shane didn't recognize the pained noise he made. His mom squeezed his hand tighter- almost painfully. He needed it to ground him, anyway. 

And then Alexei just... didn't follow up. Shane's entire being stuttered. 

"AND?" He couldn't help but nearly yell in English. Then, in haphazard Russian, "Is he fucking okay?"

"They say he will be." 

Jesus, Alexei was the worst person to deliver this news. 

"How bad? Is he awake? Are they-" 

"All I know is that it was bad enough that he's being sent to Moscow Central."

"To what?"

"It's a hospital. It's in my jurisdiction, and I'm on duty tomorrow, so they should let me through to see him." 

After clearing up some confusion with the Russian word for what Shane now guessed was 'jurisdiction', his Mom began to grow impatient. 

"Shane? Is he-" 

"Alive. He's alive." Because it was currently the only comfort he had to offer either of them. 

Moscow Central Hospital

December 30th, 2023

Even though the hospital bed was leagues above the prison cots, the pain kept Ilya from sleeping that night. It wasn't super comfortable having his right wrist cuffed to the bed either.

Arriving at the hospital had been an awful blur. They didn't give Ilya much for the pain, and they certainly didn't put him under for when they stitched him up. By the time they had, as the doctor so crudely put it, "sewn him back together", Ilya was left with trembling hands, shallow, panicked breaths, and a deep, stinging ache in his gut. 

They even put a couple of stitches above his eyebrow, but it was nothing compared to where his assailants had sliced into him. 

It took Ilya hours to gain the courage, but eventually, he used his trembling fingers to peel back the thin hospital sheets. He dared to pick at the edge of the bandaging over his stomach, carefully peeling up a corner to reveal ugly, jagged rips sewn into each other across his skin. Ilya felt his face lose blood and almost covered it back up instantly, but he noticed something even amidst the discoloration- these weren't just random markings. 

Ilya peeled the bandage back further. Something in his head told him to stop- he didn't want to see, but his curiosity made his body move against his will. He winced as he craned his neck to see it- not careless impressions at all. A word. A branding.

педик

Faggot. 

Branded into his skin like it belonged there.

Like he belonged to it.

Ilya took a stuttered breath, laying the bandage back down and letting his head fall back against his pillow. He closed his eyes and tried to gather himself. They had posted a guard in the corner of the room to watch him all night, and even though he was happily snoozing without a care in the world, Ilya didn't think he'd appreciate being woken by Ilya's sobs.

Instead, he grit his teeth and used all of his remaining strength to breathe as evenly as he could throughout another sleepless night. 

When the door opened hours later, he wasn’t expecting his brother. But there he was, in full uniform and exhaustion clear on his face.

Ilya had never been so happy to see him. 

Alexei paused, and Ilya saw fear cross his eyes. If he had Alexei looking like that, he must look rough.

“Ilya…”

Ilya felt his lip wobble.

Stop.

Ilya desperately wanted to ask Alexei if he was here to take him home, but he knew it’d make him sound pathetic, and if he didn’t get the answer he wanted, he wouldn't be able to take it.

Alexei seemed to remember where he was, blinking before turning to the guard who was lazily waking from his slumber. Ilya watched in anticipation as his brother spoke to the guard in hushed tones, handing him something before the guard grumbled and left the room. 

It was just the two of them, then. Alexei stood awkwardly, a few steps from his bedside.

“I, um… The hospital is in our jurisdiction, so they let me through." He explained. So Ilya was not going home. This throat hurt from the pain of it closing tightly. He watched pointedly as Alexei pulled the corner chair to his bedside and sat down. His eyes flitted over the bruising that painted Ilya's arms.

“Are… you okay?”

And that was it. Just one question and a small noise that escaped from the back of Ilya's throat before the dam broke: He was full-on sobbing. 

“Ilya…”

He was too fucking scared, tired, and in pain to care that he was losing his shit in front of the last person on earth he wanted to see him like this. 

To Ilya’s shock, he felt a hand at the back of his neck, holding him firm.

Ilya didn't think. He just let his head fall forward until it thunked against Alexei's chest. He cried while Alexei awkwardly held him the best he could from his bedside. 

Any bit of comfort that Ilya may have gotten was twisted into more pain when he realized that his brother would not be doing this if things weren't this incredibly bad. Before all of this, Ilya would've said that only the end of the world would be enough for them to get to this stage. 

Welcome to the end of the world. 

The sobs that tore from Ilya's body pained his ribs and abdomen further, but he couldn't stop. His chest heaved like his lungs would never find enough air. 

Alexei didn't try to shush him, and Ilya was grateful for that. He had spent the last three to four days doing everything in his power to keep everything inside- pushed deep down and out of sight from a whole world of predators watching for the moment he faltered.

After an indescribable amount of time, when Ilya's hyperventilating had died down to shaking sniffles, Alexei shifted. 

“Ey. Ilya." His hand slipped from around the back of Ilya's neck and braced on the side of his face instead. Ilya hesitantly turned undoubtedly red eyes to meet his brother's. Alexei was staring at him in a way he didn't recognize. It warmed and terrified him at the same time. "We managed to get you transferred. Okay? Once you’re cleared here. You don't have to go back. Not to there, at least.”

Ilya swallowed thickly. 

"Where?"

"Black Whale."

“Jesus. With the... the cannibals and serial killers?”

Alexei shot him a look that felt more like "them". 

“With less people. Maximum security- more supervision. Ilya, you aren’t going to survive going back to Butyrka.”

Ilya huffed out a bitter laugh. 

"No shit."  He accepted the box of tissues Alexei brought over from the counter. 

"It wasn't easy to swing it. The attack helped convince the courts. They want you alive to for your trial. They want the spectacle." Ilya felt more silent tears run down his face, quickly catching them with tissues. He didn't say anything. He didn't know what he could say anymore. "Plus, you and Hollander made a very sizable donation to the court system. Very generous of you." 

Ilya was surprised that he found himself chuckling. 

"Is he freaking out?"  He questioned, regarding Shane. He knew the answer.

"Probably. He does that." 

Ilya felt his chin quiver again, looking up at the ceiling and trying to regain himself. He heard Alexei pull a tissue from the box. 

"Ey," Ilya felt the cloth being pressed to the side of his face where fresh tears gathered. He sniffled, avoiding Alexei's eyes. He didn't think he could take the uncharacteristic presence of fear and sympathy they held. “Get yourself together, okay? You have to show your strength. Don’t let them see you break.”

Ilya nodded because, in this case, Alexei telling him to bury his emotions was for his own good.

"I'm scared," He felt like he had to admit it out loud at least once. Alexei's brows pinched further together. He could see him swallow thickly. 

"I know."

It was quiet for a moment. 

“What do you want me to tell Shane when I see him?”

Ilya's answer was immediate.

“Lie.”

He didn't want Shane knowing how bad things had gotten.

Alexei nodded. The door opened, and another man in an identical police uniform poked his head in.

"We've got a call a couple blocks over, Rozanov." The officer directed at Alexei. His brother looked like he regretted the fact. He dismissed what must have been his partner before turning back to Ilya.

“Are you hungry?" 

"God, yes." 

"I'll make sure the nurses get you food."

Ilya nodded, barely able to manage a whisper, "Spasibo." 

Alexei just nodded, looking at him for a moment before,

"We’ll get you out, Ilya.”

Ilya just nodded because if he said anything else, he’d start crying again. Alexei put a hand on his shoulder, and Ilya couldn't stop another tear spilling over. He had been so deprived of any kind of comforting touch that he didn't care who it came from. 

"Stay strong." 

And then, Alexei left him alone again. 

He so desperately wanted him to come back.

Chapter End Notes

I almost put Alexei's visit in the next chapter and left you guys hanging on the attack, but I think I've been mean enough 😂

NEXT-UP: Shane does a press conference at the embassy. The guards at the new facility don't allow Ilya much relief as his mental state deteriorates.
AND THEN HOPE IN THE CHAPTER AFTER, I PROMISE

Chapter 12: Black Whale

Chapter Summary

Shane does a press conference and tries to do something nice for Ilya. A fluffy New Year's Eve flashback for your troubles.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Graphic violence

Chapter Notes

Surprise :) DOUBLE UPDATE week! Everyone's begging totally worked on me (and I can't see Ilya suffer much longer either) ❤️ See you again for the next chapter THIS SATURDAY (in two days). Then we will resume weekly Friday updates. We gotta get some hope up in here.

Moscow, Russia

December 30th, 2023 

When Alexei came back on his lunch hour, Shane jumped to his feet. He didn't know why, he just did.

Ilya's brother looked disturbed. Ashen. He was trying to hide it in a way that so resembled Ilya, but Shane knew the Rozanov tells already. 

“Is he-“

“He’s fine.” He shot Shane down, averting his eyes. Alexei disappeared into his room and closed the door. The room was frozen in time for a moment. 

Then, a crash from the bedroom as if a large collection of items was smashed against the wall in one swoop. 

Whatever he had seen made him that upset.

Oh, god. 

Shane clenched his fists and closed his eyes, pushing a single hot tear down his face. He heard his mother sigh his name, more like a beg. He knew it was killing her that she couldn't do more.

Join the club. 

"It's going to be okay," She tried. Shane just shook his head while Yuna rubbed his shoulder with an arm slung around his back. “As soon as he gets transferred, I’ll get in to see him.”

Alexei didn't come out of his room for his entire lunch hour, cutting it short and briskly walking out. Shane had tried to jump in with his stabbing inquiries, but he didn't even get a word out before, 

"Not now, Hollander." 

And then he was gone again. Shane huffed and fell back into his seat dramatically, not even trying to relax the anger from his features. 

"I'm sorry. I'll talk to him this evening." Katya promised from where she was folding laundry on the couch. She insisted that Shane and his mother stay through lunch and dinner so that she could cook for them. They could all wait for updates on Ilya together.

Throughout the day, Shane would translate between Katya and his mother, but didn't add much to the conversation to himself. He was just happy for something to distract himself with.

Later, Shane had a call with their Canadian and Russian lawyers about what he would say at the press conference. 

When Sophia got home from school, she had a fresh batch of drama to fill everyone in on. Shane allowed himself to just barely enjoy the amusement and domesticity of sitting in the living room and gossiping with his mom and niece. At one point, he pulled out his phone and took a picture of Sophia showing Yuna photos on her phone. 

For Ilya, later. He thought to himself. Shane tried not to let his darker thoughts overpower the small moment of hope. 

He and his mother bickered a bit about what advice to give Sophia. It was nice to not be treated like glass for the first time in almost a week. Yuna ribbing him felt comfortably familiar.  

"He wouldn't know. He's a nerd." 

"I'm not saying that to her!" Shane scoffed at his mother, who cheekily grinned back at him. 

"What? What did she say?" Sophia beamed with curious eyes flitting between him and Yuna. 

"Play fair, Uncle Shane." His mom nudged him, and Shane let out an exasperated laugh. 

"She said I'm a nerd." 

"Oh. Well, duh." 

"Duh!?" Sophia giggled at Shane's appalled expression. "Great." He said in English, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. 

"Is that one of the reasons Uncle Ilya fell for you?"

Shane was met with an instant stab to the chest as he swallowed painfully, but he smiled despite it. He didn't mind Sophia asking questions like that- liked it, even, despite the pain. 

Boring. Ilya would say to him. Often, it was to tease him, but sometimes Ilya would use the word as if it were the highest compliment in the whole world. 

"That's what he says." 

When Alexei got home from work, he looked less shaken and more weary. Shane let him settle in for a little while before he pardoned himself from Sophia and his mother. He followed Alexei into the doorway of the study. 

"Alexei..." Shane braved because he had to. He had to know. "How bad was it?"

Alexei sighed. 

"Drink?"

Shane shrugged and nodded. He guessed it was kind of like their thing now. 

They both sat down at the table, and Yuna took Sophia to her room to look at her new records while they talked. 

There was a horrible, anticipatory silence before Alexei finally cleared his throat. Shane was shocked at the cautiously delivered English.

“I should not have told him to come.”

There was no apology- not with exact words, but Shane guessed it was the closest he'd get. After all, Alexei had clearly practiced the phrase just for him.

Shane wanted to revel in it for Ilya's sake, but he couldn't. It was too crushing. Things were bad enough for Alexei to express actual guilt, in English, to his “faggot brother’s husband"... or "brother's faggot husband", whatever he used to say.

"He was grateful that you did," Shane said in English first before translating it back into Russian.

Alexei still looked like he was in pain, and Shane realized he was blaming himself. They all were in their own way. Svetlana had profusely apologized for having the idea to go to the club. His mother had expressed how much she wished she'd fought back harder when they took this trip. And there wasn't a single second in the day when Shane wasn't thinking about all the things he could've done differently. 

But it didn't help Ilya, and it didn't help them. 

“It’s not your fault.”

More silence. 

"So... how bad?"

"Jesus, Hollander."

"That bad?"

"No. He's banged up, but he will be fine."

"Did he tell you to say that?"

"I'm going to go talk to your mother about her visit tomorrow," Alexei said dismissively before standing and leaving Shane to speculate on horrible possibilities. 

Chapter End Notes

I changed the name from "Black Dolphin" to "Black Whale" because it is LOOSELY based on that real prison.

NEXT-UP: Ilya is reaching mental rock-bottom, and Shane catches wind of it. He demands a favor from Alexei.

Chapter 13: For Protection

Chapter Summary

- The boys are both losing their minds.
- Shane realizes Ilya is giving up and demands a favor from Alexei.
- Later, Shane gets a call.

Chapter Notes

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicidal thoughts/ideation

🎶 Punish - Ethel Cain 🎶 Right-click/Hold-down to open in new tab

Black Whale Prison

Januray 1st, 2024

The minute the guards brought Shane into it, things were on a fast track downwards. 

"Saw your boyfriend online the other day." One of them jeered at him. 

Husband. Ilya corrected bitterly in his head. That was the extent of the neutral comments, because the rest were a cross between vulgar and violent, designed to make his blood boil. And because Ilya couldn't hide how it affected him when it came to Shane, they used that. Constantly. 

And when they weren't telling Ilya the horrid things they thought should happen to Shane, he was left with the realization that they weren't the only ones. Russia was undoubtedly full of people who would revel in causing harm to Shane. After the press conference, everyone knew where he was- here, amidst the sharks. 

What if someone got to him? Hurt him?

Killed him?

Later that day, there was an uproar during "communal" time. Someone had spat at a guard, which incited a beating, which got more inmates involved...

Ilya had wrongly assumed that the only way this affected him was in the pain of being shoved to the ground on his stomach, as everyone else was.

Or just in the way that their time outside their cells was cut short (which didn't bother Ilya).

But the "riot" had affected him in a much bigger way. When Ilya heard curfew being called, he realized he had gone through the entire day without seeing Yuna. He knew she would've visited him if she could. They mustn't have let her today. 

Ilya was furious at the inmate who had started the whole ruckus in the first place, but his anger dissipated quickly when the screaming started at night. It was distant in the echoing hallways, but certainly heard from every cell. Ilya had a feeling that it was on purpose. Whatever they were doing to punish the guy, they wanted them all to hear it. 

The inmate's cries were incessant through the night. 

He wondered if that'd ever be him. 

Moscow, Russia

?????

Alexei stood rigid, face carved from stone. Shane had seen many sides of him since coming to Moscow, but this was the most devastating. He was hardly recognizable. 

Yuna’s hand was on Shane’s back, but even she felt distant. Hollander felt like he was underwater. Drowing.

“This way,” someone says.

The doors give a soft, hydraulic sigh. Shane is completely detached from his body as he makes his way through the sterile hallway. It's almost as if a hidden part of his brain knows what's happening, but his conscious mind has yet to catch up. 

All he feels is that he shouldn’t be here. None of this should be happening.

Somehow, he finds himself in another room. For some reason, Shane's eyes are trained down at the floor. He can't move them. He tries, but he can't. No one coaxes him to do anything- everything is unnaturally still, like time has frozen around him. 

Look up. 

Don't look up. 

Look. The fuck up. 

His voices fight within his head before his eyes magically release their lock.

Shane looks up. 

A metal table. There’s a form beneath a sheet. Too still. Too small.

His stomach sinks, and he feels an unnatural heat/chill overcome his body.

Maybe if he doesn’t move, it won’t happen. If he doesn’t look, it isn’t true.

Shane's hand reaches forward anyway. It’s shaking so hard, he has a hard time getting an initial grip on the sheet. He pulled it back-

Just enough to see gold curls.

A cry rips from his throat. 

Moscow, Russia

January 2nd, 2024

Shane woke up gasping for air, his whole body trembling. His T-shirt was soaked through with sweat. Yuna was holding him and nearly yelling his name in a way that told him she'd been trying for a while. 

"He's gone," Shane heard someone whimper before realizing it was him. The image was still burned behind his eyes. The sheet. The cold skin. The stillness.

"He's gone. He's gone." 

"Honey, it was just a nightmare." 

"He's gone," He whispered again as his mother held his head to her shoulder, brushing his bangs from his face. 

"No. He's not." 

How could she know? There had been some kind of altercation at the prison, and they weren't letting anyone through for visits. It didn't matter how much money they tried to throw at them. 

So how could they know? How could they know that someone hadn't beaten him too hard? That another inmate didn't stab him to death for simply existing? That Ilya hadn't done something to himself?

It took a lot of convincing for Shane to calm down, and sleep never found him again that night.

The thoughts had been darker today. Quieter. More persuasive. He tells himself he’s thinking strategically. Assessing risk and planning; that’s how it starts.

It would be easier, a voice whispers sometimes, when the corridor is empty, and the lights buzz overhead. It would be safer. For Shane.

Without Ilya here, there was no reason for Shane to be in Russia. Shane would go home. Shane would be safe. 

Was every day that Ilya remained alive just more danger to Shane?

Ilya stilled. The idea doesn’t shock him as much as it should. The calmness with which it arrives scares him. He swallowed painfully and closed his eyes.

He tried to picture Shane’s face instead.

The way his brow furrows when he’s stressed. The way his eyes darken and get all shiny when he wants Ilya. The way pink flushes his freckled cheeks when Ilya surprises him with sudden proclamations of love. 

But those memories felt impossibly far away, and so did Shane.

Different images flooded his mind: Shane attacked. Shane arrested. Shane...

Ilya gripped the metal until the edge bit into his hand. It stung, but he only squeezed it tighter. He felt blood seeping into the lines of his palm. 

Was ending it all the only way to keep Shane safe?

A civil war raged in Ilya's head for hours.

One side of him must've won out, because soon, he felt himself moving. It felt like he was in a dream- like he wasn't attached to his body as he slowly and quietly made his way to his sleeping cell-mate's bedside.

The guy had three books and a couple of pencils. Ilya wasn't allowed the same comforts- he wasn't sure if it was because he was an "unofficial" inmate, or just because they hated him.

He didn't even fully comprehend his intentions until he slowly ripped out a back page of a book. He winced at the sound before reaching for a pencil.

Through the all-encompassing numbness, Ilya felt his heart clench. His vision swims with tears. His hands shake in a way he'd never seen before. 

His bottom lip begins to tremble. Ilya expelled tears down his face, but his eyes instantly blurred again. 

It made it difficult to write out: Shane, 

Then, he stops. He stares at Shane's name scrawled sloppily on the page. 

What? What are you going to say, you fucking asshole? I'm sorry? Sorry that I'm completely aware of how much my mother's death fucked me up forever, and now I'm going to put you through the same thing?

FUCK. 

Ilya didn't mean to drop the sharp metal to the ground with a loud clang, but his cellmate didn't even stir. Ilya was frozen in place, his eyes wide.

What the fuck was he doing?

He didn't know if had been ready to decide anything in finality tonight, but there was only one reason to write a note to Shane- if Ilya planned on never seeing him again. 

For Shane? Ilya scoffed at his previous thoughts. Did he really just have the audacity to consider watching his blood pool on the floor while claiming it was for his husband?  Are you fucking kidding me? He harshly berated himself. Galina would not have approved.

It had only been a week, and Ilya was already trying to tap out. He only hated himself more for it, but while he may have had a moment of clarity tonight, he wasn't sure it'd always be that way. 

After tucking away his shiv and the unfinished note to Shane, Ilya curled up on his flimsy mattress. As always, he didn't sleep. This time, not from the guards' interference, but from pure fear: Because for all the things he had to be terrified of, he could add another to the list: Himself. 

January 4th, 2024

Yuna had learned the choreography of prison visits. Metal detector. Passport scanned. Phone surrendered.

Black Whale is quieter and cleaner than the last place. That doesn’t mean it's kinder.

She and Anton had been sitting in the small room separated by glass for a while now. Yuna couldn't help her knee from bouncing anxiously- this visit had to happen. It had been three days since she'd seen Ilya, and she couldn't imagine how alone he must've felt. She hoped to God that he didn't think they'd abandoned him. 

When he walked in, the first thing she did was what she always did- examine him for new injuries. She didn't notice anything right off the bat, but she did note the way he tried to casually hide his right forearm behind his back upon making his way to the chair. Ilya's movements were more stiff and economical, as if he were conserving something finite.

The next thing she realized was that new physical wounds weren't the problem. Ilya's eyes were what terrified her the most. Every other time he'd lay eyes on her, there would be a spark- a return of what made Ilya their Ilya. 

That spark was gone- completely snuffed out. His eyes were cold and distant, like he was a million worlds away from her. 

"Hi, sweetheart." She couldn't hide the pain in her voice. 

When he was fully in front of her, she noticed the smaller things. His cheekbones were sharper, collarbones more pronounced beneath the standard-issue gray fabric. She noticed a burn in the collar of his uniform and cringed.

He doesn't say anything. 

"Ilya, I'm so sorry. They wouldn't let me-" 

"I know," Ilya cut in. His voice was void of vitality. "Is okay." 

She knew it wasn't. Anton started talking about legal shit a little too early for Yuna's liking, but Ilya cut him off anyway. 

“Yuna, I need you to do something for me,” he says. He still hadn't met her eyes. 

"Anything," 

"You need to make Shane go home."

Yuna felt ice slide down her spine.

Well... maybe not anything. 

"Ilya... You know that I can't." 

"He shouldn't be here." 

"Honey, it's not like I haven't suggested it. He won't leave you." 

"He is in danger. Every single fucking day he spends here-" Ilya's voice caught, and he looked away, tightening his jaw. The simple movement seemed like it pained him. "I can handle this." Nothing was convincing about the statement. "He shouldn't have to." 

There’s a faint tremor in his hand where it rests on the table. Ilya curled his fingers into a fist to hide it. Yuna noticed anyway.

“You sound like you are preparing him.”

“For what?” he asked, seemingly uninterested in the answer.

She takes a deep breath. Her next words taste bitter in her mouth. 

“For you not coming home.”

A fragile silence follows. Ilya doesn’t move. He doesn't look shocked. He doesn’t even look offended. He just looks… tired. He blinked slowly. 

"Please," He finally turned his darkened eyes to meet hers. They're begging her. "I need to know he's safe, and he'll never be safe here." 

Yuna felt her throat close up. It wasn't like she didn't know that- it terrified her beyond belief to think of what could happen to Shane. He was an adult, though- and a stubborn one, at that. 

But she couldn't tell Ilya no. Not when he was looking at her like that- like his entire being depended on the answer she would give him. 

"I'll try." 

He nodded and looked down at his hands. 

"Thank you." 

He didn't look at her for the rest of the short meeting. Even when they got up and started making their way to their opposite sides of the room, she begged. 

"Ilya. Ilya, honey. Look at me." 

He didn't. 

"Ilya, it's going to be okay."

He didn't say anything. He just let the guards handle him out of the room, shoulders hunched and the fight drained from his body. 

The visit had left Yuna shaking. When she broke out into the frigid, blinding light of the snowy parking lot, everything kind of just... hit. 

"I- I need a minute. Sorry." She whispered to Alexei, who stood by the car waiting for her. She made a sudden left and hurried between rows of cars as her mind and heart raced faster than she was able to catch up with. 

Yuna had done an okay job at keeping it together in front of Shane, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could pretend like they had everything under control. They didn't. She had no idea what she was doing or how this was going to end. 

She hadn't even entertained the idea that maybe this was her losing her second son. And if that was the case, she'd lose Shane, too. Maybe not in the physical sense, but he'd never be the same. He'd never recover- she knew it. 

Yuna found herself between two large vans, hidden from view, before a sob broke through her throat. 

Ilya had been nearly unrecognizable. He was deteriorating. He wouldn't survive much longer.

Yuna took a few violently stuttering breaths, trying her best not to fully relinquish to sobbing. She could wait for Shane to go to bed for that. 

A hand on her back makes her jump. She hurriedly uses cold palms to wipe the hot tears streaking her face.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," was her immediate response before she even knew who it was. 

"Yuna?" Alexei had followed her. 

"Sorry, I just- One moment..." 

He didn't remove his hand from her back, instead moving it to her shoulder and squeezing it as she tried to get herself under control. Alexei eventually cleared his throat and shuffled behind her awkwardly. 

"Is cold." The unexpected English shocked her system back into order a bit. "Pozvol' mne provodit' tebya... um... to the home, yes?"

He wasn't wrong. It was the coldest day she had experienced since being here- the kind of freeze that cut straight through your bones the minute you stepped outside. 

Yuna took another shaky breath, deeper and more controlled this time. She finally turned and offered Alexei a small smile of reassurance- she doubted the "reassurance" really came through, though. 

"Yes, okay." 

He kept a hand on her back on the way back to the car and opened her door for her. 

Shane couldn't believe what he was hearing. He doesn't mean for it to translate into anger at his mother, but it did. How could she be saying this? 

"Are you fucking serious? Mom, there's no way I'm going back to Canada." 

"Shane. It's dangerous for you here. We don't know how long we'll be-" 

"I don't care. I don't give a fuck about any of that. I'm not leaving." 

"Shane," 

"No. Out of the question." 

"Honey, Ilya would feel so much better if he knew you were safe." 

"What did he say to you? Huh? What is this?"

"Shane..."

"Is he giving up?" 

She didn't answer fast enough, which was answer enough for Shane. 

"Oh my god. He's giving up." His voice started rising higher in pitch as the panic returned, tenfold. Yuna reached out for him, but Shane yanked his arm back. 

"I- No. Don't." 

She held her hands up in defense and let Shane burst through Alexei's front door into a fading winter day. Shane paced for a long time, his hands shaking and running through his hair so much that he wasn't surprised when he started pulling out little strands. 

FUCK you. He couldn't help but think towards Ilya. You think you can just decide when it's over? When it's time to give up? FUCK. YOU. 

Along with the anger, there was a sickening feeling of dread and heartbreak. He knew that Ilya would be in a rough place after not seeing his mom for 3 days. He knew that he was missing his antidepressants. He just hoped that they wouldn't get here yet- at a place where Shane had to truly accept the possibility of Ilya being the one to decide the ending of things. 

When his body couldn't handle the cold anymore, Shane slipped back inside the house. His mother, Katya, and Svetlana were talking in the kitchen, too busy to notice. 

Perfect. 

Shane made his way to Alexei's study and was relieved to see him sitting at his desk, hunched over a bunch of paperwork in Russian.

He glanced up as soon as Shane was in the doorway. He looked a little shaken upon looking at Shane. Hollander knew he must have looked like he was absolutely losing it- probably because he was.  

But at least he had a plan. 

"I have to ask you a favor." 

January 5th, 2024: 1:51 AM

🎶 Royan - Frànçois & The Atlas Mountains 🎶

Shane sat quietly in the back of Alexei's car. He checked the time on his phone for the thousandth time, hoping not to find frantic texts or calls from his mother. 

He had snuck out of Ilya's apartment easily enough, but he knew if his mother had caught him, it'd all be over. What he was doing was beyond stupid and reckless, and she would've done anything in her power to stop him. 

Shane didn't care about the risks. They were way past that. To him, this was necessary. 

Mirroring his thoughts and stating the obvious, Alexei spoke up from the front seat. 

"This is really stupid, Hollander." 

"I know." He didn't need to say in Russian. 

"He's going to kill me for this," Alexei muttered, shaking his head. 

"Since when do you care if Ilya's mad at you?" 

"Fair enough." 

Pulling into the large facility's gated lot had Shane's hands starting to shake. He felt a bit nauseous and very anxious. His eyes scanned the looming walls of the prison. 

Ilya was in there- in this horrible, cold, godforsaken place. He was so close. 

They waited in the cold outside a door shrouded in an alley. They weren't going through official visit channels to keep Shane safe- instead, Alexei had found a way to bribe a few of the night guards to organize a covert visit. 

It wasn't cheap. It was worth it. 

Shane knew he probably should be scared as two guards led him and Alexei down the sterile back hallways. Everyone knew who he was now- everyone had opinions about him being here in Moscow. He was sure some wanted to tear his head off the moment they saw Shane. Hell, he was sure these two would happily do it themselves if he wasn't paying them exorbitant amounts of money.

But he wasn't focused on that at all. Shane was only trying to prepare himself for what Ilya might look like. The last time he'd seen him was after that initial scuffle after the club, and those injuries hadn't even fully bloomed yet. Since then, he'd been beaten, sent to the hospital, beaten again, no doubt starved and sleep deprived... 

Shane waits, seated in a small room. He's in front of a thick window of glass, waiting for Ilya to walk through on the other side. Alexei stands behind him at the door, eyes trained through the door's window to watch for any unexpected movement. 

There's a metallic click Shane hears from behind the glass. His heart stops. The door swings open. 

Holy shit. 

When they bring Ilya in, he freezes. It’s not dramatic. There’s no sharp inhale or any sudden movement. But what started as a man completely devoid of emotion or energy quickly evolved before Shane's eyes: He looked horrified. Like, actually, truly, and fully horrified to see Shane. 

Shane is too. The person in front of him couldn't be Ilya Rozanov. He couldn't be the lovably cocky captain of the Ottawa Centaurs. He couldn't be the man who had easily outrun Shane on the snowy Ottawa trails a month prior. He couldn't be the same person that Shane was oh-so proud to call his husband. 

But it was. A depleted version of him, but it was Ilya. And while his heart swelled at just the idea of being near him again, Shane also felt it break in real time. 

"No." Ilya face went hard in an instant. 

"Ilya..." Even though the single word brought tears to his eyes, it felt so good to say his name to him.

Ilya didn't seem to find the same relief.

"No. You cannot be here. Go."

Shane had been expecting this. 

"Ilya-" 

"What the fuck were you thinking, Alexei?" His eyes were at least showing signs of life now, even if it was pure anger.

"I don't need to tell you how these Hollanders are!" Alexei defensively shot back. Ilya huffed and drilled a hardened gaze straight through Shane. 

"Shane. Go." It was clear that it took Ilya an immense amount of effort to keep his resolve firm. Shane still noticed the small tremor in his voice, though. 

"Ilya," He'd say his name over and over again if he had the time. They didn't. "We have five minutes."

"We have no minutes. Get the fuck out of here."

"Ilya-"

"This is so fucking stupid and dangerous, Shane! Leave!" His voice broke on Shane's name, but he sucked in a sharp breath and held it together. 

Shane, however, did not.

"Jesus! Shut the fuck up for one second!" Shane was yelling now, too, tears hot in his eyes. "Do you really want to spend the little time we have bitching at me? Fuck."

Ilya blinked, still standing halfway in the room. Eventually, he sighed through his nose and made his way towards the single metal chair, collapsing into it. Shane could see him better now that he was right in front of him- see the evidence of all his pain etched across his skin. 

And Shane feels it then, fully, all at once: The reality of it.

Ilya is in prison. He is scared. He is alone. He is in pain. And Shane cannot reach him- he can't even touch him. 

Ilya shook his head as his expression softened.

“What are you doing here?” 

Shane took a shaky breath. 

“Hi to you too.” He manages to squeeze through the tightness in his throat. 

Shane presses his palm flat against the glass as if it'd bridge the distance.

“Ilya...”

Ilya’s gaze dropped to Shane’s hand. Then, slowly, he lifts his own and places it against the other side.

Ilya's face warped, and suddenly, both of them were crying. They pushed their hands as hard as they could against the glass. Shane knew he couldn't actually feel Ilya's warmth, but for a second, he imagined it. 

Ilya's eyes flitted all across Shane's face, like he was remembering him all over again. 

“Ilya, you don’t get to give up on me,” Shane breathed, softer now, but fierce. 

“I'm not," he answered, too fast and too unconvincing. 

“Yes," Shane felt his control slipping. "You are." This was already not going how he wanted it to. He didn't even know what he wanted. "Just- I can’t- I can’t...“ but Shane's breathing quickened. The room started to spin. Shit, this was not helping. 

But then, he heard him: 

“Hey… hey! Shane…”

Ilya's voice transformed, and Shane was overcome with the comfort of the familiarity of it- his Ilya materialized in front of him again. His Ilya that would do anything to make Shane feel better.

“Shane… sweetheart...“ he gently coaxed further. It was enough to ground Shane again. 

“Please,” was all he could say at first, scrambling to take advantage of Ilya's slip in his hard resolve. “Please. Please. Don't push me away."

Ilya closed his eyes briefly. Shane took the time to study his face- the discoloration, the swelling, the cuts... He was thinner, and it had only been a week and a half. Shane so desperately wanted to gently kiss across every single assault to his body. 

“You being here helps no one.” Ilya finally whispers. It stings, and maybe it's meant to. Shane doesn't back down regardless.

“It helps me.”

Ilya opens his eyes and devolves back into a cold expression. 

"No. It puts you in danger."

They stare at each other through the glass barrier- it was the only thing currently keeping Shane from just taking Ilya and fucking running. 

“You don’t believe you’re getting out,” Shane stated quietly. There wasn't a need to phrase it as a question. Ilya didn’t answer- he didn't have to.  “You think you’re protecting me,” Shane continued, a fresh set of tears spilling. “But you’re leaving me alone. You're giving up on us."

Ilya’s composure wavers, and his breath stutters. When it's clear he isn't going to say anything, Shane rushed through a summary of all the support he was getting- not just from fans. Not just from home. Across the fucking world. If Shane had been able to take his phone in, he would've shown him how loved he was.

"No one's forgetting you. No one's leaving you. Especially not me. So don't fucking ask." 

Ilya looked down and was still for a bit. Shane wanted to let him process on his own time, but the seconds were ticking by. Finally,

"International, huh?" Ilya shyly glanced back up at Shane. There was the smallest glint in his eye. Shane held onto it harder than he's held onto anything before. 

"Yeah," Shane choked out amidst a cautious half-grin. "You're kind of a big deal." 

To his relief, Ilya offered a small smile back. Shane tried to memorize everything about it. 

“I have always been a huge deal.”

There's my fucking husband. 

Ilya's expression fell again, though, the warmth draining from his face as he let his head fall forward. He pressed his forehead to the glass. Shane did the same, their hands and foreheads separated by only a few millimeters.

“I am so tired,” Ilya breathed in a way that crushed Shane's heart. He tried not to let it show. 

“I know, sweetheart.” The loudest he could manage was a strained whisper.

A tear slipped down Ilya’s cheek.

"One minute, okay?" Alexei said from behind Shane. He had completely forgotten he was there. 

Fuck. One minute wasn't enough. Nothing would've been. 

“I need you to promise me something,” Shane said quickly. Ilya looked at him like he was afraid of what he'd ask. Shane held his blue eyes firmly with his own. “Promise me you won’t decide the ending without me.”

The words hung there heavily, and Shane could tell by the look on Ilya's face that he knew exactly what he was asking of him. 

“Okay,” he says, voice barely audible.

“Say it.”

Ilya sighed, his form somehow shrinking even smaller into the metal chair. 

“I will keep fighting,” Ilya whispers, his breath fogging the glass between them. “For us. I promise.”

“Shit. Okay, they're coming." Alexei announced.

Shane’s chest caved in.

“No-”

"Hollander, wrap it up." Alexei's voice warns from behind him. 

Ilya straightens automatically, the mask sliding back into place. His eyes were still red, but at least he had some life back in them. 

“Do not come here again. Understand?"

Shane let out a wet laugh. “Bossy.”

“I am dead fucking serious, Shane Hollander.”

“I know.”

Shane moved his hand to the cutouts on the window, pressing his fingertips along the little slots. Ilya's eyes flitted to them as he did the same; they could just barely feel the tiniest bit of each other's fingertips through the spaces there... 

It fucking destroyed Shane. It was almost worse than not touching him at all. He was so fucking close. 

A sob ripped from his throat, and he guiltily watched as Ilya's own eyes refilled with tears. 

“I love you,” Shane managed to proclaim as his weeping intensified past what he could control. 

How could he leave him again? How could he let him go back in there alone?

Ilya’s composure shattered completely as he answered with a broken,

“I love you,”

The doors on either side of their rooms open, and guards filed in. Their small allowance of contact breaks, and it feels like something tearing. He's horrified by the way they practically yank Ilya out of his chair, dragging him backwards as he stumbles to keep up. Still, Ilya doesn’t look away as they lead him out. He keeps his eyes locked with Shane until the door closes.

Shane and Alexei are hurriedly rushed back into the cold night air as Shane heaves through cries he can't stop. He knew the visit would be hard, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing the man he loved more than life itself like that. The image would be burned in his mind forever, he knew it. 

Shane just hoped that their talk would be enough for Ilya to hold on a while longer.

January 5th, 2024: 8:46 AM

What Svetlana now affectionately referred to as "Team Ilya" gathered at Alexei's the next morning to discuss the upcoming trial further. All of the arguments started to sound the same. Different wording, same hysteria.

Shane sat on the couch in the adjoining room. He had excused himself a little while ago, trying to block out the unhelpful but understandable statements, like: 

"If he gets through trial and is convicted, things will only get worse. He'll belong to them. Understand? They'll do what they want with him, and it won't be pretty." 

"Do we need a refresher on Chechnya, here? 2017 was only seven years ago." 

"We'll just be adding Ilya's name to the list. Yevgeny Makarov? Roman Sarychev? Sergei Magnitsky? Do I need to go on?"

The lawyers always met Alexei and Svetlana's impassioned panic with more jurisdiction, leverage, consular access, and negotiations. Sometimes it'd help, sometimes it would anger them more. It's not that they didn't think the lawyers weren't doing everything they could- it was just impossible for anyone to hide the high emotions that came with not being able to do more. 

Shane felt nearly empty after releasing most of his emotions following his visit with Ilya last night. He had been too busy quietly crying the entire ride back home to notice that his mother had been blowing up his phone. She was in the living room waiting when he walked back in, her expression furious. 

The minute she saw Shane, though, her resolve crumpled. Yuna had welcomed him into her arms, and Shane didn't have to hold back anymore. They didn't need to speak (even if Shane could've)- she knew where he had been and what he had seen. She let Shane cry, as was practically becoming their ritual. 

Now, his hands were clasped so tightly in his lap his knuckles ached. He focused on that- something physical and concrete.

Inhale for four. Hold. Exhale slowly. 

Shane lets the voices blur into a background hum while he sifts through memories instead: 

Ilya in the kitchen of their home, sleeves pushed up, arguing about the “correct” way to cut onions.
Ilya asleep on the plane after a hard-fought game with his mouth slightly open.
Ilya getting the giggles when Shane horribly imitated his accent. 

He holds onto them like anchors, because the alternative is imagining the way he looked in that horrible place.

Ilya’s hand against the glass.

"For us. I promise." He had said. 

Shane's phone buzzed in his palm. He instinctively glances:

Unknown number with a Canadian area code.

He let it ring and receded into his memories again. 

Immediately, the same number called again. Shane huffed, going to silence his notifications, but not before a third call comes in. He clenched his jaw, answering swiftly more out of spite.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Shane Hollander?"

"Yeah, I'm not making any statements to the press right now, so-"

"Oh, no. This is Diane with the prime minister's office. Can I patch you through?" 

Shane blinked. He didn't move. He didn't know if he could. The arguing continued in the background, everyone unaware of Shane practically leaving his body momentarily.

"Sorry, the Canadian prime minister's office." She specified, as if that was what was tripping Shane up. In a sudden break, Shane regained control of his body. He stood and exited the room so that he could hear better. A couple of sets of eyes followed him out. "So can I patch you through?"

"Um... yes?" Shane slowly paced in the hallway. 

There were a few monotone rings, then a click, and then, 

"Shane Hollander!" A cheery man's voice came across the speaker. Shane recognized it. Every Canadian would've. "James Turcotte, I don't think we've ever had the pleasure of meeting." 

"I-"

Shane’s brain short-circuited.

What!? No, he's never met the prime minister. He would've fucking remembered that. 

"I don't think so, no. Nice to... talk to you, sir." 

"James will do. So, listen. I know you've been going through the wringer over there. We haven't forgotten about you guys. Just lots of red tape and Russia's always... a joy to conduct diplomacy with-" 

Shane was having a hard time figuring out what the hell was going on. He leaned against the wall, shaking his head in confusion.

"Sorry, I insisted on being the one to call, and now I'm rambling. Let me wrap this up-

-how would you like to take Ilya home today?"

The words don’t land, but hover just out of reach. Did he fucking hear that right? His face is hot, and he can't feel his arms or his hands or the phone in his hand. Shane nearly drops it, but fumbles to keep it up to his ear.

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you think you and your mother could be at Sheremetyevo International in about... say, an hour and a half?"

An hour and a fucking half?

"I... uh... yes. Yes, we can." Shane rushes out, like if he doesn't answer fast enough, he'll rescind the offer.

How the fuck was this happening? 

Shane didn't even dare ask.

"Great. We've got a plane waiting for you, and Ilya will meet you there."

The prime minister was talking like he was organizing a friendly meetup for pizza and drinks. 

Was this just another dream? It felt like a dream.

"Are-" 

Please don't be a dream. 

"Are you sure?" 

Dumb question. He didn't care. 

"Positive."

...It's over?

It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over? It's over?

"Oh my god." Shane's back slid down the wall until he sank into the floor. "Oh my god, thank you." 

Shane realized the arguing had quieted in the other room. The shuffling of footsteps was followed by Yuna and Sveta hesitantly stepping into the hallway. Their expressions looked horrified, and Shane realized that it probably didn't look promising that he was collapsed and on the phone in the dark hallway. 

“Shane?” His mother asked like she was scared to do so. 

His phone was still to his ear.

“It's our pleasure," Turcotte was saying. "We couldn't leave Canada's golden boys over there. And hey, we're having our offices expedite Ilya's citizenship papers, too, so you won't have to worry about this happening again." 

Shane couldn't believe they were talking like this- talking as if the ordeal was behind them. 

But it was. He wouldn't fully believe it until Ilya was in his arms, but the prime motherfucking minister of Canada was telling him it was. 

Speaking of, "James" cleared his throat on the other end of the line, and Shane realized he had gone completely catatonic. 

"You there?" 

"Yes." 

"Great! Well, I'll have my assistant email you the details of the tarmac where the plane is waiting. Shanehollander91@gmail work?"

"Um... yeah."

"Well, I'll let you get moving. Tell Rozanov I say hello, and we'll see you back here in Canada."

"I- Yeah.... yeah." 

The line clicked dead. Shane slowly brought the phone away and stared at the blank screen.

For three seconds, no one moves. Yuna was the first, dropping to a knee beside Shane. She seemed hesitant to reach out and kept her safe distance.

"Shane?" she tried again. 

Shane looked at his mother's terrified expression. He glanced back at Svetlana, who looked the same, noticing the others gathering further back in the kitchen threshold. 

Shane finally let out what was some cross between a laugh and a sob. He shook his head. 

It's okay. Just fucking say it.

“He’s out." Shane choked, finally allowing an explosion of warmth within his chest. He laughed again through his tears, and he was sure it seemed maniacal, but so was the situation. Hollander couldn't believe the feeling of the words he made with his lips: "He's coming home."

Chapter End Notes

NEXT-UP: Well, it feels kinda obvious! 🥰

I know who the Canadian prime minister was btw. I just refuse to put Katy Perry's (bf?) (ex?) in my fic 😂 Nothing against her
But, yeah... the thought of Shane talking to Trudeau was too distractingly hilarious to me

I can't believe I actually made the update today, haha... enjoy!! I'm still getting around to replying to everyone's wonderfully kind comments from the last chapter, but let me know what you think :)

Chapter 14: Bye & FU

Chapter Notes

Thank you all SOOO much. Trying to get around to all the comments- TY TY TY TY ❤️

The earsplitting shriek of the cell door tore Ilya from his memories of Shane. It wasn't anything in particular- just him. His eyes. His jaw. His nose scrunching up all cute-like. His smile. 

Would Ilya start to forget them over time?

"Rozanov. Hands." 

He extended his wrists. The cuffs bit into thin skin, too tight, per usual.

Yuna. 

Ilya felt both relief and dread in his stomach. He loved seeing her, don't get him wrong. It was just getting harder to hide his emotional failings as time dragged on.

Shane helped. 

He really helped. 

At first, Ilya felt like his world was ending all over again when he saw him here in this context- Shane amongst the cold, punishing walls of a Russian prison. It was a sight Ilya thought he'd only see in his worst nightmares. 

And yet, by the end of their visit, Shane managed to do what he unfailingly does best- completely tear Ilya's walls down. 

They moved quickly down the corridor. When they pushed him past the room where he typically met Yuna, Ilya's stomach dropped.

Where were they taking him? His pulse thudded against his ribs. 

Outside air stung his face. He hasn’t felt the open sky since he had cigarettes pressed into his skin.

A black transport van idled near the gate. No markings.

Shit. 

Either another transfer...

or worse.

They shoved him inside before the doors slammed shut, bathing him in darkness. The only light is the sliver that cuts in from between the doors. The engine revved, and they lurched forward. Ilya's mind ran every catastrophic scenario at once, most of them ending in the horrid realization: 

This is how it happens.

Not formal. Not announced. Not televised, but quiet and efficient.

Ilya braced his cuffed hands against his knees to keep them from shaking.

Execution, his mind supplied much too calmly; the plausible-deniability kind. It could just be a stop on an empty road. The report would read something like "attempted escape". 

His jaw tightened. Hell, Ilya's whole body was rigid and immovable. He forced himself to breathe evenly through his nose. 

He could see Shane at the kitchen counter, scowling at a recipe until Ilya slid his glasses onto his face. He sees him at the rink, grinning over his shoulder. He sees him behind the glass two nights ago, saying Promise me you won’t decide the ending without me.

I am sorry. I'm so, so sorry. 

He had meant to keep fighting. He had meant to survive. He had promised. For us.

The van turns sharply and stops. Ilya winced from the harsh jostle to his body. They began moving again.

Time stretched indescribably after that. It could've been 30 minutes, it could've been 3 hours. 

Ilya kept his eyes closed. 

I am sorry, he thinks, over and over again.

Shane.

Svetlana.

Yuna.

David.

His team. 

The version of himself that believed this would end differently.

There are billions of memories with Shane to sift through. He couldn't keep them out if he tried. They flitted across his mind like a never-ending film reel he couldn't stop. He didn't want it to anyway. 

Suddenly, Ilya felt an overwhelming sense of peace- acceptance. He was young, yes. It was tragic, yes. But he supposed he lived a life better than most would ever get, already. He had something he knew made him the luckiest person to ever exist: he had Shane. Years with Shane. 

His pulse slowed.

He thought of how pretty he looked in the warm glow of the sun at the cottage and held onto it, escaping into it. 

All those years, thought nearly never enough, would now have to be. 

Thank you. He thought to Shane, a tear betraying him all the way down his cheek. You've given me everything. Thank you.

The van slowed. Ilya's heartbeat roared in his ears. He straightened his back despite the pain.

Ilya Rozanov would not go down weak or begging. 

The doors flung open, and sunlight flooded in, blinding him. Hands grabbed his arms, and Ilya stumbled down onto the concrete.

I love you, Shane. He thinks for the last time, hoping it'll somehow find him. 

🎶 "Two Souls" 🎶 - Peter Peter

Alexei drove. He was gripping the steering wheel hard enough for it to be obvious.

Yuna was in the passenger seat, Shane and Sveta in the back.

Shane couldn't stop his knee from shaking. 

"How are you feeling?" He felt his mother's hand reach back and rest on his knee. He took a deep, stuttering breath, wringing his hands in his lap instead. 

"I don't want to feel anything until he's with us on that plane." 

She nodded, eyes cast forward but not transfixed. They all were having a hard time grasping that this was reality yet. 

Shane's stomach was twisting into knots as they pulled straight into the private tarmac. There was a large private plane waiting there as promised, but with a sickening flip of his gut, Shane didn't notice any other vehicles. His fear must've shown, because Svetlana reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

He'll be here. Her expression tried to assuage him. Shane swallowed and nodded at her. He had been so lucky to be surrounded by support every second of every day- Ilya had none of that.

Now he would. Shane was trying to convince himself. 

When they stepped onto the concrete, Shane noticed the soldiers near the open stairs of the plane. It helped ease some of his fears: The Royal Canadian Air Force. 

This might actually be happening. 

And then, a van and a dark car in the distance. He felt Yuna glance at him, trying to read his expression. Shane couldn't look at her, though- he kept his eyes strictly trained on that van. 

Ilya? 

He hardly felt his Mom's hand on his shoulder. 

They pulled up to their tarmac and stopped. Shane's heart beat in his throat. His hands were shaking, and he doubted it was from the cold. 

Guards stepped out, not even glancing at the group of people holding their breaths fifty feet away. They stepped around to the back and flung the doors open. 

Shane's heart raced faster. He felt dizzy.

They reached into the darkness, and then there he was- stepping out into the harsh sunlight that made him look even paler, but there. 

Ilya. 

Shane's vision instantly blurred, and a small gasp choked in the back of his throat. His mother's hand squeezed his shoulder.

My husband. Shane thought, both relieved and horrified that this was where they were finding themselves. Fucking give me back my husband. 

Ilya didn't look up- in fact, his eyes never left his shoes, even when they uncuffed him. 

Shane knew he shouldn't have. He knew it in the way his Mother yelled after him in fear, but it was too late. Shane was already moving- no running- to close the gap between them. The guards had hardly receded from his side, but he didn't care. They glanced at Shane briefly before turning their backs and returning to the van. 

And then the gap was closed. He was partly worried that he'd just run right through Ilya- like he may just dematerialize right in his arms. But he was really there, and Shane crashed into him, arms instantly wrapping around in case he flew into him a little too hard. 

Ilya can't bring himself to look up. He was afraid of what he'd find- of what was next for him. His hands trembled as they uncuffed him, and Ilya felt his cold dread peppered with confusion. 

And just as the curiosity won out and Ilya began to look up, he noticed movement. A blur, before someone collided with him hard enough to nearly knock him over, but arms wrapped around him and kept him steady against a firm chest. 

He knew the feeling of being held against this chest. He knew the feeling of the strong arms bracing his back. He knew the smell of his husband's favorite soap, and he knew the sound of his voice, even if it was strained and broken. 

"Ilya," whispered warm against his ear. He holds him in an unyielding way while still trying to be cautious of his injuries. It isn't exactly working, but Ilya didn't mind this pain. "Ilya..." 

Shane. 

He froze. Rozanov's brain refused it.

But the body in his arms is so real- warm and solid like he remembered.

Slowly, like he’s touching something sacred, he lifts his arms as far as they will go before his ribs protest, and grips Shane back, pulling him closer. His ribs could deal. 

And God, Ilya could even feel his heartbeat- it was fast. Really fast, but so clearly there. Shane buried his face against Ilya’s neck and made a sound that was half sob, half laugh.

“Ilya, oh my God.”

Say something. He's right there. This is everything you've ever wanted. Fucking say something. 

Shane pulled back just enough to look at him, hands cupping his face like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

“Ilya?" His eyes search his face worriedly. "Say something?"

Ilya blinked at him before slowly shaking his head.

"Sorry," He felt the confusion pinched in his own brow, feeling guilty for not having something more eloquent to say.

Shane's smile broke across his face. He chuckled and used a hurried palm to wipe away new tears. 

"Literally anything but that."

Ilya's lips twitched. They stared at each other and seemed to say a billion words through that gaze alone. 

“I don’t-” His voice cracked. He gripped the back of Shane's coat as if it were the only thing keeping him there. “What is happening?”

“We're going home,” Shane said, reaching up to brush his fingers incredibly delicately through Ilya's curls. His other arm still steadied him, solid behind his back and holding him close.

Home.

"Me too?" Before Ilya could feel pathetic for asking. Shane's expression was pained. 

"Of course, you too, idiot." He whispered tightly, a fresh set of tears streaking his beautiful face. Ilya smiled at the familiar ribbing. It felt weird on his lips, so he slumped forward and hid it in Shane's shoulder. He pressed his face into the fabric of Shane's collar and breathed in deep- detergent and Shane.

If this was a dream, he'd stay in it as long as he could. 

He lets some of his weight lie into him, and Shane easily holds him up.

"I've got you," He whispered into Ilya's temple, pressing slow kisses there.

I know you do. Ilya clutched at Shane like he was the only thing keeping him from tumbling into an abyss.

“I thought-” Ilya started, then stopped. He couldn't finish it. He didn't even mean to start it. 

I thought this was it. He finished in his head instead. I thought I was dying today. That I'd never see you again. 

Shane pulled back again, searching Ilya's face. 

“It’s over,” he whispered, seeming to have read the truth through Ilya's eyes instead. "I promise." 

Believe him. Ilya tried to force his mind to accept this new reality because if there was anyone he trusted in this world, it was Shane Hollander. If he was telling him it was over, it had to be over. 

Ilya felt his chin wobble before he caught movement over Shane's shoulder.

He hadn't even paid attention to the gathering of other people in the background. Not just any people- his people. Yuna, Svetlana... even Alexei was watching them from the tarmac. 

Shane glanced back too, slipping his hand into Ilya's and holding it like they were welded together. He offered Ilya a soft gaze, starting to guide him towards the others before abruptly stopping. 

"Can you walk okay?" 

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Ilya gave his hand a few squeezes. He didn't know how true that statement was, but he did know he could walk. 

Yuna was crying too. He had hardly seen it before, but when she did, her eyes always reminded him of Shane, and that just gutted him further. 

"Hi, sweetheart." 

"Hi," He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her. She hugged him more softly than Shane, clearly afraid to break him. Once he had pulled away and allowed Yuna to put a hand on the side of his face to study him for a moment longer, Ilya felt a warm heaviness on his back. 

"Oh," 

Shane had pulled his coat from their bags and slung it across his shoulders. 

"Thanks," 

"Want to put it on for real?" 

"No, this is fine." 

It felt so strange to be worrying about something as arbitrary as a coat. Ilya had just been worried about being executed a few minutes ago. Now, Shane was trying to make him comfortable.

Ilya realized that he had kind of just been staring at Shane in amazement. He gladly gazed back, the shiny brim of tears never quite fully fading from his eyes. 

Ilya snapped back into himself when a cold gust of wind blew past. He wanted to turn back to Yuna and give her a million thank yous for everything she had done, but his mind was still catching up, and she had already started rolling their bags towards the plane. He guessed he'd have a long time to thank her.

"Fucking hell, Ilya." Svetlana may have actually crushed him the hardest.

"Ah- ah, yeah... I know." 

"Sorry, sorry... Just. Jesus."

"Are you coming back to North America?"

"Eh. My flight was for after the 7th anyway. My parents would be beside themselves if I didn't stay the whole time." 

Ilya didn't love that. He knew Svetlana had been vocal in her support of him, and that painted a target on her back. She seemed to have gauged his expression, because she held both of his hands in hers. 

"I will be fine. Just get better. I'll come visit as soon as I can." 

"Thank you, Sveta." 

She hugged him again, this time less painfully. 

"I love you. Stay out of trouble." 

"Easy." 

"Mm-hm." 

Ilya offered her a final, rather sad smile before mouthing "love you" and sighing. 

Alexei was left. He didn't understand what the fuck their relationship was anymore, and he wasn't prepared for any of this. Certainly not what was most likely a final goodbye to his brother. 

The first thing Alexei did was hand Shane a box that Ilya recognized. 

Oh right. The whole reason they had come to Russia in the first place- his stuff from the house. 

"I'm going to load this on the jet. I'll be right back, okay?" Ilya had a feeling it was just Shane's excuse to leave him alone with Alexei for a moment. 

Damn you, Hollander. God, it felt so good to affectionately curse at him again, even if just in his head. 

“Katya put some bread and… I don't know... some other shit in there.” Oh, right. Alexei. 

“Zdorovo. Spasibo.”

There was the inevitable awkward pause.

“He isn’t so bad, by the way.” Alexei said. Ilya waited. “Your husband. Very emotional. Stubborn. Kind of annoying.”

Ilya snorted, then pressed his lips into a thin line. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff, and the smallest thing would tip him over the edge. At the same time, he wanted to fall. He wanted this all to set in- to feel real. Because right now, it wasn't, so the tears never came, even as he said, “I don’t deserve him.”

Alexei huffed a small laugh as well, looking down at the ground. Ilya did the same before clearing his throat. 

"Well-" 

Ilya wasn't expecting the hand on his shoulder and jumped. His body tensed like he was ready to fight even though logically, he knew they were pretty far from where they had been two weeks ago. In fact, Alexei's other hand braced behind Ilya's neck so he was forced to look at him.  Alexei just held his gaze, and suddenly, it was like he was truly looking at his brother for the very first time in 32 years.

“Ilya. Don’t ever come back here.”

It’s not spiteful. It’s not a threat. It was a fearful plea, and Alexei didn’t even try to hide it in his eyes.

Ilya swallowed thickly at hearing what he knew to be true out loud- he really could never come back. This was it, his final breakup with Russia. He’d never visit his mother’s grave, never walk the streets he grew up in, never see the final spots he had memories of his mother.

He nodded.

“Spasibo, Alexei.” He braced the hand of his good arm on Alexei’s shoulder. “Tell Sophia I am okay. And I love her.”

Of course, now that he didn’t totally hate his brother's guts, he’d likely never see him again.

That’s not true. No one will stop me from flying my Niece out to me. And he guessed Alexei could come if he wanted to. He probably wouldn't. 

It seemed Alexei may have been realizing the same, because after he nodded, they stayed like that for, like, one and a half seconds; that was a lot for them.

Alexei gave him one final pat on the arm before Ilya actually found it a little hard to turn away. When he did, Alexei immediately called back out,

“I don’t hate you, Ilya."

Ilya's shoulders slumped a bit. He hadn't even realized he had held extra tension when approaching Alexei. It drained from him when he reluctantly, but probably truthfully, answered,

“I don’t hate you either.”

The most Rozanov “I love you” he’s ever heard. He glanced back long enough to see Alexei give a militaristic nod. 

When he fully turned back towards the plane, Shane was already standing a few feet away, waiting. His husband was sporting the most annoyingly corny grin as he held out his hand for Ilya to take. 

“Do not do that with your face.” Ilya shook his head at him. They both gave Sveta and Alexei one last wave each before Ilya glanced around at the mountains in the distance for the last time. 

"Bye and fuck you," he muttered under his breath, apparently not quiet enough to keep Shane from hearing. He gave Ilya a sad half-grin. 

"Bye and fuck you," He repeated in his adorably accented Russian. Ilya kissed the back of his hand, because he could.

The cabin door sealed with a heavy, final sound- pressure locking into place. It relieves a bit of the fear left inside Ilya. Not all of it. The concept of safe still felt fragile.

"Um... Oh, do you- Here..." Shane stumbled with their bags. Ilya watched him, a small smile daring to grace his face. He was nervous. It was cute, like, showing-Ilya-around-the-cottage cute. He felt a surge of love in his chest- it felt so much better than the gripping dread that typically lived there as of late. 

Shane unzipped Ilya's bag to reveal that he had repacked everything to his own liking. Everything perfectly Hollander-ified: Folded and slotted together neatly in their place. It was surely something he had done more than once while left to wait around and worrying for nearly two weeks. 

His clothes. Ilya had almost forgotten how nice it felt to own things. 

"You can use the galley," an attendant said, smiling at them in a way that told them she knew exactly what a big deal this was. 

And soon, Shane and Ilya were alone... well, alone behind a curtain. Still, it held weight. 

Ilya wanted to get out of the uniform as fast as possible, though his fingers fumbled with the buttons immediately. 

"Here..." Shane gently knocked Ilya's hands away and started doing it for him. Ilya lets his hands drop to his sides, enjoying having Shane so close in front of him. His eyes were cast down, focused on Ilya's shirt. It gave Rozanov time to study the freckles he loved so much, making sure to notice every single one. 

He could hear him breathing. Ilya could listen to the sound forever. 

"You know, I think I could've managed," He tries to distract himself from the bittersweet pain flooding his chest.

To be honest, Ilya was grateful. He still had cuts on his fingertips from ripping the metal from his bedframe. He felt his stomach drop at the mere memory of a few days ago. Rozanov suddenly got the overwhelming sense that maybe this wasn't real. Maybe he was dreaming.

Shane snapped him out of it with a simple glance up to meet Ilya's eyes.

"Let me do something. Please." 

Ilya let Shane get to the last button before he used a surprisingly steady hand to nudge the underside of Shane's chin, tilting his face up towards him. When their eyes met, Shane's instantly glossed over, and Ilya felt his throat start to close up. 

Shane. He thought with an overwhelming, blossoming warmth inside. 

"Hi," He whispered, allowing his eyes to explore everything about the face that kept his mind sane for the last week and a half. 

"Hi," 

Ilya brushed his thumb along Shane's jaw and leaned in, admittedly a little relieved that Shane did too. He didn't know the etiquette of the first ten minutes of reuniting with your husband after hardly surviving a Russian prison. 

His lips were warm and soft, just how Ilya remembered. They didn't rush and were incredibly gentle with it; a simple, single kiss to say hello, but it made Ilya's mind buzz. 

While the main reason he wanted to kiss Shane was to kiss Shane, admittedly, Ilya was trying to distract him before they opened his shirt. He had looked down at his chest and abdomen in the showers earlier and wished he hadn't- the discoloration and ugly bruises were at their darkest, like a spattering of numerous ink blot tests all across his torso. 

When they pulled back, Ilya immediately brushed away the tear that had sneakily slid down Shane's cheek. 

And then Shane's eyes fell downwards. At least it stopped the tears, but Ilya cringed at the way his eyes widened. 

"Oh... Ilya..." 

"Looks worse than it is."

Thank fuck for the bandage still hiding the deep gashes in his side. 

"I-" Shane shook his head, sliding the uniform over Ilya's shoulders until it dropped to the floor. His eyes raked over him, and Ilya resisted the urge to shrink away. When Shane's eyes stuck for a moment on the cigarette burn on his collarbone, Ilya had to move it along. 

"Shane-" 

"Sorry. Sorry. Here."

Ilya couldn't raise his arms very far, so Shane helped him into one of his plain black t-shirts. It was impossibly soft next to the itch and stiffness of his prison uniform. 

When Shane merely brushed the edge of his bandage, not even close to the wound, Ilya jumped embarrassingly. 

"Shit, sorry. Did I hurt you?" 

"No, no... You didn't hurt me. Just... jumpy."

He appreciated that Shane didn't look at him with further pity and instead pressed a kiss to his good cheek. 

Once they had managed to get Ilya into joggers and a hoodie with some struggle, they kissed one more time before sliding open the curtain into the main cabin. All eyes- the cabin crew, the waiting medics, Yuna- instinctively glanced at them all at once before gazes were diverted in attempts at politeness. 

A medic steps forward almost immediately. She has kind eyes.

“Hi, Ilya. I’m just going to take a look at you, okay?”

He nodded. His hand was locked in Shane's as he eased himself into one of the plush, white seats that lined the walls of the plane. They were more like sofas than plane seats, gratefully facing outward side-by-side so that Shane could sit next to him while the medic inspected him. 

This wasn't like the private plane they came in. It was bigger- somehow even more luxurious. The staff was bigger. There was a Canadian soldier... no, two seated in the back. 

Weird.

The medic got to work and mercifully moved fast- blood pressure cuff, penlight, gentle fingers checking along his ribs. Ilya's grateful that when she peeled back the bandaging over his abdomen, she did so on the side that shrouds it from Shane. 

"39.6" The medic read Ilya's temperature. He hadn't even considered that he may have been sick this whole time. He assumed all the chills were from the cold prison, not a fever. "Have you been taking any antibiotics for your injuries?"

"No," 

"Well, we're going to get you some to stop infection from spreading." 

Ilya wondered how bad it would've gotten if he had stayed incarcerated.

“Any dizziness?” the medic asks.

Ilya hesitates. “Only when I stand.”

“Headaches?”

“Yes, but it's hard to tell if it's just,” Ilya gestured to the cut and bruising over his left eyebrow.

"Go ahead and take a deep breath for me." 

He flinched from the cold stethoscope before trying his best to breathe in, but he could hardly get halfway there without his ribs screaming.

"Sorry... Ribs..." 

"No, no. That's perfect. One more, please." 

He heard Shane sniffle beside him. 

Shit. 

“Sleeping?” The medic continued, but Ilya wasn't listening anymore. He realized Shane's grip on his hand had progressively tightened. His eyes flitted to the side just enough to see Shane hurriedly turn his gaze away, his face wet again. 

"I'm sorry, one second," Ilya said to the medic before he twisted the best he could in his seat, putting gentle hands on either side of his husband's face. He turned Shane back to him even as he tried to resist. "Shane..."

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, no... Is okay. Hey." He brushed away tears with his thumbs, kissing both of his cheekbones and then his nose. "I'm okay. We're okay. Yes?"

"Yes."

Ilya caught another tear with his thumb, not daring to turn away until he knew Shane was okay... that he knew Ilya was okay. Hollander took in a stuttering breath, but it seemed to steady him.

"Okay. Let her finish. Please." Shane begged, offering an embarrassed smile. 

His thumb gently ran across the back of Shane's hand, hoping it'd help convince him of what he'd assured him. 

"Sorry," Shane murmured to the medic, who frowned and shook her head.

"No, not at all. So, sleeping?"

“Not much,” Ilya answered quietly.... Then, "At all, really." 

The medic nodded like that was expected.

“We’ll get fluids in you. And something mild to help you rest. Sometimes people find it hard with the adrenaline. Nothing heavy unless you want it.”

Ilya shook his head slightly. He didn't think he would need anything too strong, the way his eyes burned with fatigue.

The engines roar louder. The plane begins to taxi. The medic leaves them momentarily to return to her cart and gather medication and an IV. Shane unraveled his death grip on Ilya's hand, and he missed the contact immediately. He flipped up the armrest between them. 

Oh, even better.  

Shane's eyes cautiously studied Ilya for his reaction when he nudged his arm behind Ilya's back. He leaned forward so Shane could secure it around his waist. He leaned even further in, resting the side of his head on his husband's shoulder.

My husband.

Ilya couldn't help but keep repeating it in his head. 

I'm with my husband. 

Shane kissed the top of his head, pressing his lips into his hair and staying there. Ilya relished the feeling of his warm breath tickling a few of his curls. 

This was... insane.

Just (a couple? a few?) hours ago, Ilya had been preparing for another timeless day locked in threatening solitude. Then, he was positive he was going to bite the dust. Now, he was cuddled into Shane's side on the cushiest plane he's ever seen in his life, about to take off from Russia forever.

Yuna slipped into a seat across from them, but not before stooping down to give them each a kiss on the forehead. Ilya blinked happily at her. 

This couldn't be real. 

"I'm going to use the restroom before we take off,"  He was hoping a moment alone might ground him- might let all of this settle in for real. Ilya noted the worry in Shane's eyes. "I can handle it. I promise."

Shane's expression remained the same. 

"What, you want to hold it?" 

"Jesus, Ilya!" Rozanov was relieved that Shane laughed- he swore for a second that the sound of it had healed all the pain in his body. Hollander's face tinged pink in a way that always made Ilya proud of causing. He glanced over at his Mom, who was trying to act like she hadn't heard anything, but the twitch of her lips said otherwise. 

"I know, you can handle it... Just... Come back."

Oh. Ilya felt his heart crush into itself beneath his sternum. 

"Always." He pressed an innumerable number of kisses to the back of Shane's hand before easing himself out of his seat and closing himself in the small plane bathroom. 

He wasn't lying. The drive to the airport had been long, and while he could use the restroom, that wasn't his first intention.

Ilya gripped the sides of the plastic sink before turning his eyes upwards to meet his own gaze in the mirror- the first mirror he's had access to since shit hit the fan. 

And, wow. 

Ilya knew he'd look different, but he physically recoiled from himself. While he had felt the swelling go down in the past few days, there was a whole rainbow of colors that expanded from his cheek up and around his left eyebrow. The dark circles under his eyes were unlike anything he'd seen before- on himself, or on anyone. 

His eyes were distant and exhausted. His cheekbones were sharper. So was his collarbone. He was pale. Stubble shadowed his face. 

No wonder Shane was freaking out. 

In a way, it did help. Ilya bit the inside of his cheek as his skin prickled and his eyes started swimming. 

This was real. 

He had been arrested ten-ish days ago. He'd suffered through Russian prison- two Russian prisons. He'd been targeted, abused, brought to the brink of his emotional capacity...

And now, he was out. He was going home. His family was right outside the folding bathroom door. 

Ilya suddenly wanted nothing more than to get back out of the bathroom and back to them. 

🎶 "Tree Strings" 🎶 - Johnny Greenwood

Shane's eyes never left the door that Ilya had disappeared behind. The cold dread that gripped his stomach 

What if Ilya never came out? What if he pried the doors open to find a vacant bathroom? Like Ilya had never been back in his arms in the first place?

Shane knew it was ridiculous... but was it?

"Shane." His mother's voice almost made him jump. He dared to shift his gaze momentarily. "Take a deep breath."

He wanted to be annoyed by the request, but she was right. His hand was balled up so tight that his fingernails were making indents in his palm.

"I just... I feel like something's going to happen. That they'll take him away."

Yuna frowned at him, but in a way that made him feel validated.

"I know. It's okay. You both have time. Lots of time."

Shane rubbed his hand over his knee, trying to resist the urge to let it bounce nervously. 

"Do you- Do you think he's okay?" Shane asked in a low voice so Ilya couldn't overhear. Yuna shot Shane a look that was a cross between sympathy and "really?".

"It has hardly been half an hour. Calm down. Just take it minute by minute. You can't force him to process everything right away." 

"I know. I know." 

The bathroom door popped open, and Shane felt a wave of relief wash over him. Ilya looked like he was trying to plaster his face with something reassuring for Shane. It wasn't quite working. 

Time. We have lots of time. 

Shane stretched his arm out, and Ilya smiled a little more genuinely. He dropped into the seat with a soft grunt that clenched Shane's chest. He leaned back into Shane's shoulder. Shane kissed his forehead. He had a feeling he'd be doing that a lot. 

"Okay?" 

"Mhm." 

Before Shane could prod further, a stewardess came by and ran through options for meals. After they had all chosen, she asked if they needed anything else. 

"Mm.. can I have a blanket, please?" Ilya was so quiet. Shane wasn't used to it. 

"Of course," 

She returned with a blanket, and Ilya's face warped with guilt. 

"Actually... can I have another one too, please?"

"My pleasure, Mr. Rozanov."

He smiled and thanked the woman before pulling the fabric over his shoulder and resettling into the crook of Shane's neck. 

"Cold?" Shane asked, brushing a hand over Ilya's forehead and feeling the heat from his fever. 

"Mm. Not really." 

Shane's heart hurt a bit. If it wasn't for warmth, then it was just for comfort. Security. 

He looked up at the ceiling. Shane was sick of crying. He waited until the heat faded and he could tilt his head down without spilling down his cheeks. He pressed another kiss to Ilya's forehead- this one longer and more deliberate. 

You're safe. I'll make sure of it.

He held Ilya a little tighter, hoping it wouldn't hurt him. Ilya hummed happily. The knot in Shane's chest began to unwind. 

The stewardess returned with two more blankets, followed by the medic, who delivered a few pills in a tiny plastic cup, along with a bottle of water.

"Wait for your food to take these."

She hooked Ilya up to an I.V., hanging the bag near the opposite end of the couch, out of their way.

"We'll get you rested and rehydrated, and the hospital can do a more thorough examination."

Both thanked her.

Ilya exhaled slowly. The tension drained from them both incrementally as the plane began to take off. Ilya hadn't much appreciated takeoffs, landings, or turbulence since the whole emergency landing debacle. Most of the Centaurs didn't, so needless to say, no one was ever having much fun on their team flights. Shane never actually heard anyone mention it, but the air would always get tense, and so would Ilya. 

But now, the roar and the steady rumble all around them seemed to relax Ilya further into Shane. Shane himself had been half-expecting someone to burst into the jet and tear Ilya from his arms at any moment. But now, Moscow was falling away beneath them, and clouds swallowed the ground until there was nothing left. 

Shane glanced down to watch Ilya's eyes scan the empty skies. His breathing was still uneven, like his body didn't quite remember how to relax.

Their food arrived faster than expected, but Shane was too excited and pumped with adrenaline to touch his chicken. Ilya looked happy with his pasta, though, his smile both delighting and devastating Shane. He couldn't imagine what they'd fed him in prison, but by the looks of it, practically nothing. 

He had so many questions. 

He wondered if Ilya would ever answer them, because Shane certainly wouldn't ask. At least not for a while. 

When he took his first bite, Ilya closed his eyes, and his head fell back dramatically. A smile spreads across Shane's face. 

"Good?"

Ilya groaned, cracking an eye open to glance at Shane. He swallowed and nodded, sitting back up before taking a forkful and holding it out for Shane. He raised his eyebrows at Ilya in disbelief. 

"You just got out of fucking prison, and you're trying to feed me your pasta?"

Ilya smiled and shrugged, waving it in the air relentlessly until Shane took a bite, which was difficult when he was smiling so hard. He loved him so much- this sweet, sweet sap of a man who was all his again. 

"Okay, now eat," Shane said, shaking his head at Ilya. He doesn't eat much. It twisted the knife just that much deeper, knowing how much food Ilya used to be able to eat in a single sitting. Now, his stomach had shrunk so that he could barely finish a quarter of a pasta serving before admitting he was full. Shane can see in his eyes that it alarmed Ilya, too. 

"Do you- We can set this up like a bed for you. And I can go-" 

Ilya stopped the beginnings of Shane's rambling by gently guiding him down so he was lying a little further down towards the end of the couch. It gave him more room to follow him, snuggling into his chest as Shane instinctively wrapped both arms around him. 

“This okay?”

As if he had to ask. Shane swallowed painfully, reaching one of his hands up to push through Ilya's hair. 

Real. Tangible. Here. 

He wondered if Ilya had fully grasped the concept of their world's changing yet. It felt too early to talk about it yet- to talk about anything really. He just wanted to hold his husband for a long, loooooooong time. 

"Very okay." 

Ilya’s hand curled into the fabric of Shane’s shirt. His eyes blinked a few times slowly before sliding closed.

"I love you." Shane whispered into his hair, too quiet for even his mother to hear over the plane engines. 

"Mm love you." Ilya mumbled into his chest. 

Shane watched Ilya. He watched his eyelashes flutter even when closed. He watched the corner of his lip twitch every once in a while. He watched the rise and fall of his back. He could tell Ilya wasn't sleeping yet, but just to have him able to rest against Shane was enough for now. 

A while later, Shane hears a camera shutter. 

He looked up at his mom, who looked caught with her phone up.

“Mom!" He whisper-yelled. "He just got out of a fucking Russian prison,”

“Well, I just thought this may be a memory you both want to-“

“I- no. No, that’s so weird.”

“Whatever, it’s a cute one.” She shrugged, and Shane could feel Ilya shaking. He was worried for a minute that everything had finally hit him, and he was sobbing, but he craned his neck to see a smile on his face. He was laughing at Yuna, and probably Shane too.

Shane felt warmth all over.

“If you say so,” Shane said through his own smile, throwing his mom a bone. He shook his head and kissed Ilya's forehead again. 

Ilya doesn't fully fall asleep for a little while. Every time Shane thought he was close, his eyes would snap open like he needed verification. Shane smoothed his hand gently through Ilya’s hair when he jerked back awake a fifth time. 

“Dorogoy, I’m not going anywhere.”

Ilya turned sleepy eyes up at him, a slow blink. The way he stared at Shane with such adoration made him look so much more like himself again. 

"Okay. Then I am sorry, but I have to go to sleep for forty hours now, okay?" 

"If you don't, I'll knock you out myself." 

"So aggressive, Hollander." He mumbled. Then quieter, and hardly there, "And sexy..." 

Shane smiled. Ilya hadn't made it past a full hour of being a free man before he was coming onto Shane.

But Shane's assurance seemed to be what finally did it. The fight drained out of him all at once as Ilya's weight settled fully. His breathing slowed and deepened. It smoothed into something comfortably even. Shane allowed fifteen minutes to pass before he could confidently feel relief- Ilya was finally, truly asleep. 

Shane's heart leapt at the trust he had in him.

Hollander didn't dare move- not when they hit turbulence, not when his mother walked by and squeezed his shoulder, and not when Ilya's breath caught momentarily before steadying itself.

He just focused on holding him with one hand splayed protectively over Ilya's back, the other buried in his hair, holding him to his chest. 

As Ilya slept through the clouds, the world felt so distant below. Shane liked it like that- he wasn't ready to share Ilya with anyone else yet. And up here, no one could reach them.

Shane couldn't tear his eyes away. His own eyelids would droop, but he wasn't done soaking in the sight of his husband, battered but safe.

"Shane, honey." Yuna's soft voice barely made it over the background hum of the plane. Shane blinked slowly and turned away from Ilya for the first time in over an hour. "He's not going anywhere either." 

Shane nodded. He knew she was right. 

He didn't even remember falling asleep after that, but he woke up with his cheek resting against Ilya's curls, still wrapped in him. He was sure he would've woken panicked if it weren't for the instant feeling of Ilya's comfortable weight on top of him.

Everything flooded back, and Shane felt his throat swell.

Ilya- safe, and here. Fast asleep. Shane pressed a quiet kiss to his hair before turning to see his mother look up from her tablet. She gave him a tired but warm smile. 

"Hi," She spoke softly. 

"Hi," Shane whispered. He cleared his throat and glanced at Ilya before daring to speak a little louder. "Has he woken up at all?" 

She shook her head. 

"You both have been out cold for 7 hours." 

7 hours. No wonder his body was starting to ache. He didn't care enough to move, though- he'd stay like that forever if it meant Ilya could continue sleeping. 

"Well, did you get any good photos out of it?"

Yuna shot him a disapproving glare, and Shane smiled. God, it felt so good to actually smile for real again. 

For the next two hours, Shane resumed watching Ilya. Sometimes the feeling in his chest would swell so big that he had to lean over and press the bajillionth kiss to the top of his head. He did it for the old-Shane; the Shane that was pressing himself so hard against that stupid fucking glass as if he could fuse right through it and get to Ilya. 

He kissed his forehead again. 

Shane was sure that the plane's landing would wake Ilya up, but he even slept through that. Now, Shane was actually getting worried.

"Ilya?" He gently prodded, running his hands through his hair. He kissed his forehead twice and gently shook him. Ilya shifted, pulling in a sharp breath and blinking awake with sleepy eyes. "We're home." 

It was like Ilya didn't process anything at first. He squeezed his eyes shut against the overhead lights that had come back on once they'd stopped. Shane patiently waited for him to squint back at him. When he did, the sweetest, shyest smile Shane had ever seen spread across his face. 

"Shane," He said, almost matter-of-fact. It made Shane's grin even wider. 

"Ilya." It felt like a drug to say his name. They grinned at each other for a moment before Shane leaned in and pecked him on the lips. He had one objective on his mind as soon as they had landed (well, two because he really had to piss after being locked beneath Ilya for so long). "Okay. Hospital." 

"Noooooooooo,"

"Yesssssssss," 

Chapter End Notes

NEXT UP: Ilya's first day home! They're still in shock, but start processing more together. Ilya has to eventually show Shane what's underneath the bandaging. David and Yuna come over for dinner. Maybe some Hayden!

Well, if you're on Instagram, you've probably heard that I've been graced a lil' by the AO3 curse 😂 (just found out my ex had been cheating on me for 8 months). But honestly, looking through it with the lens of it being the AO3 curse, now I'm kinda honored?? Lol

I LOVE that you all have been thinking of this, because I have a lot planned for it 🥹: The missing ring and crucifix will indeed be a rough topic. They never gave them back 😭

Chapter 15: Ottawa, Ontario

Chapter Summary

Ilya's first day home

Chapter Notes

Thank you for all the comments here, on insta, on tiktok, tumblr.... You guys are amazing!

Ottawa, Ontario

January 5th, 2024

Ilya seemed more with it after getting some sleep, but his movements were stiffer. He winced more. Shane's mind rattled off the side effects of adrenaline dips. 

Shane was afraid of what the hospital would find. What if there was something much more wrong than met the eye? Internal bleeding? A bad concussion? A seizure waiting to happen? 

"I'll come with you guys and just have Dad pick me up from the hospital," 

"What? No, Mom. They have a car for you, too. Go home. Go see Dad." 

As worried as Shane was about the hospital, he felt like he could handle it. He had spent so much time feeling utterly helpless, so Shane was dying for some semblance of control. Plus, it was clear that while she had convinced Shane to sleep on the plane, she hadn't followed her own advice. And he knew she missed his Dad. 

"Are you sure?" 

"You've done plenty." Ilya agreed, his arm unwound from around Shane's waist to give Yuna a last hug before they stepped down from the plane. Shane heard Ilya's quiet, "Thank you," as he gathered their bags.

"I'm keeping my phone on, okay? Let me know if anything is amiss."

Shane got a kiss on the cheek from his mom before they were shuttled off in separate black SUVs. 

Before he could buckle his seatbelt, Ilya reached out for him from the opposite side, his eyes questioning hesitantly.

Shane was relieved. He didn't want to smother him, but he, too, hated any space between them. He slid into the middle seat so that they could intertwine their hands, resting on Shane's thigh. 

"I'm almost scared to ask how this happened," Ilya said after a few minutes of silence. He turned to look at Shane with big blue eyes that had already started to soften over the past 11 hours. Shane raised his eyebrows.

"...are you asking?" 

Ilya rolled his eyes, a small grin. "Yes, I guess so." 

"Oh," His face was actually hurting from frequently using the smiling muscles he hadn't exercised in over a week. "Well... I don't really know," He felt stupid admitting, the growth of Ilya's grin not helping. 

"Oh. Okay." 

"Something with the Canadian government, though. The prime minister called me." 

Ilya let out a surprised breath.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." Shane shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. "Oh, he says hi by the way." 

"Oh," Ilya was near-beaming, "Well, tell your good friend the prime minister I say hello." 

"It's James, actually." 

Ilya snorted. "James. My bad."

They searched each other's eyes over their grins, continuing the conversation without words until they pulled up to the hospital. 

They thankfully brought them in through the back, discreetly. Shane's Mom had told him on the plane that the news had broken that Ilya was coming home. 

"Moya lyubov. Can you get me something to eat from the cafeteria?" 

Shane blinked. 

"Yeah, of course. But you know I can get you anything you want after we get out of here." Shane admittedly just hated the idea of being away from Ilya.   

"Is late. I just want to go home to bed." 

"We can have someone on our staff get something for you," The nurse offered. Ilya froze, his eyes diverting from Shane. He swore he could even feel his pulse spike through his hand. 

Ilya wanted it to be Shane. He wanted Shane out of the room. 

Hollander wanted nothing more than to make Ilya comfortable, even if that meant excluding him. Still, it didn't assuage the sharp pain stabbing at his throat.

"Uh, no... It's okay. I'll get it." He wondered if his panic was obvious. What didn't Ilya want him to see? "I'll be right back."

Ilya felt bad for sending Shane away, especially with how his expression faltered, and suspicion crossed his eyes. At least it wasn't the utter horror that would undoubtedly be present there if Shane were around for them to fully peel his bandages off. 

It took a little bit for the nurses to clean and reinspect the wound, which had Ilya glancing towards the door obsessively. He couldn't stop imagining Shane stopping short in the doorway, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. 

He knew he couldn't hide it from Shane forever, but was just tonight too much to ask? 

Even the nurses noted his frantic impatience. 

"Almost done here." One assured him, and he nodded, a little embarrassed to be caught hiding from his husband. Whatever. He had a feeling no one was judging him for anything after what had just happened. 

They did get Ilya all rebandaged before Shane came back with an armful of pre-packaged food from the cafeteria.

They took CXR's for his ribs next. Despite Ilya's impatience, they had him get into a hospital gown, which Shane helped him with. He guessed he shouldn't complain. While Shane was gone, Ilya had managed to wiggle his way out of the CT scan they had suggested, opting for the less time-consuming concussion assessments. 

Anyway, they deemed him fine in that respect. 

When they announced the end of their tests (for now), Ilya took a relieved breath. His legs swung over the edge of the hospital bed as they removed his second I.V. of the day. Once they got Ilya into a sling for his shoulder, he really started to feel exhaustion take over again. 

Luckily, by some miracle, 

"You're cleared to go home, but we're going to have you return to be monitored for the next couple of weeks. I'll go print you off the recommended schedule for check-ups and get your prescriptions."

When she left Shane and Ilya alone, they went through the awkward, painful process of redressing him again. God, he couldn't wait to simply move his body normally again.

"How are you feeling?" Shane asked once he was back in his t-shirt and joggers. 

"Better. More pain meds. I just want to keep sleeping forever." 

"We'll get you home, ASAP." Home. "Um... Hey, kinda bad news-" Shane spoke like he was harboring a bomb.

"Compared to what?" Because Ilya couldn't imagine anything that would feel too terrible, parallel to the last couple of weeks. Shane chuckled, but nervously.

"Obviously, we didn't know we'd be home yet, and I guess Hayden offered to take Anya from my Dad. She's up with him and the kids at their cabin for the weekend, but he'll bring her back the day after tomorrow." 

Oh. Ilya had indeed envisioned falling asleep wrapped up in Shane with the comfortable, furry mass of Anya's steady breaths beside him (because obviously Shane would let her sleep in the bed with them that night- how could he not?)

"Is okay," Ilya said genuinely, nonetheless. "I would feel bad that I have no energy for her anyway." 

Shane nodded, brushing a thumb underneath Ilya's good eye. Rozanov once again resisted the urge to flinch away from the way his husband's eyes flitted over his face. It wasn't like he didn't do the same thing often before. Ilya just knew that this time, his gaze would catch on things like his bruises and cuts, and then Ilya would have to suffer the change in Shane's eyes: the look of adoration shifting into pure dread. 

...but he didn't. When Shane studied his face, there was no horror there- no pity. Sure, his gaze may have stuttered at the cut over Ilya's eyebrow or the split in his lip, but it didn't stop Shane from gazing at him in the same way he always did.

Ilya pressed his nails into his palm to keep from tearing up at the pure ferocity of love he had for this man.

"And look on the bright side," Shane offered, though Ilya could tell it was leading to satire.

"Mm?" 

"You can see Hayden." 

Ilya snorted and rolled his eyes. 

"Oh. You have jokes, do you?" 

A doctor came and ran through the list of everything they found "wrong" with Ilya. Two fractured ribs, a fractured pinky (Ilya didn't even remember how it happened, but assumed either the attack at the club or the remand center), a healing shoulder, severe bruising, a 2nd degree burn, three 3rd degree burns, cuts on his face, cuts on his abdomen (an understatement), extreme malnutrition, sleep deprivation...

"Is that it?" Ilya asked after the doctor had finally stopped rattling off his afflictions. The doctor smiled a bit before she addressed both Ilya and Shane. 

"You can expect a full recovery, save for some scarring." 

Some scarring.

Shane let out a relieved sigh from beside him, but Ilya couldn't quite share in the moment when the physical healing wasn't what he was worried about. Still, he gave Shane's hand a squeeze to try to fake his approval. 

Ilya drifted off a bit on the drive home. Shane held his hand and let him use his shoulder. Ilya's heart fluttered with every kiss to his forehead and temple- and there were a lot of those. 

After their driver had helped them take their bags to the front door, Shane and Ilya were left truly alone right outside the home they shared. It felt surreal for Ilya to be there, and somehow that made him feel guilty. His home shouldn't feel this... weird. This unfamiliar. He guessed it was because so much had changed since the last time he was here. 

Amusingly, Shane was the one who ultimately broke Ilya's daze and made everything feel familiar again. He was huffing and frantically checking all of the zippers on their luggage, clearly in a tizzy about misplacing the keys. 

"Shane. Calm down." 

"I just- I know I put them in here. Fuck." 

Ilya smiled out of Shane's eyesight, reaching a hand to push through his husband's hair as Shane stooped over a suitcase. 

"Then you will find them," 

He did, of course, after ruining all of his perfect packing and muttering innumerable curse words.

"Imagine after all of that, we get locked out of our house," Ilya mused.

"Not funny," But per usual, Shane's face said otherwise.

The house felt so massive to Ilya- stretching and dark, abandoned. Going from a tiny cell to this made all the space seem a little absurd. All of this, just for him and Shane. He always made sure to pick Anya up from her doggie hotel before they returned home from trips, because without her little pitter-patters, everything felt emptier.

Ilya hated letting Shane carry all of their bags upstairs, but he didn't have much of a choice. He knew it probably made Shane happy anyway. 

Their bedroom was unsurprisingly exactly how they left it up to the lube on the bedside table from their quickie before the airport. It felt so incredibly long ago. That stretch of 11 days made time work differently, which had been its own form of torture. 

It was like a snapshot in time from their old life- who Ilya and Shane were before all of this. Because even if the room itself hadn't changed, everything else had. 

Well, not everything. Not the way that Shane immediately scoffed at the way there were, like... four tissues and a condom in the trash can. 

"I can't believe I didn't take this out before we left..." 

Ilya was about to tell him to calm down again, but he knew it wouldn't be of much use. He was in full frenzied caretaker mode, fueled by tasks. It was very Shane, and Ilya found immense comfort in it. 

He helped Shane take the toiletries and organize them back into the bathroom, a wonderfully mundane task. They both brushed their teeth, Ilya with mild trouble. He was typically left-handed, so the sling was going to be very annoying over the next week or two. "Fortunately", his father had always tried to force the left-handedness out of Ilya, so he was decent enough with his right. 

Eager to get away from the giant mirror that was nothing but a constant reminder of what he'd been through, Ilya moved to an open suitcase to help unpack. Before he could even pick up a stack of shirts, he felt Shane step behind him. Warm arms wrapped tentatively around Ilya's waist, guiding him back into a solid chest. 

The smile that overtook him was bigger than expected- the surge in his chest bringing life back into Ilya. Shane held him from behind, just barely resting a chin on his shoulder. For a while, they just breathed together.

"Welcome home," Shane whispered against the shell of Ilya's ear. He shivered. 

"You too, Hollander." 

Ilya closed his eyes as Shane pressed the gentlest kisses to the back of his neck. He avoided where they had bandaged up one of Ilya's burns- one of the bad ones. Ilya wondered if Shane had already noticed those before they were bandaged: The size of them. The shape of them. 

"Lyag," Shane said, kissing Ilya's cheek as he unwound from around him. Lie down. "I can unpack tomorrow. Or- if you wanted to shower, I could-" 

"I think the hospital medicine is working a little too well," Ilya sauntered over to the bed and sank deep into the duvet. He immediately felt the truth in the statement. He could hardly lift his eyelids. 

"Then sleep," 

"Mm..." Ilya groaned into the ridiculously soft pillows he'd never appreciated until now. His eyes slid closed, but he listened to the sound of his favorite busybody flying around the room unpacking at near-midnight. Soon, when Ilya didn't think he could take another minute, "Where are you?" 

This is just a dream. The relentless thought tore through his brain, spiking ice through his veins. 

Ilya told his mind to shut the fuck up as he heard a drawer close across the room. Sounds of clothes shuffling off and on. Not five seconds after he asked, the bed dipped, and he felt Shane's warmth at his side. 

"Right here," He said softly, a hand running through Ilya's hair and pulling a happy hum from his throat. Ilya typically slept on the other side of the bed, but this way, his good arm and the good side of his face were nearest to Shane. His eyes were still too heavy to open, so he reached out and felt around in Shane's direction. He "accidentally" gently slapped at Shane's face a few times in the process, loving the amused snort he won because of it. He found his destination (Shane's hairline) and pushed his fingers through, resting his hand there. Shane curled into Ilya, his head on his shoulder, and an arm nervously settling across his hips.

"This okay? Am I hurting you?" 

"Mm-mm," Ilya assured him. He was about to add that he knew Shane was dying to shower. He knew Shane could hardly stand the thought of going from an airplane to their bed. He knew the only reason he was putting up with it right now was because of Ilya. 

But Ilya had almost forgotten what it felt like to fall asleep in a place where he was safe. A place where he didn't have to jump awake at every sound in the night. A place where he was held by the person he loved more than life itself.

So, wrapped in this perfect little Canadian bubble he and Shane had built for themselves, Ilya let himself fade. It was the sound of Shane's even breathing with a final whispered "I love you," that ultimately pulled him straight under. 

January 6th, 2024

Shane woke first. Ilya was fast asleep, snoring softly with an arm slung over Shane's chest... and not the arm that was supposed to be doing that. At some point in the night, whether consciously or not, Ilya had tossed aside his sling. Shane scoffed and shook his head. He knew convincing Ilya to follow doctors' orders was going to be an uphill battle.

He could go to battle later, though. For now, Ilya's breath was heavy against Shane's forehead, and he just lay there and enjoyed it.

Shane watched him for a while before realizing that when he woke up, he was going to be in pain. Slowly sliding out from underneath Ilya's arm, Shane bustled around the house. He checked the fridge and the freezer, taking stock of what was still edible. He noticed that a lot of the food they had expected to come back to (and would undoubtedly have spoiled by now) was gone. No sour milk or rotting vegetables in sight.

Thanks, Dad. Shane couldn't wait to see him tonight.

Before Shane started laundry, he bounded back upstairs on light, socked feet to peek through their bedroom door. Ilya was softly snoring and hadn't moved an inch. Good. Shane didn't want him to wake up alone. 

After laundry, Shane gathered Ilya's pills: Antidepressants, antibiotics, pain meds, vitamins for the malnutritients. He grabbed a water and a protein bar before ascending the stairs. Halfway up, he had another thought: Ilya hadn't touched his phone in nearly two weeks. It'd probably feel good for him to feel connected to their friends and family again. Shane found it in their bags and made his way back into their bedroom. 

Ilya hadn't stirred, not even when Shane got back into bed and snuggled up to him, looping an arm around his hips. He spent half an hour watching Ilya before his own eyelids began to droop again. 

Ilya woke slowly. He was incredibly groggy, all of his senses taking longer than usual to reactivate. His thoughts were so muddled that he had no idea where he was. Ilya blinked through blurriness a few times before terror gripped his heart enough for his whole body to seize up:

Russia. Prison. 

But there was no way this was his prison bed. It was much too comfy. And then everything fully returned to Ilya's brain: Home. Ottawa. Shane, with an arm somehow both resting while also precariously perched on Ilya's hipbone. His breath was slow and steady against Ilya's shoulder. Happy shivers ran through his body. 

It was over. Was it really over?

Well, over except for all the pain he was in. There were pills on the nightstand, which meant that Shane had already been up. Of course, he had. And he had everything ready to go for Ilya. Because, of course, he did.

Ilya strained to take the pills and a few swigs of water without waking Shane. It took everything not to let out a groan when he moved. It was then that he noticed his phone.

It felt foreign in his hands- something that'd practically been another limb to Ilya, now so unfamiliar to him. He clicked on the screen.

He had messages... so many messages. Calls from people he knew. Calls from unknown numbers. He didn't even want to look at the team group chat yet. He didn't want to look at any of the messages. He didn't know what to say. 

Hey. I'm good. 👍

It felt ridiculous.

Shane blinked back awake just as he remembered falling back asleep- snuggled flush against Ilya with an arm around his waist. 

Ilya certainly had moved even from underneath Shane's arm, though. He was turned on his side away from Shane, head propped up on two pillows. Shane could see him scrolling on his phone from over a familiar, broad shoulder. He hadn't moved yet, even though Hollander's body told him to stretch instinctively. Fighting the urge, Shane watched Ilya flip through Instagram after Instagram post, all about him.

"Looking at how obsessed everyone is with you?" Shane felt bad for waiting because Ilya jumped. "Sorry, sorry..." He pressed a long kiss to his back. Ilya chuckled.

"Is okay. And yes... but I'm used to that." 

Shane felt a rush of relief every time Ilya joked like his old self, but it also made him wonder how much he was deflecting. Nevertheless, he pressed more kisses along the back of his shoulder. 

"I don't know..." Ilya sighed, glancing back at Shane with a glint in his eye that made his heart soar. "Like... Should I just... respond with... thanks?" Ilya hardly used an American accent, and this time, he dared even to throw in a little valley girl. That, mixed with the ridiculousness of responding to Instagram comments after what they'd been through...

Shane lost it. They both succumbed to a fit of giggles until Shane unwound himself from Ilya so that his husband could gingerly turn onto his back. Ilya's face contorted in pain as he settled back into the mattress.

"Sore?"

"Very. I only just took the painkillers, though." And then, glancing over at Shane with a shy smile. "Thank you, by the way." 

"Mm." Shane smiled back, dreamily, before shifting himself into a similar position next to Ilya, his head tilting over to rest on Ilya's shoulder.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"    

"No. It's the other shoulder." 

"I know. So why the fuck isn't it in the sling?" 

"Ugh. Whatever, Nurse Hollander." To his credit, Ilya didn't argue before letting Shane help him put it back on. 

Shane returned to his place, resting against Ilya's good shoulder. His husband's head rested against Shane's as they both watched Ilya scroll through news articles, friends' posts, and messages of support from fans.

"Wow. Boston didn't play a game after I got arrested?"

"A lot of teams didn't." 

"What?" 

Shane grinned up at him. He guessed he had left that part out.

"Yeah. Obviously, Ottawa, but then Boston was right after. Then Toronto. Then a whole slew of them. I'm not sure anyone played a game that first week." 

"Holy shit," 

"I told you. You're a big deal." 

"Probably not fucking Montreal." 

Shane snorted. 

"Actually, they were one of the first to protest." 

"No fucking way," 

"Yeah," 

Ilya eventually clicked his phone off without warning, setting it face down on the bed. He looked forward, unfocused. Shane raised his head to look at him better, fear settling in his chest. There was still so much they hadn't talked about. There were still things Shane was avoiding discussing. Were they about to dive into the deep end?

"Do you think Putin thinks about me?"

Shane's head fell so that his forehead thunked against Ilya's shoulder. They both found that way too funny, too. And even when Shane tried to get serious and tell him that, yes, he actually did think that he'd crossed his mind,

"Cool," 

"Not cool, Ilya. Very not cool."

Ilya's giggles came at a price, though- he winced amidst his amusement, and no matter how hard he tried to cover it up, Shane wasn't fooled.

"Okay, okay..." He pushed himself up to press a long kiss to Ilya's forehead. "Your stitches,"

But Shane knew exactly how to calm him down. He pressed a gentle finger to Ilya jaw, turning his head towards him so that Shane could dive deep into his eyes. He let himself study his bright orbs for a moment, trying to read everything he could before,

"I love you, Ilya." 

Ilya's whole body softened into stillness, just like Shane knew it would. His smile fell, his pupils dilated. 

"I love you, Shane." He surprised him by whispering it. Hollander's plan to distract him backfired because now Shane's own guts were being ripped through his chest. "And I missed you... so much." 

Shane didn't even try to stop the tear from sliding down his cheek. He watched as Ilya's eyes swam as well, the redness making his soft irises a blazing blue. 

Shane was so ready for a breakdown. Ilya hadn't truly cried at all since they'd gotten him back, and Shane knew it was a matter of time before everything caught up to him. Instead, Ilya took a stuttering breath and diverted his eyes.

"I'm hungry." 

"Yeah?"

Ilya nodded, turning back to Shane with a humble smile, tears gone.

Maybe later. 

"Shower first, or breakfast?"

Ilya's smile faltered, and Shane felt himself panic a bit. 

"Mm... I can hop in the shower if you can figure out breakfast?" 

Shane's panic deepened. Ilya never turned down a shower with Shane, and now that it was actually necessary, there had to be a reason. What the fuck happened?

Shane felt sick.

"Ilya... you can't even raise your arms above your head." Ilya swallowed, avoiding Shane's gaze again. Shane felt his throat start to close up even though he tried to fight it. "If... if you don't... want my help, then we can get, like, a nurse or-

Hollander knew that his insecurity was showing, but he couldn't help it. 

"No. No, no, no. Shane," 

But he felt the panic swirling in his stomach, spreading up through his chest and gripping his heart. 

"Hey," Ilya coaxed again, holding his chin and tilting his gaze back up to him. Ilya's eyes searched Shane's, his eyebrows pinched together in worry. Shane didn't want to make him worry about anything more than he already did, but his expression wouldn't school itself into neutrality. "I- Ugh... This is stupid. You're going to be seeing it for the rest of your life, probably." Ilya said, pressing a quick kiss to Shane's forehead. 

See what?

Ilya eased himself out of bed, and Shane scrambled to his feet, unsure of what to do. Reluctantly, Ilya nodded towards the bathroom, and Shane followed.

Ilya tried pulling his shirt up, but as Shane had pointed out, he couldn't raise his arms without being in intense pain. Still feeling weird about Ilya's secrecy, Shane stood back even though he was dying to help. Rozanov's face finally fell flat, and he looked at Shane with big eyes.

"Help?"

Thank God.

"'Course." He said as casually as he could. 

Once they had awkwardly found a way to remove Ilya's shirt without hurting him too much, Ilya looked at Shane and sighed. He glanced down at the bandaging over his abdomen, his fingers slightly shaking as he started to peel it back. 

Shane had expected that something hard to see was under there, but he had assumed some instances of broken skin from being hit or kicked... He was not expecting this. 

It was worse than Shane imagined. Much worse. It wasn't even just that the lacerations were bad, and they were... It was the word deliberately sliced into him. It was how much hate and violence it took for someone, most likely multiple someones, to do this to him. 

He suddenly understood Ilya's hesitation to let Shane see, because Ilya knew him. He knew he'd freak out. 

So Shane tried his best not to. He tried not to let the panic overtake him.

"It says-" 

"I know what it says." Shane didn't mean to interrupt him so fast; it just slipped out. 

педик

Faggot. Carved deep into Ilya's stomach, like a branding. Shane blinked back hot tears, just staring. He thought about what it must've felt like. Did they have to hold him down? Did Ilya scream? 

Ilya felt afraid to move, allowing Shane to process the new, horrifying fact that his husband had practically been mutilated- the evidence from it stamped into his skin forever.

But then he did something Ilya wasn't expecting- His face slowly warped into anger... no, fury. His jaw set, his eyes black and sharp. He looked like he was ready to fly back to Russia and fucking kill everyone who had ever laid a finger on Ilya. 

It was...

Hot?

Bad, Ilya. Bad, bad, bad, Ilya.

As much as Ilya did typically love that look, it was because it was mostly directed at Ilya. Because when Shane was all pissy at him, Ilya knew he could kiss it away and fix it (most of the time). He didn't know how to fix this. 

And then, Shane's jaw unclenched, and he pulled in a stuttering breath. He took a step back and looked up at the ceiling, clearly trying not to react. 

“Hey,”

“Sorry, I know. I know.” Shane laughed a humorless, broken laugh, shaking his head, seemingly at himself. Now, Ilya just felt horrible for making him feel like he had to hide his emotions. 

“No, is okay. It is... bad. I know." Shane looked back at him and nodded miserably, far past words. "But I am okay. Going to have a really tough scar. You know... that says faggot.”

He knew he probably shouldn't be making so many jokes, but it was his factory setting, and Shane seemed to appreciate it. 

"I-" Shane gave up on speaking, shaking his head. Ilya took his hands in his. 

"What?"

"You just are, so... Ilya about it all sometimes." 

Ilya raised his eyebrows, his smile widening. 

"Ilya about it all?" 

"You know what I mean... nonchalant." 

Rozanov relaxed his face, his eyes growing sadder before reaching forward and grazing the back of his fingers along the side of Shane's face. 

"I think I'm still in shock. Mm?" 

Shane looked relieved.

"Yeah, me too." 

"There's no one I'd rather be in shock with." Shane's lower lip wobbled and long-waiting tears finally spilled down his cheeks. Ilya kissed them away. 

When he pulled back, though, Shane's eyes instantly fell back to his gruesome abdomen. 

"Shane..."

Instead of answering, Hollander sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around Ilya's legs. He pressed his face into his healthier hip. Ilya could feel the wetness from his tears against his skin. He helplessly pushed his hand through Shane's hair, wishing he could will it all to reverse itself just so that he didn't have to see Shane cry. 

"How do you know?" Ilya asked after a little while. 

"Hmm?" Shane mumbled against Ilya's skin, pressing a kiss there. His shoulders had at least stopped shuddering, and his breathing evened. 

"You said you know what it says." 

"Oh," He glanced up sheepishly, eyes still red but dry. "I learned the Cyrillic alphabet." 

Ilya rolled his eyes, smiling down with so much adoration that Shane felt like he'd melt into a puddle on the floor. 

"Of course, you did." 

"Svetlana and I had a lot of time on our hands, alright?" Shane dismissed the pride in Ilya's voice, reaching over for the shower faucet. 

It’s a good thing Shane was there to help, because Ilya really couldn’t handle showering alone. He couldn't even reach his hair without doubling over in pain. He loved it when Shane washed his hair anyway. He could just tip his head back, zone out, and enjoy the rhythmic push of Shane's fingers through his wet curls. 

When Shane moved on to washing his body, though, Ilya found himself struggling. Not with pain. 

"Mm... lower," Ilya murmured against Shane's temple as he carefully soaped around his stitches. Shane chuckled, obviously knowing what he meant, as it was hard to hide a growing boner. 

“Doctor said-“

“No sex! We can do no sex! Doctor didn't say anything about that pretty mouth of yours-" 

“Ilya…"

"Okay, or my mouth on your dick," Ilya smirked at the very noticeable twitch of Shane's cock.

"You aren’t getting your stitches removed for at least two more days. And even then, your ribs-”

“Two days!? Hollander, I will not make it.”

Probably just to shut him up, Shane took a soapy hand and stroked his cock a few times. 

"Oh fuck."

Ilya's head fell back and, while loving it, did indeed feel a deep burning in his stomach and flare in his ribs. He hissed in pain and pleasure and disappointment when Shane gave him one last stroke. 

“You’re gonna have to make it, just like me. We can do it together.” Ilya groaned, but knew he was fighting a losing battle. He just liked to argue with Shane over wishful thinking. "You can manage," 

"Tell him that," He gestured to his growing dick. It was more a relief than anything, to be honest. Ilya was wondering if maybe prison had fucked up his libido. He should've known that not even over a week of abuse could stop him from needing Shane like he needed air. 

At least he knew it'd be worth the wait. 

Shane dried him off with so much tenderness that it made Ilya feel dizzy... or maybe that was just the malnourishment. Regardless, he loved nurse Shane. 

He did want to do some things by himself, though, such as shaving. 

Shane offered to help, but Ilya managed to shave with his right hand just fine. He felt better when he was rid of another remnant of Russia. Shane did make sure to be right next to him as they walked downstairs. At first, Ilya felt like it was a little unreasonable, but on the last stair, Ilya shot a hand forward and gripped Shane's bicep. 

"Ilya?" 

"'M fine. Just..." He closed his eyes and breathed. "Just dizzy for a second." 

"Should've done food first. Here," Shane let him hold onto his shoulder, guiding him to the couch. "It should be here soon." 

"You ordered us breakfast already?" 

"Yep," 

"What'd you get?" 

"What do you think?"

Ilya grinned so big it hurt the left side of his face. 

Ten minutes later, they were lounging on the couch, eating takeout from their favorite breakfast place down the street. Shane ordered four separate meals, which was clearly excessive with how much Ilya was eating these days, but the gesture was sweet. 

"You know I can't eat as much as I used to," 

"I know, it's okay. Just wanted you to have options." Ilya froze with his forkful of potatoes, smiling softly at Shane. He gave a shy smile back. "I would've ordered the whole menu, but..." And then he took a bite of his eggs, eyes flitting back to the TV that was passively playing a news story about the Papanack Zoo.

"...but what?" 

Shane raised his eyebrows at Ilya as if he had forgotten he had said anything in the first place. Then, a fearful realization washed over him. He tried to hide it. It didn't work. 

"Oh, um..." Shane looked down at his food, pushing it around with his fork. Ilya watched curiously as his lips twitched upwards. "We're kind of broke." 

Ilya snorted. He was not expecting that. 

"Yeah?" The concept seemed amusingly trivial, considering. 

"Yeah, for a little while probably." 

"Anton was that fancy, huh?" 

"The lawyers, yeah. I flew my Mom out private. And... Well... technically, you weren't supposed to have, like, any of those meetings with her." 

"Oh," He hadn't thought of that. He knew he was getting special treatment, but it never crossed his mind that it was because Shane was bribing Russian prison guards. 

And thank fuck, he did. Ilya thought of how much he hung onto those five minutes per day with Yuna. 

"Don't even ask how much my visit was." 

"I won't," Ilya nudged Shane's thigh with his foot so that he'd look up and meet Ilya's unbothered grin. "Hey. Thank you... And sorry?" 

Shane's expression hardened. "Don't even start. I'd sell my fucking organs if I had to,"

Ilya felt his eyes burn. He bit the inside of his cheek and did what he did best- cover his emotions with jokes. 

"Mm, yes. I bet Shane Hollander's kidney goes for a pretty penny." 

When they were finishing up their late breakfast, and Shane was packing the many leftovers away, the news moved onto it's next story: Him. 

"In other news, it's been confirmed that Ottawa Centaurs Captain Ilya Rozanov was released from prison in Moscow early yesterday-" 

"Oh my god," 

"Told you, it's everywhere," Shane called from the kitchen. 

"No, it's not that."

"What?" Shane called out, but Ilya was just going to let him see for himself. "Ilya, what?" 

Ilya smirked at the way Shane half-ran back into the room to see the TV screen. The news segment wasn't even really about Ilya's return- he had guessed countless stations had already covered that. This was about what they were calling his "first online appearance": The stupid little, lone comment he had left on Marleau's post. 

Shane took a second to figure out what he was looking at before he just laughed. 

"You roasting Marleau is a fucking news story?" 

"I said one thing to one person. Stupid." Ilya shook his head, chuckling with Shane. 

Shane stood beside the couch arm that Ilya was lying against, both of them enjoying the ridiculous news stories, grappling for any bit of information on Ilya. He knew it was going to be a fucking circus once Ilya started making his way back into public, but they were far from that. Shane was enjoying the little bubble they were currently living in, just the two of them at home... safe.

The mood was light as it suspiciously had been all day, which is why Shane felt like Ilya had basically slapped him when out of nowhere,

"So... They never gave any of my stuff back, did they?" 

Shane took a half-second to have the courage to look at Ilya, but he wasn't looking back. His eyes still directed towards the TV, but Shane could tell he wasn't watching. He was hanging onto whatever Shane was about to say, seemingly knowing that the answer wasn't going to be good. 

So instead of saying anything just yet, Shane leaned down and looped his arms around Ilya's neck. He pressed three kisses to the top of his head, holding him. 

"I'm guessing that's a no," he said in a way that couldn't hide the pain in his voice. 

"I'm so sorry, Ilya." 

He sighed and looked up at Shane with shiny eyes. It was breaking Hollander's fucking heart. They could get him a new wallet and replace everything in it, no biggie. They could get him another wedding ring. 

They could not get him another crucifix that had belonged to his mother. 

"Is okay." 

"No. It's not." Shane kissed the tip of his nose, unwinding an arm from his neck to brush a few curls from his forehead. 

"I came home with you. That's all I need." But Ilya's voice was tighter, his face more sullen. 

"It still sucks." 

"Yes," Ilya sighed, turning his eyes back to the TV, but once again, not watching. He went somewhere far off before he blinked back up towards Shane. "Can we watch a movie?" 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you want." 

He still wouldn't deny him a thing, even if it was clearly a deflection. 

They watched Tokyo Drift, which Shane typically argued against due to the sheer number of times Ilya put it on. When Ilya typed it out with the remote, Shane could tell he caught his amused half-smile out of the corner of Ilya's eye. 

"Yes. I am cashing in my trauma points as much as I can. Thank you." He said, making Shane laugh. They had been laughing a lot today. It was nice, but not at all what he'd expected.

There's no one else I'd rather be in shock with. 

There were certainly worse ways of coping. 

They ordered in a late lunch and watched two more movies. Ilya was fast asleep by the start of the second. Shane was underneath him, spread out on the couch with Ilya curled up on his chest at an angle that avoided irritating his wounds.

It was nearing 6 PM, which was when his Mom and Dad said they'd be stopping by to make them dinner and drop off groceries. Shane got a text from his mother, announcing their ETA.

Ilya's sleeping on me, just let yourself in. He texted back. 

Moments later, he heard the front door quietly slide open. He heard the low murmurs of his parents alone with the rustle of grocery bags. They bustled around the kitchen for a while before Yuna poked her head into the living room. 

"Hi," she whispered, putting a hand over her heart and swooning at the sight of Ilya and Shane wrapped up on the couch together. Shane smiled and fought the urge to roll his eyes. She tiptoed over to kiss Shane on the forehead. 

"Dinner will be ready in thirty." She whispered. 

"Okay," Shane said, glancing down to make sure Ilya was out. He slept peacefully, his face relaxed and heavy breaths warming the collar of Shane's t-shirt. 

Twenty minutes later, there was a crashing bang from the kitchen that made both Shane and Ilya jump. Shane instinctively held Ilya closer, a hand coming up to the back of his head. He had propped himself up a bit on Shane, blinking and squinting in alarm. 

"Sorry! Sorry..." Yuna appeared in the living room, cringing at the sight of them both awake and alert as ever. Shane felt his heart hammering against Ilya's own hummingbird pace in his chest. 

"Geez," Shane muttered, settling back into the couch and relaxing his grip on Ilya. 

"Is okay," Ilya mumbled after relaxing back into Shane. 

"Hi, honey." 

"Hi, Yuna." He said sleepily- sweetly. Shane's mom crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Ilya's temple. 

"You're already looking so much more like you." 

"That a good thing?"

Yuna shot him a look that said, Of course, and you know it. 

"I know that David- Oh! There he is." 

Shane's heart swelled at the way Ilya practically jumped off the couch, still not discounting the wince when he did. 

"Oh, you don't have to get up for me." 

"Of course, I do." 

Shane and Yuna exchanged cheesy grins while they watched his father carefully wrap Ilya in a hug, which Ilya instantly tightened with his one good arm. 

“So that was pretty bad, huh?”

Shane huffed in embarrassment at the statement made by his father. Yuna's hand covered her face, peaking out the side at Shane. 

“Was not good, no,” Ilya was beaming. Shane knew that practically everything David said delighted Ilya. He adored him. Shane had a feeling he liked a lot of the same things that Shane himself had gotten from his Dad. His "boringness". His slight awkwardness. His niceness. 

"I'm going to finish dinner." Yuna stroked Shane's hair before she retreated to the kitchen.

 "Thank you for everything you did," Ilya said into David's shoulder.

“You’re my son,” David said as if he were saying the sky was blue. Shane caught the tremble in Ilya's chin when they pulled away from one another. "Now, where's my other son?" 

"Other son," Shane scoffed, pushing off the couch and hugging his Dad. After everything they'd been through, he didn't think he'd had a better hug with his Dad. It felt like Shane's shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks. 

"Alright." David pat Shane on the back much harder than he would've dared to Ilya right now. "Well, dinner's almost done. We can just leave it for you guys and get out of your hair, though." 

"What? Don't be ridiculous." Ilya shot down. 

Ilya insisted they all eat at the table "like normal" despite Shane's initial protests. It was quiet for a while, everyone focusing on their chicken parmesan. Shane realized that none of them really knew how to act in this situation, and who would? There wasn't exactly a manual for the first family dinner after your husband gets released from Russian prison in the nick of time. 

Do they talk about it? Do they act like it never happened? 

"So..." Ilya said after a sip of his Coke. He had wanted vodka, but Shane drew the line at giving him what he wanted when it involved mixing alcohol with painkillers. Ilya hadn't fought back on that one. "How much of a bitch was Alexei?" 

Yuna laughed, and Shane felt like he breathed a sigh of relief, most of the tension broken. 

"I don't know what you guys are talking about. He was nice to me," his mother practically bragged.

"He better have been," Ilya took another bite. Shane's heart fluttered at how fast he was eating tonight. 

"He was actually surprisingly okay." Shane agreed.

"Okay is huge for him." 

They mostly talked about Shane and Yuna's time with Katya, Sophia, and Svetlana. Ilya asked a million questions about Anya, and David happily recounted everything. Shane couldn't help but feel the weight of what wasn't being talked about, though- what had Ilya been going through while they were all safe in cushy beds by the end of the night? 

"Shane?"

He blinked at Ilya, realizing his mind had started to drift. 

"Hmm?"

"Your mom says you have pictures of Sophia and her." 

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Ilya's worried brow softened a bit. 

"You two go relax. We've got dishes." 

"Mom. Leave it, I-" 

"Don't argue with me." 

Shane threw his hands up in defeat. 

Ilya loved the photos like Shane knew he would. They put on Jeopardy, which they liked to watch with Shane's parents after dinners at home. Ilya didn't make it past two questions before he was out, though, slumped again over Shane's chest. 

"Hey," Shane ran his hand through Ilya's hair, tugging gently. He took a sharp breath inwards, glancing up with sleepy eyes. "Why don't you go lie down in bed? I'm going to see my parents off and I'll be right behind you." 

"Mm..." Ilya stretched the best he could. "Yes. Okay." 

Ilya gave his last hugs to Yuna and David before thanking them for dinner and ascending the stairs faster than Shane would've liked, but he wasn't going to be that helicopter. 

He walked back to the kitchen, where his parents had already wrapped on clean up, going for their jackets. 

"How are you doing, bud?" David gripped Shane's shoulders, studying his face. Shane looked away, searching for an adequate answer, but there wasn't one. 

"I don't know. Taking it moment by moment, I guess. Both of us." 

"That's all you can do." 

Shane walked them towards the front door, thanking them for... well... everything. 

"I think you two will be just fine, sweetheart. Give it time. Don't rush it." 

"Yeah... I just... He hasn't even really, actually broken down about it yet, and it's worrying me. Like, he- I don't know." 

"Shane, what did I just say?" His mother flatly asked. Shane huffed and smiled, rolling his eyes at himself. 

"Yeah. Okay." 

After final hugs, he practically ran up to their bedroom, feeling Ilya's absence for even those mere couple of minutes they were apart. 

He knew his mother was probably right. They had only just begun what was undoubtedly set to be a long process of healing. Emotions would change, probably frequently. They would start to process what had happened more over time. Memories would resurface at unexpected times. Shane tried to mentally prepare himself for the unpreppable. 

Almost like cosmic proof, that was the night the nightmares started. 

Chapter End Notes

NEXT UP: Hayden and Anya! Unbeknownst to Ilya, Shane and Alexei have been texting. Ilya texts the team group chat. Shane tries to go back to practice. Ilya finally gets what he wants- for Shane to fuck him.

MAYBE Shane's first game back, too, but these chapters have a habit of getting longer than I expect!

Chapter 16: No Sorries

Ottawa, Ontario

January 6th, 2024

Shane blinked into the darkness, shifting under the covers that were all twisted up around him. He felt something warm and heavy lying over the side of his head- Ilya's good arm was splayed out over him, one of his legs hooked over Shane's. 

He heard him mumble something. 

"Hmm?"

Ilya shifted, his legs twisting both of them further in the sheets. Shane realized he must've been stirring more tonight. He felt guilty for not noticing sooner, especially when Ilya let out a soft whimper and his breathing picked up. 

"Ilya-" 

Shane shot up, Ilya's arm falling back onto the pillows. He leaned over to try to make out Ilya's face as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He was still sleeping, but his brow was pinched, and his breathing only got faster. 

Shane's did too.

"Hey," 

Shane put a gentle hand on the good side of Ilya's face, brushing his thumb under his eye. He'd woken Ilya from nightmares before, but it was rare and never after... well... all of that. 

Ilya sucked in a sharp breath and twitched in his sleep, and still didn't wake. Feeling panic surge, Shane did away with the gentleness. 

"Ilya!" He called louder, shaking his shoulder and lightly slapping his face. 

"What! What?" He woke with a gasp, hand immediately gripping at Shane's shirt, eyes darting around the room. 

"You're fine, it's fine." Shane rushed to press kisses to Ilya's temple before reaching over to turn on the lamp. Warm light filled the room- hopefully further proof of what Shane was assuring him. Ilya's eyes settled on Shane, eyes quickly taking in seemingly every feature of his face. "Just a nightmare,"

Ilya took a deep breath and nodded, his body relaxing back into his pillows. His eyes never left Shane, like he was scared he'd disappear. 

"Here," 

Shane untangled the sheets and duvet from around them, spreading them out neatly again. Ilya watched him, taking deep, deliberate breaths. 

"Sorry," 

"Stop."

When Shane sat back, he reached an arm out to pull Ilya onto his shoulder, his hand moving to its favorite spot, massaging through his hair. 

They breathed together for a little bit before Shane kissed his forehead. He wondered if Ilya could feel his pulse pick up before he asked,

"...want to talk about it?" 

Ilya sighed, turning to press a kiss against the side of Shane's neck. He tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach and the stir in his crotch. This was clearly not the time, and wouldn't be for a little while still. 

"No. Already forgot what it was about." Shane nodded, unsure if he was telling the truth, but giving him the respectful space anyway. "I could probably take an educated guess, though." 

Shane breathed out through his nose, but there was no amusement there. He didn't know what to say, so he busied his mouth with slow kisses all over Ilya's head. 

"God, I hope this isn't... like... a thing." 

"A thing?" 

"Yeah," 

"Dorogoy-" Shane searched for the right words, shaking his head and staring forward. "You can't strongarm your way through this." 

"What does this have to do with my very strong arms?"

Shane snickered.

"No, like- Like... Nevermind." There was a 70% chance that Ilya knew exactly what he was saying, anyway. "Just give yourself some grace, okay? Of course you're going to have nightmares." 

"Mm..." Ilya seemed displeased by this, but accepted it nonetheless, reaching his hand forward to take Shane's that rested in his lap. They stayed like that for a while- long enough for Shane to start feeling his eyelids droop and his limbs grow heavy. When he forced himself back to alertness and his eyes flitted over to Ilya, though, he was wide awake, staring forward. 

"...you want to watch something?" 

Ilya turned guilty eyes up at Shane. 

"Do you mind?" 

"'Course not," 

Shane sauntered out of bed and down the hall to grab his laptop, setting it up in the bed between them. He let Ilya pick a movie, a little surprised he picked one of the documentaries Shane liked. Ilya must've caught a look on his face, because he smirked at him. 

"Boring, for sleep." 

"Asshole,"

Ilya smiled wider at that, leaning in to peck a kiss to Shane's lips. Now they were both smiling.

After Shane turned off the lights, they curled into the middle of the bed, hands joining on the mattress in front of the laptop. Shane reached his free hand forward and secured it back into Ilya's locks again, thinking that maybe he could catch the nightmares sooner if he felt Ilya moving in the night. 

January 7th, 2024

Ilya was at the door before Hayden even realized, and Anya sprinted out of his grasp straight to him. 

His heart surged. 

Fuck, how he missed her. 

“Anya!” Hayden called out, panicked, barely out of the car yet. He must've caught sight of Ilya, though, because he didn't chase after her. 

Wholly unconcerned with Hayden anyway, Ilya eased down into a stoop to be met with a flurry of paws and wet kisses. 

“Lezhát. Down…" He caught a paw just as it was about to haphazardly land against his stitches.  "Woah. I know. I’m excited to see you, too, but your dad is still sore.”

As Ilya oscillated between petting Anya and keeping her from mauling him, he heard Hayden unloading all of her stuff from the car. He guessed he couldn't ignore him for too much longer. 

“Ya lyublyu tebya, milaya. Da. Good girl." He pointed in through the open door. "Go get Papa. Go get him." Anya did a couple of excited hops before charging inside to look for Shane. 

Rozanov stood and was about to turn to greet Hayden, but he was suddenly locked in a (slightly painful) embrace. Ilya stilled, awkwardly raising his good arm around Hayden's back.

“Holy shit, dude.”

Ilya huffed a laugh.

“Yes. Holy shit, dude.”

Hayden pulled back, eyes shamelessly studying all of Ilya's visible injuries. 

“Are you, like, okay?” He hesitantly asked, brows pinched with concern. 

I don’t know.

“I will be fine.”

Hayden nodded, but looked like he wasn’t so sure.

Jesus, if I can’t even fool fucking Hayden…

“Oh! Hold on,”

He ran to his car and came back with a colorful folder covered in unicorns.

“The kids made these for you. Whenever you’re ready, they’d love to see you.”

Ilya opened the folder to a bunch of drawings- like, a bunch of drawings. His surprise must’ve shown on his face because Hayden shuffled awkwardly, “Yeah, sorry. They knew something was going on with you, so we said you were sick, and they just wouldn’t do anything but this for, like, days.”

Ilya was not going to cry in front of Hayden. So, he closed the folder and silently vowed to look at every single one later.

“Thank you. Tell them thank you. I just... don’t want them to see me like this quite yet,”

“Yeah, no. Take your time.”

"Hey," Shane came up behind them, Anya trailing behind with her tail going wild. She threaded herself through Ilya's legs as Shane walked right into a firm embrace with Hayden. 

Ilya would never say it out loud, but it was sweet. Ilya guessed he could count it a "silver lining" or whatever the English phrase was... after going through all that bullshit, it was abundantly clear was how much love Ilya was surrounded by in his life, now more than ever... including the idiot who was currently squeezing his husband tightly.

More than a moment passed, so Ilya couldn't help but mutter,

"Geez, get a fucking room." 

Shane convinced Hayden to come inside for a bit, despite Pike's obvious, nervous cluelessness on how to handle the whole situation. He even looked to Ilya as if for permission, which was just fucking weird. Ilya shrugged.

"You drove all this way,"

So, they found themselves lounging in the living room with ESPN playing low in the background.

"So, Hayden. I hear you passionately protested in my name. Very sweet of you." It was meant to be patronizing, but behind the asshole-ery, Ilya meant it. 

"The team did." 

"You can just admit that you love me. Is okay." 

Ilya was expecting a pointed jab back. Hell, he was kind of looking forward to it- some semblance of "the normal before-times" that he could hold onto. But instead, Hayden shot him an unreadable look and changed the subject. 

After a little while, Shane went to the kitchen to fetch soda. They had been chatting about things they'd normally talk about, which Ilya guessed should be comfort enough, except it wasn't. Hayden was being too nice to him, and he didn't like it. So, Ilya said,

"You're being too nice to me, and I don't like it." 

Hayded scoffed and shrugged. 

"What do you want from me, Rozanov?" 

"I don't know. Be normal." 

"I am normal." 

"Normal people can't recite Star Trek episodes word for word." Hayden didn't answer, but Ilya could see a twitch in his jaw. "Forget how to keep up with me after only a couple of weeks, Pike? Not that you could before."

"Rozanov..." 

"I guess it's not just ice you're slow on,"

"Jesus, I see they didn't beat the asshole out of you." 

Shane couldn't have reentered the room at a better time. 

"Hayden!" If Hayden's statement itself wasn't funny enough, then Shane's appalled expression did the trick. Ilya laughed, and it hurt, but it was so worth it. 

"He- Him! It's him!" Hayden threw his arms out towards Ilya as if he could literally throw the blame at him. 

"Was that so hard, buddy?"

"Fuck you," Hayden didn't do a good job at hiding his half-grin.

When he heads out, he bids Anya farewell, seeming to be stalling before he stands and looks at Ilya with a sigh. 

"Glad you're okay, Rozanov." 

Ilya didn't quite know what to say, so he just let his face go soft in a way he typically didn't around Hayden. They looked at each other for a moment- dare he say, a mutual respect unspoken. Then, because Ilya couldn't take a second longer,

"Alright. Now get out of my house." 

Ilya played with Anya for a long while, allowing Shane to exchange a few texts with Alexei.

Shane: Have any news or information?

Alexei: No

Shane: Did you offer money? I'll pay whatever.

Alexei: Chill, Hollander.

Alexei: Have Ilya help you with your Cyrillic. It needs work. 

Shane scoffed with a small smile. Being an asshole truly ran in the family. 

Alexei: How is he?

Shane: He is okay.

Shane: You know, you can ask him yourself.

Alexei: Why? You just told me. 

"Who are you texting? Come cuddle with us." Ilya demanded firmly as if he weren't making the cutest, softest request ever. 

A wonderful ache of adoration surged through Shane's chest. He instantly set his phone down on the counter and rushed to the living room. Ilya was curled up in the joint of the L-couch, resting on his good shoulder, his arm stretched beneath Anya, wrapped around her from below. His good hand stroked her scruff rhythmically. Shane knew it was killing him to have to keep his left arm strapped to his chest instead of petting the furry mass in his embrace.

There was space right behind Ilya- just enough for Shane, like he was a puzzle piece meant to fit there (as he had done countless times already). Shane wiggled his way between Ilya and the back of the couch, wrapping an arm around him and pushing his fingers through Anya's soft fur, feeling her calming breaths underneath his palm. 

"Now, we are really home," Ilya mumbled sleepily, succumbing to a blissful sigh and closing his eyes. Shane was bursting with so many emotions that all he could do was lean forward and press a long kiss to the shell of Ilya's ear before burying his face into the back of his neck and staying there.

Yes. Really home.

January 8th, 2024

Although he'd been woken twice by nightmares overnight, Ilya had been in a good mood all morning. Shane guessed it had something to do with the reason he was stretched over the hospital bed right then- he was getting his stitches removed, both in his abdomen and over his eyebrow. 

Shane held his hand as they cut and pulled at the string that had once been literally holding Ilya together. Rozanov didn't seem all too bothered by it anyway- it was far from the first time Ilya had stitches removed. Plus, he was much more interested in something else.

"Excuse me, Doctor Lindsay?" Ilya asked in an overly innocent tone, which is how Shane knew he was about to misbehave. He braced for impact. "When can we do sexy things?"

"Oh my god." 

"What? They are medical professionals, Hollander." Shane couldn't deny that he did, in fact, have the same question.

The doctor's lips twitched. "I'd give those ribs just a bit more time." 

"So... is that a hard no, or-"

"It's not recommended." 

Ilya's eyes lit up, eyebrows raised at Shane excitedly. "Did you hear that? Recommended!"

"Yeah, and we'll be following that recommendation." 

Ily groaned and rolled his eyes back as far as they would go. 

"Such a rule follower. So-" 

"So boring. I know." Shane brushed a thumb along Ilya's jaw, pulling a reluctant smile to his face.

Ilya felt both grateful and guilty when he thought of the way Shane had been careful.

Careful in the way he asked questions, careful in the way he didn’t ask them. He let Ilya talk when he wanted to and stayed quiet when he didn’t. He didn’t push, didn’t pry, didn’t try to fill in the gaps with things Ilya was quite obviously not saying out loud. Patience without pressure.

Most of the time.

They were lying on the couch that they hardly left over the past two days. The room was dim and quiet, the late afternoon light filtering softly through the curtains. Ilya was stretched out over Shane's lap, half-dozing, while Shane absentmindedly traced slow patterns along his shirtless back. The kind of touch that had become essential since everything.

Ilya let his eyes fall closed, breathing slow, steady. His sling was discarded on the floor, Shane making no complaints if he was lying still without irritating his shoulder.

Then Shane’s fingers paused at the back of his neck, right before the burn singed into Ilya's skin. Not completely, but enough for Ilya to notice. It felt like Shane's whole body hesitated underneath him, and Ilya followed suit. 

Quietly, like Shane couldn’t quite stop himself,

“You never got those cigarettes, did you?”

Ilya froze, his heart skipping a beat. His body went still beneath Shane’s hand, every muscle locking for just a second too long before he swiftly sat up and twisted to face Shane. Their foreheads fell together as Ilya cupped his face in both hands, thumbs running over his cheekbones.

He had been wondering when this would happen.

"Shane," 

Shane's eyes were cast down like he couldn't bear to meet Ilya's gaze. He could still make out the glisten of tears pooling along his lower lashline. He nudged below Shane's chin to brave his full gaze, almost regretting it when he was met with dark pools of guilt. The pain on Shane's face hurt much more than any of the burns ever did. 

“Moy lyubimyy,” Ilya was hardly able to get out legible words around the growing ball in his throat. “It is not your fault.”

Shane shook his head immediately, so Ilya gently reinforced his hands on either side of his face. Ilya watched his lower lip quiver, shattering his heart further.

“I didn’t know they’d do that,” Ilya nudged his nose against Shane's, begging him not to blame himself. “So how could you? Is okay, Shane. I’m okay.”

Shane blinked quickly; his gaze had dropped to Ilya’s collarbone, where another mark was healing. Ilya leaned in and caught Shane's lips with his own instead, kissing him softly and questioningly. Shane relaxed beneath him and sank into the kiss, his tongue politely nudging at Ilya's bottom lip until he was granted access to explore his mouth. 

Ilya latched onto the way his cock stirred in his pants. Focusing on the heat in his belly was much easier than succumbing to the looming sense of dread around the last couple of weeks.

When they pulled back, both a little breathless, Ilya wiped away the few tears that were left on Shane's face.

“I was mostly upset because they were from you,” Ilya added, trying to soften it and pull them both from the spiral. “When else would you buy me cigarettes?”

It worked a little.

Shane huffed out a breath of air, swallowing hard and tilting his head while gazing at Ilya. The guilt was subsiding from his features, replaced with the same adoration that never failed to make Ilya's heart flip. Shane leaned in and pressed a kiss to Ilya's forehead, then his nose, his chin, his neck. And then he leaned down, pressing his lips carefully against Ilya’s collarbone next to the burn, soft and reverent. 

Ilya closed his eyes if not just to prevent the buildup of tears. 

Shane moved to press a final long kiss to the middle of Ilya's sternum as Ilya pushed his fingers through his hair. 

"Okay," Ilya mumbled, trying to regain any bit of control over the moment. "Now my dick." 

"Pfft." Shane gently guided Ilya back onto his lap instead, resuming where they had left off before. Shane resumed running light fingertips along the expanse of Ilya's back. He wanted to fall back into the quiet, comfy moment, but now all Ilya could think of was Shane's face, overtaken with guilt. 

Ilya shifted, turning onto his side so he could see him properly. He reached up, cupping Shane’s cheek, brushing his thumb under his eye where the skin was still faintly shadowed from too many sleepless nights.

“Shane…” he said softly. “I am so sorry.”

Shane blinked at him, thrown.

“Wh- what?” he said, shaking his head. “Why? You have nothing-”

“I’m sorry I went back to Russia,” Ilya said, voice steady but low. He forced himself to keep his eyes locked with Shane despite how badly he wanted to look away. “I’m sorry I took you with me. I’m sorry that I acted like an idiot and started this whole mess. I’m sorry that I put you through that... All of it.”

Shane opened his mouth to interrupt, but Ilya didn’t let him.

“I’m so, so sorry, moy lyubov.” His voice cracked, and a tear escaped down his cheek. Ilya felt a surge of fear course through him before he could stop it, having to remind himself that he could be vulnerable here. This wasn't prison, where he had to stuff his emotions down and carve his expressions from stone. 

"No. No, no, no..." Shane leaned down and kissed his face all over before resting their foreheads together again. "Ilya..." His eyes searched Ilya's face while his brain searched for the right words. Ilya knew all along he'd tell him not to blame himself, but he still had to apologize out loud... because no matter how much Shane refused to blame him, Ilya still blamed himself. 

Shane sighed with a stalling kiss to Ilya's lips. "I have agonized so much over all the things I could've done different." Ilya didn't even get to open his mouth to argue before Shane quickly pecked his lips again, silencing him. "It's not going to help anyone. I only blame Russia. Not you. Never you." 

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, breathing through the pain in his chest. He watched the image of his wonderful husband blur above him. Shane brushed a curl from his forehead. 

"No sorries. Okay?"

Ilya swallowed his emotions and breathed the rest out in a shaky sigh. 

"Okay. You too, though. You have been like a super-Canadian." 

"Fuck you," Shane chuckled, gently flicking Ilya's head. "Have not," 

"Yes. You barely bump my sling. Sorry, sorry! You wake me up when you turn over. Sorry, sorry! Chill out, Hollander." 

Shane snorted, shaking his head at Ilya. His expression conceded. 

"Fine. No sorries." Shane repeated in agreement. Ilya smiled softly at him before his eyes slid closed and he focused on the feel of Hollander's hand in his hair. "You know, you're going to be Canadian, too. Prime Minister made it seem like any day now." 

"Mm."

Ilya, of course, was excited for that. He'd be that much safer from Russian persecution and that much more sealed to the Hollanders- his family. He just wished that things with his home country hadn't ended in an atomic, fiery mushroom cloud in the process. It was part of him. It was where he grew up. It was the only place on Earth where his mother ever existed.

And it hated him. Something so integral to who Ilya was rejected him in the most "fuck-you" way he could've imagined, and he'd be lying if it didn't sting to think about. 

"You okay?" Shane whispered, tracing a finger down the bridge of Ilya's nose curiously. Ilya blinked up at him, berating his mind for slipping away from Shane even for a moment. 

"Yes. Just thinking of how much I love you." It wasn't a total lie. Ilya was always thinking of that. 

"I love you too."

Ilya had to admit that he did feel lighter after they finally addressed some things that were sitting dark and ugly right beneath the surface. But as good as it felt to have some weight lifted, it also felt like they made a little tear in a big bag of trauma that was dangerously stretching past its bursting point. 

Ilya didn't know what woke him. Maybe it was another nightmare that fell from his mind faster than he could grasp it. Maybe it was Anya huffing from her dog bed across the room. He was up, nevertheless.

Hollander's fingertips were gently resting against Ilya's cheek- exactly how he remembered falling asleep last night after he and Shane studied each other's faces for an indescript amount of time. Ilya turned his head a bit, Shane's pinky slipping to rest against Ilya's lips so he could give it a little kiss. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and Ilya continued where he left off- eyes raking over Shane's stunning features and recommitting every single one to memory... just in case he needed it again. 

There was a small noise from downstairs- like something hard making impact with the floor or the wall. Whatever it was made Ilya jump so hard that he was shocked he didn't wake Shane. His heart was thumping against his ribs hard enough to reach his ears. Ilya remained stock still, not even daring to breathe. 

Relax. He coached himself. He was home. He was safe. It was probably a dog toy falling from the edge of a counter. Still, he gripped Shane's shirt in a shaking hand.

Footsteps.

Before Ilya's body could even tense fully, their bedroom door burst open and innumerable dark figures barged in, flooding into the room and surrounding their bed. 

Russian. They were yelling things in Russian.

"The fuck? Ilya?" Shane was certainly awake now, eyes wide and darting around the room. Panic overtook Ilya's entire being. He shot out an arm, reaching for Shane, but it was too late. They both were being hauled to their feet, ripped apart in opposite directions. 

"Shane!" Shane was instinctively fighting back, earning him a slam from the butt of a gun into his stomach. He doubled over in pain, falling to his knees. Ilya tried to lunge for him, but the hands gripping his arms were unnaturally strong. "No! Stop!"

Anya was going ballistic, and one of the guards swung a heavy gun towards her, the barrel right at her head. 

"NO. Anya! Anya, sidet'!!" He hardly even realized his own panicked voice. His attention was flying between Shane and Anya, trying and failing to do anything at all to help. His arms were tugged roughly behind his back, and the horribly familiar cold metal of cuffs bit into his wrists. Shane was being forced onto his stomach, his arms tugged behind him in the same fashion.

This was all his fault. 

"ILYA." 

Ilya's eyes snapped open, the room focusing into view- the same room, but everything was different: The lighting, the quiet save for Ilya's heaving breath, Shane safe in bed beside him. His eyes scanned the room frantically nevertheless, looking for any signs of intruders. 

"Hey. You're safe. We're safe." Shane's fingertips were gently sliding along Ilya's jaw. 

FUCK. Another fucking nightmare. His whole body shook, his eyes still wide with fear.

Not real. It wasn't real.

But this is real. Safe. Far from Russia. Far from danger.

His brain still wouldn't accept it. 

"Ilya..." He must've been doing a horrible job at keeping his panic at bay, because Shane sounded heartbroken. His hands hovered, afraid to crowd him. 

"Oni prishli, i zabrali tebya." Ilya's mind raced much too fast for anything but Russian. He felt his breath catch in his throat, his eyes burning with the threat of tears. 

They came, and they took you.

Shane clicked his tongue, brushing his thumb along Ilya's cheekbone carefully. "It wasn't real, lyubimiy. C'mere." 

Shane pulled Ilya into his arms, holding him as firmly as he could without squashing his sling arm. Anya, unable to help herself anymore, jumped from her bed and bounded towards the edge of theirs. 

"Can she sleep with us tonight?" Shane sighed into Ilya's hair, so Ilya turned big, pleading eyes up at him. "They were holding a gun at her, Hollander!" 

"Jesus." Shane pulsed his eyes wide, sounding genuinely disturbed by this information. "Fine, fine. Anya, Pryhaj." He patted the center of the bed, and as if an invisible tether broke, Anya launched herself into their bed and immediately cuddled up between them. 

Shane blinked the hot tears from his eyes as he watched Ilya lay a meriad of kisses on Anya's head, cradling her close. He was whispering Russian against her fur, promising that he wouldn't let anyone hurt her. 

It broke Shane's fucking heart. He had never seen such brazen fear in Ilya's eyes. He'd never seen anyone so scared in his life. 

"I won't let anyone get your dad either." Shane's chest clenched. "I will keep you both safe." Ilya did that often- said the softer, extra vulnerable stuff to Anya, when they both knew he was really talking to Shane. 

It was all too much, so to distract him from crying again (especially when Ilya was evidently still refusing to), Shane launched into caretaker mode. 

"Do you want anything? The laptop? I can get you some tea-" 

"NO!" Ilya snapped wide eyes back to Shane. His bright blue irises begged him. "Don't fucking leave this room. If you want something to do, then lock the door." 

Hollander stalled for a second, unsure if Ilya was serious. 

"Dead serious," He helped him out. "Go on," The only way he could hide the vulnerability of having to ask was by being pseudo-authoritative. Shane saw through it, of course, softly stroking through Ilya's hair and laying a kiss there before locking their bedroom door.

January 9th, 2024

The next day, Ilya insisted that Shane try to go to practice. They both were feeling guilty about throwing a wrench in the Centaurs' season, and Ilya was feeling like... a lot. He never went back to sleep last night. There was no way- not with the fresh memory of Russian aggressors flooding into their room, terrorizing his family. 

Generally, he still couldn't move right and needed Shane to shower, to dress, to reach the fucking top shelves of their cabinets... He just wanted Hollander to have a break from being at his every beckoned call, even if Shane never once showed signs of needing it. 

Yuna and David came over for an early dinner with Ilya while Shane was gone. He had insisted that he didn't need to be babysat, but Shane backed him into a corner. 

"You know, they almost lost you, too. They're dying to spend time with you, Ilya." 

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Plus, Ilya did want the company. He was afraid of where his mind would go if he were truly alone. Not to mention, Ilya immediately regretted everything the minute Shane walked out the door. He wanted to be normal- capable of being independent. He wanted to allow Shane to be his own person again. 

But maybe Ilya just wasn't ready yet. 

Maybe Shane wasn't either, because the sound of the door opening shocked Ilya just an hour after he left. He shot a look back over the arm of the sofa at Yuna and David in the kitchen, who sported similar confused expressions. Shane appeared from the front hallway not a moment later, dropping his bag to the floor and immediately making his way to Ilya. 

“They sent me home.” Shane collapsed onto the couch, folding himself back into Ilya immediately like a magnet returning to its rightful place. “I wasn’t very helpful.”

“No?” Ilya tried to keep the excitement of having him back home from his voice.

“No.” Shane looked in his eyes. “Everyone missed you, though. They can’t wait to see you.”

"I bet they were excited to see you, too." 

Shane's smile broke wider. "Yeah. Practically got attacked the minute I made it into the locker room."

Ilya's heart soared at the image of Shane surrounded by the love of their teammates. He didn't want to ruin it, but, "So... what the fuck did you do?" 

"Nothing, that's the problem. I couldn't even focus. Not even a little. And everything seemed... I don't know. Louder. Too much." 

Shane did get overwhelmed sometimes. Ilya had learned over the years how to look out for it- how to help manage it... hell, he could often see it coming before Shane did at this point, but it never happened in the arena. Other than in Ilya's arms, hockey was Shane's safe space. Ilya felt a pang of guilt, knowing he had pushed Shane to go back too early and almost ruined that.

“Sorry, I made you go. I regretted it as soon as you walked out the door.”

"You didn't make me go. I wanted to try too. I'm just... not ready to be away from you yet, I think."

Rozanov swallowed and gazed at Shane like the divine being he was to Ilya. 

“How are we ever going to do anything ever again?” He whispered in Russian, brushing bangs from Shane's forehead.

"We will stay here forever. Problem solved."

They kissed, before-

"Well, okay. We're gonna head out," David Hollander's voice made them both jump.

Holy fucking shit, Shane's parents were still here.

"Oh shit. I'm sorry." Shane's face shifted into an adorable pink as he stumbled to his feet to show his parents out. Ilya took the time to draw the curtains and dim the lights, turning down the volume on the TV.

When Shane collapsed back into their usual cocoon on the couch, he blinked at the paused TV screen. 

"Ilya?" 

Ilya was already burying his face in the crook of Shane's neck.

"Mm?" 

"Were you playing GTA with my parents?" 

"Mm."

Shane chuckled. "That's an... idea." 

"Your Mom was a fucking beast." He marveled in Russian.

"My mom was what?"

"Zver'. A beast." 

Shane snorted. "I guess I'm not surprised."

January 11th, 2024

Shane and Ilya spent another full day doing a glorious amount of nothing yesterday. Other than Shane studying notes and diagrams that Weibe sent over, they slept and watched TV. They took Anya for a walk, avoiding the kids' house down the street because while he was looking monumentally better, Ilya didn't want them to see the remains of the fading yellow bruising along his face.

Before bed, Shane was halfway through a book he'd already read three times. Instead of scrolling on his phone in bed that night, Ilya had nestled into Shane's side and asked him to read aloud to him. He fell asleep too quickly to even joke about the book putting him to sleep. 

Today, they both agreed that Shane had to try practice again. They had a game in two days, and after benching the entire team for a couple of weeks, one of them had to show up, and it certainly wasn't going to be Ilya for a while. 

Ilya had assured Shane that he'd be fine alone, and that was true in the physical sense. It was the quiet aloneness that got him. It was easy to throw his entire being into loving Shane- making up for lost time- when he was always right there wrapped in his arms. It was much more attractive than the alternative, which was actually having to think of anything else. 

Ilya supposed he couldn't stay soldered to Shane's side forever, as much as he wanted to. Darker thoughts were seeping through the cracks of the safe little cocoon Ilya had built with Shane over the past few days. Memories. Unwanted memories. Guilt. Fear. The gut-wrenching realization that Ilya may never be the same from now on. Probably not Shane either.

Shane: Did a lot better today.

Ilya: Proud ❤️

Ilya: ...is it over?

Shane: Yes.

Ilya: Oh good hurry the fuck up

Shane: You okay??

Ilya: Yes, fine. Just want you.

Ilya felt a knot unwind in his chest. Shane was coming home. He knew it was irrational, but Ilya couldn't help but imagine Shane being ripped straight off the streets by faceless men, just like in his nightmare. 

Shane practically ran to the kitchen, eyes scanning the house for Ilya. 

"Dorogoy?" He called, trying not to jump to ridiculously dire assumptions when he didn't get an instant answer. He readjusted the strap of his bag and made his way to the laundry room, tossing it down on the tiled floor just as an arm slid around his waist from behind. Shane smiled, feeling warm kisses up the back of his neck. "Hi. Haven't showered yet." 

"Yeah, no shit." 

Shane snorted, turning to face his husband, who immediately dipped in for a kiss. When he pulled back, Ilya scrunched up his nose, making Shane laugh. He was adorable, and his face was healing well.

“Come on," Ilya took Shane's hand.

They were soon enveloped in the warm steam of the shower. They didn't say much at first. Shane could tell him about practice later. For now, they were enjoying the proximity of each other after a mere four hours apart. Ilya could actually shampoo and do most things by himself now, but Shane still caught the occasional wince. 

"Ilya-" 

"I can do it." 

Shane watched Ilya rinse the remaining suds from his hair, shaking his head with a small smile. 

"Stubborn." 

"Mm." Ilya reached out to grip Shane's hips when he was done, pulling them flush against one another. Shane couldn't help the small gasp that escaped his throat, his cock very obviously growing when it rubbed against Ilya who already was sporting his own hard-on. He threaded a hand through Ilya's wet curls, the other resting against Ilya's chest. 

They looked at each other for a while, eyes growing darker with lust with every passing second. 

Shane had to admit, it had been difficult... No- nearly impossible to always be practically skin-to-skin close to Ilya all day and night and try to ignore the stirring in his crotch. They both had been waking up with relentless boners every morning, and Shane had to frequently attempt hiding more throughout the day.

“You can touch them." Ilya's statement made Shane take a beat. He blinked out of his daze and realized the hand he had on Ilya's chest had mindlessly traced down to his abdomen, avoiding the jagged scars. When Shane stalled, Ilya gently covered his hand and guided it over the etchings of raised flesh. Shane's breath caught, glancing to Ilya's face for any signs of pain, but he was only watching him softly.  

“It doesn’t hurt?” Shane asked, running feather-light fingertips along the ridges. 

“Not really. Not anymore." 

Shane couldn't help but be part-mesmerized, part-mortified as he familiarized himself with this new part of Ilya. It was a horrible reminder of what they had done to him, sure, but it was part of Ilya now, nonetheless. And Shane loved all of Ilya. He really fucking did. 

"It felt like it took forever," Shane's eyes turned up to Ilya. He was now gazing down at his own angry red scars as Shane traced them. "When it happened. But now... I don't know. Seemed like it happened so fast. I hardly remember it." 

Shit. 

Shane felt the all-too-familiar sting of tears in his eyes. He could barely help when his body slumped into Ilya, arms wrapping around him protectively. Shane buried his face in his neck, pressing kisses up the column of his throat. 

“Shane…” Hollander knows what he's about to ask for. He supposes it's only fair the way he mouthing Ilya all over his collarbone and neck, but he still tried to kiss him to shut him up. 

That didn't go as planned either. Ilya traced Shane's lower lip with his tongue until Shane opened for him. When Ilya's tongue gently massaged against his own and their fully hard erections were trapped tightly between their bodies, Shane knew deep down, it was over. 

“Shane-“

“Your ribs.” At least he could try to pretend to put up a fight. 

“My ribs are fine. My cock is not.”

Shane exhaled out of his nose, shaking his head before crashing his lips into Ilya's and not letting up until he was desperate for air. Shane rested his head against Ilya's, blinking heavy eyelids. 

“Go lie on the bed,”

"Shaaaaaane..." Ilya complained after a while of being stretched out on the bed, naked and waiting. His husband finally emerged from the bathroom.

"You're not going to do anything, okay? You just lay there." 

"Sexy." Ilya scoffed and replied flatly. Shane crawled up the bed and covered Ilya's body, hovering over him with his hands on either side of Ilya's head. He could tell Shane was on the brink of ravishing him. His eyes were still shiny with need- just how Ilya loved them. 

"I'm serious. I'm in charge this time. You're not allowed to move." 

Ilya's eyes blew just a bit wider. He felt his cock respond from where it was just barely out of reach from rubbing against Shane's hip. "Sexier." He breathed, this time without any hints of sarcasm. He watched as Shane couldn't help but glance down at Ilya's chest with a tinge of worry in his brow. 

“Shane,” he looked deep in his eyes. Ilya took Shane’s hand again, running it over his chest and down to his abdomen to show him he was fine. "I'm not even on the heavy meds anymore."

Ilya reveled in watching Shane’s resolve snap like a rubber band. They were making out again in an instant, Shane slowly lowering his hips to rest flush against Ilya's. They both let out sighs of relief when their straining cocks were met with heavenly friction.

Shane gently rutted into him as he kissed Ilya all over- his face, his neck, his chest... Ilya gritted his teeth as Shane's perfect mouth worshiped its way over his tender ribs and- 

Fuck. 

Ilya blinked back the emotion welling in his eyes when Shane ever-so-gently laid long kisses along his scars, not hesitating to treat the ugly mutilation as if it were just another part of Ilya to worship. He didn't deserve him- this beautiful, perfect husband of his. 

And then, with hooded eyes that gave away every bit of Shane's desire, he moved down and pressed a kiss to the insides of each of Ilya's hips. Rozanov watched like a man hypnotized as Shane gave the tip of his needy cock a little lick before taking it in his mouth, his wet lips shooting pleasure through Ilya's dick and straight up his spine. 

"FUCK." Ilya couldn't help but arch and seize his body up, the reaction causing a little pang of pain to ripple through his ribs. A little gasp escaped, and Shane instantly (and very regretfully) removed his mouth. "NO! No, I'm okay. I promise. Please..." 

God, he was begging like Hollander, but Ilya didn't care. He didn't know if he had ever needed Shane more. It wasn't just the pure need to get his rocks off, either, although that situation was becoming more dire by the second. 

Ilya needed him in every sense of the word. He needed to feel him- be close to him. He needed to watch him unravel as he came around Ilya. He needed to hold him close and safe afterwards. He just needed to be completely overtaken by all things Shane.

He wouldn't get it how he wanted it if Shane didn't stop bobbing up and down his cock like he currently was, though. 

"Sweetheart... Shane- Ah." Ilya couldn't help but push his hips off the bed a bit as Shane took him especially deep, the head of his cock just barely pushing into his throat. "Okay. Okay..." Ilya heaved, pressing a thumb to Shane's forehead and gently pushing him off. "It's been, like, 3 weeks. Need a second." 

Shane let him take a breather, moving up to nip and suck at Ilya's neck while Ilya frantically searched for his cock. He wrapped his hand around the base, getting a little gasp from Hollander. 

Fuck, he missed Shane's cock.

“Lube,” Ilya grunted as Shane sucked at his pulse point. 

Ilya held out his hand when Shane had the lube uncapped and ready, but his hand was lightly swatted away. 

"Good arm." Shane insisted. Ilya rolled his eyes and held out his other hand. 

He had nearly forgotten how tight Shane was, Ilya carefully working a finger into him and cherishing the whimper it pulled from Shane's lips. He was spread with his knees planted on both sides of Ilya's hips, his cock bobbing invitingly between them. Ilya reached his left hand forward to wrap around him when he added a second finger, but Shane once again swatted his hand away. Ilya shamelessly moaned when he watched Shane take his own cock into his hand, stroking it for Ilya instead. 

He had zero complaints about that. 

"Mm my god..." Shane's forehead fell against Ilya's, his whole body vibrating above him. Ilya tilted his head back to attack his lips, nipping and kissing him sloppily. 

"So tight for me, Hollander. So perfect." Ilya whispered against his mouth, feeling Shane shudder and clench as a result. 

"I love you," Shane mumbled, their wet, abused mouths brushing against each other as they breathed heavily. 

"I love you." Ilya chanted back, feeling something weird twist in his stomach with the proclamation. He had been feeling extra raw and vulnerable all day, but something about having Shane so untethered and exposed all around him had him feeling like he was in even more in danger... of what, Ilya wasn't really sure. 

Maybe Shane could fuck whatever he was feeling out of him. 

“Want you. Need you.” Ilya gasped when Shane used his other hand to reach back and grip Ilya's cock in his fist. 

"You-" The end of Shane's sentence gave way to a moan when Ilya teased him with a third finger. He tried again. "You sure?"

"Fucking positive, Shane. C'mon." He practically whined against Shane's lips. 

Despite his own obvious, frantic need, Shane was super careful mounting him. He shuffled back a bit so he could take Ilya's cock and line it up to where Ilya's fingers were buried deep inside of him. Ilya slipped his fingers out of the way, and Shane grunted. 

He felt the head of his dick nudge at Shane's hole. 

Please. Please, yes... Ilya's mind was goo, and he was partly certain that he might cum the second he entered Shane, but he was willing to test that theory. 

Shane's eyes locked with his as he stalled over Ilya. Those dark brown orbs that owned every bit of Ilya's mind bored into him, and Ilya felt his breath catch momentarily. 

He almost lost this. 

He almost lost Shane. Forever. 

"Okay?" Hollander breathed, his chest heaving with anticipation. Ilya nodded, gritting his teeth against the swelling in his throat. Shane searched his eyes momentarily, and Ilya was afraid he'd catch him- he'd see that Ilya was teetering on the brink of... something, but Ilya willed his unfiltered desire for Shane to overcome all of that. 

When Shane seemed convinced enough, he slowly sank down. 

"Oh," Ilya gasped, the head of his cock pushing past Shane's tight ring of muscle. His head fell against Shane's shoulder, one hand bracing on Shane's hip and the other wrapping up around his back. Hollander kept going, taking his time to fully envelop Ilya's dick in the best mix of pressure and warmth he'd ever felt. 

Had Shane always felt this good? Had 3 weeks almost make Ilya forget? Why was he not fucking Shane 24/7?

They both let out a cross between a grunt and a whimper once Shane was fully seated on him, their bodies flush up against one another as close as they could get. He stilled there, letting them both adjust to something both so new and timelessly familiar. 

“You okay?” Shane panted, 

“Yeah,” Ilya glanced down at where their bodies were joined, feeling his cock twitch from inside Shane at the sight of it. 

“Are you sure?”

Ilya turned his gaze back up to Shane's, his eyes raking over his face before returning to his eyes. 

“Hollander." Ilya knew his emotions were leaking through to his voice, his face... everything. But he didn't care. He didn't know what was going on with him, but he knew he needed one thing more than oxygen. "Fuck me. Please.”

And Shane did. 

He started with slow, rutting strokes. His hand braced at the back of Ilya's neck, careful of his burn but gripping firmly. The pleasure was overwhelmingly good- dare he say even better with the tinge of pain as an extra reminder that Ilya was truly alive. He had barely made it here- just barely made it to be taken by Shane’s body once again, but he did.

Shane had done so well at being mindful of every single one of Ilya's afflictions when they started. He nudged his leg to the side a bit to avoid one of the bigger bruises on Ilya's thighs. He had made sure to ride him at an angle that didn't jostle his ribs too much. He tried not to kiss the healing side of his face. 

All of that went out the window as they both approached orgasm faster than either of them would've liked. Shane's entire body was buzzing, and Ilya's cock had been nudging at his prostate for the past who-knows-how-long. Then, when Ilya's hand came up to wrap around Shane's dick, it was nearly over. 

"Ilya-" Shane humped him hard, not daring to complain when Ilya planted his feet on the mattress and began thrusting up into him. 

"Yes," His husband breathed into his mouth, his eyes bright and shiny as he gaped up at Shane. "Me too." 

His hand stroked Shane's cock faster, a groan ripping from Hollander's throat. 

"Fuck. Fuck... Ilya..." 

"Come for me, sweetheart." 

Shane, per usual, did as he was told, spilling hot over where their bodies were pulled tight against one another. He rode Ilya through a blinding orgasm, his muscles coiling as pleasure rocketed through his body. 

"FUCK. Oh my god..." He muttered near-incoherently. Just as Shane experienced his final shudder, Ilya gave a final thrust up into him. He came with what Shane was at first worried was a sob, but was followed by an unmistakable groan of pleasure. He felt his husband's whole body go rigid underneath him before he arched off the bed in a way Shane had never seen. He knew it probably hurt, but it didn't look like Ilya minded at all with the way his eyes were rolled back, mouth slack with bliss. 

Ilya's head fell forward as he buried into Shane's neck. He always came hard when he went a few days without release...

It had been three weeks. 

Shane gently thrust against him as Ilya vibrated through his orgasm. He pushed his hand through the hair at the base of Ilya's neck, holding him tight against him. 

"Mm... Fuck." 

Ilya's frame shook beneath him with another strong wave of climax, and Shane held him through it all. He gently petted his hair and peppered kisses along his forehead. 

When Ilya finally slumped back into the bed with a contented sigh, Shane released his grip and slowly slid off of him. Not before he leaned in and captured Ilya's mouth one last time. 

Somewhere in there, Shane swore he felt Ilya's breath stutter.

“Are you okay?" he coaxed when he pulled back, running his knuckles gently across Ilya's jaw. 

Ilya nodded. 

Shane wasn't so sure. 

"Yes. I'm okay." Rozanov's voice shook. Shane gave him a suspicious look, but Ilya painted an unconvincing smile before pecking Shane on the lips. 

"You wait here," He tried, and Shane immediately put that shit to rest. 

"No way. You wait here." 

He climbed off of Ilya and headed to the bathroom to wet washcloths with warm water. He gave one to Ilya before retreating to the bathroom to clean himself up, wanting to be fast so that he could be back in his husband's arms as soon as possible. 

When Shane was finishing up, he turned off the bath faucet, bathing the bathroom in quiet. 

Well... quiet except for the soft sniffling he could hear from their bedroom. 

Oh no. 

Shane froze for a second before jumping to his feet and rushing back into the soft glow of their bedside lamps. 

Ilya hadn't moved much, save for his arms crossed over his face. His shoulders and abdomen shook, and a sob escaped from beneath the fortress of his arms.

Shit. 

Chapter 17: Peaks & Valleys

Chapter Summary

The boys experience a series of ups and downs

Chapter Notes

Thank you guys SOOOOOOOO much for all the love! As always, still getting around to replying to comments, but writing takes up most of my time! Just know I do a little happy dance every time I get a notification ❤️

I ALWAYS appreciate help with Russian/Cyrillic and hockey, btw!!

"Sorry,"

"Damnit, Rozanov," Shane muttered softly into Ilya's forehead. "I thought we agreed about sorries." He had rushed back into bed and pulled Ilya into the safety of his chest the moment he realized what was happening. The duvet cover was secured around them, wrapping them in an all-encompassing, fluffy warmth. 

"I thought I'd never see you again." Ilya sniffled before a shuddering breath that overtook him completely, pressing his face into Shane's shoulder as he sobbed. He had pressed himself as tightly as he could against Shane's chest, like he was trying to fuse their bodies into one. Shane, in turn, held him as tightly as he dared. Ilya needed his comfort more than his caution right now.

Shane needed it more than he realized, too, blinking hot tears down his face. He thought about all the ways this could've ended differently- with Shane clutching Ilya's pillow in an empty room, sobbing while trying to bury himself in the last remains of his scent.

“Yeah." Even at a whisper, it was painful. "Me too.”

"That was really fucking scary," The words tumbled out of Ilya as if he were truly just realizing the truth of them. It was too painful for Shane to squeeze out a response from the suffocating tunnel of his throat, so he just held Ilya tighter. "I- I thought they'd get to you." 

"They didn't," he managed to whisper firmly, in case Ilya needed the extra validation. 

"I thought-" Ilya swallowed with a shudder, a new wave of tears spilling as his body shook in a way that Shane had never seen before. It was horrifying and devastating all in one blow. "I thought I was being executed."

Just the words spoken out loud sent sickening chills down Shane's spine. "What?"

"In the van. To the airport- I-" 

The weight in Shane's chest was now crushing his heart completely. "Oh... Ilya..." 

"Now I have this- this stupid fucking thing on me forever-" 

Shane hated that Ilya had such a stark reminder carved into his skin, but he didn't hate the marks themselves. He didn't want Ilya to either, but of course he did. How could he not?

"Mon coeur," He tried to object, but not even Shane's rare slip of French could slow Ilya's outpour.

"Like what the fuck? Actually, what the fuck?" The vague condemnation might've been amusing in any other context, but Shane couldn't have said it better himself: What the fuck?

"I know." 

"And how- I- I-" His body was raked with sobs again, Ilya's hands gripped at Shane like he was making sure he was there. Shane patiently waited for Ilya, trying his best to keep his own emotions in the background. He had cried plenty in Russia. Ilya couldn't. "I can't believe I fucking took you there." 

"Ilya." Shane shook his head. "Hey-" 

"What? Ya ne izvinyalsya." He snapped, but miserably.

I didn't say sorry. 

Shane rolled his eyes and palmed away some of the moisture over his own cheeks. "It's the premise, asshole." 

They both snorted a sad laugh despite everything, and Shane felt Ilya's muscles loosen a bit. Instead of latching onto Shane like an anchor in a storm, he sank deep and heavy. His breathing was less shallow and frantic and made way for long, sad sighs with the occasional shudder from the aftershock of his sobs. Shane could still feel Ilya's quieter tears wet his chest.

"What if I'm fucked up forever? I'm already fucked up, Shane. I can't be more fucked up."

Shane's heart lurched.

"You're not- Ilya... I'll love you the same no matter what. We'll figure it out. It'll be okay." Shane always surprised himself with his uncharacteristic steadiness when Ilya needed him. It was like his superpower- other than being best at hockey, of course, even teasing Ilya within the private confines of his mind.

“Ugh," Rozanov scoffed, and for a moment, Shane wondered if he had read his thoughts. At this point in their relationship, he wouldn't be all too surprised. But instead, in Russian, "I can’t believe I cried after sex.”

Shane scoffed and massaged Ilya's scalp. He kissed his head, tone dipping with sincerity. “I think you can probably go easy on yourself, considering, yeah?"

He craned his head to look at Ilya. His expression softened, but he didn’t say anything, so Shane tugged on his curls just enough to tilt Ilya's gaze up to his own. He wanted verbal confirmation. He had learned a trick or two from Ilya over the years. “Yeah?”

Shock crossed Ilya's eyes momentarily before his face softened and the smallest of proud smiles played on his lips. “Yes.”

Shane was so good to him. So good for him. Ilya couldn't wait for the day when his ribs didn't scream with movement, and he could rail Shane into the mattress to show him just as much. 

“Besides, you were freaking me out.” Shane pulled Ilya's mind away from the libidinous rabbit hole he was in danger of plummeting down. 

Ilya frowned. “I was?”

“You haven’t cried at all, Ilya.”

Oh. He supposed he hadn't. Ilya was still so floored by the entire ordeal that he didn't really notice, but of course, Shane had. “I’m crying, like, all the time. It’s so annoying.”

Ilya chuckled and pressed a kiss to Shane's peck, accompanied by a pang of guilt. He had no clue that it had been bugging Shane. Ilya took a stuttering, but grounding breath.

"I couldn't in prison." It still felt weird to say prison out loud. "Couldn't show any emotion. I think it just... stuck." Ilya's mind and mouth simultaneously made the revelation. And because he wanted to prove it wasn't completely true, he forced himself to confide in Shane: "Like... Chto, yesli ya vso razrushil?"

What if I ruined everything?

"Ruined what?" Shane kissed his forehead. Ilya silently mused that he'd have a permanent mark there soon. He wouldn't mind. He'd tattoo his whole face with large tasteless letters reading "Property of Shane Hollander" if he asked him to.

"All the work I did with therapy, and like... my stupid, mean brain." 

Another long, warm kiss was pressed to Ilya's forehead, as if Shane was apologizing to his brain on his behalf. He was quiet for a little bit, but his hand stilled, and Ilya knew his thoughts were churning in his brain. 

"...I think..." Shane's hesitant voice finally rumbled low through his chest. "...that even if you did- which I don't think, by the way- it'd be totally understandable, and you just keep... like... going? You'll get it all back. It's not like there's any rush or anything."

Ilya raised his head and beamed at him. Sometimes his own mind played emotional twister with itself, but then there was Shane, battling back armed with pure, common-sense logic. He always simplified things in a way that made it all easier to swallow. 

Ilya loved him.

Shane looked a cross between confused and defensive at Ilya's sudden smile. "What? Sorry, was-" 

"No. Is perfect. You're perfect." 

January 13th, 2024

Sometimes he felt out of body. Like there was still no way any of this could’ve happened

Sometimes he felt so scared, then stupid for feeling scared, then just plain scared all over again. Like something bad would happen. Like it still wasn't over.

Mostly, it felt like something was still lodged inside him- something he couldn’t quite reach or name, pressing in at the worst times, pulling him back into things he didn’t want to revisit.

Ilya exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

He should probably call Galina...

He should definitely call Galina. 

"You okay, son?"

“You see my interview?” Shane gasped when Ilya pressed their hips together, their hard cocks straining towards each other through their pants. 

“You missed me blushing,” Ilya murmured low into Shane's ear before biting gently at the lobe and nipping up the shell.

Shane moaned a, “Noooooo,” and Ilya swallowed Shane's complaint with a kiss. He sank his body into Shane, pinning him to the wall, wanting to taste and feel as much of him as he could.

"What happened to-" Kiss. "- Russians don't- " Kiss. "- blush?"

"This one does," Ilya nipped down his neck. "For you."  

Shane's breath caught, and he opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn't make it off his tongue. Ilya's little kisses became open-mouthing that became light biting up the column of Shane's throat. 

"You looked so fucking good, lyubimyy." He breathed into Shane's goosebumped skin. He tugged a bit at Shane's sweater so his bare collarbone was exposed to Ilya. He hungrily dipped down and gently sucked at the skin there, being (kind of) careful not to mark him. 

"Mm..." Shane grunted disapprovingly. Ilya knew exactly what was coming next- "We lost." 

Rozanov couldn't help but snort at the predictability of the statement, trying to ramify the laugh by running his hands up and down Shane's arms soothingly. He raised his head to look into Shane's love-drunk eyes. There was a flicker of disappointment in them. 

"Barely. You played so well, moya lyubov. Everyone says so." 

"Mm." He grunted again, a slight eyeroll. Then, hesitantly, "Who's everyone?" Shane asked as if it were casually rhetorical, but Ilya knew better. He wanted the details. He wanted the praise. 

Ilya grinned, and Shane gave a true eyeroll, blush tinging his cheeks. Ilya tugged at the hem of both Shane's sweater and undershirt. Shane obediently raised his arms, and Ilya yanked them over his head, ignoring the flare in his ribs. 

"Gord Miller said you were strong on the draws," Ilya muttered as soon as his mouth was back on Shane's collarbone, trailing downwards. "That you looked sharper than ever." 

"Oh yeah?" Shane's voice was far off, like he was drifting away. Ilya's lips twitched when he glanced up to see his head tilted back, eyes closed, little pants falling from his wet lips. He continued kissing downwards until Ilya's knees hit the floor. He mouthed his way to Shane's hip and bit him, licking a stripe against the temporary indents in his skin. 

"Ferraro said you were outstanding." Ilya undid the clasp of Shane's jeans, pulling down the zipper at a ridiculously slow pace. "Like you never took any time off the ice." He gripped the fabric of Shane's pants and pulled them down to his knees in one swift yank. Ilya's cock twitched at the little stutter in Shane's breath. He managed to crack his eyes open and peer down at Ilya through hooded lids, his eyes dark and shiny with need.

"And HollanderFan17 on Twitter said they wanted to spread you over a piece of toast and devour you." 

Shane huffed, running a hand through Ilya's hair as he pressed open-mouth kisses to Shane's cock, still covered by his underwear. He wasn't surprised that it was fully hard, already wet at the tip.

"What does that even mean?"

"Mm... I don't know, but I agree." Ilya kept breathing hot air against Shane's bulge, using one hand to palm his balls through the fabric. 

"And wh- Fuck..." Shane failed to get very far into his sentence before Ilya was rubbing the tender area right behind his balls. He resumed mouthing at his cock, wondering how long Hollander would let him keep doing that before he ripped off his boxers himself. "And what about my husband?" He asked, giving Ilya a shy little blissed-out grin that should've made his heart flatline. 

"Your husband," Ilya hooked his fingers on Shane's waistband, slowly pulling down the last remaining barrier between him and Shane's cock. He kept his eyes locked up at Shane's the entire time, even when his dick was freed and strained towards him for attention. ", is so proud to even be called your husband."

Ilya watched Shane's lower lip tremble, his eyes growing misty. They took a beat to gaze at each other before Ilya turned the mood again.

"And was trying not to be horny the whole time. Very hard to behave with the father-in-law a meter away." 

"Ugh. Can we not talk about my Dad right now?" 

"I am not. I'm talking about my father-in-law." 

"Shut up and suck my dick." 

Ilya barked a laugh of surprise, simultaneously feeling all of his blood rush straight to his cock. He loved it when Shane got bossy- bitchy, even. 

"Wow! Big time Captain for one day, and he gets a big head." 

Ilya, of course, indulged him, Shane not lasting very long. 

January 15th, 2024

Shane was... worried. Ilya would argue that Shane was always worried, but this time he thought he had a pretty good case. 

Ever since Ilya broke down a few days ago, things had shifted. Shane was relieved that they had knocked loose whatever was being held captive inside Ilya, but it marked the end of their period of shock. 

It wasn't like Ilya didn't joke or make light of things anymore- he did, but the light-heartedness in his voice felt more forced. He was even quieter than when he had first come home, his eyes often glazed over and distracted. If Shane asked if he was okay, or what he was thinking about, he'd be met with an instant, "Fine," or "Nothing."

Sleeping didn't seem to come as easily anymore. Ilya was easily and understandably sleeping through most of the day and night in the beginning. Now that he was getting back to a more normal sleep schedule, things were tipping the other way. Shane would wake at night to see Ilya staring up at the ceiling. Or he'd wake and reach out for his husband and be met with empty sheets. There was one night when Shane and Anya couldn't find Ilya anywhere in the house, sending Hollander into full panic mode. He texted Ilya about 20 times and was about to call and wake his parents up at 2:12 AM when he finally got a text back. 

Ilya: On walk. Be back soon. Go to bed 😘

Shane did not go back to bed. Not until Ilya sauntered through the door, half-past three. He wanted to be pissed, but Ilya looked so exhausted, and not just physically. 

"God. Am I in trouble?" Ilya jumped when he saw Shane failing to focus on his book in the living room. "Feel like I am past curfew."

Ilya had promised him to text or leave a note next time, but all Shane heard was: next time. 

He and Ilya had melted together into one human when they first arrived home. One didn't move without the other- hell, they didn't breathe without each other. Shane knew it couldn't stay like that forever, but he didn't think the alternative would be feeling like Ilya was on a different planet from him. 

"Dorogoy. Someone wants you bad." Ilya's voice brought the doctor's office back into focus. They were at the last of Ilya's frequent "check-ins", working with a physical therapist to test the movement of his left arm. 

Shane was confused by Ilya's statement until he noticed his phone buzzing repeatedly from his discarded jacket pocket. 

Alexei: I need $7,000

Alexei: Now

Alexei: Hollander 

Missed call from Alexei. 

Alexei: 7k

Alexei: Wire transfer

Shane excused himself to the hallway despite Ilya's suspicious glare. 

Alexei: HOLLANDER

Shane: ???

Alexei: Do you want it or not

Alexei: Time increases, price increases 

Shane felt his heart against his ribs. The thought did cross his mind: What if this was just Alexei weaseling money out of him? He knew that was most of his relationship with Ilya years ago, so he didn't blame himself for the idea. Still, Shane felt a little guilty knowing everything Alexei had done for him back in Russia. 

Fuck. 

Shane downloaded Kwikpay, his finger hovering over the final button before he pressed send, only to get,

Alexei: It's 8k now

Shane huffed and sent an extra thousand dollars. He slipped back into the room with Ilya, trying to push the thought from his mind so as not to arouse suspicion. He didn't want to get Ilya's hopes up just to be slapped in the face with, "Your brother scammed me out of thousands of dollars."

January 16th, 2024

They didn’t tell anyone but Weibe that Ilya was coming to watch practice today, but the minute the doctor gave the okay on doing away with the sling, there was no stopping Rozanov. Shane wouldn't have tried anyway. Ilya was doing better- looking better... physically, anyway. 

Shane hoped a visit with the team would help the whole "mental" and "emotional" part. They walked hand in hand into the locker room that was already buzzing with conversation over bumping music.

"Well, look who decided to show the fuck up." Bood was the first to look up and shake his head in disbelief. 

Shane gave Ilya's hand two squeezes before he went to drop his bag. 

"How's vacation been, Rozanov?" Dykstra shouted from across the locker room.

"Great." Ilya replied sarcastically. Shane could tell Ilya was training his muscles as strictly as he could to keep that adorably sentimental smile at bay. "Piss broth twice a day and luxury wakeup call every thirty minutes. Nothing better." 

Shane suddenly felt like his throat was made of sandpaper. It was meant to throw light on the situation, obviously, and Shane wanted to maintain that facade for Ilya, but these were details Shane hadn't been privy to yet. He knew there was plenty he still didn't know and may not ever know, but hearing new, horrific information always put Shane on the edge of control and full-spiral.

Luckily, he was good at suppressing in public. Besides, it was more important to focus on fending off the swarming animals from his injured husband before he was mauled. 

“Careful, guys,"

Troy pulled him into a one-armed hug, firm and brief, before Wyatt slung his arm around Ilya's neck from behind and Bood shoved playfully at his head. 

"Okay, hey-" Shane was already complaining before Luca bounded in from nowhere, practically slamming into Rozanov. "Haas! Let up." 

"Oops." Luca pulled back and made sure Ilya was okay, proceeding to slap a firm hand on his left (previously injured) shoulder.

Jesus. At least they had let that heal before they threw Ilya to the wolves.

But Ilya didn't look worried or rattled at all. He was beaming, throwing Shane a quick look of something crossed between embarrassed and grateful. 

“Sorry, I fucked up the season,” Ilya said once everyone had calmed down a bit.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Yeah. Shut up, Rozy." 

"Shut uuuuuuuup." 

"Fuck off, Roz." 

"Shut up with that shit."

"No fucking chance." 

It wasn't like Shane expected any less, but he was fighting his hardest not to let heat build in his eyes. 

“Rozy, we miss you," Luca whined from where he was strapping on his shin guards. 

"Yeah. Hollander’s too strict with us.” Hayes adds, flashing a mischievous half-grin at Shane.

Ilya snorts, shooting Shane a smile that read that he was more enamored than anything.

“Listen to your captain, Hazy,” he shoved at Wyatt's head and got a groan back in return. 

"Alright. Practice. Let's get out there." Weibe's voice came from the threshold, sending everyone into gear. 

"Any cool prison tatts?" Bood asked, zipping up his bag and tossing it in his cubby. Shane watched in surprise as Ilya lifted his shirt without hesitation.

"Kinda," Ilya said, showing Bood his scars before being swarmed all over again.

"WOAH."

"Holy shit, Roz."

"Oooohhh..."

A beat went by before Luca nervously asked: “What does it say?"

“It says your mother. Get your ass on the ice." 

A mixture of chuckles and grumbles echoed in the room. Everyone filtered out, some giving Ilya a last clap on the back. Shane waited for the locker room to clear before he squared up to Ilya.

"I swear to god, if you even touch the rink-" 

God. Captain Hollander was so fucking hot. 

"Relax, bossy." Ilya tried his best to play it cool when the tip of Shane's nose was only inches from his own.

His ribs still hurt when he simply twisted at a 10-degree angle. He was going near the ice for quite some time, and it fucking sucked. 

"I am the boss." Shane squandered his shitty mood with his adorable, smart-aleck grin. Ilya pecked him on the lips, and Shane nudged their noses together before they followed their team. 

Ilya watched practice from the players' bench. Not only was Shane incredibly sexy in captain mode, but the energy on the ice was contagious. He had missed the smell of the rink- the sounds of blades scraping the ice. His mind didn't agonize here- especially not when the guys were constantly skating by to chat with Ilya in between drills and plays. 

Shane skated by around halfway through practice. 

"Doing okay? You can take the car back whenever." 

"No. I'm okay." 

Shane nodded, still a little out of breath. He was about to turn to skate back to where the team was huddled, but he caught something in Ilya's expression. 

“What?” Shane narrowed his eyes slightly at him. 

“What do you mean, what?

“I can tell you’re dying to say something.” Shane coaxed.

Ilya cocked an eyebrow with a half-shrug.

“No, no. Go-" Ilya waved vaguely in the direction of the rest of the guys. "- do captain things.”

“You’re still on the team. Stop being coy, and tell me, asshole.”

Ilya sighed. He didn't really come here to throw a wrench in Shane's process, but it did feel good to be analyzing plays again. 

“Barrett keeps floating too high. Not supporting low in the zone enough." 

A smile threatened Shane's lips. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Shane then fully smiled at him, his crinkled freckles extra prominent against his flushed face.

“Thanks,” He said, bright but quiet. 

“Anytime.” Ilya couldn't hold back his corny grin if he tried. Especially, not when Shane leaned over the boards and tilted up his chin. It took everything not to whimper from how adorable he was, straining for a kiss from the ice. Ilya leaned forward and pressed a gentle, yet not short, kiss to his lips. 

They hardly ever engaged in PDA when they both were on Centaurs' time, but Ilya mused that he was more of a WAG currently anyway. 

"Maybe if our captain wasn’t busy sucking face-“ Barrett teased loudly from across the rink.  

Shane rolled his eyes and smiled wider at Ilya, giving him a final goodbye peck before jetting back to center ice. On his way, he passed Troy and casually tapped his stick. 

“Floating too high, Barrett.”

Troy's cocky smirk instantly fell. His gaze shifted behind Shane as he threw his hands up at Ilya, knowing exactly who was to blame. Ilya smiled and waved. 

In the car on the way home, Shane ran his hands through Ilya's hair. His eyes remained on the road, his other hand on the wheel. Ilya watched his throat work out of the corner of his eye, before:

“How you feeling?”

Ilya sighed- not unhappily, and not happily either, just... a processing sigh. He pushed his head back into Shane's hand, silently asking him to massage him harder. Shane did. 

"Right now, my heart is happy, I think."

He knew he'd get his favorite glassy eyes from Shane for that one. Ilya watched his husband's whole body relax into the driver's seat. Ilya couldn't help but turn his head to press a kiss to the inside of Shane's wrist.

The rest of the ride was quiet until Ilya's phone buzzed. He wrestled it out of his pocket, his chest clenching at the caller ID. He just stared at it for a moment, and Shane noticed. 

"What?"

"I think it's my therapist's office." 

"Oh." The phone kept ringing. "Um... So are you-" 

Ilya answered. 

"Hello?"

"Oh. Ilya." Galina never called Ilya directly. It was always the receptionist to confirm appointments and whatnot. But this was definitely her, and she sounded more shaken than Ilya had ever heard her. "Forgive me, I-" It sounds like Galina chuckled at herself lowly. "I'm glad to hear your voice. Obviously, I heard what had happened and, well, I just wanted to check in." 

"I appreciate it. Yes, it was... a bit much. I am okay... enough." 

"We can work with that." 

Ilya exhaled through his nose, nodding. They talked a little bit about how Ilya was healing- physically, of course. She said she caught Shane's game the other night and to tell him he did great. 

Eventually, Shane was pulling into the driveway, so Ilya bid her farewell and promised to set up an appointment soon. 

"Well... Whenever you are ready, just call. We'll find the time on our end. Even off-hours." 

"Wow. Special case, huh?" Ilya tried to muse. She chuckled, but then evened her voice into something more serious.

"I mean... Yes. Kind of." 

He thanked her, told her it was good to hear from her, and ended the call. He was acutely aware that Hollander was side-eyeing him, still in the driver's seat even though the car had already shut off. 

"What?"

"You didn't want to... you know, just set something up?"

Ilya took a deep breath, not liking how shaky it came out. 

"Not yet, I don't think." 

Shane took his hand and squeezed. 

"Okay." 

January 19th, 2024

Shane knew Ilya was exhibiting signs of PTSD, and he couldn't be surprised. He had suggested seeing Galina again a couple days ago, and it didn't exactly go well. Not wanting to push, Hollander backed off. 

At least he wasn't completely shut out, but it was like Ilya gave him just enough to stop Shane from bringing anything up before pulling back all over again. 

Yesterday, Ilya had silently come to Shane. Just walked right up to where he was chopping vegetables in the kitchen and wrapped himself into Shane's body, his shoulders shaking through quiet sobs. Shane had promptly let the knife clatter to the counter, pulling Ilya into him without hesitation. It took all of two seconds for Hollander to feel his own emotions bubble inside of him. They cried for who-knows-how-long without saying anything until Ilya took steadier breaths and sheepishly pulled out of Shane's grasp. 

"I am okay now." 

"You sure?" Shane had asked, only to get, 

"What vegetables can I chop?" In return. 

Even though they hadn't talked about anything, Shane would take that over nothing- he wanted to be a place where Ilya could let go and not worry about having to push anything down or maintain some type of image. If that just included Ilya needing to cry in his arms without explanation, then good- he'd do it. 

But Shane knew that Ilya even hid that from him sometimes. 

Ilya went on a lot of walks alone. It sometimes terrified Shane when he couldn't find him, but he didn't want to sound crazy, requesting that Ilya always tell him where he is. But sometimes when he returned, his eyes were swollen, and his hands shook. He'd hold him for the rest of the night, but Shane wouldn't sleep, wanting to be awake in case Ilya woke up and needed to get out again- because maybe this time, if he was up and ready, he'd take Shane with him. He was sick of waking up alone at odd hours.

He'd never overshadow what Ilya had been through, but Shane had thought Ilya was going to fucking die. He thought their entire lives were just over. It still scared him. It scared him even more when Ilya's side of the bed was empty and cold. 

Needless to say, they needed a win. So, when Shane carried in a handful of mail, his heart skipped a beat at the heavily stuffed, large yellow envelope, stamped with Cyrillic lettering. He recognized the return address- Alexei. 

Shane's heart stopped.

Oh my god. 

Oh my GOD. 

Shane tore the envelope open in a frenzy, only slowing when he realized he had nearly torn into a packet of papers inside. His hands shook as he peeled the shreds of the yellow paper away to reveal...

Yes. 

Wait no...

What is this?

Wait...

No...

Yes...YES.

Shane collapsed to his knees in the middle of the kitchen, a shaking hand clutching the small evidence bag to his chest. He had seen the gold glint of the chain inside, and that was enough. 

Chapter 18: Exit Papers

Chapter Summary

Lack of communication, in the typical Hollanov fashion

Chapter Notes

DO NOT worry about the boys' finances, btw! Honestly, Shane using the word "broke" at all is offensive to us all 😂. They are more of a rich-people, "have-to-move-some-stuff-around, dip-into-deep-savings, and stop-paying-for-extravagant-stuff-whenever-they-want-for-a-little-while (looking at you, Ilya)" broke. They'll be fine!

 

January 19th, 2024

[ Photoshopped text exchange w/ Alexei coming soon ]

Shane: How?

Shane: Thank you.

Shane: How???

Alexei: https://www.avito.ru/ahrag84ha

Shane had never heard of the site "Avito" before, but gathered pretty quickly that it was like an "eBay" or "Craigslist". He translated the page with a single click, reading through the description of the listing. Basically, it seemed like someone who worked at the initial remand center where Ilya was held had managed to get their hands on his stuff and thought they could make a pretty penny out of it. 

He huffed a humorless breath. 

Jesus, that's fucked. 

But a win was still a win, and if Shane weren't already incredibly indebted to Alexei, he was now. 

The drone of the shower could still be heard from upstairs. Shane had half a mind to barge in and show Ilya anyway, but he selfishly wanted to hold him as soon as he had his pendant back around his neck. 

So instead, Shane thumbed through his intake papers. He skipped over the endless lines of Cyrillic- his translation attempts were still slow and made his brain hurt, but he'd go through them later. He instead focused on the photos of Ilya's cut and bruised hands, his profile, his face... It was trained into an expression Shane had become used to, less so over the years, but still very Ilya. Stoic. Unbothered. 

But Shane was an expert when it came to Ilya. He saw the slight clench of his jaw. He saw the way fear hollowed out his pupils. Ilya was terrified. 

Shane gripped the edge of the counter, feeling his stomach twist with a wave of nausea. He closed the intake packet and closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of Ilya in the shower upstairs. 

Home. Safe. 

Shane was still having to remind himself multiple times throughout the day. 

There was a second packet that Shane could read enough and use context clues to know it was his release paperwork. This one was sparse, most of the fields left empty with only a few hasty signatures on the bottoms of pages. His attention was naturally drawn to the only pictures included. It looked like an inventory of whatever Ilya left behind after he was released. There were a couple of mundane items, like "toothbrush," that Shane managed to translate, but he was much more focused on the two photos included. 

A make-shift knife and a torn book page with his own name shakily scrawled across. "Shane," Like the beginning of a letter Ilya never managed to write.

It was like the deeper part of Shane's brain was connecting invisible dots, but he refused to let himself truly accept the full picture and what it meant. Shane just stared at the page, unblinking, his fingertips numb and blood rushing to his ears. He felt an icy dread turn his stomach to lead, and he didn't know why. 

I know why. 

It was just a letter. Not even a letter. Of course, Ilya may have wanted to write to him. 

Not if he thought he was getting out. He wouldn't risk it. 

Of course, he had a knife to protect himself with. 

But why do the two together feel so... wrong? 

The shower shut off upstairs. 

Shane sucked in a stuttering breath, not realizing he had been holding it. He glanced at the list and quickly whipped out his phone, pulling up Google Translate and uploading a photo for time's sake. 

     4. Самодельный колюще-режущий предмет (заточка)

         Improvised stabbing/cutting object (shiv)

     5. Фрагмент рукописной записки текстом: «Shane»

         Fragment of handwritten note containing text: “Shane”

Указанные предметы №4–5 изъяты и помещены на хранение в соответствии с внутренним регламентом учреждения.

Items Nos. 4–5 were confiscated and placed into storage in accordance with the institution’s internal regulations.

It didn't give him much more information, and it certainly didn't make him feel any better. But Shane didn't want whatever horrible scenarios his mind was trying to cook up to come in the way of what was going to be a well-deserved reunion. With a deep breath, Shane shoved the paperwork back into the envelope and opened the plastic evidence bags, slipping Ilya's wallet and ring into his pocket while gripping the pendant tightly in his hand. Shane bounded up the steps with a growing smile that deflated as soon as he quietly approached their bedroom threshold. 

Ilya sat rigid on the edge of their bed, facing away from Shane, a towel wrapped around his waist and beads of water still clinging to his back. His shoulders were slumped but rigid, his eyes staring off somewhere beyond the blank wall in front of him. For a moment, he seemed still enough not to be breathing, but Shane relaxed when he saw the faintest rise and fall of his diaphragm. 

This was one of those moments where Shane didn't know what to do. Was this Ilya taking a moment for himself to quietly process, or was he mentally spiraling? Was he reliving prison? Was he remembering the blade splitting his skin? Was he worrying about having to go back? Was it selfish for Shane to interrupt, or did Ilya need him now more than ever?

Shane rubbed the gold chain between his fingers, stepping forward into the room. Ilya took a fast but deep breath when he heard him, but didn't turn around. Shane eased himself into the bed, shuffling forward until he was directly behind Ilya, on his knees that he spread to bracket his hips. To Shane's relief, Ilya immediately leaned back into his chest, eyes still cast forward and flickering through thought. 

"You okay?" Shane mumbled, turned to press a kiss to Ilya's cheek as he leaned back and rested his head on Shane's shoulder. His wet ringlets soaked through Shane's shirt, but he didn't mind one bit. 

"Mm-hm." Ilya's eyes fluttered closed, his body slumping back against Shane, who couldn't help but exhale happily through his nose. He raised his hand into the air in front of Ilya, the cross dangling from his fist. Shane turned and nudged Ilya's cheek with his nose, urging Ilya to open his eyes. 

"Hey... Ilya." 

Shane's heart thumped faster as he watched Ilya's eyes flutter open, his brow twitching with confusion as he focused in on what was in front of him. A nervously anticipatory smile began to creep up at the corner of Shane's mouth just as Ilya's eyes widened ever-so-slightly. His face went slack with shock, and before Shane knew what was happening, he had whipped around and thrown his arms around Shane, toppling them both down onto the bed. His arms encased Shane completely, squeezing him way too tight for the state of his healing ribs. 

"Bozhe moy, ty prosto angel. Kak tebe eto udalos’?" Ilya exclaimed through a dozen kisses into Shane's neck.

Oh my god, you're literally an angel. How did you manage this? 

Hollander was having a hard time answering, his lungs being squeezed and his neck tickled with staccato kisses. Through a few breathy giggles, Shane wrestled an arm free to wrap around Ilya's back. 

"It was mostly Alexei, really." 

Ilya grunted, pressing one last kiss to the underside of Shane's jaw before carefully sitting up. His eyes were alight with excitement, a stark contrast from what Shane had seen only a moment ago. His smile sent a sharp pain through Shane's gut, though- he had just realized he hadn't seen a genuine smile from Ilya in a couple of days. There was always something else behind it- something restrained that spoke only through his eyes. Now, though, he was beaming with boyish excitement without a single trace of anything darker lurking.

"Alexei went ahead and did this all by himself, then?" Ilya said sarcastically, turning back around to face away from Shane so that he could reach around and fasten the pendant around his neck. 

"Well..." Shane fumbled with the clasp. "We text sometimes." He pressed a kiss to the back of Ilya's neck to tell him he was finished, just in time for Ilya to shoot him a shocked glance laced with amusement. 

"Sorry, you text sometimes?"

Shane grinned at Ilya's expression. 

"Mostly about this, yeah. He's not really a conversationalist."

The surprised smile suddenly slipped from Ilya's face. His eyes flitted across Shane's, like he wanted to ask something he was afraid of the answer to... "Ring?"

Shane let out a little breath of relief, his own expression softening. He reached into his sweatpants pocket and revealed the black band between his fingers.

Ilya lit up all over again. He went to reach for the ring, but Shane slapped his hand away. "Ah."

He reached forward and gently took Ilya's hand, slipping the band on for him just like their wedding day. Ilya's confusion fell away to something incredibly tender. Shane swore he even saw his lip tremble a bit as he blinked down at the ring on his finger before turning up to look at Shane. The brims of his eyes shone with moisture, and Shane felt his throat tighten instantly. 

Ilya leaned forward to close the last remaining inches of space between them. They kissed gently. Unhurried, and melted together like they were trying to say something too big for words. Shane hardly pulled back an inch before his hand instinctively reached up to brush the tears that had escaped down Ilya's face. 

"Ya tebya lyublyu." He whispered wetly while peering deep into Shane.

"Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu." Shane was shocked that he managed to form the words without bursting into tears. Luckily, Ilya leaned in again and rescued him from potential emotional disaster, pressing himself further into Shane and kissing him deeper. When he pressed their bodies in closer, Ilya moaned a little sound of confusion into Shane's mouth. He briefly wiggled his hips against Shane's in a way that was more verifying than seducing. 

"You grow a second dick, Hollander?" Shane huffed a surprised laugh, rolling his eyes. "Because I could work with that." 

Shane wriggled his hand into his pocket to pull out Ilya's wallet, tossing it unceremoniously into his lap. "Your wallet, perv." 

Ilya cocked an eyebrow, flipping open the wallet to glance at the contents. "Wow... so everything. They just gave this back to Alexei, because what- he asked nicely?" 

Shane bit the inside of his cheek. 

"No... Some asshole was trying to sell it on Avito."

Ilya scoffed. 

"That's fucked." 

"Yeah," 

"Lemme see." 

Shane had a feeling. He was glad he had prepared for this instance, pulling up the screenshot Alexei had sent him. He turned his phone to Ilya, just hoping that he wouldn't-

"You cropped out the price." 

Fuck. 

Shane turned off his phone screen and let it fall onto the bed. 

"Don't worry about it." 

"Shaaaaaaane." Hollander kissed the whines and complaints from Ilya's lips. 

"It'll be fine," Shane said, and he meant it too. He wasn't worried about money, which is why he wasn't really serious when he said, "We can always just sell the cottage." 

Evidently, Ilya did not find that funny. His expression hardened, his eyes sharpening, his brows pulled together angrily. A shameless twitch was notable in Shane's pants.

"Shut your gorgeous face. Don't ever say that again."

Shane tilted his head, softly gazing at his husband. 

"It's just a thing, Ilya. I have you. That's all I need."

"Sell the cottage? Hollander, how much was this shit to get back?" 

Realizing that he had definitely oversold the price with his cottage comment, Shane relented.

"It was 8k. Not cottage money. Relax." 

Ilya tsked, glancing down and thumbing the gold pendant on his sternum. 

"Well, the Ducati is going to be gone soon. Think I'm done with taking risks for a while." 

Shane tried not to let how thrilled he was by this information show. 

"I don't really want to deal with that property in Toronto anymore either." 

"And we can let your mother whore us out to whatever brand she wants. See? Pfft. Sell the cottage." Ilya shoved Shane so that his back hit the bed, rucking up his shirt and covering him in kisses. "You're going to pay for that one." 

January 21st, 2023

Shane often slipped away to exercise in the basement gym when Ilya was sleeping. It may have been stupid, but Shane felt like he was rubbing it in his face if he did it while Ilya was awake and unable to join him. And if Ilya just sat there with him and watched Shane, there was no way that he'd be getting much exercising done... well, at least not with the machines.

Hollander had started getting up at the crack of dawn to be back in bed by the time Ilya woke up. Or, the minute Ilya dozed off midday, Shane would quietly bound upstairs and throw on some workout clothes. He knew Ilya was getting antsy from all the lying around. He was still more tired than average, but as afternoons approached, Ilya was clearly starting to itch beneath his skin. 

They took a lot of walks with Anya, but Ilya loved his adrenaline fixes, and leisurely strolls around the neighborhood weren't quite cutting it. Needless to say, Ilya's first time working out was sooner than Shane would've liked, but it was no secret that Rozanov could be a stubborn asshole. 

Heart pounding, face hot, skin sheen with sweat, Shane nearly ate shit on the treadmill one morning when he caught sight of an unexpected dark figure on the opposite side of the gym. 

"Fuck." 

"Sorry," Ilya did an awful job at hiding his smirk as Shane steadied himself and turned down his speed to walk. He pursed his lips and exhaled slowly, trying to ease his breathing back to conversation levels. 

"I'll be right-" Shane's breathy sentence died on his tongue when he realized Ilya was wearing gym shorts and a muscle tee. Shane stopped the treadmill and tilted his head disapprovingly. "Ilya, no." 

"Just a little time on the bike! No biggie. I'll be like you." 

"Like me?" 

"Slow." 

"Fuck you, and still no." 

"Moya lyubov, I'm going crazy." 

They went back and forth for a while, Ilya inching towards the bike, shamelessly conspicuous. After a short debate of offers and counter-offers, they agreed on Ilya trying the bike for no more than ten minutes- Shane would be timing. Low speed. Low resistance. 

Shane heard the unmistakable, tinny sounds of IC3PEAK from Ilya's earbuds and couldn't help but smile. As worried as he was, it felt good to have Ilya back in the gym with him. It was something they unfailingly did together, and it always reminded Shane of that very first time he realized how embarrassingly infatuated he was with Rozanov.

Shane's eyes frequently flickered between the timer on his phone and over to Ilya, ensuring he wasn't taking it too fast. Around six minutes in, though, Shane realized Ilya was breathing relatively hard for how slow he was going. He tried to relax the anxiety tangled in his chest, but the more he glanced at Ilya, the more he became suspicious. He should not be sweating from six minutes of easy pedalling. 

Stopping the treadmill, Shane made his way over to Ilya, whose head was bowed, eyes focused somewhere on the floor. He glanced over Ilya's shoulder and scoffed:

He had the resistance up all the way. 

Shane felt his jaw set angrily, reaching over to the wall and yanking the bike's cord from the outlet. 

"Hey!" Ilya perked up, whipping around to frown at Shane, who plucked an earbud from Ilya. "That wasn't ten minutes!" 

"And that wasn't the deal, asshole. You had resistance set to ten." 

Ilya's head fell back as he let out a dramatic groan, but knew better than to argue when he was clearly caught in the act. He reached up to swipe the light sweat from his brow, conceding and sliding off the bike with mumbles of "no fun" under his breath. Shane turned to grab his phone from the treadmill, and by the time he had turned back, Ilya was standing next to the bike, eyes closed, hand gripping the handle until his knuckles turned a white that matched the pallor of his face.

Shane moved behind him nervously. He reached his arms out towards Ilya just in case, but kept some space. 

“You okay?”

Ilya nodded quickly, taking a deep breath. Shane's eyes went wide, watching Ilya's knee buckle under the weight of a single step forward.

"Shit." Shane barely registered his own exclamation. Ilya went down fast, but Shane's reflexes didn't fail him. He caught Ilya mid-collapse, arms securing themselves underneath Ilya's armpits while guiding them both gently down to the floor instead. "I fucking told you." Hollander had eased down to his knees, letting Ilya's weight rest back against him. "Are you okay?" 

Ilya blinked a few times, his head rested back against Shane's chest. Some of the color was returning to his face, his eyes coming back into focus. 

"M'fine." He tried to push himself up. Shane tightened his hold and pulled Ilya back down. 

"No, no, no... Lay down for a second." 

Shane shuffled back on his knees so that Ilya could lie down fully with his head in Shane's lap. Ilya didn't look at him, his eyes cast down as he sighed. Shane brushed light fingertips over his forehead.

"I used to be on ice for 4 hours." He grumbled, shaking his head. "Used to outrun you, easy-peasy. Now I can't even do ten minutes on the bike." 

The disappointment in Ilya's voice tugged painfully at Shane's heart.

"Give it time, dorogoy. You'll be right back to your delusionally cocky self in no time." 

Ilya's eyes flickered further away, reaching a place that Shane couldn't see. He desperately wanted to follow him wherever his mind went, but Ilya always drifted too far and too fast. 

Instead, Shane leaned down and pressed a kiss to his nose. Ilya's far-off look snapped back into focus, a small smile playing on his lips. He gazed up at Shane like a whole new person- like he wasn't just clearly inwardly spiraling a second ago. The only thing left was sickly sweet admiration. 

"You are so pretty. From all angles." He swooned, his fingers gingerly roaming Shane's face as he blinked languidly. This dazed look, Shane didn't mind. 

"Think you can make it to the couch? I'll make breakfast." 

"Ugh," Ilya let Shane help him up. "The couch." He said the word as if it painfully offended him to do so. 

"What? Already sick of our couch?" Shane kept an arm around Ilya's waist as they ascended the stairs. 

"Only when you're not there with me." 

January 22nd, 2024

The first away game since getting back was in Detroit. Ilya came with the team, enjoying chatting with everyone on the plane and wishing them luck before the game. He hadn't felt up to going, but practically attacked Shane as soon as he stepped back through the hotel room door. It had become a ritual of sorts: Ilya getting all worked up over watching Shane play hockey, resulting in lots of sex directly after- still slower, careful sex. But it was always good, and them, and it kept Ilya in the present more than anything else had been lately. 

With the two of them spent and satisfied, they lounged in bed and cuddled to the quiet sound of The Office playing on the hotel TV in the background. Ilya was pressing damp kisses across Shane's chest, his crucifix trailing along the way. Shane hadn't realized how much he relied on the comfort of feeling and hearing the heavy gold pendant all the time.

The fan oscillated on the ceiling overhead, blowing a gentle breeze over them. It chilled the wet kiss marks across Shane's skin, making goosebumps erupt over his flesh. It was heavenly, especially after his body still burned hot from the exertion of riding Ilya to climax. Not to mention, Shane had been feeling the closest to Ilya when they had sex. Not that that was an extremely new phenomenon, but it was the only time that Shane felt like Ilya was truly and fully with him lately- the only time when part of his mind wasn't somewhere else. 

A final kiss was pressed just below Shane's navel before Ilya eased himself back down on the bed, grimacing slightly as he adjusted into a comfortable position on his back wedged up against Shane's side. They both lay quietly for a bit, watching the ceiling fan flutter above. The muffled sound of Bood on the phone with wife and kids could just barely be heard on the other side of the wall. 

A thought crossed Shane's mind, and before he could stop himself, "When you were at- I mean..." Shane retreated. Maybe he shouldn't ruin this moment with his stupid questions. "Never mind."

Ilya seemed to sense the heaviness even in the fragment of Shane's thought. He glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Shane…” He reached out and ran a gentle thumb along Shane's bottom lip. “Anything you want to know, dorogoy... You can just ask.”

“I don’t- I don't know. I don't want to make you relive it.”

“Well, I'll let you in on a little secret- it wasn't even, like, three weeks ago. Still pretty fresh.”

Shane scoffed, raising his head to let it flop back down against his pillow. He studied the nooks and crannies of the popcorn ceiling before glancing over at Ilya. He guessed that if there was a time to break into that section of Ilya's mind, it was now, when he was all blissed-out and ever-present. 

"Did you have, like, cellmates? A lot of them?"

Ilya actually looked a little relieved that Shane finally asked. 

"The first place, yes. Twenty-some. Big cells with a dozen bunk beds. The second one, I just had one other guy. Really old. Not Hunter old, but, like, late 70s. Didn't talk, kept to himself." 

Shane nodded, studying Ilya's face for any signs of distress before looking back up at the ceiling. He tried to imagine it- being in a room with 20-some guys who you knew hated you and wanted to see you hurt... maybe even wanted you dead. He wasn't surprised that Ilya hardly got a wink of sleep in there. 

He had billions of other questions, but Shane didn't really even know where to start, and he was afraid of which questions would lead where. Ilya seemed to sense his hesitation with a light breath of amusement. He shifted beside Shane until he was propped up on an elbow, facing him. 

“The first place was a… what is it… a pool… a gross, chaos pool…”

“Cesspool?”

“A cesspool!" Ilya confirmed. Shane almost laughed at the excitement in his voice from locking down the right word that ironically illustrated something so awful. Any amusement quickly faded, though. "Anarchy. Very scary. Everyone watching me. You're not allowed to smile. Isn't that crazy? I didn't know that part. Watched someone get the shit kicked out of them for laughing.”

Shane tried to keep his face neutral. 

"Black Whale was... was not better, just different. Way stricter. More surveillance, so I didn't have to worry about the inmates so much. Everyone kept to their own business. Not the guards, though. The guards hated me there." 

Shane reached a hand forward, hoping it wasn't visibly shaking. He traced Ilya's jaw with careful fingers, letting him know that he was listening but remaining quiet to let him continue. He talked about how they'd wake him up. He talked about the frequent bunk tosses and cell searches. He talked about the horrible stagnation of staring at the same four walls of his cell for 22-23 hours a day. 

"Showers were the worst, though probably. I tried to avoid going as much as I could." 

His voice stayed calm, but Shane felt something cold creep down his spine anyway.

“Why?”

Ilya let out a quiet breath through his nose, humorless. “You know why.”

Shane’s chest tightened painfully. He did know, or at least he knew enough.

“They liked making comments,” Ilya said after a moment. Shane felt his jaw clench instinctively.

“What kind of comments?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Ilya looked at him with sad, tired eyes. 

“The kind you are imagining.”

Shane looked away immediately, shame and anger twisting together in his stomach. Ilya shifted slightly closer against him, looping an arm around Shane's waist.

“They never…” He stopped himself, brows knitting faintly. “Nothing ever... happened, though. Not exactly.”

Shane’s entire body went rigid. His stomach churned, and Hollander could feel his face pale. 

Not exactly?

“Ilya-”

“Is nothing," He interjected swiftly. "Just... there was a moment after-” Ilya glanced down and nodded towards the scars across his abdomen. “That whole thing, where- I don't know. I think something much worse would've happened if the guards hadn't stepped in.”

Shane blinked, his mind moving so fast that he couldn't grab onto a single conscious word. 

"But it didn't happen." Ilya tried to reassure him, but as casually as Ilya spoke about it all, Shane still saw the fear lingering in his eyes. "So..." Ilya turned his stare back up at the ceiling, expression secluded. Shane swallowed hard, not sure what to do or say. Shane had indeed been avoiding that excruciating question, even in his own mind. He supposed he should be relieved to know that Ilya hadn't been assaulted- not in that way, at least. But just the thought of something almost happening- the realization of the pure fear that must've been coursing through Ilya, alone, and vulnerable- was sickening in itself.

But Ilya had told him. He didn't keep it locked way down out of reach, where he had to relive it alone.

"Thanks for telling me." He whispered, craning his neck to press a gentle kiss to Ilya's shoulder. He turned and offered Shane a small smile that Shane had to reach over to kiss as well. 

They stared up at the ceiling for a little while longer after that, but Shane wasn't done. The bigger question on his mind still hovered like a black cloud- it hadn't left his mind since he opened that envelope of Ilya's things. 

The exit paperwork. 

The blade. 

The note. 

Shane had told Ilya about the paperwork if he was at all interested in seeing it. Unsurprisingly, Ilya simply tossed them. Still, the images kept Shane up at night. There was something else Ilya wasn't divulging. He could just feel it. 

“Hey Ilya…”

“Mm..”

“That knife they found after you left...”

Shane felt Ilya's entire body tense beside him, but it was a fleeting moment- so fast, he almost could've been convinced that he imagined it. 

“Please. This was prison, Shane. It was a shiv.” The fact that Ilya was hiding behind humor again was not a good sign and far from comforting. Shane stared flatly back, unamused. Ilya shot him a look of apology, and Shane continued.

“That was… like, just in case you had to protect yourself?“

Ilya didn't look at him, his throat working before,

“Of course. For protection.”

January 28th, 2024

Ilya was sick of feeling weak. His mind. His body. Everything. At least he knows exactly what to do about the body aspect. He craved exercise. And maybe it'd help his mind too. It felt so good to have his heart pounding for a reason outside of unbridled fear. 

Ilya stepped off the bike, gripping the handle as he stood just in case. He hadn't had any incidents like the first morning, but Shane watched him like a hawk when they worked out together anyway. That's why Ilya always rushed down the gym the minute Shane left for practice.

Ilya's phone rang, and at first, he was sure it was Shane. He's sure his husband sensed him pushing himself, and he was calling to rip him a new one. 

It was just Yuna. 

Ilya took a few healthy gulps of air before he answered, managing an even keel. 

"Hello?" 

"Hi, honey. David and I are on our way-" 

"Shit." 

"Everything okay?"

"Yes, yes... just lost track of time." 

There was a beat of silence, and Ilya felt his chest tense in anticipation. 

"Are you sure you're okay? You sound out of breath. You don't have to come out tonight. There's always the next game." 

"I'm- I'm fine," Ilya weighed his options. Either he admitted that he was just doing some cardio, or risk worrying Yuna further. He begrudgingly went with the truth. "Was just on the bike for a little bit." 

"Is that safe without someone there with you?"

Hollanders. 

"Is okay. I am going to shower very quick. I will see you soon." 

For the fifth time today, Ilya wondered if this was a bad idea. Too many people. Too many cameras. But Shane had kissed his forehead that morning and said, casual but hopeful, “No pressure. Just… if you feel up to it.”

And Ilya had felt something stubborn rise in his chest.

So now he was walking carefully beside Shane’s parents through a side entrance at the arena, collar turned up, baseball cap low, dark sunglasses hiding most of his face.

“I look like a criminal,” he muttered under his breath.

Shane’s mother squeezes his arm gently. “You look like the world's most talked about hockey player who doesn’t want to be mobbed.”

“Basically same thing,” he said dryly. Yuna nudged him in the arm. "Sorry," He had been a lot more snippy as of late, and he knew it. 

They settled into a few rows above the Hollanders' usual seats- still relatively close to the glass, but further away from typical camera sweeps and prying eyes. Ilya noticed the look Yuna and David exchanged before they had stepped into the row, making sure they both were on either side of Ilya so that he was sandwiched in the center seat. Maybe in another context, he would've felt a regrettable rush of annoyance from seemingly being treated like glass, but in this context, he only appreciated it. The last thing he wanted to do was be forced to interact with prying questions and parasocial obsessions. 

They had missed warm-ups due to Ilya's poor sense of time in the gym, the first period starting just before they sat down. The first sound of skates cutting ice made something inside Ilya loosen. He didn't mind the chaos of the stadium as much as he thought he would. Similar to when he visited practice, the familiar senses seemed to bring him right back into himself (or the self that he was before) for a few blissful, fleeting moments. 

It was tight from the first puck drop. Even though they had won their most recent game against Columbus, Ottawa needed this win against Buffalo, and it showed in the Centaurs' aggression. 

Ilya was glad he came, because Shane was clearly scanning the crowd for him as soon as he was on the player's bench. It didn't take him long for them to lock eyes, Shane's face lighting up immediately. He seemed to refrain from waving, but kept Ilya's gaze with his own, mouthing "Hi," through an unrestrained grin. Ilya mouthed "Hi," back, his expression undoubtedly mirroring. 

Shane was an absolute machine throughout the game, but still managed to sneak in a dozen or more glances at Ilya throughout. That's why the halfway-second period was such a slap in the face- Shane was on such a roll that no one saw the hit coming. One of the larger Sabres players flew out of nowhere, checking Shane into the boards hard. Ilya's heart leapt, seemingly taking his whole body with it. The lurch in his seat was certainly noticeable, one hand gripping at the fabric of his jeans and the other half-mindedly fiddling with his crucifix.

He felt Yuna's hand on his forearm. They both watched Shane stumble but keep his footing, rolling his shoulder and shaking it off. After what Ilya swore was a glance at him, Shane swiftly pushed off the boards, diving right back in with the same determination tenfold. 

As he relaxed back into his seat, Yuna gave Ilya's arm two squeezes before letting go. It was something that Shane did to him often: The little double squeeze. Ilya had learned that it was an inheritance from Yuna within the first two months of knowing her. To this day, it never failed to turn the corner of his lips up in adoration. 

Rozanov glanced over just in time to catch the obvious tension that relaxed from his mother-in-law's face. He wasn't the only one who was more on edge than usual since returning from Moscow. 

As Ottawa began the power play, Ilya felt jealousy course through him. He wanted to be the one out there with Shane. That was their thing. With an unexpected flash of anger, Ilya realized it was just another thing that Russia had taken from him. 

"Soon." David clearly noticed his apprehension, putting a hand on Ilya's shoulder and jostling him gently. He tried to force a comforting smile back. 

Nearing the end of the second period, Ottawa scored to tie it up. The arena erupted, and Ilya enjoyed forgetting himself for a moment- standing and clapping hard with the rest of the crowd. But then the second period ended, and the Zambonis had their turn on the ice. Just as people started filtering to the bathrooms and concessions, the PA system boomed through the arena. 

"We're just hearing that we've got a special someone in the crowd tonight-" 

Ilya froze where he was just about to sit back down, his heart rate ramping up. He heard Yuna quietly swear from beside him. 

"They were supposed to tell Trottier to leave it..." She glanced at Ilya apologetically. Evidently, the PA announcer didn't get the message.

"Centaurs fans..." Shit. "Help me with a big welcome back-" Nooooooo. "-to Ottawa's Ilya Rozanov!" 

Before Ilya can even know how he's feeling about it, he watches the jumbotron screen flicker. And there he is- his Centaurs hat pulled uselessly over his brow, hair longer than usual curling out from underneath. It all happened too fast to hide his initially unenthused expression.

Everyone who was in mid-stride out of the seats froze. People tugged at the sleeves of friends and pointed up at where Ilya was caught, 30 feet tall above the ice. There was less than a half-second before the explosion of noise that left Ilya's ears ringing long after the commotion had faded. 

Huffing a stunned breath, Ilya's throat tightened unexpectedly. He hadn’t realized how afraid he was that the crowd would look at him differently: With pity. With discomfort. But this... was nice. For the first time since Russia, standing in the open, surrounded by thousands of people who are cheering for them, he felt something steady settle within his chest. He was still Ilya Rozanov. Changed a little, yes. Damaged, absolutely. But not this eternally fragile shell of a person that he had worried that he'd become. 

Ilya used to soak up the attention- whether it was outpourings of love from his home arena, or even crowds booing and hurling insults at him, he never minded. He liked it all. He had always thrived in it. The charisma on camera came naturally, and he never had to think about it. 

Now, with the context of everything that had happened with the whole world watching, he felt more awkward than he ever had in the spotlight.

This must be how Hollander feels all the time. 

Raising an unsure hand, Ilya gave a single curt wave. It was understated for him- subtle in a way he barely even recognized himself, but it didn't seem to matter. The small gesture alone was enough to send the arena into a mad frenzy all over again, the mass of people celebrating like one homogenized organism that spoke in earsplitting hollers. 

But Ilya was only focused on one person. From the player's bench, Shane was staring up at the screen, grinning like an adorable idiot. The jumbotron finally moved onto some ad for a local car dealership, and Shane turned to look at the actual Ilya, their eyes meeting. 

"You good?" Shane mouthed. Ilya smiled softly. It felt good to mean it when he mouthed back,

"Yes." 

The game stayed tied up until the final two minutes. Shane stole the puck at the blue line, drove hard toward the net, and snapped a shot that barely snuck past the goalie’s pad.

The building loses its mind as Ottawa held the lead by inches for the remaining seconds.  When the buzzer sounded, it felt like the entire arena exhaled at once. They barely won, but they won. As the team saluted the crowd and shook hands, Ilya exchanged quiet nods with his in-laws. They slipped out of their seats, not wanting another jumbotron moment.

Making their way down toward the restricted entrance near the players’ tunnel, security recognized Ilya immediately and waved them through without hesitation. Yuna and David join him off to the side of the tunnel entrance, Ilya with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, trying to steady sudden nerves. He felt like everyone's eyes were on him now- wondering about him. Wondering what he had been through. Wondering how he was different.

The team began to file out, laughing, shouting, adrenaline high. Shane emerged near the end, helmet off, hair damp with sweat. He spotted Ilya instantly. His face went soft in a way it never did at games.

“You came down,” Shane said, breathless, stepping closer.

“Of course,”

There’s still noise in the arena behind them: Fans lingering, chanting, celebrating. Press scrambling for footage and quotes. But Shane didn't hesitate. He closed the last bit of distance and pulled Ilya in gently, mindful of healing ribs as always, and kissed him. It wasn't subtle, and it immediately quelled whatever insecurities had been sitting deep in Ilya's gut. 

A few players whooped loudly as they passed.

“You okay?” Shane murmured, studying Ilya's face. He nodded, squeezing Shane's hand, about to let him go back to the locker room with the team. Shane seemed to have other ideas. "Come back and see the boys with me. I'll drive you home." 

Ilya chewed at his lower lip. 

"Ah, is okay. I feel bad, I already stole some of the attention."

Shane looked more appalled by this than Ilya expected.

"Don't be ridiculous." 

"I just- I'm going to go back home with your parents."

Shane looked upset for half a second, making Ilya immediately consider staying just to make him happy. But as soon as that look in his eye came, it went. Instead, Shane turned his attention to his parents, who stood behind Ilya. 

"Hey. Thanks for coming." 

"Good game, bud." 

"Yeah." Shane could hide his prideful smile from David. "I thought maybe you wouldn't make it. Didn't see you for warmups." 

"Well, we would've-" Ilya whipped his gaze back at Yuna, who was none the wiser. No. Yuna, NO. "-but someone got carried away on the bike at home." 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Ilya knew he should've warned Yuna about keeping that on the down low. She would've if he'd asked, but now, it was clearly too late. 

Ilya kept his gaze on Yuna for an extra while longer, if not just to avoid having to turn back and face Shane's wrath. He watched her own expression morph towards confusion, then understanding, then guilt as her eyes flickered to Ilya briefly. 

Letting out a slow, defeated exhale, Ilya slowly turned back to see exactly what he was afraid of: 

Shane's jaw was sharply set, his teeth clearly grinding angrily. His brow was pulled down, eyes ablaze and drilling holes straight through Ilya. His mouth was pressed into an angry thin line, his entire body rigid. 

Ilya fought the familiar urge to surge forward and pinch his freckled cheeks, kissing Shane all over his angry face with corny murmurings of "zloy kotik" until the fury faded (or heightened based on Shane's mood). Instead, he opened his mouth with some undoubtedly weak defense, but Shane didn't even let him get that far. 

"No. We'll talk at home."

Ilya cringed at the way Shane shook his head at him before turning back and joining the team. He stood there for a moment, admonished while both scared and excited to even think of being back at home with Shane. Relinquishing his stance with a sigh, Ilya fell in step with David and Yuna as they shuffled out of the rink through the less-busy back doors. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to get you in trouble." Yuna put a hand on Ilya's back as they walked. He offered her a genuine, albeit slightly embarrassed smile. 

"Not your fault. Don't worry about it." He left out the other part he wanted to say- You've never seen such a perfect mix of cute and sexy until you've seen Shane Hollander get pissy with you- but he didn't think she'd appreciate being privy to that little detail. 

Despite Shane trying to hold firm when he had gotten home, Ilya pulled off his favorite magic trick- turning Hollander's fury into pure need... Of course, it was only after getting an earful for fifteen minutes, and vehemently promising never to work out without Shane ever again for as long as they both shall live, but still. 

January 29th - February 4th, 2024

Shane frankly felt like he was starting to lose his mind.

Days were fine. During the day, they could pretend. They had some sort of routine, even if it wasn't the normal one they were used to. They could busy themselves with the team, stuff for the Irina foundation, Shane's parents, Anya, etc... 

It was the nights that were harder to hide from, and they were all starting to blend into one long nightmare. Ilya wasn't sleeping. Shane wasn't sleeping. When they were, it seemed that they both were getting dosed with nightmares, and Shane suspected they were both hiding a lot of them. 

At least he knew he was. 

February 6th, 2024

"It just feels like they still have him, you know? Like they're still keeping part of him captive over there." Shane had to admit, saying it out loud felt good. Sometimes he buried his own thoughts so far down that he could convince even himself that they didn't exist. 

They did exist, though. And they had been creeping up on him more and more. 

"Like... what if that wasn't the end? We thought getting out of Russia was just... it. We won. The end. But now, I'm wondering if maybe that was just the beginning. Maybe this was the real fight." 

It was silent on the other end of the phone call for a moment. Shane didn't mind. He needed his own moment to process the words that had just tumbled from his mouth. 

"Shouldn't he be seeing someone? Like a professional?" Rose finally asked carefully. Shane had texted her plenty since getting back from Russia, but guiltily, this was the first time he finally got around to giving her a call. He had put contacting a lot of people off this past month. "Yes. Yes, he fucking should be. But every time I try to bring it up gently, he gets all defensive and snappy at me."  

Just a few days ago, Shane thought it was the perfect time to try to broach the subject of Galina again. They had had a great day, Ilya had come to sit in during practice, and they went out to dinner with the team... So, he had lightly suggested something along the lines of "Hey, remember when Galina called you? Have you thought about reaching out?" 

Which ended in, 

"You always do this, Hollander. You must take control of everything- Now, now, now. I'll go when I'm ready. Fucking leave it already."

It had admittedly hurt a bit, although Shane knew Ilya well enough to recognize when he was just lashing out. But even though Ilya apologized for the snappy comment later that night, Shane would be lying if he said it didn't keep him from bringing up any touchy subjects for a long while afterwards. 

“He tries really hard to act normal sometimes,” Shane continued quietly. “Like really hard. And then other times it’s like he disappears while he’s still sitting right in front of me.” He stared through the darkening window over the sink. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You don’t have to fix him,” Rose said gently.

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

Shane let out a weak breath of laughter that wasn’t really laughter at all.

“No,” he admitted. “I just don’t know what’s normal after something like this. I don’t know when I should push and when I shouldn’t. I don’t know if I’m helping or making it worse.”

“You being there is helping.”

“But what if it’s not enough?”

Rose was quiet for a second.

“What are you doing?”

Shane blinked. “What?”

“For yourself,” she clarified. “You've been through shit, too, Shane. What are you doing besides monitoring him every second of the day?”

“I’m not-" Shane scoffed, even hearing his own defensiveness in his voice. "I'm not monitoring him. I just…” He stopped, afraid of his own impending words. Rose waited, not daring to jump in. She was always so good at that. It was probably why Shane ended up telling her more than he intended to, but he never regretted it.

“I feel like if I look away for one second…” His voice faltered. “Something bad will happen.”

When Rose spoke again, her voice was quieter.

“Shane,” she said gently. “Are you afraid he’s going to hurt himself?”

The world seemed to stop for half a second. At first, he had wanted to reject it immediately. The thought felt ugly and unfair... but not unfamiliar. Even if Shane hadn't admitted it to himself yet. But memories had started lining themselves up before he could stop them- the release paperwork, the shiv, the partial note with only Shane written on it. The strange, terrifying hopelessness buried under some of his apologies. The way Ilya sometimes looked at the world was as if he wasn’t entirely convinced he still belonged in it.

"I don't know," was the pathetic answer Shane eventually landed on, at least out loud. He knew the real answer deep down. 

"You're clearly driving yourself crazy just speculating. Talk to him." Rose was probably right. She usually was. Shane was about to tell her as much before he noticed something outside the window.

At first, his brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing in the fading light of dusk beyond the glass. The backyard was being slowly swallowed by shadows as the sun lowered, faint glinting light moving across the river below the property.

And standing near the edge of the slope leading down toward that river was Ilya.

He wasn’t moving.

"What the fuck," 

"Shane? You good?" 

"I'm... I'm gonna call you back." He'd typically never hang up the phone that way- abrupt, and quite frankly rude in his book. But Shane's mind wasn't functioning normally at the sight of Ilya standing there so still- like unnaturally, ghost-like still. 

Shane was moving before he fully realized he had opened the back door. Cold air hit him immediately, sharp enough to sting his lungs, but he barely registered it. His entire focus had narrowed down to Ilya's figure ahead of him. 

“Ilya,” he called. His voice shook so badly it hardly sounded like him. It certainly didn't help that Ilya didn’t react. The fear inside Shane deepened into something almost unbearable.

The river behind their house wasn’t gentle. It moved fast year-round, but especially during all the precipitation of the winter snowfall. It cut through rock and trees below the property in a constant roar that could be heard faintly even from inside the house. During the day, it was beautiful. Nearing night, it looked black and endless. Right now- violent.

Hollander walked faster across the yard, though every instinct screamed at him not to startle him. It felt absurd and horrifying all at once, approaching his own husband this carefully, like one wrong movement could lead to catastrophe.

“Ilya,” he tried again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

The river churned below them, loud against the darkness creeping in. Shane’s breathing had already turned uneven by the time he got close enough to really see him.

Ilya was wearing one of Shane’s hoodies and a pair of grey sweatpants, completely underdressed for the cold. His hands were tucked inside the sleeves. His posture was strange, not quite tense, but absent. His skin looked paler out here. Worst of all, he looked completely unaware of his surroundings. Like his body had wandered there while the rest of him was somewhere else entirely.

“Ilya!" He called again, louder and panic more evident. 

This time, Ilya blinked. Slowly, he turned his head toward Shane. The expression that crossed his face made Shane’s stomach drop even further.

Confusion- like he genuinely hadn’t realized where he was standing until that exact moment. For a second, they simply stared at each other. Shane’s chest ached so badly he thought he might actually collapse from it. Then, carefully, as gently as he possibly could, he said, “Come inside, please.”

Ilya looked at him for another moment before giving a small nod.

“Okay,” he said- it was casual in a way that made Shane want to scream. Nothing about any of this was casual. Nothing about the past month has been casual. Maybe the immediate compliance should have reassured Shane, but it only frightened him more.

As soon as Ilya started walking back towards the house, Shane once again felt his body moving for him. He turned and did the same, but his feet carried him faster than a natural pace. The distance between him and Ilya widened just as the panic in his chest did. It bubbled up to the surface in a way that could only happen after pushing it down for long periods of excruciating time.

Fuck. 

Once inside, the warmth of the house suddenly felt suffocating. Shane's chest tightened violently. He tried to take a breath and couldn’t get enough air. Ilya was still a few strides behind him, approaching the back door. Shane took the extra few seconds to pace, rubbing his clammy palms against the fabric of his jeans and trying to ground himself. 

It wasn't working. 

Everything was hitting him at once with brutal force. The fear. The exhaustion. The helplessness. The horrifying image of Ilya standing alone at the edge of the river, looking like a man who had wandered there without even realizing it. He pushed a trembling hand to his sternum like he was trying to contain the stampede of panic trying to bust out.

But as soon as he saw Ilya entering the house out of the corner of his eye, he realized he was trying to fight a losing battle. The walls suddenly felt crushingly close, every room too small to contain the dread detonating through him. Shane's vision began tunneling. He had to get the fuck out. He turned abruptly and stumbled toward the front door before Ilya could stop him.

Chapter End Notes

NEXT-UP: Shane has a panic attack, and they realize they can be doing better at communication. Ilya has never felt more like himself than when taking care of Shane for a change. The return of Dom-Ilya! Ilya has a session with Galina. He slowly eases into returning to the rink. Shane accidentally starts therapy.

Soooo, either the next two chapters are going to be, like, 10k words each, or there will be another single-chapter extension. One or the other, because there's still so much story left to go.

Still replying to comments from last chapter! I appreciate y'all SO SO much- thank you!! ❤️

Chapter 19: Pivotal Play

Chapter Summary

Much-needed emotional catharsis. Plus Dom-Ilya with the smuttiest smut I've ever smutted.

Chapter Notes

Thank you again for all your kindness. Love these boys, love writing this story, and love you guys ❤️

"Moya lyubov..." Ilya was practically begging now. "The fuck is going on? Please? Hey,”

It was clear that Shane was past hearing him, plummeting into his own mind too fast to hold onto anything. It was breaking Ilya's heart. Shane had told him about how he was embarrassed about breaking down in front of everyone back in Russia. Ilya had assured him that Shane was probably making the scene worse in his head- that no one noticed. But now, witnessing it for himself, Ilya realized he couldn't be more wrong. 

Keeping a solid hand planted on Shane's chest, he reached forward and gently covered one of his tightly gripped fists. Shane jerked back at the contact, his breathing picking up impossibly faster. 

"Is okay, Shane. Just me. Is okay, sweetheart." He hesitated to try to reach for his hand again, but this time, Shane let him wrestle his coiled fingers open. Ilya pressed Shane's palm right over his own heart, not sure what else to do. He guessed he wasn't prepared for what a full-blown panic attack looked like. Shane had little ones all the time, but they weren't dramatic. He'd close his eyes and take a moment, often bowing his head or settling between Ilya's legs until he came back to himself. 

This was in a whole other league. Ilya had something of an intense attack sometime after his mother died, but he’d never seen someone else go through it. It was fucking awful to witness, especially because it was his Shane. 

“Breathe,” Ilya coaxed.

Shane let out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so panicked.

“I-" Labored heave."-am.” He snapped back, his words nearly swallowed by his lungs scrambling for air. But at least there were words. Words were good. 

“No, you are hyperventilating." Ilya offered gently as he brushed his thumb over where it rested above Shane's hummingbird-paced heart. "Shane. Look at me." 

He only screwed his eyes shut tighter. Between the desperate pulls for air, the strangled whimper at the back of Shane's throat devastated Ilya.

“Deep breaths. With me. Please? Please try, lyubimyy." Ilya carefully removed the hand that had sandwiched Shane's to his chest, a brief sense of relief flitting through him when Shane's hand stayed grounded in place, feeling for Ilya's heartbeat. Ilya's free hand slid behind Shane's neck, gripping him firmly at the base. "Look at me, Shane. Let me see those pretty eyes."

Ilya felt his own panic subside when Shane cautiously looked at him through a cracked lid, his face instantly relaxing when he saw Ilya looming over him. He opened his glossy, umber eyes, darting back and forth within Ilya's gaze. 

"Good." Ilya slid his hand from the nape of his neck to brush over Shane's cheekbone. "There you are. Keep breathing with me. Deep breath in-" Ilya sucked in a theatrically deep breath to demonstrate. Shane finally took in a long, yet stuttering breath of air. Just as he did, Ilya watched his eyes pool with glistening tears. They immediately overflowed from his heavy lower lashes as his deep breath ended in a scared sob. 

"Were you going to kill yourself?" He cried like the question tore itself from his chest, his panicked gasps for air turning to breathless sobs. Ilya's eyes went wide. He wanted to look away, but not as much as he wanted to remain a steady anchor for Shane. He blinked dumbly as a fresh set of tears streaked down Shane's face. Instinct brought both of Ilya's hands up to gently wipe the wet tracks on his face.

Well, shit. He wasn't expecting that. 

"Sweetheart-" 

"No!" Shane cut him off, his hand slipping from Ilya's chest to grip desperately at his own pant leg. "You wrote me-" Shane finally tore his gaze away to sloppily attempt at a few ragged, sharp breaths before turning back. "You wrote me a note. Why would you write me a note?" 

Shane was the one pressed up against their car, but Ilya felt trapped. He wanted to dismiss everything tumbling from Shane's mouth. He wanted to tell him that one silly little partial note didn't mean anything, but Shane was smart, and he knew Ilya. Rozanov had a feeling that he wasn't really asking Ilya for the truth- he was telling him he already knew. 

"And you- you had that knife-" Shane continued to spill when Ilya didn't fill in the space.

"Shiv." 

"Ilya!" Shane furiously yelled loud enough to echo off the side of their house, but that was fair. 

"Okay, okay. Sorry. I'm sorry. Can we do this inside?"

"No!" 

Rozanov nodded. Shane's face had hardened with anger, his brows pulled together with determination. His angry kitten face didn't rile up Ilya like it usually did, though- not when behind it, Shane was a wreck of piercing fear that remained burrowed in the dark chasms of his eyes.

Ilya suddenly felt queasy at the realization that there was no escaping this. Hell, trying to escape it seemed to give Shane a whole fucking panic attack. They were past dancing around shit. Ilya sighed, shrugging his coat from his shoulders and gently guiding Shane to lean forward so he could secure it around his back. Ilya then eased himself into a sitting position beside his crying, trembling husband, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulled at Shane, who hesitantly let himself fall into Ilya's shoulder, his tear-stained face wetting his sleeve. It would be easier to say this without having to look at the devastation ingrained in Shane's features. 

They sat for a moment while Ilya's mind reeled, searching for the right words. Deciding there would never be words that would sit comfortably on his tongue when it came to this, he dove in. 

"It- I didn't have a plan to. I didn't. I swear." Ilya pulled Shane tighter against him as a gust of wind cut through them. Shane sucked in a sharp breath of air before his shoulder shook with gentler sobs. Ilya felt like someone had chained weights to his heart, and it was sinking beneath the ground. He pressed a long kiss to the top of Shane's head, if not just to procrastinate before saying, "But... I did... have thoughts. Yes." 

Shane let out a pained whimper, turning to press his face further into Ilya's shoulder, his body racked with sobs all over again. Ilya felt like he just curb-stomped a puppy. 

"Moy lyubimyy... Moy malysh, zhizn’ moya, moyo vsyo," 

My love... My baby, my life, my everything...

"I- I was in a dark place. I thought that I was putting you in danger with you staying in Russia for me."

"So, what? You were gonna fucking kill yourself for me? Ilya, what the fuck?" Shane cried out, horrified. Ilya flinched.

"I wasn't thinking straight, malysh. I hadn't slept in over a week. My brain was all fucked up because I wasn't on my meds. I did not recognize myself."

Shane sniffled and worked to regulate his breathing before nodding weakly, using his sleeve to wipe his face. Ilya gently took hold of his chin, tilting Shane's face up so they could finally look at each other again. 

"But then I'd think of you. I couldn't imagine never seeing you again- never giving myself the chance to... or for taking that option away from you." Ilya was hardly able to get the words out before his own hot tears were streaking down his face. He willed himself to keep going for Shane. "You kept me going, Shane. You kept me sane... ish." 

Shane's lower lip quivered. 

"And now?" 

"Always." Ilya shrugged a shoulder so he could wipe away the rapidly cooling moisture from his face. "You're always my rock, lyubimyy." 

"But do you- Do you still-" 

"No." Ilya cut in, swift and firm. "Shane. I promise. I promise with every inch of me, everything I have- I promise I will not leave you. I got a second opportunity to have the best life I could ever ask for. There’s not a chance in hell I’m throwing that away. Ever. Okay?”

Big, glassy orbs searched Ilya's face for a moment, like Shane was trying to decide if he truly believed him. Finally, he watched the tension unwind from Shane's features. He stared into Ilya's eyes and gave a small nod. The corner of Ilya's mouth quirked up sadly in response, leaning in questioningly. Shane compensated for the rest of the distance between them, the heat of their lips against one another a welcome sanctuary from the cold. It was a delicate, wet kiss, Ilya's heart aching at Shane's new tears that slipped between the press of their faces.

"Please talk to me next time. I can't believe you've just been suffering in silence.” Ilya cooed, kissing away the wet streaks over Shane's cheeks.

"Pfft. Don't talk to me about suffering in silence." 

Rozanov nodded, casting his eyes to the ground while his fingers anxiously fiddled with the fabric of his own coat around Shane's back. 

"I know that I can be... distant. I think I am just, like, processing, okay? Is not a reflection on you or us, and I don't want to kill myself. I don't. But..." Ilya let his head fall back against the SUV, eyes unfocusing as he rifled through his brain for the right English phrases. "I don't always know how to do this correctly. Some days are still... hard. I guess maybe- probably- is time I go see Galina." 

Ilya hardly got Galina's name out before Shane erupted with the same energy as before.

"No fucking shit!" 

"Okay, okay..." Ilya rubbed Shane's arm, trying not to let them drift back into the swirl of panic. He understood why Shane was peeved. He had been suggesting Galina for a while now, and Ilya was always a bitch about it. "I don't know how to move forward, Shane, but I'll move fucking mountains trying." And then, remembering what seemingly set this all off, "And I'm not going to hurl myself into the river." 

Shane bitterly huffed, shaking his head.

"You were scaring me." 

"I know, I know... I just liked the noise, hm? Like that stuff Jade and Ruby showed us- Um, the sounds with the microphone- what is it called..." 

Shane raised an amused eyebrow at him. "ASMR?"

"Yes! The ASMR. And I guess I became dramatic without noticing." Ilya brushed bangs from Shane's forehead as he snorted a small laugh. "I am so sorry, my love.”

Shane took the smoothest sigh of air since he'd burst out the front door, the rest of the tension in his shoulders relaxing. He gently and politely started to protest with a small, “No,”

“Yes,” Ilya insisted softly. “You have been terrified this whole time, and I did not realize. You’re so good at taking care of me that I sometimes forget what you've been through, too.”

Hollander rolled his eyes at the concept, but Ilya wouldn't have any of that self-effacing bullshit. He took Shane's chin in his hold, capturing his gaze once again. 

“Listen. I would’ve gone through a billion weeks of Russian prison if it meant I never had to go through your side of things. I couldn’t do it if the roles were reversed, I just couldn't.”

He observed Shane's eyes refilling, this time sitting in the brims of his eyes just on the verge of spilling. 

"I thought you were dead every fucking minute of every fucking day." His voice broke again, pained sobs returning. Ilya leaned in to wrap both arms around him now, holding Shane tighter and tighter until his ribs began to protest. They stayed like that for a while until Shane's cries subsided and they both took on a slight shiver. 

"So... am I carrying you inside, or-" 

"Fuck off, Rozanov." 

If Ilya's ribs weren't still mid-mend, he would've absolutely swept Shane into his arms without hesitation. Instead, they walked hand in hand back into the house.

Once inside, they mostly stayed in comfortable silence as Ilya instructed Shane to wait in the living room. He returned from their bedroom with new clothes as their pants were wet from melted snow, and Shane's shirt had turned into his personal tissue. Ilya took his time undressing Shane, unlike the frenzied tear-off of garments they were typically used to. He was elated that Hollander made no complaints when Ilya dressed him back up, sliding a soft t-shirt over his head and tapping his thighs to step into new sweatpants. 

Once Shane was comfortable again, Ilya gently pushed him to sit on the couch. He gave him the remote to the TV before flying around the house and returning with Shane's book, his glasses, and the biggest, heaviest weighted blanket that they owned. Shane's soft, adoring smile lifted Ilya's heart from where it had been sinking ever since he saw his husband come apart at the seams. 

Evidently too emotionally worn to make his usual teasing comments, Shane let Ilya tuck him into the corner of the couch, his smile never leaving his face. Ilya fetched another pillow from the opposite end of the sofa and tucked it behind Shane's back. He snapped his fingers towards Anya, where she lay watching in her bed. 

"Anya," Ilya whistled and pointed at the empty sofa by Shane's outstretched legs. "Ap!” She excitedly took him up on the invitation, pouncing onto the couch and nestling herself into Shane's side. Ilya felt his chest bloom with warmth at the growth of Shane's smile. "Want some tea?" 

Soft, doe eyes turned up towards Ilya while Shane scratched behind Anya's ears. "I can make it." 

"No. My turn. I take care of you tonight." Ilya's voice dipped in a way that made sure Hollander knew he was serious.

Shane gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes before his mouth twitched shyly. "Tea would be nice." 

"Coming right up." Ilya leaned in and gave his face four more quick kisses. While Shane drank his tea and read his book, Ilya threw in a load of laundry, including their soiled clothes from outside. By the time he came back to ask Shane if his tea needed warming up, he was met with a sleeping husband and dog. Shane's head was lolled back while softly snoring, glasses askew on his face, book limply wilting out of his hand. 

Ilya smiled. He cherished the sight of it, taking a moment to try and imprint it into the back of his mind forever.

Softly padding forward in socked feet, Ilya carefully set the book aside, marking Shane's page. He guardedly slipped off his glasses before delicately lifting Shane's head to slip a pillow underneath, easing the angle of his neck. He finished by pressing a gentle kiss against the silky hair at the crown of Shane's head- over the years, Ilya had learned which kisses would wake Shane and which ones would let him continue slumbering peacefully. 

Arbitrary things kept Ilya busy for the next hour or so. He switched over the load of laundry, wiped down the bathroom, fed Anya her fancy dog-dinner, and replied to texts he'd let go stale. It felt good to feel useful doing mundane things around the house.

When he'd finally heard a tired, croaky, "Ilya?" from the living room, he was already nearly done with cooking dinner. Ilya hastily made his way back to the couch, where Shane was in the same place, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

"You okay, dorogoy?" 

"Mm. Yeah. Didn't mean to fall asleep, sorry." 

Ilya kissed his forehead, then his temple. 

"Is okay. You stay right here. Dinner's almost ready." He set a little bowl of edamame down on the coffee table, and Shane thanked him with a sleepy smile. 

They ate dinner together on the couch, passively watching Detroit's game against Denver. After second servings were had, plates emptied, bodies sinking into the cushions of their couch, Ilya glanced over at Shane. He looked tired, but more peaceful than Ilya had seen him in over a month. Reaching out a hand to secure against the nape of Shane's neck, Ilya squeezed. 

The effect was immediate, Shane's eyes fluttering closed at the possessive contact. His whole body turned to goo under Ilya's touch as he massaged Shane with a solid grip. He was going to break the silence, but it seemed like this was more of what Shane needed right now. 

After a while of Ilya soothing Shane into a slump beneath his hand, he braved speaking. "Feeling better?" 

"Hm," Shane mumbled contentedly before sliding off the couch to his knees on the floor. Shane gingerly shuffled himself in between Ilya's spread knees, nuzzling himself into the inside of his thigh. Ilya breathed a (what he hoped to be) silent sigh of relief. Shane often took refuge between Ilya's legs, bracketing them around his whole being, lost in his consoling touch. Rozanov had a feeling that his husband had been holding back on leaning on Ilya for that emotional comfort lately, especially since Ilya so clearly needed ample emotional support himself. But the familiar feeling of being needed by Shane was the closest Ilya had felt like himself since everything had happened. It wasn't that Shane asked for it often, but it always allowed Ilya to perceive himself as important. Helpful. Worthy. 

Legs sliding in closer around him, Ilya ensured he made Shane a little fort he could retreat into. Ilya's hand came up to rake through his satin locks, eyes pretending to watch the game when really, his periphery was all Shane. 

He held out on getting horny as long as he could- he really did. But there wasn't much Ilya could do when Shane was breathing warm air into the fabric of his joggers, the heat traveling straight from his inner thighs to his cock. He wasn't going to do anything about it, with how they'd both been rubbed emotionally raw today... Or at least that was the plan, until Shane turned big, expectant eyes up at him. 

Ilya let his gaze flicker from the TV's glow to connect with that lethal gaze he knew so well. Hollander's eyes were melted into a dangerous black glaze. The shine of his glossy irises seemingly alight in the otherwise dark room. 

Fighting the urge to moan at the sight, Ilya's lazy hand in Shane's hair tightened into a firm grip, holding his head firmly in place. 

Shane whimpered, and Ilya knew all pretense of staying "PG" tonight was hurled out the window. 

"So pretty, moya lyubov." 

Shane's eyes fluttered like delicate wings of a butterfly, Ilya releasing his grip in his hair and watching in wonderment as his husband fell forward and reburied himself in Ilya's thighs, kissing through the fabric. 

Ilya gently pushed at his forehead so they could lock eyes again. Slowly and deliberately, he traced Shane's lower lip with the pad of his thumb before he pushed it past Shane's lips. Hollander didn't disappoint (he never did), suckling eagerly, pupils locked on his husband. Ilya felt his cock grow from its confines as his eyebrows twitched together in focus, studying every bit of the beautiful picture painted in front of him. 

"You will let me take care of you tonight, yes?" Ilya asked in a low, meticulous tone. Shane nodded eagerly around Ilya's thumb. "You'll do as I say?" 

Shane nodded again, tongue curling over the digit in his mouth. Ilya held him there for a little while longer before, 

"Get upstairs and get ready for me. I want you naked and spread on the bed by the time I get up there." 

Like a spell that broke Shane's hypnosis, he gave Ilya's knee a little squeeze before rushing up to their bedroom. 

Ilya took his time downstairs, knowing the longer he held out, the more needy Shane would get. He took the max amount of Tylenol he was comfortable with- his ribs needed it if he was going to fuck Shane as hard as he planned. 

When Ilya finally sauntered up to their bedroom, Shane was spread out across the bed deliciously, as requested. His cock was already red, hard, and straining towards the empty air, begging to be touched. 

"You're perfect, malysh. All ready for me." 

Shane whined in agreement, preening on the bed with his back arched in anticipation. 

"Fucking took you long enough," He grumbled, laced with desire. Ilya tsked, trying to push down his amused half-smile. 

"So impatient," Ilya noted the pick-up in Shane's breathing as he peeled his own shirt from his body, tossing it aside. But that was where he stopped, still standing five feet from the bed's edge, impressed by his own restraint. The truth was, it often took all of Ilya's last remaining threads of self-control not to devour Shane when he looked like this. 

"Are you-" Shane's heavy breathing faltered, eyelids heavy and wanting. "Are you gonna-" 

"Let me see." Ilya cut in, voice low but demanding. Shane's eyes flickered over his face for a moment before he readjusted himself on the bed, glancing down at his own needy cock. He knew exactly what Ilya was asking for. 

A shaking hand carefully closed around the tip of Shane's cock, dragging down and pulling a moan from Shane's lips. Ilya watched with darkening eyes as Shane slowly touched himself. His spread body was a live wire under his own skin, thighs trembling, mouth slack, and eyebrows knit together in focus.

Palming himself through his joggers, Ilya held out as long as he could before his own resolve cracked. 

"Knees. Down." Ilya pointed at the floor in front of him, and Shane took no time to scramble off the bed and fill the space as directed. 

Hollander's breath stuttered when Ilya was freed from the confines of his pants. He eyed his cock hungrily as it bobbed in the space between them, directly in his eyeline. As if he couldn't help himself, Shane fell forward, mouth straining for his dick before Ilya secured a hand on top of his head and held him back. 

"Ah. Ah."

A whine emitted from deep in Shane's chest. Ilya fisted his already-stiff and leaking cock, dragging the tip across Shane's lips. He was perfectly good in the way he let Ilya tease him without taking him in his mouth. Tightening his hand around the base, Ilya gave Shane's cheek a couple of taps. 

"Stick your tongue out." 

A wet, pink tongue slipped from Shane's mouth. His eyes peered up at Ilya through heavy lashes. Ilya ran his thumb across the constellation of freckles on his flushed cheeks. 

"Pretty boy."

Shane let out a breathy moan, tongue quivering just an inch from Ilya's flesh. He pushed his hips forward, rubbing the tip of his cock along Shane's tongue and giving it a few light slaps. He got an idea- a genius idea, swooping down to kiss Shane and push his tongue back in his mouth with his own. 

"One second." 

A frustrated huff of air from Shane made Ilya smile. He only left him alone momentarily, returning to slide Shane's glasses onto the bridge of his nose. Shane's wrecked expression was briefly interrupted with a little smirk. 

"Shut it." Ilya insisted weakly, his own smile twitching onto his face as he resumed his place above Shane. He immediately pushed his cock past Shane's lips, quieting whatever teasing was left on the tip of his tongue. His husband's eyes went black again, pupils blown wide as Ilya nearly pushed all the way in, nudging the back of his throat. "Gospodi," Ilya gasped at the vibration of Shane's moan around his cock. 

Keeping a firm hand braced on top of Shane's head, Ilya sawed in and out of his mouth at an agonizingly slow pace. He gritted his teeth at the pleasure rocketing up his spine with every slow drag across Shane's tongue. Ilya watched as practiced, hollowed cheeks sucked him into heavenly wet warmth and pressure. 

When it was clear that Ilya was taking his agonizing time, Shane kept trying to pull Ilya's hips further into him, even digging his nails into the back of Ilya's thighs, desperately trying to take control of the pace for more. Ilya tutted disapprovingly. 

"And here I thought you were going to be good for me, Hollander." 

Shane's eyes instantly flickered up behind his glasses like he wanted to argue- like he wanted to prove that he could, but Ilya stooped down and pushed his tongue between Shane's lips to quiet his protests, devouring his mouth.

Once he was confident that he had left Shane breathless, he stood back up and gently slapped the side of his face. 

"Stay." 

Rozanov made his way to his nightstand, digging around in their collection of sex toys. He bypassed the cuffs- not that they used them often, but Ilya figured they'd be out of commission for quite a long time after everything that had happened. Everything else was fair game, though. 

When he returned to Shane's side, Ilya was thrilled to see that he didn't even dare turn his head from his position. His eyes were cast forward, lips wet and parted through anticipatory breaths. 

Fucking fuck, Ilya loved him so fucking much. 

Looming behind him like a predator stalking its prey, Ilya reached a hand forward to secure itself in Shane's hair, yanking his head back so he was forced to look up at Ilya's towering gaze. 

"You don't need to think of anything tonight. Just me. I'm in charge. You let go of everything else, yes?" 

Through a mesmerized glare, Shane nodded eagerly, or as much as he could when Ilya had a fistful of his hair in his hand.

"Yes?" Ilya pressed.

"Yes."

Satisfied, Ilya released him, pushing his head back forward. He dipped down to his knees out of sight behind Shane. 

"Hands behind your back." 

The throaty whine and immediate obedience he got from Shane went straight to Rozanov's dick. He eyed the way his husband invitingly crossed his forearms over each other against the small of his back, right above the infamous dimples at his waist. Fighting the urge to moan, Ilya reached forward and wrapped silky, maroon ties around his wrists. 

After a few loops and securing a tight knot, Ilya tugged at Shane's restraints. He leaned forward and breathed hot air against the shell of Shane's ear. 

"This okay?" 

The speed at which he received a breathy "Yes. Yes, please..." from Shane delighted Ilya. He darted forward and latched his mouth to the side of Shane's neck. His captive tilted his head to the side, baring his full throat, groaning when Ilya reached around and gave his wet cock a few strokes. After a little while of sucking and biting at Shane's delicate skin while he desperately humped into Ilya's hand, Rozanov stood.

Shane dutifully turned his eyes back up to Ilya as he menaced overhead. Ilya pulled up his cock with one hand, pulling Shane's head forward with the other, allowing him to nuzzle and mouth his balls. After a bit of indulgence, Ilya pulled back on his hair so that Shane was breathing hard beneath him, the heavy length of Ilya's cock resting across his face.

It was a picturesque sight. Ilya wished he could blow it up on a ridiculously sized poster and hang it on their wall, but he didn't think Shane would go for that. 

"Ilya, please?" He sweetly supplemented the beg in his eyes. Ilya ran a steady hand through Shane's hair, tousling his bangs in all different directions. 

"Please, what?"

"Please fuck my throat."

The request sent hot pleasure straight to Ilya's cock, twitching over Shane's beautiful face. Ilya grunted, tightening his grip in the hair at the back of his head. 

"Only because you asked so nicely." 

Gripping Shane's chin with a thumb pressed firmly, Ilya lowered his jaw and pushed his hips forward, sliding past Shane's lips and into his throat. Shane gagged around him before adjusting, expertly breathing through his nose and taking Ilya to the root. The feeling of the tunnel of muscle massaging Ilya's cockhead was almost too much. He pulled out, hissing at the molten pleasure of Shane's mouth taking him completely. 

He fucked in and out of Shane's mouth, feeling his tongue slide and caress the sensitive vein that pulsed on the side of his dick. He slowed to pull Shane even further onto every single inch, his nose nuzzling into Ilya's pelvis before he released him and continued using his perfect mouth. 

"Mm. So good taking all of me. My perfect shlyukha."

Shane's eyes rolled back before fluttering closed. Ilya let him have it for a second before giving his cheek a few taps, his pace unfaltering. 

"Eyes up, malysh." 

Shane obediently blinked open his watery eyes, lashes wet. He didn't fuck his throat like this often, but it seemed Shane was loving it. Just to make sure, Ilya tugged roughly at his hair, yanking him off. Shane frowned and whined in protest. 

"Good?" Ilya asked.

"Fuck," Shane gave a frustrated huff through slick, puffy lips. With a single warning look from Ilya, his face and words softened to pleas. "More. Harder." Ilya raised his eyebrows at him, and Shane swallowed thickly, a sudden shyness coming over him. "Cum in my mouth." 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Ilya tossed Shane's glasses onto the safety of the bed before surging forward at a punishing pace, thrusting his hips while simultaneously tugging Shane onto him. The rhythmic sound of Hollander's eager, wet gags filled the room, and Ilya knew he wouldn't be lasting much longer. 

Pleasure coiled deeper into his stomach as Ilya's abdomen tightened with every blunt thrust forward. Breathing hard through his nose with his jaw grinding tight, Ilya felt something within him snap. With a loud grunt, white-hot ecstasy coursed through him. He spilled into Shane's mouth, whose eyes never left Ilya's for a second as he earnestly bobbed along the throbbing length of Ilya's member, swallowing every bit of him. 

When his extremities were left buzzing, Ilya panting to regain himself, Shane slid off of his cock, breathing even harder. Ilya peered down at him, his expression going soft in time with his body.

He sank to his knees in front of Shane, using the back of his hand to wipe away the drool from his chin. Tears had streaked down his face from the assault on his esophagus. Ilya frowned and used his thumbs to wipe them away, kissing both of Shane's cheeks. Shane rushed to press their foreheads together, assuring, "That was perfect." 

"Yes," Ilya cooed, gently ghosting his knuckles down the side of Shane's face. "You were perfect." 

When he was sure that Shane was okay and Ilya could actually feel his body again, he kissed and nipped the tip of Shane's nose. Grabbing a pillow from the bed, Ilya dropped it to the floor. He pushed a hand to the small of Shane's back, bending him forward until the side of his face hit the pillow, ass arched nice and pretty in the air.

"You should get a reward, hm?" 

Shane whimpered and nodded into the plush material, chest heaving with anticipation. Ilya leaned over and bit into Shane's ass hard enough to leave a lasting mark, earning a sharp yelp that settled into a moan. 

Ilya leaned and craned his neck so he could press the flat of his tongue to Shane's balls before sucking one into his mouth. Smothered groans spurred him on as he nuzzled and mouthed the perfectly smooth orbs. When he was satisfied with the amount of attention he gave them, Ilya licked a smooth, steady stripe from his balls and up his taint until the tip of his tongue teased Shane's hole. 

"Fuck," Shane mumbled as Ilya bruisingly gripped his ass to keep him spread, lashing his tongue along Shane's rim before he started to work the tip inside. "Oh," 

Ilya fucked his tongue into Shane until he was a mewling mess. 

"Ilya," He murmured, breathless. Ilya hummed in response, refusing to let up for even a second. "Feels so good," 

Rozanov thought about instructing Shane to touch himself, but remembered his hands were literally tied, and changed plans. He straightened on his knees, gripping Shane's biceps and pulling him with him. He hoisted them both to their feet, herding Shane to bed where he bent him over the edge. 

Keeping a dominant hand on the small of Shane's back, Ilya reached over with the other to grab the lube from the bedside table. He coated his fingers and rubbed some around Shane's hole before prodding a fingertip at his entrance. 

Shane tensed and writhed against the bed, trying to push back. 

"What do you want, Shane?" 

"Inside. In me," he panted, still trying to fight the heavy hand keeping him down, locked in place. "Fingers. In me. Please." 

Ilya smirked at the way he struggled to grasp for words, pushing his index finger inside of Shane and curling it inwards. Shane turned his head to fully push his face into the bed, quelling the volume of his groans. Ilya pumped one finger inside him for a bit before adding a second, twisting and crooking the pads of his fingers to massage against his prostate. 

Shane unwound into a loud mess over the side of their bed, pushing back into Ilya's hand while grinding his trapped cock into their sheets. Ilya briskly slapped his ass with his free hand. 

"Ay! No humping. Stay still." 

Shane gave a defiant grunt back, but did as he was told, his hips stilling while Ilya finger fucked him open. Once he added a third finger, arm flexed from his increasing efforts, Ilya took pity on him. He gripped Shane's hip and pulled him back a little so that his cock hung in the empty air by the edge of the bed. Ilya continued to pump and massage into Shane, using his other hand to wrap around the base of his dick. 

"Go ahead." He permitted. Shane immediately began thrusting himself into Ilya's fist, his whole body vibrating and stuttering from the dual overwhelm of sensation. The little pants escaping from Shane's lips already had Ilya rock hard again, his cock nudging up against Shane's hip everytime he thrust back. 

It didn't take long with Shane bucking wildly forward into one hand and back into the invasion of the other. His soft pants evolved into needy whimpers that rose in pitch as he chased release. 

"Ilya... Ilya, I can't- I'm close."

Strengthening the thrust of his fingers, Ilya leaned over Shane, feeling the desperate squirm of his body underneath his weight, his own cock trapped between their bodies. In a low, gravely voice, he commanded, 

"Come for me, moy khoroshiy." 

Ilya loved making Shane cum even more than cumming himself. He loved the way he couldn't keep quiet if he tried, a rough shout smothered by the sheets Shane bit down on as his whole body tensed.

"Good boy," He praised, getting another devastating whimper in response. He felt Shane's cock pulse in his hand while giving both his dick and his prostate a couple of final thrusts through his orgasm. He'd definitely be changing their sheets before they went to sleep.

When Shane finally came down from his high and slumped into the bed, Ilya removed his fist and fingers, running the dry hand along his heaving back, slick with sweat. 

"So good for me, lyubimyy." 

"Mm hm." Shane dreamily mumbled from where he was reduced to a puddle. Ilya leaned over to press kisses up and down the length of Shane's spine before he helped him stand, turning him so he could kiss him properly. 

Shane practically melted into Ilya, limbs clearly still weak and viscous. Ilya gave him a final peck on the lips before he guided him back to the pillow on the floor. He gently pushed Shane to his knees, shuffling them and the pillow forward a bit. He bent him over into the floor like before, but this time, Shane was angled so that he could catch sight of himself in their floor-length mirror across the room. 

"Not done with you yet," He promised, noting the little shudder that ran through Shane's body. He pressed down at the small of his back, deepening the curvature of his arch. He resumed petting his back, feeling his breathing steady below the palm of his hand. 

Ilya had a feeling that the mere act of leaving Shane helplessly restrained and breathless might be enough to get Shane hard again in itself. Especially if he was left to peer at himself in the mirror like a pretty present lying in wait to get unwrapped and fucked, tied up with a pretty bow. With that in mind, Ilya leaned down to press a kiss between Shane's shoulder blades. 

"I'm going to be right back. Don't move." 

"Where the fuck am I gonna go?" Shane retorted, wiggling in place, wrists tugging at their binds. Ilya huffed a little laugh, giving him one more kiss on his hip before heading downstairs to play the waiting game. 

He grabbed a water from the fridge, downing half of it in a few large gulps. He checked on Anya, who was snoozing in her bed in the living room. He walked around the house, closing blinds and checking locks for the night. 

When he ensured the front door was secured for the second time, Ilya realized that this may have been the most at peace he'd felt since being released from prison. He felt like himself. Like he once again fully belonged here in this house, in Canada, with his wonderful, sexy husband tied, needy, and waiting upstairs. 

As if on cue,

"Ilya!" The first angry shout came from upstairs, followed by a frustrated grunt. Ilya grinned. He could hold out a little while longer. He loved the idea of Shane all tied and vulnerable, with nowhere to go, waiting through every excruciating second for Ilya to come and fuck him senseless. He wondered how long he could wait before he became properly pissed off. 

When a few minutes later, a less-angry, more beggy "Ilyaaaa," was whined from their bedroom, Ilya's cock twitched. His need to fuck Shane's brains out defeated any remaining urge to tease him further. He practically ran back to their room, water bottle in hand. 

The view he came back to was even better than Rozanov could've imagined, love surging through him in a violent wave that swelled both his heart and cock. Shane was bound and absolutely cock-drunk, peering at Ilya through the mirror with furious fuck-me eyes. His cock was indeed back to being fully erect and drooling, his hips impatiently writhing against the empty air.

Ilya shot an amused smirk towards Shane through the mirror. His husband's eyes darkened at him, expression hardening further. 

"Shut up." 

"I did not say a word, Hollander." 

"What took you so long?" 

Ilya kneeled behind his grumpy, horny husband, reaching a hand forward to run over the curve of his ass before looping underneath Shane's chest, pulling him up on his knees, backed up against Ilya's chest. He uncapped the water, reaching around to hold the mouth of the bottle to Shane's lips. 

"Drink." 

Shane did, Ilya hungrily eyeing the way his outstretched throat worked. When Shane's gulping slowed, he tilted the bottle back up, a few drops spilling from his chin down to his chest. Rozanov reached forward and rubbed the moisture across Shane's pecks, stopping briefly to roll a nipple between his fingers. 

Shane's head lolled back against Ilya's shoulder as he manipulated his chest. He gauged the distance to the pillow, ensuring he wouldn't hurt Shane, before roughly shoving him forward again. 

Shane grunted, the side of his face plummeting back into the cushioning. Ilya reached behind him for the lube, slathering it onto his cock. He gave himself a couple strokes before wedging his erection in the valley of Shane's ass, holding it down with a thumb and rutting against him.

Shane choked out yet another whine, rolling his hips back against him. 

"Need something, Hollander?"

"Fuck... you." He wheezed.

"Mmm... That's not how good boys ask nicely." 

The truth was, Ilya was working with his own hairpin trigger, trying everything to keep the tremble from his hands. He needed to fuck Shane, and he needed it now, but his resilience was fueled by the exasperated expression on Shane's face in the mirror.

He watched Hollander's lips press into a thin line, his brows deepening with defiance. He puffed and angry breath of air through his nose, fists clenching where they were tied across his back. Ilya was unable to completely hide his small smile of amusement and adoration. He leaned down to wrap a steady hand around the base of Shane's cock, giving it a slow stroke to the tip. 

"Nngh... Fuck. Please..." Hollander's resolve dissipated in mere seconds, his hips trying to push forward for more friction, but Ilya stilled his grip and squeezed. 

"You're going to have to do better than that." 

"Please! Fuck, Ilya. Please fuck me. Please. I'll do anything. I'll be good. Just- FUCK." 

Ilya punctuated the end of Shane's begs with a perfectly angled rough thrust forward into his suffocating heat. They gasped simultaneous, guttural moans, Ilya falling forward to rest his chest against Shane's muscled back over his tied wrists. He stayed there, buried deep inside, while Shane clenched around his cock, making Ilya see stars behind his eyes. 

When he came back to himself, Ilya straightened up on his knees, dick still trapped in the strong grip of Shane's tight passage. He pushed forward impossibly deeper, grinding his hips into the comfortable plush of his ass, rotating in deep, dirty circles. Shane moaned and nuzzled himself helplessly into the pillow.

Gripping his hips with destructive strength, Ilya finally dragged himself out to the tip before slowly humping forward. Shane arched further, and Ilya watched as his fingernails dug into his bound palms. When he slowly gyrated back and forward again, Shane dared to try to jerk back onto his cock with more force. 

Ilya cracked his hand against his left ass cheek, a red mark blooming in its place. 

"Ah! Fuck." 

Ilya twisted his tingling hand in Shane's restraints to use as leverage. Wanting him to feel every inch of the stretch, Ilya resumed by slowly easing himself back and forth, taking time to grind into Shane when he rooted as far as he could go. Although Ilya wasn't sure if he was torturing Shane or himself more at this point. His hands were becoming less and less steady on Shane's hips as pleasure hummed through his core.

Shane, ever the testing little bitch he loved so much, tried thrusting himself back again. Ilya tsked and spanked the other side of his ass, reveling in the matching red marks left behind. Shane gasped, grip tightening around Ilya's length. Eyebrows cinching together, cock pulsing bigger, Ilya tried to regain the ability to speak. 

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to be bad, malysh." Ilya languidly pulled out before diving back forward with a brutal snap of his hips. Shane yelled into the pillow, so Ilya repeated the action over again. "Khochesh nakazaniya, Hollander?" He stooped down to growl into Shane's ear. 

Ilya bottomed out again, giving Shane tiny little pumps once he was deeply seated. Hollander practically sobbed into the fabric beneath his face, shamelessly still trying to regain some control by grinding his ass back.

"Use your words, Shane." 

"Yes," He gasped when Ilya gyrated against his most sensitive spot. "Yes. Want it. Want you. Hard. Please." 

Relieved that he could drop the pretense, Ilya reached forward to grip the nape of Shane's neck before he began hammering into him at a grueling pace. The slap of skin against skin had to have been echoing throughout the whole damn house, not to mention the unabashed string of Shane's pleasured sobs.

Rozanov had zero thoughts of Russia on his mind. The lingering sensations of prison that seemed to leech to his mind were altogether gone. The angry red scars across his straining abdomen didn't bother him in the slightest. The only remnant was the dull ache in Ilya's ribs that sharpened with his more brutal thrusts, but it was nothing compared to the waves of euphoria that traced down his spine and detonated in his gut.

There was just Shane.

Reaching forward to cradle his throat with a large hand, Ilya planted a foot beside Shane's hips and drove into him with renewed vigor.

"God... FUCK."

By his jagged, "ah ah ah's" with every punch of his hips, Ilya guessed (rather, hoped) he was striking directly against Shane's prostate at the new angle. Driving forward while yanking Shane back onto his cock, his husband was only fractionally conscious at this point. His eyes rolled far back while babbling mumbled nonsense with a thick tongue as Shane jostled aggressively against the floor.

"I- Ilya- Ilya-" Shane eventually grunted out with each of Ilya's stabs into him. By the threatening sound of his voice, he didn't need further context to know why Shane was calling out to him. 

"Cum, sweetheart." Ilya panted out, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face. He gritted his teeth and used every bit of himself to slam forward harder, the sound obscene. He could feel the rush of Shane's frantic gasps in his throat beneath his hand. "Let me feel you." 

He barely even got his last words out before Shane all but screamed, his already tight ring of muscle clamping down even tighter around Ilya's cock as he came hard against the floor and likely his abdomen. Ilya fucked him through it, releasing his neck and pulling out narrowly in time to pump his cock twice before he was spurting violent stripes across Shane's back and over his bound hands. 

"Fuck. Fuck... Oh my god, Hollander..." Ilya couldn't help the words, amongst other Russian expletives that fell from his mouth, his entire body emptying across Shane's skin. His bones were thrumming inside of him, his veins pumping with explosive pleasure. He felt out-of-body in a significantly better way than he was used to as of late.

They both collapsed onto their side, Ilya spooning him with a heavy arm draped across his waist. When his pulse ceased pounding in his ears and he regained full consciousness, Ilya tugged at the knot in Shane's binds until the silk unraveled, freeing Shane's arms. They flopped down uselessly anyway.

"Holy shit," Shane sighed, his body shivering from aftershock. 

"Mm... Good?"

"So good, Ilya. Jesus, that was fucking hot." 

Ilya felt himself go gooey from the praise. They lay in a pile of entwined limbs on the floor, the sound of their slowing pants echoing through the room. 

"I think," Shane tried to steady his heavy breaths. "I think I needed that." 

Ilya felt warmth spread throughout him, propping himself up to lean over Shane. Hollander glanced back to meet his eyes before Ilya leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "Me too." 

He only then realized how true it was.

"Your ribs okay?" Shane asked as Ilya settled back to the floor, cuddling up to Shane from behind. 

"Oni v poryadke, dorogoy." 

They were definitely sore, but it was more than worth it, and Shane seemed satisfied with his response enough. A few seconds passed before,

"We have to get this rug cleaned." 

Ilya chuckled, running his hand up and down Shane's goosebumped arm. "Forgot the towel. Sorry."

"I don't care that much." Shane tried to insist, but it seemed like he barely believed his own statement.

"Mm... Yes. Just a little." 

Shane's abdomen shook with a small laugh. "Just a little, yeah." 

"Shower and bed?" Ilya suggested softly, running a hand through Shane's messy locks. 

"God. Yes, please."

By some miracle (though Ilya presumed said 'miracle' was the intense physical and emotional fucking from today), they wrapped around one another and slept soundly through the entire night. 

February 7th, 2024

Galina wasn't kidding- she immediately fit him into her schedule the very same day he called. 

Shane drove Ilya there on the way to a sponsorship meeting with Rolex. They stopped at the post office beforehand to send their niece a bunch of Centaurs' merch, but it didn't take as long as they thought. Their SUV pulled up to the psychiatry office twenty minutes before Ilya's appointment. 

Leaning back against the headrest, Ilya closed his eyes briefly. The idea of sitting in that office and talking about what had happened made something deep inside him recoil. He didn’t know where to begin. Worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted to begin at all. Some parts of Moscow still felt too alive inside him, like touching them directly would drag him right back there.

"I- um... I can wait with you. If you want?" 

Ilya blinked, a smile growing. 

"Yeah?"

Shane had never been inside his therapist's office, not even the waiting room. 

"Yeah... if you want." 

It was a little odd seeing Shane in that setting. Ilya was so used to this being his own little bubble that glancing over and seeing Shane in one of the many green waiting chairs was a shock to the system. It wasn't a bad thing- just different. And Ilya was glad he came to wait with him, or else he would've just been agonizing about what he was going to say. Instead, he could distract himself by running his thumb along the back of Shane's hand, or by counting the freckles across his cheeks for the billionth time. 

He had no idea how he had dozed off, but the next thing Ilya knew, he heard Shane gently calling his name. He felt a hand smooth through his hair before his eyes flickered open. There was a terrifying half-second where he didn't know where he was, but immediately caught sight of Galina in the doorway ahead of him. She smiled warmly, eyes flickering between him and Shane. 

"Oh," Ilya lifted his head off of Shane's shoulder before he stretched and pushed himself to a stand. "Hi. This is Shane. Shane, this is Galina." 

"Yes, hi. So glad to finally meet you," She said in accented English, reaching forward to shake Shane's hand as he stood. 

"Yeah, same here."

"Will you be joining us, or-" 

"No, he's just here to drop me off. But his Russian has gotten very good." Ilya complimented the second half in Russian, happily regarding Shane's blush.

"Is that so?" Galina raised her eyebrows at him. 

Shane shrugged. "I try." 

"You know what they say about immersing yourself in the language's country or whatever." Ilya switched back to English, gently bumping Shane's shoulder with his own. 

"I don't think I did much immersing." 

Galina's smile faded to something softer and more sympathetic.

"I'm sorry to hear that your visit didn't go so well." 

Shane raised an eyebrow at the understatement. "Yeah. No offense, but I don't think I'll be back." 

Ilya snorted at that. Maybe he should've asked to bring Shane with him. It would've felt a lot less daunting than it did now, but Ilya knew that it was easier to say certain things when it was just him and Galina in that room. 

"None taken. Ilya? You ready?" Galina tilted her head at him expectantly. 

Fuck, no. 

Ilya made a face but nodded. Shane put a gentle hand on his arm.

"I'll be back in an hour, 'kay?" He leaned in and pressed a solid kiss to Ilya's cheek, making his heart flutter. "Love you." 

"Love you," Ilya quietly mumbled back, giving him a soft smile and watching until Shane was fully out the door and out of sight. Only then did he stiffly move into Galina's office, sitting in his usual chair. They both adjusted themselves until they were comfortable sitting across from one another, a beat of quiet passing before Galina said,

"It's... very good to see you, Ilya." 

"Yes. Good to see you too. Sorry it took me so long to get back here." 

"No apologies needed. In your own time." 

He nodded and looked at the floor, twisting his hands in his lap. 

"It looks like you and Shane are doing well. Close."  Galina continued when it was clear that Ilya needed some guidance. The statement tugged at the corner of Ilya's lips. 

"Yes. Except... well... I did give him a panic attack yesterday." 

Galina ever so slightly raised her eyebrows before relaxing into neutrality, but Ilya had learned some of her tells over the years. 

"Can you explain what you mean by you gave him a panic attack?" 

"It was my fault." 

"How so?" 

Ilya told her about how he'd been distant. How he'd been pulling away from everyone and everything. How he sometimes feels like a shell of a person, so of course, Shane had noticed. 

"Plus, he found out about something... something from prison, and it freaked him out." 

"Do you want to talk about what this 'something' is?" 

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. 

"Not yet, I don't think." 

Galina didn't press further. 

"And what do you think Shane would say if you said you 'gave' him the panic attack?" 

Ilya huffed a breath and threw his head back, covering his face with his crossed forearms. 

"He'd tell me to shut the fuck up." Ilya stayed like that for a while before realizing Galina was waiting for him to continue, maybe with less sass this time. He dropped his arms from his face and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. "And that it wasn't my fault." 

"And would you believe him?" 

Ilya felt bad for saying, "No." After a few moments of quiet, he recognized yet another prompt from Galina to keep going. “He did not ask for this.” Fuck. He was already feeling pressure behind his eyes and in his throat.“None of it.”

“What specifically?”

He gave a short, bitter laugh before asking, “Where should I begin?”

“Wherever you want.”

Instantly, the room felt smaller. Ilya's skin prickled, the earlier-perfect temperature of the room suddenly feeling too hot. 

“I should never have gone back to Moscow,” he eventually blurted out. “I should never have taken him with me. I should have kept my mouth shut at the club. I should have known better. I can't even imagine what it must've been like for him.”

Galina nodded, her notebook ignored in her lap, her hands resting over it patiently. 

“And the discrimination? The abuse?” Her voice stayed friendly despite broaching harsher subjects. “Was that your fault too?”

The question made him go still.

“No,” he admitted, though the word sounded uncertain even to him.

“Do you believe that?”

“I believe,” he ventured cautiously, “that if I had made different choices, perhaps none of it would have happened.”

Galina took a deep breath before gently offering, “That is not the same thing as it being your fault, Ilya.”

The tissues come out as Ilya braves talking about his time in prison. He didn't realize how the constant insults thrown at him degraded his own self-image- at least more than he'd like to admit. It reminded him of the things his father would say to him- the things he would call him. The things Alexei would call him. The harsh "tough-love" (which Ilya realized much later was more abuse) from his coaches in Russia. 

"I don't know... I guess when I was in there, I started to believe them. All of them." Ilya sniffled, gripping the balled-up tissue in his hand.

“What happened to you in prison was designed to strip away your sense of self,” she said gently. “Humiliation, surveillance, unpredictability, isolation. Those things alter people psychologically. Especially when sustained over time.”

Ilya stared at the floor.

“Sometimes I feel like some part of me is still there,” he admitted. The words surprised him with how true they felt once spoken aloud. “I do not know how to be normal anymore.”

“You don’t need to be normal right now,” she replied. “You need to heal.”

Something about that nearly undid him. Even though it came from a place of love and concern, everyone else seemed so desperate for signs that he was returning to himself- that he was improving, stabilizing, recovering. But Galina looked at him as if healing and brokenness could coexist without disappointment.

Her next question caught him off guard: “Do you feel safe?”

His mouth opened automatically to say yes, because logically, he was safe. He was home. He was with Shane. No one was coming for him here, but the answer stalled in Ilya's throat.

“Most of the time, yes. Sometimes, no... Random times. Doesn't make sense." 

They talked a little more about the little moments that seemingly came out of nowhere. "Failings", Ilya called them in his mind, but he knew what Galina would have to say about that. 

“I want to explain something to you,” she said. "Because I think understanding what’s happening inside your mind may help you stop blaming yourself for every symptom.”

Ilya was propped up on one end of the shorter leg of the couch, legs stretched out over Shane's lap. They both were on their phones, occasionally pulled into the TV when the host posed a particularly interesting prompt. 

"Did you ever text Alexei about your stuff?" Shane asked as they hit a commercial break.

"Yes." 

"How'd that go?"

"Fantastic." 

Shane repositioned himself on the couch to fully face Ilya, tilting his head, suspicious.

"Did you actually text him?"

Ilya made a few taps before he held his phone out for Shane. 

Ilya: Спасибо

(Thanks)

Alexei: 👍

"Oh my god, you guys are the fucking worst." 

"What? It was very sweet, I thought." 

Shane snorted with a playful roll of his eyes. "Whatever." 

"How is he?" Yuna cut in, earning a shake of the head from Shane. 

"Ilya certainly wouldn't know." 

After flipping Shane off behind a cupped hand to hide the obvious from Yuna, Rozanov resigned himself back to his phone.

Ilya had mostly avoided DM's and comments up until this point. If he could hardly process Russia for himself, then why would he want others' opinions on it? But something about making it to Galina's office and fully owning Shane in the bedroom multiple times this week had Ilya feeling brave. 

It wasn't that he thought people wouldn't be supportive- he just didn't expect the magnitude of the deeper effect it had all evidently had. The most shocking part wasn't what his fans from Canada and America had to say... it was the outpour of love from Russia. 

Some were furious.

Furious at the government. Furious at the prison system. Furious at the laws. Furious that one of the country’s most famous athletes had apparently only become human to some people after being brutalized publicly.

Others were quieter: Messages from people thanking him for surviving. Thanking him for existing visibly. Saying his arrest had forced conversations in families that had never happened before. People who said they were queer and currently still living in Russia and were scared, asking for advice... 

But I didn't do anything. 

It was reassuring to see, yes. But Ilya couldn't help but feel like a bit of a poser. All he did was act a fool and get himself arrested for over a week. What right did that give him to claim the title of some type of international LGBTQ figure?

Whatever Ilya was feeling about it all must've displayed on his face, because Shane squeezed his calf and asked,

"Whatcha lookin' at?" 

Ilya cleared his throat, feigning a casual half-shrug and setting his phone face down on his lap. 

"Nothing. Death scrolling." 

"Doom scrolling." Shane corrected, the edge of his lips quirking up.

"Sure, Hollander." 

Chapter End Notes

Ayyyy, things are looking up for real this time!

NEXT-UP: Ilya gets back in the rink. Shane accidentally starts therapy. They get back to bickering. Ilya makes his first public statement on a podcast.

Chapter 20: Winter Thaw

Chapter Summary

Things are looking up in a complex, nonlinear fashion.

Chapter Notes

February 19th, 2024

The house was quiet when Shane got home from his shoot with Reebok- way too quiet. 

"Ilya?" His voice echoed off the walls as he walked into the kitchen. The usual pitter-patter of little nails on the hardwood was nowhere to be found either. "Anya?"

He tried not to worry too much, at least at first. Things had been good. Really good. Not perfect, of course: Ilya still drifted from time to time. Shane still had intense anxiety regarding whether he was doing enough. They were both occasionally torn from sleep by cruel mind tricks deep into the night. But Ilya had started communicating more when he was having hard days, and Shane admitted when his brain was taking his anxieties too far. Instead of hiding their nightmares, they unhesitatingly wrapped tighter around one another, sometimes talking about it, sometimes quietly soothing one another back to sleep.

When the empty-house panic finally did start to rise in his chest, Shane noticed a slip of paper on the counter with Cyrillic scrawled in Ilya's haphazard handwriting. He had started scripting his little notes in Cyrillic to help Shane practice: Нужны яйца и оливковое масло, "Need eggs and olive oil." Приём Ани в 15:30, "Anya's appointment is at 3:30." Я люблю тебя. Без тебя я, ничто, "I love you. Without you, I am nothing."

... casual stuff like that.

And Shane usually adored the challenge, but now, he was frustratingly trying to rush through the translation. 

Я на катке.
Аня с твоими родителями.
Скоро вернусь.

At the rink.
Anya's with your parents.
Be back soon.

Something quelled in Shane's chest. He just hoped Ilya wasn't there alone. Grabbing his bag and his keys once again, Shane made his way back to his Cherokee.  

As if he'd miss Ilya's first time back on the ice.

The rink was nearly empty when Shane slipped inside. A custodian gave him a nod- Jerry, he thinks- before rolling a cart of supplies down the empty hallway of low humming lights. Shane walked towards the distant sound of skates scraping and sticks clacking.

It was 5 PM, and practice had concluded before noon, leaving the seats dark and vacant. A few remaining lights glowed over the ice surface in soft white pools.

Shane paused at the entrance to the stands for a moment before smiling despite himself. There he was.

Ilya was skating hard across center ice with Troy Barrett trailing him, both of them in practice gear, moving through passing drills at a pace that was far too competitive for someone who was supposedly “taking it easy.”  But the team doctor had checked Ilya out this morning while they were all on the ice, giving him the go-ahead to slowly ease back into skating and dribbling, but to be careful on taking shots as it involved a lot of twisting in his torso. 

Shane should've known Ilya wouldn't wait even a day before testing his new limits. 

Ilya cleanly caught a puck fired from Troy, hardly giving a second glance. He pivoted more carefully than he usually would, but sent it back with such speed that Troy yelped, “Jesus Christ, man. Warn me.”

“I am a professional athlete,” Ilya called back. “Try it sometime.”

“Eat my ass.”

“And take Harris's job from him?" 

Troy barked a laugh that echoed through the stadium. "Jesus, Roz." 

Shane snorted quietly to himself and slipped into one of the lower seats. For a while, he just watched. 

There was something almost breathtaking about admiring the way Ilya moved now after everything: The sheer instinctive elegance of him cutting across the ice like he’d been born there. Beautiful was honestly the only word for it. Like skating brought him back. Like Ilya belonged to his body again and was alive in a way that had been missing for a while.

Ilya darted left, stole the puck cleanly from Troy, and accelerated down the rink with effortless power and grace. Troy swore under his breath, taking off after him, barely keeping up. 

When they eventually slowed, Barrett circled near the boards to catch his breath and happened to glance up toward the stands. The second his eyes stuttered over Shane, his face lit up. Troy raised a large glove, waving Shane down. 

He glanced over at Ilya, who was none the wiser, gathering stray pucks at center ice. He was enjoying being mesmerized by his husband from where he was, but ultimately, Shane stood and made his way to the locker room to gear up. 

Moments later, he stepped quietly through the bench gate, skates biting into the ice for the second time today. Troy spotted him immediately and grinned like a conspirator.

Ilya was skating backward near center ice, absently stickhandling while waiting for Troy to reposition himself. His cheeks were flushed pink from exertion, damp hair curling from underneath his helmet. Shane’s chest squeezed painfully fond at the sight.

Troy pushed off toward the opposite side of the rink while Shane silently drifted into position instead. Still oblivious, Ilya glanced down briefly at the puck before snapping a perfect pass across the ice, straight to Shane, who caught it with a familiar, resounding crack that echoed through the empty arena. 

Ilya looked up automatically, scraping to an instant halt. For half a second, he simply stared before his entire face transformed. The smile that split his face was so bright that Shane couldn't help but laugh giddily. 

"Hi, you." Ilya called across the ice, making lazy strides towards him. 

"Hey." 

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" 

"Well, it didn't seem like Barrett was giving you much of a challenge, so..." 

"Fuck you, Hollander!" Troy shouted from where he was chugging water from the bench. 

Ilya skated to a stop, fast enough that snow sprayed lightly beneath his skates. His attention stayed fixed entirely on Shane now, eyes warm and bright in a way Shane had been seeing more and more of lately. Then, without hesitation, Ilya leaned in and kissed him, sweet and slow.

“You look good,” Shane said softly when they pulled apart. "Happy."

Ilya’s smile softened slightly around the edges.

“I am.”

Shane's chest clenched with a contentment so sweet that it was painful. For a second, they just stood there close together beneath the arena lights, skates gently bumping together.

“If you two are done eye-fucking...” Troy had respectfully given them their time but ultimately ruined the moment, zooming past and stealing the puck before taking off across the rink.

For the next hour, they leisurely skated together. Passing drills turned into races. Races turned into chirping. At one point, Troy accused them both of “psychological warfare” after Shane and Ilya wordlessly executed the same play three consecutive times just to irritate him.

“You guys are freaks,” Troy informed them, bent over through a dramatic wheeze.

"Yes," Ilya confirmed, happily. Shane couldn’t stop smiling.

Now and then, he caught himself simply watching Ilya again- the easy movement of him, the laughter, the familiar sharpness returning to his eyes. And every time, the same thought returned quietly to Shane’s mind:

There you are.

February 20th, 2024

Ilya almost let the call go to voicemail.

He was stretched out on the couch with Anya asleep against his legs and Shane somewhere upstairs attempting to assemble a bookshelf while swearing loudly enough to suggest it was not going well. But as he grouchily insisted, "I can handle a stupid fucking bookshelf, Rozanov," so Ilya let him do his thing. The afternoon had been quiet in the kind of gentle, ordinary way Ilya was learning not to take for granted.

But now, Farah was calling. He stared at it for a second before answering.

“Hello?" He answered, slight irritation pushing through his tone stronger than he intended.

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

“Sorry. I just..." I know what this is going to be about. "Sorry." Ilya settled for it instead. "What can I do for you, Farah?"

Upstairs, something heavy crashed.

“Fuck!” Shane yelled distantly.

Farah paused. “Is that Shane?”

“No. A cranky home intruder.”

“Tell him I said hi. So,” she continued carefully, “There have been quite a few more interview requests.”

Ilya closed his eyes immediately. She knew how he felt about this.

“No.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly.

“Ilya-”

“I already told you. I do not want to become…” He gestured vaguely despite her inability to see it. “Some tragic headline for people to pick apart.”

Farah exhaled slowly.

“For what it’s worth, I understand why you’ve been refusing them.”

“Wonderful. Then continue refusing, please.”

“I have been,” she ensured. That was true. The requests had apparently been endless. News outlets, sports networks, talk shows, podcasts, fucking documentary producers.... Everyone wanted his perspective, or rather, a front row seat to his trauma. The thought alone made Ilya's skin crawl. "But there’s one email I think you should read.”

“Farah...” He started warningly.

“Just listen first. It’s not a network. Not a sports show. Not one of those weird trauma-porn interview series everybody suddenly thinks they’re producing.”

Ilya huffed a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. What is it?”

“There’s a podcast run by three journalists from Moscow operating out of New York. They left Russia a few years ago, but it remains to be their primary audience. Their whole platform is focused on political repression, corruption, LGBTQ rights, anti-war activism. Things like that.”

Ilya shifted slightly on the couch. Anya's ears perked up, and he pet her head until she settled again. Farah cautiously ventured forward.

“They’ve been covering your arrest since it happened. Not sensationalizing it- I listened to a few. They were respectful and honest, and... I think you should read what they sent before automatically saying no.”

Ilya stared at the soft snowfall beyond their stretching windows. 

“I don’t know if I can talk about it publicly,” he admitted. Farah’s voice gentled.

“I know. Of course. I just felt like I really had to run this one by you.”

For weeks, he had insisted on silence being best. It was easier that way. But...

"Okay. Send it over." 

"Great! Obviously, take your time to think about it. Let me know." 

Ilya thanked her and ended the call, just as his phone buzzed with the forwarded message. It was in Russian, and there was a refreshing lack of polished media language.

Mr. Rozanov,

First, we want to say how relieved we are that you survived and are safe back at home.

We know many are asking you to revisit something so painful publicly. We understand if you cannot, but are writing because what happened matters beyond fame or hockey.

For years, queer Russians and dissidents have been told the world will never listen to us. For years, Russia has faced a humanitarian crisis in its prisons that people refuse to acknowledge. Your arrest forced international attention onto laws and abuses that many people have tried very hard to ignore.

We think there is power in hearing someone say: This happened to me, and it should not happen to anyone else.

Ilya’s throat tightened unexpectedly. He tried to swallow the invasive emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.

We are not interested in spectacle. We are a very small podcast interested in truth. We want to offer a new purpose and perspective to the vast expanse of those whofeel betrayed by Russia. If you ever wished to speak, not only as an athlete, but as a Russian failed by their country, we would be honored to give you that space.

No pressure, truly. Your silence would be understandable and respected, but we do believe your voice matters and can make a difference.

Ilya read the final line twice... Then a third time. This didn't feel like people trying to consume his pain- it felt like they were asking him to do something with it. He had gotten out. Many others didn’t... many others wouldn't. He was lucky, and he knew it. Ilya was famous, had millionaire money, and a steadfast Hollander-led team fighting for him.

If I say no, I'll feel guilty forever. The thought was just as invasive as it was true.

Shane appeared at the top of the stairs holding a crooked shelf bracket.

“I need you to know,” he announced, “that this bookshelf is structurally insane and the instructions are... dishonest.”

Normally, Ilya would've been amused; teased his already-flustered husband relentlessly. Instead, he looked up at Shane with something more thoughtful in his expression. Hollander noticed at once, his face falling.

“What?”

"Nothing." Ilya dismissed. He didn't want to get into it. Not yet. "You need help?" 

Shane pouted, his hands fidgeting at his sides like he was fighting every natural urge within himself. 

"...Please?" 

Ilya grinned, tucking his phone back into his pocket while trying to dispel the swirling thoughts in his head. Bickering over the ridiculously fancy, asymmetrical shelves Shane had insisted on seemed like the perfect distraction.

"All you had to do was ask." 

February 21st, 2024

“I think people are projecting onto me.”

Galina looked up from her notebook. “How so?”

Ilya shifted restlessly in his chair, one ankle bouncing faintly beneath his knee.

“They keep calling me brave,” he said with visible irritation. “Or imply I'm some sort of hero... Or some kind of symbol.” He let out a sharp breath through his nose. “I did not do anything.”

“You survived.”

“Accidentally.”

“Still.”

Ilya rubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted today in a way that had less to do with sleep and more to do with carrying too many thoughts at once.

“There are all these messages,” he continued. “Especially from Russians. Queer people. Activists.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Some of them talk at me like I am some revolutionary figure.”