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It was an accident, is the thing.
Shane wasn't trying to make a point or hint at something, it kinda just…happened.
It had started with Ilya chasing Shane up the stairs of his house in Brossard, his laughter hot on Shane's heels. Shane didn't think he'd outrun Ilya, not really. Shane may be faster on the ice, but Ilya's legs are longer, and he usually catches Shane before he can ever get very far.
Tonight, though, Ilya lets Shane escape, and Shane collapses onto the bed with a smile, expecting Ilya's familiar weight pinning him to the bed to follow him. He waits about ten seconds before he pushes himself up onto his elbows, smile pulling into confusion as he sees Ilya leaning against the doorframe, sweats slung low on his hips. Somewhere between the living room and the bedroom, Ilya had lost his sweatshirt, and he's gloriously bare chested. Even in his confusion, Shane can't help but let his eyes roam the expanse of skin, heady with the knowledge he can now. That they aren't going to run out of time, that they get to have this. All the time. Whenever they want.
Ilya's smile grows into something more predatory, and his eyes drink in the long lines of Shane's body, stretched out across their bed, waiting for Ilya to come and take. Shane's expecting him to come join him any second, which is why he's so caught off guard when Ilya says, "I want to watch. Like I did in Vegas. Remember?"
And Shane's not proud of this, but Shane flinches. Just a little bit, but enough that Ilya catches it.
Of course Ilya catches it. He's so attuned to every movement Shane makes, every expression he makes. His entire demeanor changes, and Shane scrambles to course correct. "Yeah, yes, I do remember. You gonna go find a chair?" His tone falls flat, however, voice shaking the tiniest bit, and Ilya's face falls further.
"Shane…"
Shane shakes his head, "No, baby, it's fine, seriously. I'm being stupid, come on." Shane moves up the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. His hands go to the hem of his shirt, hands shaking slightly. Ilya crosses the room in three quick strides, placing his hands over Shane's. He settles on the bed, sitting cross legged in front of Shane.
"Shane, please." Ilya's voice is uncharacteristically quiet, and Shane can feel whatever fight he had leave his body.
"I'm sorry." Shane's not looking at him, eyes trained on their interlaced hands. "I'm making such a big deal out of literally nothing, Ilya, please. can we just let it go?"
One of Ilya's hands leaves Shane's, coming underneath his chin and tilting it up, forcing Shane to make eye contact with him. "It is not stupid if it's bothering you. What is going on?"
"I just," Shane tightens his grip on Ilya's hand, almost unconscious, "I think we remember that night really differently, Ilya, that's all. I try not to think about that night much, if at all. I guess I didn't realize it was just me." Shane looks to the side, unable to maintain eye contact, "Like I said, it's really not that big of a deal. It was forever ago, and we're both on the other side of it now."
Ilya doesn't say anything for a moment, and Shane thinks Ilya's going to drop it, and he goes to move off the bed. He's gonna go shower, he thinks, take a moment alone to reset. Ilya's hand tightens, tugging him back down onto the bed. "What do you mean?"
"Ilya…" Shane's tone takes on a pleading lilt to it.
"Shane, please don't make me ask again. You are very clearly hurting, and I cannot help you if I don't know what is hurting you." Ilya's begging now, and Shane's defenses have always been weak when it came to Ilya Rozanov. It's what got him into this mess in the first place.
"I think – fuck – I felt so fucking empty, leaving your hotel room that night, okay? My skin felt too small for my body, and yet there was this ringing hollow in my chest. I've tried so hard to forget it, to move on, but it was just such a drastic shift from what I was used to with you. I guess I had this expectation of what our hook-ups were going to look like at that point, and Vegas was so different from what they were before that, and what they were after that. I didn't know how to handle that. It got better after that night, but that night was bad." Shane sniffles, pulling his knees into his chest, withdrawing from Ilya's touch. "It was scary. I don't know if I can do that again. It felt like I'd scooped out the most vulnerable parts of me and held them out, and you just walked away."
Ilya doesn't say anything, shifting up the bed until he's sitting next to Shane. He wraps an arm around Shane's shoulders, tugging gently until Shane gives, falling into Ilya's chest. Ilya waits as Shane adjusts himself, properly crawling into Ilya's lap and tucking his face into his neck. They sit in silence for a moment before Ilya whispers into Shane's hair, "I'm sorry." His hand strokes the back of Shane's head, fingers burying into the hair there, pressing Shane's face into his neck. "I did not handle that properly at all. I was hurting, and all I could think about is that I was. I was so determined to prove to myself that I could have this one piece of you, and that I did not need anything else. That I did not need your love, or your affection. I was being a fool, thinking I could outrun you."
Shane makes a noise, soft and a little hurt, and Ilya feels Shane's tears dampen his skin. He presses a kiss to the crown of his head, "I was so focused on not letting my own feelings get hurt, I was missing the fact that I also had the ability to hurt your feelings. I was reckless, I think."
Shane pulls his face away at this, "Reckless is harsh, baby, it's not like I was hurt in the long run, or anything. You had a bad night, I feel like that's allowed. That's what happened with everything before Rose, isn't it?"
Ilya's shaking his head before Shane even finishes, "no, moya lyubov, it is not the same. We talked about that night, didn't we? You apologized, and I never did. I did not even know I hurt you, Shane. That is the definition of reckless, is it not? I acted that night with no regard for how it would affect you. I hurt you bad enough that here we are, eight years later, and you cannot even touch yourself for me without feeling the hurt from that night."
Shane feels the fight drain from his body, "I almost texted you that night, you know? 'We didn't even kiss,' all typed out. I almost hit send, too. It felt like too much" Shane runs a hand through Ilya's curls, coming to rest in the crook of his neck, where his head had been resting, "In that moment, it felt like I'd handed you the win and all of my humiliation, and sending that text would have been handing over the last of my dignity too. I just couldn't – this stupid urge to protect my ego kicked in. I think it might have been the only other time that I exercised any shred of self-preservation against you." Shane's crying in earnest now, tears tracking down his face.
"Shane…" Ilya's voice is wet, and his eyes shine in the dim light of their bedroom. "I wish you had texted me. You should have texted me. I would have," his voice breaks, "I would have taken care of you. You did not deserve to not be taken care of, if that is what you needed. If that was what you wanted." One of Ilya's arms stays wrapped around his waist, and the other hand cups his face, thumb wiping away his tears. "I would have pulled you back into the hotel room, probably against your will, just a little bit," a small smile settles on his face, "the shower was probably big enough for two, so I would have watched as you folded your suit again, and I would have showered with you. Kissed you against the tile, maybe sunk to my knees. However easy you thought you were for me, Hollander, I was just as easy for you. Just more desperate to hide it, probably."
Ilya grows somber again, pulling Shane forward with the grip on his face, resting their foreheads together, "most importantly, I think your text would have made me less stupid. More obvious to the fact that I was hurting you. Maybe if I knew then, you would not have ran away after the tuna melts, yes? Would not have felt like you needed to protect yourself from me, again."
Shane doesn't respond verbally, pressing his lips against Ilya's with a feverish intensity. Ilya responds quickly and in kind, his other hand coming to cup Shane's face and hold him in place. They're both crying, clinging to each other with an urgency that borders on desperation. Shane pulls away, chuckling wetly when Ilya chases his lips. "I love you. I love you more and more every day, and there is not one thing I regret about how we got here, okay? I would do that night over and over again if it meant that I would end up in this bed, right here, holding my entire world in my arms." Shane leans forward, presses a kiss to Ilya's forehead. "Do not beat yourself up about it. It happened. We're both better for it."
Ilya just nods, pulling Shane back down into his space. Ilya tucks Shane into the curve of his body, wrapping his arms around him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Shane settles into the embrace, allowing Ilya to rock them back and forth gently.
They're probably going to get up and shower soon, and Ilya will follow Shane down into the kitchen to wrap himself around him as he cooks them dinner. Maybe they'll pick back up where they left off later, he's not sure.
But Shane does know one thing. He's holding everything worth fighting for.