Archive of Our Own

“How much longer?”

“I don’t know, probably like fifteen minutes?” he can hear Shane shrug through the phone. 

“Hmm. . .” Ilya looks at Shane’s location where he’s watching him inch closer to their house on the map. “Phone says thirteen.”

“Are you watching my location?” Shane laughs from where he’s talking to Ilya through the screen in his car.

“Mmm, yes. I’ve been so miserable without my husband. I want you home.” he groans. “Now, preferably.” he adds and Shane huffs a laugh. 

“I’m working on it.” he sighs and Ilya can hear a blinker in the background as he watches him veer off the highway onto the exit closest to their house and start down the road up the hill in the city. The sun was just starting to set and everything looked warm and golden in the late spring air. 

Ilya groaned in a mix of boredom and to express patience lost since he’d gotten home from training. He’d been pacing the house and keeping himself busy as he waited for his husband to be home. 

Six days. Six days without Shane while he was stuck training in Ottawa and Shane had meetings in Montreal.

Shane’s voice softened when he spoke again.

“I’m almost home, baby.” The nickname settled warm in his chest. He hummed and let himself listen to Shane take a deep breath and release it slowly as he drove.

The map refreshed again. Ten minutes. Ilya stared at it a moment longer before pushing back from where he sat at the kitchen table. The chair legs scraped softly across the floor.

“You still there?” Shane asked.

“Yes.”

“Why does it sound like you’re moving?” Shane asks.

“Because I am.”

“Where are you going?”

Ilya grabbed Shane’s hoodie that he had been wearing since he left from the back of the chair and pulled it on as he walked toward the front door.

“Porch.”

“You don’t have to wait outside.” He sighs gently.

“I know, but I want to.” The door creaked open and the cool evening air rushed in. The sun was just starting to sink, the sky streaked orange and pink across the neighborhood. Ilya stepped out and sat on the top step, phone still on speaker in his hand. “Now you can see me when you come up the driveway. You love it.”

Shane sighs. “Yes I do.”

Ilya smiled faintly and leaned his elbows on his knees and just sat for a moment in the quiet. “You still there?” Shane asked.

“Mm,” Ilya hummed.

“You’ve been quiet.”

Ilya leaned back on his hands, looking out over the yard. The sun was dipping low enough now that the light spilled across the front lawn in long pink and gold streaks. “Sunset is pretty.”

Shane made a small sound on the other end of the line, like he was smiling. “Yeah, it is tonight isn’t it.”

“Yeah.” Ilya tilted his head, studying the way the sky shifted from gold to orange. “It’s nice tonight.” Shane laughed softly, and the sound made something warm settle in Ilya’s chest. He looked around the yard again, the quiet house behind him, the wind rustling through the trees. “I really like our house,” Ilya said suddenly.

There was a pause. “Yeah?” Shane said.

“Yeah.” Ilya nudged the deck railing with his foot. “It’s. . . good house.”

“That’s a very glowing review.”

Ilya rolled his eyes even though Shane couldn’t see it. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

He did; Shane always did. Ilya let the quiet stretch for a moment, watching the sun sink lower behind the line of trees. “When I first moved in I thought it was too big.”

“Big?” Shane asks.

“Too quiet. Too much space.”

Shane hummed softly in acknowledgment. “And now?”

Ilya glanced back through the front window at the living room, the couch they argued over buying, the coffee table that had a permanent ring from one of Ilya’s mugs, Shane’s favorite blanket thrown over the armrest. Now it just felt like home. “Now it feels right. Now that it is yours too.” he said.

Shane was quiet again for a moment. “I like hearing you say that,” he admitted.

“I really like it here, feels like home. Like real home.” he said.

Shane’s voice softened a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ilya tilted his head, watching the sun sink closer to the trees. “It’s quiet. Feels. . . good.” Shane didn’t interrupt, which meant he was listening closely. “I like the yard,” Shane laughed softly. “And the living room,” Ilya added.

“Oh, and the couch you said was too big?” Shane teased. Ilya thought it had been too big for the space when they officially moved in together, but it had slowly become his favorite nap spot in the entire house. 

“It’s good couch.”

“Uh huh.”

Ilya’s mouth twitched. “And bedroom.” he said after a second.

Shane caught that immediately. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Ilya responded, chewing on his lip and watching the sun slide halfway behind the trees. “Bedroom is big. Plenty of room for activities.” Ilya added.

Shane laughed under his breath. “There it is.”

“What?”

“I just know you. I knew you had something up your sleeve.”

Ilya shrugged even though Shane couldn’t see it. “Maybe I just miss you.” The sun dipped lower, turning the sky a deeper orange.

“I miss you too.” Shane said.

Ilya was quiet for a moment, watching the light fade across the yard. “When you get back,” he said slowly, “I’m going to take advantage of the bedroom. Maybe couch too.” he shrugs.

Shane choked on a laugh. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You’re planning a whole house tour now?”

“House is big,” Ilya said. “Many options.”

Shane groaned in amusement. “You’re unbelievable.” But there was warmth in his voice.

“What?” Ilya said innocently.

“You’re trying to seduce me over the phone using our couch as bait.”

“Is it working?” he asks gently.

Shane sighs and Ilya can picture him gripping the wheel tighter as he drives at the exact speed limit home. “Ugh, yea it is.” he groans playfully and Ilya can’t help the grin that spreads over his face. 

“Aw, Hollander,” he coos, for old time’s sake. “You want me to fuck you on the couch? It’s been too long, you’re right. Bed is boring.” he scoffs and he can hear Shane laugh. 

“Bed is not boring. Nothing we do is boring.” Shane quips back, and truly Ilya can’t even argue. He’s never been more satisfied sexually in his life, or more in love, and the two seemed to go together impeccably. “And, hey! It’s Hollander-Rozanov now, don’t you forget it.” he scolds and Ilya still can’t stop grinning. 

“Trust me,” he says, looking down to where his ring rests on his finger like it always does when he’s at home. “I do not forget that. Even if I lose all my memories -” 

He stops.

He starts it as a metaphor, like a normal thing to say when he’s talking to his husband about how he will love him until the end of time. He just says it as a way to make a joke, to exacerbate his over the top nature with the English that he had to say how much he loved Shane. 

He doesn’t think of him; of his father. But now he can’t help it. He doesn’t think about how it could be genetic, that maybe one day he would lose all his memories of Shane. Maybe he’d end up cruel and bitter like him too, maybe there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe if he did lose his mind in anyway he’d still b

“Hey.” Shane’s voice cuts through, gentle and light. “Don’t go there. I’m not going anywhere.” he promises and Ilya sighs. He doesn’t know how he does that; know where his mind goes before he does. He chalks it up to over a decade of being overly perceptive of every moment they had together and over analyzing it for ruthlessly long stretches of time apart that made them able to see through each other. 

“I know. I know, I am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I love you.”

“Hmm, I love you too.” he replies. 

“I know.” Shane replies, and Ilya can hear the soft smile in his voice. “That’s what the last name is hyphenated. So even if you do forget you’ll be able to see it and just know.”

“Hmm, know what exactly?” he asks, feeling warmth bloom in his chest again at the sound of his voice.

“That I’m yours.” he answers simply. 

Ilya’s heart feels like it falls right out through his chest. Being away from Shane, being alone for this long made him feel tender; like his heart was outside of his body and every little thing was too much for the 

“And I am yours.” he responds, propping his chin in his hand and staring at the empty driveway. 

“Yes you are. That’s why I need you to fuck me in the living room.” Shane says pointedly and Ilya can’t help but laugh. 

“It’s a good living room.”

Shane laughed again, softer this time, and Ilya could picture the exact way his face probably looked right now; half amused, half exasperated. “God, I miss you,” Shane said.

Ilya watched as the sun finally slipped behind the trees that lined the front yard, the sky fading toward purple. The air had gotten cooler without him noticing.

“I wish you were here,” Ilya sighed.

There was a gentle pause on the line. “Soon,” Shane said. “I’ll be home soon.”

Ilya nodded even though he knew Shane couldn’t see it. The map refreshed again.

Five minutes. He lets Shane know as much out loud as he watches the dot on the map move closer and closer

“You’re really watching it, huh?” Shane said.

“Yes.”

“Like. . . actively.”

“Yes. You drive too slow, always at the speed limit. So safe, so boring.” he groans.

“That’s kind of creepy.”

Ilya tilted the phone toward his face. “You usually love it when I watch you.” he replies seductively.

Shane laughs again and Ilya wants him to break every stupid Canadian traffic law if it means he can hear it in real life instead of through the phone. “Fair.”

They sat in a comfortable quiet for a moment, the sound of the car humming faintly through Shane’s phone. “You’re getting close,” he said quietly.

“I noticed.”

The map shifted again. Two minutes.

Ilya stood up from the porch steps, suddenly too restless to sit. He paced once across the wood boards of the porch and then leaned against the railing, eyes flicking between the road and the phone.

The map refreshed. One minute.

He could feel it now, that tight, buzzing feeling under his skin that always came right before Shane walked through the door after being gone too long.

Headlights turned the corner at the end of the street.

Ilya straightened instantly, stepping forward on the porch as the familiar car rolled slowly down toward the house. His chest did that stupid, painful squeeze it always did when he saw Shane after being apart.

“You see me?” Shane asked through the phone, and he could see him say it through the windshield.

“Yes,” Ilya said, already walking down the steps.

The car pulled into the driveway and Shane barely had the engine off before Ilya opened the door and reached the driver’s side. The phone call disconnected somewhere in the scramble.

Shane opened the door and barely had time to step out before Ilya pulled him into a tight hug, arms locking around his shoulders like he needed to make sure he was real.

For a second Shane just laughed softly into his shoulder.

“Hi to you too.” Ilya squeezed him harder.

“You took too long.”

“I drove three hours.”

“Still.”

Shane pulled back just enough to look at him, smiling tiredly but warmly. He reached out and brushed a hand through Ilya’s hair.

“Hi.” he sighed dreamily. 

“Hi.” Ilya responded, not able to hide the awe in his voice as he finally got to see Shane in the flesh. He wanted to spend hours just looking at him, reacquainting himself with the freckles across his nose and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. 

But he leaned forward and kissed him anyway, slow and relieved, like coming home. When they pulled apart, Ilya was still holding onto him like he was afraid he would float away.

“Welcome home.” Ilya whispers against his lips. He tastes like altoids and the tea he always has with him in the car, ginger and some sort of fruit, that will forever make Ilya think of Shane and the way he licks into his mouth when he kisses him. 

The taste of his lips and the brush of his body against his own was electrifying and caused goosebumps to break out over his skin and for a groan to rip out of his chest when Shane brushed his fingers through his curls and sucked on his lower lip.

When they pull away they’re both smiling and looking at each other with more wonder and awe.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “House is too quiet without you.”

“Okay.” Shane agrees easily, leaning forward to kiss him once more before reaching down to hold his hand.

Before Shane could even reach back into the car, Ilya was already moving around to the trunk.

“Ilya -”

“I got it.”

The trunk popped open and Ilya grabbed the first duffel bag like it weighed nothing, slinging it over his shoulder. Then he reached for the second one, a smaller backpack Shane had used for the trip.

“You don’t have to carry everything,” Shane said, walking around the car next to him.

“I know.” But he didn’t stop. Shane watched him for a second, the way he moved with that quiet determination, like helping wasn’t a favor, it was just the natural order of things.

“You’re very chivalrous.” Shane teased gently.

“I’m what?” Ilya asked, looking over his shoulder, face contorting in confusion at the word. Shane just laughed and a pretty flush came over his cheeks as he reached up to close the trunk.  “What is that?”

“It means - uh…” he gestured vaguely toward the bag on Ilya’s shoulder. “Being helpful and kind. Like. . . gentlemanly.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes slightly. “Because I carry bag?”

“Yeah. Like opening doors, helping with things, that kind of thing.”

Ilya considered this very seriously for a moment. “Ah,” he said. Then his expression shifted, just a little. “So it’s like being hot and nice.”

Shane blinked. “I mean. . . yea, actually. That’s about it.”

Ilya adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“You think I’m hot.” he repeated.

Shane laughed, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Oh my god.” he sighs and looks at Ilya. “Of course I do. What do you think I married you for?” he shrugs and Ilya can’t help the burst of laughter that comes from within him that only Shane can bring out. Like he’s truly bursting at the seams with how endearing his husband is that he can’t contain it in his body.

He pivots so Shane is backed against the side of the car, hand still intertwined with Ilya’s. “I thought you love all of me. Not just my beautiful face and big muscles.” he pouts like he’s disappointed but can’t really keep the grin off his face. 

“I do love all of you. Of course.” Shane nods, looking at his lips and then back up to his eyes. “Especially your mouth.” he adds with a nod and Ilya can’t decide if he should laugh or kiss him. So he does both. 

Leaning in and kissing him through his smile, teeth knocking and laughing into each other’s mouths against the side of the car. 

Shane finally pulled away and kissed his cheek before lightly shoving him forward and pulling him towards the front door. Ilya followed easily behind him, the bag still over his shoulder. They climbed the porch steps together, the boards creaking softly under their weight.

Shane opened the front door and stepped inside, kicking off his shoes with a relieved sigh the second he crossed the threshold.

Home.

The house was warm, the faint smell of whatever candle Ilya had been burning lingering in the air. He only dropped his hand when Shane stretched his back again and raised his hands above his head. “God, that feels good.”

Ilya nudged the door shut with his foot and leaned casually against it. He dropped Shane’s duffle and hung up his backpack on the hook by the door where he liked it and looked at Shane. Getting his fill after having to survive off FaceTimes and his photo album of pictures of Shane he had for when he was gone. 

“So,” he said.

Shane glanced at him. “So?”

“You think I’m hot.”

Shane laughed again, tired but fond, and walked over to him. “I think you’re ridiculous,” he said.

“Close enough.”

But Shane reached out and tugged lightly at the front of Ilya’s hoodie anyway, pulling him a step closer.

“You carrying my bag was very nice.” Ilya shrugged like it had been nothing. “Chivalrous.” Shane teased.

Ilya grinned. “And hot,” he added, before taking his wrist in his hand and tugging him along to follow him further into the house towards the living room. He lets himself stare at Shane for a long moment, taking in the lines on his face and the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at Ilya. 

“You look tired,” Ilya murmured, guiding Shane down onto the deep cushions of their couch. He didn’t let go.

“I am.” Shane’s voice was a quiet admission. He leaned back, letting his head rest against the couch, but his eyes stayed on Ilya. On the familiar curve of his smile, the intensity in his gaze that a screen couldn’t capture after six days.

Ilya didn’t sit. 

He stood over Shane, one knee sinking into the cushion beside Shane’s hip, caging him in. He reached down so that his fingers traced the line of Shane’s jaw, a touch so light it was almost not there. 

“You want dinner? Shower? Bed?” he asked, searching his face as he looked up at him with wide eyes. 

He shook his head before answering. “I’m not hungry, and I, um, showered before I left to come home.” he said, cheeks flushing in a way that made Ilya feel insane with want for the man laid out below him. 

“Did you now?” Ilya asks and Shane just nods his head quickly. “You really did miss me, huh?” he asks, quiet as he runs his thumb over the curve of Shane’s chin. 

“Of course.” he nods, totally honest and sincere and it makes Ilya want to cry, but he holds himself together and continues to trace thumb over his jaw. 

Then his thumb pressed against Shane’s bottom lip, a gentle, claiming pressure. “Missed this,” Ilya said, his voice dropping, all teasing gone, replaced by something raw and hungry.

Shane’s breath caught. He opened his mouth slightly, letting Ilya’s thumb slip past his lips, a silent, submissive invitation. The taste of skin, of Ilya, flooded his senses. His own need, coiled tight and disciplined all week, unraveled in a single, shuddering exhale.

That was all Ilya needed. He leaned down, his other hand cupping Shane’s cheek as he removed his thumb, and kissed him.

It was slow. A deep, consuming pressure that started at their mouths and seeped into Shane’s bones. Ilya’s tongue slid against his, not playful, but tasting him, reclaiming him and all other thoughts left his mind. 

Shane’s hands came up, gripping Ilya’s shoulders, holding on as the kiss went on and on, stripping away the distance, the time, the polite restraint.

When Ilya finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard. “Been watching that dot on the map for hours,” Ilya confessed, his words a hot breath against Shane’s mouth. “Thinking about what I’d do when it finally stopped moving.”

Shane’s heart hammered against his ribs. “What did you think you’d do?”

Ilya’s smile was dark, possessive. “This.” His hands moved, one sliding under Shane’s shirt, splaying across the warm, firm plane of his stomach. The other went to the waistband of his sweats, fingers hooking there. “And this, yes?” he checks.

Shane nods violently, making his hair shake and bounce into his eyes, and Ilya huffs out a laugh and kisses his cheek. 

Shane moves to get his shirt over his head, tossing it aside and the cool air of the room hits his skin, but it is immediately replaced by the heat of Ilya’s palms skating over his chest and over his ribs, warming him and making his skin feel alive under his hands.

Ilya leaned down again, kissing his collarbone, then lower, his mouth hot and open against Shane’s pectoral. He makes his way over his warm skin, stopping to kiss and bite at his nipple with soft lips and a low hum from his chest. Shane arched, a soft gasp escaping him.

“So quiet,” Ilya murmured, his lips brushing skin. “Let me hear you. Missed the way you sound.”

Shane’s discipline cracked. A low, wanting moan slipped out as Ilya’s hand untied the waist of his sweats. The sound seemed to fuel Ilya. He sighed against Shane’s neck his hand slipping inside, palming Shane through his briefs. Shane jerked, his hips lifting off the couch, seeking the pressure.

“Ilya. . .”

“Tell me,” Ilya commanded, his voice a rough whisper. He didn’t stop moving his hand, the friction through the cotton maddening and perfect. Too much yet not enough all at once after the distance and time apart. His eyes locked on Shane’s. “Tell me who you belong to.”

The words, the command, sent a thrill straight to Shane’s core. His praise kink, his need to be good, ignited. “You,” Shane breathed, the admission pouring out. “Just to you.”

Ilya’s expression softened with triumph, with a deep, affectionate hunger. “Good boy.” He tugged Shane’s sweats and briefs down together, freeing him completely.

The air was cool again on his bare skin, his erection fully exposed. Ilya didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself, his mouth replacing his hand, and took Shane in deep and slow.

Shane’s vision blurred. 

The wet, hot suction, the skilled slide of Ilya’s tongue along his shaft, the way Ilya’s hands gripped his hips to hold him steady; it was overwhelming. Shane’s head fell back against the cushions, a string of ragged, grateful sounds torn from his throat. “Ilya. . . god. . . ”

Shane’s mind all but went blank, focused on just the feeling of Ilya’s hands groping at his chest as his hot mouth drooled and sucked on his cock like it was his life’s mission to do so. He was messy with it, shaking his head every now and then, stopping to breath but stroking him still, kissing his inner thighs and his balls with an open mouth and inhaling deep at the crease of his hip, like he was trying to absorb as much of Shane’s scent and warmth as he could straight from the source. 

Shane just held on for dear life and let Ilya get his fill. He loved it when he was needy like this; needing to press all of himself against Shane’s skin like a cat rubbing its cheek on their favorite piece of furniture. He was sated like this, tasked with just the job of making Shane feel good and melt into his hands, and he loved knowing that he was  the only one who could make him feel that way. 

Ilya worked him with a focused intensity, a celebration. He pulled off, his lips glistening, and looked up. “You taste like home,” he said, simple and devastating. He brought his head back level to Shane’s to kiss him, letting the spit from giving him head work between their mouths and let Shane taste himself on Ilya’s tongue. 

He pulled back after a moment and tapped Shane’s hip, causing him to smile. He knew what to do. He rolled over, still caged by Ilya’s arms, so that he was on his belly underneath him, his ass arched back just a bit to let him know exactly where he wanted him. 

“Jesus, you kill me.” Ilya groans and places a hand on each of Shane’s cheeks to sink his fingers into the flesh to get a good fill before pulling back and kissing each one with a loud smack. 

“You know I’m beginning to think that you miss my ass more than you miss me.” Shane teased, though slurred somewhat from pleasure. 

“Hmm, then I’m not doing good job if you can still think so much.” he leans down to whisper in his ear, kissing it and causing Shane to laugh gently as he watched Ilya grab lube from the side table and sit up.

Ilya’s pants came off next, the rustle of clothing, then the warm, solid press of his body against Shane’s back. His cock, hard and eager, slid between Shane’s thighs, a hot promise. 

One of Ilya’s arms wrapped around Shane’s chest, holding him tight, pulling him flush against Ilya’s body so that he was on his hands and arched back into him. The other hand reached around, fingers slick with the lube, and pressed against Shane’s entrance.

Shane shuddered, anticipation coiling tight. “Please.”

Ilya kissed the back of his neck, slow and deliberate, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin in a way that made Shane shiver. 

“You ask so nicely,” Ilya murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble that sent a thrill down Shane’s spine. His breath was warm against Shane’s ear, sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. Ilya’s hand moved with purpose, pressing against his entrance with a gentle but insistent pressure. Shane’s breath hitched, his body instinctively pressing back against the touch, craving it.

The first push of Ilya’s finger was slow, a deliberate stretch that burned in the best possible way. Shane gasped, his hips shifting slightly to accommodate the intrusion, his body opening, welcoming. 

It had been a week, and the emptiness inside him had been gnawing at him, a quiet ache he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. Ilya’s finger slid deeper, curling slightly, and Shane’s breath shuddered out of him. “Ilya. . . ” he whispered, the name a plea, a prayer.

“I’ve got you,” Ilya murmured, his other hand steadying Shane’s hip, grounding him. The stretch was more intense now, but not painful, just enough, a reclaiming that Shane had been craving without realizing it. 

Ilya worked him open with practiced precision, his finger moving in careful, probing circles, coaxing Shane’s body to relax, to yield. Shane’s head dropped forward, his forehead pressing against the couch cushion, his breaths uneven, his skin flushed. The sensations were overwhelming, a mix of relief and anticipation that coiled tight in his stomach.

When Ilya added a second finger, Shane groaned, the sound low and guttural, torn from somewhere deep within him. The stretch was sharper now, a delicious burn that made his toes curl and his thighs tremble. Ilya’s fingers scissored gently, stretching him further, preparing him with a patience that felt like reverence. 

Shane rocked back against Ilya’s hand, the need for more, for everything, building like a wave inside him. “Please,” Shane whispered, the word barely audible but thick with need.

Ilya kissed the back of his neck again, his lips soft and tender amidst the claiming. “So good for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection and desire. 

His fingers curled, brushing against that spot that made Shane’s vision blur and his breath catch. Shane whimpered, his body arching further into the touch, his hands gripping the couch cushions for dear life. The pleasure was sharp and sweet, a promise of what was to come, and Shane’s entire being trembled with it.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” Ilya growled, his fingers still working Shane open with a steady, relentless rhythm. The words, the touch, the claiming, it all broke something open inside Shane, something that had been tightly coiled all week, all month, maybe longer. He belonged here, like this, with Ilya’s hands on him, his body yielding to him, his trust absolute. “You’re ready,” Ilya said finally, his voice rough, and Shane nodded, his throat too tight to speak. 

Ready, yes. 

For Ilya. For this. Always.

Ilya withdrew his fingers. He positioned himself, the blunt, hot head of his cock pressing where his fingers had been. He held Shane tighter, his embrace almost crushing, utterly possessive. Then he pushed in.

It was a slow, inexorable fill. Shane cried out, the stretch profound, the fullness absolute. Ilya didn’t stop until he was seated completely, buried inside him, their bodies joined. He stayed there, breathing hard into Shane’s neck, letting him feel it, letting him adjust.

“Mine,” Ilya growled, the word vibrating through Shane’s spine.

“Yours,” Shane choked out, the submission, the truth of it, flooding him with a dizzying pleasure.

Then Ilya moved.

The first thrust was deep, a claiming drag that pulled almost all the way out before plunging back in. Shane’s world narrowed to the sensation: the hot friction inside him, the press of Ilya’s chest against his back, the strong arms holding him in place. Ilya set a rhythm that was relentless but not rough; a steady pace that built the heat in Shane’s belly, coiling it tighter and tighter.

“Tell me again,” Ilya demanded, his thrusts punctuating the words. “Who do you belong to?”

“You!” Shane gasped, his voice breaking, sobbing around it. “Only you, Ilya.”

“Good. So good. Fuck, missted you so much.” Ilya’s praise was a balm, a catalyst. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, his hips driving with a precision that hit the spot that made Shane’s toes curl, his vision spark. 

Shane was panting, his own cock hard and neglected between his legs, dripping. The pleasure was a two-sided blade: the exquisite fullness and friction inside him, and the aching need for release.

Ilya’s hand slid from around his chest, down his stomach, and took Shane’s cock in a firm, knowing grip. He stroked him in time with his thrusts, a perfect, synchronized torture. Shane’s moans became shouts, ragged and uncontrolled.

“I’m gonna, Ilya, I’m. . .”

“Cum for me,” Ilya ordered, his voice thick with his own need. “Cum for me, Shane.”

The command, the praise, the relentless, claiming rhythm shattered him. Shane’s orgasm ripped through him, a white-hot wave that clenched around Ilya inside him and spilled over Ilya’s hand in hot pulses. He cried out, his body trembling violently in Ilya’s hold.

Ilya groaned, deep and guttural, Shane’s climax pushing him over his own edge. His thrusts became frantic, final, before he buried himself deep and held there, his release flooding Shane’s already-sensitized hole. They collapsed together against the couch, a tangled, sweating, breathing mess of limbs.

Ilya pushed himself between Shane and the back of the couch, staying inside him and holding him close to his chest like he was scared to let go. Shane placed kisses on his hands, soft presses of his mouth to every bit of skin he could reach, while exhaling and melting into Ilya’s embrace.

Ilya nuzzled into Shane’s neck, his lips soft against the skin. “Welcome home, moya lyubov.”

Shane laughed quietly, the sound bright and joyful. “We should probably move.”

Then a sigh, dramatic but not very convincing. “Fine. We move.” Ilya nudged him gently. “But you come with me.”

Shane shook his head but even without looking, Ilya knew he was smiling. Ilya refused to fully let go, one hand still hooked loosely in Shane’s as they finally got up and shuffled toward the hallway like two magnets that couldn’t quite separate. Shane bumped his shoulder against the doorframe.

The shower was hot and fogged the whole bathroom within minutes. They weren’t really talking much, just existing in the same space, occasionally bumping shoulders or reaching automatically for each other like they’d been doing it forever.

Shane washed his hair while Ilya leaned back against the tile, watching him with a small, soft expression Shane pretended not to notice.

Eventually Shane nudged him with his elbow.

“You gonna just supervise?”

“I supervise very well.”

“Helpful.” he smiled and pursed his lips where he stood under the stream, and they only got distracted for a few minutes before Ilya grinned and finally reached for the shampoo.

Afterward, wrapped in sweats and with damp hair, they ended up in the kitchen. Ilya took over without much discussion again, pulling ingredients out of the fridge with the kind of quiet competence Shane had missed more than he’d expected. Pasta, garlic, something that smelled like butter and herbs filling the space.

Shane sat on the counter, watching him. “You didn’t have to cook.”

Ilya glanced at him, stirring the pan. “I want to. I don’t know what they feed you in Montreal. Have to make sure you are taken care of.”

Shane swung one leg lightly. “You always feed me when I come back.” he smiled softly.

“Yes. I like to. Missed taking care of you.” he sighs and stands between his legs where he’s seated on the counter and lets Shane hold him close and run his strong hands up and down his back soothingly until the timer goes off for their pasta. 

The whole time they stayed close. Shane passed him utensils, leaned against his shoulder, reached around him to grab a glass. Every time they separated by more than a step, one of them closed the distance again without thinking.

Like they were correcting something that had been wrong for too long.

Dinner was simple but perfect. They ate at the counter, knees bumping underneath it. Ilya looked at Shane more than his food as he filled him in on the trip. At one point Shane noticed and tilted his head.

“What?”

Ilya hesitated, searching for the right words. He found his English slowed when things mattered.

“I. . . missed you,” he said finally.

Shane’s expression softened immediately. “I missed you too.”

Ilya shook his head slightly, like that wasn’t quite enough to explain it.

“No, I mean. . . ” He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “Life is. . . still good. You know? I have friends, hockey, everything.” Shane waited quietly. “But,” Ilya continued, voice quieter, “when you are in my life. . . things feel better. Easier.”

Shane’s chest tightened.

“Even when you are not here,” Ilya added quickly, gesturing vaguely. “Still better. Because you exist somewhere. But. . . ” He glanced up at him, eyes softer now. “Much better when you are here.”

Shane didn’t say anything for a second. His eyes were bright and shining and Ilya feels like he said the right thing, preening under his smile and gaze. Then Shane leans in, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that was chaste by their standards, but still made Ilya’s bones feel warmed from the inside out. 

“Me too.” Shane whispers when they part, like it’s just for Ilya to here. “I’m so happy, and you make everything better. Everything.” he adds for emphasis. 

Ilya can’t tell him how much that means. How happy he was that the quiet of their house made Shane feel better, not in the same way it made Ilya feel, but better in a way that felt like they really owned it. 

For a long time he did not have quiet. Hockey had always been loud. Expectations louder. Coaches, media, travel. There had been years where everything in his life felt like noise and motion and cold arenas and hotel rooms that never belonged to him.

And before that. . . 

He thought about it sometimes, the boy he used to be. The one who learned early that you just kept going. No matter if you were tired, or hurting, or lonely. Especially then.

You did not stop. You did not complain. You did not expect life to be soft.

But now Shane was here. Smiling at him and eating his pasta, complaining about traffic in Montreal and telling him that he liked the playlist he’d made for his drive home. And Shane was happy.

Ilya could see it so clearly when he looked at him. The way Shane relaxed around him. The way he laughed easier, leaned into him without thinking, reached for him even when there was no reason to.

The first time Ilya realized that he made Shane happy had almost scared him. It had felt. . . too big. Too fragile.

Because Shane was good. Gentle in a way Ilya still didn’t fully understand. He trusted people, believed in them, wanted to take care of everyone around him. Ilya had worried, for a long time, that someone like that deserved something easier than him.

But then he had started noticing the small things.

How Shane looked at him when he thought Ilya wasn’t paying attention. How he always seemed calmer when Ilya walked into a room. How he leaned into him on the couch tonight like the distance between them had been something painful.

Ilya’s chest felt warm thinking about it. He had spent so many years just enduring things. Bad seasons. Injuries. Expectations that felt like they were crushing his ribs from the inside. Being young and angry and tired and never quite letting anyone close enough to see it.

For a long time he had assumed that was just how life was. Happiness was something temporary. A good game, a win, a night out. A night with him.

But this felt different. This felt like something steady, something real. His life now felt almost unreal sometimes. Like he had somehow skipped into a different version of things without quite understanding how. He had a career he loved, teammates who felt like family, a home that actually felt like a home.

And Shane. 

Shane, who was warm and soft and stubborn and somehow always chose him.

Ilya brushed his thumb lightly across Shane’s arm. He liked knowing he made him happy. Not in a prideful way, not like winning a game. It felt quieter than that. Deeper; like something in his chest settled every time Shane smiled because of him. 

Like all the hard years without him were worth it for this. Just to eat pasta at the counter and talk about their days.

For so long he had just been trying to get through life, now he looked around and realized something strange and almost unbelievable.He wasn’t surviving anymore, he was happy.

And for the first time in his life, things felt. . . perfect.

By the time they finally made it to bed, the house was quiet again. Shane slid under the covers first, but the second Ilya joined him it was like gravity kicked in. They immediately drifted together, instinctive and close; Shane tucked against his chest, Ilya’s arm wrapped around him, legs tangled again.

Neither of them seemed capable of sleeping without contact. Shane shifted slightly so his head rested under Ilya’s chin.

“You’re clinging,” he murmured.

“Is lie.” Ilya mumbled sleepily.

“You’re literally holding me like a koala.”

“Koala is good animal.”

Shane laughed quietly.

Ilya pressed his face into Shane’s hair after a moment of comfortable silence. “Shane?”

“Yeah?”

Another small pause.

“. . . I really missed you.”

Shane turned just enough to kiss his shoulder.

“I know. Because I missed you too.”

Ilya tightened his arms around him like he was sealing something in place. Within minutes their breathing slowed, the room settling into that deep, quiet stillness of people who finally feel safe enough to sleep.

Three Years Later

Ilya laid with his legs stretched out in the grass on his side, twirling a dandelion between his fingers so the little white puffs flew into the air around him. They sparkled in the sunlight and carried gently to the garden with the breeze that swayed through the evening air.

Next to him, two chubby little hands reached up towards the sky after them like they were the most precious thing in the world. They reached for Ilya’s hand and he dropped the stem immediately to hold his hand out open as a platform for them to grab onto. 

His daughter grabbed it fiercely, using it to lean her little body forward until she could push and stand up (her latest party trick). 

He smiled at her and shifted so he was sitting in front of her so she was facing him. She was focused and serious where her eyes were trained on Ilya’s hand until he spoke. 

“That’s it. Strong little girl, huh? So smart, standing so early.” He coos at the newly eleven month old. He could hardly believe it has already almost been a year since she’d come home. 

She beamed up at him and he could help but mirror her smile back, leaning forward to place a lingering kiss on her forehead. She squealed in delight and just as he was about to do it again, he heard tires start to crunch on the driveway leading up to the house and his heart speed up in his chest. 

He gasped down at Mina with an exaggerated face. “Do you know who that is, minushka? Is that daddy?” He asks and she immediately starts bouncing on her little legs. She giggles and Ilya doesn’t waste any time picking her up and standing. 

As he’s turning, a familiar black car rolls up the driveway. The sun is just setting in Ottawa and everything is pink and gold where he stood on their front lawn with his daughter; watching her eyes sparkle in the light and beam with joy when she realized her dad was coming home after a very quick two night business trip by himself to Montreal.

The first, since Mina had joined the Hollander-Rozanovs. 

Shane had, predictably, been worried sick. Anxious with dread and guilt, spending a whole afternoon pacing the kitchen with Mina and Ilya as audience as he debated on going. When he’d finally decided, it wasn’t without tears, but Ilya encouraged him to go. 

He’d been fine on his own with Mina. He’d been genuinely having so much fun with her while Shane was gone; taking her for a run with him in her new fancy jogging stroller, going to see Yuna and David for lunch, playing outside where the early summer air finally felt warm enough for Ilya to be comfortable to have her out without a jacket for the first time that year. 

But every few moments, every morning, and every night before bed there was a hollow hole in his heart when he’d looked for Shane next to him. He’d suspected Mina felt something similar, thrown off her rhythm without both of her dads around her at all times and feeling the energy coming off of Ilya when he held her extra sung and close and spent a countless amount of time kissing her head and bouncing her while he walked around their house and the outside garden. 

Now though, when he held Mina on his hip with one arm, he felt his heart swell. 

Shane stepped out of the car and Ilya was left breathless. His hair was tucked behind his ear but swept over his eye in a disheveled way that made Ilya want to take him apart with his teeth. He just had on jeans and a T-shirt, but his tired eyes were bright and sparkling when he pushed the car door closed behind him and he started to approach them with outstretched arms.

“My babies.” He sighs when he’s finally in range and wraps one arm around Mina and snuggles her close to his chest, and one around Ilya’s waist, pulling him in close. His lips pressed to Mina’s forehead and the crown of her head where Ilya knew he was taking a deep breath of the impeccable scent of her baby shampoo. 

Ilya’s arm reached out and wrapped around his arm over shoulder and pressed his own lips against the side of his head, nearly in tears just at the feeling of Shane’s body pressed close to his own. 

He looked up after a moment and didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Just pursed his lips expectantly and Ilya couldn’t not smile wide and bright as he connected their mouths with a lingering and warm kiss. Shane hummed against his mouth, and only pulled back when Mina giggled from between them. 

“Oh my angel, I missed you too much. I’m never doing that again.” He sighs and kisses her cheek, rubbing his hand up and down her arm soothingly. 

“We miss you too.” Ilya adds.. 

“That was torture.” he groans and drops his head to Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya can only hum and kiss the top of his head. He smelled so fucking good it was like he was drunk just off the smell alone.

Then he looked up at Ilya.

For a second neither of them moved. Being apart, even for a few days, always made this moment feel strangely intense. Like the air between them was pulling tight.

Ilya pulled him in tighter without hesitation. Shane leaned into him instantly, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Shane murmured. 

Ilya smiled against his temple. “Hi.”

Shane inhaled slowly, like he was grounding himself. “You waited on the lawn again.”

“Yes.”

“For how long this time?”

Ilya hesitated. “. . . not long.”

Shane pulled back just enough to look at him with a soft and knowing smile. “How long, Ilya.”

“. . . Thirty minutes.”

Shane laughed, helpless. “You’re unbelievable.”

Ilya didn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. If anything, he looked pleased with himself. “I wanted to see you.”

Shane softened immediately, melting from the inside out at his husband’s genuine adoration, and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off when their daughter made a small curious noise between them, grabbing a fistful of Ilya’s hoodie.

Shane reached up and brushed a finger along her cheek before resting his hand against Ilya’s chest.

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

Ilya’s expression shifted in that familiar way, something warm and deep settling behind his eyes. “I know,” he said softly.

Then he leaned down and kissed Shane like he’d been waiting the entire week to do it. It was slow and easy and full of that quiet certainty they’d built between them over the years. When they pulled apart, Shane was smiling.

“You could’ve just waited inside,” he teased.

Ilya shook his head, glancing down at their daughter.

“No,” he said. Then he looked back at Shane, his arm tightening around his waist. “This way we both see you coming home.”