Work Text:
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Ilya's elation over finding out they're going to have a baby lasted approximately two months and three days.
It began with a slight headache. Initially he brushed it off because being exposed to children will turn you into a hospital. Lovely as they might be, there was no denying the claim that they were germ factories. Even if Shane had made sure they both were up-to-date on their immunity shots, they still managed to catch something every now and then.
But the headache didn't go away. In fact, it increased. It started at the top of his head, turned sharp in the back of his eyes and ended all the way down to his shoulders.
"Roz, you all right?" Bood's voice filtered through the haze of pain that had blanketed Ilya for the past few hours. They're in the locker room preparing for their off-season scrimmage against the Admirals. The room was void of the usual pregame playlist, Hayes having turned it off midway through WAP after he noted how quiet their captain had gotten.
Ilya said he's fine, or something to that effect, he's not sure. Words were a difficult concept at the moment. A tentative hand came to rest upon his forehead and the motion jarred him. His head swum and he let out a sound that made the entire locker room flinch.
“Fuck,” cursed Bood. “Sorry, Cap.”
Coach Wiebe sent him back to the hotel, declaring him unfit for the game. Ilya was bummed; he'd been looking forward to getting on Scott's nerves. The lights are too much, the sounds are too much, everything is too much—even the texture of the sheets on his skin. He wanted to call Shane, and listen to the sound of his voice. Wanted to be soothed and called baby by his solnyshko, but Shane himself wasn't doing so well either.
So he didn’t.
The second time it happened, he was in the middle of his workout. The third time, he was out for dinner with Svetlana. The fourth time around, it clicked.
Because he's in the house at the same time as Shane, and woke up with a pounding pain in his head, faced with an equally distressed Shane holding his head in his hands.
The penny dropped.
On his thirty-fifth birthday, Shane Hollander celebrated two things. His fifth Stanley cup win and his retirement from hockey to start a family. Yuna and him had sat down and devised an entire plan three years prior to how they'd go about it and Ilya had been there, taking minutes of the meeting.
Ilya had been over the fucking moon. He'd been over it since they'd come out and Shane had gotten married to him before ending up on the same team as him, yet somehow he kept floating more and more above the metaphorical body.
The Centaurs had welcomed their decision. Celebrated it even. The rookies had cried because they'd just begun finding their footing under the celebrated duo, but they were happier for their Captain and his Captain. Shane had been alternating between the foundation and hanging out with his parents while Ilya was on tour, only staying at home when his husband came back.
Dykstera had joked that were it not for biology, it would be their captain carrying the kid and not Shane. Because it was a well established fact among the people who knew them and their fans that Ilya Rozanov would do anything for Shane Hollander.
Even if it meant suffering his husband's pregnancy symptoms like a good alpha.
Shane hadn't claimed to feel anything for the first month when Ilya was there with him. Ever since Ilya had learned that your partner’s pregnancy was determined by how healthy his sperm was, he’d turned over a new leaf. He’d completely cut out drinking, started drinking Shane’s disgusting green smoothies, cut down on his junk food intake and begun exercising regularly. He'd just complained of a sore chest (Ilya had attributed that to their bedroom activities) and tiredness (also bedroom activities). He'd also thrown up only once or twice which had warranted a trip to their obgyn who confirmed the good news.
But the third month was when things started to go downhill.
The migraines abated momentarily to take Ilya Rozanov on a journey that would intimately acquaint him with their toilet. He's throwing up his hearty breakfast of brown bread, cheese omelette, sausages, and coffee, while wailing like a banshee.
"Hold my hair, Shane! Shaneeeeee!"
Shane, his dutiful lovely pregnant darling, pushed Ilya's hair back from his forehead for the nth time that day, his other hand coming up to rub soothing circles over his shoulder blades. "It's okay, baby. Let it all out. That's a good boy—please don't let it spill out the side, sorry—I'm here."
Minutes later Ilya was curled up in Shane's lap like the big baby he was. His face was buried into his husband's meaty thighs, trying not to sniffle like a kicked dog. Anya was there too; he could feel her nose burrow into his armpit, piteously whining while trying to suss out what was wrong with her father. "I want to die."
"No you don't," said Shane, his fingers working deftly on Ilya's curls to tie them up in a knot. "You're just being dramatic."
"You try throwing up ten times—"
"Four."
"—and see how it feels not being taken seriously!"
"I am taking you seriously." Shane's voice dropped, in the way it does when he's feeling responsible for something that's not even his fault. "I'm sorry you're in pain because of me."
With immense reluctance, Ilya ripped his face from warm firm thighs to glower at Shane. It wasn't much of a glare when you're squinting like an old man. "Never apologise for that. You are doing big work. Making baby is easy but cooking is not. If you, moy lyubov, can give up your whole body and life for this, I can stand puking like sick dog."
"That better not be your toxic masculinity talking, Ilya," Shane warned. His hand hadn't once stopped massaging Ilya's neck.
"Gimme kiss," muttered Ilya. "I am in pain. I need comfort."
"You just threw up." But Shane, because he was the best husband ever, still leaned down to give him a kiss and followed it up with four more to his face.
Ilya didn't think it could get any worse than experiencing migraines and morning sickness, but turned out it can.
Pffft.
Thhbbpp!
Prrrttttt!
The passage of time was cruel and Ilya knew this intimately. He was reminded of it when he woke up with a hangover when previously he would drink his body weight in alcohol and wake up absolutely fine the next day.
He was reminded whenever his father's anniversary rolled around and he thought back to how he lost his father bit by bit and then all at once.
He was reminded whenever he saw the Pike brood and noticed that they grew a few inches when he was not paying attention.
He feels it every time Zarina sent him a picture of Nadya, his niece who was no longer a baby.
He felt it the strongest when he spotted a strand of grey in Yuna's perfectly maintained hair.
Or when David stood up and a fart escaped him, something he waved off with the embarrassed smile Shane inherited from him.
The same sounds were now coming out of Ilya every time he stood up because, apparently, eating Chipotle after a long stint of clean eating turned one into the Prince of Pootsylvania.
Ilya had nothing against the human body doing what the human body must. Things came in, things went out. It was the circle of life. The first time Shane had farted in front of him Ilya would not even have noticed it were it not for the omega hiding out in the bathroom from embarrassment.
"Anything coming out of you I accept with open arms and open mouth," Ilya had said to Shane once he'd managed to coax him out (re: telling Shane he was going to let Anya and the circus get on their bed). Shane had punched him in the kidney (fondly) while continuing to hide his flushed face in Ilya's chest.
It was a known fact that Ilya Rozanov was a PR nightmare known for running his mouth. Ask Harris and the ten white hairs Ilya had given him. Said mouth did come back to bite him when it’s not biting hickeys into Shane’s chest. Right now, the bite was as sharp as a loon bird's bite.
The sound of the door banging roused Ilya from his miserable reverie. "Ilya, honey, please open the door."
Anya echoed that request with a piteous whine of her own.
Ilya wrapped his arms around his knees and sank further into the bathtub.
"Ilya, it's not as bad as you think."
"It is exactly as bad as I think," retorted Ilya. Another man in his place would cease all communication so they could stew in their mortification before gathering up the remnants of his self-respect. But not Ilya Rozanov. He would never ignore the love of his life, the fire of his loins, the wind beneath his wings like that. "You're just saying it to make me feel better!"
Shane's exasperated snort was clear even through the door. "You asshole. Name one time I spared your feelings."
"When I cooked Yuna's pasta recipe for first time."
"That was an honest mistake. It might be simple but it is a technical dish. The sauce was a bit salty, yes, but not as bad as you made it out to be."
"Shane, you ended up in hospital for food poisoning."
"Because we ate the pie Hayden brought us!"
Ilya, indignation rising on top of the shame, sat up straight in the tub, in the mood to start a full blown argument to defend his hurt pride but was once again thwarted by his stomach who valiantly let its opinions known.
PPPPPPRRRTTTTT.
This time, the sound echoed.
There was a loaded silence before Shane broke it. "Ily-"
"No."
"Okay, you know what? Fine." There's movement on the other side of the door and for a wild moment, the alpha was terrified that Shane was going to go down to the garage and fetch the toolset to remove the door. "I am going to sit right here. I will not speak, I will not say a word. I'm just going to sit here until you decide you've had enough."
The provider in him rioted against that idea. His omega, sitting on the cold hard wood floor, when he should be cushioned by the pillows Ilya—not some interior decorator—handpicked. Shane’s posterior deserved nothing but clouds with integrity. But the affronted part of him overruled the provider.
Time passed achingly slowly in the bathroom when you had nothing to do, Ilya noted. He hadn't even had the wherewithal to bring his phone in with him. It's easier to hide away in the bathroom when you have Tiktok and Twitter. Outside the door, he heard Shane talking to Anya, then Vasya. That Maine Coon was never far from Anya and Shane. He couldn’t make out the words, but they all seemed to share the same opinion, based on their meows and barks.
Because Shane Hollander was a wily fox who knew his husband was essentially an iPad baby, Ilya found himself opening the door a mere thirty-one minutes later.
Three unimpressed faces greeted him from the floor. While waiting him out, Shane had dragged Ilya's loonbird plushie from the bed and was using it as a pillow to rest his head on while he scrolled through his phone. Anya was curled up next to his hip and Vasya was seated on Shane's stomach, making what Hayden said was 'baking biscuits' but Ilya referred to as 'the pointy massage’.
"Hey," said Shane softly when the alpha said nothing.
Because Ilya was still feeling a little put-out from being wrangled in such a manner and a little poorly in general, he dropped his entire bulk (gently, very gently) on top of Shane, mindful of the other two beasts and his bump.
"I hate you," mumbled Ilya into the crook of Shane's neck which was warm and soft and smelled like aloe vera.
"No you don't," murmured Shane, running his hands up and down Ilya's back. The motions caused the alpha to sink into the omega's plushness further.
"It is…not right."
The universe had decided that it will do its damnedest to drive Ilya Rozanov to the earth today, because that's when another cramp rippled through his lower abdomen.
Pfffffffffffft.
Shane's ready for him this time, locking his legs and his arms around Ilya's sizable bulk to keep him in place like the world's most stubborn lobster.
"Let me go."
"Nope."
"Shane."
"I am not letting you go until the air clears."
"You are trapping me in my own shame!"
"I am trapping you in my affection. Ilya Rozanov, when I said 'I Do' your farts were also included in the agreement."
"My farts did not consent to this."
“Too bad, they're our farts now. Besides, I fart more than you do.”
“That is untrue.”
“Wanna bet?”
The next time Hayden came over to drop the kids for babysitting night, his gaze fell on the scoreboard in the living area, placed next to the family portrait of Shane and Ilya with their menagerie.
Hollander - 46
Rozanov - 43
“What is this?”
Shane was too busy rescuing Shrek from Arthur’s clutches to entertain that query. The black feline did not share the toddler’s enthusiasm and was trying valiantly to free its tail from his pudgy fists. For once, Donkey had been smarter and made himself scarce before the twins could use him as a dress-up doll.
“Oh, just competition,” Ilya replied.
“For what?”
“Goals.”
“What goals? Shane’s retired.”
“There are other ways to score.”
Hayden was not appreciative of Ilya’s cagey responses. His expression went from one of suspicion to horrified mortification. “Please don’t tell me this is a sex thing—”
“Booo, Pike, get your head out of gutter. This why you have million kids. Sex on brain 24/7.”
--
“Milyy, chto sluchilos?”
(My dear, what happened?)
When Ilya had come home from practice to find their living room empty, he’d made a beeline for the den because those were the two places the omega had begun to frequent at this point in the pregnancy. Seeing the nest empty had made Ilya frown, on top of the fact Shane had not been answering his texts. Bood had all but kicked Ilya out after practice so he could go check on Shane. Other Centaurs had picked up on the tension as well, making it known by making Ilya’s phone buzz in his backpocket with notifications.
He discovered Shane sitting in their bedroom with the lights off. Ilya did not turn them on, understanding that his husband must be overstimulated. In the dim light, he made out the motions of Shane’s hands swiping across his face and a hitch in his breath.
Ilya went to Shane, but didn't take him into his arms immediately like he wanted to. He came to a stop in front of the omega and went down on his knees, letting his husband know that he was here for him to reach out and touch.
Ilya repeated the question.
“Sorry.” Shane’s voice was wretched with tears. “It’s nothing.”
“Must not be nothing if it is making you feel something.”
“It’s nothing, I promise.”
“Oi, you held my farts hostage without consent. I am allowed to do same to your nothing.” The reminder of their ridiculous argument made Shane hiccup. “Also, tally is now 87. I am ahead.”
“Farts outside the house don’t count.”
“I was in doorway of our home, so technically it does.”
“I wasn’t there to hear it.”
Ilya had gotten closer during their banter, telegraphing his movements clearly to Shane, letting the omega know that he was free to lean in or away, whatever he chose. Shane leaned so that their noses were brushing. They stayed like that, letting their scents wash over each other.
Ilya brought up a thumb to tenderly wipe at Shane’s damp cheek. “What is it?”
Shane drew in a deep breath, before exhaling it slowly. His hand reached for Ilya’s, thumb brushing over the bandage on his knuckle where a stray stick had gotten through the padding of his gloves. “I’m out of underwear.”
“And this is a problem because?”
“I don’t have anything clean to wear.”
“Are you poor? Is your husband poor? We can order whole factory.”
Shane made an irritated noise; he sounded so much like an annoyed cat it made Ilya smile. “That is not the point.”
“I think you are being hard on your body. Your kiska is just cleaning house. Like your mother every week.”
The comparison of his vaginal discharge to his mother’s cleaning sprees made Shane splutter. “Those are not the same thing!”
Ilya grabbed Shane’s jaw in his other hand, the one not in Shane’s grip. “Baby, you both get clean house as result. Of course it is same thing. Doctor also said it is normal.”
“It smells.” The words fell out of Shane in a hushed whisper.
“Good. It smells good.”
“Ilya.”
“Lyubimyy, do I need to remind you how much I like it?” Ilya stood up then, the hand on Shane’s jaw tilting it back so the omega was looking up at him, his eyes shiny with tears and face flushed with embarrassment and arousal. His other hand molded itself to Shane’s shoulder, pushing him back so there was less strain on his neck as he looked up at his alpha.
Shane's mouth fell open, and Ilya's thumb sank into the warm and wet softness. Shane's lips formed a soft O around his knuckle, suckling on it softly, moaning when Ilya pushed in deeper.
Carefully, Ilya maneuvered his right knee until it came to rest between the vee of Shane's thighs.
This wasn't the first time Ilya had found Shane getting overwhelmed by the excessive discharge, so he's aware of the fact that it also made his vagina itch to high hell. Shane hated putting his fingers there for relief when he's like this, because of the crusted bits sinking into his nails.
Fortunately, Ilya had no qualms about it.
He pushed his knee right against his pussy, making Shane keen some more around his thumb. He started rubbing it in circles, providing stimulation against the gentle bundle of nerves and relieving the itchiness in the same motion.
He knew it was working when Shane's next moan came through gritted teeth, pussy pushing forward. There were pretty indents on Ilya's thumb when he pulled it out of Shane's mouth. The same thumb then journeyed to the top of Shane's mound as Ilya bent down and stretched it upwards.
“Ilya…” Shane's voice trembled from above. He tried to shut his legs, but Ilya kept them spread by the width of his arm. His pussy greeted him, soaked and still leaking. Ilya hadn't even got his nose up in there yet, but the whiff of sourness, heady and potent, already made his head spin pleasantly.
It's a smell he liked even more than Shane's sweat, and he already liked that a lot. Everything about Shane was delicious to him, but something about this particular part of him, coming from the most intimate and deepest of places, beckoned him like a craving made specifically to satiate his taste buds. There's probably some mated-science behind it, but Ilya didn't have time to think about all of that when he had more pressing concerns in front of him.
Them being, eating his husband out to kingdom come until he had sucked every last bit of his insecurities out. A special cleaning session for Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov-approved.
*
“So when are you going to throw the baby shower?”
“Honestly, I don't think we are.”
“Shane, you're about to finish the second trimester. You need to tell me before my apartment collapses under the weight of all the baby clothes me and Svetlana got. I know you said you wanted to wait because of Ilya and I respect that but it's so hard, just look at—”
Shane wasn't a believer in superstitions in the way Ilya was. Yes, even hockey ones. He placed great stock in facts, statistics and hard work as opposed to growing out a playoff beard (he couldn't grow one but he adored Ilya's), taping his stick in a specific manner like Hayden did or putting baby powder on his stick like Nick.
When Yuna and the other WAGs had broached the topic of the baby shower, Ilya hadn't said much, only that his sister-in-law had not bought anything until his niece had been born because you had to keep it a secret lest you attract ‘bad energy’. That hadn’t been the exact words he had used, but it had been the gist of it.
The secrecy thing wasn't doable because of obvious reasons, so Shane settled for honouring Ilya's implicit wish by not buying anything. Yuna had simply dug through the attic and brought out Shane's things from when he had been a baby, “so that you have something to put them in.”
Ilya had gone rigid at the sight of Shane’s teal blue jinbei, silent tears running down his face as he traced the koi pattern with his fingertips. It had looked so small in his massive hands. That was how their child was going to look in his hold. Ilya with children was a concept Shane had given a lot of thought to over the years. The fact that they were going to have a child of their own in a few months made emotions well up in him so intensely that he found himself sniffling throughout the day.
Ilya rocking the baby to sleep, hushing them gently by speaking to them in a mix of English and Russian.
Ilya lying down with the baby on his chest, curled like a small bean.
Ilya and the baby on the couch, the alpha keeping up a running commentary of the hockey game playing on TV, because between the two of them, it would be Shane reading the bedtime stories.
Shane’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps coming his way. Donkey and Shrek, who'd been tucked into Shane's side, awoke with a collective startle.
“Shane! Shaaannee!!!”
“Someone’s excited,” commented Rose wryly. Sure enough, Ilya appeared in their bedroom door, holding a plate of what looked to be…rice?
“Ilya, did you order from Pak India again?”
Eating had become a shared activity for the both of them, ever since Shane’s doctor mentioned he needed to gain weight. Growing a baby required a lot of nutrients and energy, so it made sense to eat heartily. Although Shane had abandoned his macrobiotic diet in the wake of his breakup from the Voyageurs, he still stuck to a clean diet coupled with a workout regimen.
“Shane…is that zarda topped with vegetable raita?”
Shane didn't get half the cravings that Ilya did, so when Ilya held up a spoonful for Shane to taste, he knew it’s going to be insane.
The zarda was sickeningly sweet but the curd, seasoned with salt, garlic, green chilli, mint, and coriander, helped with that. The tanginess of the pickled mango added another layer to it which wasn't altogether unpleasant. Shane finished chewing and swallowing before adding, “And achaar.”
Rose actually gagged, the brown newborn-sized hoodie with tufty ears forgotten. “This is a war crime.”
“Do not knock until you try it, Rosa.”
The fact that Shane and Rose were going to be friends had been a bit hard for Ilya to digest at first. But he had soon come to realize that Shane and Rose were, in their own way, like Ilya and Svetlana. Sure, they did not drink, get high, and talk hockey, but Rose had her own way of drawing Shane out of his shell. Outside of hockey, Shane did not have people who were "normal" (as Rose put it) so she had taken it upon herself to make sure Shane experienced the other side of life. That Shane had someone to talk to about things that were not easy to talk about.
And when Svetlana and Rose had announced they were dating? Well, he had no choice but to accept Rose as his sister-in-law, going so far as to nickname her Rosa.
Shane shrugged. “It’s actually not half bad.”
Ilya turned to Shane. If his husband had a tail it would be wagging. “You want more?”
“Yes, please.” Shane was making space for Ilya as he spoke, gently moving both the cats to the other side of the couch. Donkey didn't so much as blink as he was transferred, but Shrek was not pleased, making his displeasure known by a deep rumble. Shane patted the black tomcat in apology before placing him in his lap.
Rose suffered through Ilya feeding Shane two more bites before saying, “Why am I being forced to witness this war crime.”
“Is keeping my family alive, Rose Landry,” Ilya said, deepening both his accent and voice.
Their war-crime category food cravings did not end there.
In fact, they traveled to Twitter.
Ilya Rozanov’s #1 truther @ilyilya · 2h
[🎥 VIDEO: 0:15 — Ilya is sitting on a park bench in full running gear. He looks remarkably peaceful as he dips a large dill pickle into a pint of green ice cream. He takes a crunching bite, closes his eyes in bliss, and nods at Anya, who is visible in the corner of the frame looking deeply concerned.]
💬 842 | 🔁 3.1k | ❤️ 15.4k
🏒 @getpucked · 1h
Is that Ilya Rozanov dipping a whole ass pickle into a pint of Merry Dairy’s Mint Chip??? 💀😭
💬 45 | 🔁 112 | ❤️ 890
Ilya Rozanov ✅ @ilyilya · 55m
Replying to @getpucked
yup :))))
💬 12 | 🔁 5 | ❤️ 412
Shane’s Girl @myshanela · 40m
oh that is nasty work 🤢
💬 2 | 🔁 1 | ❤️ 56
Rozanov’s #1 Fan @rozanovs · 32m
Replying to @myshanela
oh i just know that tastes fire
💬 1 | 🔁 0 | ❤️ 24
Shane’s Girl @myshanela · 28m
@rozanovs the pickle or
💬 1 | 🔁 0 | ❤️ 12
Rozanov’s #1 Fan @rozanovs · 15m
@myshanela both. Both is good.
💬 0 | 🔁 2 | ❤️ 45
And Instagram.
● 24hollywood
[A top-down shot of two white ceramic bowls filled to the brim with Cheerios. Instead of milk, the bowls are filled with dark, blood-red pomegranate juice. A gallon-sized bottle of juice sits nearby, half-empty. In the foreground, two hands rest on the table, fingers loosely intertwined.]
102,482 likes
24hollywood breakfast is served. 🥣🍎
View all 3,102 comments
roselandry more like crimes against humanity
svetlanavetrovaz this has GOT to be some Canadian tomfoolery no offense to you Shane
younggroovy LOOK AT OUR CAPTAINS DAWG WE ARE LOSING THE NEXT GAME 😩
harris_drover Shane please. For the sake of the league. Stop.
● ottawacensofficial
1/3
[Ilya Rozanov in the kitchen, looking intensely proud as he offers a thick, sludge-like shake to Luca and Nick. Both players look deeply perplexed.]
2/3
[A mid-action shot of Shane’s hands assembling the "ingredients": a mountain of wilted spinach, a massive glob of peanut butter, milk, a heavy dusting of chia seeds, and three scoops of whey protein.]
3/3
[A high-definition closeup of Wyatt Hayes. He looks physically ill, face tinged slightly green as he stares down into a glass filled with lumpy, moss-colored goo.]
89,103 likes
ottawacensofficial The Captains are "cooking" again. Pray for the roster. 🧪🤢 #CentaursNutrition #HelpUs
View all 2,415 comments
zbood24 hate to a hater but this was not it chief 🤮
evandykstra holly made that for me how could i not have drank it 💔💔💔 the key ingredient in it was love
troy.barrett no bitch the key ingredient was DESPAIR
ilyarozanov81 evan and troy bag skates for you until the end of season
24hollywood ❤️❤️❤️❤️ (Liked by author)
nickchouniard i’m still picking chia seeds out of my teeth. send help.
And because Rose wasn’t the only one who suffered through the best-friends-with-the-pregnant-couple privileges.
● svetlanavetrovaz
2h ago
[A high-contrast, zoomed-in shot of a ceramic lunch plate. On it sits a pile of entirely raw okra, glistening slightly, flanked by two aggressive dollops: one neon-red ketchup and one pale-yellow mayonnaise. In the blurred background, a sleek black cat sits on the granite counter, its ears slightly back and its expression one of profound, silent judgment.]
-1/5 stars. Never coming back here again.
● roselandry 45m ago
(Replying to svetlanavetrovaz's story)
[The original image of the raw okra and the judgmental cat is shrunk into a sticker in the center of the screen. Rose has added a GIF of James McAvoy fanning himself in distress.]
CAN'T BELIEVE THEY DID THIS TO YOU TOO 💀😭
Activity / Comments
svetlanavetrovaz
no one is safe
*
Ilya’s NHL 14 playing spree had gone well over five hours before his body reminded him to drink something. His tongue was thick and his throat dry, tasting like he had the flu. Tossing the controller aside, Ilya got up and stretched only for that action to be aborted halfway when his spine protested.
“Ach, too old for this shit,” muttered Ilya as he gingerly made his way down the stairs, feeling every stiff inch.
Remembering that he had a pregnant husband made him take a detour into the den, which was notably empty. Ilya had woken up that morning with a heavy weight in his chest and soup in his bones. He was up-to-date with his medication and was well enough that he only conferenced with Galina once a month. But this disease was for life. The fact of the matter was that no matter how active Ilya was, how diligently he took his pills and managed his emotions, there would still be days like this where he would feel like he was at point zero again.
That there would come a day he would decide he could do no more and make the same choice Irina had.
“What if our child is like me?” The fearful question had been whispered into the space between their breaths. Ilya's face was covered in dried tear tracks, his nose stuffy and chest tender from the panic attack he had woken up from. Shane, who hadn't relinquished his hold on Ilya ever since he'd calmed the alpha down, brought his hand up to cup Ilya's jaw.
“They won't. And in the event they do, we will help them. We will spend the rest of our lives apologising to them if we have to, dedicating everything in order to make it up to them. But we will never stop loving them. Like I will never stop loving you. Like this baby will never stop loving you because you are going to be the best father.”
Ilya's voice was thick with tears when he responded, “Even better than you?”
Shane had grabbed Ilya's hand, placing it on the highest point of his bump. The baby kicked. They always did when the alpha was near. Ilya let the tears fall.
“Even then.”
As requested, Shane had agreed to let Ilya have some space to sort out ‘the noodles from the soup in his head’.
He found him soon enough. The scent of warm toasted bread with fried tuna pulled him into the kitchen where he found Shane bent over the kitchen island, assembling the sandwiches. It seemed that he had been about to come find Ilya himself.
The omega's hands were braced on the countertop, fingers clenching and unclenching on the linoleum. His head was tipped forward, face screwed up so tight in a manner that indicated he was in considerable pain but was trying to work through it. Ilya had seen this exact face on the ice after Shane took an especially rough hit and was trying to shake it off so he could continue the game on the rink and not the bench.
One of Shane's hands came off the counter, using it to brace his back as he attempted to straighten it. “Oh god, why are you so heavy, kid?”
The side of his pregnant belly bulges, making Shane let out half-snort, half-groan. “Stop trying to break my back. I'm trying to feed you and your dad.”
Ilya's heart was a few sizes too big for his chest and if he didn’t touch Shane soon he might combust. This also explained why his own back felt like shit.
Ilya plastered himself all over Shane's back like Anya did to her favourite toy, burying his face into Shane's neck and breathing deep. “Hollander, why is your child breaking both our backs?”
Shane’s hands came to rest on Ilya's arms wound around his stomach. “Blame your stupid Slavic genes, not mine. Why does everything about you have to be so big?”
Ilya smiled into the crook of his neck. “You were not complaining about these big genes the other night.”
“Gross, Ilya.” Shane gave Ilya an elbow in the gut for that, but it's weak. The more they stood there, the more Shane tipped his weight backwards so that his spine was pressed fully against Ilya's front. Ilya ran one hand around the circumference of Shane's belly, resting it at the bottom where his stomach swelled out from his hips. The heft was considerable.
“Does it hurt?”
Shane nodded.
“Then I make it better, yes?”
Getting into position like he'd seen the many other men on the Tiktok reels, Ilya cupped Shane's eight month belly in his hands and lifted.
The sound that came out of Shane is pornographic. The way he melted against Ilya was even more so. “OhmyfuckinggodIlya… Yes.”
Ilya chuckled at Shane's reaction, but he couldn't deny how relieving it must be to have someone help you hold up a weight that you had been carrying for so long without assistance. Kind of like how Shane carried him through the bad days.
They stood there until the tuna melts went cold, both of them swaying gently with each other. The tightness in Ilya’s own back had eased, the pain now a faded echo.
“Ilya?”
“Mmm?”
“Ya tebyá lyublyú.”
“Ee ya tebyá.”
*
The Centaurs had faced a lot in their tenure as a team. They had gone through multiple games and seasons without victory, borne losses that would break a lesser man and yet they continued to forge ahead with the dream of winning the Stanley cup.
Ilya Rozanov’s addition to the team had been the boon they had never expected would fall in their laps. The addition of Shane Hollander, Golden Boy, had been so surreal that they still pinched each other every now and then to ensure they weren't dreaming.
It didn't take long for the boon to become a bane, however.
Ilya had been stripping while giving one of his stupid pregame pep talks when the Cens had suddenly broke out into wolf whistles. Apparently, they had noticed the red lines dragging up and down Ilya's chest and back.
Young hooted. "Goddamn, Captain, get it."
Troy did not share the same thoughts as the hooting camp. "Jesus Christ, Cap, lay off Hollywood, would ya? He has enough on his plate."
Ilya leveled them both with a look that normally made rookies shit their pants. "As much as I would like to state I am having crazy monkey sex with my husband, I am not. It is the itches."
Nick lets out a sympathetic sounding hiss. "Oh man, that has got to suck. I remember when Selena had them. Worst thing ever. You using any shea butter for that? Works wonders."
Ilya pulled out the tub of Belly Jelly from his bag, which looked miniscule in his hand. He scooped out half the balm using his two fingers and slathered it over his chest. "Besides, Shane goes deeper."
The hooting was replaced as booing and groaning ensued. Troy actually threw a glove at Ilya.
● ottawacensofficial
[Ilya Rozanov standing center-frame in the locker room, topless, arms spread wide in a "Gladiator" pose. Overhead fluorescent lights catch the gleam of his shoulders and chest, highlighting a gaze of pure, defiant bravado. Text in white Impact font across the bottom reads: ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?]
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ottawacensofficial ARE YOU? 🏒🏛️
View all 1,842 comments
evandykstra consider me supremely entertained 🍿
LaPointLaPoint oh my god who posted this!!!
Younggroovy y’all i think we’ve been hacked
harris_drover which one of you did this?
ilyayayaya is my man covered in scratches??? 🔍👀
thesefknbirds what kind of feral cat(s) does this man own
myshanela @24hollywood i believe this one
nickchouinard @BellyJelly please help a brother out this is his seventh tub of belly cream he will go broke at this rate
ilyarozanov81 not without my husband!
24hollywood you better come home with that damn sponsorship after parading all your scratches around
dicksoutforhollander damn Shane Hollander is a hellcat
24hollywood it's more like he doesn't have self control
dicksoutforhollander I notice you are not denying the hellcat allegations
24hollywood 🙃🙂
“Harris is going to kill you.”
“Mmmm?” Shane was preoccupied with Ilya's mouth. The omega had jumped him the second he’d put his foot through the door, nearly stepping on poor Yukon in the process. The bird had made its displeasure known by shitting on the mat where they placed their outside shoes.
“You realise Harris is going to kill you once he figures it was you, right?” Ilya said,, because who else could it have been?
Shane made a dismissive sound, but was soon distracted by Ilya pressing one hard kiss to his mouth before shoving him (carefully) onto his back on the bed. Shane went willingly, his hair bouncing along with the motion of the mattress. Ilya swiped the tub of stretchmark cream from their bedside table as Shane pulled up his shirt to reveal himself.
Try as he might, Ilya couldn't understand the mechanics of how his husband's insides were working to accommodate the life growing inside of him. Shane had tried to explain the medical and scientific side of it, because he was treating pregnancy like he treated hockey: something to work and excel at. His boring hockey books had been replaced by pregnancy literature, and there was a pregnancy log Shane updated almost religiously. He did it every night before bed, reading it out loud to Ilya. It's his favourite bedtime story. He was still tickled by the knowledge that this baby who was once the size of a raspberry and was now the size of a large papaya.
The way Shane's stomach had stretched itself to capacity to host their child was not easy. The marks were red and pink, the skin raised and tight under Ilya's fingertips. The pattern reminded Ilya of the cracks in the ice on a frozen pond. Each pattern was unique.
Shane’s breathing turned slow and deep, the tension melting from his frame as Ilya's hands massaged the cream into his skin. The motions were always so soothing to him, loosening the tightness over his stomach in increments.
The baby enjoyed it as much, if the little movements that could be felt under Ilya's hands are anything to go by. This would never escape the bedroom, but Ilya honest-to-god squealed in delight every time. Shane's tummy vibrated under his cheek as he giggled.
Ilya soon switched the cream out for the rapidly declining tub of Belly Jelly, and started working it in from his ribs to his upper arms.
Shane stopped his hands. “Wait, let me do it for you first, yours are worse.”
Ilya kissed his hands before gently breaking their hold. “Later, sweetheart. You first.”
While Ilya's rashes may be more intense, taking care of Shane will always be his priority before himself. Shane would fight him on it if he wasn't laden with a giant watermelon for a stomach and bones that had liquified into the mattress.
But also, Ilya simply loved touching Shane at all times, at all places. Who, currently, was completely blissed out, arms above his head in a lax stretch and legs spread out underneath Ilya. It exposed Shane's damp, glistening armpits. The hair was razored short, but the sweat still gathered there as his body worked overtime.
Like a homing beacon, Ilya nosedived straight into one. He took a strong whiff.
Shane giggle-groaned. “Ilya, that's gross.” He tried to budge Ilya's head away, but it might as well be like pushing a heavy boulder off. Nearly impossible.
“Gross?” Ilya questioned, muffled from where he still got his face smushed. “I thought we were pretty… “ he waved his hand rapidly around in a circle as if that helped him remember the word quicker, “aligned on our tastes recently.”
Ilya knew he was using the word correctly; he had seen it on Merriam-Webster's word of the day just a couple days ago.
“Aligned, my ass,” Shane retorted, still trying to fight Ilya off.
Ilya sighed dreamily, getting another whiff of that sweet-musky combination of the products Shane used and his body's natural sweat-scent. “That, too.”
He could spend his whole life like this, but he would miss Shane's face too much. With a final inhale he pushed his face up, but not before leaving a parting lick. Shane's squeal was more of a squawk, the kind that comes out when he's feeling ticklish.
“Asshole,” Shane muttered half-heartedly, but melted back into the sheets once Ilya started working his magic again. The air smelled floral and medicinal, but Ilya found himself missing Shane's smell. It was like a psychosomatic balm to his own rashes, the itchiness briefly falling away.
But it was fine, he still had one armpit left to sample, and he would get his full dose.
*
“This is ridiculous.”
Shane’s anxiety and excitement had steadily mounted once his due date drew closer but it turned into general irritation and anger once he hit the forty-one week mark. His obgyn had scheduled him for a membrane sweep for tomorrow but Shane was just fucking done.
They had tried everything. Castor oil and spicy food. Curb walking, bouncing on the ball, and going up and down the stairs. Shane tried not to take it personally that his body was refusing to do the thing it was supposed to do, but Ilya could tell it was taking its toll on him.
“Forty. One. Forty-one weeks. Do you know what happens at forty-one weeks, Rose?”
Rose cleared her throat delicately. “The baby is born and we are all happy?”
“No!” Shane came to a halt in the middle of the living room. Ilya, who had been trying to get the vexed omega to sit down for the past fifteen minutes as he facetimed Rose, came to a halt barely a foot away. “In this scenario, the baby has decided to become a permanent resident. It has set up house and wallpapered my insides based on how much it has been moving. Did you know what Hayden said when I told him?”
The fucking Hayden isn’t even completely out of Rose and Ilya’s mouths when Shane finishes. “He said maybe I should start charging rent!”
“How is Jackie married to him again?” muttered Rose.
“I ask myself question everyday,” responded Ilya. “Woman is too good for him.”
Shane sighed. With that sound, all the ire and fight left his body. Ilya immediately plastered himself to Shane’s side so the omega could deflate on him, smoothly transferring the phone to his other hand. “I’m just so tired.”
“I know, honey,” Rose and Ilya chorused in unison.
“Rosa, you are a married woman,” groused the alpha. “Stop putting designs on my man.”
“Svetlana also has designs on your man, I don’t see you giving her shit.”
Shane allowed himself to be led to the couch, letting the good-natured bickering wash over him. The menagerie quickly re-situated themselves to make room on the spacious couch for him. The sight of Shrek smacking Donkey on the nose to wake him up made Shane snort out loud fondly.
Once Shane is horizontal and supported by a milieu of pillows, Ilya places Rose on top of Shane’s stomach. She seemed to be deep in thought. Ilya is also distracted by the sight of Shane’s swollen feet, the first squeeze making both men hiss for different reasons.
“Okay, so I was on this online forum—”
“Rose, if you say castor oil I will find a way through this 5G connect and strangle you.”
“Jokes on you, I’m into that.”
Ilya let out a surprised laugh, while Shane groaned.
“Anways, have you guys tried sex yet?”
Shane's head lifted from where it was digging into his palm. Ilya's hands also came to a stop.
Shane’s voice was sharp enough to cut through glass when he repeated the word. “Sex.”
“You know what they say. It comes out the same way it goes in.”
“Rose. Look at me. Look at the topography of my current form. I have the structural integrity of a beached whale and the temperament of a rabid dog. You are suggesting that I—someone who cannot even get up from the couch without needing help— engage in sexual intercourse?”
“It’s just a suggestion.”
“Is not a bad suggestion.” Ilya’s voice cut through before Shane could get started again. Both Rose and Shane were staring at Ilya with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Ilya met Shane’s stare head on. “Shane, ty dumaesh’, ya vizhu tol’ko zhivot?”
“Rozanov, it’s fucking pissing me off how hot that was.”
Shane couldn't exactly parse what Ilya had just said, but he knew the Russian word for ‘belly’, and Rose’s response just confirmed that Ilya said something outrageous.
Ilya’s hands, that were previously squeezing Shane’s feet, changed course to wrap around Shane’s ankles. Without warning, he pulled.
Shane squeaked. The menagerie scattered. The phone landed face-down on the floor with a clatter, Rose's voice cutting off as the call dropped.
“Dumayesh', ya eto vizhu i ispytyvayu otvrashcheniye? Vovse net. YA ne takoy, kak eti slabyye muzhchiny. Ty ne ponimayesh', kak mne tyazhelo ne privyazat' tebya k krovati, chtoby poklonyat'sya tebe ves' den' i vsyu noch'.”
Ilya’s hands were now on his thighs. Despite how thick and wide they had gotten, Ilya still managed to grab them in a way that made Shane feel small and horny.
“Translate, please.”
Ilya moved so that he was looming completely over Shane, and stopped just an inch from Shane’s mouth. “You are goddess. I want to feel you. All of you. But I especially want to feel this.” The way Ilya’s massive hand cupped Shane’s stomach and stroked the raised stretchmarks made him flush.
“You’re a freak.”
“For you, I will be anything you want me to be.”
The lights are dimmed. For once, it is due to the late hour and not because of Shane's migraine induced sensitivity. The warm lights cast a golden glow over Shane's calves, thighs, and swollen stomach. The fact that this sight is only for Ilya to see, no one else, fills him with a possessive need.
"Mine," growled Ilya, as he pressed a heated kiss to Shane's mouth, nipping his lower lip.
"Mine," murmured Ilya wetly, mouth coated with a sweet sticky layer of milk as he closed his mouth around a nipple pearled in white.
"All mine," whispered Ilya reverently against his bellybutton, large hands holding his stomach securely.
"Vse moye navsegda," groaned Ilya as he pushed into Shane in one single stroke, bottoming out to Shane's soundless gasp.
The pace, usually so frenetic, was languid, but it lacked none of the charged energy that was present in all their interactions, sexual and non. Shane whispered a confession on the heels of his orgasm; Ilya parried with a fervent one of his own.
And like the world's most aptly placed punchline, it landed with a bang.
Shane's water broke.
Ilya's nose started leaking blood.
Wide eyes and panicked exclamations arrived on the scene, taking center stage.
"Ilya what the fuck—"
"Shane, oh my god, your water—the baby."
Ilya's protests fell on deaf ears. Shane's own discomfort and elation fell sideways as he sat up, ignoring the stickiness below (thank god one of them had had the common sense to use a condom) as his hands found Ilya's face, fingers fluttering helplessly over the blood flowing out of one nostril.
"Ilya, what the fuck."
"You are too hot, muy lyubov, my body could not take it."
"Oh my god shut up asshole this is no time for jokes—"
"Shane." Ilya's hands cupped his face, swiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes. "We go to hospital. We get baby out. We get my nose checked. Deal?"
And because Shane Hollander had never denied Ilya Rozanov in the way he had to him, he said, “Deal.”
Epilogue: one year later
The sun was shining bright in the sky. The water was crystal clear blue. The flowers were bright and fragrant and the wind was nice and breezy.
An ideal day to sit outside and do nothing, if you weren't the parents of a child who had just turned a year old.
"Hey, it was my turn to go first on the slide! I didn't take the last one."
"No it was mine! and I said clearly that we were not going to make up for missed turns!"
"Uh guys, how about we both just go at the same time?" Well-meaning Luca stepped in to intervene between the heated argument taking place between the twins. Both Ruby and Jade leveled him with a stare so withering, that the rightwinger actually quailed.
"Keep that up and neither one of you will get to go on the slide. Now go see where Arthur went off to." Jackie's voice cut through the tension, light and airy, but the steel in it was unmistakable. Both girls deflated at once and went off. Luca stared in amazement.
"Uh, how did you do that?"
Jackie smiled. "Mom powers."
Hayden and Shane, who'd been watching the entire interaction from the porch, chuckled. More like the former chuckled while the latter smiled.
"Remind me never to get on Jackie's last nerve," quipped Shane, taking a swig of his ginger ale.
"You're physically incapable of doing that because you're her favourite child."
Shane's nose wrinkled but he didn't protest. The Pikes had been jokingly referring to Shane as their fifth child for years now. "Speaking of, have you thought about it?"
"About what?"
Hayden pointed. Shane didn't need to look to see what he was referring to.
In the corner of the lawn, next to the fenced swimming pool, sat Ilya with his parents. In his lap was Ava, who would've looked like his spitting image were it not for the fact she'd inherited Shane's jet-black hair. She was currently giggling and kicking her feet as Amber tickled her with a feather, her loud squeals echoing through the yard. Ilya's grin was as soft as the one Shane was wearing at the moment.
"About giving Ava a sibling?"
"That's not going to happen."
"Why?"
"I don't like seeing Ilya hurt."
When Hayden continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly, he elaborated. "The symptoms. He was a champ about them, but I don't want to put him through that ever again."
"And if Ilya wants another?"
"Then I'll think about it. Unless he brings it up, it's not going to happen."
They both lapsed into silence after that, choosing to watch the massive throng of people congregated in Shane and Ilya's backyard—the Centaurs, Svetlana, Rose, JJ—who had shown up to celebrate Ava's first birthday.
Since Hayden Pike did not do well with silences, he said, "You never said that when I was down with the symptoms."
"Oh, you deserved it."
Hayden’s squawk of indignation startled Vasya, who'd been napping peacefully, off the ledge.
The Maine Coon made sure to give Hayden the evilest stink eye before slinking off.
"Ilya would say you deserve more, but we both love Jackie too much to do that to her."
"Motherhood has made you mean."
Shane chuckled, going back to watching his forever.
---