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Ilya wouldn’t say he was touch starved, not really. As a child, before his mother passed she would always hug him hello and kiss him goodnight. It was the way she communicated her love, when words weren’t strong enough, her touch had been the comfort he had received, it had been its own language. She would let him play with her hair, teaching him how to braid it and when he would do it all wrong, she would grab him kissing him across his cheeks, tickling him on his belly and making him squirm and shriek with laughter. Every time he fell or got hurt, or whenever his father yelled at him, his mother would be there, holding out her arms for him to hug. Her soft touch meant he was safe, he was loved and that he was enough.
When she died she took all of that safety, and all of that love with her.
Over the years, Ilya forgot that feeling like one would forget a language that hadn’t been spoken in years, it faded to the back of his mind, dulled by pain and sorrow. He learned how to suppress his need, now that he had no one to go to, every time his father degraded him, every time he fell on the ice or lost a game.
His need to be touched slowly integrated into something else entirely, something his brain concocted as a way to cope. It morphed his ideas around sex, diminishing the act to something physical, detached and meaningless; using it as a way to get off and nothing more. It was why he would be at every party, not missing the chance to let go, pick up a stranger and forget how it was only empty hotels that waited for him. It was easy to get lost in the moment, making new friends and forgetting their names by the time morning came. Waking up to someone and having nothing to say, it was easy to defend his demons when no one was really listening. And yet, sometimes in the early hours of the morning when he was too tired to keep his defences up, he would let himself think about how it felt like he was fading away, becoming a shell of someone he used to be.
He sought out comfort in other ways, training in the gym, pushing his body to be better, so he could be the best at hockey, so he could keep winning cups. He began measuring his worth through compliments and praise he received, feeling like he was only as good as he was told, but still never enough. He sought out cigarettes, smoking his nights away at random hotels in cities he never would remember the names of.
It was why he kept everyone at arms length, kept biting until people would get the hint and back off. It felt easier, safer, as if he had built a cage around his heart. It helped him build his image as the asshole, the rude one, the arrogant player, Ilya didn’t mind, loved it even. His walls were up and no one could hurt him, it made him feel invincible, so what if he was lonely? At least he was in control. However, no matter how many strangers he had in his bed, they could not fulfil the need that still lay under his skin, could not satisfy the itch.
Until Shane.
The first time they had officially slept together, Ilya could not pinpoint exactly what had made it so great, so different from the others he had been with. His brain, in overdrive trying to figure out why being with Shane made sense in the way nothing else had. He hadn’t meant for their first time to turn into anything more than physical, intending to treat him the same way Ilya did with all his lovers, detached and meaningless. Maybe it was the way Shane had reached out for him, interlacing their fingers, hands in his hair or legs wrapped around his waist. Maybe it was his lips, kissing Ilya’s as well as any skin he had access to, but for the first time in his life, Ilya felt the shift. He felt his need to be touched start to simmer once again, pushing through all the sadness, fighting to break through. At the time, it had not registered in his mind what this was, not realising the significance of it all, not realising how something as innocent as Shane kissing his forehead after they finished, could break the dam and make him crash and burn.
Still, he kept Shane separate from his heart, telling himself that the only reason he could not stop thinking about him was because he had been a good lay. Something he told himself over and over again, after each time they fucked, after each time he heard his sweet moans and felt his even sweeter touch; he told himself it was just physical.
Their distance helped, not being able to see each other regularly, Ilya used it as a way to convince himself that surely the sex wasn’t that good. That he was deprived due to being on the road too much. He told himself that it was better in his head, which proved to be wrong again and again, every time they kept drifting back to each other, as if they were tied together by some invisible string.
At the beginning of their relationship, it felt easy, they didn’t do the intimacy without the sex, they didn’t stay after their hook ups long enough where they could touch just for the sake of it and not to get something started. At the time, that had been their normal, the way they communicated.
But slowly overtime, their relationship began to evolve outside of the sexual nature that they had set. It started out small, their touches lingering a little too long, staying cuddled up long after sex, feeling each other’s racing heartbeats come down with the adrenaline. The change felt gradual, as if the universe knew they needed time to adjust. Ilya didn't know when exactly it changed for him. There was no exact moment, no defining factor, not one look or touch per se that did it for him. It was like his love for Shane was always just… there, buried under his skin waiting for his brain to catch up and realise. Their bodies had communicated long before their words could, as if their hearts knew what they were to each other before it even made sense.
Shane would be the first person Ilya looked for in a crowd, communicating through longing looks when they weren't allowed any other way. Through hidden touches that were brief and quiet but lit up his whole system loudly. At the time, that itself had been a thrill, their secret that no one else knew. After sharing his whole life with the public and his fans, it was nice to have something that was just theirs.
As their relationship progressed and the more people found out, the more real it felt. Ilya wasn’t hiding behind his walls any more, his heart having given the key to Shane long before his brain caught up. And with every touch, every kiss, Shane seemed to be mending the broken parts of his soul, sewing them back together piece by piece. So much so, that he didn’t even realise he was doing it at first: reaching out for Shane, always touching him in some way.
It started out small, like sitting close enough even when there was space that they didn’t have to, so their shoulders brushed. Or touching his foot against Shane’s under the table, when they were in public. It transgressed to Ilya holding Shane’s hand and playing with his fingers, at any chance he could. They could be sat watching a movie or driving anywhere, Ilya could not help himself but take Shane’s hands into his own. He liked Shane’s fingers, they were soft, unlike Ilya’s which were covered in calluses. He liked tracing the lines on his palm, making nonsense patterns, and liked running his fingertips across Shane’s knuckles; it was soothing. Sometimes, he didn’t even realise he was doing it, just automatically taking Shane’s hand on pure instinct, and Shane would always let him. Even if he was holding something, Shane would casually switch hands, or put the item down just so Ilya could hold his hand.
Their physical touch began speaking to Ilya in the same language he had only heard from his mother, it provided him with the same feeling of safety that he hadn’t experienced since before she died. It had felt strange at first, the simple act of touching your partner just because; his insecurities getting in the way, fearing Shane wouldn’t want it or would get sick of him craving comfort this way. But Shane never did, in fact he returned his affections in the same ways if not more, always ready to give and receive. It fell upon him like rays of sunshine, something he hadn’t known he needed after a long period of rain.
***
Ilya was on edge, his skin felt on fire, nerves on alert. He paced back and forth in the waiting area of the hospital, pulling at his hair every now and then before switching to nervously biting his thumbnail.
The day had started off well in a completely mundane way. He had woken Shane up with kisses across his chest, making the other giggle and squirm awake, before they had lazy morning sex. They had gotten up, showered, dressed, had breakfast and made their way to the rink. They had practice before the game that night, and practice had gone well like it usually did. They were playing against Montreal, which Ilya knew had Shane anxious, like he always was every time they played against his former team. Ilya hadn’t been worried, knowing how strong their team, the Ottawa centaurs were, and knew that they would send Montreal home crying.
The game had started off fine, Ilya had scored a goal in the first ten minutes of the game, which was quickly followed by the metros scoring one back making them tie. Both teams playing well, the atmosphere more intense than usual, everyone knowing the history. It made the game feel more personal. Ilya hadn’t cared, he just couldn’t wait to see the losing faces of the metros. Ilya stole the puck from Pike, smirking and quickly passed it to Shane who was waiting for him, their chemistry practically burning the ice. Shane, ever so focused, received the puck, skating towards the net. Everyone was so focused on the puck, on Shane now so close to the net, that they didn’t see the player gaining up behind him, hitting Shane in a dirty blow sending him flying onto the ice.
As Shane had fallen, Ilya had felt the thud of him hitting the ice deeply resonate within his heart. The scene playing out in slow motion, watching Shane fall, sent a deep flashback through Ilya of the previous time Shane had fallen on the ice, back when he had played for the metros. Back then Ilya couldn’t do anything but stare, couldn’t do what he had wanted to do most, which was to reach out, to touch. To make sure he was okay.
Now seeing the scene play out again, had made Ilya see red. He dove for the metro, who looked rather smug without a hint of shame, and had punched him in the face, not caring of the consequences. All he saw, all his heart knew was that Shane was down.
Their fight was quickly broken by the referees, dividing up the men before serious injuries could occur. Ilya had shrugged out of the referee’s hold, his head turning looking for Shane. The medics had arrived and were checking over him, who thankfully was sitting up and seemed to be replying back to whatever he was being asked. Ilya skated towards him, kneeling down, eyes frenzied as they darted up and down Shane’s body, searching for injuries.
“You’re okay.” Ilya rushed out, it came out as a statement rather than a question, which is what he had been intending, as if he was reassuring himself that Shane was fine. “You’re okay?” He tried again.
Shane nodded but winced a little. “Yeah I think my ankle is fucked though.” Ilya followed his line of sight, seeing the ankle in question, all swollen and red.
“We’ll take you to the hospital, Mr Hollander.” The medic said. “This should be looked at right away.” Ilya nodded as if they were talking with him.
“Yes.” He made a move to go with them when Shane grabbed him by the wrist. The touch felt like an electric shock, and though Shane was wearing gloves and had just touched Ilya on his sleeve, Ilya felt it deep. He flinched, not expecting the full body wave he would feel.
“You’re not coming. You need to stay and win the game.” Shane stated, his voice firm. “I’m fine.”
Ilya opened his mouth to argue because there was no way he was staying whilst his husband was in hospital. Who gave a shit about the game, there were more important things.
“No. Ilya. Mum will come with me.” Shane started, seeing the look in Ilya’s eyes. “You need to stay and fucking end them.” He shot a glance at the Metros, who now stood by the boards watching the whole thing. Some of them glared in disgust, some of them looked embarrassed. Ilya wanted to murder them all.
“Send Montreal home crying.” Shane glanced back at Ilya, grabbing his face so Ilya could see the sincerity on his face. “Please.” He added, which is what made Ilya nod. He knew how important this was to Shane, how it was more than a game, it was personal.
“Okay.” Ilya whispered and just because he could and because he was a little shit that liked pissing people off, he leaned forward and kissed Shane right there on the ice whilst holding a middle finger up in the direction of where the Metros stood. Shane huffed a laugh and kissed him right back.
After Shane was wheeled away, Ilya had played like he was on fire. He now had a new motive to prove. This was war.
The game had ended with Ilya scoring two more times, one for himself and one for Shane. The centaurs having his back, who too were all fired up after seeing their teammate take a hit. They had moved together like a hive mind, perfectly in sync, completely destroying the metros. It would have sent a deep satisfaction through Ilya, had his concern for Shane not been present. As soon as the whistle was blown, signalling the end of the game, Ilya had zoomed out, not even bothering with the mandatory handshakes with the other team, or any press interviews. He didn’t bother to change or even grab his things from the locker room, just sped out of the rink and to the hospital.
Yuna and David had greeted him in the waiting area, taking in his disheveled appearance, and still in his gear but hadn’t commented. They had told him Shane was being looked at by the doctor and to sit tight.
That had been about an hour ago, now he paced back and forth, his hands flexing at his side, looking up at whichever doctor walked past hoping for news.
Eventually, they were told Shane was fine and were led to the hospital room where he was in. Shane looked slightly battered, a bruise forming on his left cheek, his hair a mess and eyes a little dilated, his ankle now wrapped up.
“Ilya.” Shane murmured, smiling gently at him and reached out for him. Ilya immediately darted toward him, grabbing onto his hand and giving it a squeeze. Ilya’s whole body had felt so drained, but now as he touched Shane after what had felt like years, he took a deep breath and let his body cool. Shane was good. He was good. He was safe. Ilya kept repeating in his mind.
Shane must have read something in his eyes because he gently squeezed Ilya’s hand. “I’m fine. It’s okay, moya lyubov”, Shane murmured. Ilya’s mouth twitched at his husband speaking Russian, whilst his heart skipped a beat, like it always did. His eyes scanned Shane’s face, and his other hand reached out to gently touch him on his cheeks, tracing his freckles.
“You scared me.” Ilya admitted and Shane nodded, placing his other hand on top of Ilya’s on his cheek.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Ilya shook his head. “Don’t apologise, wasn’t your fault.”
“Did we win?” Shane asked, his brown doe eyes wide.
Ilya smirked. “Ofcourse.” He replied with arrogance.
Shane smiled back, good. He thought.
“Ilya wiped the floor with them.” Yuna cut in. She watched how Ilya, who had seemed so jittery and anxious, had now calmed as he held her son’s hand. It was like Shane was his lifeline, and the act of holding his hand had soothed all his stress away.
Both Ilya and Shane had forgotten his parents were there, witnessing their whole exchange.
“You played like a man on a mission.” She added.
Ilya nodded, his face now serious. “Is what they deserve.”
“How are you feeling, son?” David asked.
Shane sighed. “A little sore. But good. And I’m a little tired.”
Ilya quickly grabbed a chair from behind him, his hand not letting go of Shane’s, and sat down. “Go to sleep, malysh, I’m not going anywhere.”
Shane smiled a small drunk like smile, and nodded. Ilya traced small patterns into Shane’s hand as he soothed him to sleep. His own heart calmed at the touch.
***
A couple of weeks later, Ilya sat in their living room slowly nodding off to a documentary about sea creatures that Shane had put on. He lay there, Anya at his feet, eyes drooping.
He was walking through fog so murky Ilya could not see anything. It was like he was walking on air, nothing underneath him, nothing above him or around him, it was all white smoke.
His breathing came out heavy as he squinted his eyes, trying to see where he was going. He could feel eyes on him but he could not see anyone.
Suddenly, he saw a figure dart across him. Shane. Ilya let out a sigh of relief. Shane was here. Ilya ran toward him calling out his name. But the closer Ilya got toward him, the further Shane seemed. Confused, Ilya ran faster, out of breath. He called out Shane’s name hoping the other would hear him. But his voice felt like it was coming out in whispers. Shane couldn’t hear him, didn’t look back.
The air changed around them, he now stood at the rink in the audience, trapped behind hundreds of people. He saw Shane again, standing on the ice. He was waving at him, smiling wide. Ilya sighed in relief and waved back. But Shane’s expression soon changed, his eyes widened in fear and suddenly Shane was on the floor, laying motionless. And Ilya couldn’t get to him, no matter how much he tried to push past the people in front of him, no one seemed to be moving. Ilya watched helplessly as Shane lay there, not moving. Not breathing.
Ilya shot up, eyes wide and breaths heavy. “Shane!” Ilya yelled. His heart was racing, his hands reaching out, instinctively for Shane, before he even knew what he was doing, his brain still caught up between dream and reality.
Shane ran into the room, eyes wide in panic. He had been in the kitchen making dinner when he heard Ilya yell out. Shane rushed to Ilya, as quickly as he could in the state he was in, his ankle although better still sore.
“Hey. Hey,” Shane grabbed Ilya, pulling him into his arms, his hands in Ilya’s curls, soothing away his discomfort. Ilya was breathing heavily and shaking, he reached out for Shane, wrapping his arms around him, hard. He buried his face into Shane’s neck, rubbing his nose back and forth into the skin.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a dream.” Shane was whispering. “You’re safe. I’m here.”
Ilya pulled away from Shane, but didn’t go far, his hands still in between Shane’s. Ilya searched Shane’s face, his eyes were wide with fear.
“You… you left me. And then…” Ilya couldn’t get out what he was saying, his breathing too heavy.
Shane’s own heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He looked across Ilya's face, his heart breaking for his husband.
“Shh, shh. It’s okay. Take a deep breath for me.” Shane instructed, switching to Russian, knowing Ilya enough to know that his mother tongue would help calm him down faster.
Ilya nodded, his eyes still glassy but did what he was told. “It was just a dream.” Shane kept repeating the words, never once letting go of Ilya. One hand in Ilya's curls, scratching his head lightly, whilst the other around his arms, holding him close. The touch grounding Ilya, bringing him back to the present.
Eventually Ilya calmed down, his breaths evened out and his hold on Shane loosened. They were quiet for a moment, just basking in each other’s warmth. Shane’s hands still in his hair, now lightly playing with the strands.
“I’m sorry.” Ilya whispered, voice slightly muffled from where his face was pressed against Shane’s neck.
“Shh. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Shane replied, he pressed his lips to Ilya’s forehead in a light kiss. The touch scent soothing waves around Ilya, making him relax further. “Wanna talk about it?” He asked tentatively after a beat.
Ilya was quiet for a moment. “I saw you… we were in fog. I was lost and then I saw you and I called out for you. But you didn’t hear me, I tried to reach you but couldn’t. Then… you were on the ice and you fell. I couldn’t get to you.” He took a shuddering breath.
“You were just lying there. So still.”
Shane’s breath hitched at how broken Ilya sounded. He shook his head and pulled away slightly so he could look Ilya in the eye. Ilya made a noise of protest at the movement, not wanting to part, but Shane grabbed his face so their eyes could meet.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe, I’m not hurt. We’re okay.” He stated firmly, trying to get the message across.
Ilya’s eyes swimming with emotion searched Shane’s face and then nodded when he felt satisfied. “It was just a dream.” Shane repeated.
“It was just a dream.” Ilya echoed, as Shane took him back into his arms, and finally felt himself relax.
Shane knew what had probably caused such a dream. His fall a couple of weeks back had scared his husband more than Ilya had let show. But Shane knew Ilya, after all these years he knew his telltale signs of stress and panic, knew his body as well as he knew his own.
The rest of the day, they took it slow. Ilya not letting Shane out of his sight, and Shane indulging him. They didn’t move away from one another, and stayed cuddled up on the sofa, the documentary still playing in the background. Shane kept murmuring sweet nothings into Ilya’s ear, playing with his hair, his fingers, anything to let his husband know they were okay. That this was the reality.
After a couple of hours, Shane slowly pulled Ilya away from the couch, not letting go of his hand and dragged him to the kitchen. They ate in mostly silence, their feet touching under the table. Ilya helped Shane put the dishes in the dishwasher, once they’d finished eating. They cleaned the kitchen in comfortable silence, not needing words to talk, moving around the space and each other with familiarity.
Shane then took his husband’s hand and led him upstairs to their bedroom. His hands slowly spread across Ilya’s chest, and pushed him gently towards their bed. Ilya fell and lightly bounced, looking back at Shane so earnestly, eagerly waiting. Shane leaned down, leaving kisses across his neck, before he lifted up his shirt and threw it over his shoulder, continuing down his chest. He slowly pulled away Ilya’s jeans and then boxers, leaving him completely naked.
“Shane.” Ilya whined. Shane smirked, and then stripped himself.
He made quick work of prepping himself, fingering his hole as he sucked Ilya, wanting his husband to be inside him as quickly as possible. Shane then got on top of Ilya, his legs around his waist and sank back slowly onto Ilya’s cock. Ilya groaned, his hands flexing and grabbing onto Shane’s waist, squeezing. Shane hoped the pressure would leave marks, showing proof that Ilya was here.
Shane rode Ilya, not really caring about his own pleasure, and instead wanting to drive Ilya crazy. He moved his hips just the way he knew his husband liked, riding him fast and then slowing down, switching between speeds that had Ilya’s toes curling. All the while, Shane did not stop touching Ilya in some way or another. He left kisses across his lips, neck and chest. He took his nipples into his mouth, grazing his teeth against the buds and making Ilya roar and arch into the touch. Shane’s hands moved across Ilya’s body, finding all the sensitive areas he knew, lightly scraping his nails and pressing his fingertips hard. He poured all his love through his touch, spelling it all out across his body.
Ilya had never experienced such tenderness with any previous lover. He suddenly understood the term love making. His previous notions of sex had all melted away after meeting Shane. He could no longer hide during sex, his husband had learned his body like he had learned Russian, thoroughly and meticulously. He knew each and every spot that set his skin on fire, that made him cry out and moan in ways he hadn’t ever before. Sex no longer felt just physical to Ilya, not when their souls were intertwining, and becoming one.
When Ilya came, it was Shane’s name on his lips. It was sudden, he didn't even get a chance to warn Shane that he was close, before he spilled, crying out. Shane didn’t falter, riding him out and pumping his own dick before he too cried out in pleasure.
Shane fell on top of his husband, both catching their breaths, before Shane slowly moved away. He stood up and wordlessly guided Ilya to their en-suite bathroom. Ilya stayed silent as he watched Shane get a bath ready and urged Ilya into it. Shane joined Ilya, sitting behind him, his hands now spread across Ilya’s chest and lips in his hair.
“I love you.” Shane whispered. “Always and forever.”
Ilya smiled. His heart settled. Over the years, he had thought he had experienced the highest of highs. Winning cups, winning awards, people chanting his name, it had all been exhilarating to experience. He had thought nothing could beat it. How wrong he had been.
Being with Shane, in his arms, topped it all, he thought. Feeling his touch, and simply being allowed to just exist in each other’s space, it was a rush that Ilya had never experienced before. He thought back to his days before he had met Shane, how lonely and cold they had been. Using unhealthy coping mechanisms, denying himself what he wanted.
In hindsight, it all felt inevitable, his love for Shane, and even if he could go back and change a few things, he wouldn’t. It was like all his wrongs had led him right to Shane, to this moment. And being wrapped up in his arms, Ilya realised he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Here in Shane’s arms, he felt safe, loved and enough.
“I love you too.” Ilya replied. “So much.”