Work Text:
It was a hard day for Ilya. An angry day where he got mad at household objects for not working right. Where he was quiet at practice because every word came out like a bite. Where everybody walked on egg shells around him and avoided joking like they usually did and acted anything but causal which only fed Ilya's temper. Shane knew it was not anger, not really. Ilya was frustrated at himself, at his mind, at the world. Days like these came at the end of grueling weeks of stagnation. The worse before the better. And it was always worse before the anniversary of her death.
When they returned from practice, Ilya flung his bag down and stormed off to shower. Years ago Shane used to take it personally and would flinch at the impact and avoid his husband for the rest of the day because he was sure he had done something wrong. But now he knew all the signs that Ilya was about to collapse. Knew that he was so deep in his head he could hardly see the ends of his own fingertips. So he just picked up Ilya’s bag and brought it along with his own to the laundry room.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya said when he entered the bathroom. He was sitting on the toilet with damp hair and a towel around his waist, looking deflated.
Shane said nothing. He approached his husband, standing between his legs as he drew Ilya’s head to his stomach. Ilya leaned in and wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, holding him for support. Shane ran his hands through his hair and down his back, trying to put as much love and forgiveness into the touch as he could muster.
It pained him when Ilya was like this. Hurt and upset for reasons neither of them could control or avoid. But it also filled him with an aching sort of love that he could see Ilya like this, that Ilya would hold still long enough for Shane to soothe his open wounds.
When Ilya eventually pulled away Shane moved for a quick shower. He walked out of there bathroom to find Ilya exactly as expected, sprawled on the bed, not awake and not sleeping, still nude. He finished rubbing the water from his body and pulled on lounge wear before he slid next to Ilya in bed, sitting up against the pillows.
Ilya reacted immediately to his presence, rolling over to press himself against Shane’s legs before dropping his head into his lap with his face towards his stomach. He nuzzled into the clothed flesh, searching for warmth. Shane ran fingers through his hair. Ilya was pulling closer and burrowing into his husband like he wanted to crawl inside of him. Shane let him, one hand still on Ilya's head while the other came up to rub his back.
Ilya had lifted Shane’s shirt now, stuck his head underneath it while he continued his search for the non-existence hollow under Shane’s ribs. He was crawling over him and into his lap like a small mammal. Shane tried to control his breathing as Ilya pawed at him and made small, sad, needy noises. His shirt was rucked up around Ilya’s shoulders and he resigned to pulling it up so his full torso was exposed, or rather available for Ilya to plaster himself against, melting into the skin to skin contact.
Ilya was nosing at Shane’s arm pit when his lips found Shane’s nipple and he latched onto it without warning. Shane inhaled sharply at the sudden stimulation, grip tightening into Ilya’s curls. Ilya sucked hard like he might draw milk. Like he was nursing from Shane. In this position he practically was. Cradled against Shane’s chest, curled on his lap, one arm slung around his husband’s shoulder while Shane held him close. His baby.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered as Ilya sucked, soothing himself, eyes fluttering shut. He made a whiny, whimpering noise in the back of his throat as Shane pressed him closer and surrendered to the role. “I’ll nurse you, baby.”
His cock was slowly growing against Shane, maybe more a physical reaction to their closeness and intimacy than genuine arousal. Shane could feel his own sex thickening in his sweats, body responding to the teeth and tongue on his nipple. He slide his hand over Ilya's back and down his obliques to dip into where Ilya's cock was resting, and took the hardening length in his hand.
The reaction was immediate but muted. Ilya’s breath hitched and his body jerked into the touch but he stayed latched onto Shane, mouthing at him desperately. Ilya was uncut and Shane did not need any lube as he began to stroke him slowly. Ilya bucked into the stimulation, little rocks of his hips into Shane’s fist. Shane dropped his head to press a kiss to the side of Ilya’s temple.
He paused at the head of Ilya’s cock, rolling back the foreskin so he could run his finger over his slit, wet with precum. Ilya’s brow tightened. Shane circled his thumb on his frenulum, slow and light. Ilya whimpered, muffled against his tit, and strained into Shane’s hand. Drool was begging to collect on his chin and drip down Shane’s chest. Shane kept circling the sensitive spot until Ilya was keening under his touch, at which point he returned to stroking him. Then Ilya was pressing close him like he wanted to climb into Shane’s body again, eyes still shut tight. His hips were bucking and his hold on Shane’s nipple was faltering in favor of the little moans climbing in his throat. Undone completely.
“Going to cum for me?” Shane asked as Ilya’s cock firmed up under his fingers, his balls drawing tight.
“Please Mommy,” Ilya whimpered before he went rigid, jaw falling slack, and came into Shane’s fist. He made little gasps and moans as Shane pumped him through the spasms of pleasure, lips never leaving his temple as he whispered good baby, good boy into his husband's feverish skin.
Ilya was limp and spent and held together only by Shane’s touch. He took deep, recovering breaths which hitched quickly into quiet sobs as he came down. Shane cleaned his semen up with a tissue then pulled Ilya up so he could bury his face into Shane's neck and cry how he needed to. Shane rocked him as he soaked his shirt collar with tears and snot.
When his breath finally evened out Shane shifted them so they were lying flat in bed, Ilya pillowed on his chest. He was wrapped around Shane, leg slung up and over Shane’s legs, arm likewise stretched across his chest and curing around Shane’s head. Nude, open and vulnerable. It made Shane’s chest ache again that he was trusted with all this fragility. It made him scared that he might break it, might shatter the version of Ilya that no one, not even Ilya himself, could touch.
Sleep claimed Ilya and he slept heavy and deep as after a trauma. Shane stayed awake until he stirred again, unwilling to let even the light see them here.