Chapter Text
Shane was resting, his head on Ilya’s chest and his arm slung over his boyfriend’s waist. After making it clear to Ilya just how excited he was about having a boyfriend, he was tired, needing to rest his eyes.
The entire time Shane rested — Ilya knew he didn't quite manage to fall asleep — Ilya held him, stroking along his arms and pressing soft kisses to his hair. He didn't know how he'd managed to get so lucky. If Shane hadn't introduced himself all those years ago, if he hadn't gone in for a second hand shake, if Ilya hadn't arranged the CCM photoshoot... So many things could be different if they'd gone off course, even a little bit. But they hadn't. They were here, in Shane's cottage, and now they were about to have his parents over for dinner. It was exciting.
Finally, the feelings of stickiness won out over his sleepiness, and Shane stretched out with a groan. "We're gonna have to change the sheets," he mumbled, propping himself up on his elbow as he smiled down at Ilya. The other man looked so good like this, his hair messy from sex, a little smile on his face. Shane couldn't resist the temptation to lean in and press a slow, gentle kiss to his lips— and he didn't know if he'd ever get tired of being able to freely do that.
Ilya cupped Shane's cheek as they kissed, then pulled away to give him a peck on the nose. "Shower first," he said. "Then sheets." They wouldn't have time to fool around in the shower, which was a shame, but Ilya wasn't sure if he could even go again so soon. Still, it would be nice to get to touch Shane just for the sake of touching him.
“Shower with me?” Shane asked, brushing his thumb over Ilya’s hip. He had a big rainfall shower, it wouldn’t be a squeeze. It was the sort of hopelessly domestic life that Shane had craved for so long but never gotten to experience. He felt greedy for it now- but Ilya always made him feel that way. He got up, offering Ilya a hand with a bit of shyness in his expression.
It wasn't even a question of whether Ilya would shower with him. He went willingly, eagerly, taking Shane's hand and allowing himself to be pulled out of bed. As soon as he stood, Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, pressing their bodies together. They were sticky with dried sweat and fluids, but Ilya didn't mind. Not in the same way Shane did.
"Of course," he said, pressing a kiss to the side of Shane's head. "Who else will make sure your back gets washed?" His hands slid lower, and he gave Shane's ass a squeeze.
Shane couldn’t help but laugh at that, before shoving Ilya’s shoulder and stepping away. “You’re gross,” he teased, walking to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, waiting a moment for it to heat up before stepping in. There was enough room for Ilya under the spray, too, so neither of them had to be cold. Shane let out a big huff of air, the reality of the day crashing down on him now that he wasn’t floating on a cloud.
As soon as the water was warm enough, Ilya stepped into the shower and let out a soft groan. Shane never turned it hot enough for Ilya's liking, but it still felt nice. The one time Ilya was in control of the temperature, Shane had barely been able to stand it, so Ilya allowed him to take the lead here. He ran his hands through his hair, plastering it to his head, then reached for his own shampoo. It was nothing like Shane's, in that it couldn't actually be bought at a drug store. Ilya had ribbed Shane for his choice of shampoo before, but it was no use. At some point, Ilya was going to have to introduce Shane to the wonders of a proper shampoo and conditioner.
“Today has been crazy,” Shane said, grabbing some of his good old fashioned Old Spice 2-in-1 shampoo to start soaping himself up. “Keep feeling like it’s all a dream and I’ll wake up.”
"If it is a dream, then I do not want to wake up," Ilya replied quietly. It had been a weird day, sure, but possibly one of the best days of Ilya's life. He lathered the shampoo in his hair and let out a soft hum, tipping his head back to rinse the suds. "But this is real life. Your parents know about us, and they're coming for dinner soon." It was so... domestic. Ilya didn't have much experience with domestic, but he thought he could get used to it.
Nerves danced in Shane’s stomach at that. The shock had to be wearing off on his parents by now, and by all logic, they’d have more questions. Maybe they’d be judging Ilya. Maybe judging Shane. Maybe both. This was the first time that Ilya and Shane had told anyone— the first time that this fragile thing between them belonged to someone other than the two of them. The more people who handled this, the more likely it was to break.
“I’m sorry that you were kind of…. Put on trial,” Shane said, not thinking of whether or not Ilya would know that expression. “My parents can be a little intense. I’m their only kid, so…. They can be a bit much.”
Ilya noticed the slight change in Shane's expression, the way his breathing turned ever so slightly shallow. He pulled Shane close and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It hadn't been a lie, what he'd told Shane before. It was scary. Ilya wasn't immune to that worry. There were so many ways that this could go wrong, but they hadn't so far. Ilya trusted that David and Yuna were being earnest in their acceptance of him.
"Is okay," he said with a shrug, then he chuckled. "They are no worse than the press." Shane's dad, especially, had been unexpectedly kind. Nothing like his own father. Ilya couldn't help but wonder how his own life might have been different if he'd had a father like David Hollander. The man was quietly perceptive, not the way Yuna was. He seemed so attuned to Shane's emotional needs, not unlike Ilya, himself.
“I guess. But you don’t have to be in-laws with the press,” Shane chuckled slightly, then went slightly pale as he realized what he said. God, he prayed that Ilya’s English hadn’t progressed to familial relationships, hopefully he’d never needed to know that. “I mean- you don’t normally have dinner with reporters, y’know. You get a break. I’ll keep them from asking too many questions, though, try and take the pressure off you— and if you want to bail at any time, I’ll understand, we can say that you rented a cottage nearby and have to leave or something, and then you can come back.” Shane was rambling, but he didn’t want to be too much and freak Ilya out, an old habit that clearly died hard.
The term 'in-laws' wasn't lost on Ilya. His teammates had referenced their in-laws enough that he knew what they were talking about. But he wasn't about to tell Shane. His boyfriend looked panicked enough as it was. Instead, Ilya massaged between Shane's shoulder blades, his fingers pressing firmly into the tense muscles.
"Turn around," Ilya said, his voice soft but commanding nonetheless. Shane was clearly starting to get in his own head about things, and Ilya wanted to stop him from going too far down. "You are so tight, and not in a good way," he added with a small smile. It was a fine line between helping Shane out of his head and pushing too hard, but humor always helped diffuse the situation. Carefully, he guided Shane around so they were standing back to front. "I can handle a few questions, solnyshko. I am not running away." Ilya had chosen Shane. He'd always choose Shane.
Shane rested his forehead against the shower wall, trying very hard to hide how nervous he was. He didn’t want to freak Ilya out, or be a burden. He didn’t want to be someone that always needed to be taken care of. Especially not when Ilya was so brave, and being so kind about this right now. Shane wanted to take care of him, too.
“I hope my dad was good. When I was outside with my mom.” A little part of Shane’s heart had been healed by the discussion with his mom, by the gentle way she’d held him close, being able to break down in her arms, and unburden some of the shame he’d been carrying. Despite how relieving the experience had been for him, Shane hoped that Ilya hadn’t been uncomfortable, being abandoned.
Ilya dug his thumbs into the particularly tight knots of Shane's shoulders, forcing the muscles to relax in submission. He knew it was hard for Shane to turn his brain off. An orgasm (or two) only helped so much. And as much as Ilya wanted to put Shane on his knees and have him sink into that place he went when they fucked sometimes, they didn't have time for that. Later, after they were finally alone for the night, he would take Shane there. For now, he would just have to figure out another way.
"Your father is nice," Ilya said with a small smile, pressing a kiss to the base of Shane's neck. "And a good cook." While Yuna and Shane had been outside, David and Ilya had largely talked about Ilya. That was a surprise. Ilya wasn't used to talking about himself. But it had been nice, sharing little details of his life while crushing tomatoes and grating Parmesan. "Less boring than I thought," Ilya added, remembering the Russian vodka that had come from the freezer. "They are good people. Good parents."
Ilya was so gentle, so kind with Shane. It was sweet in a way that made Shane ache- he’d spent so many years wishing he could have this, it was difficult to believe it was real now. It was also difficult to accept all this gentleness and care when Shane felt like a mess- he wasn’t sure he deserved all that.
“I’m glad you think so,” Shane said, turning around so he could rinse out his hair under the shower. “My mom, she, uh. Accepted me. Said she was sorry I couldn’t tell her sooner.” Shane had to fight the urge to tear up again just remembering his conversation with his mom. How tenderly she’d held him, how scared he’d been of disappointing her. The fact that she was proud of him. His heart ached knowing that the man he loved would never get to experience that same conversation with his own mother— or his father. Ilya had no one, and here Shane was complaining about his parents being a lot. It made Shane reach forward, gently cupping Ilya’s cheek.
“They’re going to love you, Ilya. I know it.” Shane hoped that his eyes conveyed a sense of safety for his partner, told him that he was safe here. He wanted so badly to be the family Ilya deserved. They might not know Ilya well yet, but that’s what tonight was for. This would give them an opportunity for bonding and getting to know Ilya beyond the persona.
Ilya hadn't known what the conversation between Shane and his mother entailed, but he wasn't going to be the first to ask. Everything about that visit had been for Shane, and whatever he wanted to keep to himself, Ilya was going to respect that. It made him smile, though, hearing that Yuna was so accepting. He liked to think that his own mother would have been as well. Irina really would have loved Shane, of that he was certain. Would have treated him the same way she treated Ilya. The same way Yuna treated Ilya. For a moment, he allowed himself to think about it - the two of them meeting, his mother meeting Shane's family, but he pushed the thought away. It was no good to think about something impossible that would only break his heart.
"Of course they're going to love me," Ilya said, his lips tilting up in an impish smile. "Everyone always loves me." He tipped Shane's chin up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Sure, it may have been a coward's way out, deflecting with humor, but Ilya didn't think he could stand to think about the depth of everything he felt right now. The truth was, he already loved Shane's parents. It was scary, just how quickly he'd wanted to be part of their family. How quickly they'd madehim feel like part of their family. And apparently Shane wanted that, too. Calling his parents Ilya's in-laws seemed like a big step, but not an unwelcome one.
“Aren’t you the one who takes pride in being one of the most hated guys in the league?” Shane snorted with a fond roll of his eyes. Ilya was a professional rage-baiter, there was never a game that went by without him trying to provoke people into coming after him. But Shane trusted (well, mostly) that he wouldn’t do that here. It was strange, for how much they cared about one another, that they really didn’t know each other that well. They knew the important, big stuff, but not the smaller things. They were still getting to know each other- it had probably been insane for Shane to invite someone to stay for two weeks when previously they’d spent all of a couple days together spread out over the course of 8 years . It was a miracle it was currently going so well.
Ilya shrugged with a grin. "They make it so easy. You would think I insulted their sisters instead of their playing." It was amusing how fragile these men were on the ice. One well timed chirp and they were gearing up for a fight. It wasn't Ilya's fault they were so easy to work up. He just used it to his advantage. That wasn't to say he didn't have friends in the league. Even a few men he was friendly with outside his own team. There were even more who respected him, even if they didn't like him.
“Sometimes you do insult their sisters,” Shane pointed out. It wasn’t fair how attractive Ilya looked like this, the way the water ran in rivulets down his chest. It was almost enough to distract him from the raging pile of nerves doing jumping jacks in his stomach. Almost.
Ilya ignored the quip about insulting players' sisters, instead, simply smirking. It had only happened a few times, and only with players who truly deserved it. Ilya stepped under the spray again, rinsing his own shampoo, before reaching for the conditioner. One day, he would introduce Shane to the wonders of proper hair care products. Except then, he didn't think he'd ever be able to keep his hands out of Shane's hair. "Don't worry. I won't insult your parents' playing," he replied cheekily. "I might even ask your dad what it was like to play for McGill."
“I’m sure my dad would love talking about it. It’s how my parents met,” Shane added. He grabbed some body wash, beginning to soap himself up. It was weird to do in front of another person- it seemed like something that would be easy to make sexy, but in reality, Shane didn’t feel that way. He felt awkward, scrubbing at his skin with a loofa like the physical stimulation could help alleviate the stress he was feeling.
"Do all European men get this precious about their haircare, or is it just you?" Shane asked, switching gears to try to tease Ilya. It was an easy, comfortable dynamic to fall into, the words slipping from his mouth before he really thought about it.
He filed away the information about David and Yuna meeting at McGill as well, storing it in the mental box that he'd labeled ‘Shane’. Nine years' worth of little tidbits were kept there, everything from Shane's preferred brand of ginger ale to the most sensitive places of his body. Shane was practically rubbing his skin raw, so Ilya took the loofah and carefully began to scrub his shoulders and back. He was always so harsh with himself when he was nervous. Ilya wondered who had been there for Shane like this before him. Had there even been anyone?
"You think these curls take care of themselves?" he asked with a teasing smile. "I wear a helmet all day. Without my routine, I would look like a... that flower with the puffy seeds." Ilya had seen them before, and he enjoyed watching the seeds drift off into the wind when he blew them.
Shane was reluctant to hand over the loofah, to lose the harsh comfort of the physical stimulation. But he didn't fight it as the other man took it from him, shoulders tense beneath Ilya's touch. He couldn't help but crack a smile at Ilya's comparison- Shane would never mention it, would never want to make Ilya self conscious about his English skills, but it was so endearing listening to the man describe a word he was searching for.
"A dandelion," Shane supplied, unable to hide the soft fondness in his eyes. "I've always liked the look of dandelions. The fields of yellow in early summer. Looks so happy. They're one of my favourites." Ilya reminded him of them when he smiled- bright yellow, happy and free, swaying in the breeze.
"Dandelion," Ilya agreed with a nod. He never knew Shane loved dandelions, but it made sense. They were so bright and sunny, just like Shane. "They are very pretty, but not on my head. Besides, you would miss my curls if I ever stopped using conditioner." Scooping some of the suds onto his finger, Ilya booped Shane on the nose, leaving behind a white cloud in his wake. He could tell that Shane needed a little more stimulation, so he scrubbed slightly harder, though not nearly as much as Shane had been. There was something comforting about this, being able to take care of Shane and give him what he needed. He was used to being a caregiver, but never like this. Never with someone who was his equal.
Shane couldn't help but smile a bit at Ilya's silly move. "I like your curls," Shane murmured, running his fingers through Ilya's wet curls. "They're pretty." He looked at Ilya's hair, his lips, his cheeks- he'd always found it challenging to make eye contact, but thankfully Ilya rarely demanded it. He knew he should tell Ilya about his.... condition, but he'd never found the right time. He'd never wanted Ilya to look at him differently, to mock him the way kids had in school when he'd been pulled out of class to have special sessions with an EA. Ilya liked him as he was- Shane didn't want to mess that up.
He waited until Ilya had cleaned off, then got out, moving to brush his teeth so he'd be fresh and clean for his parents' arrival. He walked to the large closet, standing in front of it as he blanked on what to wear. He needed to wear something nice, right? Certainly nicer than he'd been wearing this week. And he needed to find something nice for Ilya, too, the man had only brought t-shirts and he wanted his boyfriend to make a good first (proper) impression. It had been a risk, wearing the Boston Raiders shirt, and Shane didn’t want to add any more fuel for friction than already naturally existed.
Ilya made his way out into the bedroom, only to find Shane staring at his closet. He didn't look like he was actually taking anything in. Walking up behind him, Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane and rested his chin on Shane's shoulder. "Hey," he said quietly, squeezing gently. "Where is your head now?" It was obvious that Shane wasn't entirely present. Ilya needed to pull him back and ground him somehow. Usually that way was sex, but they didn't have time for that right now, even if they could get it up again. He glanced over at the clock. Half an hour. Plenty of time to get Shane out of his head again.
Shane forced himself to notice the arms around his body, to register that Ilya was holding him. He’d been asked a question. He didn’t want to be so spacey, didn’t want to be so…. Much. “Just trying to decide what you should wear. You barely brought any clothes and there’s no way you’re wearing the Raiders shirt again. We don’t need to give my mom the reminder,” he said. A part of him worried that came off as controlling- but really he just wanted to give Ilya the best chance he could. He wanted his parents to see what he saw- a funny, kind, intelligent man who just so happened to play for a rival hockey team.
Shane was so wound up, so tense. Ilya hated that for him. He knew just how much it meant to Shane that they make a good impression, and so far, he felt like they'd been doing a good job of that. But clearly Shane was still concerned.
"So I will not wear the Raider's shirt again," Ilya said gently, though he didn't see what the big deal was. Yuna and David had accepted him even with it on. Surely Shane didn't think they'd take that back. Ilya kissed Shane's jaw and massaged down his sides and hips, doing his best to bring him back to himself. Physical touch always seemed to ground him. "You think too loud. Your parents will probably be pleased we're wearing anything," he teased.
"Here. What about this?" Reaching over Shane, Ilya grabbed a plain green v-neck t-shirt. "The color looks good on you." They could figure out Ilya's outfit next.
Shane let out a puff of air, turning around to give Ilya a hug. He’d found it so nice and calming earlier when Ilya had hugged him- it was stupid, they’d done so much more intimate things, but they hadn’t had much chance for this casual, quiet intimacy.
“Sorry, sorry. I don’t mean to be- you know.” He needed to get it together. This was ridiculous. He was probably burning through good will at this point, crumbling over nothing. He gave his head a shake, as though to clear it, then turned back to his closet. “Sure,” he said, accepting the shirt and pulling out a pair of khaki shorts. He pulled out a nice dark blue button down for Ilya, offering it over silently. “If you want. Or you can wear what you want. It’s fine either way.” He knew he was overthinking things- the problem was that knowing didn’t make it stop.
Ilya took the shirt and quickly pulled it on. He started to button it, then stopped and reached out for Shane, taking both his hands and pulling him close. "Button my shirt, Hollander," he said, the words soft but no less commanding. Shane could say no, if he wanted. Of course he could. Ilya wouldn't even be upset. He could button his own shirt - well, Shane's shirt. It wasn't about that. It was about giving Shane a task, something he could do well.
"There is nothing to apologize for. You are nervous. It's been a long day, and now we are having dinner with your parents. But nothing is going to happen here." Ilya wouldn't allow it. He'd do whatever it took to ensure Shane stayed comfortable and happy. Content. The whole reason they'd come here in the first place was so they could relax together, and Ilya was damned if he let anyone or anything interfere with that, including Shane's own parents.
Shane went willingly, beginning to button Ilya’s shirt over his well muscled chest. “I know.” That didn’t stop the anxiety, though. “I want to clean up. Make sure nothing’s been…. Left out.” Make sure there were no errant bottles of lube or incriminating condom wrappers lying around. “You can just relax. I’ll handle things.” Shane was the host, after all. He sorted Ilya’s shirt, then got dressed himself. He put on the green shirt, and a linen light blue shirt over top. He styled his hair, or at least attempted to before he just decided he wasn’t going to be happy with it no matter what. Then he went out into the rest of the cottage, scanning around for anything amiss, straightening pillows and adjusting things and definitely not obsessing over making sure everything was perfect. He thought he was hiding everything pretty well, actually.
Rather than following Shane around the cottage like a lost puppy, Ilya spread out the duvet and fluffed the pillows, desperate to do something. He could tell that Shane was still anxious, but Ilya didn't know what to do. He'd pulled out every trick he knew so far, every one that had worked in the past, but they hadn't quite worked the way they had before. Ilya had to admit that he was feeling more than a little out of his depth.
He finished getting ready and walked out into the living room, watching Shane float from place to place, never quite landing anywhere. Everything looked fine. Better than fine. It looked spotless. "Shane," Ilya said, frowning as he walked over. He didn't like feeling helpless, but there was nothing he could do to soothe his boyfriend. "What can I do? Make food? Start the oven?" He wasn't even sure what they were having, other than chicken.
“‘No, no, it’s okay. My mom’s bringing the chicken, and stuff for salad, and I’ll make brown rice, and my dad’s bringing beer, so everything’s done. You can just relax,” Shane replied, not quite meeting Ilya’s eyes as he looked around for something else to keep him busy. He usually couldn’t settle when there was this kind of anticipation- normally he’d do yoga, or try to meditate, but he felt weird doing that around Ilya. “I’ve got everything under control.” Except he didn’t. Very little was within his control right now- there was going to be a more formal collision of his two worlds, a dinner, three other unpredictable people to deal with. But he needed to be okay for Ilya. This felt like the first test of their relationship, and Shane didn’t want to fail it by being a mess.
Ilya wasn't sure what to do in this situation. How far to push, how much to let Shane go. It felt like he was missing something obvious, something that would help pull Shane out of his own head. Except he'd tried everything he knew. Years of living with his father and Alexei (and even his mother, though Ilya didn't want to think about that) meant he was good at reading people. Usually, that meant looking for signs of anger. But in the eight years they'd been... together, Ilya had learned how to read Shane pretty well. He was very quickly learning there was a difference between reading someone and knowing what to do to diffuse the situation, though.
"If you have everything under control, why do you look like you are about to throw up? Or pass out? Or both?" He stood toward one side of the living room, the same way he had before, after David spotted them. Shane had come to him, then, and part of Ilya hoped he would now, too, but he also didn't count on it. Ilya could ask how to help, of course, but he had a feeling Shane would brush him off and tell him everything was fine.
Fuck, Ilya was getting frustrated with him. But Shane didn’t know how to explain it. Ilya was right- everything had gone more or less well with his parents earlier, they’d been the one to suggest dinner, it was unlikely they were going to drop a bomb now. But there was something different from a panicked coming out, and having dinner with his parents and his boyfriend. He wanted everything to go perfectly, for everyone to get along, and the anxiety over things he couldn’t control, over being the middle man between all of the most important people in his life, being the one responsible for things going well- it was all too much. And Ilya kept wanting to know what was wrong, why Shane was being too much. Fuck, Shane was always too much. He should be happy about this- normal people would be happy about this.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help my face sometimes,” Shane said, sounding more frustrated than he intended it to come off. When he was already in his head, trying to hide it, and he wasn’t- fuck, it was always so much worse when someone else knew. When they wanted him to be normal and he just couldn’t. He went into the kitchen, grabbing a can of ginger ale. Something familiar, the sensations of the bubbles, the slightly sharp taste, might help him.
The whole situation felt like a rubber band that was being pulled tighter and tighter. It felt like it was only a matter of time before something snapped, and Ilya wanted - needed - to stave it off before it got there. He followed Shane to the kitchen, still staying a safe distance away, so Shane didn't feel like he was being smothered.
"Hey," he said softly, doing his best to keep his voice soothing. "Is not your face. You are... upset." That wasn't the right word, and Ilya knew it, but he didn't know how else to describe what was happening. "You can be upset with me." He frowned again. "Not with me, but... near me."
Ilya took a seat at the bar, watching as Shane took a sip of ginger ale. He looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, and everything Ilya tried only seemed to make it worse. Maybe Shane just needed to know that it was okay to be like this around Ilya. That he wasn't going to scare him off. Nothing he did was going to make Ilya want to leave. In fact, seeing Shane like this only made him want to stay more. To protect the man he loved.
"I'm not upset, Ilya, I'm just-" Shane huffed as he tried to find the right words. He envisioned the feelings circle he'd been shown over and over again as a kid, going through each emotion. Anger wasn't right, but sad didn't feel right either, and upset was part of sad. He was happy that his parents were going to get to know Ilya, but it wasn't just happy, or even mostly happy, because then his chest wouldn't hurt. Finally, he settled on the best word for it, even though it didn't fully encompass everything he felt. "I'm just stressed. And I don't think you can do anything to make it better."
People had wanted to help Shane in the past- social workers, EAs, teachers, his parents, coaches, friends- and often when they learned they couldn't help with this, they got frustrated, pulled back. The feeling of helplessness they got was too overwhelming, and Shane could see it, and the feelings of guilt that accompanied that were crushing. "There's no magic button you can press to make it stop, trust me, I've looked. It's just.... how I am, sometimes."
It hurt that Shane didn't think there was anything he could do to make it better. Not because Ilya felt like Shane blamed him but because that was what Ilya did. He made things better. It felt like a personal failure that he couldn't help Shane in his time of need, even if Shane didn't see it that way.
"Okay," Ilya said slowly, his eyes flickering as he tried to figure out where to go from here. Because there was no way in hell he was leaving Shane to deal with this on his own. "What do you do when this happens?" he asked, settling his chin in his hand. Apparently this wasn't the first time Shane had felt this way. Judging by the way he talked about it, it was at least somewhat normal. And that made Ilya feel worse, in some ways. How many times had he been like this when they were together? Had Ilya just not noticed? What else had he missed? He tucked away every tiny movement and shift in Shane's expression for later. Next time this happened, he wouldn't miss it.
“I don’t know,” Shane said, because trying to explain it to someone else felt hard. The demands of language felt hard. But that also wasn’t true- he did know. “Go for a run, sometimes. Or yoga can help. But sometimes, it just…..” he let out a slow breath of air, looking up at the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to see Ilya’s look of disappointment when he learned this wasn’t something that could be fixed. “Sometimes it feels like there’s an elephant on my chest, and no matter how much anyone pushes, it won’t move. You just gotta wait for the elephant to decide it wants to stand somewhere else.” It was a stupid metaphor, but accurate. Pushing only made the elephant more stubborn, and other people pushing just made Shane feel like he was being crushed more as the elephant dug in its heels. “And the elephant has performance anxiety, doesn’t like to move when other people are watching.”
Whatever feelings Ilya had about the situation, he shoved them to the side. Shane was trying to explain, and Ilya needed to listen. So he did. Movement, apparently, seemed to help. Which explained why sex was beneficial sometimes, but Ilya knew it wasn't a fix-all. Even if they had the time right now, it probably wouldn't help whatever Shane was experiencing in this moment. He hated the helplessness of it, knowing that he couldn't make this better. Knowing he couldn't take this thing from Shane and carry it for him. He nodded at the explanation, though, and slid off the stool. Walking around the island, he stopped just in front of Shane.
"Okay, so I cannot make the shy elephant go away by force. Does not work. Maybe... we try other things? Later, though, not now." If trying to push the elephant away didn't work, maybe there were other things that did. Ilya was willing to try. He held his arms open, an invitation rather than a command. "Will the elephant let me hug you?" He still wasn't entirely sure he understood the metaphor, but he was trying.
Shane couldn’t help a small smile tugging at his lips as he listened to his strong, manly boyfriend go along with this ridiculous elephant metaphor. Something about hearing Ilya agree, ask if the elephant would allow Ilya some access- fuck, it was almost enough to make him laugh. And it certainly helped begin to snap him out of it.
“Yes. I think the elephant would let you hug me.” Shane shuffled over, tucking himself into Ilya’s arms and resting his forehead against Ilya’s neck. Ilya’s arms around him felt like an anchor, the smell of Ilya’s cologne like a tranquilizer as he relaxed into the other man. He took a slow breath through his nose, letting it out slowly.
Some of the tension that had made a home in Ilya's shoulders eased as he held Shane close, nuzzling against his cheek. One hand found the hairs at the nape of Shane's neck, and he played gently with them, petting softly the way he'd always loved to. He might not be able to fix the situation, but he could at least stay with Shane while he dealt with it. And maybe the more they talked about it, the more they might be able to come up with other things to help - not to stop whatever was happening completely, but to cope with it when it came.
"Malysh," he murmured, his lips ghosting over the shell of Shane's ear. "Ya tebya dostanu." I've got you. And he always would. No matter what Shane was going through, even if Ilya couldn't make it stop, he would at least be there for him, to hold him and support him in whatever way Shane needed.
"You've got a nice voice," Shane murmured. There was something comforting about the confidence with which Ilya spoke in Russian. It was easy, fluid, he didn't have to stop and translate things in his head before speaking. Shane wanted so badly to learn Russian, so that Ilya could communicate with him the way he felt most comfortable. It was only fair, after Ilya had spent 8 years being the one on the back foot.
The compliment was unexpected and brought an earnest smile to Ilya's lips. He kept petting Shane's hair, swaying them slightly side to side, similarly to the way Shane had rocked him in the hotel room. There was just something about it that felt right, though Ilya couldn't say what that was. "You like my voice," he said, infusing it with lightness and humor. It was a statement, rather than a question. "Like it when I tell you to get on your knees and turn over and suck my cock." He'd never been told he had a nice voice before. Usually American women (and men) would remark on his accent, but never his voice. Ilya found he liked it. He just wished Shane could understand what he was saying.
God, Ilya's mouth was filthy. It sent a little jolt of arousal through Shane, no matter how anxious he felt. "Jesus, Ilya," Shane replied with a shaky laugh. "Meant, like, I bet you'd be good at singing." He absolutely could not get hard before his parents arrived. That would absolutely not help his anxiety. But it reminded him that there was life outside of the anxiety he was feeling right now. The soothing motion of the rocking had Shane relaxing minutely. He slid his hand up the back of Ilya's shirt, just to feel the heat of his skin.
Ilya raised an eyebrow. He hadn't ever thought of himself as an especially good singer. Sure, he'd done karaoke before, mostly in Russia but a few times with his teammates. But actually singing? Now he wanted to give it a try, if for no other reason than to make Shane happy. And maybe a little turned on. That was always an added bonus.
"One day," he said, "I will sing for you." He'd find a good song, one that let him show off a little bit. At Shane's hands on his skin, Ilya let out a soft hum. It felt nice, touching one another without any rush or need to take things further. Not for the first time, Ilya couldn't believe how lucky he'd gotten. "How is the elephant?" he asked after a few minutes.
“Took a couple feet off,” Shane murmured softly, far more relaxed as he’d settled into Ilya’s body. Ilya’s arms felt sturdy, holding Shane up and cradling his body.
Both their phones buzzed with a group text from Shane’s dad. “Heads up boys, we’re on our way,” sent David. Shane pulled out his phone, feeling the elephant lighten up just a bit more with how casual the text was. A group text with his parents- who could have thought that would be possible?
Ilya glanced sideways at Shane's phone, seeing the text. He couldn't help but laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Tell him thank you for the warning. And that we have clothes on," he said, knowing that Shane absolutely would not send at least the second part of the message. Now that Shane seemed mostly back to himself, Ilya felt like he could actually breathe again. He'd navigated through whatever this was, and everything was okay. They were okay. It made him feel like maybe, just maybe, this could work. There was still so much they didn't know about each other, but Ilya had already made up his mind. He was in this. He wanted it. Wanted to move to Canada and start a foundation with Shane and build a life with him. Everything else could be figured out.
Shane rolled his eyes at that, simply sending back a thumbs up emoji. “You know, you could send it yourself. You’re on the chat too,” Shane replied, though he knew Ilya wasn’t crazy enough to actually do that. It made him smile though, to know that his parents had already made the chat. They were already accepting, making space in their tight knit family of three for a fourth chair at the table. They’d never tried that with any of the (admittedly few) girlfriends Shane had brought home.
"Yes, but my phone is in my pocket and my hands are busy," he said, scratching Shane's scalp with one hand and rubbing his back with the other as though to prove his point. He didn't want to let go. Not just yet. Shane seemed better, more present, but that was only part of it. Ilya just loved touching Shane. Holding him. Feeling the solid weight of his body against Ilya's. It felt... right. Like a missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place. He supposed they should probably break apart soon. There wasn't much left to do to get ready for Yuna and David to arrive, but Ilya knew Shane would want to fluff a pillow for the fourth time or brush an imaginary speck of dust off the end table.
Shane let that go. He definitely didn’t want to push too hard, not when Ilya was already being so amazing about everything. This was far more than Ilya had signed up for, and just because he hadn’t protested so far didn’t mean that Shane should take it as an excuse to push until he found the boundaries. He’d let Ilya take it at his own pace. He leaned into the touch, smiling slightly as he was able to meet Ilya’s eyes. “Missed your calling as a masseuse. Could’ve had a whole other career,” he teased.
"Mmm, but you would be jealous," Ilya teased, rubbing his thumb over a knot of muscle in Shane's shoulder. "You would not want me touching anyone else like this. Making them moan the way I do to you." He savored the way Shane met his eyes, the deep brown gaze so open and trusting. "If you are lucky, after your parents leave, I will strip you down and put you on your stomach and rub your back until you are all relaxed and soft and boneless." And then he would make sure Shane was anything but soft. But that went without saying.
“That sounds nice,” Shane murmured. A small part of him did feel guilty, though. Ilya had been so amazing today, and Shane didn’t feel like he was holding up his end of the relationship. He was taking so much, he wanted to give too. Show Ilya how much he appreciated him. Something to repay the kindness. “But I don’t think most masseuses make their patients moan,” he teased. Ilya was right, though, the idea of the man touching someone else did have jealousy flaring in Shane’s stomach.
"Then you have not had a good masseuse," Ilya said solemnly. He'd gone to see the team's massage therapist on more than one occasion, especially after a particularly hard game. She was a no-nonsense woman in her fifties, but even still, she'd drawn out a few choice sounds from Ilya that, under any other circumstances, probably could have been interpreted as something far less platonic than they actually were. "Don't worry. I'll show you how it's done," he added, swatting Shane on the ass.
Shane misinterpreted, his brow furrowing. “Have you been to- like, a happy ending masseuse?” He asked. Not that it was any of his business, really- they still hadn’t actually had a talk about being official. And Ilya was a grown man, perfectly capable of doing as he pleased, with whomever he pleased, for any sum of money he pleased. Still, he couldn’t help the look of grumpy jealousy on his face as he thought of Ilya paying for something that he could have gotten from Shane for free.
Ilya blinked and frowned, trying to figure out what Shane meant. A happy ending? What did that have to do with a massage? Clearly it was upsetting to Shane, the thought of him getting one of those.
"What is a 'happy ending' masseuse?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "I see the Raiders' massage therapist. She is very good with her hands. Is all." The way Shane was looking at him made Ilya think that probably wasn't what he had in mind.
Shane’s eyes widened slightly with understanding and he blushed with embarrassment. “Right, yeah, no, for sure, that makes sense. I’ve done physio and massage therapy for sports, I get that.” It was far too embarrassing to admit where Shane’s mind went, especially since it was a little insulting to think Ilya would. “It’s good that you do. Helps keep you limber.”
There was no way in hell Ilya was letting that go. Not with the way Shane turned pink from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. "Shane," he said, settling his hands on his boyfriend's hips. "What is a 'happy ending' masseuse?" This conversation could either end with Shane telling him or Ilya looking it up on his phone. Regardless, Ilya was going to figure it out, and when he did... well, he wasn't really sure what he would do with the information, but he'd figure it out once he knew what the fuck Shane was even talking about.
“I mean, I’ve never been to one,” Shane said defensively, only growing redder. Of all the terms he’d ever had to explain to Ilya, this was definitely the most embarrassing. “It’s just, like- you go get a massage, and at the end of it, they-“ Shane made a crude motion for jacking off, before stopping as the embarrassment got too much. Which was silly, really, because how many times had Shane done that same thing for real? He was being absurd. “You were talking about moaning during a massage, and I just thought… you know.”
Ilya's eyebrows inched toward his hairline as he realized what Shane was implying. He couldn't help himself. He laughed. Not a controlled chuckle but a full body laugh that took his breath away. Seeing Shane all flustered and embarrassed was one of Ilya's favorite things, even if Shane, himself, hated it.
Once he'd finally calmed himself enough, Ilya pulled Shane in and kissed him, his lips still curved in a smile. "No, Hollander, I have never been to that kind of masseuse. But trust me, when I give you a massage later, it will come with a happy ending."
Fuck, Ilya was beautiful as he laughed. That was one bright spot in this at least. Shane had only ever seen him laugh close to this once before, when he’d told Ilya about hiring a stylist. Shane was struck with the ridiculous urge to propose on the spot, so he could ensure he’d get to hear that laugh for the rest of his life. He couldn’t help but smile and chuckle in return, even with his red cheeks.
“Shut up, you’re the one talking about moaning and everything.” Shane shook his head, a fond if bashful smile on his cheeks. “I’m going to regret teaching you that phrase, aren’t I?” One thing Ilya loved was learning new innuendos or dirty words. They’d made Shane lose focus before, the man was a menace.
Ilya tipped Shane's chin up and kissed each of his red cheeks, then the bridge of his nose. There was something so surreal about this, standing in Shane Hollander's hidden cottage, kissing him, teasing him, all the while getting ready to have dinner with his parents. Nothing in his entire life could have prepared him for something like this. The casual domesticity of it. Ilya couldn't remember the last time he'd ever experienced anything close. Maybe he never had.
"You might. I won't," he said with a small shrug. He was going to use that phrase any chance he got, just to watch Shane get all flustered. Already, Ilya could imagine himself at the face-off with Shane, promising him a happy ending after the game, no matter the outcome (which would definitely be Boston winning.)
Thankfully for Shane, his parents knocked on the door at that moment, saving him from having to reply. Shane felt a brief spike of nerves and adrenaline, like when the first whistle sounded at the face off. Unluckily, his brain did not lock in as he did when he was actually playing hockey. He pulled away from Ilya, going to the front door. He took a second to fix his hair, straight his shirt, not wanting to give his parents the wrong idea. Okay. Game time.