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Ilya's hands ran through the long strands of hair that fell down onto the floral pattern of his mother's dress. Her hair was a honey gold color and curly, like his hair. He glanced up to her face, to the moles scattered across, to her blue eyes that stared off straight ahead as she rubbed her hand up and down Ilya's back. He knew he looked a lot like his mother, knew that it was a big reason Alexei hated him; he hated that he had to look more like their father, and Ilya was constantly compared to their mother.
Мама, что случилось? / Mama, chto sluchilos?
"Mama, what's wrong?"
Ilya asked, his face scrunched up in confusion as he saw a single tear start to fall down his mother's face. His mother's eyes shot down to Ilya, almost as if she had forgotten he was there. A smile that did not quite meet her eyes plastered her face as she moved her hand from Ilya's back to quickly wipe the stray tear from her face.
Ничего, всё хорошо моя любовь. / Nichego, vso khorosho moya lyubov.
"Nothing, everything is fine my love."
Her hand drew up to Ilya's face, running her thumb over his cheek, then up to the space in between his eyebrows where she rubbed soft circles. To rub the worry away, she would say. Then, her thumb ran over his eyelids as he closed them. She pulled Ilya to her, cradling the back of his head as he dropped it into her shoulder. He breathed her in, the scent of amber and lilac and mama.
Кто-то полюбит тебя сильнее, чем этот человек. / Kto-to polyubit tebya sil'neye, chem etot chelovek.
"Someone will love you better than this."
Ilya thinks he must have misheard her- cannot comprehend what she said. He cannot think of someone more loving, of anyone who could love Ilya more than his mama. Ilya thinks of asking what she meant, but with her hand back to soothingly running through his curls and the soft kiss she presses to his head, he decides not to question her.
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Ilya woke with a gasp. He glanced around at his surroundings and started to recognize where he was. Childhood photos of Shane and his parents sat on the dresser across from where he was lying. He turned his head to the 3:47 shining on the bedside table clock. Ilya tried to slow his breathing, to ground himself in the moment.
You're in Shane's house. You're in Shane's bed. You're not a child anymore, you're an adult with a wonderful boyfriend who has an equally wonderful family. You're safe.
"Nightmare?" Ilya was startled out of his mental pep talk as Shane's words vibrated against his skin. He glanced down at his boyfriend, his face pressed to Ilya's chest, and his arm slung lazily over him.
"No." Ilya said, and it wasn't a lie. A nightmare would have been being forced to see how his mother looked when he had found her. This time, he mercifully dreamed of a time when she looked beautiful, radiant even. When she cradled him to her chest and comforted him. When she was alive and breathing.
"Go back to sleep, moya lyubov." Ilya said, running his hand through Shane's hair soothingly. Shane hummed, then propped his chin up on Ilya's chest, looking up at him. He stared at him for a moment before he leaned over and clicked on the light by the bedside, casting a warm glow over the two of them. Ilya wished this had been one of those nights where Shane graciously did not feel like talking, but it seemed he was not so lucky.
"You're secretly a softie, you know." Shane said as Ilya ran his hand up and down Shane's arm. Ilya raised an eyebrow.
"Me? Soft?" He said, incredulously.
"Just as Russians do not blush, they are not soft." Well... There was one Russian whom he would have described as soft. But she was long gone by now. Ilya shook his head to recenter himself and thought of something quickly to diffuse the situation.
"I'm never soft around you." he added, a smirk plastered on his face as he winked lewdly at Shane. Shane rolled his eyes dramatically, a smile plastered on his face. Ilya felt instant relief that his plan had worked.
"I'm serious, Ilya. You act all cocky and tough-"
"If cocky means having great cock then I think that is correct-"
"But it's all for show. I know you." Shane said, poking an accusatory finger into Ilya's cheek. Ilya looked into Shane's eyes, looked to his stupidly sweet smile, and the groggy, dopey look on his face from just having woken up.
He thought back to his mother, the dream, the moment shortly before her death when she had said those words to Ilya. How he could have maybe prevented what happened if he had just said something. He couldn't help but think about those words, about how they applied to Shane in this moment.
Кто-то полюбит тебя сильнее, чем этот человек. / Kto-to polyubit tebya sil'neye, chem etot chelovek.
"Someone will love you better than this."
Shane squinted at Ilya, and tilted his head slightly in thought.
"I know "tebya" is "you", and "etot" is "this"... I'm too sleepy to translate the rest. What does that mean, Ilya?"
Ilya froze. He didn't realize he had said it out loud- didn't know why he had said it. He had said it thoughtlessly, had been too caught up in his thoughts and in the dream of his mama, had forgotten his painfully smart and 'good at everything' boyfriend had been trying to learn Russian for him. How could he explain what the words meant? That they encapsulated all of Ilya's fears about his relationship with Shane?
"Is nothing, moya lyubov." he said, continuing to stroke Shane's face. He hoped Shane would believe him at his word this once, that Shane would allow him to keep his emotions that were now bubbling to the surface under wraps. But Shane was staring at him with that look on his face, and he knew he would have to explain.
"It means... "Someone will love you better than this." Ilya paused for a moment and swallowed. He felt instantly grateful that Shane did not butt in, did not ask questions, and allowed him the time to provide an answer. Shane always knew what to do. Still, Ilya felt the words spilling out of him, felt himself struggle to properly translate an excuse for why he just said something so depressing to his boyfriend of all people.
"I did not mean it to mean anything. It... it is something my mother said to me. I had just had a dream about her, and- I am sorry, I should not have said that now- was cruel. Have just been thinking about her... is all."
Ilya thought of all of the worst scenarios as he stared at Shane- knew his attempt to scramble and think of something to say would only prove to Shane that his words were right, that Shane could and would find someone to love him better than this.
"Woah, woah. Ilya. Are you having a panic attack?" Shane asked, sitting up slightly and running his hands over Ilya's shoulders and down his arms. Ilya let out a humorless chuckle, shook his head, as Shane pulled him up to lean against the headboard.
"Funny joke- I've heard that joke before because I am the one who said it to you-"
"No, Ilya, you need to breathe. Please just- take some deep breaths with me, okay?" Shane said, his hands going up to hold Ilya's face.
Now that Shane had mentioned it, he was having a difficult time getting air into his lungs. Everything felt tight and heavy, even though Shane was not even lying on top of him anymore.
"Ilya, look at me." Shane said, more demanding than he had ever heard from him. Ilya's eyes snapped up to Shane's as he nodded at him.
"Good, okay, good. Now take in a deep breath. Come on, breathe with me." Shane said, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Ilya allowed Shane to walk him through his breathing, let him run his hands over his face and arms, and everywhere in an attempt to feel grounded to him. When his breathing finally slowed, Shane ran his hand through Ilya's hair and pulled him down to his shoulder, straddling him much like he did that night after the All-Star game, when they had finally shared their feelings with each other, when Ilya had revealed how scared he was for his family to find out the truth about him.
He cradled Ilya, rocking him softly back and forth as he whispered soft words of encouragement into his ear, as he peppered kisses over the side of his face that was not buried in his shoulder. After a few moments, when Ilya's breathing had slowed and his heart rate returned to normal, Shane pulled back slightly, holding Ilya's face in both hands and maintaining eye contact.
"Ilya, I need you to look at me and listen to me when I say this."
Ilya looked into Shane's eyes and nodded slowly. In all seriousness, Ilya knew he would listen and do anything Shane asked of him.
"No one will love me better than you do."
"Shane-"
"No- just listen. Please, just listen." Shane said, his thumbs rubbing up and down Ilya's cheeks. Ilya swallowed and tried to keep the tears he felt welling up in his eyes from spilling.
"I have never loved someone as much as I love you- I didn't think I was capable of loving someone until you. I don't just love you for your looks... even though you are really fucking hot." Shane said, a smile creeping up on his face.
"I love you for the way you know what I'm going to say before I even say it, know what I want before I even know I want it. For the way I have never- and I mean never felt pressure from you to have sex or perform in a certain way." Ilya couldn't help the need to cut in.
"Well, that is bare minimum-"
"And yet, with you it's not. You always go above and beyond to check in with me, to make sure I'm okay, to always attempt to put my needs before yours. You are good, Ilya. I know you, sometimes better than I think I know myself. And It scares me to think that you don't think you deserve a love like this, that you don't deserve us." Shane said, his hands sliding down to Ilya's shoulders. Ilya didn't know how to respond to that, was never good at compliments without deflection. So he just sat and listened, like Shane had asked him to.
"I love the way you don't shame me for... for how I am. I know I can be... a bit of a burden sometimes." Shane said, tilting his head to the side. It was clear to Ilya now that Shane was having a difficult time wording what he meant to say, or that he hoped Ilya would not make him say it out loud. Ilya knew what he meant, could read it off of his expression. For making sure your fridge is set to a certain temperature so it doesn't make the drinks too cold. For not actually making fun of the foods I eat. For not mentioning the times I leave my socks on or fold my clothes during sex.
This time, Ilya reached up to hold Shane's face, to insist he listen.
"You are not a burden, moya lyubov. Never a burden. I love to take care of you, I love every part of you... and I'm sorry to have scared you. I did not mean to." Ilya hoped his words sounded as sincere as he meant them to be.
"Why did you say that, Ilya? Do you really think that- that someone else would love me better?" Shane asked. He did not ask in a way that made Ilya think he was judging him or trying to force him to reveal things. It became clear to Ilya that Shane just wanted to understand Ilya. To help. Ilya let out a breath he did not know he was holding in.
"My mother said it a week before she died. I had dream about it. I was just thinking- how you could find someone better for you. Someone who could love you in the open, someone you would not have to hide with. Someone who could love you without the sadness that Mama probably gave me."
Ilya wanted to hide. He looked everywhere but at Shane, terrified that this would finally be the moment that made him realize they should not be together. But before he could add on the fact that he was sorry for sharing such sad words, that he would only be happy from now on, that he would never speak again if it meant not scaring Shane, Shane leaned in and pressed his lips to Ilya's feverishly.
Both men breathed heavily in between kissing, grasping, and pulling at different parts of each other. Ilya groaned into the kiss as Shane ground down on him and reached down to grab Shane's hips. Shane pulled back for a moment, heaving.
"Do you want me to..." Ilya knew what he was saying. Take control. Ilya smiled softly and leaned down to kiss Shane once again.
"Thank you. But no, I want to." Ilya said. Shane raised his eyebrows, running his hand up and down Ilya's arm, looking at him with a questioning look.
"Please, Shane. I need to."
Ilya didn't have the words to explain that he needed to have control in this way, that he felt such little control over his life and emotions and thoughts and this was the one place he could be in control and be good. He didn't have the words to tell Shane that he had lived his life in Russia in a never ending state of submission to his father, to his brother, to his country, and Shane had given him the first taste of love and life and freedom he had ever had. He didn't have the words now, but after successfully sharing his feelings about his mother with Shane, he thinks he might eventually have the words in the future.
Instead of questioning him, Shane nodded in understanding. He always understood. Ilya brought his hand up to Shane's face and held his chin as he brought him into a bruising kiss before he leaned back, stared into Shane's eyes, and whispered, "Take off your pants."
Shane scrambled off the bed, shoving his pajama pants down his hips and tossing them into the hamper. Ilya couldn't help but smile at him, knowing he would have folded his pants if he weren't in the comfort of his own home. And how lucky was Ilya to be able to have him in a place like this? A place with childhood photos of Shane plastered to the walls and signs of their day-to-day life scattered around the home. Shane's glasses and book on "Russian for the Perfectionist" on the right beside table, and Ilya's book on McGill University (he needed something to talk with Shane's dad about) propped up next to his Apple Watch on the left bedside table.
Shane pulled his shirt and boxers off, tossing them into the hamper with his pants, as he stood at the end of the bed, waiting for Ilya. Ilya smiled and crawled to the end of the bed, leaning up on his knees to cup Shane's face and capture him in another kiss. He felt Shane pulling at his shirt, and grabbed at the back of his collar, breaking from the kiss to pull it over his head. Shane held onto the shirt, tossing it along with his clothes as he leaned back in to kiss Ilya.
Shane reached down to Ilya's pants, but Ilya grasped onto his wrist to stop him as he shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Ilya smirked up at Shane and patted his left leg as he reached up to Shane's hip and ran his fingers soothingly over his skin. He would not guide him down, he needed to make sure Shane was into everything they did along the way. So instead, he kept one hand on Shane's hip and verbalized his request.
"Come on, get yourself off on my leg." Ilya said. He watched as Shane's eyes darkened as he reached for Ilya's shoulders and slowly lowered himself down. He stared into Ilya's eyes as he slowly started to grind. Ilya could feel how hard he was through his pants and guided Shane's grinding with the hand he had placed on his hip.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to Shane in a messy kiss as Shane started to pick up the pace. Ilya leaned back, brought his left hand up to Shane's face, and slid his thumb over his lips. Shane's lips parted as he slid the thumb into his mouth, moaning as he sucked on it lightly.
"Good boy. Faster." Ilya whispered. Shane moaned again and immediately obeyed as his hips picked up speed. Ilya looked at Shane as he blinked his eyes slowly, spaced out. Ilya loved seeing Shane like this; endlessly obedient and beautiful.
He thinks about the reason why he has always favored control in the bedroom, and why Shane likely favors the opposite. Since he was little, Shane has always been in control, has had to perfect his speech and appearance, and step up to be a role model.
Ilya always hated watching the interviews where they placed so much pressure on Shane's shoulders. Ilya had a lot of pressure, but could easily play it off with his flippant demeanor and asshole persona on the ice. Shane had to be perfect, had to eat, work out, and market himself perfectly. He knows it's a lot of effort for Shane to perform for others, to smile and act for the reporters and cameras and publicists and even for his teammates.
But here, all Ilya asked of Shane was that he be honest, that he tell Ilya if he does not want to do something, and that he set aside his control and let Ilya handle it for him. It's somewhere that Shane doesn't have to perform; he just has to be.
Ilya is snapped out of his thoughts as he hears Shane's moans start to get louder as he grinds down on Ilya. He pulled his thumb out of Shane's mouth with a pop and used his hand to stop Shane's movements. He heard Shane let out a groan of frustration and leaned in to kiss Shane before pressing a kiss to the corner of Shane's mouth.
"I know, sweetheart, I'm not going to leave you like this." Ilya slid off the bed, grasping Shane's arms as he spun the pair around and pushed Shane back flat onto the bed. Shane looked up at Ilya reverently as he leaned over and grabbed a pillow. He tapped his fingers on Shane's hip twice, and Shane pulled them up as Ilya slid the pillow underneath.
He leaned forward and pushed Shane's legs up as Shane grasped onto them. He reached into the bedside table and coated his fingers in lube before leaning down and raising his eyebrows at Shane. "Okay?" Ilya asked, waiting for a response. Shane nodded quickly, bracing for the moment of intrusion.
"Words, moya lyubov." Ilya said, tapping Shane's leg with his free hand.
"Yes- yes, Ilya, please." Shane begged. Ilya slowly slid a finger inside, staring at Shane's face for any sign of pain. He worked his fingers into Shane, adding another when he confirmed with Shane that he was doing okay.
Ilya blinked at the beautiful sight in front of him, at Shane spread out and open for Ilya. Only for Ilya. Suddenly, the need to be inside Shane became overwhelming.
Ilya pulled his fingers from Shane and yanked his pants down, pulling himself free. He crawled back up the bed and lined himself up to Shane, as he leaned down and captured him in a kiss. Shane's hands came up to Ilya's face, cradling him softly.
"Ready?" Ilya asked as he pulled back from the kiss. Shane nodded his head quickly.
"Always." Shane whispered softly, staring into Ilya's eyes. Ilya felt his eyes welling up with tears at everything that was happening, at the thought that Shane was his, and he was Shane's. At the thought that he was worthy of the love that Shane gave him. Of the thought that Shane loved him back. He let out a choked sob, no longer trying to hold back as he pushed into Shane.
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Ilya let out a soft laugh as he lay flat on his back, his breathing slowing down. Shane was once again lying on top of Ilya, sprawled out in an exhausted heap. They would need to get up and shower soon, when Shane finally got out of his after-sex haze and realized he was filthy and lying on clean sheets. But for now, they were blissfully coming down, limbs tangled together.
He glanced down to see Shane's brows scrunched together, and Ilya raised a hand up, rubbing circles into the line formed between his brows. That only seemed to make Shane more confused, though. Ilya, without a second thought, mumbled the words "To rub the worry away." Tears formed in his eyes as he watched the corners of Shane's mouth curl up into a smile. He watched as Shane reached up and softly brushed away Ilya's tears.
His mother had been right after all; someone had loved Ilya, and Ilya would fight to keep that love with everything he had.
"Do not tell anyone." Ilya said as his tears finally stopped. Shane's smile dropped slightly.
"Don't tell anyone, what?" he asked. Ilya trailed his fingers up and down Shane's arm, as he had earlier in the night.
"That I am softie. I am only soft for you." Ilya said. But because he couldn't help himself...
"But not as much as I am hard for you."