Work Text:
July 2017
He’d dreamed of it, of course. Again and again. Intrusively. Obsessively. Against his will.
But here at The Cottage, in Shane’s real bed, covered with too many pillows, they had finally—finally—gotten to sleep side by side, legs tangled and foreheads touching, breathing each other in.
He’d woken early, as he always did. Ilya never slept well—his mind was hard to quiet and his body restless—but here beside Shane, he held himself still. Shane’s chest lifted with deep and even breaths beside him, the shell of his ear and arch of his cheekbones traced with the first blue light of dawn. Ilya couldn’t look away if he tried. Couldn’t blink in case it wasn’t real.
He’d been in hundreds of beds, but Ilya had never slept beside someone, not since he was a boy and would crawl into his mother’s bed and have her hug the bad dreams away until he drifted off. He hadn’t trusted his hookups over the years to see him vulnerable. This was a first, one of many firsts he’d shared with Shane—all his best firsts, really. All the ones that mattered.
The cottage was peaceful, a beautiful oasis. Here, he could let himself, just maybe, relax into this. Whatever this was. They were on the brink of so many possibilities, and they had two weeks away from the judgmental world to figure out what came next. For now, he could stop looking over his shoulder. Let his eyes rest on Shane as long as he wanted, rather than as long as he dared.
Shane huffed, a cute wrinkle furrowing his brow as he rolled over in his sleep, then snuggled back, spooning into to his warmth. Ilya’s breath caught, his toes curling. Боже мой, my god, he was beautiful. Draping an arm across Shane’s waist, he pulled him closer, nestling his chin on his beloved’s shoulder.
The first golden rays of sun were inching across the duvet, glinting off the water. He watched, mesmerized, as the light danced first on Shane’s regal nose, then gilded his sooty lashes. This—this—was how he wanted to remember their first full night together, on the edge of something more. This perfect, stubborn, competitive, rigid, darling, beautiful man was maybe, maybe his.
He’d said so last night, at least. And let Ilya leave a mark, their first hickey almost exactly 7 years after their first kiss. Another first for his collection. Not that he was counting…
Ilya nuzzled his nose against the bruise under the hinge of Shane’s jaw. мой, mine. He wanted to be branded too—to wear Shane’s mark in the same spot. Claimed.
Breathing in the sharp pine and amber scent of him, Ilya’s thoughts spiraled in familiar patterns. He’d tried so hard over the years to end this, but every time he tried to make himself walk away or stop thinking about Hollander, he sunk deeper.
It didn’t make sense. They didn’t make sense. He’d never met someone so infuriating. He’d never met someone so addictive. He’d rehearsed these arguments again and again in his head since last fall and he’d never ended on any other answer than Shane.
Anyone could see that they didn’t fit, at least not on paper. Not only rivals but opposites in almost every way. Even worse, Shane was so normal. Ilya was…not. Shane had a family who loved him, a team that idolized him, loyal friendships. Ilya might call him boring, but it was more of an endearment at this point. Hell, he wished his own life had been a little more boring. Ilya would bring a bit of darkness wherever he’d go. Genetics, probably. Fuck.
If they chose each other these next two weeks, what then? They’d be loving in secret, but still actively choosing to love each other. If Shane even wanted that… But what if Ilya could be brave enough to ask for it, and to make it work? It would be hard on both of them, with the game they loved on the line. It would be impossibly, torturously hard to love this man only in the shadows, but better than not having him at all.
A sleepy little snore shocked him from his spiral. He grinned, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist teasing Shane about that later. He LOVED teasing him, fighting with him, competing with him….loving him. Ilya sighed. He could try to be brave for him, too.
Smoothing his thumb over the warm skin of Shane’s side, Ilya searched his face for signs of waking. When Shane gave another huffy little snore, Ilya leaned closer. “я тебя люблю,” he whispered, I love you, kissing each of Shane’s freckles, pausing to kiss to his favorite twice, and ending with a brush of their noses.
Pulling back, he drank in the sight as the sun crept further across the face of the man he loved. Ilya’s throat tightened and he hugged him closer. As the golden dawn lit those stunning freckles one by one, he vowed that someday he’d be brave enough to love him in the light.