Work Text:
The park was busy that afternoon.
Kids running everywhere. Parents calling after them. Dogs barking somewhere near the path. The air had that early-autumn chill, but the sun was still warm and the playground was full.
Ilya Rozanov stood near the edge of the sandbox, hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching his son with careful attention.
The boy was currently attempting to climb the small wooden structure that led to the slide.
He was three. And fearless.
“Solnyshko,” Ilya called calmly, his Russian accent softening the word. “Be careful.”
The boy turned immediately.
Bright eyes. Freckles scattered across his nose. Brown hair that refused to behave.
And a face that looked so much like Shane Hollander it sometimes startled Ilya even now.
“Papa!” the boy shouted happily.
Then he slid down the slide, boots bumping loudly at the bottom, before running straight toward him.
Ilya crouched automatically as the small body collided with him in a hug, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
“What is it?” Ilya asked.
The boy looked up at him very seriously.
“Want ice cream.”
Ilya sighed.
“You had ice cream yesterday,” he says. “You cannot have ice cream every day.”
The boy’s entire face fell into a dramatic pout. Freckles scrunching. Bottom lip pushing forward.
The exact same expression Shane made when he was losing an argument.
Ilya narrowed his eyes slightly.
That was absolutely Shane’s face.
“Papa,” the boy tried again.
“No.”
“Pleeeease.”
“No.”
The boy crossed his arms and shuffled his feet. After some time, he looked up again with big hopeful eyes.
“Just little one?”
Ilya held firm.
“No ice cream today.”
The boy’s pout deepened. Freckles and all. It was extremely powerful.
Ilya lasted approximately five seconds.
Then he sighed heavily.
“…okay.”
The boy’s head snapped up.
“Okay maybe you can have one today.”
The pout instantly disappeared.
“YAY!”
The boy bounced excitedly and grabbed Ilya’s hand.
“Chocolate!”
Ilya stood, letting the small hand pull him toward the ice cream stand across the park.
“You are manipulating me,” Ilya informed him calmly.
“What is manipulating?”
The boy grinned. He had Shane’s smile too. Dangerous combination.
Ilya cannot help but smile back.
As they waited in line, the boy leaned against Ilya’s leg.
“Papa?”
“Da.”
“Daddy coming home today?”
Ilya softened slightly.
“Da.”
“After hockey?”
“Da.”
The boy thought about that. Then asked seriously: “Daddy bring snacks?”
Ilya chuckled quietly.
“Da. Probably many snacks.”
The boy nodded, satisfied. Then he looked up again.
“Daddy say I look like him.”
Ilya crouched slightly to meet his eyes.
“You do.”
The boy considered that.
“Am I handsome like Daddy?”
Ilya smiled faintly.
“Da. Very handsome.”
The boy beamed.
“Good.”
Then he pointed urgently at the counter.
“Papa! Ice cream!”
Ilya stood again, shaking his head.
“Yes, solnyshko. Ice cream.”
-----
The apartment was quiet when Shane got home.
Their son had fallen asleep early after the park, a combination of running around for two hours and the chocolate ice cream Papa absolutely did not intend to buy.
Ilya had carried him to bed while Shane cleaned up the small disaster in the kitchen.
Now the lights were dim, the apartment calm in that rare way it only was after their three-year-old finally stopped moving. Ilya could finally have some work done. Yuna has been constantly following him up about a contract review.
Shane wandered down the hallway toward their bedroom.
The door was open.
Ilya was sitting at the small desk near the window, laptop open, and a stack of printed documents beside him.
He looked freshly showered, hair still slightly damp.
Shane leaned against the doorway.
“Hi.”
Ilya glanced up briefly.
“Hi.”
Then he went back to reading. Shane watched him for a moment.
“You’re working.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Contract for Irina Foundation,” Ilya said, flipping a page. “Yuna sent new version. She wants it reviewed yesterday.”
Shane hummed thoughtfully. Then, he wandered fully into the room. Then closer. Then leaned over the back of Ilya’s chair, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“You smell good.”
Ilya didn’t look up.
“I showered.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
Another page flipped. Shane waited. Then he said casually:
“Do you want to shower together.”
Ilya paused. Very slowly, he looked up at him.
“…I just showered.”
“So.”
“So I am not dirty.”
“You could get dirty again.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. Shane grinned. Ilya turned back to the contract.
“I need to finish this.”
Shane leaned heavier against the chair.
“How long.”
“Maybe one hour.”
“One hour.”
“Da.”
Shane sighed dramatically.
“Okay.”
Ilya kept reading. Then he saw Shane still not going into the shower.
“We could cuddle after,” Ilya negotiated. “In one hour.”
Shane straightened.
And then—
He pulled out the pout. Freckles across his nose. Bottom lip pushed out slightly.
The exact same one their son had used at the park earlier.
Ilya looked up again.
He froze.
“…no.”
Shane said nothing. Just looked at him. Pouting.
Ilya narrowed his eyes.
“That is illegal.”
Shane tilted his head slightly. Still pouting.
Ilya sighed and looked back at the contract.
“I am immune to this.”
Shane said quietly: “Are you?”
Ilya kept reading. For about six seconds. Then he exhaled.
“…Shane.”
“What.”
“You are grown man, Shane.”
“Yes.”
“You are not three years old.”
“Debatable.”
Ilya rubbed his face.
“Stop.”
Shane did not stop.
The pout deepened slightly. Freckles. Big eyes.
Weaponized Hollander expression.
Ilya stared at him. Then at the contract. Then back at him.
“…this is psychological warfare.”
Shane shrugged.
“Maybe.”
Ilya leaned back in his chair, defeated.
“You teach our son this.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You both make the same face.”
“It’s genetic.”
Ilya sighed deeply.
“Wow. Genetic.”
Ilya slowly closed the laptop. Shane’s eyes brightened immediately.
“Really?”
Ilya stood up.
“You are terrible.”
Shane grinned.
“Thank you.”
Ilya walked toward the bathroom.
Shane followed. Smug. Very smug.
Ilya stopped in the doorway and turned back toward him.
“You know I had important work.”
“You did.”
“And you manipulated me.”
“I did.”
Ilya shook his head.
“I cannot win argument in this household.”
Shane wrapped his arms around his waist from behind.
“You could try.”
Ilya snorted softly.
Then he reached back and pulled Shane into the bathroom with him.
“Next time,” Ilya said dryly, “I bring contract into shower.”
Shane laughed.
“Good plan.”
Ilya turned the water on.
-----
For a long time, Ilya had believed his future would be very simple.
Hockey. Hookups. Sports cars.
He had expected something cold and isolated. A life where he kept things locked away carefully because that was simpler. A life where losing something would not hurt, because he had nothing important to lose.
He never imagined feeling this much warmth. From the two small sunshines in his life.
Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, warm skin, freckles, and familiar laughter filling the quiet bathroom.
Somewhere down the hall, their son was sleeping after conquering the park and negotiating for chocolate ice cream with alarming success.
Between Shane and their son, Ilya was completely outnumbered.
But as he pressed a kiss to Shane’s shoulder, he decided that losing arguments in this household was a very small price to pay.
A very small one.