Archive of Our Own ^beta

The hottest guy Shane has ever seen is sitting beside his hospital bed. He is trying not to stare, but it's super hard not to, especially since said hot guy is smiling at him; at Shane!

"You're awake!" the Greek God exclaims happily. Okay, maybe not Greek. That accent isn't Greek. It's something though. Definitely not Canadian. Were they not in Canada?

"I am awake," Shane replies, nodding, hoping the response will encourage the guy to keep talking and smiling at him like that, like Shane is something precious and beautiful and not just a boring hockey player. The guy's eyes are practically sparkling and there's literally a beam of warm morning light illuminating his perfect features. Shane feels a hopeful, dopey smile take over his own face in response.

"How are you feeling?" The Angel asks, taking Shane's hand and caressing the back with his thumb.

"Uh," Shane says, still smiling, and still staring. He's actually afraid to close his eyes or even blink. "Um, good, yeah. Fantastic! Thank you, uh, doctor?" Shane tries. 

Hottest Man on Earth snorts, looking deeply amused. "Ah, no. Definitely not doctor. The nurse said you'd be groggy and dis–...disson…" he stops, looking frustrated. "Dis-something. English is so stupid sometimes. Whatever word means more serious for loopy. You are clearly that."

Shane blinks, stuck on the not-his-doctor thing. "I am not groggy or loopy. I can do one hundred push-ups."

Sexy Fashion Model snorts again. "Absolutely not. You just got out of surgery, sweetheart. No exercise for you any time soon."

Shane's eyes grow wide. "Sweetheart? We're sweethearts?"

"Oh, yes."

"You're my sweetheart? Me, Shane?"

"Yes," the Celebrity Movie Star laughs. "You Shane, me Ilya, we sweethearts. I have called us lovers, but you hated that."

Shane wrinkles his nose. "Ew."

"Yes, so you have said," Ilya says, looking fond. "Can I get you some water? Are you thirsty?"

"Yes! I want a ginger ale. With ice, please."

"I'm sorry, Shane." He looked it too. "No ginger ale just yet, I know it is your favorite. Water only for now. I do not want lovely Nurse Sherry to yell at me, and you need to heal. Here," Ilya says, pressing the button to incline the bed so Shane was sitting up more and then he brings a plastic water cup complete with straw up to Shane's mouth. 

***

Ilya is worried Shane is going to take the cup, reject the straw, and spill water all over himself in a stubborn display of reclaimed independence, but Shane only leans forward quite obediently and, after only two tries, manages to get the straw into his mouth, sucking greedily.

When the cup is empty, Ilya asks, "Want any more?" and Shane shakes his head.

"Your name is…Eel-yah?" Shane asks. 

"Ilya Rosanov. Sometimes Lily."

Shane's forehead does that adorable scrunching thing that Ilya loves. "Lily?"

"Mm, yes," Ilya says, amused. 

"Are you…not-ban…non-bine…non-binder-y?"

"Ah, no. Is inside joke. I am Lily and you are Jane."

"Nooo," Shane hiccups a laugh. "I'm not Jane, I'm Shhhh-ane! Shh-ayne Hollander." 

"I know, sweetheart."

Shane blinks for a while and then stares at Ilya for a long time after that, his gaze captivated like Ilya is a particularly exciting hockey game.

Finally, Ilya asks, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinkiiiing," Shane whispers. "Wow, you are gorgeous." His voice is awed.

Ilya startles, and then laughs with his whole body for a full minute. After he's pulled himself together, he gasps, "Yes, I know. But thank you, is nice to be reminded that you think that."

Shane gasps. "You mean you don't hear that all the time? Every day?"

Ilya shakes his head, amused. "Not from you."

Shane frowns. "That's sad. You are soooo sexy."

Ilya can't help it, he laughs again. He brings his hand up to rub his mouth, trying and failing to suppress his wild grin. "So are you, sweetheart."

"Noooo," Shane whines, shaking his head too wildly for a recent surgery patient, Ilya thinks. "My body is too, like, ugh. Hard or something, I don't know. I don't like it." Shane waves his hand. "My butt is too big; I have stretchmarks, but I can't help that. I play hockey so I have a hockey butt."

"Your butt is perfect," Ilya says seriously. "Your stretchmarks are perfect. Your entire body is perfect. Everything about you is perfect."

"Nooo," Shane protests. "You are perfect! Are you a model?"

"Hm, no, but I have modeled a couple times for my sponsors. But I am not the one with sexy Calvin Klein ad; that was all you, Hollander."

"Shut up, that's not true! You're really not a model? Are you an actor then?"

"Ah, no, I don't think Hollywood would like my accent too much. As villain, maybe."

"But your accent is super sexy. So hot. Just like your arms. And I can't even see your shoulders, but, wow."

Ilya shakes his head, helplessly in love. "Thank you. Again, is nice to hear."

"Okay, but seriously, you're not an actor, you're not a model. What do you do?"

"I am the best hockey player in all of NHL. You are second best, maybe."

Shane gasps indignantly, "That's a lie!" he accuses with a pointed finger that gets so close to Ilya's face that he's worried Shane is going to poke him in the eye. 

Ilya takes Shane's hand in his, kisses it fondly, and then brings their clasped hands down to rest on the covers. "Is not lie. I was first draft pick in 2009. You were second."

Shane narrows his eyes, looking like a grumpy kitten. "I was not second pick."

"Whatever you say, Котёнок."

Shane waves his other, free hand at Ilya, pointing again. "How many Cups do you have?"

Ilya patiently lowers Shane's accusing finger back down and out of harm's way. "Ah. One."

"And how many do I have?"

Ilya smiles, recognizing his loss. "You have three Cups, Mr. Overachiever."

Shane grins and closes his eyes in victory, leaning back against the pillows. "Yesss. I win."

"You win," Ilya agrees easily.

"First draft pick in 2009…" Shane opens his eyes, scrunching his nose cutely in concentration. "That means you play for the Bears?"

"Ah. I did. For nine years before we got together. But then I joined the Centaurs to be closer to you."

"What?" Shane gasps, shocked. "Why on earth would you do that? The Centaurs suck!"

Ilya should not find Shane's display of hockey knowledge trumping his memory of even Ilya himself endearing, but he really does. Ilya is so gone for this silly, adorable man it was ridiculous.

"Was easy decision," Ilya says, shrugging. "You say, Ilya, we will change narrative and start a charity together and can be together for real if I move to Ottawa and then you say I love you so much."

"Wow. I really said all that?"

"Yes. And so I move to shitty, boring Canada and apply for Canadian citizenship and play for shitty, boring Ottawa team until it is not shitty anymore and we announce our relationship to whole world and then you join me on my not so shitty team and we have best line in all of hockey."

"Wow," Shane says again, his glassy eyes huge and hopeful. "We really did all that?"

"It took many, many years, but, yes. We are so happy now. You make me so happy, Shane."

"So we're really…together?"

"Yes."

"I really get to see you with your shirt off whenever I want?"

"Absolutely. Although this is not something you say to my face. You will need to work on that, Shane Hollander. I had no idea you had such horny thoughts about me all the time."

"I don't!" Shane lies. 

"Oh, yes, you do. You were practically drooling when you first woke up and saw me."

"Well, excuse me for thinking my boyfriend is super hot!"

"Husband, actually," Ilya corrects, smugly. He knows it's insane to be smug and brag about his relationship status to his own, currently high-as-fuck husband, but Ilya sometimes can't contain the love he has for this man, regardless of the audience. Love is blind, and love is stupid, and love is irrational, and Ilya is living for every moment of it.

"You're my husband?" Shane gasps cutely. "No way!"

"Yes way."

"You married me?"

"In front of everyone we love, even. Happiest day of my life."

"Why? Why would you marry me?" Shane whisper-yelled, his voice squeaking.

"Because I love you, Мой возлюбленный. And because you asked me so nicely."

Shane suddenly bursts into tears, instantly alarming Ilya, who jumps up from his chair. "Shane! What's the matter? Are you hurt? I'll call doctor!"

Shane sobs, "I don't want to be dead!"

Ilya is flabbergasted. "What?! Dead?"

"I'm obviously dead, Ilya!" Shane whines, fat tears spilling over his cheeks. "I'm not dreaming and we're out of the closet, and the best hockey players in the world, and we play on the same team, and I'm married to the hottest guy alive, so I must have dieeeed!"

Ilya's eyes are wide with shock. "Okay, no. Please calm down, sweetheart. I am sorry, that was probably all too much." Ilya starts wiping Shane's eyes with some tissues from the box on the bedside table. "It is going to be okay, Shane. You are okay."

Shane only cries harder. "You're taking such good care of me! This can't be real! I can't have both hockey and a husband! I had to choose and I chose hockey!" he hiccups, his voice squeaking. "So if this isn't a dream, then I'm in heaven, but I'm deaaaad!"

Heart clenching, Ilya pulls Shane into his arms as best and as carefully as he can and strokes his hair, not caring even a little bit that Shane is getting tears and mucus all over his shirt. "Shane, please. I cannot see you cry. I promise this is all real and you are not dead and everything is going to be okay. Deep breaths, sweetheart. Please stop crying."

After a few minutes and lots of sniffling, Shane calms down and pulls away, wiping his face. He turns his big brown doe eyes on Ilya, hopeful. "I'm really not dead?"

"You are really not dead. You're very much alive. You've gone through many years of struggle to get where you are now, and so have I, but it has all been worth it in the end because we are in this together now. Okay?"

Shane sniffles and nods, accepting the handful of tissues from Ilya and blowing his nose messily. "Okay."

"Good. No more tears, okay, my love? My heart cannot take it."

"Okay. 'M sorry. I don't want to hurt your heart."

"Yes. Thank you. Is your body feeling okay? Are you sore?"

"'M good."

"Does your tummy hurt?"

"'Lil' bit," Shane says, smiling almost coyly. "Are you gonna…kiss it better for me?"

Of course, Hayden fucking Pike takes that exact moment to enter the room after a brief knock. "Hey, buddy!" Hayden greets Shane warmly. "How are you feeling?"

Hayden pulls up another chair on the other side of Shane's bed and nods at Ilya, who nods back. 

"Rosanov," he greets, not warmly, but not coldly either. 

"Pike," Ilya greets back, trying not to be angry that he was now no longer allowed to kiss Shane's tummy better for him.

"Hello!" Shane greets, his dopey, glassy-eyed smile back in place. "You're my friend, right? My hockey friend."

Ilya snorts and Hayden huffs a laugh. "Oh, they've got you on the good stuff again, huh, buddy? Yeah, I'm your best friend, actually, just coming to check up on you. Did the surgery go okay?"

Shane nods. "Yuuup. Ay-okay!" Shane gives him a thumbs up. 

Ilya supplies, "Doctor said everything went perfectly, no complications. He can go home tomorrow after they monitor him overnight. He is loopy as fuck, clearly, but that is normal after ana-...Anastasia?"

"Anesthesia," Hayden corrects, smirking. 

"Right. He has been very talkative and his memory–"

"Houston!" Shane suddenly interrupts, addressing Pike, probably tired of being ignored. "Have you met Eel-yuh yet? This is my husband. He married me, can you believe that? Look, this is my wedding ring!" Shane brandishes his left hand proudly, wiggling his fingers so his ring sparkles in the light from the overhead window. 

Ilya has to cover his face to muffle his helpless laughter at the look on Hayden's face both from being addressed by the wrong name by his very best friend, but also by Shane actually bragging about his marriage to Hayden's worst enemy (slash secret favorite babysitter).

Before Hayden can respond, Shane continues, leaning forward unsteadily toward Hayden as if telling him a secret, "We play hockey together. On the same team!" He whispers, "Can you believe that? I'm gay and a hockey player…at the same time!"

Ilya loses it at that, his cackling laughter filling up the room.

Smiling patiently, Hayden interjects, "I'm pretty sure you've always been gay and a hockey player, Shane. Long before you even met us."

"You know what I mean!" Shane almost shouts, pointing at him and lurching forward, and then he winces, closing his eyes and leaning back against the pillows. "Owie."

"Take it easy, man," Hayden cautions before Ilya gets a chance to, patting Shane's hand gently. "You're supposed to be resting."

"Noooo," Shane whines, eyes still closed, smacking his lips. Ilya takes that as his cue to fill up the water cup once again with the bedside pitcher, and then he brings the straw to Shane's lips, who opens his eyes and accepts it obediently. 

When he's finished, Shane licks his lips and trains his gaze on Hayden. "I have a game with my husband tonight. We have da best line and da best power play in the League. Can't rest. Are we late to practice?"

Hayden glances at Ilya, who makes a face back. Play along, or else.

"Nah, buddy," Hayden assures. "The game was rescheduled to next week. You've got plenty of time to rest."

Shane ignores Hayden then, seemingly losing interest in Pike's mothering, and goes back to staring at his wedding ring and wiggling his fingers. 

Suddenly, Shane's unfocused eyes grow wide, as if struck by inspiration. Shane gets close to Ilya's face and whispers, "If you're my husband, that means I must have seen you naked, right?" 

And Ilya loses it again, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. 

Hayden groans. "Buddy, stop. Just stop talking, okay? Please."

Shane doesn't even seem to hear Hayden, seemingly waiting with baited breath for Ilya's answer.

Ilya shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear. "Of course you have, my naughty Jane. Many, many times."

Excited, his tone eager, Shane asks, "Then can you take your shirt off?"

"Shane!" Hayden gasps over Ilya's helpless laughter. 

"I am talking to my husband, Houston, thank you very much!" Shane snipes.

"My name is Hayden, Shane! And stop asking Rosanov to strip, for the love of god! Have some dignity."

"I'll tell you what, sweetheart," Ilya says, wiping more moisture from his eyes. "I will do sexy strip show for you and then stay naked as long as you want when we get home, okay?"

Shane pouts. "That's not fair. The nurse said you should be agree-ing– agree-able with me."

Before Ilya can even form a response to that, Shane's face transforms from a pout to childish excitement and he gasps, "Oh my god, do we live together?"

"Oh, man," Hayden mutters. "You're so going to regret this later, Shane. I really wish you would save yourself and stop talking."

Ignoring Pike, Ilya answers Shane, "Oh, yes. We live in very nice house and we have very nice dog, too. Her name is Anya!"

Shane's eyes grow wide and he whispers urgently, "Does our very nice house have very nice kids too?"

"Ah…not yet. It will though, I promise."

"Oh, good," Shane nods. "How soon? Tomorrow?"

"Not quite that soon, sweetheart. A few more years."

"I want kids."

"I know, sweetheart," Ilya murmurs, his heart melting. "I want them with you too."

"I was okay with being an only child, but it was lonely sometimes, so I'd want at least two." Shane holds up two fingers as if to demonstrate, and Ilya's grin widens. "So they can have a friend."

"Anything you want, моя любовь."

"Ah, speaking of kids!" Hayden interrupts almost desperately, clearly eager for a change in subject. "I have something for you, Shane." Hayden hands Shane a clearly handmade card made out of blue construction paper that has stickers and multiple colored drawings all over it with various levels of artistic composition. "My kids made their Uncle Shane a Get Well Soon card."

Shane opens the card with reverence, his face lit up with awe and joy as he reads the clumsy, surely mostly illegible well wishes. "Thank you, Houston! I love it!"

Over Ilya's roaring laughter, Hayden corrects, pained, "For the last time, it's Hayden, buddy, okay? And you're welcome. They can't wait to come visit you guys at your cottage soon, when you're all healed up. Me and Jacks are excited too."

"Is Jack your husband?"

Hayden splutters and Ilya laughs into his hands.

"No, Jackie Pike is my beautiful wife and your good friend and the mother of my four children."

Shane's face lights up. "Jade, Ruby, Arthur, and Amber! They married us!"

"Wow," Hayden says dryly and Ilya thinks he might strain a muscle in his abdomen from trying to hold back his laughter. "You remember all my kids' names, but not mine? Not your best friend's? That's cold, Hollzy."

Ilya chirps, "Your kids are much more memorable than mediocre hockey player, Pike. Much smarter too."

"Yeah, yeah. I think I'm gonna go. If Shane thinks my kids married you guys, there's no hope for him right now."

"Uh huh," Ilya says, smiling secretively. "Goodbye, Houston. Give my love to your beautiful husband."

Hayden groans. "You're going to call me and Jackie that for the rest of our lives, aren't you?"

"Yes," Ilya says seriously, nodding.

Hayden rolls his eyes and pats Shane's shoulder before taking the card and placing it on the side table. "Whatever, Roz. Bye, Shane. Feel better and we'll see you soon."

"Bye, Jackie's husband!" Shane waves. "Thank you again for my card!"

Hayden doesn't slam the door, but it's a near thing.

Ilya grins at Shane, who looks pleased with himself. "You are my favorite person in whole world."

"Oh, yeah?" Shane says, a flirty look coming over his face. 

"Yes. I can take off my shirt now that boring Houston is gone. Do you want?"

Ilya watches with delight as a range of conflicting emotions fly over Shane's face in quick succession, from shock to lust to embarrassment and then finally to resignation. 

"No," Shane sighs sadly with real disappointment. "Because then my dick will get hard and I don't want to get hard in a hospital."

"Okay," Ilya agrees easily, grinning. He really needs to get Shane high more often, and not after an injury.

"And also because…" Shane continues slowly, "...my tummy is too sore for sex right now."

"Okay," Ilya says again, still grinning. His cheeks are starting to hurt.

"We do have sex, right?" Shane asks, quietly, shyly, looking at Ilya under his lashes. 

Fuck. Now Ilya wants to fucking eat him. 

"Of course we do. The best sex ever, but not as often as we both want."

Shane frowns. "Why not?"

"Because you are very boring. You have a "no fucking" rule when we have game next day. You get sore still sometimes because of my very big dick."

Shane blushes a deep red and Ilya feels his dick twitch to life in his pants. He knows he has to stop this conversation, but it's extremely difficult in the face of his husband's adorable shyness. 

Shane whispers, "How big is it?"

"What? My cock?"

"Yeah," Shane breathes, his eyes roaming over Ilya and then down, down, down.

"Nine inches."

Shane's eyes widen and he seemingly chokes on his own spit.

"I kid, I kid," Ilya admits, trying to slow them down. They were going to get in trouble and then Shane would be angry and embarrassed, which is only good for Ilya when Shane is in the mood, which he's not allowed to be now, so. Stopping. …Soon. Just not yet. "Is not that big. But is big enough that you still get sore sometimes after all these years we fuck. You like it pretty hard, Shane. Especially when we win."

"Oh," Shane murmurs, still blushing. "So is it bigger than my dildo?"

Ilya stops, his smile freezing on his face before it abruptly turns into a hungry stare. Fuck. Was Shane finally going to tell Ilya about the infamous dildo? Shane claimed he threw it out after selling his apartment in Montreal and Ilya never got to see it. Or get Shane to talk about it. "Maybe. How big is dildo? And what color is it?"

Shane licks his lips. "You won't tell anyone, right? You can keep a secret?"

"Of course," Ilya says eagerly, his tone low and desperate. "Just between us husbands."

"Mm," Shane hums happily and nods. "Okay. It's, ah, a real color. I mean, it's the same color as me. And it's six inches."

Ilya thinks he might swallow his tongue and he's fucking sweating. His dick is half hard already in his loose black sweatpants. "Fuck. What else?"

Shane looks at him under his lashes, "Well…it has a suction cup. So sometimes I like to… fuck myself against my bedroom wall. Or in my bathtub. But…I like it the most on the floor. Because then I can get on my knees and ride it. That's my favorite."

Ilya is literally five seconds away from pouncing on his husband, fuck the consequences, when the door bursts open and Nurse Sherry comes rushing to Shane's side. "Shane, honey, are you okay?" she asks, checking first Shane's forehead and then the equipment and Shane's vitals. "Your temperature and heart rate suddenly spiked. Are you feeling sick? Dizzy? Nauseated?"

Wide-eyed and red up to the tips of his ears, Shane clutches his blanket up to his face and shakes his head furiously. "No!"

"You're not in any pain, honey?"

"Nooo, I feel good! Very good!"

Seemingly satisfied with Shane's normalizing vitals, Nurse Sherry turns her gaze on Ilya, who tries not to look guilty, but his purposefully relaxed posture and his crossed legs are not helping his case. 

Slowly, she looks from Ilya's flushed face to his crossed legs and then over to Shane's red ears. Crossing her arms, she turns her sharp gaze to Ilya and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. 

Ilya smiles guiltily. "Uh. Sorry?"

"You should be. You should know better, Mr. Rosanov. Do I need to send you home and call his parents instead?"

"No! No, please, Nurse Sherry, we are– I am very sorry, please do not do that. I will be good, I promise."

"Mmhmm," she says skeptically and makes a pointed note on Shane's chart. "We'll see about that."

"Yes, sorry again." Ilya shifts uncomfortably. 

"Other than this…incident, how is he doing?" Nurse Sherry asks Ilya.

"He is good, very chatty. He still does not have his memories though. This is still normal?" 

"Oh, yes. The disorientation may last a few hours. It's all a temporary side effect of the anesthesia, don't you worry."

"Okay. Thank you, Nurse Sherry."

"You're welcome, honey. Press the call button if you need anything or notice any change in Shane's behavior or condition, and no more funny business in my ward or else I'm calling Maintenance to come in and remove your door. Is that understood, Mr. Rosanov?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ilya says meekly, thankful that his dick is now completely flaccid.

"Mmhmm," she tones before smiling fondly at Shane. "Rest up, honey."

The minute the door is closed with a sharp snap, Ilya puts his hands over his face, expecting an irritated lecture from his embarrassed husband, but his ears are met with quiet giggling instead. 

Removing his hands, Ilya sees Shane grinning, still red-faced, and his giggles grow louder. "That was sooo funny! Did you see how grumpy she was?" Shane tries to imitate Nurse Sherry's displeased expression with surprising accuracy, causing Ilya to let out a bark of surprised laughter. 

"Yes, I saw," Ilya says, smiling fondly. "She did not like that we were being naughty."

"Mmm, I like being naughty."

"Fuck. Shane, no. Please stop."

"I like being naughty for you. You like it when I'm naughty."

Alarmed, Ilya shook his head. "Seriously, Shane, enough, okay? Be good for me and wait until we get home. Please. Nurse Sherry is scary and will kick me out."

Shane, adorably, giggles again. "Nurse Sherry isn't scary!" he protests naively.

"Oh, yes, she is. She is terrifying."

"Sherry, scary, Sherry, scary!" Shane laughs.

"No more naughty stuff," Ilya orders, which is a sentence he knows he's never spoken aloud before, especially not to Shane. "I am…something with my foot. What is saying? Stomping my foot down."

Shane snickers and reaches for Ilya, who takes his hand and kisses it. "It's putting your foot down."

"Yes, okay. Stupid English idiom."

"Ee-dee-um. That's fun to say! Ee-dee-um. Ee-dee-it." Shane says nonsensically, exaggerating each letter. "Ee-lee-yuh!" Shane finishes, looking proud of himself.

"Yes, good job."

"Ilyaaa," Shane says, overly pronouncing his name, clearly having fun. "Eee-lee-yaaa."

"Shane."

"Rose–ah–noff. Rosy. That's a fun name."

"It's not as good as Shane Hollander."

Shane makes a face. "Is that…are you Russian?"

"Ah, no," he teases. "What makes you think that?" 

"Shut up."

"Yes, I am from Moscow."

"I've never been to Russia," Shane says confidently. 

"You have, actually. You won gold for Canada in 2014."

"No kidding. Were we there together?"

"Ah. No."

"I didn't meet your parents there?"

Ilya swallows. "No." Ilya tries to change the subject. "You are learning Russian, do you remember? You are getting quite fluent."

"Really?" Shane looks impressed with himself. 

"Really. You're learning for me. You know that English can be hard for me, so you're trying really hard. Is one of the many, many things I adore about you."

Shane blushes. 

"And that," Ilya smiles, gesturing to Shane's red cheeks. "That I maybe adore the most about you, солнышко. That and your freckles."

"What does sol-nish-kah mean?" Shane asks adorably, absolutely butchering the pronunciation in the cutest way ever.

Ilya smiles. "Sunshine."

"Awww, that's so sweet! You really love me, huh?"

"Oh, yes. So very much, sweetheart."

"Hmm," Shane hums sweetly, happily. "I love you too, baby."

Ilya can't help it. He feels his eyes grow wide with shock.

Shane smiles shyly. "Do I call you that? Baby?"

Ilya swallows. Slowly, he responds, "You have not. But I love it. Say it again, Shane. Please."

Shane's shy smile grows bigger. "Only if you do something for me first?"

"Anything," Ilya whispers, and means it with his entire being. 

"Can you kiss me, please, baby? Please, husband. Mr. Hollander-Rosanov."

Without hesitation, Ilya leans forward over the bed to cup Shane's chin, who closes his eyes eagerly and tilts his head up in silent askance. Ilya gives his lips a sweet, gentle, brushing kiss. He then kisses each of Shane's closed eyelids softly, then his forehead, then his lips one more time, pouring the overwhelming amount of love he feels for his husband into the chaste kiss.

When Ilya pulls away and sits back down, Shane looks dazed, and even more loopy than before. His smile is like the sun has exploded into a million more suns, burning and bursting for eons to come. "Thank you," Shane says, sincerity ringing in his gentle voice. 

"Anytime, муж."

Shane's smile turns silly. "If I was a frog, that kiss would have turned me into a prince!"

Ilya laughs, his entire body down to his fingertips and the ends of his hair filled with joy and love for this man. "Does that make me a princess then?"

Shane nods. "Yes. The prettiest princess in all the land."

"Sounds perfect, Мой принц. I will order our costumes for Bood's Halloween party the minute we are home."

"Good. I want a hat with a feather and a long, red cape. And a sword. Like Prince Phillip."

Ilya frowns in confusion. "Who is this?"

"From Sleeping Beauty!"

"Ah. Okay. I have not seen."

"It's so good! The dress is blue and then pink and then blue again. And there's a big, scary purple dragon. I will show it to you. When we get to our house. That we live together in!"

"It's a deal, sweetheart."

"I want a horse too. Prince Phillip rides a horse. A pretty white one."

"I will get you a white horse. Do I get to ride it too?"

Shane nods unsteadily. "Yes. After I rescue you from the dragon with my sword."

"The scary purple one?"

"Yes. And then we'll ride off into the sunset."

"I can't wait, моя любовь."

[One Month Later]

"Ilya! Why the fuck is there a white Mustang with a giant fucking purple dragon on the hood being delivered onto our driveway right now?! ILYA!"