Chapter Text
“Ilyaaa!”
Ilya heard the front door of Shane’s apartment open from the living room, rain falling softly on the stairs. The door slammed—and it never slammed—so Shane had clearly had a very fun night.
“Over here,” Ilya shouted from his place on the couch. He had just started a crappy movie that Marly had shown him on a plane one time. The boy on the screen sat on his lawnmower as Shane stomped into the living room before quickly quieting his steps.
“Oh no, what am I interrupting?” He whispered. Ilya looked over to see a disheveled Shane. His black t-shirt was messy and wrinkled and his cheeks were flushed from something that wasn’t Ilya saying something cheeky. He padded over the couch and sat next to Ilya before immediately hugging him and putting his head on the other man’s shoulder. Ilya wrapped an arm around him, placing a kiss on his hair.
“How are you, lyubov?” Ilya chuckled. He wasn’t used to seeing Shane like this, but he treasured it when it happened. Shane’s guards were down entirely, so he would spend the night rambling and grinning at whatever Ilya said. It was adorable.
Shane lifted his head to look at Ilya and smiled widely. “I won the cup!”
“I know, Shane. I watched on the TV right here.”
Shane’s eyes lit up, and he placed his hands on Ilya’s shoulder. “You saw me win?”
Ilya couldn’t help but smile back just as wide. “Yes, I saw. I am so proud of you, my Shane.”
Shane went back to leaning on his shoulder and hugging him tight. “Thank you!” He kissed Ilya loudly on the cheek, and Ilya blushed more intensely than he meant.
“What are you watching?”
He knew Shane genuinely had no idea what this movie was, sober or not. So he took his time explaining. “Is called Can’t Buy Me Love. The kid becomes an asshole after being popular for four seconds.”
“Hmm,” Shane replied. “I didn’t become an asshole after I got popular, right?” He looked up at Ilya with pleading eyes. Only a drunk Shane would ask that question.
“No, you did not.” Ilya kissed him on the forehead. “I am the asshole, remember?”
“Nooooo, Ilya, you’re so sweet,” Shane pouted, “even if I’m the only one who gets to see.” He brought a hand around Ilya’s chin and squeezed, which made him smile again. “You’re so cute.”
Ilya took his hand and kissed the back of his fingers. “You are so cute, moy kapel’nitsa.”
Shane giggled. “What’s that?”
“Is the bag in the hospital. It goes into your arm through the tube.”
“Ohhh,” Shane looked very pleased with himself. “An IV.”
“Yes, IV.”
Shane looked into the distance and then back at Ilya. “I’m drunk, aren’t I?”
Ilya ran a thumb across the freckles on his cheek. “Yes, Shane, I’m afraid you are.”
Shane’s expression dropped, and he cuddled into Ilya’s side. “I saw on a TV show my mom watched that an IV helps when you’re drunk. Do you think I need one?”
“No, Shane, you just need some water. Would you like me to get you some?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I think that’d be good.”
Ilya stood up and kissed his forehead. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Okay!”
Ilya walked to kitchen and took out a glass from the cupboard. He got a plastic one in case Shane’s hands were unsteady from the alcohol. He didn’t have a high tolerance—he rarely drank—so it’s not like he could’ve had that many drinks to begin with, but Ilya didn’t want his husband to be disappointed about broken glass on the floor later. He filled it with cool water from the filtered spout in the refrigerator, filling the glass a fair amount so he wouldn’t immediately need to refill it.
When he walked back into the living room, Shane looked up at him with the big, sad doe eyes that always made Ilya’s chest clench. He immediately sat down next to Shane and pulled him into his arms.
“You were gone,” Shane said while nuzzling his neck.
“Only for thirty seconds,” Ilya assured him. “I was getting you water if I remember correctly.”
Shane sighed into his shoulder. “You’re so sweet, Ilya.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Ilya reached to pick up the water glass, which he’d set down on the coffee table. Shane held onto him while he went to grab it, and Ilya couldn’t help smiling to himself. “Have some water now, or you will have headache in the morning.”
Shane reached out a hand and took the glass. He held it to his lips, taking a long sip. Once he’d had enough for his liking, he immediately went back to hugging Ilya, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and face nuzzled in his shoulder. Ilya hugged him back and began to place kisses on his hair, and Shane hummed against the fabric of Ilya’s hoodie. It was an oversized blue one that he had stolen from Shane’s bedroom. It was also very soft, and he would definitely be taking it back to Ottawa with him. Shane started running his hands along the collar; Ilya adored the soft tapping against his collarbone. Shane looked up at him with the gorgeous brown eyes that never failed to make him weak. “I love it when you call me sweetheart.”
Ilya moved one of his hands to Shane’s hair, running his fingers through the soft black strands and lightly scratching his scalp. Shane immediately melted into him, eyes closed as he smiled into the touch. It was so fucking cute that Ilya felt like his heart was about to burst.
“Okay, sweetheart.”
—————
Shane’s eyes were closed for approximately five seconds before a booming noise made the house shudder.
He jumped against Ilya, clinging onto the hoodie his boyfriend was wearing. He hadn’t been drunk in so long—not since he’d won the cup last year. He wasn’t fully out of the stupor yet, so the crash he’d heard made his heart race.
“Is okay, moy angel.” He heard Ilya say quietly in his ear. He ran his hand up and down Shane’s arm, pulling the other man back to his shoulder. “Just thunder.”
Shane should’ve made that association quicker. He could hear raindrops pattering on the ground outside. Montreal weather was never predictable, other than the fact that it was usually windy. It was June, but that just meant it wasn’t freezing. The high that day had only been around 18 degrees, and it was even colder at 1 am.
He cuddled closer into Ilya’s side, grateful to be out of the crowded bar and on the plush couch cushions, wrapped in the warmth of his lovely, caring boyfriend. The thunder had shaken Shane more than he’d liked, and Ilya pulled a blanket from the side, wrapping it around them. Shane could fall asleep like this—hell, he could stay forever—nestled against Ilya, surrounded by the heat of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the rain acting as white noise.
Ilya didn’t want him to fall asleep like that, though, for some stupid reason Shane didn’t understand. Suddenly, the TV was off, and blankets were thrown to the side, and Ilya was trying to hoist him off the couch by putting an arm around his waist.
Shane looked up at Ilya with big, pleading brown eyes. This plan almost always worked, and he was disappointed to see Ilya cross his arms and learn that it hadn’t.
“You need good sleep, Shane. Let’s go to bed.”
“But I don’t wanna move,” he pouted
Ilya rolled his eyes before bending down and wrapping his hands around Shane’s thighs. Shane put his hands around Ilya’s shoulders, holding them tightly as Ilya pulled him up, bringing them up the stairs to Shane’s room. Ilya carefully set Shane down on the bed and kissed his cheek before going to fetch some pajamas.
Shane knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he was still drunk enough that he couldn’t help it. He loved having Ilya take care of him. He couldn’t help that his eyes followed Ilya across the room as the other man grabbed a pair of boxers and a T-shirt for him. He was even happier as Ilya walked up to him, eyes soft, holding them out to him. Shane was delighted to realize that the shirt in his hands was Ilya’s.
The other man smirked when he saw Shane’s reaction. “Go to the bathroom and get ready for bed.”
Shane sighed and stood up, his legs suddenly feeling wobbly. He felt an arm come around his shoulders, steadying him. How did he ever live without Ilya in his life?
Ilya brought him against the wall of the bathroom, sliding his hands under Shane’s shirt. “Can I take this off?”
Shane nodded, and Ilya removed his shirt. He took the new shirt—his shirt—from Shane’s hands, smoothing it out before pulling it over Shane’s head. It was just a plain grey t-shirt, but it felt so soft, and it smelled like his Ilya. Shane hummed at the thought, and Ilya ran fingers down his cheek. Ilya handed the boxers to Shane, who was still leaning against the wall.
He studied Shane’s face before asking the next question. “If I leave you here, can you brush your teeth, and I can set up the bed?”
That was okay with Shane. Ilya was such a sweetheart for him that it ached. Shane really appreciated it, and he hoped Ilya knew. He'd better know.
“Okay,” Shane replied, saluting Ilya with two fingers from his forehead, which made him laugh. Ilya returned the gesture before walking back into the bedroom.
Everything else was done on autopilot. Shane brushed his teeth, paying attention as much as he could through his drunken state. He couldn’t do his whole skincare routine right now, but he splashed some cold water on his face to at least do something. After putting some moisturizer on, Shane decided that was enough and decided he needed to go to sleep.
Shane walked into his bedroom to see Ilya sitting under the covers in the low lamplight, scrolling through his phone. God, he was so beautiful. His side profile needed to be used as an example in art classes. Dirty blond curls tumbling over his forehead, a little bump on the bridge of his nose, and lips slightly open and relaxed. Shane never wanted to stop looking at him. And he apparently did not stop for quite a while, because when Ilya turned to drop his phone on the bedside table, he met Shane’s eyes, and his face lit up.
“Like what you see?” He asked Shane, raising an eyebrow.
Shane responded by walking over the bed and pushing back the covers. Ilya was on the side of the bed where Shane usually slept, so naturally, the only solution was for Shane to climb directly onto him. Ilya let out a small “oh” as Shane wrapped his arms around his shoulders and lay his head on his chest. Once he’d gotten over the shock, Ilya chuckled and rested a hand on Shane’s back, rubbing up and down his spine. Shane relaxed on top of him, appreciating every inch of his body covering Ilya’s. Ilya felt so warm, and Shane wanted to melt into him. Shane decided that he lived there now—on Ilya’s chest, in his arms, under a plush comforter together—and everyone would just have to deal with it.
“My Ilya,” Shane said. The words were slightly muffled, as his cheek was pressed to the other man’s chest.
Ilya reached to turn off the lamp on the bedside table before bringing his other arm around Shane’s back. Shane’s eyes started to flutter, and he began to lose himself in Ilya’s soft touches.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Ilya murmured, “I’m yours.” He pressed a kiss to Shane’s hair, tightening his arms around the other man’s. Shane sighed against him, exhausted but content.
“I love you,” Shane said against his boyfriend.
Ilya placed another kiss, this one long and lingering, on his temple. Shane didn’t think he loved anything as much as he loved kisses from his boyfriend.
The last words he heard before drifting off to sleep were “I love you too.”
Yeah, Shane was definitely gonna kiss him on the ice when he won the cup again.