Chapter Text
Everything painted itself black.
The only shape Shane could make out was a small flash of white that had to be the bathroom sink. He lunged. All his limbs folding around the ceramic that was now gripped between his white-knuckled hands.
Fuuuuuck.
There were many reasons this could’ve happened; that it would have happened eventually, no matter if Shane had done everything the way he should’ve. Which he did. It still remained inevitable. The same way his knees buckling down to the tiles was fate. An unfortunate consequence to existing in this body, in his body.
“Ilya.” Shane called a moment later.
“Моя любовь?” Footsteps followed instantly, paving their way to where Shane was now shabbily slumped. “I heard a crash are you-“
Shane was now looking at a pair of feet, at Ilya’s long toes gripping the same patterned tile that swept under his own fingers, his Achilles tendon flexing with fright. “My vision. It uh, blacked.”
“My love, you are bleeding.” Ilya was staring at Shane’s holy body, muscled and unrestrained in only some dark briefs. However, he was also staring at a long streak of red slinking across his husbands cheek, with hasty brown eyes wavering nervously around Ilya’s ankles. “Did you hit your face on something? Did you scratch yourself?
“I,” Inhaled Shane, “I don’t know. I think I might’ve lost consciousness.”
Immediately ilya met him at the floor, close enough that he could see his lips quiver. “Okay. You see me? Da?” Luckily, he could. His vision had cleared to a hazy film of reality, the frame mainly overtaken by Ilya and his worry. When he nodded his stomach lurched, another threat of black circling his eyes. “Slow. I’m going to go get you a drink and your watch, okay? Don’t move.”
Like he could try.
Some form of blue electrolyte was dripping down his chin, his Apple Watch now beeping dramatically. Better late than never. His knees kept to his chest until the rate of his heart finally reached some kind of baseline.
“Better?” Ilya asked, his hand massaging Shane’s socked foot.
“Yeah.” His eyes watered, threatening tears, but it wasn’t crying till they dropped. And he would not let them, not over this. “Come here.” Ilya cradled, pulling Shane onto his lap with ease despite them both weighing almost two hundred pounds.
By the time they’d managed to clean the deceivingly deep cut down his face, it was already 5pm, only two hours before they were meant to go out.
It was Centaur Saturday, his husband’s favourite time of the week. No matter how often Ilya said Russians don’t make friends; these boys were his family and Shane was determined to get him to the club enjoying himself, flaring or not. So he put on his compression socks and threw salt packets into the pockets of Ilya’s insanely flattering pleated pants. They were going to a club which meant that he was severely overdressed, or underdressed if you counted how much skin Shane had been blessed to see. “You look good.” Purred Shane before setting a kiss to his husband’s nipple, that was very much on display, through sheer fabric.
When they made their way through the pounding crowd shane realised he was dressed much like the rest of the team, with jeans loose and a short sleeve shirt that hugged the hockey muscles he’d worked well for. Only Wyatt with his trademark comic t-shirt and Ilya differed. All the boys welcomed them as they squeezed into the tight booth.
“Damn, Rozy what did you do to our boy?” Bood boomed, eyes raking over the mark on Shane’s face which was getting redder by the minute. “Never tried role playing?” Smirked Ilya as someone’s hand ruffled through his locks of hair fondly. Whatever joke Zane followed up with was drowned out with laughter, so Shane just smiled back at his coy smile which was being hidden by a sleeve of tattoos.
Throughout the night there were flashes; of drunk laughter, music that made Shane’s ears ache, nonsense games, and even some unfortunate heaving from the rookies. Shane didn’t drink, nor dance, he’d just tucked himself beside Troy who didn’t really care for those things. “You okay, hollzy?”
“Always.” He replied honestly. Truthfully. “You?”
“Could use a nap.” Troy smirked, leaning his head onto Shane’s shoulder as he closed his eyes.
It didn’t take long before Ilya was towering over them, swaying slightly as his face morphed into some shape of repulsiveness. “Barrett, why do you constantly try to steal things that are mine?” Though his tone was light, some form of Russian growl bit at the last word he spat. “Do you see me stealing Harris? Yes, he is very adorable. But not once have I nicked him from you.”
“Wow. Nicked.” Mouthed shane, his pupils dilating; his voice teasing.
“Been watching a lot of Bond, Rozy?” Smiles Troy, eyes still shut. If anything, Troy was the most acquainted with Ilya’s antics, second to Shane. “I think he’s more of an Oliver Twist kind of guy.” Wyatt, who always seemed to be listening to five conversations at once, chimed in. A smug grin painting his face from the other side of the booth. However Ilya gave neither of them a piece of mind, his glistening eyes engrossed on Shane’s, besotted. And that, was putting it lightly.
“Come.” The words left his lips like a song would, as if sound waves were something you could see bristle past pearly whites. That word was the most beautiful word Hollander had ever heard. Then, Ilya’s palms reached outward beaconing for the distance between them to close, fingers meeting palms as he did so.
“Okay.” Obeyed Shane, but his voice was lost to the bass that was now vibrating beneath his feet as he stood. Beside him Barrett groaned as Wyatt scooped him from one side of the red leather to the other. In front of him the music: the crowd: Ilya Rozanov.
Every step Shane took forward, Ilya took two backwards till his back bumped to someone else’s. Till his feet could go no further. From there, on the dance floor, the music shook through them as Shane reached for his husband’s forearms. He was vaguely aware of his Apple Watch vibrating, of his heart going out of range from more than just love. But he danced anyway.
Sweat layering beneath them, as they sucked and ground. Ilya jerked forward, Shane shook them left to right — the rhythm was left behind. Whatever song was playing came to an end, and the lights started to dim. “You know there are other people here.” Beside them Bood’s laugh came out static, his arms hooked drunkenly around who Shane assumed was one of their teammates. Why couldn’t he work out his face? “Too pretty to be kept away.” Ilya slurred. Was he okay? Shane didn’t remember him getting that drunk.
“‘re you ‘kay?”
Then a shout that somehow came out quiet. “Shane? Sha-“
Of course.
It was him