Chapter Text
Shane Hollander is 25, and absolutely exhausted. He just won his second Stanley Cup for Montreal, and is now going meet his arch rival for a quick fuck before Ilya jets off to Russia for the summer. He sighs as he gets in his Uber to head to Ilya’s Boston apartment, telling the driver an address a few blocks away, so no one can figure out where he’s really going.
The ride is about an hour from Logan International, so he busies himself with answering all his emails and texts from his mom, leaving him with no extra duties, perfect for when he leaves for his cottage soon. By the time the driver pulls up to the random gas station he’d told him to drop him off at, Shane feels almost relaxed. He thanks the driver and tips generously before walking the few blocks to Ilya’s house, avoiding any densely populated streets.
Shane knocks on the door, and Ilya immediately opens, as if he had been waiting right there. Shane is about to ask, but he is quickly shoved against the door and kissed aggressively. He feels his phone buzzing and groans, shoving Ilya away for a moment. Shane answers the call from Hayden, as Ilya attaches himself to Shane’s back and starts kissing his neck quietly, despite Shane trying to silently shoo him.
“Hey, Hayd, what’s up?”
“Just wanted to wish you a happy summer, I know I won’t be hearing from you much. Oh! And Jacki’s pregnant again.”
“Again? Jesus, man.” Shane bites back a noise threatening to leave him from Ilya’s increasingly rough kisses.
“Wow. No congratulations?”
“Sorry, sorry. Congrats, a fourth kid is…great. I’m sure you’ll be busy.”
“Oh, I will be. Jacki gets the best princess treatment there is,” Hayden laughs, then a childish scream is heard in the background, “Shit. I gotta go, they’re wrestling again. Have a good summer, man.”
“Yeah, you too,” Shane says, hanging up and finally letting out a soft moan as Ilya doubles down on his efforts.
“He is so annoying. I feel bad for his wife,” Ilya says in between kisses and borderline bites on Shane’s neck, “Good thing you have better taste in men than her.”
“You’re such an asshole. Shut up about Hayden and just fuck me already.”
“Yes, sir,” Ilya replies teasingly, picking Shane up and carrying him to his bedroom.
—----------------------------------------------------
Shane wakes up feeling satiated, if not a little sore. Ilya’s arms are around him, and it seems that he just woke up as well, even though Ilya doesn’t feel as warm as Shane does under the blankets.
“I will make you dinner, come.”
“You want to cook for me?” Shane tenses a little. He already agreed to stay over; eating Ilya’s cooking feels like it might be a bridge too far. Shane would very much like to continue to deny the strong tug in his chest as Ilya leaves the bed. But he is hungry.
“I am not going to let you starve, Hollander. I am not so bad.”
Shane just puts on the clothes given to him, Ilya’s, and follows him to the kitchen. Ilya makes small talk as Shane admires his bare chest, until he realizes the ingredients Ilya is taking out.
“I can’t eat that.” Shane says, a little nervous that Ilya won’t cook for him now.
“Hollander, it is off-season. You cannot eat one tuna melt?” His voice softens, “It will not hurt you, okay? Just one.”
Shane is about to argue, but a tuna melt sounds so fucking good, and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment any more, so he nods. Ilya starts cooking and Shane knows he made the right decision, if the delicious smell emanating from the oven provides an accurate indication of the taste. As the food is broiling, Ilya leads Shane to the living room, turning on a random hockey game, a rerun from last year. They talk a little, then Ilya goes and grabs the food, sitting right next to Shane when he sits back down.
As they eat, Shane feels himself slowly start to relax. The tuna melt tastes a little different to what he remembers, but he hasn't had one in years. Maybe the pickles are just brined differently. His ginger ale, which apparently Ilya knows he likes, also tastes different, but it’s an American brand, and everything has, like, double the sugar in the US. He tries not to think about the macros of the meal and focuses on how close he is to Ilya, spending time together like they really never have before.
Ilya puts the dishes in the sink, and then they settle to watch a movie. Shane couldn’t tell you what it was called, something about cars and racing. He starts to feel incredibly groggy, and a little dizzy. He grabs onto Ilya’s arm around him a little tighter, trying to center himself, even though he’s sitting still.
“Let’s go to sleep, I am tired,” Ilya’s voice sounds a little dampened, so Shane nods and gets up, stumbling. Ilya catches him and helps him walk to the bedroom. Well, a bedroom. Shane doesn’t really care that it’s different. He’s so fucking tired. He practically collapses into the bed, feeling some movement and Ilya behind him. Shane can’t help but think that this is the calmest he’s ever felt in his entire life.
—---------------------------------------------------
When Shane wakes, he goes to rub his eyes with his left hand, only to find that it drags his right hand with it. He opens his eyes, squinting against the morning light, and sees his hands bound together in front of him. Upon further inspection, he notices his ankles bound to a footboard, a rope around his waist, and the cuffs around his hands connected to a chain attached to the headboard. Ilya’s arms are around his middle.
“What the fuck? What the fuck!” He yells, startling Ilya as he starts to wriggle and squirm, his muscles feeling weak and his head fuzzy. Ilya wakes up and tries to calm him.
“Hey, hey, breathe, Шаня, breathe.”
“How the fuck can you expect me to breathe? Why am I tied up? What the fuck is happening?”
“I can only answer if you stop yelling, Малыш,” Shane stops yelling, but his breathing is still erratic, and he is glaring at Ilya, “You are going to stay here for a bit, okay? Is for your safety and health,” Ilya says placatingly, as if it explains anything. It only serves to make Shane angrier.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? How is this good for me? Let me go!”
“I see your tired eyes, your weight loss. I know you are not being good to yourself. I will not stand by and watch you…ухудшаться, um, get weak. If you will not take care of yourself, then I will. And I knew you would not let me without some convincing.”
“And you think restraining me and keeping me here against my will is going to convince me?” Shane tries to struggle again, but he still feels exhausted and wobbly, so he just succeeds in moving himself closer to Ilya, who kisses his head gently.
“You will understand that this is good. Eventually.”
“That’s so fucking ominous! Are you going to kill me? Are you going to fuck me while I’m like this?” Shane yells, his voice going hoarse from the sheer volume of his own shouting. Ilya looks genuinely offended, as if that wouldn’t be the conclusion that any normal person would immediately assume.
“I would never hurt you, Shane,” Ilya says with such conviction that it almost distracts Shane from the use of his first name.
“You literally kidnapped me! I’m tied up!” Ilya’s face shifts to pure worry.
“I bought highest quality rope I could find. Softest. Most comfortable. Same for cuffs. Does it hurt? Is it too tight?” Ilya seems genuinely concerned, and Shane is so fucking confused.
“You- no, I guess it doesn’t hurt, but it’s not comfortable to be tied up! Let me go, Rozanov!”
“Ilya.”
“What?”
“Call me Ilya, please. Just once. I want to hear it.”
“I’m not going to give you anything you want until you let me go!”
“I am sorry, Shane. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I would rather cut off my own arm than hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid of you! I’m pissed!”
“You are shaking, Шаня. Is okay to be scared. But you are safe with me.”
“Obviously I’m fucking not!” Shane’s voice cracks, ready to try anything if Ilya will just let him go, “Please, Ilya, please let me go.” Ilya’s face softens at the use of his name, but he shakes his head and tightens his arms incrementally around Shane.
“I will give you anything you want, my Shane, except that. I cannot trust you to take care of yourself,” Ilya whispers, and Shane feels anger bubble in him, before it gets wiped out by the wave of pure helplessness that overtakes him. Combined with the fatigue he hasn’t stopped feeling, he tears up. Shane shakes his hands out and rapidly twists his head back and forth in an attempt to regulate himself, but he ultimately collapses into Ilya, letting out small sobs.
“Please.”
“Get some rest, моя любовь. I will be right here. Always,” Shane feels Ilya kiss his head before he falls asleep again.