Work Text:
At the end of the day, it’s Svetlana who ruins everything.
Ilya, who is at home, alone, is just about to go to bed when his phone chimes with an incoming message.
Svetlana: Did you know about this?
Svetlana: Link attached
Ilya, who likes to operate on the assumption that Svetlana knows everything before he does, furrows his brow. In fact, he almost considers putting the phone down and ignoring whatever gossip she wants to discuss until morning.
But Svetlana knows his weaknesses. She knows he’s unable to refuse a piece of gossip once it’s been dangled in front of him.
Little does she know that this particular piece of gossip is about to ruin Ilya’s life. Or perhaps she does know, and she wants to warn him so he can break down in the relative comfort of his own home.
Ilya clicks on the article, not knowing that he has about three seconds of peace left in his life. Then he realizes what he’s looking at, and he’s certain that the magazine article will be burned into his retinas until the end of time.
Because what he’s looking at is Shane Hollander.
Shane Hollander holding a baby.
Shane Hollander who, according to the article, is holding his own baby, a small bundle of perfection cradled carefully against his chest.
For a moment, it’s like the world stops spinning, and the only thing that exists is that photo.
Then, Ilya thinks he’s going to be sick.
He zooms in on the picture hoping desperately, without really being able to vocalize why, that there’s talk of some sort of misunderstanding. A terrible, horrible mistake.
Maybe the journalist is wrong. Maybe it isn’t Shane. Maybe it isn’t a baby.
But no, Ilya would recognize that face anywhere. The man in the photo is definitely Shane Hollander and in his arms, he’s definitely holding a baby.
He wonders, distantly, if the baby has freckles, too.
“Fuck.”
Ilya drops the phone on the couch, and then he escapes into the kitchen desperate for any type of distraction.
He throws open the fridge, ready to drown whatever vodka he’s got in stock, but comes to an abrupt stop when he is faced with a freshly bought case of Canada Dry ginger ale.
He closes the fridge again, slams it, really, and contemplates whether he’s about to be sick in the kitchen sink.
He takes one, two, three gulps of air, which do absolutely nothing to dissipate the nausea, and then he stalks back into the living room and grabs his phone before he’s able to stop himself.
To say that the internet is going crazy is an understatement.
Emma @shanehollanderfanclubmember
everyone this is not a drill I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL 🚨🧸🍼
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Léa Martin @MrsLéaMartin92
Shane Hollander is TAKEN !?
#ShaneHollander #Montreal #Voyageurs #BabyAlert
Clara @mrsshanehollander4ever
Shane Hollander has a BABY????
#BabyAlert
Mila Doyle @MilaDoyle892734
Replying to @mrsshanehollander4ever
Our boy is all grown up 😭😭😭😭😭😭
#BabyAlert
Call Me Mrs. Shane @callmemrsshane1234
Replying to @mrsshanehollander4ever
Did we know about this? Who’s the girlfriend? Wife?
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Florence @Voyageurs4Ever<3
Are we sure this is his baby? I mean – are we ABSOLUTELY sure?
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Sara @VoyageursFan24
thank you @ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer for not letting those genes go to waste
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Adele Fortin @iloveshanehollander
Someone give me the name of that aquarium !!
#FutureMrsShaneHollander
Juliette @i<3thevoyageurs
Replying to @iloveshanehollander
Can we not do stalking please? For one day? Please?
#ShaneHollander #BehavePeople
Rosalie @shanehollander27426
Replying to @i<3thevoyageurs
I mean – it’s about time, isn’t it? Hayden Pike has like seven children.
Adele Fortin @iloveshanehollander
Seriously someone give me the name of that aquarium !!!!!
#FutureMrsShaneHollander #Montreal
Mandy @MrsShaneHollander
I am so happy for him. He and his girlfriend must be so happy.
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
👎@BostonLily1991 disliked this message
Holly @HollyHollander24
Are those tears in his eyes? Who knew Shane Hollander would make the best dad? Wait – we all did.
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Carly @HockeyPuck1234
GUYS I’M CRYING THEY’RE TOO CUTE
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Adele Fortin @iloveshanehollander
someone pls !!!!!!!!!!! Where is that aquarium?????
#FutureMrsShaneHollander #Montreal #Desperate
Juliette @i<3thevoyageurs
Replying to @iloveshanehollander
girl he’s literally married
#ShaneHollander #BehavePeople
👎@BostonLily1991 disliked this message
Bobby Hansen @iamahockeyfan234
i thought he was gay
#Toronto4Ever #FuckShaneHollander
Mandy @MrsShaneHollander
Replying to @iamahockeyfan234
Right, because gay people can’t have children?
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Mary @bornandraisedinmontreal93
Replying to @i<3thevoyageurs
@ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer If your wife leaves you, I’ll be your baby mama 🙋♀️🙋♀️🙋♀️
👎@BostonLily1991 disliked this message
Lily Mae @LilyMae1995
Replying to @bornandraisedinmontreal93
This☝️ I’ll volunteer as tribute @ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
👎@BostonLily1991 disliked this message
Sally @VoyageursFanNumberOne
Can we talk about @BostonLily1991 ????
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert #WhoIsLily
Camille @MrsScottHunter729
Replying to @VoyageursFanNumberOne
New theory unlocked 👀👀
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert #WhoIsLily
Bibi @BibiFromMontreal
Replying to @MrsScottHunter729
pls Shane would NEVER with a Boston fan 😩
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert
Simone @simone_fournier_montreal
Someone tell me what is happening I left for like 2 minutes 😭
#confused #hockey #ShaneHollander #WhatBaby
Geneviève @geneviévelapointedemontreal
Replying to @simone_fournier_montreal
People are losing their minds because some hockey player has procreated
#Montréal
Bibi @BibiFromMontreal
Replying to @ geneviévelapointedemontreal
Some hockey player? SOME hockey player?
#ShaneHollander #GOAT
Lily @BostonLily1991
Has anyone seen the baby? Does the baby have freckles?
#ShaneHollander
Sophia @marrymeshanehollander
Replying to @BostonLily1991
Aaaaaand the bears have entered the chat. Look out people ⚠️
#MontrealVoyageurs #FuckTheBears
Sally @VoyageursFanNumberOne
@BostonLily1991 No seriously why do you dislike all our messages?
#ShaneHollander #BabyAlert #WhoIsLily
Charlotte @charlottefromquébec
Replying to @VoyageursFanNumberOne
Ignore her, she’s jealous
#Shane Hollander #BabyAlert
👎@BostonLily1991 disliked this message
Léonie @LeonieGagnon27328
Like, is that officially the NHL’s cutest baby?
#Shane Hollander #BabyAlert
Éloide @montrealbaby
Guys, imagine the hockey skills🏒🥅
#Shane Hollander #BabyAlert
Bobby Hansen @iamahockeyfan234
Replying to @montrealbaby
just hope its a boy
#Toronto4Ever #FuckShaneHollander
👎@BostonLily1991 disliked this message
Éloide @montrealbaby
Replying to @iamahockeyfan234
Right, because women can’t play hockey 🤦♀️🤦♀️🤦♀️
#StopMisogynyInHockey
Lily @BostonLily1991
DOES THE BABY HAVE FRECKLES?
#ShaneHollander
Charlotte @charlottefromquébec
Replying to @BostonLily1991
no seriously what?
Ilya didn’t think he’d ever be the type of person to relate to celebrity-obsessed women on the internet but here he is.
He, too, would very much like to know who the mystery woman is. He, too, would very much like to know whether Shane is married to the mystery woman.
Ilya scrolls back up to the picture and zooms in, but there is no sign of a woman – or man – anywhere. Just Shane and Shane’s baby.
The picture itself is blurry, but Shane… Shane looks happy.
And it’s in this moment that Ilya realizes – he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anything as much as he wants Shane Hollander. It’s like his entire being aches with it.
In fact, it’s almost frightening how quickly his stomach sours.
He feels the jealousy coursing through every single fiber of his being. He feels physically ill realizing that Shane is taken.
That Shane has a family now.
That Shane has a baby and that that baby isn’t Ilya’s.
He’s distantly aware that his phone begins to vibrate again, but Ilya can’t find it in himself to answer Svetlana although he’s sure that that would be the mature call.
Svetlana: Have you read it?
Svetlana: I can see you reading my text messages
Svetlana: Are you broken?
Svetlana: For the love of God stay off Twitter, will you?
Svetlana: Ilyusha
Missed call from Svetlana
Svetlana: Pick up the phone
Svetlana: Don’t do anything stupid
Ilya doesn’t see that last one until much, much later, but he’s not sure it would have mattered.
He’s not known for making rational decisions at the best of times, and when it comes to Shane Hollander, rationality tends to go out the window.
When Shane is brutally woken up at 4 o’clock in the morning, the last thing he expects is to find Rozanov standing outside his door in the rain.
To begin with, he’s never shown up at the condo without a warning. Also, Boston is set to play New York in about 14 hours’ time, and the last time Shane checked those two cities were still located within the United States.
Yet, Ilya Rozanov is very much the person looking at him on the other side of the door.
“Rozanov,” Shane says and hopes that the word doesn’t sound as much like a question as he thinks it does.
“Hollander,” Rozanov responds, sounding slightly out of breath.
For a moment, the two simply stare at each other, Shane not too ashamed to admit that he needs a few extra seconds to wake up and convince himself that this is not a dream before ushering the other man inside.
Rozanov thanks him but apart from this, the two do not talk until they’ve ascended the stairs and are standing safely behind closed doors in Shane’s apartment.
Shane wonders for how long Rozanov’s been standing outside. He is absolutely dripping wet, matted curls sticking to his head, rain having soaked through his jacket as well as his jeans.
“I hope I didn’t wake anyone,” Rozanov says, peering at something unidentifiable across Shane’s shoulder.
Shane follows his gaze but doesn’t find whatever he’s looking at.
“I know you like to tease me, but I’m not usually up at 4 o’clock in the morning,” he drawls.
Rozanov visibly swallows. “Right,” he says.
Shane shifts his weight from one foot to the other, wondering whether this is the longest conversation they’ve ever had without touching each other.
“I’m sorry but – what are you doing here?” Shane asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as awkward as he thinks he does. Then again, he knows he’s not the best at social cues, but he doesn’t think that he’s the one being weird right now.
Rozanov clears his throat. “I’ve come to congratulate you,” he says.
“I see,” Shane says despite seeing nothing at all. “On, uhm, what exactly?”
“You know.” Rozanov shrugs. “The newest recruit.”
Shane’s mind immediately jumps to this year’s rookies. Rozanov must be thinking of Johnson, the 20-year-old third draft pick from California, but if Shane’s being honest, he’s not that good, and Theriault’s having serious trouble fitting him into their line-up.
“Well…” Shane trails off, wondering if Rozanov is here to gloat after their first games of the season, “That’s… nice of you. Despite the early wake-up.”
“You do not think I can be nice?”
“I’m wondering why you’re nice,” Shane says.
That earns Shane a small smirk, but if he’s being honest, Rozanov looks more pained than pleased.
“I see it hasn’t interfered with your hockey,” Rozanov continues, a statement that does nothing to dissipate Shane’s confusion. He’s missed out on at least two goals so far due to Johnson’s inability to predict passes.
“Your season’s looking… optimistic,” Rozanov continues, trying and failing to shake some water out of his hair.
Shane follows his movements and tries very hard not to focus all his attention on the puddle currently forming across his freshly washed hardwood floors.
“Oh yeah?” Shane trails off, “You’re giving up on the scoring race already?”
Rozanov tsks. “Always thinking of hockey, Hollander.”
Shane simply raises an eyebrow to which Rozanov shakes his head.
“Thought you would have mellowed out a bit, but I guess not…”
“’Mellowed out’,” Shane parrots, “Big word.”
And then because this conversation apparently isn’t strange enough already, Rozanov pulls forth a teddy bear, protectively hidden inside his coat.
Shane blinks, eyes darting between one bear and… the other one.
He blinks again but, yes, both bears are still there.
“What’s happening right now?”
“I’m giving you a bear.”
“Okay?”
Shane takes a moment to wonder whether he’s dreaming, but Rozanov keeps staring at him, and Shane can admit that even in sleep, he does not have the imagination to come up with a scenario as bizarre as this.
Also, Rozanov typically has on fewer clothes in his dreams.
“Bear,” Ilya repeats and lifts it as if Shane has somehow missed it.
“I see that,” Shane says, mind at an absolute loss. “Why – exactly?”
Ilya has upgraded to scoffing now. “For the little one,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Right.” Shane looks around in a desperate attempt to find whatever Rozanov’s referencing. When he finds nothing, his mind jumps to the only logical conclusion he can think of.
“Are you making fun of my height?”
It’s Rozanov’s turn to blink, staring at Shane like Shane is the one who’s being weird right now.
“It’s for the baby,” Rozanov says at last, “I’ve brought you a bear for your baby.”
He talks slowly, enunciating each word carefully, and for a moment Shane simply stares at him. Then, another thought strikes him, and –
“Oh, thank god.” Shane lets out a relieved huff. “You’re drunk. Here I was, beginning to think you were ill.”
Rozanov’s brow furrows. “I am not drunk,” he says, looking unreasonably offended at the words, “I drove here. I have not been drinking.”
“What do you mean you drove here?” Shane’s eyes turn towards the windows. “Drove here from where?”
“From Boston, Hollander. Are you ill? Or is baby keeping you up at night?”
Rozanov looks almost concerned as he asks him, and Shane decides that quite frankly, his patience has run out.
“Christ in Heaven, Rozanov, what baby?”
Rozanov mutters something unintelligible, but judging from the tone alone, Shane’s is not the only patience that has run out.
And then, before Shane has time to say anything else, a phone is thrown into his face, and Shane finds himself blinking uncomprehendingly at the front page of a gossip magazine. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s looking at, and when he does, he recognizes a blurry picture taken of himself that previous afternoon. In it, he’s having a conversation with someone off-screen, and in his arms, he holds Arthur Pike, cradled carefully against his chest.
Breaking News! The title says, NHL star Daddy Hollander is off the market
Shane lets out an amused huff, but when he looks up, the smile dies on his lips, and it’s like he’s seeing Rozanov properly for the first time since opening the door.
The hand that’s holding the phone is shaking, and the one still clutching the bear has turned white with how tight he’s gripping it. His eyes look bloodshot and there are dark shadows beneath them.
“This is your baby, da?”
There’s a strain in Rozanov’s voice, and Shane takes a moment to compose himself before gently urging him to lower the phone.
“That’s Arthur Pike,” Shane tells him slowly, making sure that Rozanov understands what he’s saying, “That’s Hayden’s baby, not mine. I do not have a baby.”
It takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do, the effect is instantaneous.
Rozanov freezes, eyes going comically large and breath catching in his throat before suddenly – he relaxes. It’s like he’s a balloon and someone has let out the air. Like he’s been tied up and someone has cut the strings.
Shane has no other way to describe it other than saying that Rozanov looks relieved.
But that – that makes no sense.
“Should have known it’d be Pike,” Rozanov says suddenly, and Shane watches in real time as he pulls himself together, scrambling quickly and efficiently to hide whatever feelings he’d just exposed.
“Arthur is his third,” Shane says slowly, “That’s not an unreasonable number.”
“Right.” Rozanov nods shortly, curtly, and clears his throat. “You must give the bear to Pike then.”
“Sure.” Shane’s mouth feels dry. “And how exactly am I meant to explain that?”
Rozanov shrugs. “Pretend it’s from you.”
“It’s wearing a Rozanov jersey,” Shane says, and for the second time in as many minutes, Rozanov freezes, seemingly at a loss for words.
“You keep it, then,” he says, “Keep it for when you – you know.”
Shane can feel the blush creeping across his face as Rozanov’s words register. “When I – what?”
Rozanov shrugs. “You know.”
“When I do have a baby?”
“Yes.”
It sounds like it’s causing Rozanov physical pain to utter the word.
“And how exactly am I meant to explain to my wife that our baby’s first bear is wearing a Rozanov jersey?”
Something complicated passes across Rozanov’s face, and then, without answering him, he turns around, reaches for the door handle and freezes for the third time.
His shoulders are hunched again, and he looks, for all intents and purposes, like a man who’s trying to power through a quarterlife crisis in the span of fifteen seconds. Then he turns around again, stalks back across the floor, back towards the place where Shane is standing and stops just a few feet in front of him.
“Don’t have a baby,” Rozanov says, suddenly, urgently, “Not unless it’s with me. Have a baby with me. Then we give bear together. Problem solved.”
For a few seconds, Shane simply – stares.
“Excuse me?”
“We have baby together.” Rozanov repeats his words. “Then you do not need to explain to wife why bear is wearing my name.”
“No, I’m serious, Rozanov, what?”
“Is good plan, da?”
“Do I need to get you a dictionary? Do you know what you’re asking right now?”
“Sure.”
“And what you’re asking is…?”
”Is simple.” Rozanov shrugs. ”I ask that you do not make a baby with anyone who isn’t me.”
Shane lets out a nervous laugh.
“You know, anatomically speaking that means we’ll both die childless.”
This answer does not please Rozanov.
“Do you hate me, Hollander?”
Shane huffs, trying very hard not to let his frustration show. “Jesus Christ, Rozanov, no, I do not hate you.”
“Then you will make a baby with me?”
The conversation is absolute bonkers, and Shane tells him so.
A crease forms between Rozanov’s brow. “All I ask for is simple yes or no.”
“Oh, that’s all you’re asking for, is it?”
Rozanov lets out a tortured groan like he cannot believe that Shane is this stupid. “Obviously we do not make baby right now,” he says, “I mean in future. When you have blown out your knee and cannot play hockey anymore.”
“And where exactly are you in this scenario?”
“Playing hockey, of course. My physique is better than yours. But I will make it up to you on the weekends.”
“Make it up to me?”
“Let you sleep in.” Rozanov shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Make you gross rabbit smoothies and change all the diapers.”
Shane cannot believe that they are actually having this conversation.
“And if I say yes,” Shane trails off, just for the hell of it, just to see what happens, “Then you’ll leave me alone? Go back to Boston and lose against New York tonight?”
Rozanov nods exactly once, seemingly satisfied.
“We will make very cute babies,” he says.
“I see you’re speaking in plurals now.”
“Yes.”
Rozanov offers no further explanation, and Shane fights the urge to pull on his hair.
“There’s nothing else you want while we’re at it?” He throws out an arm for added effect. “Not the lease to the house? The keys to my cottage? Or maybe – maybe a wedding ring?”
For reasons passing all understanding, Rozanov appears to give this some serious thought.
“You think we should do this first?” he asks.
“I think,” Shane says through gritted teeth, “That you might have skipped a step or like… ten of them.”
Rozanov has the audacity to furrow his brow.
“What do you mean?” He asks.
Shane laughs somewhat hysterically.
“What I mean,” he says, “Is that you show up at my house, uninvited, at 4 o’clock in the morning. You drive five hours in the middle of the night to bring me a teddy bear for a baby that I do not have and make me promise not to father one unless you get to be the other parent.”
“I do not see what is funny about this.”
“Because it isn’t funny, Rozanov, it’s fucking mad!”
Rozanov honest-to-god covers the teddy bear’s ears with his hands.
“Are you messing with me?” Shane continues. “Is this a prank? Is it some – some elaborate Rozanov ruse to throw me off my game tonight? Put you ahead of me in the scoring race?”
“This is not –“ Rozanov begins, but Shane doesn’t let him continue.
“Are you making fun of me?” He asks, voice suddenly smaller. “You haven’t answered a text from me all summer, too busy parading leggy supermodels around every goddamn magazine cover known to man, and now you say you want a baby with me?”
“Yes, well…”
If Shane didn’t know any better, he’d say that that was a blush creeping across Rozanov’s cheeks. But Shane does know better, and before he has the time to analyze the matter further, Rozanov curls in on himself and gives a slight shrug.
“You do not have to agree if you do not want to,” he says.
“That’s not what this is about,” Shane says, but Rozanov appears not to hear him.
While Shane talks, Rozanov takes an uncertain step forward, placing the bear on top of the kitchen counter. There’s a brief moment, after he’s let go, where his fingers extend towards the fur, flexing almost longingly.
Then the moment’s over and he has the audacity to walk out the door without so much as a farewell before closing it behind him.
For almost a minute, Shane simply stares at the door, mind still too groggy with sleep to comprehend whether he’s somehow dreaming or whether the last ten minutes actually happened.
As with most things to do with Rozanov, however, Shane is unable to let the matter go for long.
Before being able to convince himself that what he’s about to do is a terrible idea, Shane scrambles after Rozanov, legs carrying him down the stairs two, three steps at a time.
He throws open the door to the outside world, hesitating for no more than a second before charging out into the rain with no shoes on.
“Rozanov!”
It’s absolutely pouring outside, and Rozanov doesn’t hear him. He’s halfway across the parking lot when Shane spots him, and Shane is genuinely afraid that he’s about to enter his car and drive away without a backwards glance.
“Rozanov!”
Shane picks up speed, almost falling headfirst into a puddle in his haste to reach the other man.
Then, Rozanov starts to take out his car keys, and Shane decides screw it.
“ILYA!”
He yells the word as loud as he’s able, and Rozanov – Ilya – comes to an abrupt stop just short of the driver’s side. He turns around slowly, like he doesn’t believe what his ears are telling him, and it’s just in time, too, to catch Shane who doesn’t slow down until he’s in serious danger of sending the both of them crashing into the car.
“Hollander?”
“You didn’t hear me calling for you?”
Ilya doesn’t answer, simply looks at him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing while Shane tries and fails to catch his breath.
“You know, if you were just as fast on the ice, you might have more cups than me,” Shane says.
His vain attempt at a chirp goes unanswered, and Shane combs a hand through his hair, trying and failing to ease his nerves.
“You are wet,” Ilya says at last, foregoing the quip Shane was certain he’d get.
“Yeah, well…” Shane repeats Ilya’s very articulate words from earlier.
“You ran after me,” Ilya says, “In the rain.”
“So it would seem.”
For a while, the two simply stare at each other.
Shane tries carefully not to notice the way raindrops cling to Ilya’s lashes or the way they catch on the curves of his lips. Tries not to think of how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him, to touch him until the maelstrom coursing through his body stills, and all he’ll be able to feel is Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.
“Ilya,” he says again, carefully, determinedly, like he cannot help himself now that he’s tried it out loud.
Ilya’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and then Shane is rewarded with possibly the most intimate sound he’s ever heard fall from another person’s lips.
“Shane,” Ilya whispers.
Shane steps forward, feet moving of their own accord, until he’s standing right in front of Ilya, close enough to count his eyelashes and map the moles across his jaw.
He touches a hand to Ilya’s cheek, maneuvering Ilya just so until their noses are almost touching yet staying far enough away so as not to force a kiss that Ilya might not want.
Instead, Shane watches as Ilya’s eyes dart down towards his mouth and then back to his eyes again.
With careful fingers, Shane lets his hand travel until his fingers tangle in the curls at Ilya’s neck.
Ilya releases an appreciative hum, and Shane doubles his efforts, letting his second hand join the first, until both his arms are wrapped securely around Ilya’s shoulders, his fingers hidden in Ilya’s curls.
“Ilya,” he repeats, “What are you doing here?”
For a moment, Ilya tenses, eyes boring into Shane’s with a thousand unspoken truths. Then, it’s like the adrenaline escapes him, his body going pliant beneath Shane’s ministrations.
His expression is one of complete vulnerability.
Of fear.
“It’s all right,” Shane whispers, voice soft in the quiet between them, “You can talk to me. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ilya’s lip wobbles, and it takes every last bit of Shane’s self-control not to lean forward and ease them against his own.
Instead, Shane’s fingers continue their care, softly scratching at Ilya’s scalp the way that he knows Ilya likes. Tenderly, comforting, until Ilya is ready to speak.
“I saw you,” Ilya says at last, voice fragile in a way that Shane doesn’t think he’s ever heard it before. “I saw the picture of you holding Pike’s baby and I thought that – fuck.”
He breaks off, shakes his head, and Shane lets out a soothing noise, encouraging him to continue.
“This is stupid.
“It’s not stupid,” Shane assures him.
Ilya takes a shaky breath and fixes his gaze somewhere above Shane’s left shoulder. “I thought you’d had a baby,” he says, “I thought you’d… found someone to settle down with, that you’d had a baby with them, and that I – that I –“
“That you what?” Shane whispers.
Ilya sniffles and then, just as Shane thinks he isn’t going to get an answer, Ilya fixes his gaze on him, face drawn into a pained expression. “I thought I’d missed my chance,” he says.
Shane feels the breath freeze in his lungs, not daring to believe that Ilya’s words mean what he hopes they do.
“I realized,” Ilya says, faster now, more determinedly, “That I don’t ever want you to be with anyone who isn’t me.”
“Oh.”
Shane doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to think. He’s overcome with sudden, startling elation yet simultaneously terrified that in a moment he’ll wake up alone in his bed.
Please God, don’t let it be a dream, he begs, please, God, don’t let it be –
“Shane?”
It takes the terrified timbre of Ilya’s voice to realize that he has yet to say anything.
“You want me?” Shane asks, words falling clumsily from his tongue, “You want to be with me? You don’t – want leggy supermodels or actresses or – or – women or –“
“It was Svetlana,” Ilya interrupts his ramble.
“What?”
“The woman on the magazine covers,” Ilya says, “I was out with Svetlana. Journalists think that she is my girlfriend, but she is not. She’s my childhood friend and we have been together like that but not for a long time, okay? Not this summer, not since –”
“I don’t understand what you’re –“
“I haven’t been with anyone since the last time we were together,” Ilya clarifies, “I have not wanted to. You were my last.”
“Holy shit,” Shane says, because he has literally no other words to articulate what’s currently happening inside his chest. “Holy shit, you could not have led with that? Instead of asking me to make a baby with you?”
Ilya has enough presence of mind to look at least a little chastised.
“I was going to ask you to stay the night with me,” he says, “When you play Boston in November, but then I saw the pictures and I thought I was too late.”
“No,” Shane whispers, “No you are not too late.”
“No?” He asks.
“No.” Shane shakes his head. “I haven’t – fuck – I haven’t been with anyone either. Not for a long, long time.” And then, because why not, he adds, “And unless you’ve acquired the ability to carry a child, I can assure you that I do not have any babies running around this Earth.”
Ilya sounds absolutely wrecked, the implication of Shane’s words settling over the both of them. He sneaks his arms around Shane’s middle, pulling him impossibly closer, fingers drawing mindless patterns across Shane’s back. “Shane, you are saying…”
Shane leans forward until their noses are touching, standing on tiptoes so that he can rest his temple against Ilya’s. “I’m saying I want to be with you, too,” he says, gathering every last bit of courage inside him, ”I’m saying I want to be with you all the time. You’re all I think about. All summer – all I’ve thought about is you.”
“Fuck, Hollander.”
Ilya chokes up, and slowly, so, very, very slowly, Shane closes the last distance between them and touches his lips to Ilya’s.
It’s all the encouragement Ilya needs. He tightens his arms around him and turns them around so that Shane’s back hits the car, Ilya’s hands secure around his hips, cushioning the blow.
Shane opens his mouth, and that’s it. He’s gone for.
There’s something intimate about kissing out here, out in the open, knowing that it cannot escalate. Kissing for the sake of kissing. Kissing because they cannot help themselves.
Kissing because they’re –
Shane wants to be closer, no, he needs to be closer, and then his legs are around Ilya’s hips, Ilya’s hands warm around his thighs.
He’s suddenly glad that they’re not able to make a baby, because Shane isn’t sure he’d have the willpower to say no. In fact, Shane thinks Ilya could propose marriage to him right now, and Shane would jump on a plane with him to Vegas.
Shane feels half delirious. He feels drunk on –
“Ilya.”
Ilya is pressing open-mouthed kisses down Shane’s neck, and Shane is too far gone to feel embarrassed about the whine that escapes him.
“I know, sweetheart,” Ilya assures him, “I know.”
The pet name does absolutely nothing to calm the feelings coursing through Shane’s body. They grow and grow and grow, and any moment now, Shane is sure he’s going to explode if he doesn’t –
“I love you,” Shane says, tearing his lips from Ilya’s to look him in the eye, “Fuck, Ilya, I love you so much. I love you, and I’ve loved – God, you have no idea for how long I’ve loved you.”
“I do.” At first, Ilya’s voice is nothing but a whisper and then, “I do, Shane, I promise you, I do. Ever since that day in Saskatchewan.”
“Shut up, no you haven’t.”
“I have,” Ilya assures him, “I might not have known it, but I have.”
Shane’s breath stutters, and then he’s tugging at Ilya, desperate to slot their mouths together again. Ilya obliges, and Shane’s mind goes blissfully blank, not able to focus on anything except Ilya, Ilya, Ilya and love, love, love, two words that are suddenly synonymous in his mind.
Ilya isn’t sure for how long they stay there, aware of little else except the feeling of having Shane in his arms. Shane’s lips against his skin, Shane’s breaths in his lungs, Shane’s moans in his ears.
Ilya thinks he might be crying, but it’s impossible to know as long as it’s raining.
He’s distantly aware that anyone could come by and see them, but Ilya doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about anything except the fact that Shane says he wants him as much as Ilya wants Shane.
Still, Ilya is the one to finally pull away, soothing Shane’s groan as he does.
“You need to get inside,” Ilya whispers, fingers trailing delicately across Shane’s cheeks, “You’ll get sick out here.”
For a moment, pure, unadulterated panic flickers across Shane’s face, and Ilya is sure that he’s said something wrong, but then –
“Not without you,” Shane protests, “Please. Please don’t leave me. I know you have a game tonight. I know you can’t – but – but I can’t – fuck.”
Ilya shushes him, arms rubbing soothing circles up and down Shane’s arms. And then, before Shane has a chance to react, Ilya hoists him further up, carrying him away from the car and towards the entrance to the condo.
“I wasn’t going to leave, lyubimyy,” Ilya tells him, “I’ll call in sick, don’t you worry. Bad food poisoning. Might need to stay in bed for a couple of days.”
“A couple of days, huh?”
“At least.”
Shane buries his head in Ilya’s neck, and Ilya pulls him closer against his chest, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
“We’ll both take a sick day,” Shane says, and he says it with such confidence that Ilya has trouble comprehending that this is real. Shane Hollander loves him. Shane Hollander is willing to give up a hockey game to be with him.
He’s so dazed, in fact, that he nearly misses Shane’s attempt at getting his attention.
“Wait.”
Shane’s voice is frantic, urgent, and Ilya stills just short of the door. He secures his grip on Shane, maneuvering him so that he is able to look him in the eye, Shane’s arms still safely secured around him like an overgrown koala.
“What is it?”
Shane bites his lip, eyes big and brown as they meet Ilya’s.
“Do you really mean it?” Shane asks.
Ilya furrows his brow. “Mean what?”
Shane looks down, gaze fixed in the general direction of Ilya’s collarbone, obviously gathering his courage before meeting his eyes yet again.
“You really want a family with me?”
“Sweetheart.” Ilya has to keep his heart from breaking right down the middle, from cursing his former self and all the times he’s pushed Shane away, pretending he didn’t want him, pretending that this was less than it was. “Moya lyubov – I want everything with you.”
For a long, agonizing moment, the confession stays quiet in the space between them.
Then, Shane lets out a wretched sob, his lips seeking Ilya’s once again.
Ilya meets him halfway, his heart stuttering helplessly in an effort to convey everything he feels in that one kiss. He cannot bear the thought of Shane doubting his love for him, not when Ilya –
It takes Ilya a moment to recognize the feeling for what it is. Takes him a moment to realize that this isn’t something fleeting, that this is a feeling he gets to keep.
It happens somewhere between Shane repeating his love for him and Shane urging him, giddily, breathlessly, to carry them upstairs, to carry them inside, to carry them home.
It’s Shane’s breathy promises that jolt Ilya to remember the feeling that he hasn’t felt in such a long time. Not since he was twelve years old.
It’s a feeling he thought he’d never feel again.
A feeling that grows and grows and grows as Shane kisses him and comforts him and tells him he loves him.
It is, Ilya realizes somewhat dazedly, what it feels like to have a family.
“So it’s a yes?” Ilya asks once they’re inside again, both drenching the hardwood floors while the bear looks at them from the counter.
“A yes?” Shane asks, chasing Ilya’s lips as Ilya pulls away.
“Da.” Ilya looks at him. “You will not make a baby with anyone who isn’t me?”
“Oh, you’re still on about that,” Shane says, fond voice betraying his actual feelings on the matter.
“Of course.” Ilya presses a kiss to his temple, his cheeks, and across his nose. “Is important question. We can discuss later but I think we should start with five.”
“Five!?”
This time, Shane looks at him like he truly has gone mad.
“Da.” Ilya shrugs. “You will be bored once your knee goes bad.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Ilya smirks, but then Shane’s lips are on his again, and it’s almost, almost enough to distract him, except then Shane is the one to pull away, brow furrowed in concentration.
“Three,” he says, and it takes Ilya a moment to remember what they are talking about. “Three babies. As I said that’s a reasonable number.”
“Hmm…” Ilya pretends to give this some serious thought while starting to maneuver Shane backwards and down the hall. “If we do four then no one gets lonely.”
“Four.” For a moment, Shane doesn’t say anything. Then –
“That’s a deal. But you’re changing all the diapers.”
“A compromise,” Ilya says, but his cheeks hurt from how much he’s smiling.
“We’ll have to get more bears,” Shane tells him, “And I want a smoothie every morning. If you’re ever away, you have to pre-make it.”
Ilya doesn’t know what it says about him that he becomes giddy at the prospect of getting up every single morning to make Shane breakfast, but he doesn’t care in the moment. He presses a soft kiss to Shane’s hair and knows for a fact he will cherish every single one.
“So should we practice?” Shane asks, wriggling in his arms as they near the bedroom.
“Oh yes.” Ilya nods in mock seriousness. “We should definitely practice.”