Chapter Text
The sound of polite conversations and the smell of wine lingered throughout the banquet.
The two husbands of hockey were hosting a fundraiser for the Irina Foundation, mingling here and there together to create small talk with patrons.
Ilya and Shane decided to split up to talk to donors and encourage donations. That way, the work would get done in half the time.
After it had been what felt like a thousand hours to Ilya Rozanov, he was itching to get his hands on his husband.
Ilya’s eyes scanned the crowd until he found those familiar freckles that still made his stomach flip to this day. Shane’s freckles.
His Shane.
Which didn’t seem so obvious to the man standing next to Shane, whose fingertips traced Hollander’s biceps. The same biceps that Ilya loved to bite into to stifle his moans.
Who did this guy think he was? Touching his husband. His, his, his.
The man threw his head back and howled with laughter. Rozanov huffed out an angry breath, Shane wasn’t that funny. Maybe when he was drunk or with his close friends, but surely not now.
And who was this man to guffaw at Shane’s jokes? Ilya should be the one laughing at Shane’s jokes. Should be the one touching Shane. Should be the one who’s now apparently only an inch away from his face.
Ilya began making his way across the ballroom in long strides.
Once he reached Shane, he hung his arm possessively around his husband’s waist. Ilya eyed the man up and down, who was unfortunately still a breath away from Shane.
“Who’s this, котенок?” Rozanov asked, turning over to face his husband.
Hollander’s big, brown orbs were filled with relief. Ilya saw his whole world in those eyes.
Regrettably, his love-induced daze was interrupted with an irritating voice.
“I’m Malcolm. Malcolm Dubois. And thanks to Shane, this handsome man,” He gestured to Shane and smirked before continuing,
“I would like to look into donating to the Irina Foundation. I mean, I would do anything in order to improve my relationship with this hottie”
Hollander’s smile faltered. Ilya wanted to punch Malcolm, rip his face off, then punch him some more for good measure. But he knew that Shane would be livid and that was the last thing Ilya wanted.
Just as Rozanov was about to excuse them both, Malcolm raised an arm to reveal that he wasn't done talking.
He cleared his throat loudly, Hollander wincing at the noticeable spit particles sprinkling across his navy suit.
“Well, are you guys looking for a third by any chance?” Malcolm flashed a smile that made Ilya’s blood boil. Rozanov was sure that there had to be billowing steam emerging out of his own ears.
Although Ilya liked to poke and tease Shane about having a threesome and watch as the fuchsia colored blush stood out against his husband’s freckles, he was far from humorous right now.
“No, we are not.”
“Okay, well, give me a call if that ever changes.”
Black dots danced in Ilya’s vision and the sound of blood rushing filled his ears. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready to lunge at the man in front of him.
“It won’t change. Ever. Now if you don’t mind, my husband and I would like to find someone else to talk to. You’re making the both of us a bit uncomfortable,” Shane uttered quickly.
Ilya looked toward Shane, his perfect, sweet, awkward Shane, who stood with his head held slightly high. His husband looked around nervously, worried he had crossed a line with his response.
Malcolm’s eyes widened and his face became a fiery shade of red.
“Слушай, Шейна, он реально как помидор. Прям как ты. Да ладно, не переживай, ты у меня намного милее.” Ilya murmured, his breath hot on Shane’s ear.
Shane glared at him with those “angry kitten eyes” that Ilya loves.
When Rozanov turned around to stare down Malcolm for the last time, he was gone.
“Let’s leave and go home, малыш,” Shane supplied.
Ilya smiled endearingly, raking his fingers through his husband’s jet black hair while peppering kisses across his forehead before tapping his index finger up and down quickly across Shane’s nose and cheekbones.
“Ilya? What are you doing?” Shane laughed.
“I’m counting your freckles. It helps me calm down,” Rozanov shrugged. Hollander’s eyes immediately became soft.
“I love you.” He whispered, pulling Ilya’s hand to his plush lips, kissing each of his knuckles softly.
“I love you, Shane. So much.”