Chapter Text
Part I:
“SHANYA!” The terrified shriek rang through the entryway.
Shane was just getting in the door from his run, an evening ritual that helped his mind settle before bed. As far as he knew, his husband was fine. So why was he screaming?
“Ilya?” Panic bloomed hot in Shane’s veins. “Baby? Where are you?” he called, even as he began climbing the stairs two by two. Ilya’s voice had come from upstairs.
“SHANE!” Ilya again, sounding just as scared.
“Baby?!” Shane’s voice was getting higher, panic breathing through his lungs. Light shone from under their en-suite bathroom door. He briefly wondered if he should have grabbed a weapon. Would anyone be stupid enough to try to break into their home? And would that stupid person be strong enough to actually scare his big, strong Russian hockey player husband?
Thoughts racing, Shane charged empty-handed through the shut door, which luckily was not locked. He raised his fists. He was a hockey player too, damn it, and he could damn well fight.
The bathroom was dimly lit, with the big overhead light off. Just a few votive candles around the shelves and the rim of the tub, and the matching toleware lamps on either side of the dual vanity sinks.
Ilya was in the soaking tub, nestled under the large frosted window. Bubbles frothed around his golden skin. For a second, Shane completely forgot why he had come into the room – he just stared at the naked, carved Greek god glistening in the bathroom light.
Water sloshed over the rim of the tub, splashing onto the tile, as Ilya flailed in the tub. Shane’s attention was drawn back to the issue at hand. “Baby? Are you okay?” He knelt next to the tub, running his eyes over Ilya’s face as his hands dove under water, looking for any injuries that weren’t immediately apparent under the bubbles.
“Shane! Thank God!” Ilya exclaimed. He gestured wildly with his hands, flinging bubbles across the walls, the floor, and Shane. “Missile!”
“Wha…what?” Shane gaped at him. For good measure, he looked around the entire bathroom again, but didn’t find a Russian mafioso with a missile launcher pointed at them.
“Missile! Look!” Ilya insisted, hands moving as fast as they did on the ice. Shane tried to track whatever he was pointing at, but didn’t see anything.
“Ilya. Baby. Are you okay?”
“For now! But not for long! Shanya, you need to rescue me!”
Again, Shane looked around, and did not see any kind of threat. “What is going on? And if you are so scared, why didn't you just get out of the tub?”
Ilya gasped dramatically. “And waste bubbles? Hot water? Shanya, I am an athlete! I need soaking!”
“Okay, baby. So what is the problem, exactly?”
“Missile will not leave me alone!”
Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, adrenaline crashing as he realized his husband was not actively in danger. “Ilya. What do you mean by missile? Because a missile is a projectile, a bomb, used in war.”
Ilya frowned at him, absorbing this information, before responding. “Miss…something? Flying bug with evil intentions!”
Shane gaped at him. “Baby, are you trying to tell me that there is a mosquito in here?”
His husband’s face lit up. “Yes! Miss-skeeter! Is menacing me, trying to ruin bathtime!”
“Ohmigod,” Shane muttered under his breath.
“Need big strong hockey husband to rescue me so I can relax! Cannot fuck him if I am still sore from practice,” Ilya said with a wink, playing up his Russian accent in a way that he knew Shane couldn’t resist.
With a deep sigh, Shane climbed to his feet, ignoring the wet patches on the knees of his pants from kneeling on the tile. “Alright. Do you think you can handle yourself for a minute while I get…uh, ammunition for this war?” He knew that playing into Ilya’s dramatics was the surest way to get him to agree.
Just like clockwork, Ilya nodded eagerly, but the effect was ruined as his eyes tracked what must be the flying menace before he dipped his head below the waterline, apparently to avoid it.
Shane at least waited until he had left the bathroom before rolling his eyes. Hard.
At least the urgency had bled out of the situation. Whatever dramatics Ilya was indulging in, a mosquito bite was not going to kill him. So, Shane took his time. He pulled a pre-made protein shake from the fridge, shaking it hard before cracking the seal and taking a long drink. He carried it with him as he looked through the house, trying to find something to bring to Ilya to assuage his fear. Even if it was only dramatics.
Finally, in the front closet, he found what he was looking for. Shane chugged the rest of the shake before leaving the container on the kitchen counter. Ilya would never let him hear the end of it if he suspected Shane had not prioritized Ilya’s “safety.”
With one last put-upon sigh, Shane trudged back up the stairs. God, he loved his husband – Ilya was the absolute best part of his life. And if this little gesture would make him happy, then Shane would gladly do it.
He eased open the bathroom door again, and found Ilya exactly where he’d left him. Ilya’s curls were damp, a few bubbles clinging to the ringlets, and the rest of his skin was glowing from whatever bath oil he had poured into the soaking tub. Shane was temporarily speechless, again, just looking at Ilya.
After all these years, he was still stunned that he got to have this. That they got to have this.
“Here, baby. Your own anti-missile weapon,” Shane said ceremoniously, presenting the fly-swatter to Ilya like a page presenting a sword to a knight.
“Oh, Shanya. My husband, my hero,” Ilya responded seriously, taking the proffered swatter from Shane’s upturned palms.
“Do you think you can take it from here, baby?”
Ilya’s face changed – it took on the killer gleam that usually prefaced a brutal check into the boards or an unfathomable puck drop steal.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear husband. Worry about miss-skeeter. She is in deep trouble.” He grinned like a shark, as he brandished the weapon in the air.
Shane smiled back. No matter how long they were together, Ilya would always put a smile on his face.