Work Text:
Shane’s body was sticky with a sheen of sweat, his chest still heaving from exertion. Ilya, on the other hand, was already propped up steadily on his hands on either side of Shane’s shoulders. His head was dipped low to press gentle kisses across Shane’s collarbone as he caught his breath. Shane could feel the soft whispers Ilya graced across his skin, but couldn't quite make out what he was saying; Russian, no doubt.
God, it was fucking sexy when he did that.
They had one night before Ilya would have to go back to Ottawa for practice tomorrow- the last one before his first game with his new team. Ten minutes ago, before Ilya had even gotten through the doorway of Shane’s apartment, clothes were being torn off and discarded, which ended in some very animalistic and very needed sex on the living room couch.
Their relationship had been “official” for almost 4 months now, and both were sickeningly happy. Shane was almost relieved that they were a secret for now- he couldn’t keep his mind, eyes, or hands off of Ilya, and he was sure it’d be absolute torture for anyone else to be around.
His poor parents.
Ilya wrapped up his worship of Shane with a final slow kiss to his Adam's apple.
“Moya lyubov.” Ilya breathed like a prayer into Shane’s neck before settling back down onto his body and snuggling into his chest. Shane looked up at the ceiling and ran his hands through Ilya’s curls, deciding to finally dive into a certain conversation before he chickened out.
First, he flipped them over so his body covered Ilya’s comfortably, and he could gaze down at him from where Shane propped himself up. This way, he could keep him there… accountable. Ilya glanced up at him with tired curiosity, and Shane broke the ice.
“What does that mean?”
Even though Shane knew perfectly well what it meant now, he had this theory…
Ever since they first crashed into one another in a flurry of hot skin, hungry lips, and grasping limbs, Ilya had let little Russian murmurings slip out underneath his breath, or, Shane’s favorite, directly against his ear. He wasn’t even sure Ilya realized he was doing it sometimes, and mostly, Shane would just enjoy it for the sexy sounds and implications rather than ask for translations.
Sometimes Shane did ask what his seemingly sweet whispers were about. For a split second, Ilya always looked like he was caught doing something embarrassing before cockily answering with something like, “It means 'horny bitch’, or 'my obedient pet.'" Shane would, in turn, roll his eyes and shove at Ilya, only to be tugged back into his body harder, Ilya’s teeth scraping up Shane’s neck and making him forget about his assholery.
Now, just like times before, Ilya’s eyes flickered away for a second before returning up to Shane’s with a new confidence that Shane couldn’t wait to squash. “It meaaaaans… pretty slut.”
Lies.
Shane was starting to figure out that Ilya was full of shit. Well, he knew that already, but specifically full of shit when it came to translating his Russian musings back to Shane. He wasn’t calling Shane a slut or commanding him in dominating tones (not that Shane would’ve minded… at all), rather he was pouring his heart out to Shane in a way that was less scary for Ilya.
Aw.
Not anymore, motherfucker. Shane smirked down at Ilya and cocked an eyebrow. He had his own little secret up his sleeve, and Ilya couldn’t hide anymore.
“No, it doesn’t.” Shane stated in a matter-of-fact way with a razor-sharp edge of arrogance. Ilya froze, his cocky grin slowly dissolving as his eyes began to panic with confusion.
“...yes. It does.” He was less confident this time.
“No… It doesn’t.” Shane was loving this.
“Russian expert, are you?” He was starting to get annoyed. Good.
“I'm know enough.” Shane tried to stay hard in his command from above Ilya, but his grin seeped through. Rozanov was so fucking adorable, caught underneath him, squirming just a bit as he grew uncomfortable yet intrigued by Shane’s games.
Finally, the tables were turned for once. Ilya snorted sarcastically, no doubt trying to fight it.
“Right.” Rozanov tried to feign disbelief and disinterest, but Shane could tell he was dying to know what his uncharacteristically authoritative boyfriend was on about.
“Yeah. Right." Shane insisted. "Moya lyubov, ‘my love’. What else have you been lying about, you big softie?”
Ilya froze again, eyes locked yet searching Shane’s, struggling to hold onto his usual dominance.
Shane couldn’t help but beam down at the way Ilya was tripping over his words. If even for just a second, he had managed to completely bewilder and embarrass Ilya Rozanov.
Victory.
“Pfft.” Ilya quickly resorted to just rolling his eyes dismissively, forcing his expression back to one of nonchalance. “Okay, Mr. Know-Everything.”
“Know-it-all…” Shane quietly corrected, even though he knew Ilya didn’t care.
“Now I feel like I am being…” He waved his hand in the air, searching for the word. “Interrogated.” Ilya tried to push Shane off of him, but Hollander was far from done with him. He slid his hands over Ilya’s arms and pinned his wrists to the couch.
“Hey, hey-” Ilya complained through giggles.
“That’s exactly what’s happening,” Shane said in a low voice. He nearly touched the tip of his nose to Ilya’s, who was still trying to wiggle out from underneath him, twisting his hips and kicking to no avail.
“Then I refuse to speak without an attorney!” Ilya burst into louder giggles when Shane pinned his thigh down with his knee. The sound made Shane’s heart feel like it would overflow.
“Let’s see… Ya tvoy, ‘I’m yours’, which I’m pretty sure you told me was ‘bend over’. Ty takoy krasivyy, ‘You’re so beautiful’, except you told me it meant ‘such a good boy’,”
“Wh-”
“Zhizn moya, ‘my life’?" Shane didn't even care how much he was beaming, his voice raised an octave. "Ilya you've been, like, this little poet-"
"Stop,"
"-this whole time,"
"Oh my god."
The rare blush in Ilya's face made Shane's heart soar, but it was his smile and eyes that really got him. Admiration for Shane seemed to be cutting through his embarrassment. It made Shane's stomach flip. Ilya shook his head slowly and scoffed, simply speechless and frozen.
“Yeah.” Shane grinned back at him triumphantly. “Busted.” He couldn’t help himself anymore. Ilya’s expression was just too adorable, and he had finally stilled and surrendered underneath Shane. His head was slightly tilted back to look up into Shane's eyes, exposing his gorgeously sculpted neck.
“Mmm…” Ilya’s moan was low and croaky as Shane pressed kisses and lightly sucked at Ilya’s throat. He felt the vibrations of Ilya’s groan against his lips. “I am innocent.” Rozanov insisted dreamily and unconvincingly.
“Nah, you're found super guilty, actually.” Shane continued trailing kisses down to Ilya’s collarbone, letting his hands slip from his wrists to coast his fingertips down Ilya’s stomach instead. He reveled in the way Ilya’s breath hitched from his movements.
“Guilty of what?”
“Being the world’s biggest closeted sweetheart.”
Ilya rolled his eyes and threw his head back, making Shane chuckle and glance up to enjoy the vision of his boyfriend being both annoyed and increasingly sexually frustrated. He grunted with disapproval before lifting his head up to gaze back at Shane with a unique mixture of mischief and oh-so-much adoration.
“Ty razdrazhayushchaya vseznayka bryuzga.” Ilya shot at him. Shane blinked dumbly back. “You know this one, genius?”
“No…” Shane’s smile faltered. “What-”
“I said, you are cutie.”
It was an obvious lie.
“It was mean, wasn’t it?”
“Mm..” Ilya grinned up at Shane, clearly enjoying the bit of power he was winning back. “Guess your Russian still needs some work, yes?”
“Asshole.”
“I thought I was world’s biggest sweetheart?” Ilya ran his hands over Shane’s shoulders and gently pushed him over so that he could “spoon” him- a term that Shane had turned pink when having to explain to his Russian boyfriend earlier that month.
He let Ilya take back over, feeling his own muscles melt underneath the warmth of Ilya’s strong embrace. His golden-curled menace immediately started peppering the side of Shane’s face with gentle kisses that made his heart soar.
“Closeted sweetheart.” Shane made sure to correct. “Important discernment.”
It was quiet for a while, save for the sound of Ilya’s gentle kisses down Shane’s jaw.
“You know… I’d learn faster if you helped me?” Shane glanced back to catch Ilya’s cocked eyebrow and the corner of his lips twitching upwards. He looked touched for a moment before that amused little glint in his eye took over.
“You want to be my good little student, Hollander?”
“Shut up.”
Ilya sighed happily and cuddled ever further into Shane, snaking his arms around him as far as they could go and giving him a squeeze. He pressed his face into Shane's back, muddying his speech but not enough for incomprehension.
“Of course ya mogu, miliy.” Ilya’s voice dropped into his serious, doting tone. Shane shivered at the kiss he felt between his shoulder blades, and the knowledge that “miliy” meant “sweetheart” or “my dear”... or something like that.
Another beat went by where Shane just enjoyed the feeling of hot breath against his back. His own fingertips ghosted the ridges of Ilya’s arm muscles locked securely around him. He felt the deep rumble of Ilya’s chest against his back as he spoke.
“Try… Ya umolyayu…”
“Ya umoly- umolyayu…” The corner of Shane’s lip turned up as he stumbled through, slightly embarrassed but even more enamored.
“...trakni menya.”
“...trakni menya.”
“Mmm. Good.” Ilya kissed his shoulder in ways of reward. Shane was almost afraid to ask…
“And that meant..?”
“I am begging you to fuck me.”
“Oh, fuck off. Saw that coming.” Shane tried his best to be annoyed, but the stirring in his crotch said otherwise.
“I teach you the essentials. Only things you need to know.”
“I’m going to start using French more, then we’ll see how much fun you’re having.”
“Oh, but your French is so sexy, mon coeur."
Shane huffed in fake annoyance. It was quiet for a while longer as they listened to each other breathing. Shane even noticed that their inhales and exhales synced up at one point. It was then that his eyelids began to feel heavy.
“You are moya lyubov.” Ilya’s whisper gently guided Shane back to consciousness. He felt Ilya’s fingers gingerly brush his bangs from his forehead.
“Moy-ya loo-buv.” Shane tried out, feeling Rozanov chuckle warmly behind him. He gently corrected Shane and helped him through the foreign vocal stress patterns of some of his other frequently used pet names. They could be ruthless in their teasing of one another, but never about the language barriers. He adored when Ilya asked him for help with complicated English words, and he guessed that Ilya was enjoying having things the other way around as well.
“When did you find the time to be so sneaky, hm?”
“Sneaky?” Shane scoffed, shooting Ilya a glance back over his shoulder.
“Mm.”
“You mean using my valuable time to learn the language of the man I love?”
“You wanted to catch me.”
Shane chuckled. Okay, so both things could be true.
“On a plane,” Shane answered. There had been a lot of travel with press, training, and endorsements lately, giving Shane ample time to daydream like a lovesick puppy. “A few planes.”
Ilya was quiet for a while, and Shane wondered what he was thinking about- probably imagining Shane studying Russian on all of his flights. It suddenly sent heat to Shane’s face, and he was glad he was turned away from Ilya so that he couldn’t see him blush.
“Adorable.” Ilya finally stated.
“Shut up.”
Ilya sighed and rested his chin on Shane’s shoulder. He tried not to flinch and let Ilya have the satisfaction in knowing that it tickled.
“Suppose I have to start watching what I say,” Ilya mumbled. Shane breathed out his nose and rolled his eyes. He was going to say something teasing like ‘God forbid Ilya Rozanov shows a feeling’, but instead, Shane simply said,
“Da.”
It was quiet for a split second before they both burst out laughing. It was one of those moments that felt so over-saturated with sickly happiness that it was almost too much to bear. As their fit of giggles subsided, Shane shimmied himself around in Ilya’s arms to face him, the tips of their noses brushing against one another. Ilya’s smile fell, and his face got deadly serious, but not in the cold, haunted, I'm-an-impenetrable-Russian-fortress kind of serious… in the warm, gooey, I'd-do-anything-for-you-forever kind of serious. He gently brushed his nose up against Shane’s a few times.
Nose kisses and nuzzles. From Ilya Rozanov.
What was his life? His ridiculous, wonderful life.
“Ya lyublyu tyebya. Ty dlya menya vse."
Shane knew this one, too.
“I love you too. And you're my everything.”
Ilya’s face broke into a prideful (yet slightly teasing) smile when Shane understood him.
“Woooooooowwwww, Posmotri na sebya! Moy malen'kiy geniy,” Ilya was suddenly overcome with one of what Shane called his “aggressive love attacks”. He tickled Shane’s sides, causing him to spasm before Ilya squeezed him nearly painfully tight and planted fast kisses all over his face, kicking his still-socked feet against Shane’s excitedly.
“Ow, ow… Okay, okay…” Shane chuckled, wriggling out of Ilya’s grasp to get air. “Come help cut vegetables so we can get dinner over with.”
“And spend the rest of the night in bed?”
“Exactly.”