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Ilya hadn’t gone into these two weeks with high expectations. He’d never imagined, when he boarded the plane in Boston, that he’d have admitted he loved Shane and met his parents all within the first few days of being at the cottage. And that Shane’s parents actually maybe liked him and were coming over for dinner and Ilya wasn’t freaking out about it at all.
At least, he wasn’t trying to. It was like they’d flipped the script from the day before, Shane was calm and rational and Ilya was out of his mind with worry. Now that the hurdle of Yuna and David knowing about them was over, he had to worry about them approving of him. It had been years - if ever - that he’d wanted people to like him for Iyla and not just Rozanov the asshole hockey player.
“Hey, Ilya - are you ok?” Shane asked, idly tidying the already clean living room.
Ilya looked up from his phone, tried to smile reassuringly at Shane but even he knew that it was too fake. “Yes, am all good. Just reading article about new drafts this summer.” At least, he’d been trying but mostly failing, just staring off into space, trying to control his racing thoughts instead.
“Hey,” Shane said, sharper. “If you don’t want my parents to come over for dinner, I can still tell them.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Ilya.”
“Shane.”
“What’s wrong?”
Ilya didn’t look at Shane, looking anywhere but his earnest brown eyes. Finally, staring out at the lake he admitted: “Is embarrassing…”
“More embarrassing than my dad catching us making out?”
He had a point there. Ilya mutters, still not looking at Shane. “I’ve never met my boyfriend - or girlfriend's parents before.” Even quieter, from behind his hands as he rubs his face he says “I want them to like me.” He finally looks at Shane, who’s biting his lip, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Ilya snaps, suddenly frustrated with Shane and with his own embarrassment he snaps.
“What? I don’t laugh at you yesterday, when you’re all worried and freaking out about your parents, but now that it’s my turn you get to laugh at me?”
“Hey, hey,” Shane’s serious, sliding to sit on Ilya’s lap, cups his face between his palms. “I’m sorry, that was a dick move, I wasn’t laughing, not really. It’s just, kinda cute that you care that much.”
Ilya leans back, still pouting. “Cute?”
“Yes…” Shane blushes. “It means a lot to me that you’re worried about my parents liking you, but honestly, Ilya they already do.”
“They have known me for 5 minutes.”
Shane actually does laugh, kisses Ilya’s cheek. “In the time that they met you yesterday, you complimented my dad on his vodka, helped him cook dinner and calmed me down from a panic attack. They’ve seen the side of you that I get to see. And I don’t know how they couldn’t fall in love with that. I certainly couldn’t resist.”
Ilya smiles then, most definitely not blushing. “If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Shane says, leaning in, kissing his cheek, then resting his head against Ilya’s chest, a warm, solid presence as he slows his breathing and calms his racing thoughts. Until the doorbell rings, and he feels his heart rate spike again. Shane must hear it, because he lifts his head and kisses Ilya again, slowly, gently. “Just be yourself, Ilya.” Shane slides off his lap, takes both of Ilya’s hands in his, pulling him onto his feet. “C’mon, if we can survive yesterday, we can survive today.”
He’s still holding Ilya’s hand when he opens the door for his parents, dropping Ilya’s hand to intercept the grocery bags that Yuna hands to him. Shane looks in the bags, “Mom, this is so much food.”
“There’s never too much food when you’re feeding two hockey players, Shane.” she says, pulling Ilya into a hug so fast that he can’t properly process what’s happening. ”Hi, Ilya, good to see you again.”
“Y-you to,” he says, frozen for a second.He can’t remember the last time he’d been hugged like this, quick, casual, welcoming. Maternal. He stands there for a second as Yuna and David kick off their shoes and move into the rest of the house, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He’s not going to cry.
“You ok?” Shane asks, meeting his eyes.
“No,” he says because they’re being honest this week. “But I will be.”
Shane nods. “I better go supervise, they tend to go a little crazy when they have people to cook for.”
Ilya sees this for himself, following Shane into the kitchen to see that Yuna and David have brought almost a full three course meal. Yuna is assembling a salad, David is basting a sauce onto chicken thighs, and Ilya is almost certain that he sees a pie in the bag on the counter.
“Can I help?” Ilya asks.
“You can get yourself a beer and relax,” David says.
“You do realize this is my home,” Shane says, grabbing a beer out of the fridge, looking at Ilya. He nods. “I should be cooking for you.”
Ilya snorts before he can stop himself. “David is a much better cook.”
Shane shoots him a dirty look, presses a beer into his hand. “Says the man who’s been eating my cooking all week.”
Ilya kisses his cheek. “You are very good at following a recipe.”
Shane glares at him, then at his parents as they laugh. “Oh, so you’re all ganging up on me now?”
“You’re a great cook, sweetie,” Yuna presses a kiss into his hairline. “But you know your dad,” she looks fondly at David, happily basting the chicken thighs. “You can get me a glass of wine, if you’re determined to be a good host.”
They settle onto the patio, with the shade and a light breeze off the lake, it’s cooled down considerably since the afternoon. Shane insists on helping his dad carry everything outside, then has to observe him as he uses the grill. Yuna brings the bottle of wine, sitting next to Ilya at the patio table, watching their men bicker over the way that they should cook the chicken.
“Funny,” Yuna says, taking a slow sip of her wine. “Didn’t know it was Shane who was sponsored by Addidas.”
It takes Ilya a second longer to parse the meaning of her phrase, his eyes catching on the loose fit of Shane’s sweatshirt. In the brand that Ilya has a deal for. “Oh, uh-”
“It looks good on him,” Yuna is looking at him, unflinching eye contact with those deep brown eyes, so similar to Shane’s. “He looks happy.”
“I like to think so,” Ilya sips from his beer. “He makes me happy, that’s for sure.”
“Then that’s all that matters. I’m glad Shane found someone that makes him happy.” Yuna squeezes his knee, grins. “Even if you’re a dirty fucking hockey player.”
“Mom!” Shane spins around from the grill- still holding the tongs. He looks ridiculous, and Ilya’s never been more in love with him.
“What?!”
“You can’t say that to him!”
Ilya feels warm all over. Shane is defending him, against his mom’s chirps. He knows he’s grinning like an idiot, but he shrugs, trying to maintain nonchalance. “It’s true, though.”
It’s a truly amazing meal, David is the master at cooking within the restraints of Shane’s weird diet and still having it actually taste like something. Yuna is talking hockey theory with Shane now, and her analysis of the Metros’ plays is something that would make even Svetlana impressed. Ilya loves Shane, and he’s falling in love with Shane’s family, too, seeing how much of them are reflected in their son. He has mom’s wickedly smart humor and knowledge of hockey with a softer, more humbler edge that Ilya is seeing comes from David.
How could Ilya not love them, when he loves the man that they created so deeply.
“Dinner was good,” Ilya says to Shane, as they carry in stacks of dishes from dinner. “Yes?”
“Yeah,” Shane dumps the plates in the sink. “We can wash them later, want another beer?”
Ilya shakes his head. Shane is warm from the sun when he pulls him into his arms, the day spent outside making his freckles stand out against his cheeks. He’d been going a little crazy, looking at them across the dinner table all evening. “Kiss?”
Ilya kisses the freckles along his cheekbones until he feels Shane laugh underneath his lips. He whispers, “You missed.”
“Kissed my favorite part of you,” Ilya murmurs, stepping back, grinning, flicking his eyes down Shane’s body. “Well. Top five parts at least.”
Shane shoves his shoulder, playfully. “C’mon, before my parents come looking for us and see something they should never see.” He pauses, grabbing another beer out of the fridge, laughing. “Again.”
David has the fire going by the time Ilya and Shane come outside, stretched out in lawn chairs, feet close to the warmth. It’s slightly chilly, with the breeze off the lake so Ilya settles into the spot next to Shane. His spot, maybe. Some day. The fire is warm on his face as he leans back, watching the sun set across the lake, enjoying the quiet of a summer night.
As a child, the silence in his house was always oppressive. Proof that his mother was gone, that his father had nothing to say to him unless it was critical. But the silence with the Hollanders is… cozy. There’s no tension, just three people enjoying watching the sun set over the lake, silence broken only by the howl of the loons and the crackle of the fire.
“So,” Yuna says, eventually. “Uh, the CCM commercial you were in - in 2010.”
“What about it?” Shane asks, sounding as out of it as Ilya is. Then he seems to catch on, in one violent movement he’s sat up straight. Ilya doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast in his life. “Oh my god, mom.”
“Commercial?” Ilya asks, connecting the dots slightly slower than Shane, then grinning when he realizes. “Ah, yes the summer before Rookie year.”
“Is that when…” Yuna asks.
“Mom,” Shane whispers again, horrified. “How did you even remember-”
“I was curious!” she says, throwing up her hands. “I looked back at my calendars and saw that booking and it was the only time the two of you would have been in a room together before the first game in Montreal.”
“Oh my god,” Shane mutters again.
“Yes,” Ilya confirms. “It is when we uh, for the first time.”
“Ilya,” Shane whispers. “Stop.”
Ilya ignores him. “I asked Shane to be in that commercial with me, I was still curious about him, I think, so I wanted to see him again. See what made him tick before we face off against each other in the fall.”
“And now look at you,” David says. “Who would have thought?”
“Not us,” Shane says, dryly.
“Eh,” Ilya elbows him. “We figured it out eventually.”
“Yeah,” Shane looks at him now, the quiet fondness in his eyes that Ilya loves so much. “I guess we did.”
“Almost ten years,” Yuna mutters, in awe. In the light of the fire Ilya can see tears gathering in the corner of her eyes, the same way as Shane’s.
“Mom,” Shane reaches over to squeeze her hand.
“All a mom wants is for someone to love her kid as much as possible,” she wipes the tears out of her eyes.
Ilya feels them forming in his own eyes, the thoughts of his own mother coming over him in a heavy wave. He’s been battling them all week, this longing in his chest to know what she would have thought about all of this. If she’d have loved Shane as much as he did. The profound ache knowing that she’ll never meet Shane, she will never get to know that he found someone that loved him, that made him happy the way that Yuna gets to. He feels Shane reach up, his thumb wiping the tears out of Ilya’s eyes.
“Hey,” he whispers, kissing his wet cheek. “Hey, now. It’s ok.”
He clears his throat, “I’m fine,” he says.
Low, so his parent’s can’t hear, Shane asks: “Your mom?”
Ilya nods, stiffly, looks at Yuna and David, so much concern in their eyes. “My mother, she died. When I was a child.”
“Oh, Ilya,” Yuna says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Ilya,” David says, soft as a whisper. “I, I can’t imagine how hard that’s been for you.”
“C’mere.” Shane pulls him closer, until his head is resting in Shane’s lap, his fingers stroking softly through his hair.
“I know it will never replace the loss of a parent,” Yuna says, looking at Ilya. “But you have us now, you know that right? It’s the least,” she chokes on her words, looking at David. “You’re family now.”
Ilya turns, hides his face in Shane’s lap, the tears falling fresh, soaking into the hem of Shane’s shorts.
“You make Shane so happy. And, seeing you two together? I’ve never been happier myself.”
“Well,” David says, dryly. “You did cry more the first time that Shane won the Stanley cup.”
Yuna smacks his arm and laughter from all three of them breaks the chill in the night air. The conversation turns lighter, then. Memories and jokes, and the beauty of a family unit that knows each other so well. Ilya loves to sit back and listen, letting their banter wash over him. Exhausted after a busy day, Ilya had tried to follow along with the rapid English being thrown around, but just couldn’t keep up with the inside jokes or the language.
Ilya insists on taking the last of the dessert dishes inside and doing the washing up as Shane walks his parents to the car. He wants to give Shane some time with both of his parents. It was nice to be inside, the silence of the house only broken by the clink of dishes in the sink and faint laughter as they linger in the driveway.
“Leave the dishes,” Shane says, kicking his shoes off in the entryway. “ I’ll do them later, babe.”
The plate he’s holding slips out of Ilya’s hand as he whips his head around, grinning. “Babe?”
“Sorry, just slipped out.”
“I like it,” Ilya rinses the last plate, stacks it neatly in the dishwasher. “Dishes are done, anyway.”
Shane’s in the kitchen now, leaning against the counter next to the sink, facing away from Ilya. “Thanks babe. You’re the best.”
Ilya hums, rinsing down the sink, closing the dishwasher. “Dinner was good.”
“It was, wasn’t it,” Shane is smiling at him. It’s adorable. “They like you.”
“How could they not? I’m a fantastic boyfriend.”
“You do the dishes and everything,” he says, grabbing Ilya’s hand and pulling him closer.
“let you steal my sweatshirts, too.”
Shane looks down, eyes popping wide as he realizes what he’s been wearing all night. “Oh my god, my parents-”
“Totally noticed.”
Shane buries his face in Ilya’s shoulder, his groan reverberating through Ilya’s chest. “Embarrassing.”
“You looked cozy. Happy.” Ilya slides his hands lower, fingers just playing with the edge of Shane’s shorts. “Very cute, kind of sexy.”
“Sexy?”
Ilya shrugs jostling Shane’s face. He looked up at Ilya, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. “You look good in my clothes, drowning.” He pulls at the extra fabric around the waistline.
“We’re the same size, you’ve been stealing my clothes all week.”
“Did not pack much and your clothes are comfy, always soft with no tags.”
Shane laughs, “I cut them out.”
“Of course you do. Love all your little quirks.”
Shane leans in, bites Ilya’s lip. “Shut up.”
“Ok.” He slots their lips together, kissing him the way he’d wanted too, all night. He’d missed the freedom to just lean in and kiss Shane like this, when his parents were here. All week he’d been able to make out with his boyfriend whenever he wanted, but they’d spent hours tonight, barely touching each other even sitting on the same couch.
“Want to touch you.”
“Bedroom,” Shane says, shoving at Ilya’s shoulders. “I’m not cleaning this kitchen again today.”
Ilya would gladly let Shane take him anywhere, but holding his hand and being gently tugged into his bedroom is quickly becoming his favorite place. The way Shane looks back at him, eyes glinting in the low light of the lamp, the sounds and shadows of the forest all around them as he tackles Ilya onto the bed, sitting on his thighs, instantly taking charge of their kiss.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya murmurs. He’s already halfway hard and the way that Shane is writhing against him in his lap is going to get him the rest of the way really quickly. He pulls back, dizzy from the lack of blood and oxegyn in his brain. He pulls back, stilling Shane’s hip with firm hands on his hips. “Can I claim my prize?”
“Your prize?” Shane’s one quirked eyebrow is adorable. Ilya leans in and kisses it, whispering in his ear. “From when I beat you, this morning.”
“Oh.” Shane’s blush crawls down his neck, into the collar of Ilya’s sweatshirt. “Oh. Uh.”
“Your…thing. Is here, yes?”
“Uh, not the one that I had when you asked, in, before we, uh.”
“You have more than one dildo?” Ilya is delighted.
“Yes,” Shane groans, looking over Ilya’s shoulder until Ilya catches his face in his hand, forcing Shane to look at him. “I come here for a long time in the summer and it’s not like I can risk traveling with the one that’s in Montreal, so.”
“I see,” Ilya is matter of fact, grinning as he takes in the heated flush on Shane’s face, the way his hands are playing with the hem of Ilya’s shirt. Ilya loves taking him out of his comfort zone, so embarrassed and so horny all at the same time. “You love being fucked so bad, you have dildo for everywhere you go.”
“Ilya,” Shane whines.
“Go get it.” Shane doesn’t move, so Ilya gives him a gentle shove. “Is it bigger than me?”
“Uh,” Shane says, sliding backwards off the bed. “It’s in the closet.”
“Irony.”
Shane glares at Ilya, stretched out on the bed, enjoying every second of Shane’s hesitation. Ilya would gladly call all of this off if Shane wasn’t rock hard in his shorts. He’s enjoying this as much as Ilya is.
Shane steps into the closet, and Ilya is wondering if he’s got the full sex chest in there - or just the one dildo, hastily stuffed into a drawer. “Did you get lost?” Ilya calls when it’s been a few minutes.
“No,” Shane says, leaning on the doorframe of the closet. And, oh, he was busy while he was in the closet. He’d taken off his boxers, his undershirt, but left Ilya’s sweatshirt on, his hard cock straining and tenting the fabric underneath it. “I found it.” Ilya looks away from Shane’s long, beautiful legs, noticing that the dildo is in fact blue, a deep navy.
“Good boy,” Ilya says, mostly joking, until he catches the way that Shane’s cock twitches under his sweatshirt. “You like that.”
“Fuck off Rozanov.” Shane tosses the dildo, landing just between Ilya’s legs. He crawls onto the mattress, propping himself up on his knees. “Hand me the lube.”
Ilya reaches instead to touch him, push his sweatshirt up and run his tongue along hip bones that should be criminal. Shane slaps his hand.
Ilya leans back against the headboard grinning.“Oh, maybe you’re not a good boy?”
“Ilya,” Shane is stern, and Ilya’s dick is twitching with every word. “You said you wanted to watch, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” Ilya says, grabbing the dildo, a deep, semi-realistic toy that’s about the same size as Iyla is. It’s so fucking hot, thinking about Shane shopping for this, trying to find the closest one to Ilya’s size, his ruthless practicality. He probably bought the fucking thing with a coupon. “Maybe,” he tries again. “You’re not a good boy, after all.” Shane whines. Ilya knows that whine, it’s the one that he always makes when Ilya finally slides that first finger inside of him. He’s beautiful, propped up on his knees, dick poking out from under the hem of Ilya’s sweatshirt already fucking dripping. He’s biting his lip, frowning in concentration as he starts leans forward, sliding a second finger into him.
“Maybe,” Ilya continues, watching Shane’s face twist with ecstasy. “Maybe, instead, you’re a bit of a slut?” It’s a gamble, but the punched out moan and the way Shane’s entire body jerks shows Ilya that he’s on the right track. Shane’s scissioring his two fingers, sliding in a third, whining, opening himself up faster and harder, just the way that he likes. “How do your fingers feel?”
“Not,” Shane pants, his other hand reaching for the dildo. “Not enough.”
Ilya hums. “Pity. I think it’s time you fuck yourself, yes? My little slut fucking himself while I watch, showing me just how he likes it when he’s all alone.”
“Ilya,” Shane breathes, “God, fuck, just-” he raises up on his knees, sinking donw onto the dildo, moaning, his dick jerking, soaking a spot on Ilya’s sweatshirt. He’s never going to be able to wear it again, without thinking of this. Shane, on his knees, bouncing himself on a dildo, brown eyes fluttering open to meet Ilya’s as the base of the dildo meets the curve of his ass.
“Fuck, Shane, so good. Can you move?”
Shane grins, tightening his grip on the dildo, holding the base in place as he raises up on his knees, slams back down, ushing his beautiful, powerful thighs to fuck the dildo, It’s so hot, he’s seen Shane doing that stupid hockey stretch on the ice a thousand times, but now he’s in the same position, quick jerks, keeping most of it in his ass, just sliding out the base before slamming it all the way back in.
“Ilya,” he whines, eyes opening. “Touch me?”
“Thought you wanted me to watch?”
Shane pouts, his thrusts slowing. “Please?”
“Such a slut,” Ilya says, moving over Shane, pushing him onto his back onto the mattress. “So needy.” He slides down Shane’s body, mouthing around the base of his dick, sucking one of his balls into his mouth unitl he whines, high and needy. “Still want to see you cum on this dildo, malysh,” he mutters.
“Need you,” Shane echos.
Ilya grips the base of the dildo, slowly sliding it out of Shane as he whines, throws his head and clenches at the sheets. Ilya sucks the tip of his dick into his mouth, letting it rest in the curve of his cheek, then moves his hand in one brutal thrust, shoving the dildo into Shane hard, fast, grinning around him as he yells, his hands moving to pull tight in Ilya’s hair, making his dick twitch where it’s trapped against his thigh. He slides Shane’s cock out of his mouth, “Good?”
“So fucking good, c’mon, Rozanov, fuck me, fuck.”
Ilya loves hearing him babble, so out of it that his name is falling out of his mouth like a prayer. Like the first time Ilya got his cock in his mouth. He sucks it in till it’s all the way in the back of his throat, swallowing around Shane as his whole body writhes. He thrusts the dildo, quickly, never letting the whole thing slide more than a few inches out of him, angling it until he feels Shane yell, his dick spurting down Ilya’s throat.
“Found it,” Ilya whispers, between licks along Shane’s shaft.
“Rozy-, baby, c’mon.”
“Such a slut for it.” Ilya sucks his balls back into his mouth, moving the dildo quickly again, angling it every time to scrape along the sensitive part of Shane. His other hand has to come up and hold Shane’s hips down against the bed, he’s writhing enough to hurt himself as he moans.
“Gonna, fuck Rozanov, gonna cum.”
“Down my throat,” Ilya says, sldiing his mouth along him, keeping up his rhythm of swallowing, thrusting the dildo deeper and deeper. Shane’s cum is hot and thick, and he screams as he finishes inside Ilya’s mouth, his whole body arching off the bed, before flopping back onto it, boneless.
“Good?”
“So good, fuck…” he lays there for a second, catching his breath. “Fuck, just looking at that dildo is going to get me off next time.”
Ilya laughs, resting his chin on Shane’s stomach. “You were beautiful, malysh.”
“What does that mean?”
“Learn Russian.”
“If I suck you off in the shower, will you just tell me?”
Ilya hums, pretending to consider. “Depends on how good the blowjob is.”
Later, collpasing with clean bodies into clean sheets, Ilya rolls on top of Shane. “Malysh”, he whispers. “Means ‘baby’.”