Archive of Our Own

Ilya never really knew what love felt like. Or well, he never really remembered it. 

Because he had been loved once, by a beautiful woman who had not only given birth to him, but shielded him from a world that had been too rough, too cruel for such a young boy. But unfortunately for him, Ilya doesn't really remember anything from his childhood besides his father’s never ending screaming, and his mother’s broken apologies.

Deep down, he knows she loved him to death. He knows that he was probably her last thought as she took her last breath—but he doesn't remember how love feels. 

Until a short, muscular and competitive beautiful hockey player talked his way into Ilya's life.

Shane Hollander is a 5'10 bundle of energy, joy and competitiveness like Ilya had never seen before. Shane Hollander is also love incarnated. For others, for the sport, for himself. And now, for Ilya Rozanov.

Ever since the world has been aware of their relationship, and especially ever since Ilya has opened up to Shane about what he had been struggling with on his own, their relationship has been better, stronger. 

Not perfect, never really perfect, but that's what Ilya loves about them. 

Sometimes Shane says the wrong things, but he apologises right away. Ilya can never really get angry at him, not when those big, wet cow eyes look at him with love and affection and worry. 

It happens, because Shane is human and Ilya would never want for him to walk on eggshells around him anyway. 

Ilya makes mistakes, too. 

Teases Shane on his eating habits at the wrong time, jokes around when Shane had needed him to stay serious. But just like his husband, as soon as Ilya notices his mishaps, he simply holds Shane and apologises sincerely. 

It works every time, because as long as they are honest with each other, Shane and Ilya are sure they'll stay a strong and healthy couple. 

Right now, Shane is practicing down at the ice rink at the cottage. Summer has been blazing down on them for more than a month now; the camps are over, and Shane needed some alone time—so Ilya let him have it.

As his husband practiced, Ilya tasked himself with taking Anya on a walk, in the forest so it wasn't too hot on her paws. 

He's running, letting her guide him before he comes to a halt, breath heavy and sweat running down his entire face. 

"Good girl," he says, crouching down to pet her. "Nice run, yes? You are fast, Anya."

Fifteen minutes later, Ilya finds himself coming to a halt in front of the cottage's door, sweat dripping down his face as he breathes heavily. He undoes Anya's leash, opens the front door and lets her in first before he follows right behind.

There's not a single sound in the house, and Ilya can only guess that Shane is still practicing. He definitely won't go there right now when he's just been running, so Ilya jogs up the stairs and heads straight for the bathroom. 

He lets the water warm up as he undresses himself, groaning at the knot between his shoulders pulling at his nerves. Ilya looks at himself in the large bathroom mirror above the sink, eyes dipping to the gold chain resting right between his pecs. The cross shines in the light, whilst the ring absorbs it. They're a beautiful contrast to one another, a piece of the people he loves the most. 

The only two people who have loved him just as he is.

Ilya slips underneath the water with a sigh, letting its warmth ripple down his body, soothing that tight knot between his shoulders. It feels good, closing his eyes and getting to forget… about everything, only for a second.

He forgets about the dirty looks whenever they play against The Voyageurs. He forgets about the hole in his chest in the shape of his late mother's smile. Ilya forgets, until he doesn't, and the only thing he's allowed to remember is the brightness of his husband's smile.

The sharpness of his teeth; the color of his eyes; the freckled dots of chocolate across his cheeks and his nose. Ilya smiles with his eyes closed and this time, he pictures the man he loves oh, so dearly. 

When warm, strong arms wrap around his waist, Ilya doesn't even budge, instead, he relaxes into Shane's chest, where he's safe and sound. He must have been deep into his thoughts, if he didn’t even hear Shane going in.

"Good run, Rozanov?" Shane speaks into the wet skin of his shoulder, pressing a light kiss to his flesh. His fingers dance on the ripples of Ilya's abs, tracing them as he lets water seep into his hair. 

Shane smells good—like sweat and skin and hockey gear. When he practices alone, Ilya knows he's not wearing the heavy equipment but only thermal clothing and his skates, even foregoing a helmet, despite it being dangerous still. 

"Hm," Ilya whispers, eyes still closed. Unconsciously, he places his own hands over Shane's and presses hard on them, caressing the skin of his husband's arms. "Was good. Was, erm, refreshing? Good weather, good dog. Good running shoes, too." 

"Ah, that's great, babe." Shane presses more kisses into Ilya's shoulders, across the expanse of them. His tongue runs between drops of water, tracing invisible links between the mole scattered all over his flesh. 

Shane has been obsessed with them for a while now, finding them so… interesting. 

"Practice was good, yes?" Ilya asks, turning around in his husband's tight hold. Opening his eyes, Ilya finally gets to look at the love of his life.

A smile stretches on his lips right away, a natural response to Shane simply existing before him. His husband's longer wet hair is slicked back, his face red from the exercise and the hot water. Ilya can tell Shane is tired, too, but his husband still holds him preciously, beaming at Ilya as if he hadn’t seen him for day days, despite them waking up in the same bed only mere hours before. 

"Yes, very good. Worked on my aim." 

Ilya raises an eyebrow. "Your aim is very good. Almost as good as me." 

"Fuck off," Shane laughs, pushing him slightly before gripping him back. 

"Fuck you? My pleasure, turn around." Ilya dips his head until their lips meet, a sigh of relief ripping out of his chest as he finally tastes his husband. 

Shane holds him close, wrapping his arms around Ilya's neck just as Ilya grabs a handful of his ass with one hand and caresses his back with the other. It's during moments like this, that Ilya feels thankful. 

Thankful for himself, for surviving life and finding happiness within himself to allow himself to exactly this. Thankful for hockey, for putting him on Shane Hollander's path. Thankful for their patience—because without patience, Shane and Ilya wouldn't have lasted a year. But mostly, Ilya is thankful for Shane. For letting him love him, for allowing him this and more—for loving Ilya just as he is. 

Shane's love is unconditional despite what he lets on. Shane loves with his heart in his palms, even if he's shy to do so, reserved. Shane is very private—and yet, he's allowed the world to know about the man sharing his life. 

Shane is everything to Ilya. Everything and more.

They wash their bodies slowly, not wanting to rush something so deeply soothing, so intimate. They don't have anywhere to go anyway. Shane declined Hayden's invitation for dinner because he just wanted to spend time with Ilya, and Ilya told Troy he just wanted some quiet for the holidays. 

So they're allowed to be here, right now, together under a stream of hot water, with soap studs sliding down their skin. Ilya is allowed to touch his husband the way he's been craving to for weeks. They didn't really have time to indulge themselves, with how bone tired they've been because of the kids and the camps—but now, now that Ilya has his arms around Shane's waist and all of the time in the world on his hands, all he wants is to touch. To rediscover, to feel. 

He starts with the stretch marks littered on Shane's ass and thighs, painting his skin beautifully. Ilya's been obsessed with them ever since he noticed them, light and old, a part of Shane as ancient as hockey. 

He maps all of them out with the tips of his fingers, loving their slight ridges as he finds each and every single one. 

As his hands travel up his husband's body, Ilya feels the hardness of Shane's muscles, the defined shape of his back. Shane Hollander is thick with strength, handfuls for Ilya to grab and pull and kiss and bite. He'd never get enough of his lover's body. 

But he can't help but let his fingers tickle down Shane's back, right until they find the curve of his ass. 

"Ugh, so big, Hollander," Ilya groans, grabbing two handfuls of his husband's ass, spreading his cheeks. "Want me here?" He asks then, tapping Shane's hole with two fingers.

And it's always so beautiful to see—how reactive and sensitive Shane is. A feather touch to his rim has him shivering against Ilya, mouth parting with a breath. He nods, "please."

And today, Ilya doesn't want to deny him anything. Not when they haven't touched each other like this in so long, not when he hasn't felt Shane's walls pulsing around his length, moulding to his shape perfectly.

"Water off," he orders, watching as Shane obeys right away. It's mesmerising, how pliant he becomes when Ilya doesn't get his hands on him for days. And it’s satisfying, too, knowing he still has that kind of effect on his husband.

The second the water is off, Ilya steps out of the shower with Shane right on his heels. They find a towel, drying off whatever they can, before Ilya can't help but pin Shane to the bathroom sink. 

"So pretty, Shane. You need me, yes?" Ilya asks, despite knowing exactly what Shane needs, what he has been needing. 

"Fuck, yeah—yes, you asshole. It's been ages," Shane whines, pushing back into Ilya's hold, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. 

Ilya can't help but laugh into Shane's lips, letting his hands fall to his plush thighs. His fingers sink into meaty flesh, and, as Ilya loves to do, he bends slightly to gather Shane in his arms. Shane wraps his legs around his naked waist instantly, whining into the kiss when his cock brushes on Ilya's stomach. Already so worked from feather touches. 

Wet already, hard and dripping. Ilya's always loved how wet Shane always gets, soaked with only a couple of touches. Dripping like a leaky faucet, body so reactive to anything Ilya does to him.

He finds their bed with practiced ease, lowering Shane down onto the mattress before flipping him on his stomach right away. 

"Want to eat you, sweetheart." The mattress dips under Ilya's weight as he kneels over Shane's body, hot with want, damp with water still. They really did a shit job at drying themselves off. 

But he doesn't care, not when his husband is whining into the pillow and pushing his hips back, a pathetic needy thing all for Ilya to play with. 

Admiring the shape of Shane’s ass, Ilya runs a hand down his back until he can grip that plump skin, overcome with the sudden need to slap the juicy, plushy flesh of Shane's ass. He doesn't really fight the urge, no, Ilya simply gives into the tentation, and smacks both hands down Shane's asscheeks with more force than he intended to. 

But he's rendered addicted right away. 

Addicted to the sound his palms make as they come in contact with his husband's flesh. Hooked on the broken moan punched right out of Shane's lungs and the full body shiver Ilya's granted with. 

Ilya is addicted to the reddened skin staring right at him. Shane's ass blooms a beautiful shade of pink, the print of Ilya's hand faintly outlined on the curve of his ass. It's… beautiful. So beautiful that he can't help but spank him again.

Harder this time, with a purpose. A need to brand, to own—to mark his claim on his husband's body, despite the whole world knowing Shane is his. 

Ilya thinks it must hurt from the feeling under his palms. Shane's flesh recoils beautifully, making way for his hands, before filling back up underneath his fingers. Ilya gets addicted to the noises Shane makes, to the high pitched moans he's never heard Shane make before. 

"I-Ilya, fuck, a-ah—" Shane cries under him, and Ilya understand right away, especially as he sees the stutter in his husbands hips. 

"Hollander," he laughs, "so soon?"

"You—you fucking asshole. If—if you don't fuck me right now, I'm cutting your dick off." Shane looks back over his shoulder, eyes wet and glaring. 

But to Ilya, he looks no different than a cute, little angry kitten. 

"You would miss it," Ilya says, pinching Shane's skin. 

"God, fuck—I'll find a-another one. Don't worry." And Shane knows what these words do to Ilya. He's always known Ilya was possessive—in a way that Shane loves, in a way that turns him on more than anything else. And he also loves to use it against Ilya, to rile him up even more than he already is.

Ilya always falls into his trap. "No. You are mine, Shane. Mine, mine, mine.”

The spanking is ruthless. Ilya delivers hit after hit to the bruising skin of his lover's ass, before he bends over it. As he blows air right into the reddened skin, Ilya smirks at the shiver coursing through Shane's body. 

"P-please, Ilya. Please," Shane begs beautifully, practiced and perfect.. Music to Ilya's hit ears, especially when he finally spreads his lover's asscheeks and delivers the first, wet lick to his hole. 

Shane moans loud and shameless as Ilya works his tongue over him in broad, powerful licks. "H-holy shit, fuck, yes!" 

It's always one of Ilya’s most favourite thing to do—eating Shane out. Because he's always so vocal, so sensitive and he tastes good, too. Like flesh and sweat and Shane and it's Ilya's favourite thing on earth. 

Lick after lick, Ilya loses himself in the heat of Shane's body. His tongue breaches past his rim as he's loosened up enough, feeling the velvet of his walls. He’s made him come countless times like this, has spent hours simply buried between his husband’s asscheeks, pressing wet kisses to his abused, swollen hole. 

Ilya kneads at Shane ass as he devours him, but he wants to feel more, too. He needs to feel as close to Shane as he possibly can. Because he misses it, he misses the warmth Shane's body always provides him. He misses the look in his husband's eyes as soon as he pushes inside of him, like it’s the first time all over again. He misses the breathy, stuttered moans rolling out of Shane's mouth as he comes. 

So, he licks at that puckered rim one last time before flipping Shane on his back again, who flaring up when Shane gasps at the sheer display of Ilya’s strength. He kisses his thighs there, making sure to press his lips to every single stretch mark he fins,  hiking up his body with a trail of kisses before finding his raw, bitten lips. 

And Shane opens beautifully as Ilya kisses him. Welcomes the taste of himself on his tongue, licks into Ilya's mouth and bites down on his lip when Ilya teases at his rim with dry fingers. 

"P-please," Shane whimpers, pushing back on Ilya's fingers. But Ilya doesn't want to hurt him like that—so he brings his fingers to Shane's lips, pressing down on his bottom lip to get him to open up.

And Shane does—of course he does. Shane is pliant when he wants to be; when he's needy and desperate. Just like he is now. 

He takes Ilya's fingers deep into his mouth, sucking on them sloppily. His tongue curls around Ilya's knuckles, wetting his digits diligently with practiced ease. Even if they both know Ilya's going to grab the luge hidden between the mattress and the headboard. Even if they know Ilya would never fuck Shane dry, they both love to act as if he will. 

"Good boy, Hollander. Just like that," Ilya praises, watching how Shane's plump lips suck on his fingers, how swollen they are from the kissing and the biting. 

As they hit the back of his throat, Shane gags beautifully. Music to Ilya's ears as his husband's eyes line up with fresh tears. Shane looks almost all the way into that special headspace of his—the one he doesn't allow himself to fall into a lot, a headspace meant for Ilya to ruin him and shape him back into the person he loves the most. 

Ilya takes his fingers out of Shane's mouth with a thick web of spit connecting them still, watching as it snaps and messily drips onto Shane's chin. Without much thought, Ilya bends to lick it up, before pushing his tongue right into Shane's mouth once more. 

With flawless precision, Ilya finds Shane's hole in a second, pushing one finger inside of him and leaning back to watch his husband's face scrunching up from pleasure. 

Shane always loves this, that first push into his body, the feeling of his lover finally entering him. No matter how many times Ilya has done this, Shane never seem to get enough. He pushes back on Ilya's hand only mere seconds after that first finger breaches his rim, always wanting more. 

"What a greedy boy, Hollander." Ilya adds another finger as he speaks, because he'd be lying if he said he didn't even enjoy this as much as his husband does. 

Bringing one of Shane's legs up on his shoulder, he finally accesses that perfect ass he dreams about at night, and with no warning, Ilya delivers a strong hit to Shane's already reddened left asscheek.

"A-ah, fuck, Rozanov," Shane's voice breaks as he moans, cock spurting white onto his stomach. Ilya watches with a smile as his husband comes all over himself, small cock twitching with his orgasm and abs tensing underneath his skin. 

Shane always looks… mesmerising, when he loses himself into pleasure like this. Cock untouched and a dark shade of angry red, leaking profusely on his flesh as Ilya abuses his prostate. Still hard, too, even if he just came.

It's so rewarding to know only Ilya has ever been the reason for the pleasured scrunch painting hi husband’s face. No one else has ever touched his man like this, no one else has ever made Shane feel such pleasure, and Ilya will wear that with pride until the end of his life. 

"Already, sweetheart? Tsk," he chuckles, bending over Shane to access their almost empty bottle of lube, hidden between the mattress and the headboard for easy access. 

Ilya makes quick work of opening the lube and getting himself ready for Shane, applying the leftover liquid from his fingers over his husband's rim. 

"Hurry up," Shane grits through his teeth, looking at Ilya like the cutest little angry kitten. Ilya kind of wants to eat him. 

"Why?" Ilya asks, stroking himself lazily and tapping the tip of his cock on Shane puffy, red rim. "In a rush, Hollander? We have all day." 

"Fuck you," Shane spits, pushing his hips down until the very tip of Ilya's dick pops inside of him. 

They moan together, and Ilya bends slightly to crash his mouth on his husband's open, drooly one. Shane can't help the noises ripping past his throat, especially as Ilya starts ramming into him at full force. 

It's so much, having Shane so tight around him after so long. Ilya relishes in it, in the grip his husband has on his cock, in his warm walls hugging the length of his dick so perfectly. Almost as if Shane had been shaped just for him. 

Or maybe it was Ilya that moulded him perfectly to his cock. He was Shane's first, after all.

Shane gasps, hands gripping the sheets until his knuckles are white. "H-harder, c'mon."

"Greedy thing," Ilya mutters, but he slips out of Shane with a hurried pull of his hips and flips him on his stomach anyway. 

Then, he grabs Shane by the hips and forces him on his knees, elbows flat on the bed. 

Like this, it's almost as if Shane was presenting to him. Ripe for the taking, ready for anything Ilya were to give him. 

Ilya presses inside of him hastily, wanting nothing more than to make his husband come once more. So, with this newfound goal in mind, he pistons his hips and rams into Shane so fast, so hard, that the headboard bangs onto the wall which each thrust. 

"So tight, sweetheart. Fuck," he moans, teeth gritted and eyes fixated on the handprints blooming across Shane's round ass. They're beautiful, a perfect shade on Shane's tan skin. A claim only for Ilya to admire. 

"C-close," Shane blurts already, cock free of attention. It usually always is when they get like this, because Shane loves coming untouched.

But Ilya isn't faring any better, especially after it's been so long without this, without Shane wrapped around him so tight and so warm.

A sharp crack resonates through the bedroom before Ilya even realizes what it came from him. But when he focuses on his hands, he sees that his hand is now firm on Shane's right asscheek, and that his husband is sobbing on the bed below him. 

Pleasured sobs, it seems, as Shane meets his thrusts with shaky legs. Angling his hips, Ilya makes sure to hit that sweet spot inside his husband that has him shaking on the bed. Shane's legs don't even hold him up anymore, only Ilya's arms are doing the job for him—but he wouldn't want to be doing anything else. 

With a cry of his husband's name, Shane comes all over the sheets, clenching so hard around Ilya he can barely move.. 

But Ilya doesn't care, because he's coming as well, spilling hot and sticky inside of Shane with a grunt and a grip so tight around the other's hips he knows it'll bruise. 

His hips stutter and his cock twitches inside of Shane, his husband clenching tight around him and milking Ilya for everything he's got. 

As their high settles into a low, warm flame, Shane doesn't really move—he lets Ilya lay him down gently on his stomach, Ilya following right behind. He doesn't want to pull out just yet, basking into his husband's warmth. 

"Okay?" Ilya asks, drawing gentle circles into Shane's wide hips. His fingers travel to the curve of his lover's ass, but as soon as the tips of them touch Shane's inflamed flesh, Ilya feels his husband flinch in pain under him. 

"Hurts? Shane, are you okay?" 

Shane giggles, hole clenching around Ilya as he does so. "Y-yeah, don't worry. I liked it," he breathes. "Just—you're so strong, I forget sometimes."

"Ah, sorry, sorry. Less hard next time, yes?" Ilya doesn't smile as he speaks, something heavy settling into his chest. "Or never." 

Never sounds good. Never sounds great. 

Ilya doesn't like knowing Shane is in pain—that he caused the pain Shane feels right now. Ilya doesn't even know why that urge fell over him. He'd never—he'd never hit Shane during sex like this before. 

"Yes. Yes, never is good. Better. I'm sorry, Shane." Pulling out, Ilya doesn't rush. He'd hate to hurt his husband even more than he already did, would never forgive himself for hurting Shane—and he won't. He knows he won't. 

"Ilya—" 

But as soon as he's fully out of Shane, Ilya rushes off the bed and strides to the bathroom. "I will—towel. For you." 

Somewhere behind him, Ilya hears his husband saying something. But the waves crashing loudly between his ears forbid him from being able to hear any of his words.

All Ilya can hear are the thoughts hammering right into his brain. 

Why would you do this?

Why did you hurt him?

Why did you enjoy hurting him?

Ilya's chest feels tight—so tight he can barely breathe. He grips the counter of the sink, knuckles going white while he tries to take deep breaths. 

It's all so much. 

Images of the red handprints on his husband's skin flash behind his closed eyelids, reminding him of what he had done only mere minutes prior. He hates it, hates himself for indulging into something so… hurtful. Something that left ugly, red marks behind,

Hatred flows through his veins as he remembers how badly he had enjoyed Shane's cries. How he had loved smacking him like this. 

Has he always been like this? Has he always wanted to partake in such… painful activities with his husbands? 

Ilya wishes he had never delivered the first hit to Shane's skin. He wishes he could turn back time and forget about that passing thought. 

Somewhere behind all these thoughts, Ilya barely registers the pain in his palms from how tightly he's gripping the edge of the skin. He doesn’t care. Thinks he deserves it anyway, for hurting the one person Ilya loves the most on earth.

Shane had wanted marble—edges crisp and precise. Like this, they dig into Ilya's palms painfully.

"Ilya?" A voice whispers behind him, so gentle, so soft. But Ilya feels so undeserving of such gentleness, all he wants is for Shane to scream at him. "Ilya, breathe." 

The voice brings Ilya back to the present—and he realizes then, how terribly he'd started shaking. How hard he's gripping the counter, and—and the tears rolling down his face in thick rivulets. 

Shane is still so far away from him, and through the blurry tears, Ilya notices that he's wearing shorts now. 

Does this mean Shane had to clean himself up? He would never put on clothes before getting rid of the cum painting his skin and leaking from his hole. He'd told Ilya countless times before how it made him feel too gross, too filthy.. 

Yet another thing Ilya managed to fail today. Taking care of his husband after hurting him. 

Ugly sobs rip past his throat, and as he tries to speak, Ilya only chokes up around syllables. "I'm sor—"

"Shh, baby. Breathe now, speak later." Shane says, his voice almost a whisper. And then, Ilya can see through the blur in his vision as his husband takes careful steps towards him. They're slow, light, almost scared. 

"Can I hold you?" Shane asks as he halts to stop right before Ilya. He can smell him now, sweat and body lotion and that new shampoo he got for Shane a few weeks ago. 

Ilya feels himself nodding, never one to back away from his lover's touch. He'd rather burn in the pits of hell than lose Shane's touch forever. "I'm sorry," he tries again, voice barely audible.

Warm, familiar hands settle on his shoulders, sliding to the middle of his shoulder blades before Shane's strong arms pull him into his body. The comfort is instant. As soon as he's surrounded by his husband's smell and warmth, Ilya breaks down. 

It's too much all at once, his body slumps forwards into Shane's torso, and Ilya's rough, broken sobs echo between the bathroom tiles. 

Slowly, Shane starts rocking them from side to side. Like he would to regulate his own emotions, Shane holds Ilya so tight it almost hurts, one hand sneaking into his blonde curls. 

"I'm so sorry, my love," Ilya says in Russian, tears wetting the skin of his husband's chest. "I never meant to hurt you like that, I'm so sorry, Shane, forgive me."

"It's okay," Shane replies, and for a second, Ilya forgets that his husband did start to learn Russian. Because he wanted to be closer to him, because he wanted to understand Ilya more. "You did nothing wrong, Ilya."

But Ilya can't understand. He doesn't understand how he did nothing wrong, when Shane had flinched away from him. When his skin is still most likely red with the handprints Ilya had left. 

"Let's get you in bed, baby," Shane whispers, still holding on his husband tight, not letting go. 

As Shane walks them backwards, Ilya grabs onto him, feeling his warm skin between his fingers, focusing on the pace of his breathing and the beating of his heart. Shane seems okay, but as soon as Ilya closes his eyes, he can only picture the redness, the flinch—

"Ssh, it's okay. I'm okay, I promise." If there's one thing Ilya knows by now, it’s that Shane wouldn't lie to him. Not over this. It's a rule they had made a few years ago, after their marriage, and it was something Ilya's therapist had suggested. Neither of them are allowed to lie about how they feel to each other.

So Ilya knows that Shane really is okay. Mentally, at least, over this. 

Soon enough, Shane twists them around and the back of Ilya's knees hit the bed, before he's pushed down gently on the mattress until he's sitting. Right away, Shane finds his place on his husband's lap, rocking them again, holding Ilya's face to his naked chest. 

Like this, Ilya finds himself breathing again. Slowly, he can blink his tears again, and as he inhales deeply again, Shane cradles his face between both palms and leans in, kissing him gently. 

It's nothing but a touch of lips, but Ilya craves him deeper, closer, and his tongue licks into his husband's mouth with ease. Because Shane always opens beautifully for him, always lets him in. 

"You're okay," Shane whispers, forehead pressed against Ilya's sweaty one. It's only then that he realizes he's still naked, while Shane is at least wearing some kind of barrier. "Are we okay to talk, or do you need another minute?" 

"I'm okay, just—pants," Ilya mutters, voice wet and thick with tears. Shane dips his face once more to press yet another kiss to his lips, before lifting himself off Ilya's lap, and kneeling to the side to let him get up. 

Ilya misses his warmth and weight instantly, but he tries to ignore it in order to fetch a pair of sweatpants from the dresser on the left side of their bedroom. 

As he turns around once he's dressed, Ilya catches Shane trying to sit down, face scrunching up in pain when his butt meets the mattress. 

"Shane, I am so sorry. I…I did not mean to hurt you." Ilya kneels by the bed, hoping for his husband to forgive him, wishing for that last hour to be completely erased from both of their heads. "I don't know why I did that. I just, wanted to try it out? I'm sorry. Never again." 

"Come here, Ilya," Shane says softly, patting the bed next to him. "Please, I want you close." 

And Ilya could never deny him of anything he ever needs, when he asks so delicately. So he gets up from the floor, knees cracking as he does so, and finds his spot next to his husband on the bed. 

"You did nothing wrong, baby. I loved it, all of it," Shane affirms, grabbing one of his husband's hands. Ilya knows they're sweaty, and he also knows that Shane usually doesn't like the feeling of moist skin on his hands like this, but today, he says nothing and only holds onto him tighter. "I loved everything we did, I promise you. Do you trust me?"

The nod is instant, because the only person Ilya trusts with his entire life sits right next to him on their bed. 

"Okay. I trust you as well, just so you know. Always,” Shane breathes, and then he speaks again. "I trust that you would have stopped the spanking if I had asked you to. I trust that you didn't want to actually hurt me in a way that I wouldn’t have liked. I trust that you will always respect my boundaries." 

Ilya loses the words that were rising up his throat, but he nods still, letting Shane know he's listening to every single word. 

"And in return, I need you to trust me when I say that if I wanted to stop, I would have told you. That if it hurt too much, I would have asked you to stop. I need you to trust me like that, too. Trust that I would never let you keep going if I didn't enjoy it." 

It makes sense—it does, really. But Ilya can't help the guilt that spreads through his chest, the shame that burns down his veins. 

And then, Shane picks up all the little pieces of Ilya's heart that had begun shattering away with two single words. "Moya lyubov', look at me." 

The pace of Ilya's heart always picks up whenever Shane talks to him in his mother's tongue, but right now, it simply makes him shake underneath his husband. 

"Please, Ilya, look at me," Shane begs, something he rarely ever does unless Ilya makes him. So Ilya looks up at him, blinks the tears out of his eyes and takes in his husband's beautiful, flushed and broken face. 

"Shane," he whispers, the rest of his words getting lost in the cavity of his chest. 

But Shane just shakes his head, both hands coming up to Ilya's face to cradle it, letting his thumbs rub circles into his cheeks. "I love what we did tonight, I loved it so much it made me insane. But we're never going to do it again." 

Ah, there it i—

"Because you don't want to. Because it's too much for you, my love, and I never want you to do anything that makes you feel like this. No matter how much I liked it, it's simply something we don't try again. Or maybe in a few months or years. But not now." 

Shane, with the softest touch of his lips, kisses Ilya with so much love it has his chest caving in once more. Before he speaks again, Shane leaves a kiss on Ilya's forehead, something akin to protection, love. 

"But you didn't hurt me. Not in a way I didn't enjoy, okay?" 

Ilya can do nothing but nod, simply because Shane wouldn't lie to him. Not over this. His voice is barely audible as he speaks, but he knows Shane hears him. "You promise?"

With a wet chuckle, it's Shane's turn to nod. "I promise. Would rubbing cream on my skin help you feel better? I need a shower too, if that's something you want." 

"Yes—yes, anything you need, my love. But can I… can I hold you for a little more?" 

With a gentle smile, Shane curves his back to rest his head over Ilya's shoulder. Like this, Ilya is able to smell his hair, tightening his arms around him as he inhales the sweet smell of his husband's shampoo. 

It's helping, holding Shane like that. Letting him rock them back and forth again on the bed as Ilya's breathing finally slows to a breathy sound. Tired, exhausted, even, but safe. Ilya has never felt safer than he does now, sweaty with snot running down his nose as his tears dry on his cheeks.

Shane loves him wholeheartedly, and it's in moments like these, that Ilya understands simply just how much Shane does. 

He'd never take it for granted, because for the first time in his life, Ilya feels at peace. At least with another human being, with a lover. Not with himself, not yet, but Shane helps him reach that goal every single day, only by holding him, by loving him. 

And for the first time in his life, Ilya allows himself to be vulnerable. To be loved, despite the flaws and the ugly thoughts. Because Shane accepts them, Shane loves them, even. Because he loves Ilya. 

After some time passes, Ilya exhales deeply, and finally lets go of his husband. He smiles up at Shane, who seems to have gotten sleepy. His eyes are halfway closed, his cheeks aren't flushed anymore, and there's a dumb smile dancing across his lips. 

Ilya loves him like this, too. Happy, safe, and definitely seconds away from falling asleep. So he kisses his husband's lips one last time, because he can't help it, and squeezes at Shane's side. 

"Shower now, sweetheart?" 

Shane nods, eyes opening ever so slightly. "Da, moya lyubov'."