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Shane feels massive.
He’s made peace with it. Having stared at his figure for probably the hundredth time today, he can’t even begin to recall how long it’s been since he’s looked at his reflection and walked away with even an ounce of confidence left to work with. It’s fine though, it’s totally fine.
The hockey legend Shane Hollander, the two-time Stanley Cup champion for the Voyagers, an absolute menace on the ice, is 6-months pregnant and has all the credentials to prove it. If the news had provoked such awful online harassment and nasty emails from the commissioner back when it was first made public, then he’s sure they’d be even more overjoyed to know that it isn’t just one baby doing somersaults in his insides.
For now, the news of triplets will be kept safe between him and Ilya, because he can hardly believe it himself. Of course there was the exception that his parents also knew. But an attempt at any further secrecy did not last long after Shane had asked for thirds of Jackie’s already generous portions of lasagne, and she had just asked him straight-up how many he was eating for. Shane finds it impossible to lie to her, so now the Pikes were in on his secret.
When Shane hit the four month milestone, he regrettably called himself ugly in front of Ilya. They had argued, because Ilya hated when his mind went to those self-deprecating places, and it had ended with Shane waddling out of the house in frustration to cool off. He had instinctively clicked the call button on Rose’s contact and three weeks worth of secrecy flew straight out the window, adding her as a new name onto the small list of people who knew.
Ilya, much too excited to hide his elation at the news of three babies, decided it was only fair that he got to tell people too - which meant Svetlana had been routinely sending packages to their home to make up for the distance between Ottawa and her demanding life in Boston. It started small, some baby-grows that Shane had already been told countless of times he’d need plenty of, and then it got more expensive, more extravagant and Ilya would rip open the boxes with glee whilst Shane just stressed about how much this was all costing her. A fancy milk-warmer, a solo spa-day for future post-partem Shane, three of the sweetest hand-carved wood mobiles to hang in the nursery, a whole-house baby-monitor system, and then three jelly cats: a teddy, lilac bunny and a very grumpy-looking frog? Shane wasn’t so sure about the last one. However it quickly grew on him once he opened the note Sveta had sent alongside it, where she remarked on the frog’s strange resemblance to Ilya. Now Shane can’t unsee it.
Seeing her gifts arrive makes the babies feel more real, and Shane can’t help but feel nervous at the reminder that he is going to have to birth three whole humans early next year.
Svetlana is in town this weekend for the first time in ages thanks to a lull in business that occurs right before the chaos of Christmas begins, and Ilya has been excited about it all day. There are plans for the three of them to catch up tonight, here in the comfort of their Ottawa home, over wine and dinner. Shane won’t be drinking of course, but it’s not like he did often when not pregnant so he’s more than happy to stay sober.
Gatherings, meeting people, talking for hours - it’s all becoming harder and harder the deeper along he gets and the bigger he grows. The triplets absorb all of his energy and leave nothing but anxiety left for him. He supposes that’s a part of parenthood though, protecting them by taking on the badness of the world. He just wasn’t expecting to do so before they were born.
So here he is, very pregnant and very pissed off at the way he looks and wishing the day just ended here so he could lug his sore body into bed. He can’t though, they have their guest arriving at any moment, and he’s actually made an effort to put something nice on for once. Even if he tires out after dinner, Ilya will demand he at least show his face for a bit longer than that.
Ilya. Shane turns sideways to stare at the body he doesn’t recognise. “This is your doing.” Shane mutters, feeling a subtle thud against his side from one of the little monsters fidgeting deep within. He’s giant and soft and round, but he’d do it again if he had to despite the sick feeling in the back of his throat when he thinks about how Ilya is still all muscle - waiting downstairs for their perfect friend Sveta, which makes Shane hate himself even more.
He blames it on the hormones and brushes his hand over his bump that presses against his shirt. Svetlana is nice, a solid part of Ilya’s life that Shane understands his husband had very little of growing up. She’s great, and it makes Shane kind of hate her sometimes.
She isn’t a threat, Shane laughs at the idea and waddles to the en-suite to neaten up his hair as he hears Ilya open the front door downstairs. He listens to them greet each other, a kiss on the cheek followed by words of Russian that Shane’s semi-fluency can’t quite pick up on yet. It’s this that he hates, maybe less-so her and more that weird connection the two of them have between each other that comes with knowing someone for so long.
In the past, when they’d travel, drink and socialise more with the demands of hockey, Shane would perch on Ilya’s lap in the dimly lit living room of Svetlana’s Boston home that she filled with people, art and fancy furniture, and he’d just listen to the two of them talk for hours. He isn’t jealous, the feeling doesn’t run deep like jealousy does. It’s subtle, a pang in his chest, an ache he can’t fix and it grows louder when he gets lost in Ilya’s gorgeous eyes. Shane can’t hate Sveta when he’s fully convinced that he might not have Ilya here in the first place if it wasn’t for her.
Ilya who wears his engagement ring beside the cross around his neck, never to be taken off. Ilya who wakes up with lines on his face from his pillow and his curls a-skew. Ilya who can’t go more than an hour apart without texting some nonsense to Shane. Ilya, the father to the three babies he is carrying. Shane looks at Ilya and still can’t believe he’s here, that he gets to wake beside him, the fact he is in Canada and not Russia, is a novelty that will never wear off on him.
So Shane doesn’t hate Sveta, but he can't stop himself from silently grieving the parts of Ilya’s life he never got to be there for.
He makes his way downstairs and tries not to dwell on the way Svetlana’s eyes widen when he walks into the living room - almost like the reality of the triplets only really sunk in for her at the sight of him, despite the abundance of gifts she had been sending their way. He’s big, he knows it, he was just checking that out himself actually.
“Shane!” She exclaims, placing her already filled glass of chardonnay on the coffee-table with a clink and rising to her feet to pull him into a tight squeeze. “Oh, I’ve missed you.” She pulls back, cupping his face as her eyes scan his body. “Did you get my gifts?” Her curls sway as she swings her head around and stares accusingly at Ilya from where he’s lazily sipping at his own glass of wine. “You did. Yes, Ilyushka?”
“Da.” Ilya nods. “Leave my husband alone, let him sit.”
Shane makes sure to thank her for the gifts, and settles under the comforting embrace of Ilya’s arm that is slung against the back of the couch. Ilya’s fingers tease him lightly, playing with the dark strands of hair at the nape of his neck as they discuss the most recent draft picks a few months back over bowls of pasta.
They fall deeper into the evening, the alcohol giving the two of them an added ounce of energy as they argue over car models, or something car-related Shane has very little knowledge on. On top of being very pregnant, Shane has no interest in buying the fancy sports car Svetlana has just got in that Ilya seems far too intrigued by.
“How much?” Ilya’s voice rumbles from how pressed against one another they are, and when Shane hears the price he sits up straight and glares holes into his husband’s face.
“That’s not happening.”
Svetlana chuckles from the other side of the couch and fills up their glasses, her gaze softening as she looks at the two of them practically spooning in front of her. Ilya’s hand rests against Shane’s bump, rubbing soft circles into the warmth that emits from beneath the fabric of his shirt. Shane noticed he’d been resting like that for the majority of their conversation and it made his heart melt.
“You two are so cute.” Svetlana remarks, taking a sip from her glass. She hands Ilya his and he takes it willingly. “It’s disgusting.”
The two of them chuckle, a pile of bashful smiles, and Shane practically purrs at the way Ilya grabs his jaw and forces them into an awkwardly-angled kiss. Sveta chucks a pillow their way, and it makes them all laugh even more.
The night goes on, and at some point Ilya’s three glasses of wine catch up to him and Shane is forced to let him go to the toilet. Alone now, a comfortable silence fills the air between them. He lets out an exhausted huff of air, and Sveta’s outstretched leg brushes against his thigh. When he turns to look at her, her eyes are filled with care.
“What?” He chuckles, because for a pair of Russians it is hilarious how easy it is to get them tipsy on some mediocre chardonnay.
“Any names yet?” She questions, nudging him again with her socked big-toe as her eyes nod toward his bump.
“What?” It takes him a moment, and then Shane is reminded of the pressure against his pelvis and his diaphragm and lets out an airy laugh. “Oh! Uh, I suppose so. We haven’t really spoken about it. Everything is quite busy still. I actually uh-” He shifts awkwardly, gravity working against him as he digs his phone from his pocket and swipes open his notes app. “I did write down some potential ones recently.”
He doesn’t think much of it, it’s the standard baby-related talk that he’s been having with everyone these days, and he passes her the phone. Svetlana’s face immediately softens, something familiar washing over her as she scrolls further down.
“Oh, Shane.” Her gaze lingers before she hands the phone back. “All Russian names! They’re beautiful ones too.” Shane doesn’t miss the way her face tenses, subtle with hesitation but there. “Did Ilya recommend them?”
Her words are laced with something that Shane can’t place - suspicion, perhaps concern almost. It makes his chest feel tight with caution, his shirt sticks to his skin as sweat seeps from his pores.
“I uh, I found them online.” He finds himself dithering around his words in a poorly-veiled attempt to act like his brain isn’t freaking out at Svetlana’s sudden switch in tone. “The ones I highlighted are the ones I like most.” The air between them feels thick as he stares down at the list looking back at him. Perhaps Shane should delete and start over. What made him think he had the knowledge to select Russian names? “It’s stupid anyways. I don’t even know if he’d want them to have Russian names.”
Svetlana’s eyes scan his body again, and Shane feels embarrassment burn at the tips of his ears. He hates this. Shane finds Sveta impossible to read sometimes. The moments they’ve shared throughout the years have been sparse, but always lovely and meaningful. Yet sometimes she looks at Shane like she’s still deciding whether he’s worthy of Ilya’s love, and it makes him feel both embarrassed and enraged at the same time.
“You haven’t asked him?” She seems even more confused now, and the feeling of her stupidly kind-hearted gaze brushing over him makes him feel even more inadequate.
Shane goes to respond, but the words are lost on his tongue as Ilya walks back into the room and practically jumps onto the couch - dissolving the potential for any more confusing conversation completely. Thank god.
His weight lands on Shane’s leg a little funny, and he can’t help but groan in pain as Ilya slumps back against the cushions.
“Ilya!” Svetlana half gasps and half exclaims as Ilya shuffles himself in between the arm of the couch and his pregnant husband. “You must be careful with Shane. Do I really have to remind you that he is carrying your children?”
Shane remembers, that’s for sure. One of them, or probably all three of them, are stacked on his pelvic floor like jenga blocks as they speak.
Ilya just chuckles and rolls his eyes and then swings his arm back around Shane to tuck him into his side. Provoked by the pressure of a familiar body against his own, Shane takes a comforted deep breath. Ilya smells like after-shave and wine, providing him a firm, warm bicep to rest his head on.
“Shane is not a porcelain doll.” Ilya’s hand grips Shane’s shoulder and squeezes, and Shane can’t help but melt into the protective hold. God, Ilya makes him feel so gooey sometimes. “He is big, strong, sexy man who carries our babies like a boss.”
Svetlana raises her eyebrow at Ilya’s extravagant comment, and Shane just blushes like a fool beside him.
“You two are ridiculous.” She mutters under her breath, but Shane can hear the endearment hiding behind her words as she lifts her glass to her lips to finish what’s left before lowering it to the coffee table. “I should probably call my uber soon.”
As much as he loves their time together, Shane is relieved to hear those words. The angle he is sat at is hurting his lower back, and he’s craving the warm embrace of his pregnancy pillow and Ilya’s snores beside him. The evening had long passed, their living room doused in the hue of warm lighting and a wave of calm that Shane knows will hold less silence in a few months when he earns his title as a father once and for all. Ilya’s presence against his own body falls absent and Shane realises he must have slipped his eyes shut because the two of them are laughing fondly down at him.
“Stop.” He groans, blinking away the subtle blur in his eyes as Ilya slides a pillow under his head to replace his own body.
“Sleep, my love. I will see Sveta to the door.”
Shane can’t find it in him to protest, instead muttering a soft good-bye to their friend - with the reassurance that they’d see her again during her trip because there wasn’t exactly much else to do here anyways - and closes his eyes.
He listens to the rustle of coats in the hallway, Svetlana’s giggle as she perches on the bottom steps to tie her shoes and mutters words to Ilya in Russian. It’s moments like these that Shane wishes he was fluent, because he isn’t well-versed enough to catch any words from afar. He does notice a shift in tone however, that same hushed and frustrated inflection to Sveta’s words that Shane had been the recipient to earlier. Ilya responds with the bluntness of a moody teenager, and it makes Shane rise from where he was slouched into the couch cushions. Is she mad?
He rolls his awkward weight until he can plant two feet firmly onto their carpeted floor, and tip-toes to the best of his ability in an attempt to try and catch any words without being too obvious. They’re by the door now, the cold late-November wind making goosebumps rise on his skin from where the draft rolls through the house, and Shane’s ears perk up when he hears some English in the mix.
“Tell him, Ilya.” Svetlana sounds serious, almost pissed off, and then loops her arms around Ilya’s neck and kisses his cheek. “You have to tell him, or he will be mad when he works it out.”
Shane’s heart sinks, no, it fucking falls right out of his body and through the goddamn floors of their house, into the basement and to the core of the goddamn earth, because what the actual fuck did he just hear?
The door clicks shut, and he’s left frozen. He has two seconds, maybe three, before Ilya turns and spots Shane by the doorway looking as pale as a ghost, feeling betrayed and six months pregnant. The only thing in his brain at this moment is the desire to find a space that is safe to gather his thoughts, so he makes a display of rubbing his eyes and steps into the hallway.
“I’m going to bed.” He remarks, and he can’t help himself from shooting daggers Ilya’s way before waddling angrily to the stairs.
“Shane?”
It takes everything in him to ignore his husband, and he starts his ascent. Ilya follows and it only provokes him more. He can pretend to care all he likes, but Shane is still busy accepting that perhaps there is the potential for lies and betrayal in their marriage all along.
Shane makes it to their room and bolts straight to the en-suite, but against his luck Ilya wedges a foot in the door right before he can close it and forces it open with a dissatisfied look on his face.
“Shane.” He repeats, mouth hung open with confusion and the subtlety of fear.
In that moment Shane realises two things. He’s cornered in their bathroom, and Ilya looks guilty.
“What?” Shane scans Ilya’s face, just to double check he’s got that right because he’s had a hell of a long evening trying to work out what people mean with their cryptic expressions.
“I uh-” Ilya looks absolutely dumbfounded, and if Shane weren’t in such a mood he would have laughed at the look on his husband’s face.
You would have thought after all these years they’d have worked out how to communicate. But here Shane is, contemplating throwing himself out of their bathroom window. May as well rip the band-aid off then.
“I heard you and Sveta in the hall.” His hand instinctively goes to rest on his bump - grounding, reassuring. It doesn’t suffice though, because Shane is knocked over by a wind of fueled emotion and can’t control the tears that fill his eyes. “Y-you’re such an asshole, Ilya.”
Ilya’s face falls, scrunches up in confusion and hurt, and it pains Shane to look at. More tears fall over his cheeks, dripping off his jaw and leaving damp spots on the stretched fabric of his shirt.
“Baby.” Ilya sighs, one of those deep and self-soothing ones he does when he’s trying to find the patience he needs inside of him. “I can explain.”
Shane shakes his head rapidly, lifting the back of his hand to desperately wipe away the downpour of tears falling over his face as Ilya just stares at him. He hates it, he hates this all. “Explain that you’ve made me feel stupid? You’ve embarrassed me, Ilya.”
“Shane. Wait, I thought you didn’t know-”
“Oh, wow!” Shane feels his heart sink even more, if that’s even possible, and it takes everything in him not to dive past Ilya and run straight out of their house. “So that makes it okay? You get me pregnant with these stupid babies-”
“You don’t mean that Shane.”
“No! You knock me up and make me feel loved when it’s all a lie to you-” He hiccups, burying his head in his hands. “I hate you.”
“Shane, stop. Please.”
The proximity between them feels closer now, and Shane hesitantly lifts his head to see Ilya is standing about a foot in front of him, reaching a hand out.
“No. You stop.” He sobs.
“What is this about, Shane?” Ilya looks absolutely crestfallen, and it takes everything inside of Shane not to give into his desires to comfort him.
He pushes it all down, reminded of the betrayal the man before him has committed.
“You’re cheating. With Svetlana.” He crosses his arms, and when he says it out loud the words already feel stupid on his tongue. The accusation hangs in the air between them, and Shane can see the cogs turn in Ilya’s brain before a smug grin curls at his lips.
A chuckle simmers deep in his throat, and then it rises to actual laughter. Laughter. Ilya is laughing, hands reaching out to grip onto Shane’s arms as he shakes his head.
“Holy shit.” He gasps out, looking at Shane in disbelief. “You are joking, right?”
Shane knows his cheeks are flushed the most extreme shade of pink his body can possibly reach right now.
“No?” He isn’t sure himself at this point, but a big part of him still wants to shrug Ilya’s hands away in distrust. “By the door you guys-”
“Right.” Ilya squeezes his biceps before moving his hold to wrap around Shane’s waist and bring him closer. Shane hates that he doesn’t even try to resist. “I see why you are mad now. That sounded, how you say?”
“Misleading, like lying, like you two have something going on.” Shane can’t control the way the words fall out of his mouth, because he’s still mad at the possibility of it all.
Ilya just stares at him with fondness, a hand reaching up to cup Shane’s jaw. He melts into it, eyes drooping.
“Shane, do you want me to explain?” Ilya teases, the words rhyming in Shane’s ears as he rests his forehead against his husband’s shoulder with a defeated huff.
“It better be good.” He groans, feeling his whole body heat with embarrassment. How had he let his mind slip toward the wrong direction this badly? Ilya is everything, and Shane made room for the idea of his disloyalty with ease. What the heck was going on with him?
Ilya’s hand tangles into the dark hair at the nape of his neck and sways their bodies slightly. “The names on your phone.” His voice rumbles, sending reassuring vibrations through Shane’s body. “Svetlana told me she read them. I did not know you had thought about it yet.”
“What has that got to do with your conversation?”
Ilya’s fingers gently tug, and Shane lifts his head to look into his ocean eyes. If he wasn’t so annoyed, he’d probably be leaning in to kiss him right about now.
“Can you show me the list? It will be easier to explain.” Ilya lays a hand out between them, and Shane hesitantly unlocks his phone with the list already open and passes it to him.
He tucks his head against Ilya’s chest and peers at the screen, the soft rhythm of his heart thudding in his right ear. “I still don’t understand why-”
“This name.” Ilya scrolls to the second half of the list that consists of girls' names, and points at the singular highlighted one amongst them all. “It is a beautiful name. Very strong. Perfect for a Hollander-Rozanova.”
“Alexandra?” Shane’s voice goes timid.
Alexandra. That had been the one that stood out to him most.
In the past few weeks, Shane had been entertaining the reality of the tiny humans within him more and more. His research had led him down rabbitholes, spending the days where Ilya’s absence felt more heavy by scrolling websites with cyrilic pink and blue writing.
They didn’t know the sex of the babies yet, but a big part of Shane hoped for a girl, or two, or all three. It was plausible, they were confirmed to be dizygotic which meant they weren’t identical, and the idea of it made Shane’s mind race with fear and excitement.
He’d been stuck in his mind a lot lately as Ilya skated circles around their opponents and Shane watched longingly from the comfort of their home. So when he had come across the name a couple of days ago, he felt something click inside of his heart. It stayed highlighted, protected behind the password of his phone, a conversation for them to have at a later date when life allowed them to have the time. It felt solid though, and the knowledge that those nine letters could be the name he writes down on a birth certificate when he finally gets to cradle his babies in his arms and not inside of his uterus filled with him overwhelming joy.
Call him crazy, but a big part of him is positive that there's a baby-girl in there somewhere, and he feels his heart race with a deep feeling of protectiveness over her.
“What’s wrong with her name?” He whispers, his hand cupping the side of the bump that isn’t pressed against Ilya’s abdomen.
“Nothing is wrong. It is lovely. If we have a girl we should definitely call her that.” Ilya is so quick to reassure, offering a steady hand to join Shane’s own over his belly. “It’s just… Svetlana was worried you did not know its diminutive.” There's a pause, and Shane tilts his head in deep thought as he tries to recall exactly what is wrong with the cute nickname.
“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows, looking to Ilya for guidance. “What’s wrong with Sasha?”
Oh. Oh. It made a whole lot more sense now. Svetlana’s hesitation, assessing the situation with care and not calculated evaluation. Her whispers in the hall, Ilya’s attitude toward her, and then those words she uttered as she hugged him goodbye.
”You have to tell him, or he will be mad when he works it out.”
Oh, how wrong Shane was.
Ilya looks at him like he’s waiting for that ball to drop, like he’s playing with fire, and for the first time in hours Shane’s shoulders drop and he lets out an airy giggle of disbelief.
“Oh my god.” He melts into Ilya and just laughs.
Ilya’s arms rise to wrap fully around Shane and bring him toward his chest. “I am shocked you did not realise. I think that’s why Sveta was worried.”
Shane still can’t quite believe it, more stuck on the part where he thought Ilya was cheating and less on the fact that he’d picked a name that was infamously not spoken of in their house. “That completely missed me. It’s my pregnancy brain, or something.”
Shane feels the subtle tenseness in Ilya’s muscles and lifts his head to brace his weight with a firm grip on his shoulders. They stare into one another's eyes in understanding. It’s been a long evening, and they’ll only keep feeling longer the further into the pregnancy he goes. It’s things like this, stupid moments where Shane realises he’s gotten stuck in his own head for a little too long, that remind him of the control that the three babies inside of him have over his emotions.
“It’s okay,” Ilya mutters, squeezing his eyes shut as Shane’s hand reaches up to cup his face and swipe over his cheek. “It is funny, yes?” His hands squeeze at the soft fat of Shane’s hips and swoop over his bump before one lifts to tilt Shane’s chin upward. “You are tired, moy lyubov.” He remarks with the utmost care.
“Mm, very tired.” Shane nods, pliant under Ilya’s grip on his face. “Sorry for being mean.”
Ilya nods in understanding. He might not know how it feels to be pregnant, but he never fails to put in the effort to run Shane warm baths or offer him a massage after a long day. He’s always fully equipped with questions when they go to the doctor’s office and Shane sometimes lies awake, his eyes sealed shut in a fake-sleep, and listens to Ilya whisper to his belly.
Shane was entertaining the possibility of him being disloyal based on a few words, when Ilya had thousands of actions that counted for so much more.
“I will tell Sveta to be less confusing next time.” He mumbles, their noses brushing.
“Next time? Do you have more Russian lovers I need to know about?” Shane teases, and melts into the feeling of Ilya silencing him with the soft press of his lips against his own.
“No.” Ilya pulls away with a smirk. “Only a boring Canadian. I do not know if you’ve heard of him. I think his name was Shane, or something. Very bland name, very boring.”
Shane looks at Ilya with a smirk of disbelief and lightly slaps his pec before unravelling himself from their entanglement of arms in the middle of the bathroom.
“You have to be nice to me,” Shane insists, reaching for his toothbrush by the sink. “I’m pregnant, and I’m willing to name your baby after one of your old hook ups. I’m far too kind to you, Ilya.”
Large hands, calloused and rough from many intense years of hockey, wrap around his midsection and meet at the highest point of his bump. Shane scrubs his teeth. Foamy, minty goodness fills the air and Ilya just hums lovingly with his chin hooked over his shoulder.
“We don’t have to name her that,” he insists.
Shane considers it for a moment before shaking his head softly. “I want to,” he murmurs through a mouth full of toothpaste. Ilya’s hands dip lower, and for a moment Shane is fully prepared to swat him away from breaching the waistband of his joggers. Instead, Ilya adjusts his footing and gently begins to lift the weight of Shane’s bump to hold it in his own hands. “Holy shit.” Shane groans, leaning as far forward as the position would allow him to spit out into the sink. “That’s amazing.” The pressure in his bladder, constantly making him pee, is gone. The throbbing ache in his hips feels dull, and for a moment Shane feels as light as he does on the ice.
“Is nice?”
Shane moans in agreement and realises that he’s been dribbling toothpaste onto his shirt. “Whoops,” he giggles, and looks at Ilya through the reflection of the mirror. They look good like this, they always do, but with the added presence of Shane’s bump there’s something new on both of their faces. Behind all of the nerves and the tension, Shane can see Ilya’s excitement. He looks good like this, like becoming a father is something that grows into him instead of the other way around. Shane can only hope the same happens to him.
“What are you thinking?” Ilya mutters against his ear, deep and comforting in a way that makes Shane think it’s impossible for there to be a nicer sound.
He zeros his eyes in on the hands slowly lowering the weight of his bump back down, the pressure in his hips rising. “I’m thinking about how good of a papa you’ll be.” Ilya lets go of the bump and slides his hands to squeeze comfortingly at his sides. “And I’m excited and not terrified to meet the babies, for once. Usually I feel sick with nerves but it feels more real today.”
“In a good way?”
Shane nods and turns around. Ilya crowds him until his ass hits the lip of the sink.
“In a good way.” He hesitates before leaning forward to connect their lips with a brief kiss. “I’m also wondering where you learnt that little trick from. It felt amazing.”
Ilya braces his hands on either side of Shane, gripping onto the marble counter, and laughs softly. “Magicians do not reveal their secrets.”
“Oh, like the secret meaning behind the baby name I picked?” Shane teases. He doesn’t miss the way Ilya’s eyebrows furrow though.
“Shane.” Ilya groans. “It is your choice, yes? I did not know you thought of it until Svetlana told me just earlier.”
“I know, I know.” Shane reaches up to tangle his fingers amongst Ilya’s head of dirty-blonde curls and scratches his nails against his scalp - just how he knows he loves it. The air between them softens again, and Ilya’s eyes droop almost instantly at the touch. “I’d like to keep the name though.” He murmurs, smirking at the satisfied look on Ilya’s face - like a dog being scratched in just the right spot. “If we have a girl, of course. I hope we do. Maybe we could call her Alex, or Alexis instead.”
Ilya just nods at the idea, before slumping forward and pulling Shane into the softest embrace ever.
“I do not thank you enough.” He mumbles, pressing his face into the soft cotton of Shane’s shirt. “I wish I could repay you for giving us this. It kills me that I can not.”
Shane rubs soothing circles into his back and nods softly. “I know. You do so much for us already, Ilya. It’s okay.”
It takes more effort that night to get into bed. Ilya doesn’t let Shane out of his sight as they finish brushing their teeth, and when they finally get under the covers Ilya practically whines when Shane rolls over to embrace his pregnancy pillow.
“Shane.” He groans pleadingly. “Just a small cuddle, please?”
Who is Shane to deny such a pitiful face? Silently, he finds his home with the right side of his face pressed against Ilya’s chest and listens to the steady rhythm of his heart. Further down, his own heart beats and three more inside of him do as well.
The darkness in their room and the reassuring presence of his husband make Shane feel sleepy in an instant. His eyes slip shut and he knows, much to Ilya’s disapproval, that he will roll over at some point to wrap himself around the support of his pillow. But for now, this will do just fine.
“Thank you for choosing Russian names.” Ilya mutters into the pitch-black.
Shane takes a second to compute, rebooting himself to formulate his own words. “It felt right.” He responds with the same level of quietness, almost silent, only for them to hear. “I think-” Shane takes a deep breath. “I think a middle name after your mother would be nice too. Only if you want, of course. I mean, we don’t even know if we’re having a girl, yet but-”
“That would be nice.” Ilya’s voice quivers. Shane feels his chest stutter from where he rests his head, and he knows better than to fuss over him in moments like these. Sometimes Ilya just needs stability, the knowledge that Shane is there is more than enough. “I-I love you so much. I’m sorry I made you think I was cheating. You know I could never.”
“Don’t apologise." Shane reaches a hand into the darkness and laces their fingers together. “I love you too. So much. I knew I was being stupid the second I said it out loud. I’m embarrassed really.”
Ilya shakes with faint laughter somewhere further up the bed, the long expanse of his body warming at Shane’s side.
“Alexandra Irina Hollander-Rozanova.” He mutters into the air. “I hope she is in there. My mother…She would be so happy with that name.”
Shane squeezes at his hand from where it lay over his hip and presses a loving kiss to his exposed collar bone with a mumble to sleep, and succumbs to his own exhaustion.