Chapter Text
“Shane” Ilya beckons down the hall, but no response. It was early morning, but both Shane nor Ilya had a game that day, so it was unusual that Shane was up at this hour without a purpose. Ilya was sleepy, and quite frankly, too lazy to find Shane, but that need to find him only grew when he turned over to check his phone and realised it was 5am. This was unlike Shane without a reason - what was going on? Where was he?
What Ilya didn’t realise, is that Shane had been waking up at this time everyday since their time off season. 4:45 on the dot, he would get up to train. He would remove Ilya’s arm as gently as he could from under his body, hoping his heavy sleeping habits wouldn’t fail him. Everyday for 2 weeks until now had he been successful in that.
Truthfully, even Shane couldn’t tell you why he had been doing it…Well, he could. He had always had an obsession for control and looking after his body, but that had unfortunately become a much more prominent thought in his mind recently. Was it the pressure? He didn’t know. He had always felt pressure, so it couldn’t be that - but, he really didn’t know why. He just knew that if he didn’t complete this same routine recently, that thoughts of his body would never leave his mind. Sometimes maybe, he looked at Ilya and believed that he didn’t deserve someone like him. Rock hard abs, a perfect V-line nobody could miss glancing at, a perfectly sculpted slavic face which was noticed in every room he walked into, and a confident - maybe slightly cocky - personality to accompany it. How could Shane deserve that? He didn’t look like that, and he definitely wouldn’t if he ate Ilya’s usual daily diet. He wasn’t even close to matching Ilya on a scale of looks, and he knew it didn’t matter, but sometimes, all the time recently, that thought only lead him to the gym.
“Shane” he shouted once more. With a grunt and a struggle, Ilya managed to get himself out of bed to go and find out where the hell his boyfriend was. He was pissed though. Tired, grumpy and looking down, realised was about to be nursing an incredibly painful hard-on. Ilya was known to be packing down there, but there was packing, and then there was 9 inches…Getting hard in the morning with no sign of his usual relief, was painful.
He made his way downstairs, still no sign of Hollander. He was extra grouchy now. “Hollander, shanneeee” he called out dramatically, “please answer, I need you”
Silence.
A slight noise was heard from below him, the sound of a dropping weight, and in that moment, he was even more angry - if that was possible considering his situation.
The anger woke him up in that moment, and he opened the gym door with determination, finding Shane now sprinting on the treadmill in the corner of the gym. What was he doing at 5am sprinting, on their day off?
Shane spotted him, immediately stopping the treadmill and stepping off, standing awkwardly whilst Ilya stared silently at him. He stared with his usual sexual desire, but also with concern and anger, Shane really couldn’t tell which he was truly feeling.
“Shane” his voice raised slightly, “what are you doing down here? It’s 5am, even stupid wolf bird is not awake making noise at this time”
Shane tried to hold in his chuckle, remaining composure. “Sorry’ he said awkwardly, “I just couldn’t sleep”
Ilya stepped closer to him, pulling his phone from his pocket to show Shane his screen. “Then why does camera show you in here everyday at 5am whilst I was sleeping?” Ilya had checked the footage when he heard the noise. Although he was an intimidating, physically huge Russian man, he needed to prepare for what he thought he could face, if there was an intruder in the gym this morning rather than his boyfriend.
Shane stepped back from him slightly, mouth parted in slight disbelief Ilya had checked the footage, and stood uncomfortably to think of a response.
He opened his mouth, but paused. “Ilya I…” he tried to think of a response that wasn’t the truth.
“Ilya I hate how I look, and it’s eating me alive”, “Ilya, you deserve better”, “Ilya I can’t stop thinking of food”
How could he possibly tell him that? Tell him that he doesn’t believe the one person he loves most in the world, should love him? He couldn’t tell him, not with everything he was battling in his mind right now - he couldn’t be that weight on him.
“Seriously” he finally finished, “I just haven’t been able to sleep, so I have come down here to keep myself busy, rather than lying awake. Besides, it’s good for me - to keep my fitness up” he said, convincingly.
Ilya wished that he could believe him, but Shane had been acting weird recently, he just couldn’t figure out why yet.
“I promise Ilya” he continued reassuringly, but not even he believed himself - and what exactly was he trying to convince Ilya of?
Before he could move, Ilya looked at him, clearly seeing defeat in his eyes, and dropped the questioning - at least for now. He’d resume his investigation later, he was just glad he had found him.
Stepping closer and grabbing Shane’s hips, he spoke “let’s go back to bed pleaseeeee” he pleaded, accent thick in his plead.
“I need to shower first, I’m all dirty” Shane finished, and it’s like he thought Ilya knew nothing about him - it was known to him for years now that Shane despised feeling dirty or sweaty. “Shane, I know that, but I mean after. What? You think I don’t know you well enough to know you can’t stand feeling dirty?” Ilya rolled his eyes as he spoke.
“Ironically though, you don’t complain when you’re dirty with me”, he used the pad of his thumb and finger to tilt Shane’s chin upwards, “and you’re left even dirtier when I’m finished with you, with streaks of my cu-“
“Ilya” Shane interjected, chuckling now, freckled cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, “Can we talk about how dirty I am in the bedroom after I have showered?” Ilya kept Shane’s face In his fingers before finishing “yes, I suppose” and kissed him on the forehead before dropping his chin and heading back upstairs to let Shane shower in peace.
“Wait, hey” Shane stopped him and he turned on the stairs.
“Where the hell did you learn the word ironically?” he questioned, a slight smirk splaying on his lips.
Even more ironically, Ilya replied
“New Yorker” and winked before heading back upstairs.