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Ilya woke gradually, staring into the void of darkness surrounding him. He was cold in his own skin, his arm stretched where Shane should’ve lain, his eyes shifting on the white wall across from him as he remembered their last conversation. The argument was stupid. Ilya couldn’t even remember what happened in the first place. All he could think about was the cold spot beside him where his husband should’ve been.
It’d been a long week, longer than last, but somehow less fulfilling. He knew life was repeating an inescapable, enervating cycle. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he was knees to chest, sobbing in the tub again, but he couldn’t help it. He could try to stave it off– cancel meetings, send Anya to a kennel, or beg Sveta to watch her, do all the mandatory chores ahead of time– but it was futile trying to avoid it. Depression came with absolute power; there was no maybe.
Routine helped, but it was so different from what he’d been accustomed to. It made life so predictable, too preset. He felt like this life could be anyone’s; he was just a fill-in-the-blank. Nothing about his life made it his anymore.
He didn’t exactly mourn the fast life, but sometimes he missed what that life offered. He didn’t miss anything or anyone in particular, just the way he felt when the car passed 150 KPH—the ability to feel. Life was numb, it felt numb then too, but he’d always had an out—pretty women, fast cars. Now all he had was Shane—all he wanted was Shane—but he couldn’t possibly burden him with this heaviness. It’d pass, it always did. Yet, every time it felt less likely.
He dragged a hand down his face, trying to will himself to get up, but he couldn’t find it. He lay limp on the mattress, his focus locked on the dark ceiling. He wonders what life would be like with his Mama. Who would he be if she hadn’t taken her life? Would this weight feel lighter if she were here to hold him through it? Who would hold Shane if I…? Would he move on; would he be able to? Tears prickle at the thought. Shane without me. His heart sinks further. It feels impossible. Water skates down his temples, wetting Shane's silk pillowcase.
The sunlight from the hallway stings his eyes. He throws an arm over his face, trying to hide himself from the light and its face from his.
“Ily?” Shane calls out from the doorway.
Fuck, I can’t do this.
“Ilya,” he tries again– his accent perfect, two syllables, not three. Tears start again.
Why is accepting help so hard?
“Oh, baby,” Shane coos, striding towards his bed, plunging into his spot beside his husband, “I know,” is all he says. He repeats it like an anthem, pulling Ilya onto his chest to hold him.
“It’s getting bad again,” Ilya croaks out.
It had been getting bad for weeks, but it’s hard to admit when it's so subtle. It morphs from a shitty mood to a bad day to an unlucky spell. Then all at once you’re underwater, unable to pry yourself from your bed, salt dried on your cheeks, head, and heart, somehow a thousand pounds.
“I know,” Shane repeats.
Ilya wonders if he truly knows, if he’s ever felt this very soreness in his muscles; he hopes not ever. They stay like that for a while, Ilya wrapped in endless love, sobbing about things he can't quite articulate.
“Let’s go,” Shane whispers into his hair as he lies on top of him, salt drying on his cheeks.
“Shane,” he tries to argue.
“I’ll take care of you.” He kisses his hair, petting his curls in reassurance.
“My body feels heavy, I need a minute.”
Strong hands roll him over, gripping the backs of his thighs, then he’s off the bed, scrambling for purchase against his husband's body. Shane casually walks them into the en-suite, carrying his 200-something hockey player like he’s a Pike kid. He dims the lights, then sets him gently on the counter.
Shane gets a better look at him like this: his eyes are red under his clumped eyelashes, dark rings underline them, and lines of salt are evident on his face. Ilya brings his hands over his face, shielding himself.
“Please don’t look. I am not…feeling myself,” Ilya mumbles behind his hands.
Shane wets a washcloth, parting Ilya’s hands to reveal his face. He’s frowning like a stubborn kid, but accepts the cold wetness as it brushes his skin.
“Better?” Shane asks.
“A little,” Ilya mutters.
He flings the rag into the bin and moves to grab Ilya’s toothbrush. It’s a silly electric bear toothbrush they found on vacation after Ilya forgot his.
“Aha! Bears! Like me,” Ilya laughed loudly, puffing out his chest.
It makes him smile, remembering his husband happy. He wets the brush, grabbing the tube beside it.
“I can do this, Shane,” Ilya shyly protests.
Shane sets the objects down, moving to rest his hands on Ilya’s jaw. He kisses his forehead and temples.
“Let me take care of you.”
Ilya feels tears well again.
She would’ve loved you.
Shane brushes his teeth in small circles, gently holding his chin, carefully adjusting it ever so often. The corners of Ilya’s mouth are slightly upturned as he watches his husband’s brows furrow in focus.
He is so cute.
“Spit,” he commanded before, turning to draw the bath.
The sound of running water fills the steady quiet of the room. Shane sits directly across from him on the lip of the tub, anxiously testing the temperature every few seconds.
“When did you notice?” Ilya's voice cut through the tension.
“A few days ago,” he admitted, finally twisting the tap off, “You haven’t cooked for like three days.”
Ilya hadn’t noticed that. Yes, he felt tired, and some of his regular habits went neglected, but cooking wasn’t a chore; he loved cooking.
What am I becoming?
“Ready?” Shane offered his hand. Ilya took it hesitantly, standing on wobbly legs. Shane held his waist, keeping him upright.
“This is so embarrassing,” he whispered, hands firm on Shane’s shoulders as he crouched to peel off their socks.
“What is?” he moved higher, squeezing up his leg before pulling down his shorts and boxers in one quick movement.
“This.” Ilya gestured at his body. “Having to be cleaned and carried like a fucking baby,” Ilya’s voice shook with frustration.
Shane’s assistance reminded him of a simpler time, one where he had someone who cooked for him and carried him happily. But she left, and joy left with her, just as Ilya was thinking of leaving.
“You are my baby,” Shane retorted, freeing them of their shirts.
His eyes scanned his body–assessing for cuts, Ilya figured–but it felt closer to admiration. He led Ilya into the water, following after, and positioning them so that Ilya lay comfortably on his chest. He let out a soft sigh. The warm water felt refreshing, and lying on Shane felt grounding.
“I know it’s hard, Ily. I know I can’t take it away,” Shane wrapped his arms around his stomach, holding him tightly. It brought him back to their younger years. They had each other tighter, closer, as long as they could; time was of the essence. Even now, when they had all the time in the world, moments like this brought him back.
“I don’t want you to die.”
Ilya’s mouth felt tight and dry, like all the moisture had shifted to his eyes again.
“I know it’s selfish, but sometimes it seems like you won’t survive this,” Shane’s voice trembled, “and honestly, it's terrifying.”
Sobs wracked his body as guilt flooded his senses. He felt so selfish for feeling this way, for thinking those thoughts, but he couldn’t help it, and even if he could, he didn’t know.
He’d find me like I found Mama. He’d find me cold and alone. Fuck.
“I know that you’re trying. But you can’t do this alone,” his voice dropped to a serious octave, “Stop trying to do it alone, Ilya.”
It was a sobering thought. His mother had done it alone, except she had no other option. She didn’t have a loving husband, or in-laws, or even money of her own. All she had was her Ilya, but he couldn’t be the one to save her.
“It's so hard to ask for help,” Ilya cried, letting it all spill out, “I don’t notice until…until it's too late for me.”
“It's never too late, малышbaby.” Shane craned his head to look Ilya in the eye. “I will never give up on you.”
The words echoed through Ilya’s head. Shane’s words merged from He won’t give up on me, into I won’t give up on me. Guilt turned to hope, and fear turned to bravery. Ilya was brave with Shane, and Shane was brave for both of them when it felt impossible.
“Thank you,” is all he could make out. And it was understood between them: Ilya would stay, Shane would help, even if it was terrifying or felt impossible.
–
They sat there until their fingers raisined, letting water soothe their muscles and coax out hard truths.
“Come here.” Shane stepped out, stretching his hands to carry Ilya again.
“Is like five feet, Shane. I can stand.” He stood, dodging Shane’s arms. Shane pulled him in, grabbing his legs to wrap them around his waist.
“So stubborn,” he teased, his lips grazing his husband's. Ilya locked eyes with him, his arms tangled behind his neck. Life felt doable like this.
He carried him to the huge shower, placing Ilya on the large marble bench, before twisting the shower on, clicking through settings to find the overhead feature. Ilya admired his man, tall and sculpted, dimly lit, and dripping from head to toe. He felt his cock twitch at the sight. Shane was so attractive like this; something about his loving nature just did it for Ilya. He smiled coyly as Shane walked over to him, standing between his parted knees.
“Hi, handsome,” he purred. Shane blushed immediately– he was so easy to tease. Ilya reached out, massaging the thick muscle of his thighs.
“No, shower first.”
Shane swatted his hand, reaching past him to grab their body wash, unintentionally leaning in closer, barely a breath away from his mouth. Ilya’s hands held the back of his head as he kissed him, keeping him steady as he licked into his mouth. Shane moaned softly, his strong arms bracketing the sides of Ilya’s head. Ilya deepened the kiss, tilting his head to slip his tongue into Shane’s mouth. He pulled away at the intrusion.
“No, Ily, shower first.” He grabbed the bottle, popping the cap open.
“Ugh, but I am sad,” he groaned, admiring his husband’s ass as he turned to wet his rag underneath the waterfall, “I want to have fun, let’s have fun.” He crept up behind him, his half-hard cock slotting between his ass.
“After, со́лнышкоsunshine,” Shane laughed softly, moving his hand to Ilya’s jaw on his shoulder. Ilya blushed, grinning stupidly behind him.
They showered quickly, taking turns washing each other carefully. It was easily more intimate than sex, their hands moving efficiently down creases and curves they’d smoothed over countless times.
“Can I have a moment?” Ilya asked as Shane moved to shut off the water.
“Sure.” he pulled his hand back, stepping to grab his towel instead, “Call me if you need.” He slid the bathroom door closed.
Ilya stood under the water, swaying as he stared at the tiled wall. He felt lighter than earlier, thankful too. Things weren’t perfect, and the urge to not be here persisted, but those thoughts felt quieter, like they weren’t worth their weight.
I can do this.
–
They spent the rest of the day cuddling on the sofa, making out every once in a while, only getting up to change positions. By the time night fell, they were well rested and horny, waiting for the other to break.
“How was your day?” Shane asked, his chin in his hands as he watched his husband from across the kitchen island.
“You know already.” Ilya opened the fridge, searching for anything to eat, not fully up for cooking yet.
“Yeah, but I want you to say it.”
“It was good,мой любимыйmy love ." He shuffled through their groceries.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mhm,” Ilya hummed, looking over his shoulder to his husband; his eyes were dark with lust. “I think we should order in.”
–
45 minutes, and two burrito bowls later, they found themselves back on the couch, Ilya between Shane's legs, chewing on his hoodie strings and scrolling aimlessly, while Shane read quietly. Shane ran his hands through his curls, gently scratching at his freshly cleaned scalp. Ilya moaned softly at the feelings; his body was fully relaxed against his husband’s. Shane’s hand moved further down to the nape of his neck, squeezing playfully before resuming the massage. Ilya leaned into the feeling, grunting softly as he used more pressure. Shane’s hands continued further, his book now tossed somewhere behind the cushions, gently groping the flesh of his shoulders. Ilya whined under his husband’s strong hands, loosening knots in his upper back. As Shane’s touch travelled further south, Ilya climbed him, his body itching for his fingers to be everywhere. Right before, they worked lower half of his back, Shane paused.
“Upstairs,” he whispered against his earlobe, his voice low and sultry, lined with sex.
Ilya practically threw himself off the couch, hurrying up the stairs, stripping clothes off as he made it past the door. He was naked and waiting at the head of the bed, staring at the door frame, counting the seconds until Shane stood in the center. He loved when Shane got like this– demanding and wanting– and he was prepared to give him everything he’s got.
Shane’s body crowded the door, tall and broad, and unfairly attractive in the amber light of their bedroom. His brown eyes locked onto Ilya’s, and goosebumps covered his skin.
“On your stomach,” he instructed, voice somehow lower than before with a slight rasp.
Ilya crawled from the top to the edge, purposefully arching his back as he made his way to the end of the comforter, his eyes still locked onto Shane’s, his head turned flat on the duvet.
“Fuck,” Shane groaned, slowly approaching him, tugging off his shirt.
Ilya’s mouth watered at the sight; his husband looked so fucking good like this. He searched his body, staring at the peaks of his full chest, considering how his nipples would feel against his tongue.
“I want you to fuck me,” he confessed.
It was atypical, but not rare exactly. Ilya got like this sometimes when he needed something different– a safe way of feeling something new.
Shane’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. “Do you need to prep?” he asked.
“I prepped in the shower,” he replied shyly, inching closer, unable to help himself.
‘Oh’, the expression was written all over Shane’s face, deep in his eyes, before something softer but hungry took over– determination.
Shane’s face broke into a mischievous grin. “Prepping in secret? So greedy for my cock,” he teased, hooking his thumbs in his sweatpants to expose his thick cock. Ilya’s eyes were fixed on his crotch, his lips slightly parted in awe.
“Go on, baby. Taste it.”
Shane grabbed his face between two fingers, pulling him closer. Ilya kissed over his slit, feeling the salty precum spread over his lips. He stretched his tongue out, licking a broad stripe over the tip of his cock, feeling his husband shudder at the contact. He looked up at him, ensuring he was watching as he took him into his mouth, not stopping until he reached the back of his throat.
Shane moaned at the wet heat trapping his dick, gripping the bed frame to ground himself. Ilya hummed in appreciation, the vibrations causing his dick to twitch against his tongue. He set a slow and torturous pace, bobbing his head uppp and downnn, staring past his eyes and into his soul.
Shane was flushed pink, his eyes glazed over, and his top row of teeth painfully digging into his bottom lip. Ilya quickened his pace, hollowing his cheeks and moving his hand to squeeze Shane’s balls. Shane let out a guttural sound, his hips thrusting forward, causing Ilya to gag, his pale blue eyes watering.
“Shhh, baby,” Shane cooed, thrusting faster into his mouth, “Let me use your pretty mouth.”
Ilya felt his body go limp at the command, his throat fully relaxed as Shane took his mouth, fucking into him faster and harder. Spit dripped down his chin at the sides of his mouth. His eyes rolled back in pleasure as his own erection dragged across the sheet; he was fucking the duvet, overcome by the feeling of his husband using him.
“Look at you,” Shane groaned low, “humping the sheets like a fucking dog.”
Ilya moaned, his hips moving faster, chasing his orgasm. Shane pulled out of his mouth, flipping him onto his back. Ilya cried at the loss, overly frustrated with the pooling heat in his stomach.
“Not until I say so.”
Shane leaned over him, leaving open-mouth kisses everywhere his mouth could find, his cock brushing Ilya’s, causing him to thrust up, still seeking gratifying pleasure. Shane pinned his hands with one of his, using the other to force his hip flat against the sheet.
“Hold still, мой любимыйmy love."
Ilya squirmed as he felt the tip of his husband’s finger graze his hole. There wasn’t much ground they hadn’t covered in their many years together, but this– Ilya letting go, and giving Shane everything– this always felt novel. Shane inched in carefully, studying Ilya’s face for any sign of discomfort.
“Okay?” he asked, circling the ring of muscle.
“Fuck me,” Ilya sighed, sinking down on his long, thick finger.
“Fuck,” Shane moaned, carefully thrusting his index finger in and out of Ilya’s tight hole.
“More,” Ilya mouthed, grabbing at his wrist, just holding it steady as he rode his digit. Shane pulled out fully before sliding two fingers in up to the last knuckle, slowly scissioring his husband open.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned, already so full. Shane crooked his middle finger, feeling for his sweet spot. Ilya’s eyes flew open, his back arched off the bed as Shane tapped his prostate repeatedly.
“краса́вец, пожа́луйстаPlease, beautiful,” he begged, praying Shane would let him finish already.
“Shhh мой любимыйmy love, you’re taking it so well,” Shane cooed, moving from rubbing circles on his inner thigh to roughly grabbing the side of his ass, kneading the muscle there. Ilya jolted at the feeling.
“Shane– I can’t, I’m,” he sputtered, his entire body shaking with pleasure.
“Cum for me, sweetheart.” Shane sped up, hitting his prostate head on with every thrust. Ilya went limp under him, warm ropes covering his neck and his husband’s stomach. Shane continued his pace, working him through his orgasm.
“Ah,” Ilya groaned, grabbing Shane’s hand.
“Are you okay?” Shane immediately stilled.
“Yes, fuck,” he sighed, sliding himself off of Shane’s hand, “you feel so good.”
“Do you need a break?” he asked, wiping his fingers on the sheet below them.
He was so thoughtful when he topped, so calculated and assuring; it’s what Ilya liked most about switching it up. His whole life, he’d been chasing control, submissive to his father and brother and fucking Russia if he really thought about it. With Shane, he didn’t have to do that; there wasn’t a bravado to put up anymore–he could cry in his arms, he could feel without being called crazy, he could lie in bed all day without fear of being called ‘lazy’ or ‘worthless’. He could let go from time to time; nothing was absolute between them, only their love for each other.
“No, baby,” he smiled up at his husband, his со́лнышкоsunshine, “Fuck me.”
“You have such a way with words,” Shane teased, crawling over him, to smother him in kisses from head to hips.
“Is why you married me,” Ilya snorted, giggling at the soft kisses.
“Mmm,” Shane purred, making his way down Ilya’s jaw to his neck, stopping at his chest to suck softly at his nipple.
“Fuck meee,” Ilya whined, squirming under his lips.
Shane let the bud go with an obscene pop, looking up to lock eyes with Ilya. “Take what I give you.”
Ilya moaned at his words, so sure and demanding. Shane licked at his nipple again, taking it between his teeth and biting gently before licking over the pain. Ilya knew he was doing this purely to be cruel; he could feel his heavy erection between his legs, for fuck’s sake. But this was a treat for them both: Shane getting to unravel him and Ilya lying down and taking it. Ilya knew he was savoring it, and that only made it sexier. Eventually, Shane moved down his stomach, between his thighs, leaving gentle kisses over sensitive skin before lining himself up and gently pushing at the tight ring of muscle.
“Slow, slow, со́лнышкоsunshine,” Ilya panicked. It’d been a while since he was that full; he needed to adjust every inch.
“Ily,” Shane hushed him, rubbing his hands over his thighs, “Let me take care of you. I know what you need.”
Ilya exhaled, relaxing into his touch, as Shane sank into him slowly. Shane’s cock burned familiarly, reminding him how much he missed being used this way. Ilya moaned at the sensation of his dick bottoming out, briefly brushing past his prostate.
“Good?”
“Move.”
Shane set a slow, almost torturous pace, leaning down to lock lips with Ilya as he slowly rocked back and forth. They weren’t fucking, they were making love, which Ilya didn’t mind. In fact, he loved when they got like this– holding eye contact, moaning against each other’s mouths while moving closer and closer to their high– but not now. He wanted something raw and primal with Shane; something that made him lose all concept of time, that made the world collapse around him, and melted his brain. His hands slithered down to Shane’s hips, suggestively pushing him deeper, his hard grip signaling his need for more.
Shane slipped out suddenly, flipping him onto his stomach, before sinking back in, holding his hips as he pounded into him, not giving a moment to readjust.
“Блять, малыш, такой огромныйFuck, baby, so big," Ilya cried, grabbing at the duvet, English lost in his head.
“You don’t want to make love,” Shane spat, “You want to get fucked– be used.”
“да, Блять, пожа́луйстаYes, fuck, please ,” he moaned, unsure of exactly what he was asking for.
“Stop begging,” Shane panted, drilling into him relentlessly, “This is exactly. what. you. want.” He thrusted hard with each word, emphasizing his point.
“Шейн, я кончаюShane, I’m cumming ," he groaned as white streaks stained the sheet below.
Shane’s steady pace faltered as he groaned louder, obviously chasing his own orgasm above him. Ilya’s body was limp and malleable, his mouth stuck open, as he squeezed his eyes tightly, his hole fluttering around Shane’s cock. Shane came in seconds, stilling instantly. He pulled out slowly, watching as his cum leaked out of Ilya, dripping on the bed below. Before Ilya could whine at the loss, a wet heat replaced his cock, thrusting his spent back into his tired hole. He moaned at the feeling, at the idea that Shane–his husband, had just fucked him senseless, just how he wanted– and was now licking his cum back into him. He felt loved in a foreign way, owned almost.
Shane licked into him, spreading the meat of his ass, as he ate him out, spitting obscenely at the puffy lips of his hole. It felt surreal– Shane’s tongue, his cock, his fingers–all felt unearthly as they drove Ilya into a thoughtless, raw space. Ilya moaned loudly, arching his back as Shane circled the ring with the tip of his tongue, before crawling over Ilya, grabbing him by the throat to offer him a bruising kiss. It was claiming, the slide of Shane’s tongue, his cum in Ilya’s mouth, was perfect. Shane pulled back, his eyes dark and lustful, staring into Ilya’s as he exhaled, falling atop his husband. They stayed like that, savoring their high before coming down, together.
“Was good,” Ilya mumbled into their pillows.
“You can speak English now,” Shane joked.
“Fuck off,” Ilya huffed, throwing him off his back, before lying on his back and pulling him to his chest.
“But you liked it?” Shane asked earnestly, scanning Ilya’s expression for honesty.
“Is sex with you. What’s not to like?” Ilya joked, avoiding the vulnerability tangled in the question.
“Ilya.” Perfect pronunciation, no notes.
“Yes, Shane. I liked getting fucked,” he rephrased, still dodging the complete truth. Shane looked at him knowingly.
“I liked letting go, not…thinking for once.”
“I know,” Shane sighed, burrowing his face between his pecs.
“So you just want to humiliate me,” Ilya said sarcastically.
“I want you to be honest,” Shane deadpanned, “With yourself,” he poked Ilya’s sternum, “and with me.”
Silence filled the space between them, tenser than earlier, but important. It was important to have this talk, to set the standard, to open up, even if it felt impossible.
“I will try,” Ilya sighed, “I promise.” Shane smiled at him, pleased with his answer.
“Shower?”
“Of course, мой любимыйmy love.” Ilya took his hand as he rolled off the bed, leading them to the shower.
–
The water poured down their bodies as they held each other, swaying softly under the warmth. Ilya felt silly letting pride stop him from having this– from getting the help he so desperately needed and so rightfully deserved. In moments like this, his fears felt almost invisible, though they lingered like static. It’d never be perfect, he’d never fully escape the weight of depression, and everything very well may come flooding back tomorrow, but in this moment, there was no impossible; just him and Shane against everything, together.
They took turns lathering each other, stopping to touch every so often, enjoying the feel of the other in their hands, before rinsing off. Ilya’s eyes traced over Shane as he sat on the counter, watching his husband methodically complete his skincare routine.
“What does this do?” Ilya held up a glass vial.
“Controls oil.” Shane wiped at his face, smoothing his cheeks.
I’m not that oily.
“What about this?” A small, glass container, with Korean etched onto it.
“Moisturizer.”
But I am pretty dry.
“Can I have some?”
“Sure,” Shane huffed, amused, “Since when do you do skincare?”
“I used to, with Sveta, she showed me a few things when I was younger,” Ilya recalled, screwing the cap off, “Just the basics, really. But I stopped soon after. No energy.”
Shane stared at him through the mirror as he spread the cream on his cheeks, rubbing it into his skin.
“We’ll visit the dermatologist. We’ll get you something simple, something you can do every day.” Shane kissed his temple.
“Oooh, maybe I can try one of your face mask thingies.” Ilya perked up.
“Tomorrow, baby,” Shane exhaled, caressing his jaw as he moved past him towards the bedroom.
“I look forward to it.” Ilya playfully slapped his ass and flicked off the lights, following his husband to their bed.
They lay together in clean silk sheets, Shane’s hands firmly wrapped around Ilya’s stomach as he held him from behind, his breath warming the nape of his neck. Ilya exhaled slowly, thankful for this life, for the man he loved, for his Mama, for his own strength. He would survive this, not alone and cold, but together, through the impossible.