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These days, Shane sometimes has the urge to pinch himself just to make sure he’s not dreaming. He and Ilya are married, living together, and both playing for Shane’s hometown hockey team. The team is astonishingly supportive of their relationship. After years of secrecy and infrequent stolen hours together, now they’re almost never apart. They get to travel to away games together, and share hotel rooms on the road. And no one bats an eye at them for occasionally holding hands on a bus or kissing at a bar. Shane has just about everything he’s ever dared to want, save perhaps for winning the Cup alongside Ilya. But there’s still time for that. It seems unfair, in a way, for a person to be this lucky.
This is not to say that the first months of their marriage have been perfect. Living together permanently has revealed new areas of friction. They’ve had their fair share of domestic squabbles, like Ilya leaving dirty socks all over the house, and Shane tending to quietly sulk about things that are bothering him rather than talk to his husband about them. Still, Shane is incandescently happy.
He wonders sometimes if this happiness is too good to be true, or at least too good to last. If things can’t possibly get any better, there’s really only one direction left for them to go. He fears there must be something lurking just around the corner waiting to burst their bubble and send it all crumbling down. A career-ending injury or chronic illness, perhaps. If so, he knows he is powerless to stop it, so he tries not to dwell on this notion.
Tonight they’re having dinner at his parent’s house, something they can easily make time for now even during the season, even when they had practice today and have a home game tomorrow.
“This lasagna is really good, Dad,” Shane says. “Thanks again for cooking.”
‘Yes, very good,” Ilya adds, having already cleaned his plate.
“You’re welcome,” David says with a genuine smile.”I always love cooking for my boys.” It’s touching, the way his parents have adopted Ilya into the family, calling him their second son. Shane suspects they would have done this for any partner of his, even if their parents were still alive. But it’s especially meaningful for Ilya, who Shane suspects wasn’t loved enough as a child, and who was certainly lacking in affection and support as a teenager and young man.
“I saw on instagram that the Dykstra’s are expecting,” Yuna comments.
“Oh? Good for them,” David says.
“Yes, Evan told the team a few weeks ago,” Ilya adds. “He seems happy.”
“This will be their second, right?” Yuna asks. There’s a probing tone to her voice, like she’s asking a question that she already knows the answer to just to make a point. Shane recalls her making similar comments when Hayden and Jackie had had each of their babies. The implication being that people his age are already married and have two, three, four children. You’re falling behind, Shane. That’s so unlike you.
Ilya nods.
“So, when do you think you two will be ready to have kids?” Yuna asks. She lifts her eyebrows while taking a sip of her wine and glances between them.
Shane’s muscles tense instantaneously. He fights the urge to spit out the water he has just taken a drink of, and instead swallows it down.
“Mom,” he mutters, shaking his head ever so slightly in warning. No. Please don’t.
She’s not even asking if they will have children, but when. Because the fact that they will seems like a foregone conclusion to his mother. And why wouldn’t it when she’s implied for years that she expects grandchildren, and Shane is her only child?
The predecessor to these sorts of questions when Shane was in his early twenties had of course been the objective of finding a partner. Are you seeing anyone? Have you met any nice girls lately? I have this friend who has a daughter who… On and on and on. It was all the more important because he is an only child. Who will help you look after us when we are old? Who will take care of you when we are gone? But Shane knew even then that if he pulled at the strings of that tapestry long enough, it would lead to the central issue of him having children. Who will take care of you when you are old? Who will remember you when you are gone?
Shane knows that the driving force behind these concerns is love. His mother wants him to be happy and secure. He also suspects that she feels a bit of guilt for the fact that he is an only child and therefore has no one with which to share this burden. If he had siblings, the duty of caring for his aging parents would not fall solely on his shoulders. The duty of creating the next generation would not be his alone. There had been a reprieve from these sorts of questions after his parents had found out about Ilya. Then, there were bigger problems to solve, obvious obstacles in the way. But now…
“I am not sure,” Ilya says diplomatically. “We haven’t really talked about that.”
They absolutely should have talked about this before getting married. Shane knows that. But they didn’t. They still haven’t. It is far easier to keep this topic on the tallest shelf in the highest recess of his brain. Something he can store away for later, for future Shane to deal with.
“I know that it probably seems easiest to wait until at least one of you retires, but I do think we could make it work before then, with the right nanny. We’re not getting any younger, you know,” she adds, gesturing between herself and David.
Shane can feel his heart pounding in his ears now. Who is ‘we’, exactly, in this scenario? He feels incredibly nauseous all of a sudden despite not having had any of the wine tonight. Oh shit, is he about to puke across his parents’ dinner table right now?
“Mmm, something to think about,” Ilya replies. He turns to look at Shane. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, placing his hand on Shane’s thigh.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” David asks. “I made tiramisu!”
On the drive home, Shane finds himself tightly gripping the steering wheel and clenching his jaw. He knows that Ilya can see how tense he is. Ilya has always been able to read his emotions as if they’re written across his forehead.
“What is bothering you, lyubimiy?” Ilya asks.
“Nothing,” Shane deflects like a reflex.
“Is it about what your mama said earlier?”
Reluctantly, Shane nods. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but it feels almost inevitable now. And maybe here in the car isn’t the worst place for it, actually. They’re stuck here together for another 15 minutes or so. They can’t run from this if it gets difficult, but the awkwardness also won’t last forever if it does. Plus, Shane has the excuse of looking out at the road rather than having to look Ilya in the face. Okay, okay. He can do this. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.
“Do you want kids?” he asks quietly. He knows what the answer will be, and it terrifies him.
Ilya loves kids. He’s a natural with them. Every All-Star game, every team barbeque, Ilya can always be found entertaining the other players’ children. He knows what to say to make them laugh and make them trust him. These things have never come naturally to Shane. But Ilya loves kids, and they love him. Of course he wants to have children of his own.
Instead of answering, Ilya first asks, “do you?”
Shane hazards a glance over at his husband. There is a dark intensity to Ilya’s eyes.
“I would really like to hear your answer first,” Shane says. “Please?”
Ilya sighs, but relents. “I like kids,” he says. “They are fun, yes? But I could only want them for us if you want them too.”
It’s frustrating, this dance they’re doing. Circling around the truth, trying desperately not to hurt one another, but slowly being pulled inward by the gravity of it all nonetheless. “Ilya, that’s not what I mean. Obviously it would have to be a decision that we make together, but I want to know what you want, just for you. Take me out of the equation.”
Because Shane is not good with kids. Sure, he can muster through watching the Pike kids for an afternoon every now and then, but it’s not exactly an enjoyable experience. He’s never sure what to do when one of them cries, and he always leaves feeling emotionally exhausted. Even when he was a child himself, Shane had always felt different from the other kids. He didn’t understand their jokes half of the time, maybe because he was secretly the butt of them. He didn’t understand why the other kids didn’t want to set up the Lego sets the way they were depicted on the box, or why they were always trying to break the rules and not do as they were told. It wasn’t so hard, was it?
“Shanezhka, there is no taking you out of equation. I cannot do that. You’re stuck with me forever, remember?” Ilya holds up his hand, flashing his wedding ring at Shane. His tone is light, joking. He’s just trying to ease the tension here, but Shane can’t help but wonder if that is how Ilya secretly feels. Stuck.
“Yes, but… what about before me? Did you want kids then?”
“Before you? When I was a teenager?” Ilya asks with a small laugh. “No, gagarochka, I was not wanting to make babies then. I was very much trying to not do that, actually.”
“Ugh, shut up, you know that’s not what I mean.”
“No, I know,” Ilya admits. His face turns serious again. “I did think when I was young that some day I would get married and have children. But maybe I only pictured that because it was what seemed… normal? Like, what everyone is supposed do to? But it’s.. complicated, yes? For a long time I have known that there are things in my family - in me, maybe - that I don’t want to pass on.”
Shane nods, understanding.
Ilya continues, “So I wouldn’t want to use my genes to make a baby. But we could use yours, if you wanted.”
Shane shakes his head softly. “I don’t know that my genes are much better.”
They’ve talked about this a little. This thing that Shane has grown to suspect about himself, but isn’t quite ready to fully explore. He’s known for as long as he can remember that he is different, that his brain is a bit different to most people. He takes things too literally sometimes. He’s bothered by certain food textures. He finds it uncomfortable to hold eye contact, especially with strangers. These things aren’t problems, really. They’ve just seemed like personality quirks for most of Shane’s life. But recently he’s started to wonder if there is a unifying explanation. He’s taken a handful of online quizzes with varying results. He could seek a formal evaluation to know for sure, but what good would that do? It’s not like there is any treatment for this thing he might have. It hasn’t negatively impacted his life, not really. And the thought of telling his parents - god, it would be like coming out to them all over again. And for what? Just to make them feel bad for not recognizing this thing when he was little? When it wasn’t nearly so well-understood?
Shane told Ilya a few months ago that he thought he might be a little bit autistic. Ilya had listened carefully, and reassured him that he would support him in whatever he decided to do next, even if that was nothing at all. Shane had noticed Ilya listening to a podcast about adults with high-masking autism a couple of weeks later. And maybe this is enough for Shane - to know this thing about himself without really knowing. And for his partner to know this about him too - to maybe understand him a bit better.
It’s not that he thinks this should preclude him from having children. He knows that plenty of people with autism do. It’s more that it’s helped him understand why he doesn’t want to. Why the chaos and unpredictability of children are unsettling to him.
“There are other ways,” Ilya muses, drawing Shane back to the present. “Pre-existing children. Certified pre-owned?”
“Ilya!” Shane scolds, though he is smiling at the terrible joke. “That’s not funny. They’re human beings, not cars!”
“You laughed.”
“I did not!” Shane’s smile fads after a moment. “You want to adopt kids, then?”
“Sometimes I think that sounds nice, but only if you wanted to.”
Shane hums noncommittally.
“Do you want to have children?” Ilya finally asks.
“My parents certainly expect us to, or my mom does, at least.” Shane says. He’s still dodging the question, and he knows that isn’t exactly fair. But there are still cards to lay on the table. Factors to consider. “I’m her only hope for a grandchild. And I think she would prefer a biological grandchild, for hockey reasons, mostly. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she is looking into experimental ways to splice our DNA together somehow to genetically engineer a child that is actually both of ours. The ultimate hockey prodigy.”
Ilya laughs softly. After a moment of quiet, he says, “it’s not her decision to make. It’s your life, not hers.”
“I know, I know.”
“So what do you want? Taking your parents out of the equation. Taking me out too.”
“I guess I just always assumed that I would have kids. Because that’s what people do, like you said. Get married, have kids.” He takes a deep breath. Does he dare admit this next part? If not now, when? “But I can’t say that I really want them. I don’t feel like that is something missing from my life. I don’t hate children, or anything like that. I just don’t like them like you do. I can do it, though, if it’s really important to you. I’ll do anything to make you happy.” I’ll do anything to keep from losing you, he thinks, but can’t quite say. This is something that he is prepared to do for Ilya. Or, he will make sure that he is by the time they’re ready to retire. It will be difficult, perhaps the hardest thing he has ever done. Sleepless nights, screaming children, exhaustion, and irritability. But Shane is well-versed in doing hard things. He is determined and methodical. When faced with a seemingly impossible challenge, he carefully breaks it apart and builds a plan to tackle it that he never backs down from. If this is important to Ilya, he will do it. They will do it together.
Ilya reaches over and grabs his right hand, interlacing their fingers. “Nothing is more important to me than you, Shane. If you don’t want kids, then we won’t have kids.” Ilya says this so matter-of-factly, like this is the conversation over, the decision made. It doesn’t feel that way to Shane. This would be too much of a sacrifice for Ilya, yet another thing that he begrudgingly gives up for him like his career in Boston and most of his sports cars. If they choose this path, he fears that Ilya will grow to resent him for this, and that it will inevitably drive a wedge between them gradually over time.
They arrive home, and Shane pulls his Land Rover into the garage between Ilya’s GLC and his orange Porsche. Their conversation takes a natural pause as they take care of a few necessities before bed. Ilya lets Anya outside and then plays with her for a bit while Shane preps a few things in the kitchen for tomorrow.
Later, they get ready for bed and end up standing side by side, brushing their teeth at the double sinks. “Would you really be okay with not having a family?” Shane asks after they spit out their toothpaste. He doesn’t really want to continue this conversation, but he also won’t be able to sleep without an actual resolution. He meets Ilya’s eyes, but only in the mirror.
“I have a family,” Ilya retorts. He turns and places his hands on either side of Shane’s face. “You are my family. David and Yuna are my family. Anya is my family. I already have more family than I ever thought I would have. And even if I only had you, that would be more than enough. You are everything to me.”
“I don’t think I want to have kids,” Shane repeats. “But I’m willing to, if that’s what you want. I’m terrified that you’re just saying that you’re okay with not because we’re already married and we really should have talked about this before. And that if we don’t, one day you’ll hate me for this.” Shane feels tears starting to well up in his eyes and fear rising in his throat. Ilya looks hurt, or maybe confused. He snakes one hand around to the back of Shane’s neck and the other around his waist and pulls him tightly against his chest, skin to skin.
“Moya dusha, please don’t panic,” Ilya begs him. Shane rests his cheek against Ilya’s shoulder and Ilya’s fingers stroke soothingly up and down his back. “I could never hate you. Maybe we should have said these things before we got married, but if it was so important to me that I would hate you over it, don’t you think that I should have said something?”
Shane hasn’t really thought of it that way. “Maybe you just assumed that we would?” he murmurs against Ilya’s neck. Maybe it is a reasonable default to assume, even for queer couples, that marriage will be followed by children. Shane isn’t sure, but it seems plausible.
“I know you pretty well, Shanezhka. I see the way you are around kids. You are good with them, but,” Ilya pauses, maybe trying to find the right words. “It is hard, yes? More like a duty than a joy?”
Shane nods. It’s a wave of relief to be understood in this way and not judged for it. If only his mother could do the same. Could Ilya really be okay with this after all? He pulls back a few inches to look at him. “I’m really happy with our life the way it is. And… I know that this is really fucking selfish of me, but I don’t like the idea of sharing you with anyone. We’ve waited so, so long to really be together, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” They could spend every day for the rest of their lives with no objective but to be together, and it still wouldn’t be enough to satiate his desire.
Ilya kisses him then, softly at first, and then deeper. Shane wraps his arms around Ilya’s shoulders and threads the fingers of one hand into his curls. It has always been easier for them to express their feelings like this rather than with words. Shane’s body knew long before his mind did how much he loved Ilya. Shane melts into Ilya’s mouth, falling into his desire as he finally lets some of his tension go. The problem isn’t entirely solved. He still has to tell his parents about this. No grandchildren. It will break his mother’s heart. But it’s not something to be addressed tonight.
“No, never enough,” Ilya says. “Always so hungry for me, aren’t you?”
Shane nods. He’s already getting hard. Ilya is kissing up the side of his neck now and squeezing his ass.
“Get on the bed,” Ilya murmurs into his ear, sending shivers down Shane’s spine. He eagerly complies, walking over and lying down on his back. He loves relinquishing control to Ilya. It is a relief to shut off the analytical part of his brain and simply feel.
“Clothes off,” Ilya adds from the doorway between the bedroom and bathroom. Shane is only wearing underwear, but he lifts his hips and peels them off obediently. “Good.” Ilya’s praise washes over him like a warm embrace. He stalks over to the bed and kneels at Shane’s feet, sitting back on his heels.
Shane’s eyes wander over the muscles of Ilya’s arms, his chest, his stomach. He looks up to meet his husband’s eyes, patiently awaiting further instructions.
“I am happy with our life, too,” Ilya tells him. “I must be sure that you know this. I don’t need babies of our own to be happy. Our friends have plenty of them for us to spoil when we want. We do good work with the foundation, and make a difference for lots of kids there. Maybe we do more of that when we retire. Or maybe coaching, I don’t know. And if your mama cannot understand this, you can tell her is my fault, that I am the reason for no grandbabies.”
“Ilya, I don’t think she’s going to believe that for a second,” Shane retorts. She knows them both too well to fall for that.
“Then I will tell her is none of her business, and to leave you alone,” Ilya resolves. He tries to imagine Ilya scolding his mother, but it seems so silly that he can’t even picture it. “Point is, you make me happy, and that will never change. I love you, okay?”
“I love you too,” Shane affirms. He wants to reach out and touch Ilya, but he also wants to be good and keep still.
Ilya leans forward, placing his hands down on either side of Shane’s legs. He bends his head down to kiss the inside of Shane’s ankle, then his knee. He tracks kisses up the inside of Shane’s thigh until he meets the side of his groin. He neglects his now achingly hard cock though, and instead moves back down to provide the same treatment to Shane’s other leg. Shane squirms a bit, arching his back. “Stay still,” Ilya says, placing a palm down on Shane’s stomach while he finishes working his way up his thigh. Finally, he presses a few kisses to the underside of Shane dick. The attention is fleeting, though.
Next, he grabs the underside of Shane’s knees and pushes his legs up, his knees moving toward his ears. Shane holds them in place, exposing himself. There’s a beat of anticipation where Shane wonders if he will next feel Ilya’s tongue or his fingers against him. Ilya stares down at him, perhaps admiring or perhaps contemplating his next move. Then Ilya ducks his head down and licks into his crease, a hot wetness dragging along his rim. Shane moans as Ilya circles his attention there. He continues lapping and circling for a few moments before teasing this tip of his tongue inside.
“God, Ilya, that feels so good,” Shane says. Pleasure ripples through him, pure and unspoiled. He stretches his neck back onto the pillow and closes his eyes. He places one hand atop Ilya’s, which is still on the back of his right thigh. He needs to touch him somewhere, anywhere. His other hand finds purchase on Ilya’s shoulder, and he digs his nails into the firm flesh there.
Looking down, he can see his husband’s head pressed into the juncture of his legs, his ass in the air having folded his body to fit them together like this. Shane’s cock is hard and heavy against his stomach. Ilya’s tongue is mesmerizing, clearing Shane’s mind of all coherent thoughts other than yes and good and more, more, more.
“Please,” Shane gasps out. He knows that Ilya loves it when he begs.
“Please, what?” Ilya pulls away to ask.
“Please fuck me,” he manages. “I need… I need you inside me.”
Ilya groans and presses a final kiss to his hole. He removes his hand from Shane’s grip against his thigh, and moves to retrieve a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer. He starts with one calloused finger, but soon adds a second. Shane revels in the slight burn of the stretch, the way Ilya’s expert fingers curl inside him. He used to hate the vulnerability of this particular part of things, but now it just feels like one of the many ways that Ilya cares for him. He dutifully opens him up, prepares him for his pleasure. Ilya works in a third before he decides that Shane is ready.
“So eager for me, my little cockslut,” Ilya says.
“Yes,” Shane agrees enthusiastically.
Ilya’s broad hand is on his hip, nudging him to turn over. “On your knees,” he instrusts.
Shane obeys. He is a cockslut. He loves taking Ilya’s cock any which way - down his throat, riding him, face to face, or from behind - but this is probably his favorite. In their hookup era, taking Ilya from behind on his knees like this offered some degree of impersonality, not having to look at him while being fucked. That isn’t the appeal anymore, of course, but this way remains advantageous primarily because of how deep Ilya can get from this angle.
A moment later, Ilya is pressing the head of his slickened cock to Shane’s rim and easing inside. He’s standing on the floor at the foot of the bed, one leg up on the mattress and one hand on Shane’s hip for leverage. Though they have done this probably hundreds of times by now, Shane still craves this initial thrust, this profound sensation of being stretched and filled.
Shane moans once Ilya is seated to the hilt. And then he’s moving, hard and fast just the way Shane likes it.
“So good to me,” Ilya mutters. “So perfect.”
Shane agrees that the way they fit together is perfect, magical even. He can’t imagine anything better than being filled up by this man. “I love it like his,” he says, “so deep.”
“Fuck,” Ilya moans, draggin out the vowel. He sounds so far gone already. “Are you…?”
Shane is getting there, but he’s not particularly close just yet. He reaches up to stroke himself, hoping to catch up with Ilya in time. Ilya slows his thrusts to a stop, pausing to control himself. He hates finishing before Shane when he’s fucking him like this. It’s a point of pride, Shane supposes, but not everything can work out perfectly every time. “No, don’t stop,” Shane says. “I’m close, I’m close.” It’s a bit of a lie, but he will be, if only Ilya would just… He clenches around him, desperate for any kind of friction.
“Fuck, fuck, Hollander,” Ilya says becasue he’s coming now, leaning more of his weight against Shane’s back. His dick twitches and spills hot liquid inside of him. Ilya thrusts into him a few more times while he still can, but it’s not quite enough. Shane feels the fine edge of his own orgasm slip just beyond his grasp. “Blyat,” Ilya swears when he realizes what happened and what didn’t. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Ilya pulls out quickly, and presses his hand to Shane’s side, encouraging him to turn over onto his back once more.
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Shane says. He fully trusts Ilya with his body, with his pleasure. Almost instantly, Ilya has two fingers back in his ass, fucking him roughly through the mess of lube and come. His mouth finds Shane’s cock a second later, and he sucks him down fully, hungrily. The wetness and warmth and suction around him are overwhelming. The tension within him winds quickly. His balls tighten, and he knows that Ilya knows that he’s about to come. Ilya pulls his mouth back slightly, apparently wanting to taste him rather than take it deep down his throat. And then he’s falling over the edge of self-control, clenching around Ilya’s fingers, and spurting into his mouth.
He’s still breathing hot and heavy as Ilya crawls up over top of him and bends down to kiss him with his mouth still full of Shane’s own come. It’s filthy and messy and also sexy as hell. Shane licks into him, savoring the taste of himself on his husband’s tongue.
“Don’t stop, I’m close,” Ilya mocks him once they eventually pull apart and he’s lying on his side next to him. “Liar.” He punctuates the accusation by pinching Shane’s nipple.
“Well, I didn’t want you to stop,” Shane explains. “It’s okay if you finish first sometimes.”
“But you like to come on my dick, and I like that too.” He licks the nipple he just pinched, soothing the sting.
“Yeah, but that was still hot. And I know you wouldn’t like, leave me hanging.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe next time I will,” Ilya counters. “Good boys don’t lie like that, Shane.”
Oh. Shane feels like his cheeks might be flushing more than they already were, if that’s possible. Ilya laughs quietly, mischievously.
They have played this game before, where Ilya tells him when he can or cannot come. He knows that the denial, the delay, only serves to eventually send him spiraling to new heights. It is never in cruelty, these games they sometimes play together. And there is still so much more to explore. All the time in the world would never be enough.
After they get cleaned up, Ilya lies on his back under the covers, and Shane presses himself into Ilya’s side. His head rests on Ilya’s chest.
“Shane?” Ilya asks softly. His fingers are gently carding through Shane’s hair.
‘Hmm?”
“I promise I am okay with no human babies,” he begins, “but can we please always have at least one dog?”
Shane smiles against his husband’s skin. “Yeah,” he says, “that works for me.”