Chapter Text
It had been a quiet and slow morning at the cottage. Ilya woke when Shane was slipping out of their bed slowly and quietly trying not to wake him. Ilya’s eyes cracked open and squinted to see his husband (HUSBAND!) - hair mussed - making his side of the bed, and when he saw him cracked a sleepy lopsided smile.
“Morning.” Shane whispered, leaning over to lay a soft and gentle kiss on Ilya’s forehead. “Stay, I’m just going to meditate and do my yoga routine while the sun rises.” Shane rubbed the back of his knuckles along Ilya’s cheeks as he shut his eyes and leaned into the touch lazily.
Ilya slipped back into sleep for about half an hour before groggily moaning and rolling himself out of their bed. He lifted and replaced the covers the way Shane always did in the mornings. He stared daggers at the row of decorative throw pillows like toy soldiers along the wall on the floor, and begrudgingly picked up all eleven (11!) pillows and placed them on the bed. Okay, so not in the particular configuration that Shane had told him the designer designated but the blasted things were ON the bed, what more could he want? Ilya smiled to himself at this internal conflict. He would do anything for Shane, including put these stupid pillows on their stupid bed.
Ilya padded his way to the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a small bottle of orange juice, and cracked it open - leaning against the island - looking out onto the deck where Shane was in the middle of an inversion in his yoga routine. His face was scrunched in concentration, and his abs tight and controlled, legs in the air straight and with very minimal swaying. Ilya licked his lips and took a long swig of his orange juice before finally tearing his eyes away from the sun-warmed glistening body on their deck to head to the home-gym. Cottage-gym? Could it still be called a home-gym in English if it’s not your home-home?
Ilya loved lifting weights, it let him focus solely on what his body could do instead of what was going on in his mind, especially when his depression was particularly bad but not bad enough to keep him from the gym. Thankfully, he was in a good headspace recently, the medication seemed to be helping. He let his mind wander to his husband on the deck outside, how the sun behind him lit his body like he had a halo. The sweat on his skin gave him a fresh glow. Okay, yes, he was very down bad for his own husband. As he should be.
Ilya finished up his workout, and came back through the kitchen to Shane handing him a freshly toasted everything bagel with cream cheese, and his antidepressant sitting beside it on the plate, with a small glass of water on the island counter. Ilya smiled, and sat on a stool to quickly chew through his bagel before throwing his head back and downing the pill and the water in one go. He stood and walked up behind Shane as he made his morning green monstrosity smoothie, and nuzzled his face into Shane’s sweaty neck.
“Thank you, moya lyubov.” Ilya said, muffled into the crook where Shane’s neck and shoulder meet. He breathed in the heady scent of morning air and fresh sweat before laying a kiss on Shane’s shoulder. As he stepped back to give Shane some space, Shane leaned his head back with a blissful smile, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“I will go shower now - you have your gross smoothie.” Ilya made a mock gagging face as Shane turned back to the blender, shaking his head. He always liked to make fun of the smoothie but it honestly wasn’t actually that bad - he just preferred bread and cheese. The breakfast of champions - of course.
When he came out of the shower clean and refreshed, towel wrapped around his waist, Shane was finishing ‘fixing’ the bed - placing the pillows in the ‘right’ configuration.
“I showed you how to put these on here.” He muttered, but there is no bite in the words or exasperation. Just a fact.
“Ah yes, but you overestimate how much I care about throw pillow placement. They are called throw pillows, not specific placement pillows.” He joked and pulled on Shane’s arm to pull him into an embrace.
“No, you’re all clean and I’m all sweaty, let me shower first!” Shane complained weakly, breaking away from Ilya’s grasp and beelining to the shower. Ilya managed to give Shane’s ass a smack just before he was out of reach, the other man released a surprised squeak before he shut the bathroom door behind him with a touch more gusto than he generally did when shutting doors.
Ilya allowed a dopey lovesick smile to cross his face, as he looked at the door with the ‘heart eyes’ 15th best Metro Pike told him he looked at Shane with. He loved this man so much. They were married, and now even playing on the same team next season.
He opened his underwear drawer to the perfectly KonMari folded boxer briefs lined up like little soldiers in their colour organized lines that Shane maintained every laundry day. He pulled out a pair of black boxer briefs and pulled them onto his legs, letting the towel drop to the ground. He returned the towel to the laundry basket because Shane had him very well trained by now.
Ilya grabbed the remote for the bedroom blinds and let them come all the way back open, allowing mid day sunshine into the room as he flopped onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head and resting his eyes, humming to himself in contentment. He felt at home now in Canada, at the cottage, with Shane. This was his home, Shane was his true North to which the compass of his heart pointed. He rolled onto his side, using one arm as a pillow, and playing with his mother’s Orthodox Cross necklace absentmindedly for a while.
Shane opened the bathroom door with a puff of steam, hair clean and towel-damp, towel around his hips a touch more securely than Ilya wrapped his own. Ilya trained his eyes on him as he walked across the room, and the sun illuminated behind his head in the window, giving him a halo - making him look like a holy figure in a renaissance painting.
“Bozhe moy, my god, you are beautiful.” Ilya said, breathless.
Shane looked over to him, his eyes sparkled at the praise, but then a little mischievous look crossed his face.
“Just Shane, not God.” His smile widened into his contented-frog grin. Ilya stood, grabbed Shane’s hands, and pulled him to sit on the end of the bed. Ilya knelt on the floor in front of him.
“I am not a religious man, but you are the closest I have ever come to seeing God.” His voice was sincere, eyes earnest and sparkling as he watched Shane’s face.
Shane's mouth formed a perfect little o. Eyebrows pinched together as he considered what Ilya said. Warmth spread through his chest. Eventually he shook his head lightly.
“I am no God, Ilya.” a self deprecating smile defining his features.
Ilya lifted his hand to Shane’s cheek, pressing the back of his hand to the still shower-warmed skin which was now flushing pink under the intense attention.
“Moya Lyubov, you are a god to me. You came into my life when I was lost, and you have saved me. You fill my life with purpose, and you fill the world with beauty. What is that if not a god?”
Shane’s breath hitched in his chest, eyes searching back and forth between both of Ilya’s eyes not quite sure where to actually rest them for ‘eye-contact’ so choosing instead to look from one to the other.
“I love you. So much.” Shane exhaled into the room, and Ilya smiled as an idea formed in his head.
“Today, I think, I want to worship at the altar of your thighs.” He ran his hands along Shane’s large quads, and made a space for himself between Shane’s knees, scooting forward in supplication - looking up expectantly.
Shane inhaled a ragged breath, heart hammering in his chest. Ilya was generally the more dominant of the two, but they occasionally switched roles. Shane knew that sometimes to express his love Ilya wanted to be completely of service to him, and this seemed like one of those times.
“Colour?” Shane asked, voice cracking in anticipation. He wanted to make sure this was the flavour of play Ilya was looking for before he proceeded.
“Green.” Ilya exhaled and laid his head on Shane’s thigh, gazing up at Shane’s deific face through his eyelashes. Shane combed his fingers through Ilya’s nearly dry curls eliciting a low satisfied hum, and Ilya’s eyes closed to accept the gentle touch.
“You want to be a good supplicant?”
“Yes, God, please.” Ilya buried his face in Shane’s thigh.
“Okay. Keep your head below mine, and follow me.”