How can I dream of more when I have you?

***

Shane parks his car in the yard of Ilya's house in Ottawa long after the sun has set below the horizon. For a second, he rests the back of his head against the headrest, closing his eyes after the uneventful but tiring two-hour drive from Montreal. Shane had returned to the city with the team just that morning after an away game in New York, and even though Ilya had told him to rest today and not strain his brain already tired from the flight, Shane had stubbornly insisted on not postponing their meeting any longer. They hadn't seen each other for two weeks, and the mere thought of having to delay their reunion for even a day due to some fatigue seemed absurd. Shane had missed him. Missed Ilya's presence beside him madly—his calming aura, his jokes, those curly locks and ridiculous tattoos. Missed the nights filled with the sounds of skin on skin and a voice gone hoarse from moans. Not wanting to linger any longer, Shane turns off the engine and steps out of the car. He walks up to the front door, opening it with his own set of keys, the ones Ilya had given him almost as soon as he moved to Ottawa. Surprisingly, the house is dark and quiet. Shane is used to Ilya usually meeting him at the doorstep, not even letting him get a word in—kissing him right away. Now everything looks as if Ilya isn't home, but Shane knows for a fact that's not the case. He had warned him he was coming, so he's sure the owner is simply in one of the many rooms. Shane hesitates for a moment, freezing in place in the complete darkness. He had thought this night would start with hot sex against the kitchen counter, or on the living room couch, but so far, nothing is going according to plan. However, he seems to know why he's not tearing off his remaining clothes right now: the 'Centaurs' had lost their home game today almost in a shutout, scoring a miserable couple of pucks against the opponent's net. Shane had listened to the post-game analysis on the drive to Ottawa, and it was... bad. Things for the 'Centaurs' had always been sort of mediocre overall, and even though Ilya said it didn't affect him, Shane had noticed that after losing games, his boyfriend became quieter. He leaves his jacket in the hallway, then goes upstairs to reach the bedroom. The door is slightly ajar: a thin strip of dim light from the bedside lamp creeps across the floor from the crack, and indistinct voices can be heard. Shane silently pushes the door open, remaining in the doorway to observe the scene inside. The sight that greets him throws him off a little: Ilya is lying on the bed, turned on his side and curled up in a ball, his phone resting right next to his head, playing some video. A woman's calm voice is reading something Shane can't make out. He only knows she's speaking Russian, using words he hasn't learned yet. Shane really doesn't want to interrupt the moment, but the laminate under the threshold betrays him with a treacherous creak. "Oh, you're here already," Ilya says in a half-asleep voice, immediately turning off the video and rolling over to face Shane. In the darkness, his eyes look deep and impenetrable; Shane even thinks he can detect a hint of sadness in them. Though it might just be post-game fatigue. "Yeah, hi," Shane leans down, leaving a tender kiss on Ilya's lips, and receives an equally tender one in return. This confuses him even more: in any other circumstance, Ilya would have grabbed him by the collar, tumbling him onto the bed and settling on top. "Tired?" Ilya only hums in response, making a huge effort not to close his eyes right then and there. But he holds on, watching as Shane carefully folds his clothes into the wardrobe and then lies down beside him. His hands immediately find the other body, embracing it. "How was the drive?" "Fine, the roads were empty. How are you after the game?" "Crappy. Don't want to talk about it, okay?" Ilya's voice changes, becoming even wearier, so Shane doesn't even think of pursuing the topic. "Of course." But the prolonged silence doesn't feel comfortable. An awkward tension seems to grow in the air, forcing them to latch onto anything just to keep the conversation going. A rather controversial thought comes to Shane's mind. "And what were you listening to? Something in Russian, right? I couldn't make it out." "Eavesdropping?" "Ilya." Ilya himself gives a weak smile, chuckling into Shane's shoulder. "Fairy tales." "Fairy tales?.." "Yeah. My mom used to read them to me when I was little." 'Mom'—a word he heard from Ilya very rarely. Ilya cherished memories of her incredibly deeply, guarding the bright memory of his beloved person. Shane remembered that Ilya only turned to thoughts of her when he felt most vulnerable or downcast, which meant Shane had to be the most tender with Ilya right now. Though, he always cared for him anyway. "You know, she always told them in such a calm, soft voice," Ilya continued as Shane gently stroked his back. "When I didn't want to go to bed, she'd call me: 'Ilyusha, it's time for sleep,' and then she'd definitely read to me until I fell asleep." Shane didn't know if he was even allowed to breathe now. Was his heart beating too loudly? He was insanely afraid of ruining the intimacy of the moment with some stupid action, because right now Ilya was entrusting him with his soul, the most precious thing he kept inside. So he only softly moved his palm over the skin dotted with constellations of moles, his fingertips lingering on each one. "Even when I got older, she still kept telling me fairy tales, sitting by the bed, if I felt bad or sad. My dad would scold her, saying it was all nonsense, that only little kids got bedtime stories, but she always stayed with me." Oh my God. Shane would swear, even without seeing Ilya's face, that tears had welled up in his eyes. His voice trembled quietly, and Ilya fell silent, burying his nose in Shane's chest. This was bad. Very bad. A wave of panic washed over Shane, almost knocking him off his feet. No. Not like this. He couldn't give in to it while holding an utterly lost man in his hands. Shane knew that losses didn't bring a shred of joy, but could they really affect Ilya so deeply? "You... miss those moments? Miss her?" Fuck. Only after finishing the sentence did Shane realize what nonsense he had just uttered. Good God. Idiot. What an idiot he was. "Very much." Silence falls in the bedroom again, and Shane feels as if time has stopped, plunging him into even more anxious thoughts. Of course Ilya misses his mom and her unconditional, warm love; of course he wants to feel that again. Shane probably knows that better than anyone else. No. Shane is probably the only one who knows it in full. "You know, if... if you want, you can turn it back on," he barely manages to say, raising his hand to the back of Ilya's head and sinking his fingers into his hair. "Not needed," comes the whispered reply. "You're here. That's more than enough." They don't speak anymore. Ilya presses closer, and Shane hugs him tighter in response, trying to understand which of the two he is trying to soothe. Unconsciously, he continues to trace intricate patterns on Ilya's skin. His pulse evens out, becoming a metronome for both of them. Shane watches as Ilya slowly falls asleep, relaxing and almost reflexively touching his skin with a kiss meant to last all night. An idea is born in Shane's sleepy head. --- It seemed like the only thing missing in Shane's life was paranoia. Even in his teenage years, being very cautious, he hadn't used 'incognito' mode in browsers as often as he had in the past week. And, it seemed, the reason wasn't at all the one people usually used anonymity in searches for. Shane was looking for and reading Russian fairy tales. To his surprise, Russian folklore contained a huge number of diverse stories, which he tried to comprehend. Some tales Shane liked, some he completely didn't understand, finding them strange. Did Ilya really get told stories about a talking bread bun as a child? However, this little research project Shane enjoyed very much, at least because it brought him closer to Ilya and his most precious and pure life moment. For his little plan, he tried to find a fairy tale that Ilya would definitely like and, at the same time, didn't have very difficult-to-pronounce words. A week and a half had passed since their last meeting. Shane had had to leave for Montreal the day after to continue training and games for the current season, while the 'Centaurs' had been eliminated from the playoffs a couple of days later, so Ilya had remained in Ottawa all this time, leaving the house only for training sessions that had become even drearier than before. Today, the road to Ottawa felt impossibly long—the fallen snow limited visibility and the speed limit, but Shane would have walked from Montreal to Ottawa if that was the price of meeting Ilya. After the match, he literally ran to the shower and then got dressed like a firefighter responding to a call. He really wanted to arrive before the moment when Ilya, in theory, might not wait for him and fall asleep. However, Shane got lucky; the bedroom window was lit, meaning his boyfriend was scrolling through Instagram or watching something on YouTube. Exhaling and pulling himself together, Shane entered the house, completely confident that today he would carry out his plan. Ilya met him on the stairs, dressed only in stretched-out sweatpants. This time, the greeting was wordless—instead, there were languid, deep kisses, hands wandering over bare skin, and their personal symphony of moans, which flowed into the bedroom and drowned in the sheets. A good start. Ilya clung to Shane, losing himself in him completely and utterly, melting from desire and the long absence of intimacy. Last time, not even the morning had been conducive to passion, so now he was taking everything that rightfully belonged to him, and Shane loved it incredibly. When both, greedily gulping air, fall onto the bed next to each other, the whole world seems to cease to exist outside the walls of their bedroom. Ilya looks satisfied, but Shane would swear there's something in him he can't quite grasp. A little detail flickering before his eyes, preventing the picture from being perfect. They are silent for several minutes, listening only to each other's breathing. Fingers intertwine, becoming their small, unspoken support, and that feels good. Shane notices Ilya sleepily closing his eyes and decides that right now is the perfect moment. "Ilyusha," he calls softly. "It's time for sleep." Shane spreads his arms, allowing Ilya to rest his head on his chest, wrap an arm around his torso, and throw a leg between Shane's legs. Such clinginess seemed incredibly sweet and adorable to him. Once Ilya gets comfortable, Shane fumbles on the nightstand for his phone and opens his notes. There, in the only hidden folder, is a fairy tale written in transliteration so Shane wouldn't make a mistake anywhere. He had carefully chosen the best one and then just as carefully rewritten it, making special notes. He had really prepared very hard to make Ilya feel good. Shane closes his eyes, takes a couple of deep breaths, and finally begins to read: "Zhil sta-rik so svo-yey-u sta-ru-khoy u samo-go sine-go morya." Shane is sure he's reading this with a terrible accent, even though he practiced at home several times, listening to audio recordings in different versions and trying to repeat after the narrator. But he doesn't manage to get to the next line before Ilya suddenly sits up, propping himself on his hands, and looks at him with lost and shocked eyes. He shifts his gaze from Shane to the phone with the text, then back to Shane, to the phone, to Shane, and so on in a circle, until he finally freezes, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it without uttering a word. Treacherous tears well up in his eyes. No. No, no. Please, no. Everything was fine. This evening was supposed to end normally, not in tears. He ruined everything, God, Shane had ruined everything with one stupid thing. "Ilya, I... Sorry, I shouldn't have... I probably shouldn't have, sorry..." He speaks disjointedly, not knowing where to look or what to do. Shane is outright panicking, trying to find any way to fix it, but nothing comes to mind. And then Ilya shakes his head and looks at Shane in a way that makes him freeze, unable to look away. "You did all this... for me?" "I wanted you to feel better. Didn't work out so well, huh?" "No, no. It's... sorry, all the words flew out of my head." Ilya turns away, trying to cope with the lump rising in his throat, but Shane doesn't let him hide. "Ilyusha, come here," he says, putting the phone aside on the bed, cupping Ilya's face with his palms to leave gentle kisses on his forehead, cheeks, nose, lingering a bit longer on his lips. Shane wordlessly invites Ilya to lie back on him, and he agrees, clinging to Shane's body as if letting go would make the universe cease to exist. Warm hands embrace his back, stroke, soothe. Shane leaves one palm on the small of his back and buries the other in the soft curls, running his fingers through them. Ilya breathes heavily, as if trying to deal with something inside, then gives up, completely disappearing into the moment. Anyone would swear—this is more intimate than sex. "Please, continue," Ilya says when the emotions begin to subside a little, and Shane dares not disobey. With broken Russian pronunciation, he reads him the story of the old man, his old wife, and the goldfish that grants wishes. Ilya listens attentively, truly relaxing. His breathing evens out, and his own body becomes heavier, gradually pulling him towards sleep. Shane finishes the fairy tale a few minutes later—he specifically chose one that wouldn't drag on for half an hour, because he wasn't ready for that yet. His hand is still in Ilya's hair, and Ilya himself, though sleepy, tries to keep his eyes open a little longer. "Thank you," Ilya whispers, trying to look at Shane. In response, he's only kissed on the forehead again. Now Shane himself relaxes, because the evening, after all, didn't turn out to be a complete failure. "If the goldfish offered you a wish, what would you ask for?" he asks as reality slowly begins to drift away. "Mmm... nothing?" "Nothing?" "Yeah. Nothing. I already have everything I want." Shane decides not to burden Ilya with questions before sleep, so he closes his eyes, surrendering to the embrace of slumber. And Ilya feels like the happiest person in the world. Maybe he's going through a rather difficult period in his life right now, but he really does have everything he wants. Ilya falls asleep knowing that the two people he loves most in the world are with him right now. And even though he can physically feel only Shane, Ilya knows his mom is here too. He knows she's probably watching over them right now, smiling. And Ilya is sure she loves Shane just as much as Ilya loves Shane himself. He doesn't need any greater happiness.