Chapter Text
Shane sat, scrolling through the never-ending links of unhelpful explanations of Russian, his finger moving on autopilot and eyes barely registering what he was even reading.
Diminutives.
Nicknames.
Of fucking course there were nicknames in Russian. He didn't know how he had missed it - granted, he had only been learning the language informally for about a year, but at this point he had expected to be fluent, and he was still everything but - and how could he forget to even think about looking up how nicknames worked?!
And this wasn't just about pet-names, he knew those and he had figured out which ones made Ilya's cheeks burn bright red and which ones got him an eye-roll in response. This was completely different versions of names themselves, and none of it made sense to him.
It completely should have made sense to, and that was the most frustrating part. English had nicknames, French even had diminutives of its' own! And Shane knew French! It wasn't the concept that he didn't understand, it was how to rearrange the letters in the first place - which ones were okay to use in a romantic setting and not - All of the social rules and etiquette that a native speaker would know and he couldn't figure out.
But of course he couldn't go straight to Ilya to ask questions about it because he would know something was up, and Shane wanted to surprise him with this - to make up for all of the lost time that he had been addressing Ilya improperly and hadn't even known he'd been doing it.
Shane let out a long sigh, the words on his all too bright screen bled together right in front of his face. None of the answers were what he wanted, but he didn't know where to even start the search; and he had scrolled to the point of being on the 48th fucking page of results and had nothing. Not even the Russian links translated into anything helpful to his cause.
And then, in the depths of the 54th page of search results, there was something that piqued Shane's interest enough to get him to finally actually click on the link.
On a website called Tumblr, that Shane had never been on before, he found all the answers that he had ever needed to know.
Diminutives and which ones are appropriate for familial relationships vs romantic relationships.
Well, that sounded hopeful, and exactly what Shane needed to know. He read on.
As a rule, almost every Russian name has a diminutive. Peers call each other by their diminutives, unless they're colleagues; if they are less formal, then they may use their full first name and the formal word for 'you'.
Okay, finally getting somewhere.
The user that made the post went on to give specific examples of their own name and diminutives that had been used for it, and Shane was finally starting to be able to see the pattern.
He looked up Ilya's name and found the diminutive all too easily, he was over-complicating it the first time, but there it was; on the screen looking back at him.
Ilyusha.
Shane looked at the characters on the screen, felt them jumble in his mouth as letters and settle on the tip of his tongue, begging to crawl out. With what he knew of pronunciation, he could feel the way it would sound out as it hit the air, but he didn't let it out just yet. He was alone in his apartment, Ilya in a hotel miles away, no danger of being caught.
But the danger of being wrong was enough to get him to shy away from it.
Just like the first time he had uttered Ilya's name, this felt like something foreign, something too close that he wasn't allowed to let himself have.
But Ilya was his.
This was exactly the thing that he was entitled to do.
He switched tabs back and forth on his phone screen from Tumblr to Ilya's name, comparing the endings that the creator had shared and trying to feel out which one he thought Ilya would respond best to - which one would convey everything that he was trying so hard to put into single word.
Ilyushka couldn't be right because it was a more sibling type nickname; it didn't feel right in Shane's mouth, anyway.
He could always just use Ilyusha, it felt right in the silence of his mouth, he still hadn't heard what it sounded like when he finally let it out yet…
He huffed out a breath and let himself sound it out one last time with just the shape of his lips moving, and then, finally, he let the word slip off of his tongue.
"Ilyusha."
Shane's lips curved into a smile as he said it on their own accord, the air feeling lighter; feeling like Ilya was there. Lighter than the first time he had let himself say the other man's name, so much more real, but the overwhelming feeling of his heart thudding and his hands shaking was - manageable.
The word bounced off of his lips again, barely a mumble, but the sounds still there, still enough for him to register and feel them resonate down to his bones.
He looked down at his phone again, switching the tabs back and forth, and then -
"Ilyushen'ka."
His smile only grew wider, heart only pounded harder.
He said it again. And again. And again.
He said it until his voice didn't quiver, getting louder, picturing Ilya's soft face; the smile that the general public wasn't so lucky to be privy to, the sparkle in Ilya's eyes and the way that his honey-blonde curls fell perfectly around his face.
He could not wait for Ilya to be home next week.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Ilya was greeted as he walked into Shane's apartment by the smell of home. More specifically, the ammonia-free cleaners that Shane used to clean the bathroom. Ilya shook his head and rolled his eyes at his boyfriends meticulousness, stepping out of his shoes and setting his bag next to them.
"Милый -" He called out into the silence, "I'm home after all of this time away and you're hiding from me? That's not very nice." Ilya paused, trying to listen for any signs of life from Shane, but there were none. For all that he could tell, the apartment was empty.
He stepped into the living room and peaked around the corner to the hallway, the bedroom door was open as were the windows, sunlight shining in and leaving traces along the walls and floors in front of him. He still couldn't hear anything.
And then, without making a single sound despite being made of pure muscle, Shane popped out from the bedroom doorway.
Ilya closed the distance of the hallway between them in record time, bolting over to Shane and tackling him right back into the bedroom - headed towards the bed; his lips joining in on the attack and messily pressing kisses all over Shane's face and neck.
"You're worse than a dog" Shane groaned, wide smile plastered on his face as he dealt with the onslaught of affection. He let Ilya have a bit longer, and then finally thread his fingers through his curls, giving them a small tug and taking in the way Ilya's lips parted and eyes glossed over - just from that simple small tug.
"Oh so it is crime to miss you now? Shane Hollander, you are a cruel man." Ilya pouted, craning to get back to Shane's skin, to kiss him and touch him and hold him and -
"Not yet. I have plans." Shane interrupted Ilya's train of thought, fingers still held onto his hair.
Ilya's lips quirked up into a smirk, "Oh? You have plan? This is big news, very serious."
"Asshole! And to think I cooked and cleaned and prepped all for you!" Shane scoffed, the offense in his words light as air and not even there
"For me? Oh, you shouldn't have." Ilya paused for a second, watching the way that Shane's face settled, eyes tracking from Ilya's lips back up, back down again, "No, really, you shouldn't have. You do not know how to cook."
Shane huffed out a breath, all of his resolve crumbling, he turned the two of them around and didn't give Ilya any time to register what was happening before he leaned down and picked his boyfriend up, moving Ilya's legs so that they wrapped around his waist, his hands naturally fell to his neck.
It was blatantly clear that Ilya was caught off guard by his sudden change of surroundings, now a few inches off of the ground - and in Shane's arms - and then, just as quickly as he had been scooped up, he was thrown down onto the bed with a loud thud of his body against the mattress; Shane quickly climbed up on top of him so that there was no escape gap.
"You said you prepped?" Ilya asked, his brow quirked, bottom lip chewed a brighter pink than it usually was. His eyes had a mischievous glint to them, but he had no idea what he was about to get himself into.
"Oh, now you're interested." Shane teased, "Yes. Prepped. More than you'd think." He winked, but he wasn't actually meaning anything sexy by it. Really, he had stared in the mirror at himself and repeated all the words he wanted to say until he had gone a bit blue in the face, still not fully convinced that they'd come out right when he was - well, preoccupied on top of it.
"More than I'd think? What could this plan of yours be that involves so much?" Ilya's voice was laced with playful suspicion.
"Malysh, please." Shane hushed, pressing his lips down against Ilya's, effectively shutting him up. He led the kiss, sucking Ilya's bottom lip into his mouth and taking it between his teeth, swallowing the soft grown that Ilya let out.
He pressed his hips down into Ilya's; firm, his dick already half-hard from teasing himself earlier. He did prep, after all - in every way.
Ilya's back arched up, his tongue slipped past Shane's parted lips and into his mouth, he tried to reach up and grab onto Shane, but his hands were effectively pinned. Shane was using every bit of his weight to his advantage and Ilya could tell, his boyfriend's body was hot and heavy on top of him, hard dick grinding down against his own - which was definitely not soft anymore.
Shane barely pulled off for a breath, his hand let go of Ilya's and moved down in between of them instead he raked Ilya's shirt up and cupped his chest, thumb running over his nipple; but he didn't linger for long, his hand traveled further, resting down on Ilya's hip.
He felt the words in his mouth before they left his lips, steadying them when he tested them out in the silence first, and then, after one last breath.
"Ilyusha, ya po tebe skuchala, malysh."
Ilyusha, I've missed you, baby.
He watched as Ilya's face warped, recognizing the name but not able to register hearing it coming from Shane's mouth - in Shane's voice. His mouth fell open, eyes brimmed with tears, eyebrows and jaw softened into something that Shane hadn't seen before. Ilya's bottom lip quivered as he tried to push it back into place, but it wouldn't move. He was stuck, frozen, not even able to ask to hear Shane say it again.
Shane wasn't exactly sure that Ilya's reaction was one that was… good - it looked like his boyfriend was short - circuiting, the only sound leaving him an occasional choked breath and a stutter of the beginnings of a letter, but nothing more.
The words hung there between the two of them until Shane disturbed them by adding more; doubling down.
"Ya lyublyu tebya, Ilyushen'ka." Shane hoped with everything in him that switching the order of the words was actually right, the results had been… conflicting and he didn't want to flounder already.
But the look on Ilya's face told him everything that he needed to know - Like he was looking up at a Holy Saint with all of the reverence in the world, someone seeing the beauty of divinity up close for the first time. A man starved, confronted with a table full of a feast spread for him alone to tuck into.
The tears weren't confined to the brims of Ilya's eyes anymore, breaking down the dam and running down his cheeks, his quivering lips finally closing to swallow down a choked breath before falling back open again.
Ilya had never in his life been seen or heard in such a profound way, he didn't think.
He couldn't think, not really.
The only thought on his mind was Shane, Shane, Shane, Shane.
Ilya sniffled, the words he wanted to say he knew Shane wouldn't yet know, or maybe he would; even then they felt minute compared to as much as his heart felt like it was swelling - thumping loud in his ears enough to drown out the little bit of thought he had been able to discern.
Shane looked at him in the most telling way - he knew; everything that Ilya wanted to say and more, Shane knew. He leaned down and closed the gap between them with a kiss, mumbling the words into Ilya's lips and sealing them with his own.
"Ya tebya lyublyu"
Both of them echoed each other, words blending together as their bodies melted into one, covers on the bed rumpling underneath of them; every bit of them moving in sync with one another.
"Shenya," Ilya whined, lips still pressed against Shane's, his hips canting up for more friction against his desperately hard cock -
"Hm?" Shane purred, rolling his hips down, lips trailing from Ilya's jaw to his neck, right under his ear, "What is it, Ilyusha?
"Pozhaluysta -"
Please.
The plea was broken by another sob from Ilya, the noise desperate and thin. Ilya begged again, slipping back to English, but only just barely; "Please, Shenya, please, I need -"
"Shh, I know; I know. I've got you. Ty u menya."
I have you.
Shane moved slow, calculated, hands unwavering and fingers steady; positioning himself so that he could pull his own pants down - enough for now, and then doing the same for Ilya, giving a tap to his hip to motion for 'up.'
Ilya's eyes stayed locked on Shane the entire time, wide and wet, lips still parted ever so slightly, kissed raw and red, cheeks flushed - He looked like the definition of a cherub.
"Tu es radieux, mon soleil. Mon ange" Shane didn't even realize the words had slipped, let alone in French, "You're radiant, my sunshine. My angel." He mumbled as he finished situating them; leaning back down to press his forehead against Ilya's when he did.
He kissed Ilya's temple, mumbling praise in all of the languages that he knew, grammatical rules and social etiquette lost from him, the rules didn't matter; the only thing that mattered was the man underneath of him.
There was enough precum between the two of them and their painfully hard dicks that Shane didn't even need to spit in his hand before he wrapped it around, taking both of them into a tight grip and relishing in the way that Ilya shuddered and whimpered.
Shane stroked them slow, twisting his hand when he hit the halfway point and then again when he switched from going up to stroking back down the length of their dicks, he groaned, hips slowly rolling against his hand; fucking his dick against Ilya's in his grip.
"Fuck, Shen - Sha -" Ilya stuttered and struggled, hips trying to cant back up against Shane's but failing, his movements as pathetic and small as the noises that left him.
Shane could feel Ilya's dick twitching in his hand, more pre-cum gathering underneath of his foreskin; on one of his downward strokes he used his thumb to gather it and smear it around the both of them. It was so fucking good, borderline overstimulating, but all that he could do was keep going; his rhythm never faltering, pacing staying devastatingly the same - torturing Ilya with never-ending pleasure.
Shane was borderline falling apart too - to be completely fair - but this was about Ilya; this was for Ilya, and he was going to make sure that Ilya was more than taken care of.
"Feel so good, Malysh, going to come for me? Want to come for me, Ilyusha?" Shane pressed his face closer into Ilya's, their skin pricking with sweat; sticking together like the rest of them. Shane moved again, this time sitting up; which Ilya whimpered about; his brow furrowed and mouth tried so hard to fall into a pout but was too busy with moaning to move.
Shane gave him a small, knowing smirk, the look just teasing enough to borderline on being mean, and then he brought his hand up to the top of Ilya's head and let his fingers weave through the curls, tugging on the; his weight settling on top of Ilya enough that he was pushed down into the bed by it.
Shane nodded and looked down at Ilya, speeding his hand up on the two of them just enough to get them both to the very brink of the edge -
"Come with me Ilyushen'ka, fuck, Ilyusha, Malysh, come with me, I'm -" Shane stuttered as he came, coating the exposed skin of Ilya's stomach in his spend; Ilya following almost immediately, Shane's hand covered in a mix of the both of them. His strokes finally slowed to a stop, giving them a few extra to make sure that they were finished, and because the line of overstimulation was just so fun to walk on.
He collapsed completely into Ilya, unable to find it in him to care about the mess, only able to press lazy sloppy kisses into his boyfriend's skin, mumbling in every language (and probably one that didn't exist too, an amalgamation of the three he knew) how much he loved Ilya, their bodies shaking from the aftermath of their orgasm.
Ilya cried until he couldn't anymore, most of the tears falling silently and just freely flowing from him; his body tried to sob, but couldn't shake underneath of Shane's weight on top of him. He couldn't feel any part of himself, but knew that Shane was on him, that he was there, and could hear - at least, that Shane was talking to him. What he was saying, though, Ilya hadn't the slightest clue.
He didn't mean to at all, but between the most intense orgasm he'd had in months - maybe even years, and the long flight, and the sleepless weeks he'd just gotten done with; Ilya wound up dozing off to sleep, eyes drifting shut and head lulling back against the pillow.
Shane did not sleep, but he did need some time to recover, despite how sticky everything was. The clean-up process was admittedly a sensory nightmare, and he didn't handle it as eloquently as he would have liked, but luckily Ilya stayed asleep for that too and was none the wiser - by the time he would be back up, everything would be in the laundry, food would be warm and waiting for him, and Shane would have had plenty of time to regulate himself, dragging Ilya's body back on top of him in the bed for the pressure.
Ilya barely even woke up when Shane did that - but when he did stir, he mumbled the words, "Ya tebya lyublyu."
To which Shane happily responded,
"Ya lyublyu tebya, Ilyushen'ka."