Chapter Text
“What if I retire? Spend more time home? Coach instead.” Ilya causally suggested as they were spending a rare night cuddled on the couch together.
Shane, who was halfway through a sip of sugar-free ginger ale, nearly choked. “What? Retire?” he coughed out, not able to keep his composure. “You never talk about retirement, especially since we came out. Are you okay?” Shane set down his drink, turning to face his husband with a look of panic on his face.
Ilya laughed softly, pulling Shane into his lap. “No, is nothing like that. I am fine, perfect. Just not getting any younger. I’m thinking that forty is old for hockey player, and I do not want to be skating on ice with a walker like Scott Hunter.” A smile teased at Ilya’s lips, “We won the cup twice together, more than I ever dreamed. What is left? I just want to be with my husband and dog.” Ilya held Shane tighter, letting the smaller man sink into his husband’s embrace.
Shane huffed a sigh of relief, his arms wrapping around Ilya. “You had me worried. I thought something had changed, an old injury, or that your depression was worse. I didn’t consider that retirement might make you… happy.” Shane felt the rumble of Ilya’s soft chuckle.
“You are always worried. Predictable, boring, anxious husband who I love very much. Who I need more of.” Ilya cupped Shane’s face, pulling him into a deep kiss. Shane felt his heart race like he was seventeen again, desperately trying not to look at Ilya in the shower. With a burst of strength, Ilya gripped Shane’s ass, lifting him easily and setting him on the coffee table.
“Ilya, don’t! I’m too heavy for that! Your back!” Shane shrieked in horror. His protests died on his tongue as Ilya nuzzled his cheek into Shane’s erection that was already begging for attention in his gray sweatpants.
“Hollander, you have never been too heavy for me. I am not so old that I cannot lift my husband. I need you, now.” Without another thought, Ilya released Shane’s cock and began sucking him off. Shane moaned in desperate surprise. More than twenty years of Ilya’s body, his warm mouth, and rough hands; Shane would never get enough. He may not be a young man anymore, but it felt like his first time whenever Ilya’s lips grazed his skin.
“Ilya,” Shane groaned as his hands gripped Ilya’s soft brown curls, guiding him gently as he increased his speed. “I need you too, baby. I miss you, miss your mouth.” Shane pants out his need, nearly out of his mind with pleasure and longing.
Ilya’s hand palms his own dick, precum already dripping down his length from his husband’s praise. He needed all of him, needed to swallow his desire, then bend him over the coffee table and use his plush ass until he was begging for more. Ilya sped up, taking Shane’s dick deep and fast, feeling Shane’s body shudder with impending release.
“I’m gonna cum. Ilya, please! I’m -” Shane couldn’t finish his thought before Ilya was grabbing his hips and forcing him deeper, swallowing as Shane whimpered. Gently releasing his husband, Ilya used long, languid strokes of his tongue to clean the remainder of Shane’s orgasm from his cock, straddling the line between aftercare and overstimulation. Ilya knew his fussy, boring husband liked to be clean almost as much as he enjoyed being dirty. Shane’s heated gaze and flushed cheeks confirmed just how much he was adoring this extra attention.
Rising from his knees to pull Shane into another lingering kiss, Ilya finally whispered into Shane’s ear. “On your knees, Hollander. We are not done.”
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Shane and Ilya decided that they would retire together. Although Shane took some time to come to that conclusion, Ilya never pressured him. He didn’t need Shane to retire with him. Sure, he would love to have Shane all to himself as much as possible, but he would never take the choice away from him. They were both wildly competitive, but something changed in Ilya when he chose to sign with Ottawa, when he chose Shane. He realized that he loved his husband more than winning. Being happy with the people he loved was the only thing he truly cared about. Ilya didn’t need to prove his legacy or win any more cups; he just wanted to be with Shane. Ilya wasn’t sure if Shane was ready to give up his hockey career, but after a few days, Shane knew it was time.
He and Ilya were rookies together, rivals, star-crossed lovers, Olympians, and champions many times over. It only made sense to Shane that they would take this next step together as well. Shane was scared to retire and face a world where he wasn’t the one on the ice, but his aching knees and hips would be thankful for the change. The truth is that as much as Ilya wanted this retirement, Shane needed it. He wasn’t severely injured, but years of a full-contact high-impact sport have left him with more stiff joints and pain than he would ever admit. Shane was grateful that Ilya brought up retirement first; his own stubborn streak hadn’t allowed him to even consider it before he knew his husband would be with him.
Shane would be coaching for Ottawa, who were happy to have someone with fantastic experience and a history with the team. Ilya decided to coach full-time for their charity, expanding their services to include year-round intensive camps and after-school programs. Ilya had always loved working with kids and running their summer camps; now it could be his job permanently. They couldn’t be happier, letting themselves enjoy hockey without overworking themselves, and spending as much time as possible together.
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Shane thought it was perfect until he got a good look at himself in the mirror a few months into coaching. He was gaining weight. They had been so busy with the change in schedule and their time together that Shane hadn’t been thinking about himself like he usually did. When he was playing, he followed a strict diet, avoided alcohol, worked out compulsively, and did everything in his power to maintain peak physical condition. It was something that he hadn’t questioned for years. Ilya and Hayden made fun of him from the beginning, calling all his meals “rabbit food” or “disgusting.” It wasn’t until Ilya got Shane alone and really pressed him on his “diet” that he admitted that it was more about the control than anything else. Shane wasn’t really sure how much his diet helped his game play, but he knew it kept him thin with toned muscle. That was why he never wanted to slip, never wanted empty carbs, or sugar. He was afraid not that his game would be worse but that he would lose control, lose his body, and any semblance of self-confidence he had.
It didn’t matter how many times Ilya fucked him in his trophy room, on some level, he still never felt good enough. He realized somewhere in his 30s that not everyone felt that there was something deeply wrong and unlovable about themselves, and ended up in therapy. Ilya wasn’t the only one struggling, but it took Shane a bit longer than he would like to admit to recognize that. He wasn’t that surprised to find out he was struggling with an eating disorder. Although being diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder did shock him. His therapist explained that his eating disorder, autism, and feelings of inadequacy were all interconnected. He struggled with social cues and was painfully aware he was different from other people. Even his difficulty recognizing his own sexuality was just a way to protect himself from the truth that he was once again different. He only excelled at hockey; it was the one way he could connect to others and feel valuable. If he wasn’t in peak physical condition and winning, he felt worthless. Even Ilya was originally attracted to him due to their hockey rivalry; if he stopped challenging him, would Ilya still find him attractive? It was hard, but Shane learned a lot about himself through therapy.
Shane knew the truth now, that Ilya would love him no matter what. That he loved Shane more than he ever cared about hockey. Regardless, even after years of therapy and working to find a healthy balance with his eating patterns, Shane’s heart dropped out of his chest when he saw that his abs were covered in a layer of soft fat. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t noticed just how chubby he had gotten. The subtle tightness of his clothing was completely foreign to him, despite knowing that this problem must have been mounting for months. Since they retired and started coaching, they had both been busy, less strict about exercise, although they both still worked out pretty regularly. His eating habits had gotten less strict since he wasn’t a professional athlete anymore, but he hadn’t been eating unhealthily. At least he hadn’t thought so.
Still staring at himself shirtless in the mirror, Shane had an even more horrifying thought. Ilya had seen him like this, had been seeing him like this, for God knows how long. He’d watched Shane’s abs disappear. He’d fucked him like this. He had judged every inch of his body and never said a word. Shane could barely breathe as he put his shirt on, changing his plans for the day and heading for the gym.
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A few weeks had passed since he realized that he wasn’t as slim as he used to be, and they had been miserable. Any restrictions that he had loosened after retirement were off limits again, with a calorie deficit that left him feeling hollow. He was busy as ever coaching, but all his free time was spent on jogs, in gyms, or logging his calories, even though he had long ago promised both his therapist and Ilya that he was done restricting and obsessing. It was hard for him, though, as an autistic former athlete with an eating disorder, to just stop obsessing. Obsessing was what he did best, and restricting was something he was good at; especially when it was painful, especially when it hurt.
And this time, it fucking hurt. His knees and hips weren’t appreciating the uptick in activity again, even with added conditioning and stretching. He was in his forties, and hockey had left its mark on him. His restrictions left him starving, and the constant exercise left him exhausted. He never felt comfortable with the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. His only real comfort was the fullness that came with water, low-cal rice cakes, and sugar-free ginger ale. In those moments, he almost felt satisfied. He saved the rest of his calories for Ilya. In the evening, he ate his only real meal of the day. Something obviously healthy, but with portion sizes that were reasonable enough not to attract his husband’s attention. His dinners could almost be considered adequate if he also ate at any other point of the day; however, since he didn’t, it was easy to stay under his calorie limit.
It would almost be easier if he were traveling with the team now, away from Ilya’s keen gaze and wandering hands. Fuck, he missed his husband’s hands. Shane hadn’t wanted to be touched since he had seen what he looked like shirtless. He had been avoiding any kind of physical touch as much as possible, but especially sex. He didn’t know exactly why it made him feel so sick, but he thought it might have something to do with how many years Ilya had fucked his body at its athletic peak. There had obviously been changes from when they were seventeen to when they finally retired at forty, but Shane hadn’t fully noticed them, especially in Ilya. Sometimes he swore his partner didn’t age, save for the sexy gray that gracefully streaked his husband’s curls and the faintest hint of laugh lines around his hazel eyes. Shane wanted to be thankful that his husband was just as drop-dead gorgeous in his forties as he was as a rookie. Shane was thankful, but he was also jealous.
Ilya made it look so easy. He seemed happy, effortless, and he could eat carbs without a disproportionate amount of guilt. Even though they hadn’t been rivals in years, Shane couldn’t help but feel like he was falling behind. His body, his mind, he just couldn’t compete with Ilya anymore. Dread pooled in the pit of Shane’s empty stomach when he thought about Ilya seeing just how far he’d fallen.
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Shane had woken up at 5 am to run on the treadmill, his nerves already on edge about his vacation with his husband. A whole summer to themselves, hidden away at their lakeside cottage. Normally, Shane would be thrilled to be spending the summer wrapped in Ilya’s embrace, but he still hadn’t come to terms with how disgusted he felt with himself. It wasn’t just the weight; it was everything: his age, his worn-out joints, retiring, and feeling like he didn’t deserve Ilya. He couldn’t fix his age, God knows he’d been struggling mentally, so that left him with one solvable problem. He could lose some weight, get his muscle definition back, and maybe feel good enough to let his husband touch him again.
Even as the weeks had gone by, he just didn’t feel like his efforts made a difference. He had lost some weight, his clothes a bit looser again, but he still felt softness lingering on his hips and stomach. Now here he was, in the small home gym of the cottage, running as his left hip ached, wondering how he was going to limit his calories with his husband at every meal. Sighing in both frustration and exhaustion, Shane slowed the treadmill and resigned himself to facing the day.
After a long shower and some tea, Shane went about making Ilya breakfast. With the sun shining in the windows and Shane missing from his side of the bed, it wouldn’t be long before his husband would be searching for caffeine. Ilya had enjoyed ditching his pro hockey player diet, although he had never taken it as seriously as Shane; it was obvious that he appreciated the freedom of retirement. Shane had previously made a sport of attempting to police Ilya’s food choices; he had realized in therapy that he had just been trying to rationalize his own disordered eating. On top of that, it only encouraged Ilya to eat more to spite him. Ilya was, theoretically, a service top, but he had the attitude of a brat. His husband lived to be a sarcastic asshole. So Shane stopped judging Ilya’s choices, made him food he liked, and even started to enjoy seeing him appreciate meals that would have left Shane floundering.
This morning, Shane decided to make him breakfast sandwiches, knowing that Ilya would be hungry after last night’s long drive to the cottage. He busied himself buttering two croissants, frying eggs and bacon, and toasting both sandwiches with cheese.
“Radnój, the bed is cold without you,” Ilya whined sweetly, pressing into Shane from behind and wrapping his arms around his husband. Shane wanted to shrink away from his touch, knowing that Ilya had complete access to his body.
“The coffee is ready, but I might need a bit more time for breakfast,” Shane said, wiggling out of Ilya’s grasp to get a mug and fix his husband’s coffee. Somewhat placated by his need for caffeine, Ilya sat at the table, watching as his husband cooked.
“Breakfast is good, but waking up with my husband is better,” Ilya teased seductively. Shane felt his face grow hot as he focused on the food. Shane wasn’t dumb enough to think Ilya was ignorant of his sudden absence these last few weeks. His husband was kind, but he was also observant, and usually obsessive when it came to Shane. Ilya might cut him some slack when they were both busy with coaching, but in the cottage, it was just the two of them.
“I- ah, woke up early. Needed something to do until you were up. Thought you might be hungry,” Shane said, hoping the little white lie wasn’t obvious. Of course, he wanted to make sure Ilya was fed and happy, but he really got up to run off some of yesterday’s calories.
After perfectly toasting both sandwiches, he delivered both to his husband at the table. Sitting across from Ilya with just his tea in hand. Ilya’s eyes darted from his plate to Shane, “Are we sharing plate this morning?” Ilya crinkled his brow in confusion.
Shane waved his hand, dismissing the question. “I ate earlier. I made both for you, but we can save one for tomorrow if it’s too much.” Shane pushed the plate towards Ilya once more, hoping his husband could just let this go. His life would be so much easier these next few weeks if Ilya could just learn to leave him alone when it came to food. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to be noticed, and especially did not want to talk about his feelings right now.
Ilya’s hazel eyes hardened, looking directly at Shane as if he could see each of his faults laid bare before him. He waited a beat. “You are lying to me,” Ilya spoke with a clipped and cold tone. His eyes darted to the empty sink, “No dishes. You could not be worse liar, Shane.”
Shane’s blood immediately ran cold. He hated being called out like this, especially about his relationship with food. Ilya was with him through the highs and lows of his strict pro diet and disordered eating. It was hard to lie to someone who knew all your tells. “I ate. I just had a protein bar from the pantry. I didn’t feel like having a breakfast sandwich today, that’s all,” Shane insisted again. He was still lying, but this sounded a bit more convincing at least.
Ilya grimaced in a way that brought Shane right back to the worst of his restrictions, when Ilya had insisted that he begin therapy. Shane hated that expression, which seemed to contain pity, sadness, and frustration all rolled into one. Sometimes, he also feared that Ilya’s expression was just a mask that hid resentment. Ilya finally spoke again, his voice sounding raw, “If I look in trash, will I find wrapper? Or just more of your lies?”
Shane clenched his jaw, finally going glassy-eyed, and he pleaded to his husband. “Please don’t check.”
Shane dropped his head into his hands, his elbows propped on the kitchen table. He didn’t want to see how disappointed Ilya was in him. He didn’t want to see just how much he was destroying his husband’s happiness. It wasn’t long before Ilya’s strong hand grazed his shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “L’ubímyj, can I hold you?”
Ilya had learned to ask Shane about touch when he was upset. Although it was somewhat rare for Shane, he could become overstimulated, and being touched would only add to the meltdown. This time, Shane wasn’t overstimulated, but he was embarrassed, sad, and a bit desperate. He wasn’t sure how much of this he could take. Shane spoke softly, in almost a whisper, “Are you mad at me?”
Ilya swept him into a soft, warm hug, which enveloped Shane’s whole body. Shane felt supremely grateful in times like these that his partner had always been taller and bigger than him. Even though he still felt wrecked, it was impossible not to feel a bit safer in his husband’s arms. Ilya was nuzzled into Shane’s neck as he spoke, “Are you mad every time I smoke cigarette?”
“Yeah, usually,” Shane grumbled out in protest. He felt the warm reverberation of Ilya’s laugh.
“Yes, because you are boring. But do you hate me?” Ilya said, continuing to hold Shane close.
“Of course not. I couldn’t hate you if I tried. I spent years trying, but I am hopeless. You are the only man I have ever loved. I’m scared of losing you.” Shane admitted, truthfully. His husband dying of lung cancer was one of his worst fears. He was fairly certain it would kill him, too.
“Then you know how I feel. I am scared of living without you.” Ilya concluded, solemnly.
Shane finally pulled away from the embrace to face his husband, whose own eyes had gotten misty as the conversation advanced. Shane’s brow crinkled in frustration. “Ilya, skipping a few meals isn’t the same thing as smoking. I’m not going to die, trust me.” Shane huffed out a pathetic sigh, looking downward again, ashamed at what he was about to admit. “I’ve just been cutting back a bit, okay? I… I’ve gained some weight since retirement, okay? It’s embarrassing.”
Shane could feel heat flood his face. Ilya was the last person he wanted to know that he had let himself go. He still wanted to be able to compete with Ilya, still wanted to be his match in every way. Now his silver fox of a husband knew he was getting lazy and soft. God, Shane felt like he could just fucking die.
“Why is this embarrassing? We are retired, old men. We are not seventeen, Hollander. It is not our job to stay fit.” Ilya countered, looking genuinely baffled by Shane’s emotions.
Shane paused. He knew his husband was right, strictly speaking, but he still felt awful. He still remembered just how humiliated he felt, looking in the mirror and knowing that his husband had seen his softened body. “You’re right. It isn’t our job anymore. I just can’t help but look in the mirror and still want to compete with you. I want to be your hot husband, someone who makes sense with you. I don’t want people to pity you when they see how much I have let myself go.”
Ilya stilled. He made eye contact with Shane, “Is that what you think? We will be judged and pitied for putting on weight after retirement? You think being fat makes you ugly?”
Shane didn’t quite know where Ilya was going with this line of questioning. He also couldn’t read his expression or emotions right now. It wasn’t the first time Shane struggled with social cues, but he was so used to Ilya that he rarely had this difficulty with him anymore. Of course, being fat didn’t make anyone ugly. There were plenty of unattractive thin people and attractive fat people. Even if it did make you ugly, looks didn’t mean anything. Kindness and compassion were more of a turn on than abs could ever be. And yet, he still thought that people would judge them, judge him, for getting bigger. While he didn’t think it made other people unattractive, he still worried about Ilya losing his attraction to him if his body changed.
“There’s nothing wrong with being fat. I don’t think it necessarily has anything to do with how attractive someone is. But is it wrong of me if I still think people will judge us? Is it wrong if I want to make sure I am still just as attractive to you as I always was? I don’t hate fat people; I have an eating disorder, and my brain doesn’t seem to think body positivity applies to me. The idea of getting fat and not being able to measure up to you makes me feel sick.” Shane defended. It was a difficult set of emotions to work through. Jackie was just as stunning with a curvy mom bod as she was before having four kids. Scott, Troy, and Hayden had all put on some weight after retirement and still looked fantastic. However, when Shane thought about himself, Olympian, champion, and living hockey legend getting fat, he couldn’t help but feel like he was failing.
“You are trying compete with me? Still? We have been married for years. On same team, on and off the ice,” Ilya provoked. “And you think I would not be attracted to you if you were fat? In what world would I hate there being more of my husband? I will worship you until the day I die, Shane.” Ilya’s expression was one of absolute certainty, as if he had never even considered for a second that Shane could become unattractive in his eyes.
Shane felt a pang of emotion swirling in his chest: relief, frustration, confusion, happiness, and a bit of fear. Ilya loved him and was attracted to him; Shane already knew that. Ilya had never said anything about his body that was short of adoration. However, Shane’s body had never been anything less than sculpted muscular perfection before retirement. What would there have been to complain about? However, now that he was middle-aged and retired, he finally got a glimpse of what his body looked like when he wasn’t restricting and exercising to his limit. His instinct was one of extreme fear prompted by a lack of control. That was what it had really been about. Shane felt like he didn’t have control over his body anymore, and that scared him. Who and what would he be without his restrictions and control?
He had thought it was about competing with his husband and living up to other people’s expectations, like it had been when they were young, but it had really been about his own incapability to relinquish control. He always struggled with change; retirement had been a massive change. Seeing any changes in his body must have pushed him over the edge. His relapse almost seemed predictable when he thought about it in those terms.
Reaching out for Ilya’s hand, Shane gently interlaced their fingers. “Ilya, I’m sorry. I guess this change has been hard on me. It was time to leave the ice, but I couldn’t remember a world when I wasn’t playing hockey. Change is hard. I think change is especially hard on me. I thrive on routine and control. I guess when I saw I gained weight, I felt like I didn’t have control over anything anymore. I defaulted back to restriction and competition. And I admittedly wasn’t sure if you would like my body if it were different. You fell in love with me as a pro athlete, you didn’t sign up for me to be bigger.” Shane spoke softly, like he was scared of this new revelation.
Shane’s eyes were downcast as Ilya tenderly cupped his face, tilting Shane’s face to look at him once more. Shane’s eyes were glossy with tears once more as Ilya spoke. “Shane, my sólnyshka, you are so dumb it brings tears to my eyes.” Although Ilya spoke with absolute sweetness and sincerity, Shane just managed to process his meaning.
Shane sputtered out his surprise. “Ilya! W-what the fuck?? What are you talking about?” Shane’s freckled face flushed with embarrassment.
Ilya laughed as he allowed the hand cupping Shane’s face to drop. “Shane, of course, change is hard. The only change you have ever liked is when we started dating. That change still gave you panic attack. I expect it to be hard. I know my husband. At first, you seemed fine, then you pulled away. I was watching you. I thought time would fix this, I was wrong. But only my dumb husband would think that I did not sign up for him to age and change. When I married you, I asked for all of you. I want Shane Hollander in all forms, his whole life. Our vows were “in sickness and in health.” I want every moment, every heartbreak, every victory. You think your weight matters to me? My heart will stop when you die, and you think I care about how you look? You are oblivious, l’ubímyj.”
At Ilya’s words, Shane began crying in earnest, Ilya pulling him against his chest. Sobs wracked Shane’s body as he began to process the last few weeks that he had been trying to avoid. He missed time with Ilya while attempting to lose a few pounds that his husband clearly didn’t give a shit about. He allowed himself to relapse out of fear and self-doubt. The only thing he accomplished was more pain. He knew it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t something that he chose to do; relapses happened sometimes because the world was unpredictable. Looking at the situation now, held firmly in his husband’s arms, he knew that he had nothing to worry about when it came to Ilya. His husband would move heaven and earth for him. Ilya Rozanov’s dick would be hard for Shane until the inevitable heat-death of the sun. He didn’t care if Shane gained weight.
Shane finally felt himself start to settle down, his tears slowed, the shaking stopped, and he was just warm in Ilya’s arms again. Sniffling a bit against his partner’s chest, he teased him softly, “I may be dumb, but you are still kind of an asshole, Rozanov.”
They giggled together, only pressing closer in their embrace. Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head, muttering into Shane’s glossy black hair, still mostly untouched by gray. “I am depressed asshole, and you are autistic dumbass. This cannot be changed.”
Shane shoved Ilya playfully away, finally content to take his place at the table again after snagging a tissue from the living room. Another sip of his tea calmed him down even more. Meanwhile, Ilya snagged the plate of breakfast sandwiches and took a massive bite of the first one. He practically moaned in pleasure, “Shane, forget conversation and go back to rabbit meals, these are too good. Can’t share.” Ilya chirped, mouth full of carbs.
Shane gasped in mock horror, “Bastard! What happened to wanting to share everything with me?”
Ilya was still in the process of stuffing his face as he replied, “That was before I tasted sandwich. Now I want them to myself.” Shane made his way to Ilya’s side of the table, gripped the collar of Ilya’s t-shirt, and pulled his husband in for a kiss. The lingering taste of egg and cheese was still on his lips.
“You’ve earned it, Ilya.” Shane resigned himself to frying another egg for himself, not worried about the calorie count of his breakfast for the first time in weeks.