Archive of Our Own

Shane woke up feeling rested. Today was an important day. It was a game against Boston at home in Montreal. He knew Boston was going to put up a good fight, and nothing excited him more than playing against Ilya Rozanov. Shane smiled at himself at the fact he now referred to Rozanov as Ilya. Something had shifted between them at the All-Star game. They had texted a lot more since then, mostly about hockey, but Shane was constantly checking in on Ilya, seeing how he was doing (not surprisingly, Ilya would always deflect and say he was horny… and the conversation would turn elsewhere…).

Shane focused on the tasks at hand. He had to make it through his pre-game checklist. Morning yoga. Make breakfast. Tidy up his apartment. Watch tape from Boston’s last game. Nap. Head to the rink.

Once Shane had arrived at the rink, he was relieved to find out he had been assigned to do the pre-game interviews for this game. This would be good, since it meant he could leave earlier to get ready for Ilya. He gave a couple of quick interviews, mostly more of the same questions he got every time Montreal played Boston—questions about Rozanov—and Shane managed to hide his smirk every time he was mentioned. After heading back into the locker room, Shane put his gear on and checked his phone. Weird. He usually always gets pre-game sexts from Rozanov.

Shane brushed it off. Maybe Rozanov decided to be serious for once. Shane doubted this.

Shane put his phone down and put on the final pieces of his uniform. He picked up his phone again. Still nothing. It wasn’t like Ilya to ignore his texts, especially after the All-Star game. Shane really began to worry. He shook it off, knowing he was going to see Ilya in a couple of minutes. Maybe he would ask him during stretches if there was something wrong with his phone.

When Shane made it to the ice, he immediately spotted Ilya on the ice doing hip stretches. He skated up to him immediately, a little too eager, and asked, “Are we still on for tonight?” When Ilya finally lifted his head and looked up, Shane noticed that he looked very pale.

“Ilya?” he said in a hushed tone. “You look awful!”

“Thanks, Hollander. You still look very pretty.”

“I’m serious,” said Shane. “You look like you’re sick. Are you okay?”

Ilya replied with a shaky smirk, “Russians do not get sick, Hollander. Is just a fever. You will see just how fine when we beat you.”

“Asshole,” Shane replied with a smirk and skated away. Shane had a game to win.

At a face-off in the last period of the game, Shane was looking up at Ilya’s sweat-drenched face.

“You look worse,” Shane murmured. “You shouldn’t be on the ice.”

“I am fine, Hollander,” Ilya said in a breathless manner. He really was burning up.

The puck dropped; Shane won the face-off. He was skating towards Boston’s goal and landed it to win the game. His team surrounded him in a huddle. Peeking through the hoard of his teammates, he saw Ilya had skated to the boards and had his head in between his legs. When it came time to shake hands with the other team, Shane reached Ilya last, and this time Ilya looked green.

Shane extended his hand and gasped at how hot Ilya was. Ilya felt so ill he couldn't speak. He threw up on the ice. Shane wanted to go rub Ilya’s back but couldn't with so many eyes watching.

The trainers made it out onto the ice. “You okay, Ilya?”

Ilya just groaned. The trainers walked him out of the rink, and probably towards their training room.

Shane had walked back into the locker room, showered, and checked his phone. He had a text from Ilya.

Shane wanted to see Ilya. He wanted Ilya to stay the night like they had planned.

Shane rolled his eyes and ignored Ilya’s comment.

Ilya did not know what to say to that; it had been to long since he had someone take care of him. After his mother died, his father wouldn't even come to check on him when he was ill.

Shane pulled up to the Raiders' hotel 15 minutes later, and Ilya was standing outside. He got into Shane’s car.

“Did you steal this car from your mother?” Ilya asked.

Shane thought he must be feeling better since his snark was back. He leaned over and put the back of his hand on Ilya’s forehead. Ilya was still burning up.

“No, this car is practical. Good in the snow. How do you feel?” Shane asked.

“Like I am going to die if you do not touch my dick soon.” Ilya said with a smirk

“Ilya.” Shane hit him with a unimpressed look.

“Is the truth. I missed you,” Ilya said earnestly.

Shane melted , “I missed you too.”

Ilya grabbed Shane’s hand and brought it to his lap, and held it there throughout the short drive to Shane’s apartment.

Shane guided Ilya towards the front entrance of his apartment and grabbed the Uber Eats delivery that was left by the doorstep.

“Wow, front door. Brave,” said Ilya.

“Shut up.”

As soon as they were inside, Ilya crushed Hollander into a hug. Shane dropped his keys and the bag of DoorDash. “Hmmm, so warm. Shane.” He nuzzled into Shane’s neck and buried his arms under Shane’s shirt. Shane could tell Ilya really needed this. And shane needed it too. He had really missed being near Ilya.

“Okay, let’s get you into bed,” Shane said.

“Now you are talking, Hollander,” Ilya said, but it was muffled against Shane’s chest.

Shane half-carried a boneless Ilya into his bedroom and laid him down on the bed. When Shane let Ilya go and got up, Ilya immediately protested, “Hollander, noooooo. Am cold without youuuu.” He had his arm outstretched towards Shane. Shane laced their fingers together.

“I am just going back to the living room to get a couple of things. I will be right back. He kissed the back of Ilya's palm.”

Shane came back with the bag he DoorDashed, some water bottles, and a thermometer. He laid everything out on the nightstand and stood right next to Ilya’s side of the bed.

“Open up,” Shane ordered, with the thermometer outstretched towards Ilya’s mouth.

“Only if you promise you will open your mouth for me after,” Ilya grinned; he opened his mouth for Shane.

Shane ignored him and proceeded to check Ilya’s temperature. The thermometer beeped. 39.4. Shane sucked in a breath.

“Ilya, this is a really high fever. We should go to the doctor.”

“Team doctor said it was just the flu. No medicine for the flu.”

“We need to reduce your fever. Any higher and we would have to take you to the hospital. Did you take any medicine before you left the rink?”

“No, I do not want any pills.”

Shane opened a bottle of Tylenol from the nightstand, uncapped a bottle of blue Gatorade (Ilya’s favorite), and handed him the pills.

“Please, Ilya, take these for me. They are just fever reducers.” Shane hoped Ilya could feel his desperation. He did not want Ilya to get worse. Ilya couldn't say no to Shane, so he took the pills and drank the Gatorade.

“Drink at least half the bottle for me—small sips—and eat some of these pretzels, and I’ll come to bed with you.” Now this was an offer Ilya couldn't refuse. He quickly downed half the bottle and had a couple of pretzels. Shane joined him in bed. Ilya immediately wrapped himself all around Shane. Shane felt so good. So warm and safe. He felt like home. Ilya breathed him in. Clean. Shane. His. Ilya succumbed to fever sleep within minutes.

Shane dared not move. Ilya was on top of him and was hotter than a furnace. But Shane liked that Ilya needed him like this. He ran his hands through Ilya’s hair in the way his mom would when he was sick as a child. He too fell into an easy sleep, listening to Ilya’s deep breaths.

Shane woke up. He reached to the other side of the bed to feel Ilya, but the sheets were empty. He immediately got up and noticed the light to the bathroom was on. He knocked. “Ilya? Are you okay?”

Ilya responded with a groan, and then, “Don’t come in here.” Shane ignored this and opened the door. Ilya was kneeling in front of the toilet, his face in the bowl. Shane grabbed a washcloth from his linen closet and put it under some lukewarm water. He joined Ilya on the floor and began rubbing the cloth on the back of Ilya’s neck. Ilya leaned into Shane’s touch and immediately relaxed a little bit. Shane started to rub his back.

“Do you need me to get you water?”

“I will probably throw that up too,” Ilya groaned. He looked so tired.

“How long have you been throwing up?”

“I don’t know. An hour?”

Shane grimaced. “You should have woken me up.”

“Throwing up is lonely business, Shane.”

“I know, but I want to be there for you. Do you feel like you’re done?”

“I do not know. I do not think there is anything left in my stomach.”

“Okay, let's get you up and get you freshened up. Do you want to shower?”

“Only if you join me?”

Shane walked over to the sink, handed Ilya the mouthwash, and handed him an empty cup to spit it into. Ilya was now sitting on the toilet, slightly slumped.

“What?” Shane asked.

“Am too tired to shower,” Ilya replied.

“I’ll help you.” Shane moved towards Ilya and began tugging off his clothes. Shane quickly took his own clothes off and turned the shower on to a lukewarm temperature. He grabbed Ilya up, supporting his weight, and brought them into the shower.

“Ahhhhh Shane, it’s cold!!!” Ilya hissed and immediately wrapped himself into Shane for warmth.

Shane chuckled. “It needs to be cold to bring your temperature down.” He loved that Ilya needed him like this. Shane began to untangle himself from Ilya’s grip and grabbed his healthy seaweed shampoo. He tilted Ilya’s head under the spray and got to work, giving Ilya a head massage while he was at it, hoping it would give him some relief.

Ilya let out a content hum. “I should get sick more often,” he muttered into Shane’s shoulder. “I could get used to this.”

Shane didn’t know why he was blushing. Even though Ilya had seen all sides of him throughout the decades, this seemed like the most intimate moment in their relationship so far. Shane’s heart beat faster at the thought. To distract himself, he focused on methodically cleaning Ilya, like he would himself. After he rinsed the shampoo out, he used body wash on the rest of Ilya, using a washcloth to give everywhere a good scrub. He was on his knees washing Ilya’s legs when Ilya let out a groan.

“Hollander,” Ilya moaned. “Is not fair. You are naked on your knees, and we are wasting this opportunity.”

“I’ll make it up to you when you are better,” Shane replied. He quickly washed Ilya’s feet, got up, and washed himself in under a minute. He guided Ilya out of the shower and wrapped him up in a towel off his towel warmer rack. He quickly wrapped a towel around his own waist and guided Ilya back onto the toilet, where Shane dried every part of Ilya.

They walked back into Shane’s bedroom and Shane pulled clothes out of his drawers for him and Ilya. He gave Ilya his most oversized, comfy set of sweats, and put on a T-shirt and joggers for himself.

“Are you up to eat something?” Shane asked Ilya.

“Yes, am starving, but do not want to throw up again.”

“Let’s try some soup. I got stuff to make borscht.”

Ilya perked up. “You are going to make me borscht?!”

“Yes, I found a recipe online, and I know it's a Russian comfort food, so I figured it would be something you would be willing to eat,” Shane said, like it was no big deal that he had ordered all the ingredients to make comfort food that Ilya would have grown up eating.

They walked hand in hand to the living room, and Shane dropped Ilya off at the couch.

“Rest here. I’ll be in the kitchen so I can keep an eye on you.” Shane handed him the remote to the TV. “Put on whatever you want. I also have a PS5, so if you want to play a game, you can too.” Ilya was too tired to play a game right now, so he settled to watch Is it Cake? He laid down on the couch.

Shane went to the kitchen and brought back a bottle of Gatorade, water, and a can of ginger ale, along with more Tylenol. “Here, take some more medicine. I think you threw up the last dose.” Ilya took the pills and chose the ginger ale. He threw his head back on the couch after he was done, and Shane took the opportunity to run his hand down Ilya’s face. Ilya opened his eyes, and their eyes met. Ilya looked at Shane and whispered, “I do not deserve you.”

Shane shook his head and pressed a kiss to Ilya’s forehead. “One day, I’ll make you believe you do.” They both understood that Shane had said a lot more with those words than they have ever dared speak to each other.

Shane straightened back up. “Okay, you lie down and rest. Food will be ready in an hour.” He draped a blanket from the back of the couch onto Ilya and left him with one last pass through Ilya’s curls.

An hour later, Shane had finally finished the borscht. Shane loved cooking; following a recipe felt like following a checklist, and Shane loved the feeling of checking off tasks.

He went back over to the couch and stood in front of a peacefully sleeping Ilya. Shane just stared at him for a moment. God, he was beautiful, Shane thought to himself. He leaned down and ran his hand through Ilya’s curls, the other on his forehead checking his temperature. He was still hot but not as feverish as before the shower. Shane set a mental reminder to check his temperature again after dinner.

“Ilya,” Shane softly called. “The food is ready, sweetheart.” Ilya began to stir, looking disoriented when he woke up. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not long. An hour,” Shane replied. “Do you feel like you are up to eating?”

“Hmmm, yes. Am starving.”

“Okay, sit up. I’ll bring the food over to you.”

Shane plated up two bowls of borscht—sour cream on Ilya’s and Greek yogurt on his. He toasted two pieces of sourdough to dip in the soup. He brought both bowls to the coffee table, and Ilya immediately gave Shane a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Shane.”

“You’re welcome,” Shane replied. He waited anxiously for Ilya to take his first bite. Ilya immediately dug in and let out a satisfied moan.

“Oh my God, Hollander. This is good.”

“I got the recipe from a Russian blog. It seemed authentic.”

“Is very good. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“On my diet, I have to learn how to cook or else I’d starve.”

“Oh, I forgot. You have boring diet. Is borscht good for your boring diet?”

“Yes, I can eat this on my diet, but I don’t always have to eat macrobiotic-friendly foods.”

“Oh, so you eat not bird food sometimes?”

“Yes, I eat real food. I just watch what I eat during the season so I can be the healthiest I can be.”

“Ugh, Hollander, keep talking. I could fall asleep listening to you talk about your boring diet.”

Shane rolled his eyes; he would keep boring Ilya forever if it meant he would eat his meal. When they finished, Shane took their dishes to the kitchen and washed them quickly. He went into their bedroom, grabbed the thermometer, and made his way back to the living room. He stood in front of Ilya and wordlessly held the thermometer up to Ilya’s mouth. Ilya didn’t argue with Shane this time and opened his mouth. 38.9. “Okay, your fever is finally coming down. Hopefully you can keep the food and medicine down and the worst of it will be over.”

“Yes, hopefully,” Ilya replied. Though secretly, he did not want to be better so soon. He loved being the center of Shane’s attention and being taken care of by him.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

“Okay, but I get to pick. I don’t want to watch a boring movie.”

“Just because it is not an action movie doesn’t mean the movies I watch are boring.”

“Okay, but I still get to pick.”

They settled on I, Tonya. Ilya was interested by Margot Robbie, and Shane by sports politics.

Ilya was crying. “Shane, is not fair. They should allow her to come back to skate. She was sabotaged. She had so much potential.”

Shane was amused. He did not think Ilya was going to become so invested in the movie. He really was enjoying being cuddled up with Ilya on the couch. It’s the first time they have just cuddled to cuddle.

When the movie ended, they remained cuddled on the couch and eventually had fallen asleep. Shane woke up incredibly warm; he found Ilya intertwined with him, his head burrowed in Shane’s neck, his arms wrapped around Shane’s stomach, and his leg sandwiched between Shane’s. Shane knew if he fell back asleep, he wouldn’t wake back up until morning, but they needed to move back to the bed. This couch was too small for the both of them, and they could pull something if they slept like this the whole night.

Shane managed to extricate himself from Ilya’s hold and decided that he wouldn’t wake him up. Shane put his arms under Ilya’s knees and one under his shoulders and carried him to the bed. Ilya is constantly picking Shane up, and this is the first time Shane has gotten to pick up Ilya. He smiles to himself at the thought. He gently lays Ilya down in bed and gets into the other side. Ilya immediately finds Shane’s warmth in his sleep and cuddles back around him.

Shane presses his lips to Ilya’s forehead and whispers, “Goodnight, Ilya,” against his skin. Ilya stirs and sleepily mumbles “Shane” in his sleep.