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Ilya woke up this morning to a splitting pain in his head that seemed to throb with every slight movement. He groaned, pressing two fingers to his temples and squinting angrily at the light that seeped through his curtains almost intentionally right into his eyes. He was awfully congested, and his chest ached.
He felt lucky he didn’t have any plans for the next 3 days. He had promised Troy he would go out for drinks later that night- it had been a while- but Troy had texted last night to cancel. Ilya was disappointed at the time, but felt nothing but relief now to know that he didn't have to move if he didn't want to. He sank his face down into his pillow, the cool unslept-on patch relieving his pain for just a moment.
Ilya’s mind then wandered to Shane, unsurprisingly. Shane was in Montreal doing a photoshoot this morning; something for their camp promo. Shane was always the coverboy for these types of magazine interviews, and Ilya didn’t mind. He was much better for knowing what to say and how to answer questions that, frankly, bored the shit out of Ilya. Shane had made plans with Rose after learning about his boyfriend’s plans with Troy; a fancy restaurant and a very overdue catchup. Ilya wondered for a second if he should mention his cancelled plans with Troy, but decided against it. He knew Shane would be thinking about the wasted opportunity to hang out all night, and whilst Ilya felt the same he felt it healthy not to share the burden.
He opened his phone, squinting at the display that wasn’t quite making sense to him today. 11:40. Jesus, he had slept in much later than he thought. He never did that.
8:00 Shane: good morning :)
9:24 Shane: they put so much makeup on my face. i feel like a barbie doll.
11:02 Shane: all done! i think they’re satisfied. was mostly stuff about the plan for branching out etc. hope you’re ok? text me when you wake up.
11:41 Ilya: Let me see. Hockey Barbie would be my favourite.
11:51 Shane: that was a record breaking lie in for ilya rosanov. hi sleepyhead
11:58 Shane: Attachment: 1 image
Shane’s face flooded Ilya’s phone, and Ilya stopped squinting to see the picture as best he could. Shane was dressed in a loose linen shirt, his hair was styled tidily and his face was unnaturally smooth. He stood pouting in the mirror. Ilya marvelled at his arm in view, holding up his phone. Shane was so gentle and bashful around Ilya, he sometimes forgot just how strong and built he was. He was right, though; he was all done up in a face full of makeup- but he looked beautiful. Almost doll-like. Shane’s face was blushed across his cheeks and nose, and his eyes sparkled with a soft but ‘natural’ looking shimmer. He chuckled at the Barbie comment now understanding what he meant, and saved it to his camera roll immediately.
12:01 Ilya: You are dramatic. Is beautiful. You are beautiful. Where is the sparkly lip gloss to match?
12:02 Shane: fuck off
12:02 Shane: i’ll put my special red one on for you later
12:02 Ilya: How could you! Don’t you dare show Rose Landry your special red lip gloss. That is our secret.
12:03 Shane: lol you’d probably like me in lip gloss, weirdo
12:03 Shane: and god i forgot about that. i really dont have it in me to go
12:03 Ilya: You always do this. To everyone. You will feel better when you are there. Go.
12:03 Shane: not you!
12:03 Shane: there are going to be so many of her castmates and friends there. i dont think i'll even get to speak to her.
12:04 Ilya: You poor thing. What you will do without one on one with Rose Landry again, I am truly so sad for you.
12:04 Shane: you are such a dick
12:04 Shane: excited for drinks later with troy?
Ilya considered for a moment lying about his now cancelled plans, to say that they were still going ahead- but shook it off just as the thought even formed. No. That wouldn’t be right. He wouldn't lie to Shane. But he so desperately wanted Shane to enjoy a night without feeling guilty.
12:05 Ilya: I will not go anymore. Troy cancelled. I have lots to do though so don’t worry about me. Anya needs bath.
12:05 Shane: that sucks! you were looking forward to that too :( want me to cancel? we can facetime and watch a movie or something.
12:05 Ilya: I knew you will say that. Don’t worry, I am going to be so busy today. I might not even have time to text you like, ever. I will see you next week, or month. Maybe next year who knows.
12:06 Shane: lol shut up. can i call you when im home?
12:06 Ilya: Maybe. Like I say, I am just so busy.
12:06 Ilya: Of course.
12:07 Shane: <3
Ilya smiled to himself, scratching his chin and stretching out in the bed. Habitually, he opened the food delivery app and scrolled mindlessly, contemplating a McGriddle. The sight of the usually tempting food made his stomach uneasy, and he shut his phone off.
The sound of Ilya’s ringtone startled Ilya awake, and he shot his head up, disoriented. The pain sliced through Ilya’s head and curved down along his jaw, and he winced. He swept his hand along his mattress, trying to find the source of the jarring noise- before pulling his phone from a mess of blanket.
“Hi Ilya- oh my god you look awful are you okay?” Shane’s face was flushed with the cold, looking extra pink with the blush they had slathered on his face earlier. He was fumbling with one hand to undo the buttons of his coat, and yanked the scarf off of his head. Shane’s brows were furrowed with concern as he stared into the phone.
“I am not sure that is how you greet people kindly. That is definitely not Canadian culture.” Ilya spoke for the first time today, his voice gravelly and hoarse. His throat was killing him.
“God, you even sound awful. I told you, these winters are no joke. You can’t keep going out in the snow without your coat. That’s how you get sick. Plus we have camp in like, three days, so I really hope…” Shane’s voice trailed off. “Sorry. I won’t lecture you. You look really run down. How do you feel?”
Ilya smiled, but his face grimaced as he repositioned himself upright in bed. He squinted at his phone, trying to see Shane clearly. “Is fine. Just a cold” He cleared his throat, but it didn’t seem to go away. “Hello, Mr Hockey Barbie.” He said with his crooked smirk.
Shane rolled his eyes, but a huge grin was plastered on his face. “Shut up.” he said, with no threat behind it whatsoever. “You look like… dying Barbie right now. Corpse Barbie. Super sick but still really hot Barbie. I’ve never seen you so pale.” He cocked his head to the side. “And actually kinda green…”
“Is nothing.” Ilya waved his hand at Shane, hoping he couldn’t see it trembling. “Maybe I will go out for drinks myself later.” His stomach flipped in protest at the idea of it.
“That is probably one of the worst ideas I have ever heard.”
“Yeah well. My super hot boyfriend is having a date with Rose Landry tonight, so I am keeping myself occupied.”
Shane pouted a little. “I can cancel. And it’s not a date asshole.”
Ilya smiled, a twang of sadness in his heart. He did really want Shane right now. He hadn’t felt this ill since he was a child. He remembered being sick as a child for a moment, the feeling of his mothers warm hands on his shivering forehead, stroking and pressing her palms to his face. Her gentle murmurs in Russian, and how she didn’t leave his bed until he felt better. The memory made his heart ache. He shook his head at Shane, shaking off the memory in doing so.
“No. You never get to see Rose. And besides, you need to show off your pretty makeup.”
Shane smiled, but his smile also looked sad. His big brown eyes paused for a moment, thinking. He chewed his bottom lip.
“Shane” Ilya said, smiling sweetly at him. “I am serious. I feel fine. I am good, yes?”
Shane nodded, not quite believing him. “Okay.” he breathed, and flopped onto the couch. Ilya realised he had been standing in the doorway the whole time. “I love you,” he said, almost like a test. Ilya laughed and tilted his head, drinking up the sight of Shane from this angle. He looked so fucking cute. His cheeks looked so soft and adorable, and Ilya could see the highlighter they had put in the inner parts of his eyes. It actually looked really good.
“I love you too.” Ilya said in Russian. Shane grinned.
Ilya suddenly felt a dip in the mattress, and Anya bounded over to Ilya, crashing into his face and coating his face with her tongue. Ilya ignored the searing pain it sent across his forehead. “Moy lyubimyy!” Ilya said through gritted teeth, the cuteness aggression making him scrunch up her face and plant a kiss on her nose. He could hear Shane chuckle at all the commotion. He looked back at his phone screen through Anya’s hyperactive legs, watching Shane look lovingly at the two of them.
“She is so crazy in the morning lately. I think she forgets I am even here until she hears my voice and then she explodes”
“Who wouldn’t?” Shane said, raising his eyebrow and grinning at Ilya. Ilya gave him a crooked playful smile.
“Oh I know. You are the worst for it. You also explode from just my voice.”
Shane's face scrunched up in disgust, but he was laughing. “Ilya, that is so gross.”
Ilya shrugged. “I’m just saying,” he sang. “Do not tell Anya, but I wish it was you in my bed licking my face instead.”
“Don’t compare me to our dog!” He said in mock horror. Our dog. Ilya’s smile grew wider and he felt his heart throb. He still couldn’t wrap his head around these quiet, domestic moments. Our dog. Our home. Our lives. Intertwined.
“Okay okay you are right. That is gross. I need to give her bath anyway. She is so gross. What will you do?”
Shane chewed at his hoodie string lazily, looking exhausted at the idea of going back outside. He groaned loudly and theatrically. “I guess I will have some lunch… And then get ready to go out later.”
“You are already ready. Look at all that makeup.” Ilya teased.
“Asshole. I can’t even be bothered to take it off. Maybe it will make me look less dead. Maybe you need the makeup, Corpse Barbie.”
Ilya yawned, “I don’t want to be Corpse Barbie. I preferred the really sick but still so super hot Barbie, or whatever you said.”
He rolled over in bed, extending his phone outwards and propping it up against the pillow so that he didn’t have to keep holding it. Shane was quiet for a second, watching Ilya stretch and cozy back up into bed, dragging his big arm over Anya and pulling her in. Shane felt a pang of jealousy at the two, bundled in Ilya’s sheets. His nose and cheeks were flushed almost as much as Shane’s blush covered cheeks were, and his curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. Despite how sick and exhausted Ilya looked, he was still so beautiful. Ilya’s eyes fought to stay open, and he eventually gave up and left them closed. They talked for a while, Ilya responding with his eyes closed as his replies got shorter and more and more incoherent.
“Look at you. My poor little thing.” Shane said gently. Ilya, mid-response, had trailed off, and he lay with his face pressed into Anya’s.
Shane didn’t get up to make his lunch, nor did he hang up the call. He lay there sprawled on his couch, watching the slow rise and fall of Ilya’s shoulders. Every once in a while Ilya’s brows would furrow and twitch, and he would mutter Russian-sounding gibberish under his breath. Ilya never really stirred much in his sleep. Shane would watch him for hours, neck craned up to watch the beautiful man beside him, but he was usually pretty much dead until he stirred, an occasional soft snore every now and then that Shane would find irritating from anybody else, but melted when he heard it from Ilya. But today, Ilya’s hands jerked and twitched in his sleep, occasionally propping himself up asleep just to flop to his other side. Shane would scroll on his phone when Ilya turned his back to him, and click back onto full-screen when he would flop back.
Shane was in the middle of replying to his mom when Ilya finally stirred awake properly. His mom always texted him in large paragraphs, with at least 4 questions scattered in her recount of the day so far. He loved his mom, but replying to her sometimes felt like a huge mental load due to the sheer volume of information she sent him. Shane often saved his chance to reply for the evenings, or his downtime, just so that he could give her a satisfactory enough response.
Ilya rolled over to face Shane, and this time his eyes fluttered open. He stared at Shane for a moment, vacant, before lifting his head up and meeting Shane’s eyes.
“Hi.” Shane said sweetly.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to..” Ilya grumbled.
“No, don’t be. Did you have a nightmare?”
Ilya blinked at him, looking embarrassed. “...You don’t have to answer that. Don't worry. I felt bad for you. I wish I could be there. You looked like you couldn’t get comfy.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t. I will drive to pharmacy when I can be bothered and get some pills.” That got a smirk out of Shane.
“Ilya Rosanov, taking medicine? For once? I thought I’d never see the day. Not so tough now, are we?”
Ilya laughed, melting Shane’s heart a little. Even his laugh sounded so weak, so small; Shane wanted nothing more than to hold his little face in his hands and soothe him. He would never tell Ilya just how fragile he sounded right now, Ilya would be mortified.
“Is secret. Don’t let the.. whats the word, stalkers-”
“Paparazzi? Tabloids? Fans..?”
“You are showing off now. All of them, yes. Don’t let them know. Ilya Rosanov is tough guy.”
“Oh for sure. He’s one of the toughest guys I know. He’s a massive asshole, though”.
“Is part of his charm.” Ilya said, his crooked smirk creeping onto his face. He stretched outwards, a bit like a cat, grabbing the phone and pulling it closer. Shane felt the warmth of his body somehow as he was pulled in. Shane watched Ilya’s sleepy face gather his thoughts, watching him squint at the top of his screen. He scrunched his face up.
“Is so late! Why didn’t you wake me? The day is practically over” llya said, groaning and pushing his face into his mattress.
“You need a rest day. I will ask Troy to take Anya to the spa tomorrow, seeing as he blew you out today.
Ilya snickered.
“Seriously? You’re laughing at the words blew you out? Ilya, you’re not twelve.”
“Sorry. Is funny” he said, his eyes crinkled from his stupid grin, and threw his hand up in mock surrender.
“Are you leaving soon?” Ilya said, now noticing Shane had changed. He had his soft cashmere jumper on, the navy one Ilya teased him for, but had secretly really liked. Shane always dressed so nice- Ilya sometimes felt incredibly underdressed standing next to him in joggers and plain shirts. He wouldn’t sink as low as Shane and get a stylist, though. He refused.
Shane stopped rustling for his shoes, looking up to meet Ilya’s gaze. “Yeah.”
“You left your makeup on, Hockey Barbie.”
Shane rolled his eyes, then bit his lower lip anxiously. “I couldn’t be bothered to take it off! Does it look weird? I thought maybe I could just pass off for being a bit shiny. Does it look bad? Oh I’ll just take it off, I don’t want them looking at me funny..”
“Hollander. You look beautiful. Go and have fun, moy lyubimyy. Tell Rose Landry I said hello. Give my respects to my husband’s hot date.”
“You are so annoying. If you didn’t look so sick, I would punch you right now.”
Ilya pouted theatrically, dragging his finger down his face in a mock tear. Although he was teasing, Shane felt a twang of guilt in his chest. Ilya really did look so sick. He chewed his lower lip, pressing his thumb and index together in thought. His eyes went vacant for a second, thinking, then clicked back onto Ilya’s.
“I love you.” He said. Ilya dropped his hand immediately, shy almost.
“I love you too. Have fun okay?”
“Okay. I will.” Shane said, with a sly smile. He kissed his fingers and pressed them to the screen. In retaliation, Ilya fisted his phone in his hands and jammed his lips onto his camera in a big pout and loudly kissed him back. Ilya laughed, waved, and they said their goodbyes before he tossed his phone aside and pressed his hands into his head. He felt even worse than he did this morning, all of his limbs had joined his head in aching from the bone. He could barely breathe, he was so congested, and his throat felt hoarse and raw- not in the way Ilya had preferred. He dragged his upper half off of the bed, leaning over the bed facing the floor, feeling the blood rush to his head and stayed there until his arms went static. He thought of the dream he had, and how it had made him feel panicked. He wanted so badly to reach for Shane, and waking up to see his face staring fondly at him had really touched Ilya.
He realised Shane didn’t end the call, and that he had also barely moved from his spot that Ilya had seen before he fell asleep. Ilya wondered if he watched him the whole time, and a wave of embarrassment flushed his face. He hoped he didn’t snore.
Ilya slid down the bed until he was on the rough carpet floor. He lay flat, waiting for his head and chest to feel clear and stop pounding, but they didn’t. Eventually, defeated, he dragged his feet downstairs. He checked Anya’s bowl, happy to see it emptied. Ilya was grateful for the automatic feeder for days like this, where he truly couldn’t be bothered to get up. He paused for a second, looking between Anya and the feeder. The feeder had never malfunctioned to Ilya’s knowledge, and one check of the Puppy-cam could confirm. But Ilya felt bad for Anya in this highly unlikely but still could be true hypothetical, and so he dumped a scoop of the biscuits into her bowl. Second dinner. She’s a big dog, Ilya reasoned with himself. She deserves it, anyway.
He stood before the fridge, staring blankly at the various condiments and ingredients sat on the shelves. The fridge bulb buzzed as the door hung open.
“Я не голоден.” He said out loud to nobody. I’m not hungry.
Defeated, he shuffled back into his bedroom. His head was killing him, but he couldn’t drive like this. He let out a tired, weak whimper, knowing nobody but Anya was here to judge him, then hissed through his teeth as if to erase the noise he had just made from the air. Ilya flopped back onto the bed, not even climbing into the covers, and curled into a ball, closing his eyes.
Shane tapped the steering wheel, irritated. He was blaring music from his car radio, trying to psyche himself up to see everybody. He wanted to see Rose- he really did- but he was prematurely exhausted at the idea of making small talk with her castmates. They were great, but there were only so many “So how is the camp going?” “How are you holding up?” “How are you and Ilya?”’s he could take.
…Ilya. He felt so bad for him. Ilya was never sick, he had never seen him have so much as a sniffle or a cough. He wondered if Ilya had ever been that sick when they were apart, or when they weren’t together yet. Ilya seemed to be some sort of superhuman who was always full of energy. It was really weird to see him like this, like some sort of eerie spectacle.
As Shane breezed through the weirdly quiet highway, he found his eyes glued to the signpost.
LEFT EXIT: Ottawa - 190 miles
190 miles. That was like what, 2 hours? Maybe 3? The obnoxious hula dancing bobbleheads in front of him were swaying together, taunting him almost. Shane felt like an idiot with them on his dashboard, but Ilya had bought them in an airport on their way home from a game in Florida. “Look! Is two guys! I have never seen men hula dancers. They even look like us! Oh my god, it has freckles. I am buying them now.” He had practically shouted, excitedly presenting them to Shane. He was right. They did look weirdly identical to the two, one with thick curls and piercing hazel eyes, the other a shy and bashful dancer with short black hair and scattered freckles. He gripped the steering wheel, exhaling loudly through his nose, and focused his eyes on the road. The exit was coming up- the exit was coming now, if he wanted to do it he would have to-
“Fuck it,” Shane muttered, and veered his car into the left exit.
Shane sat in his car, after a brief stop at a gas station for some deodorant, every box of pills on the shelf he could find, and some water. He pulled his phone out, swiping to his chat with Rose.
20:03 Shane: hey
20:05 Shane: i think im gonna have to cancel. some stuff came up and i need to take care of it. can we find another day to meet when you’re back in montreal?
Shane hit send, sighing and pressing his head against the cold window. It wasn’t entirely false. He really did have something to take care of. Just not… stuff. Ilya. He looked out of his tinted window, watching cars fly past on the main road. Oh god, what if Ilya didn’t want to see anybody right now? Or he invited somebody else over to take care of him instead? Okay no, that one was stupid. What if he went to go get meds and had passed out and-
20:08 Rose: dont stress lovely. im here for aaaaages at the end of the month. also my stylist is here and she would have probably grilled you with all her questions. see u at the end of the month?
20:09 Rose: have fun taking care of stuff ;)
Shane’s phone buzzed, pulling him out of his train of thought. He scanned over the messages, and laughed, feeling weirdly relieved. He was grateful to have Rose, truly. She never once made him feel a burden. She also read him like a book.
Feeling much better, Shane took a swig from his water, and settled into his car seat for the rest of the drive.
Ilya retched into the bathroom sink, slumped on the closed toilet seat. His entire body shivered and shook as he whined helplessly into the ceramic bowl, his ego stripped down to nothing as tears fell from his face. Anya cocked her head at him as she watched, whining when he did.
“Is okay” he breathed, reaching out and patting her head.
“If I die then the feeder will feed you still. Then someone will find you. Maybe your other dad if he does not hear from me. Just maybe figure out how to use TV, yes?”
He rested his head on the sink counter. His head was bent at an incredibly awkward, uncomfortable angle, but he didn’t care. The cool marble tile stung his sweaty face, his cheek pressed up to his lips. This was probably going to kill his neck later, but he didn’t have it in him to move. He shut his eyes for a while.
Ilya awoke to the sound of a car pulling into his driveway. He was right, his neck was stiff and one of his arms had gone numb and throbbed with pain, but he peeled his face off of the tile and rubbed his eyes. Probably the neighbours, he thought. They use my drive all the time. Sounds of keys jingling and footsteps drew closer and eventually, after some fumbling at his door, he heard the door swing open.
Anya’s ears had flattened completely. She let out a soft growl, and stood by Ilya’s feet. Panic surged through Ilya’s body, and he shot up as quietly as possible. Shane was out with Rose tonight. He watched him leave. So who the fuck was at his door? Inside his home?
“Hello?” A voice called out, testing, gentle. Ilya almost collapsed with relief upon hearing the familiar sound of Shane’s voice, slumping back down against the sink, before raising his head. Why the fuck was Shane here? Was he hallucinating?
The footsteps softly padded up the stairs, drawing closer to the bathroom. Anya peeked her head around the doorway, before jumping excitedly, her tail threatening to fall off with how hard she was wagging it.
“Where’s your Daddy, Anya? Where is he?” Shane said, before turning into the bathroom door.
Ilya looked a complete mess. He was coated in sweat, a thick sheen covering his entire body. He shook violently, brows furrowed at the figure stepping into the doorframe. He looked completely helpless. His cheeks and nose were a soft pink, contrasting to his unusually sludgey grey skin. Ilya’s lips were flushed, as he sat bent over the sink, staring up at Shane with exhausted but confused eyes. Shane wanted to cry. He looked even worse than he did on the call earlier.
“Am I dead?” Ilya whispered, watching Shane kneel down to his eye level. He cleared his throat. “You were supposed to go out today.” He said, accusatory.
“You are not dead. I cancelled.” Shane whispered. His eyes were wide with concern, features soft, as he pressed the back of his hand to Ilya’s wet forehead. “You’re so warm, Ilya. Did you take anything?”
“No,” Ilya moaned. “I couldn't drive”. Ilya’s voice was so hoarse Shane could barely make sense of what he was saying. It was so surreal, seeing him like this. Ilya’s once smooth, rich voice was now a little tremble.
“Oh Ilya,” Shane said gently. He took Ilya’s shaking hands into his own steady ones and pulled him slowly to stand. Ilya practically leaned his entire body into Shane’s, his eyes glazed and unfocused, and it took all of Shane’s strength not to topple. Shane propped one of Ilya’s arms over his neck , and craned his neck around to look at Ilya. He looked away instantly, refusing to let him see the state he was in.
“Ilya.” A little more stern. “Look at me.” And tilted Ilya’s face in his hands to meet him.
“Is so embarrassing. I’m fine, you didn’t need to come. Maybe if you head back you can still make it back to your dinner, and…” Ilya let his words trail off. He didn’t really want Shane to leave. In fact, he was so touched Shane drove all this way he felt like bursting into tears. But god, he felt so embarrassed. He could practically hear his father sneering in his head. He pressed his eyes shut.
“Don’t be ridiculous”. Shane gently walked Ilya to the bed, damp with sweat from tossing and turning all day, but he ignored it. He lay him down gently, before draping his jacket over the desk chair and climbing into bed beside him.
Ilya reached for Shane, resting his head into the crook of his neck. Shane felt his shuddered breaths, the hot trickling throughout his entire body with each exhale. He wrapped his arms over Ilya’s body, pulling him close. He could feel Ilya’s heart beating wildly as the two of them pressed their chests together. Ilya felt Shane’s steady heartbeat and hoped it would help his own. He wrapped his own arms around Shane, one hand on the back of his head, wanting to press himself further into this man’s body. The pressure was doing wonders for relieving the aching feeling of his limbs. The two of them lay together, rocking softly, as Shane combed fingers through Ilya’s hair, shushing him.
He couldn’t quite fall asleep, but being rocked and cradled had made Ilya feel alarmingly tired. His body felt as though it had finally relaxed a little, and so he let himself lay quietly, rocking, his eyes droopy and half open. Ilya felt as though he could stay here forever. Despite the dull throb in his head, and the lump in his throat that refused to go away, he felt the softest and most relaxed he had felt in a long time.
The two of them lay there for at least an hour, until Shane’s core was aching from rocking.
“Ilya,” Shane said gently, unwrapping his arms from the man's body. Ilya mumbled incoherently, looking up at Shane. The unguarded, unfiltered Ilya was melting Shane into a puddle. His hazel eyes suddenly looked so big and wide, worried yet comforted.
“I will be back in a minute, okay?” Ilya nodded in response, and Shane swung his feet off of the bed and padded across the bedroom floor. He snuck a look back at Ilya, he couldn’t resist. Ilya was curled into a ball, laying in the warm spot Shane had left, almost trying to cuddle what was left of him. Shane’s lip wobbled. He loved seeing this side of Ilya. Soft and scared. He loved their dynamic, he loved his relentless teasing; but it felt nice to take charge and care for Ilya. To soothe and regulate him. And to love him gently.
Shane ran his hands under the lukewarm water spilling into the bathtub, and sighed happily to himself. This was much better than drinks in some dingy restaurant, chatting to people whose names he couldn't remember. He felt much more important this way. Needed. Wanted. He let the water fill the tub, before switching it off and walking to Ilya’s closet. He took out the comfiest looking shirt and boxers that he knew were Ilya’s favourite to sleep in. And he took a shirt and pair of boxers out for himself, too. He loved Ilya’s closet. He loved to look at each item of clothing and imagine Ilya in it, and the burst of Ilya’s scent hit him in the face when he opened the closet doors. He ran his fingers along all of the suits hung up neatly on hangers, lingering on the shirt hung up from their night in Las Vegas. He thought about all the things that had changed since then, all the love they had shared in the gaps between. Shane felt so full of love he didn’t know where to put half of it.
He folded the shirts and boxers, leaving one set on top of the hamper in the bathroom. He tread carefully back to the bedroom, and slid his hands over the sleepy mass Ilya was.
“Come with me”, Shane whispered, running a gentle hand across Ilya’s head and into his mess of curls. Ilya murmured and groaned, taking Shane’s hands and shuffling into the bathroom.
Shane was careful with Ilya. He gently peeled the damp shirt off of Ilya’s body, leaving him for a moment to feel the soothing cool air that hit his shirtless torso. Ilya sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, but didn’t protest. The air felt really good on his bare skin.
“You didn’t need to do this” Ilya said. He meant to sound firm, but his voice cracked on the last word and he turned to Shane, his jaw clenched hard to stop himself from welling up.
Shane said nothing, but smiled at him softly. He sat Ilya down and removed his socks, tugged softly at his joggers, and his boxers too. He carefully undressed Ilya, peeling the layers off of him. There was nothing sexual in the air between the two of them as he did this, not even seeing his beautiful body that he would normally pounce on the first chance he got.
Ilya stepped in the bathtub, it wasn’t hot- but not cold either. It was perfectly comfortable enough to cool him down without making him shiver. He kneeled in the tub, arms wrapped around his legs, before resting his head against the side and unravelling. He beckoned Shane closer to him, holding his hand to his wet chest. Shane didn’t even care that the sleeves of his jumper were being dunked into the water. Ilya planted soft kisses on the knuckles of his hand, exhaling loudly. “Thank you.”
Shane leaned forward, kissing the soft patch of his neck. “You do not need to thank me. I love you.”
Shane pulled himself up from the side of the bathtub, his knees raw and sore from kneeling by Ilya’s side for so long. He chuckled. Not the first time. Ilya’s eyes were closed, his head back and looking the most serene he had felt all day. He tried his best to slink out the door without getting caught, and after pausing outside hearing out for any movement, he figured he had gotten away with it.
Walking out to Ilya’s bedroom, he conjured his action plan. First, he would change the sheets. As much as he loved Ilya, and truly didn’t mind the mess, he was not the world's greatest fan of sleeping in a sweaty bed all night if he could help it. Next, food. Shane wasn’t particularly hungry himself, nor did he think Ilya had worked up an appetite today- but he wanted the option to be there if he felt hungry enough.
With one clean scoop Shane tossed the sheets straight into the washing machine downstairs. He turned the stove top on, boiling his stock and got to work cutting his vegetables. He knew if Ilya was hungry he would probably suggest ordering takeout, but Shane wanted him to eat something good. He knew he’d be given his health-nut lecture and how he needed to relax, but Shane felt better knowing Ilya would be eating something that would actually help him.
Shane chopped the vegetables and stewed them in the now simmering stock, and dropped in his noodles. He settled for normal noodles; he would normally choose the pretentiously healthy ones but he thought it one step too far before Ilya actually didn’t want to eat it. He started to shred the pre-cooked chicken, sneaking a piece for Anya in her bowl that she thankfully hadn’t noticed yet. As much as he loved Anya, the constant begging and whining began to really overwhelm him sometimes.
He generously seasoned it, shoved the lid on and let it simmer. He thanked his mom Yuna for her cooking skills, grateful that they had passed on. She always told him from the day that he moved out that “should you be sick, you must always learn a trustworthy chicken noodle soup recipe”. And today, it had come in great use. Shane’s mind drifted to Ilya’s mother, and he wondered for a moment if he should ditch the meal, look up a Russian comfort meal, and cook that instead. He felt bad that he didn’t already know that information, but a sick Ilya was so rare that he didn’t beat himself up too hard for it. It didn’t take long for the smell of soup to fill the kitchen downstairs, and Anya trod down to squeak delightedly at the sudden spawn of shredded chicken in her bowl. She licked and slurped the bowl and, to Shane’s relief, didn’t connect the smell from the pot to the chicken in her bowl. She received a loving scratch behind the ears which she gladly accepted.
Shane head upstairs with a cold glass of water and ransacked Ilya's closet for spare bedding. He picked the soft cotton sheets, and remade the bed. The corners of the sheets were folded under the mattress in a neat, hotel like manner. Ilya had made fun of him relentlessly for how neat he had his bed in the cottage. “Is there room service, or do you just fold sheets like cleaning maid?” he had teased. Shane had considered just leaving them messy the whole time they were together to make a point, but the next morning Shane entered the room to find Ilya had attempted to recreate the same fold. Weeks later, he had then found Ilya’s bed at home folded the exact same way. Shane loved how quietly Ilya loved him in some ways. It felt so private. Ilya loved him from grand gestures to the world's smallest ones that Shane didn’t even notice sometimes. He smiled stupidly to nobody in particular, and undressed, slipping on Ilya’s clothes Shane had set aside earlier to wear. Ilya’s black Boston shirt, his boxers, and soft grey joggers. He loved this shirt. It was his favourite, the day Ilya had told him he loved him, and the day they were really boyfriends.
He slipped back into the bathroom, glass of water in hand, to see Ilya’s eyes fluttering open. His colour had flushed back into his body, and he kept his rosy cheeks and nose- making him look freakishly adorable.
“Hi” he said, sleepily.
“You look beautiful. Even when you’re sick.” Ilya blushed.
“You look beautiful as well. You are wearing my favourite shirt” He said with a sheepish grin.
“Sorry! It’s my favourite of yours too. I can take it off..?”
“No, no. My favourite person in my favourite shirt. I am so lucky. How greedy of me.” Ilya said, with his crooked smile. Shane blushed immediately, matching his rosy wet boyfriend. He scratched the back of his neck.
“I got you some water. And I ransacked the pharmacy on the way. I looked like I was preparing for an apocalypse.” Shane said, extending the glass of water out to him. Ilya’s hand dripped with water, as he brushed his fingers against Shane’s, taking the glass. They both sucked in, memories of the first time they had ever felt anything towards eachother. The first time they saw just how beautiful the other was.
“Thank you.” Ilya said, a serious tone in his voice.
“I love you” Shane blurted in response, and Ilya laughed, dipping his head back.
“I love you too. So much.” Ilya dumped a handful of the various pills in his hand, headache, flu tablets, vitamins- and downed them with the whole glass of water. He set the glass aside, and gave Shane a thumbs up with a wide goofy grin. “Better.”
Shane kneeled down beside Ilya, pulling the back of Ilya’s head close to his chest. He kissed the top of his head, smoothing his nice cold hands over his flushed cheeks.
“Let me wash your hair,” Shane cooed into his ear. “Please. I’ll be gentle.” Ilya nodded hesitantly, leaning forward with his back to Shane.
Shane took his time washing Ilya’s hair. This was somehow more intimate than anything the two had ever done. He brought the empty glass to the water and filled it up, tilting Ilya’s head back with one hand and swooping his hair under the water as gently as he could with the other. He continued doing this until his hair was fully soaked, marvelling at how long his curls were when they were wet. They hung low, touching his shoulders almost. He contemplated for a little if Ilya would suit a man bun, if his hair ever got that long. Shane squirted the shampoo into his palm, and took all of Ilya’s hair into his hands as he began massaging his fingers into his scalp, rubbing his temples, and tracing his fingers along his hairline. Ilya shuddered, a full body shudder, then immediately brought his arms around his knees, embarrassed.
“Sorry.” he said. Shane stood up and bent all the way over Ilya, so much so that he was practically upside down. Shane giggled as his necklace smacked him in the face, staring at Ilya upside down. He smiled triumphantly when it got a giggle out of Ilya too.
“Don’t say sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.” And he planted a kiss on Ilya’s little pink nose before kneeling back down and rinsing the suds off of his head.
When he was done, Shane pulled the plug out of the tub and let Ilya sit in the swirling water as he grabbed a towel. He beckoned Ilya to stand, and wrapped the towel around him, giving him a little shimmy. Shane saw tears welling in the corner of Ilya’s eyes. He wiped a stray tear that had trickled down his cheek, planted a soft kiss on his cheek where it had settled. Shane had noted he had been crying since he started, but he hadn’t asked. Shane knew his body language well enough to know he didn't want to talk about it, so they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t have to, not if Ilya didn’t want to. And that was one of many reasons Ilya loved Shane with everything he had to give.
“Come on,” Shane said, opening the bathroom door for him. Ilya stepped out, practically a whole new person than the one who had first entered the tub, and pinched the back of Shane’s ass through the joggers. “Asshole!”
“Yeah, that is what I was aiming for.”
“You are a pervert, Ilya.” The two of them raced out of the bathroom, and Shane beamed, happy to see his boyfriend coming back to life.
“What is that smell? Is really good.” Ilya said, his nose pointed up in the air like a dog.
“Oh” Shane was suddenly sheepish. “I made soup. You.. don’t have to eat it. I know you might not feel hungry. I just thought, maybe if you were, you could have it…”
Ilya looked at him almost stunned, before extending his dripping arms out for a hug- to which Shane happily obliged. “You are so sexy” Ilya growled through gritted teeth, bear hugging the man as hard as he could.
“Ilya” Shane said muffled and breathless “You’re- really wet..” Ilya released his vice grip on Shane and smiled at him, before slipping on the shirt and boxers.
“No pants for me? You prefer me pantless?” Ilya asked, with a coy smile on his face.
“Calm down. You are way too sick to be doing anything tonight” Shane replied, ignoring Ilya’s pouting. “I didn’t put pants out because I thought I could bring it to you. In bed.” Ilya’s face softened, and he nodded, slipping his legs into and under the fresh sheets.
“Thank you for making the bed. Is smelling better now, not like gym socks.” Shane laughed.
“I don’t mind your gym socks.”
“Okay, now you are the pervert.”
Shane carried a big bowl and a rather tiny bowl up the stairs. He would have some, just to please Ilya, but he wanted to stick to his diet as best as he could. He carried them up to Ilya, who was propped upright but still tucked under the sheets. He looked like a little baby under the covers, his hair still damp and so curly, so different to the big muscular man who usually sprawled naked and confident before him. Shane secretly loved it. As much as Ilya made him nervous, it felt important to remember he was real behind the facade. Not that he’d ever forget.
“It’s hot, okay?” Shane said cautiously, slipping the bowl into Ilya’s hands.
“You are having some” Ilya said, looking pleased. Shane nodded and smiled.
“A little. I want to know if I’m poisoning you.” Ilya took a spoonful of the soup, blowing gently, and swallowed it. He smirked at Shane who was waiting anxiously for his reaction, and mock choked until his head lay at an awkward angle.
“Asshole! Do you really think it’s bad?” Shane asked, grinning.
“No. Is good. Really good. Thank you.” Ilya replied, but couldn’t help himself; “I can tell Yuna made this recipe for you.” Shane rolled his eyes- but he was right.
“I’m glad you like it.”
The two flicked through show after show and settled on some old hockey games, chatting as they, well, Ilya, wolfed down his soup. Shane had as much as he could manage, but left the noodles, provoking an unserious tut from Ilya. Their bowls set aside, Ilya hoisted himself up and patted his chest.
“Come.”
“That’s not fair. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”
“You are. I am really grateful. This is taking care of me too. Let me hold you.”
Ilya pulled Shane’s head into his body, holding it close to his chest. Shane relaxed into his boyfriend's body, feeling the weight and pressure of the day leaving his spine. He ran his fingers up and down Ilya’s chest, swirling little hearts into the skin. Ilya swept Shane’s hair back and peppered kisses all over his face, before kissing close to his mouth.
“I want to kiss you.” he said, almost impatient.
“But I don’t want to get you sick.”
Shane raised his head to look at him properly, hoisting the upper half of his body on top of Ilya’s and cupping his sharp jaw. He pressed his forehead against Ilya’s, and the two locked eyes. Shane tilted his head to the side, his lips grazing Ilya’s- teasing. He kissed him light and slow, until he could hear Ilya’s breathing start to quicken before kissing him deeply on the lips.
Ilya grunted into Shane’s mouth, satisfied, one strong hand on the back of Shane's head to move his head and deepen the kiss. Ilya’s tongue swept across Shane’s lips, seeking entry, and Shane happily obliged, panting into Ilya’s mouth as he tongued him with a fierce desire. The two kissed violently into eachother's faces- it always felt like a competition; to one up the other one until they caved in. Shane’s hands wandered all over Ilya’s chest, touching, caressing. Ilya fumbled at the waistband of Shane’s joggers, and Shane broke his lips away. He shook his head.
“You are sick. It’s not my turn.” An incredibly pathetic whine came from Ilya that almost stopped Shane in his tracks, but he remained stern.
“Not tonight. Not me atleast.” He said, his hands grazing over Ilya’s cock through the fabric of his boxers. He was already hard, and he bucked his hips into Shane’s hand.
“Wow,” Shane said between kisses.
“You are really fucking hard. Guess your dick isn’t as sick as you are.” Ilya’s eyes looked deep into Shane’s and he saw a glint of mischief as Ilya gripped Shane’s cock through his joggers.
“You are talking?” Ilya purred. “Look at you. So hard for me.”
Shane gasped at the sudden firm hands on his cock. Ilya was right, he was so hard he felt lightheaded. But he was desperate to make this night as much about Ilya as he could, and so he swatted the hand away.
Shane’s hand crept into Ilya’s boxers, before tugging them to his thighs, to which Ilya hoisted himself upwards and tugged them off in one motion. Shane leant over and licked across the tip of Ilya’s cock, Ilya hissing in response. Shane, his mouth still plush and soaked from eating eachothers faces, wrapped his lips around the head of his cock and sucked gently.
“Hollander,” Ilya spat. Shane moaned instinctively into his cock. He loved the way being called Hollander made him feel, the adrenaline from all the years of hiding and dirty fucking felt like it all rushed back when he called him that.
Shane worked his head down Ilya’s cock, resting his head on his thighs as he took him all the way to the base. Ilya’s hands hungrily gripped the top of Shane’s head, hard and firm, but his thumbs stroked the top of Shane’s head gently. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, Shane began to lazily bob his head up and down on Ilya, drawing out each moan and mutter from the man as much as he could.
“Fuck Hollander. Da, like that. Look how fucking perfect you are.” Ilya muttered, bucking his hips upwards each time Shane met the base of his cock. He stared at the man swallowing him whole, his eyes fluttering and glazed with pleasure. He watched his throat bulge with each thrust, it turned him on so fucking much to watch Shane take him so well. He was fucking built for this.
Shane continued to slide his mouth over Ilya for a while, hands gripping Ilya’s thighs, until Ilya jerked back, teeth gritted. “Please,” Ilya panted. “I do not want to cum if you aren’t going to either.”
Shane scrunched his face up at him, smiling. “You’re sick, Ilya. Can’t you just relax and let me do this for you?” He said, teasing.
“No,” Ilya said, breathless. “Please,” he added, a little more desperately.
Shane smirked, hoisting his own joggers and boxers down. His painfully hard cock sprang free, hitting the flat of his stomach. Ilya pulled Shane’s face towards his, and the two of them kissed, one hand each intertwined in eachothers hair, gripping necks, the other hand stroking eachother hungrily. Ilya muttered gravelly into Shane’s ear, none of it making sense to Shane as he whimpered and whined at the touch of Ilya’s skilled hands pumping his cock.
“Oh Ilya,” Shane breathed. “Oh my god- Ilya- f-fuck, Oh my god,”
Shane stopped stroking Ilya, grabbing his own cock and pressing the hard flesh against Ilya. He took both of them in his hand, and began stroking.
“Fuck Hollander. So fucking dirty. Get yourself off with my cock. You’re filthy,”
The two bodies were grinding so hard into eachother Ilya swore they were going to merge into one, swearing and grunting as Ilya’s tongue roamed Shane’s inviting mouth. Ilya had one palm flat down on Shane’s forehead, pinning his head down as strong as he could as he trapped him in the kiss. Shane whimpered, so fucking loud and gone- trying his best to return the kisses he was being bombarded with as he stroked the two of them so feverishly.
“Ilya-“ “I’m gonna-“ Shane struggled to get his words out between breaths as Ilya tongued him, but his hand was growing clumsy on their cocks.
Ilya nodded, his hand feeling for Shane’s, and took his place, stroking them so hard Shane saw fucking stars.
Ilya didn’t stop, not even after Shane whimpered and groaned and Ilya felt the hot splash dripping down his fist and cock, not even after Shane began to moan and cry and twitch as Ilya furiously stroked their dicks together for just a few seconds longer, before grunting and shooting his own load into his fist.
The two of them panted like dogs, hands flat and defeated on eachothers chests. They laughed, out of breath, sharing kisses between the two of them, although much more gentle.
“I am feeling better now, I think,” Ilya said- and Shane laughed, a genuine unguarded laugh that crinkled his face and made Ilya want to start all over again.
“I’m glad. Glad that you’re feeling better, and glad that I came to see you.”
“Me too. Thank you.” and then, quietly, “I love you, Shane.”
“I love you too, Ilya.”
“Come and shower with me.”
“Okay.”
The two of them rinsed off, got dressed again and climbed back into bed. Shane coaxed Ilya into taking more pills, insisting he had to keep going until it was fully gone. Ilya protested that he already felt so much better, but his flushed face had not disappeared even after their shower. Anya had plopped herself in the dog bed next to them after hearing the shower tap running and trodding upstairs. The huge windows gave the bedroom just enough moonlight to make out eachothers faces as they cozied up together.
Shane sat upright, glasses on, intending to switch a lamp on and read his book- but when Ilya lay diagonal with his head in Shane’s lap, absentmindedly playing with the drawstring of Shane’s joggers, Shane couldn't focus on a single word. He resorted to leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, humming softly as he twirled his fingers through Ilyas hair. They sat together in the quiet rainy night for hours, Shane never stopping both his soft humming and the gentle cradle of Ilya’s head.
Ilya’s eyelids actually ached with how much they didn’t want to stay open. He looked lazily at the lowest point of the room, before even that became too much labour for his eyes and they drifted shut. Shane gently rocked and cradled Ilya’s head in his lap, a big strong arm palming his head and stroking his cheek. The soft motion relaxed Ilya to the brink of passing out, so gentle yet so firm. So safe. The low vibration of Shane’s humming made Ilya’s body feel like jelly.
He really did feel better now. Whilst his head still threatened to sear with pain if he moved too fast, and his joints still felt a little stiff, he felt much better than he had done that morning. Ilya blinked back hot tears, feeling his heart swell as he remembered the things Shane had done for him today without him even asking. He wished he could have recorded this day and replayed it over and over, get it tattooed into his body so the memory never left him.
As Ilya’s mind drifted off and his breathing slowed, he thought of his Mama. How she would stroke and rock him and sing to him when he was sick as a child, cuddling his tiny frame close to her body, and how he never thought he would feel that feeling ever again.