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‘Let’s go!’ Shane shouts through his mouthguard, joining the team to celebrate his second goal of the night.
But there’s a ball of nerves in his stomach, knowing who has been circling right behind him, who’s been on his tail all night.
It’s their first game together of the season and they’ve not messaged since the summer. He’s lost track of how many times he’s looked back at the messages.
Still mad about Vegas?
I’m not mad about anything!
Winky face emoji
And obviously since that cancelled game due to snow last season a couple of weeks after All Stars that next time still hasn’t transpired. Maybe it’ll be tonight when his rival goes from chasing his tail on the ice to capturing it in his bed. He is buzzing but fucking terrified.
The top drawer of his nightstand is well stocked with condoms and lube. He’d used his thing last night, slowly working himself open then picturing the black curved silicone as that warm beautiful dick that has already claimed space in his mouth, his hands. Maybe more tonight…
He would never make the first move though. Rozanov is infuriating, unpredictable in a way that makes his head spin…
The flash of anger he saw from him on that Vegas balcony before grabbing him, claiming his mouth urgently with the smell of cigarettes, smiling, saying ‘No-one is looking…’ Who knows where his head might be at tonight, whether he’d have other plans after the game…
But also, fuck… Rozanov just makes his head spin. That physical connection he’s felt with him that he’s never had with anyone… He is just so fucking hot…and knows it, annoyingly.
He winks at him in the last face off of the game and Shane feels his stomach lurch. Rozanov wins the face off, clawing back a goal for Boston.
The Metros still win 2-1, not bad at all given a couple of strong players are out sick. JJ had to leave afternoon practice yesterday after puking.
In the locker room Shane has stripped off down to his base layer, still sweating, nervous when his phone buzzes.
What’s a girl to do on a lonely night in Montreal?
Shane glances quickly around him, checking no-one is looking at his screen. They aren’t.
His heart is still racing. He takes some deep breaths as he sits, trying to calm down. But the nerves seem to be getting worse.
Then suddenly the feeling in his stomach shifts. There’s a flash of saliva to his mouth.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
He runs to the bathroom, barely manages to lock the stall door before he’s on his knees throwing up violently. The taste in his mouth is vile, acidic.
Worse, after a couple of rounds of vomiting things make another shift. He has to scramble to get on the toilet in time. A gush of pure liquid. Feeling like there’s more to come.
He breaks into tears. Fuck. This is bad. Really bad.
‘Shane. Are you ok?’ It’s Hayden.
‘Obviously not.’ He sniffles, grabbing some toilet paper to blow his nose.
His guts seize again and he’s shitting more liquid. Knowing that his friend can hear everything. It’s so gross. So humiliating.
‘Looks like you caught that bug as well, huh?’ His voice is sympathetic.
‘Yup.’
‘Do you need me to get the doc?’
He’s not sure what difference it’d make, not right now. Tears are still falling and another wave of nausea seems to be building. He quickly debates shifting position but then as he retches he can tell more is about to come in the other direction. He leans forward, vomiting on the floor as he shits again.
‘I’m getting the doc, ok?’ Hayden says.
He realises. Fuck. There’s every chance he’s now cursed Hayd with getting this too. It’s got to be pretty infectious.
When he finally manages to emerge from the stall he can see his reflection in the mirror, looking sweaty, grey. He washes his hands, rinses his mouth with some water.
The doc gives him a quick check over, advising it’s probably norovirus. He just needs to rest and stay hydrated. It’ll pass in a few days. He’s given some Pedialyte.
There’s another round of both ends before Hayd insists on bundling him into his car to take him home. Shane feels awful, keeps apologizing. Hayden keeps saying he’s already been exposed now, it happens all the time when you have kids anyway… Nothing major. These things just fucking happen.
But Shane’s not felt this sick in years. These things don’t usually fucking happen to him. And fuck, for it to be tonight of all nights…
As they get to his Hayden says to text or call if he needs anything. Tells him to feel better soon. Shane apologizes again.
He’s only just in the door when everything hits again. After another grim round he emerges from the bathroom shivering, feeling like death. Quickly changes into a fresh t-shirt, sweats, grabbing a blanket from the bedroom and wrapping himself in it.
He remembers the doctor’s instructions. Tries the Pedialyte. But the artificial strawberry flavour, the weird saltiness just seems to be making his stomach turn again. He goes to the kitchen to grab a ginger ale instead.
But as he opens the fridge door he gulps. Only a single can of Canada Dry left.
Fuck.
He’d been preoccupied when he’d popped to some shops earlier. Thinking too much about things like what brand of condoms to buy. What would fit Rozanov’s dick. How Rozanov’s dick might fit inside him. Not thinking about the essentials.
Tears in his eyes again, he grabs the can and finds a straw. Retreats to the bathroom, awaiting the inevitable next bout.
On the bathroom floor he takes a cautious sip of ginger ale and finds himself looking at his phone again. The messages from ‘Lily’.
What’s a girl to do on a lonely night in Montreal?
Well, he wouldn’t recommend this. With tonight being out the window, he wonders how long it might be til a next time. How many next times Rozanov would even bother with before looking for something else. Someone more fun. More sociable. Less boring…
He thinks then about what to do about the text. Maybe at least if he replies there’s more chance of securing that next time…
--
Ilya’s lying on the hotel bed, scrolling his messages. Considering the options. A few of the guys are going out for beers. A hot French-Canadian student has slid into his DMs asking if he’d like to grab a drink…
It’s not been a bad night. Despite the loss for the team he’d scored, got to face off against those beautiful freckles. He was hoping for more but Hollander still seemed so nervous. Like he would chicken out, probably…
He’d meant to message before the game but got distracted. A phone call from Alexei. The usual. Some casual slurs. Demanding more money.
Probably it had got to him a bit. His focus in the game wasn’t what it could have been. But seeing Hollander in that last face off had left him feeling a little more hopeful.
Like he could suggest something. Like Hollander might be up for it.
Getting back to the locker room after the game he’d opted to send something coy. The intention would be clear enough and hopefully it wouldn’t add to Hollander’s nerves. But fuck, maybe even that had been too much…
‘I’m ordering room service, do you wanna get something?’ Connors asks from the bed next to him.
Then his phone buzzes. Jane.
‘Nope.’ He says, with a smirk at his teammate, turning back quickly to his phone.
I’m sick ☹. Hope you have a good night though. Next time, I guess?
Fuck. He replies.
What?! You seemed ok earlier.
I know. Got sick right after the game. Stomach bug ☹
He has to google the phrase quickly to check the meaning. These English phrases are so strange. How they call infections ‘bug’. Like a small insect…
He replies.
Is bad???
Yes. Hopefully better in a few days.
You have someone looking after you?
It’s a few minutes before the answer comes. Maybe Hollander is vomiting again or something…
Gospodi.
His pulse is rising. It’s an unsettling feeling. He sniffs, strokes the side of his face, one of his ears. Trying to calm down.
The evening has went from wanting a win then to finally fuck that sweet little Canadian, wanting to watch him fold his clothes so neatly before, to being overtaken with concern about something else. A drive that feels too strong. Not casual.
Fuck.
Another buzz.
Hayden helped me get home. Pike. I’ll be ok.
He replies.
You have everything you need?
Another few minutes passes. Then…
No…
20 minutes later Ilya is in the aisle of a grocery store looking for green cans like the picture Hollander has sent him and questioning his life choices.
There’d been little comment from Connors as he’d texted furiously before heading out. A simple ‘Have fun, dude. See you later…or not.’
Hollander was very clear about this being something infectious, asking him again and again ‘are you sure?’. Ilya knew he would probably get it, but it’s 4 days til the next game. Enough time to be ok for that.
But what the fuck is he doing?
The French-Canadian girl was very hot. Nice freckles too from what he could see. A guaranteed option for a good fuck. Nothing complicated.
But instead his brain has decided somehow that he must risk gastrointestinal torment to bring a boring Canadian the right green cans, all to secure future access to a fuck.
He wants that asshole bad. Next time. That’s all it must be…right?
Another 20 minutes or so and Ilya is outside the front door of the apartment building with a grocery bag full of green cans. He’s bought some saltines too. The Americans always seem to have these when they are sick.
He smokes a cigarette, still wondering what the hell he is doing. Then gets some chewing gum. Punches in the door code. 1919.
He texts again as he gets in the lift.
Here?
After he knocks it takes a minute or so for Hollander to answer. He is pale, sweaty, wrapped in a blanket over his sweats.
Fuck. Something in Ilya lurches in a way that feels very unsettling.
He steels himself to stay calm, steady. Normal.
‘Hollander. You look like shit.’
‘Um…’ Hollander says, his voice quiet. ‘You didn’t have to do this…’ He looks like he might cry.
Fuck. The feeling is worse. It’s all Ilya can do to stop himself enfolding him in his arms.
‘I will come in, yes?’
‘Probably you shouldn’t. I’ll definitely get you sick.’
Ilya shrugs. ‘Already we’ve been around each other all night. Maybe am already infected. I don’t care…’
Hollander seems frozen. Like a small sick child. ‘Um…’ He says again.
‘Hey…’ Ilya says, putting a hand to his shoulder. ‘You let me in. I put your stupid green drink in fridge, ok?’
‘Ok.’ Hollander says weakly.
--
Shane manages to point Rozanov vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, trailing behind him as the other player strides in, glancing around.
Fuck, he thinks again. Of all the situations to have Rozanov in his place for the first time. Things literally could not be more unsexy.
Yet again, Rozanov is being unpredictable.
The insistence that he could bring him the one thing he needed had worn Shane down until he said yes.
Rozanov’s being so far from an asshole tonight… And god, the look in his eyes at the door was something different to what he’d seen before. Caring. Sweet, even.
He’s still not sure why Rozanov’s risking getting this awful bug just for this. He could have been doing anything else tonight…
‘You have nice place.’ He says as he puts the cans in the fridge.
Shane stands a little away from him, leaning on a counter. Trying keep a bit of distance.
‘Yeah. Um, I got it a few…’
Another wave of nausea hits and he has to turn quickly, vomiting in the sink.
‘Hey. Hey.’ Rozanov is right by him, holding him as he retches, then getting him water to rinse his mouth.
After he gestures to the breakfast bar. ‘You need to sit? Or is safer to go to bathroom?’
Shane’s stomach is still rolling. He can feel it’s minutes at most before something else happens. Fuck, this is embarrassing.
He nods miserably. ‘Bathroom is safer.’
Rozanov helps him there, arms still around him. By the time they get to the bathroom door Shane can already feel the urgent pressure in his guts.
Rozanov goes to come into the bathroom with him. Shane blocks him with an arm.
‘No. Absolutely fucking not.’
‘Ok.’ Rozanov steps back. ‘But you are not locking the door. Just in case…’
Shane makes it to the toilet but can’t stop thinking about who is right outside. The chances of Rozanov wanting anything with him after this…
Jesus, this is so fucking gross. He clenches for as long as he can.
Then asks. ‘Um… Could you get me a ginger ale? Leave it outside.’
‘Ok’.
He can only hold it for a few more seconds. At least it’s so liquid it sounds more like piss. Small mercies.
Rozanov is back alarmingly quickly. ‘Ginger ale is outside, ok? Hopefully is cold enough…’
Shane feels himself break into tears again. All of this is just too much…
‘Rozanov. Fuck…’ His voice breaks. ‘Can you just go? Please…’
He can hear a sound from outside, like instead Rozanov has sat down right by the door.
‘Shane…’ A pause. ‘Fuck…I mean Hollander. I would not leave you like this.’
---
By the early hours Ilya is hoping the worst of it has passed. Shane has managed to keep down some of the ginger ale and isn’t shitting so often. At least he knows what he’ll be having to deal with in the next few days, probably. Best to get some supplies in when he gets home just in case.
Shane was sick and exhausted enough to not fight his presence for long. He could see the shame, the fear in Shane’s eyes as he allowed him in when he needed a bucket.
But Ilya wasn’t disgusted, not by any of it. Murmuring ‘It’s ok, it’s ok…’, holding the bucket for him when he needed to. Holding him, stroking his head.
Ilya was trying not to overthink how quickly things shifted. The quiet intimacy without sex. Using their first names more and more. Whatever had brought him here, kept him through all of this… That unsettling feeling again.
‘Ilya...’ Shane finally said, still sitting on the toilet. ‘I’m hoping this is it for now…’ His voice was unsteady, eyes glinting. ‘I feel so gross. Need to have a shower. Do you think you could…uh…help me?’
‘Of course.’ He said.
In the shower he lets Shane lean against him, soaps his body gently as Shane cries into his chest, the water washing everything away.
After, he gets Shane sitting on the toilet lid in a towel then gets himself towelled dry, his underwear and tank back on. Gets Shane’s instructions on where to find into fresh clothes for him, helps him dry and change before helping him to bed. Rinses the bucket and puts it by the bed. Gets another green can from the fridge and some water, placing both on the nightstand.
As he returns Shane looks like a sleepy kitten. Still pale but so sweet.
‘Hey… You didn’t have to…’ He murmurs.
Ilya can’t fight the pull in him now. He strokes Shane’s cheek. Kisses his forehead.
‘Is ok.’ He says.
He sits next to him. Checks the time on his phone – nearly 4am. No point in going back to the hotel now. Also more likely he might pass on what he’ll get onto his roommate.
‘I need to set alarm for about 3 hours’ time.’ He says. ‘Then go back to hotel, get my stuff, flight back to Boston.’
‘Ok...’ Shane says quietly.
They go to sleep just lying by each other but Ilya wakes to Shane on his chest, his arm around him. Fuck, it’s an effort to drag himself away. Shane is still barely awake.
He goes to the bathroom, finds the rest of his clothes and puts them on. Comes back into the bedroom.
‘Shane.’ He says, coming close to him on the side of the bed, bringing a hand to his face. ‘I must go now.’
As Shane stirs a small smile comes to his face. ‘Ilya. Thank you. For all of this…’
Ilya feels tears come to his eyes, fights to keep his face steady.
‘Is nothing. Will see you next time, ok?’
Shane’s smile widens. ‘Next time will be more fun. I promise.’
Ilya kisses his cheek. ‘Of course. Goodbye, Shane.’
‘Goodbye, Ilya.’
There’s the expected looks from the team as he joins them back at the hotel and they head to the airport. At least Connors seemed glad to have had the room to himself for the night, bragging about how nice it was to have had a night’s peace for a change. The usual cracks about his having a wild night yet again…
‘Oh yes, very wild.’ He replies, yawning.
‘You look fucking wrecked, Roz. Your Montreal girl keep you up all night?’ Marleau says, handing him a coffee as they sit in the airport.
‘Something like that, maybe...’ He says, averting his eyes. Sipping the coffee, hoping to hide the flush he feels coming to his cheeks.
‘He’s fucking blushing, guys!’ Marleau announces. There’s chuckles, noises of approval.
‘Shut your idiot face, Marley!’ He retorts quickly. ‘Never in life have I blushed. Russians do not do this…’
Predictably the bug hits him 24 hours later. He texts Shane from the bathroom floor, groaning.
I am dying!!!
The reply comes in minutes.
I’m so sorry. Please stay hydrated. Do you have everything you need?
Yes. At least was prepared.
Dots form then disappear for a minute or so. Then…
And I’ll be prepared for next time xo
Ilya smiles, despite everything. He has an unsettling feeling that next time might actually make it worth it.