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Shane wakes up at 6 am sharp to the shrill sound of his alarm. He sighs softly, turning to bury his face in Ilya’s curls from where Ilya is currently wrapped around him like an octopus. Ilya’s arms tighten around him in response, a low moan of displeasure rumbling against Shane’s chest in protest of waking up so early. Shane smiles into Ilya’s hair before grimacing slightly as he becomes acutely aware of how sweaty he is. Generally, Shane loves spending the first few moments of his day cuddling with his husband, but Ilya is hot, and heavy, and Shane is growing increasingly uncomfortable.
“Ugh, can you detach yourself for a sec? You’re like a million degrees,” he complains, nudging gently at Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya looks up at him in offence, his eye squinted and his hair an absolute disaster, curls sticking straight up on one side of his head. He looks so heartwarmingly cute like this, all soft and sleepy and clingy. Unfortunately for him, Shane is too sweaty to be able to really enjoy it.
“Ah, so you are punishing me for being too hot for you?” Ilya whines, his voice thick with sleep. He nuzzles his face further into Shane’s neck. “I thought you loved me.”
Shane rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Seriously, I need to shower, I feel disgusting.”
Begrudgingly, Ilya rolls off of him, flopping onto his back with a heavy sigh. Shane snorts at his dramatics, taking the opportunity to stretch his limbs with a wince.
“Are you okay?” Ilya asks, catching Shane’s discomfort. His eyes roam over the entire expanse of Shane’s body.
“Yeah, just sore from last night,” Shane replies, scrunching his face up as he takes stock of his injuries. He really is sore all over; not exactly unexpected given his line of work, but still unpleasant. There’s a throbbing pain in his right shoulder into his bicep, a twinge in his left ribs, an ache in the space just below his belly button. His body also feels tight all over, his skin tingly, most likely the consequences of pushing all of his muscles to their limit the night prior.
Ilya shoots him a crooked grin. “Did I fuck you too good last night?”
“Yeah, you and Montreal’s entire fourth line,” Shane answers as he rolls out of bed with a groan. Ilya frowns as he watches him stretch his muscles at the end of the bed. They had played Montreal in Ottawa, which always leaves Shane feeling simultaneously extra sore and extra satisfied when they win. The combination had led to Shane and Ilya coming home, peeling their clothes off, and engaging in the kind of slow, syrupy sex that comes when your bodies are exhausted but you’re too wound up to simply fall asleep. “Besides,” he continues, massaging his lower abdomen with a wince, “I wouldn’t exactly call what we did last night fucking. Too sweet.”
Ilya props himself up on his elbows, seeming amused. “Did I make love to you too good last night?”
“I don’t even know what the right answer to that is.”
“Me either,” Ilya admits through a yawn, rolling back onto his side as Shane heads into the bathroom. He pulls the comforter over himself so that just his face is visible from his cocoon. “I will think very hard about it from this freezing cold bed while you get clean.”
“You do that.”
Shane chuckles to himself when he hears Ilya’s breathing even out before he even steps in the shower.
——————
The rest of their day proceeds as normal. Eventually, Ilya makes his way downstairs, curls still damp from his shower. Shane is just finishing up his morning yoga when Ilya walks into their home gym, Shane’s smoothie in one hand, his phone in the other, from which he animatedly reads Shane the latest trade rumours, which have Shane’s eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. After, Shane drives them to the rink, stopping to get Ilya a coffee on the way. Shane’s skin still feels buzzy and sensitive, which he chalks up to residual adrenaline from the night before, so he foregoes the caffeine in an effort to avoid making his body feel any worse.
They spend most of their day at the practice facility, kicking things off with a team meeting and video review. About halfway through, Shane feels Ilya lean in close to his side.
“Are you okay?” Ilya whispers into his ear. Shane peers over to him, confused, finding Ilya’s brow furrowed slightly in concern.
“Yeah, why?”
“Your cheeks are pink.”
Shane frowns. Outside of his general aching, and the persistent soreness in his belly, he feels fine. “Annoyed, maybe,” he replies, nodding towards the screen in front of them where one of their plays from last night is being broadcast in slow motion.
“French fuckers,” Ilya mumbles under his breath.
Shane quirks his lips, tilting his head slightly towards Ilya. “Aren’t you technically a French-fucker?”
Shane feels Ilya shaking with silent laughter next to him, and he covers his mouth with his hand to hide his own grin.
——————
They get home later that afternoon and make it all of five minutes before they’re running up the stairs, tugging each other’s clothes off. For the life of him, Shane couldn’t tell you what exactly it was that did it. Perhaps a practice where Shane was hitting all his shots, and their power play was really clicking, and Shane and Ilya had a full-contact race around the rink while their teammates egged them on. Perhaps it was seeing Ilya in the dressing room afterwards, joking around with his friends and looking so unbearably happy. Sometimes, breathing Ilya’s air is enough. Whatever it was, it had Shane ushering Ilya into the driver’s seat of his own car so that they could get home even faster, his fingers tapping anxiously against his own thighs in anticipation.
Before Shane knows it, he’s on his back, his breath coming in short pants as Ilya works him open with his fingers.
“Hurry,” Shane whines, squirming on the bed. Ilya grins up at him from between his legs, his eyes dark with lust as he crooks his fingers in just the right way. Shane gasps, his back arching off the bed. His body still aches, but it barely even registers now, because all he can think about is Ilya, Ilya.
“So desperate,” Ilya muses, kissing the inside of Shane’s knee. He adds a third finger, the tips of his other fingers slowly tracing up and down Shane’s cock where it’s leaking against his stomach. His touch is featherlight, not nearly enough but so much all at the same time. He uses the tip of his index finger to brush just along the underside of his tip, chuckling softly when Shane’s hips buck in response. Shane buries his fingers in Ilya’s hair, pulling harder than he means to and not caring in the slightest.
“Fuck, don’t tease me right now,” he gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. “I need you.”
“Ah,” Ilya hums in understanding, pulling his fingers out of Shane’s hole, leaving Shane feeling empty. He kisses Shane’s stomach, his lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “You don’t want me to make love to you now,” he murmurs against Shane’s skin. He slicks himself up, straightening up and looking right at Shane as he lines up the thick head of his cock with Shane’s hole. “You need to be fucked.”
“Yes, yes, fuck me,” Shane begs, his skin feeling like it’s on fire all over. Ilya pushes in slowly, both of them groaning at the feeling. Thankfully, thankfully, Ilya wastes no time, pulling almost all the way out before slamming his hips forward again. Shane cries out, the stretch burning so deliciously as his body adjusts to the intrusion. Ilya repositions slightly, and his next thrust sends sparks through Shane’s entire body. He quickly sets a merciless pace, his fingers digging into the meat of Shane’s hips as he pounds into him the way Shane has been craving. Fuck, it’s so good. Shane feels overheated, his head spinning, the throbbing in his abdomen getting more pronounced.
Too pronounced. His brows furrow a bit at the unfamiliar sensation, the pleasure of being fucked competing with the feeling of something being… not right.
“Ah, Ilya-” Shane gasps, but he cuts himself off when Ilya’s next thrust hits right against his prostate, pleasure taking over any discomfort. He squirms a bit, the ache in his belly dulling to something more manageable. It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve ever fucked while one of them was sore. They’re hockey players, they spend more days sore than they do healthy, and there’s no sense in putting their lives on hold as a result. Usually they just suck it up and ignore it pretty effectively, or take precautions if there are any specific injuries involved. This probably isn’t any different, even if it’s a little more bothersome than usual.
“Fuck, Shane, is this what you needed?” Ilya pants, sweat dripping down his chest, his cross bouncing with each thrust. He looks positively divine. “To be fucked like a slut? To be good for me, however I want you?”
“Yesss,” Shane moans, reaching his hands out, suddenly needing to kiss him like he needs air. Ilya instantly complies, leaning forward to press their mouths together. It’s good for a second, until Ilya shifts his weight slightly, pressing more of himself into Shane’s abdomen. The change in pressure causes a fiery sensation to spread through Shane’s right side, and Shane gasps, crunching up towards Ilya.
“Wait, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, his hand flying down to his stomach instinctively as he starts to squirm again, but this time out of discomfort. And for one single millisecond, Shane hates how much of a sex freak he is. Because Ilya, poor, sweet Ilya, catches the movement, tipping his head down to look between them at Shane’s hand pressing on his abdomen. However, Ilya misunderstands, because even though he can spot a microscopic shift in Shane’s expressions from a mile away, he’s currently looking in the wrong direction, down Shane’s body instead of up at his face, and he doesn’t notice the shift in Shane’s expression just yet. He covers Shane’s hand with one of his own, thinking it’s part of their usual play.
“Can you feel me right here?” He asks, pressing down slightly on Shane’s hand, and any other time, Ilya’s reaction would make Shane so horny that he saw stars, and he would want Ilya to keep going, even if he said to stop. Instead, Shane curses under his breath, because ow. His stomach is really starting to hurt.
“Ah! Ilya, wait, fuck - P-penalty, penalty,” he stammers, and Ilya’s head snaps up, his movements coming to a standstill at the use of their safe word. Shane watches Ilya do a double take as he catches Shane’s pained expression, obviously realizing something isn’t right.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Ilya asks, reaching up to cup Shane’s face with his palm. Shane flinches, both his own hands resting on his stomach as another wave of pain hits him. He shakes his head, his shoulders coming up off the bed as he curls in on himself.
“Ilya - pull out, pull out, something’s wrong.”
Ilya does so immediately, moving slowly so as to not jostle Shane too much. Shane gasps at the feeling. “Fucking ow, what the fuck,” he mutters to himself through gritted teeth, his legs immediately curling into himself in something of a fetal position.
Ilya hovers next to him, one hand still on his cheek, the other on his knee, his thumb softly caressing the skin there. He looks anxious, his eyes flitting up and down Shane’s body, as if searching for the source of his discomfort. “What is it, Shane? Did I hurt you?”
“No, I don’t know, my stomach just started killing me.” Shane winces again as another wave of pain hits him, rolling onto his side a bit to alleviate some of the pressure. Ilya runs his hand up and down Shane’s side, which Shane finds soothing.
“What can I do? Should we go to the hospital?”
Shane shakes his head, pushing himself to sit up a bit. Ilya is next to him in an instant, helping Shane sit up against the headboard. “No, it’s probably just a cramp or something, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Ilya looks unconvinced. Shane tries to smile at him reassuringly.
“Seriously, I think I’ll be okay, maybe we just overdid it or something.”
“I’m sorry, solnyshko, I did not mean to hurt you,” Ilya murmurs, brushing his fingers gently over Shane’s cheek.
“You have nothing to apologize for, I promise.”
“I’m still sorry that you’re hurting. I don’t want you to be in pain.”
“Oh. Well, me either.” He grins at Ilya, albeit a bit tightly. “Maybe we should blame those French fuckers.”
Ilya quirks an eyebrow at him, some of the tension leaving his face. He leans in and presses a kiss to Shane’s forehead. “It was funnier the first time,” he murmurs against his skin, pulling back with an amused smile. Before Shane can respond, Ilya rolls off the bed and tugs his briefs back on. “I’m getting you some Advil, I’ll be right back.”
He sprints out the door, and Shane huffs, dropping his head back against the headboard. Leave it to the stupid Voyageurs to keep ruining his life, long after he’s stopped playing for them. He wonders if it was the hit Comeau landed on him in the second, or maybe when the rookie caught him with the blade of his stick in the third. Maybe neither, maybe both. Maybe they somehow planned to interfere with Shane’s sex life, which Shane wouldn’t entirely put past them. On the plus side, his pain seems to be settling a bit, making him hopeful that it really is just a cramp. Maybe, if he’s lucky, it’ll keep getting better, and they can get back to what they were doing. He’s just starting to fantasize about it when he hears Ilya thumping back up the stairs, likely taking them two at a time. Shane turns to face the door expectantly.
“So,” Ilya says, a water bottle and a bottle of Advil grasped in one hand, his phone in the other, eerily reminiscent of that morning, “I was looking up online about what could cause severe abdominal pain during sex -“
“Seriously?”
“- And I found a few different things.” He sets the water bottle and his phone on the bed, screen still lit up. Shane catches a glimpse of some medical-looking site before Ilya’s hand is in front of him, two pills in his palm. “Take these.”
Shane glares at Ilya, but takes them, washing them down with the water bottle Ilya hands him shortly afterwards. “Anyways, there’s a few questions we can go through to see how serious this is.”
“I really don’t think that’s -“
“Question one,” Ilya interrupts, peering at Shane from the corner of his eye before glancing back at his phone. He looks suspiciously smug. Shane is instantly wary. “Is there any chance you are pregnant?”
Shane rolls his eyes, smacking Ilya’s thigh with the back of his hand. “Oh, fuck off.”
Ilya snickers before making a poor attempt at schooling his face back into neutrality. He gestures with his phone. “This is yes or no question, Hollander.”
“No, Ilya, there is no chance I’m pregnant, seeing as you fuck me in the ass, and also, I’m your gay male husband.”
“Hm. Okay, so despite my best efforts, not pregnant yet, probably, although we cannot be sure.”
“Ilya.”
“What?”
“I thought it was a yes or no?”
“Hey, I’m asking questions here, not you. Anyways, question two-“
He doesn’t get much further than that before Shane doubles over, his fingers digging into Ilya’s thigh as a wave of nausea rolls through him. Ilya drops his phone, his hand immediately coming up to rub Shane’s back, silly game forgotten.
“Shane?”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Shane gasps, and then he’s up, running to the bathroom and barely making it to the toilet in time to empty the contents of his stomach into the bowl. Ilya is right behind him, rubbing his back again and handing him the water bottle once he’s finished dry heaving, his lower abdomen hurting something fierce. Distantly, Shane wonders if he’d be able to watch Ilya throw up, or if he’d also just get sick at the same time, and the thought makes his stomach roll again, so he stops thinking about it.
“Deep breaths, that’s it,” Ilya murmurs, his voice soothing and calm, and Shane marvels at his husband’s ability to remain so steady. Shane sits back on the floor, leaning his back against Ilya’s chest. “Are you alright?”
“Fuck,” Shane breathes, his eyes sliding closed. Ilya’s hand comes up to push his sweaty hair off his forehead, his cool hand feeling nice against his overheated skin.
“Shane, you’re burning up,” Ilya points out, his fingers running through Shane’s hair.
Shane clears his throat. “What did your website say about puking?”
“Pregnant, mostly,” Ilya answers. Shane snorts. “And about one hundred other things. Was pretty shitty website.”
“We should sue them.”
Ilya hums. “We should go to the hospital. They have people there, much better than a shitty website. I think it’s their whole job, or something.”
Shane chuckles, then groans, the movement hurting his stomach. “Stop making me laugh.”
“Sorry, I am stressed and apparently not handling it well.”
“Why are you stressed?” Shane reaches his hand behind him, searching for Ilya’s cheek. Ilya guides his wrist, holding Shane’s hand against his face.
“You are not seriously asking me this right now, Hollander.”
“I’ll be fine, it’s probably just a stomach bug or something. Stop stressing about it.”
“Oh yes, why didn’t I think of this? Just stop being stressed. You are miracle worker.”
Shane laugh-groans again, and Ilya tightens his hold.
“Shanya, please, let me take you to the hospital, this is crazy.” He drops his face into Shane’s hair, pressing a kiss into his scalp and lingering for a moment longer. Shane is about to protest again, when all of a sudden, he’s hit with another wave of nausea. He jumps back up onto his knees, dry heaving over the toilet, nothing left to come up. He’s white knuckling the toilet bowl with both hands, and his abdomen hurts, and he’s sweaty, and his throat is sore, and he can feel Ilya’s anxiety radiating off of him from behind. He releases a shuttering sigh.
“Okay, let’s go.”
—————
They get ready in record time, Ilya doing most of the work while Shane slowly brushes his teeth and tries to cure his pain by sheer will alone. He’s a professional athlete, for Christ’s sake, he wouldn’t have made it very far if he couldn’t take a little pain. Thankfully, given their regular travel, they already have something of a go-bag ready with chargers, headphones, a change of clothes, toiletries, and Shane-approved snacks. Ilya helps Shane into some sweats and a hoodie, and gets himself dressed, stuffing both of their phones and wallets into his pockets, and then they’re ready to go. Shane catches Ilya checking Shane’s wallet no less than three times for his health card. Ilya offers to carry him to the car, and Shane glares at him so hard that Ilya raises his hands in surrender.
It’s only when they get to the hospital that Shane realizes a critical flaw in their plan, even though it was half the reason he didn’t want to go in the first place. “Ilya, what are we going to tell them? We can’t just walk into the Emergency Department in the middle of Ottawa and expect no one to recognize us.” It crosses his mind to call his mom, before he remembers that she and his dad are both in England for the week for a wedding, and are probably long asleep at this point.
And so, Ilya digs Shane’s toque out of their shared bag, stuffs it on his head, and heads inside to speak to the registration desk. Shane sits in the front seat, feeling restless, and also feeling reluctantly glad they decided to come, because the fire in his stomach just keeps getting worse. The pain is pretty centralized to his right lower stomach at this point, but seems to be spreading all over his abdomen. He rests his head on the dashboard for a few minutes, startling when the passenger door opens next to him. He looks up to find Ilya crouching on the ground, looking at him with concern in his eyes. He tugs Shane’s hood onto his head, fingers lingering on his cheek.
“Come, she said she will triage you now, and then she can put us in a private space to wait for a doctor, so we don’t have to be in the waiting room. It won’t get you seen any faster, but at least all of Ottawa won’t know you’re here.”
“Did she recognize you?”
Ilya cringes slightly. “Obviously, but I don’t think anyone else did. Come, it will be okay.”
They go through triage, then get seated in the private area, and then are moved to a room with a bed much quicker than Shane honestly expected. A nurse comes to take his blood, and Shane cringes at being confronted with the other half of the reason he didn’t want to come. Ilya quirks his eyebrows at him but says nothing, dutifully holding his hand as the nurse pierces his skin with the needle, drawing a few vials of blood based on the clinking sounds Shane can hear. He keeps looking at Ilya, distracting himself by trying to count the flecks of brown in his eyes, squeezing Ilya’s hand on and off.
“Okay, all done here!” The nurse says, sticking a cotton swab and piece of tape over the wound before walking around to the other side of the bed, where Ilya is sitting. “I just need to borrow your other arm so I can place the IV.”
“You have to do both?” Shane asks with a grimace. He feels like he might be sick again.
“I do, I’m sorry,” the nurse, whose name is Tanya, Shane thinks, says in apology. “The doctors will probably want to run some fluids for you, and it’s better we get the line set up before they see you. Plus, it’s easier to give you medications that way. But if you’d rather wait a little bit, I can give you a bit of a break.”
“No, it’s fine, just get it over with,” Shane says with a sigh, holding his other arm out. Ilya gets up and moves to the other side of the bed, taking Shane’s other hand in his, still keeping quiet, his face suspiciously neutral. Shane glares at him again. “Shut up, asshole.”
Ilya holds a hand out in front of him in the universal what-the-fuck gesture, the corners of his lips twitching. “I did not say anything! I am just being supportive. Right, Taylor?”
“I didn’t hear a peep,” Apparently-Taylor answers, sounding amused. She peers up at Shane as she bounces her finger up and down on the crease of his elbow, looking for a vein. “But the eyes say everything, don’t they?”
“Ha, see?” Shane says, feeling vindicated. Ilya gasps, mock offended, his eyes flickering up and down before settling on Shane’s face again. He squeezes Shane’s hand tight in punishment.
“Taylor, you wound me! All my eyes are saying is that I love my very brave, very strong husband, and I hope this tiny little IV helps to cure whatever potentially life-threatening illness is happening to him soon, so that he can get back to his job of being crushed into boards by 200-pound giants three times a week.”
Shane laughs, trying to shake his hand free, but Ilya refuses to let go. “I fucking knew it, you piece of shit. Let go of me, I can’t stand you.”
Ilya releases Shane’s hand with a laugh, sitting back in his chair and looking remarkably pleased with himself. “Ah, you can’t stand me, but you didn’t even notice Taylor placing that puny IV in your arm, Mr. Tough Guy.” He winks and gestures with his head towards Shane’s arm, where the IV catheter is, in fact, settled in his skin.
Taylor grins at him. “He’s got you there. Alright, we’ll get you some pain meds and some meds for the nausea, and the doctor will be in soon. Press that button if you need anything, got it?”
“Sure, thank you,” Shane answers, still staring at Ilya in disbelief. Ilya grins back, lifting Shane’s hand to his mouth and kissing his knuckles.
As promised, Taylor gives Shane his meds, which do help significantly with how he’s feeling. Soon enough, a lovely woman enters their room, introducing herself as Dr. Lovette. She runs through a bunch of questions with Shane, Ilya filling in the gaps at times. His stomach first started hurting this morning, it started off aching but became sharp, he got nauseous for the first time this evening. No allergies, no medications, no other past medical history outside of hockey injuries.
“Any fevers?” She asks, and Shane nods.
“Yeah, but only when I was throwing up earlier.”
Ilya frowns. “No, this morning you were sweating too much to cuddle.”
Shane cringes. “Yeah, but it was just - hot, I don’t know, too hot to - you know.” He feels his face burning up. Maybe he’s feverish now.
“To cuddle?” Ilya fills in. “Shane, we are married, I do not think Dr. Lovette cares if we cuddle.” He turns to the doctor. “He was hot since this morning.”
She nods. “Got it. And what were you doing when the pain became really bad? Anything different than usual?”
Shane wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “I - well, nothing different - uh.” He looks over to Ilya, hoping he has the wherewithal to make something up that makes sense, because Shane certainly doesn’t. Ilya raises his eyebrows at him, incredulous.
“Seriously, Shane?” Ilya says in Russian, and Shane winces again. “Just tell her we were fucking.”
Shane opens his mouth to speak, but nothing seems to come out. A tornado would also work, really. Earthquake, avalanche, he’s not picky.
Ilya rolls his eyes and looks at Dr. Lovette. “We were having sex,” he announces clearly, and without shame, and Shane suddenly feels the itch to grab the puke bucket Taylor left at his bedside.
Dr. Lovette nods, unfazed. “Gotcha. Penetrative?”
“Yes,” Ilya replies, apparently deciding to take over for everyone’s sake, for which Shane is eternally grateful, even if this entire conversation is his worst nightmare.
“Anything different about it than usual?” Dr. Lovette asks, and Ilya grimaces.
“I was… a bit rough, perhaps.”
Okay, now Shane really needs to hurl. He grabs the basin, hanging over the side of the bed as he spits out whatever pathetic bile is left in his stomach. Ilya brushes his fingers through his hair. Dr. Lovette patiently waits for Shane to finish.
“That’s not even true,” Shane mumbles a moment later. “It wasn’t… different than normal. And we hardly, um. Hardly even started.” Ilya takes the basin from him, placing it on the bedside table, and dabs Shane’s face with a cool cloth, making Shane once again thank his lucky stars for Ilya.
“Right, okay, I understand,” Dr. Lovette says, somehow sounding both very professional and very compassionate. Shane thinks whatever she’s making, she deserves a raise. Or an award. “Well thank you both for sharing all this with me. Shane, if you don’t mind, I just want to examine you quickly, and then we can get some imaging done, alright?”
“Sure,” Shane replies, lying back on the bed again, Ilya still dabbing his face with the cool cloth. Dr. Lovette pokes around on his belly, pressing everywhere else before finally making it to the area between his right hip bone and his belly button. She barely pushes down before Shane is hissing, his stomach contracting with the pain. She nods to herself, seemingly confirming her suspicions, before looking back up at Shane.
“Okay, so I’m going to send you for an ultrasound, and then we’ll touch base once the results are back, alright? No food or drink until then, and let us know if you need any more pain meds. I’d say you made the right call by coming in. Sound good?”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor,” Ilya answers, his eyes still fixed on Shane’s face. Dr. Lovette leaves, and the two of them are once again alone.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Shane grumbles, closing his eyes before Ilya even opens his mouth. He hears Ilya laugh under his breath.
“Alright. No sex talk until at least after the ultrasound.”
“Or forever, ideally.”
Shane doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know the look Ilya is giving him right now. Amused, slightly smug, definitely handsome. “Oh, I am not agreeing to that.” He kisses Shane’s forehead. “Rest for a little, da? We can talk more later. I have to google Dr. Lovette for now, anyways.”
Shane smiles softly, feeling a bit sleepy. “Can you also text my parents?”
“Already done, moya lyubov, and I will text them after the ultrasound as well.”
“God, you’re the best. Love you.”
He feels Ilya’s hand on his cheek. “I know.”
————————
Shane goes for his ultrasound, gets some more pain medications, and before he knows it, Dr. Lovette is pulling the curtain back on his room.
“Well, Shane, you’ve got a very angry appendix in there that needs to come out,” she tells him matter-of-factly. Shane gapes at her.
“Like, surgery?”
She nods. “Unfortunately yes. However, it’s done laparoscopically, which means they’ll just make three small cuts on your abdomen and use cameras to take the appendix out. You’ll likely be able to go home right after, as long as everything goes well.”
Shane looks over at Ilya, who looks back at him, eyes wide. Before Shane can ask the next question on his mind, Dr. Lovette speaks again.
“I know it’s a lot to process, but it’s a lot more common than you think, and the best way to treat it is to take it out. You’re young and healthy, so you should heal up in no time.” She smiles at him knowingly. “I’ll let the surgeons come and speak with you shortly and give you all the details, but I’ll jump ahead to the good part - I don’t expect you to be out for longer than a week or two.” Shane sighs in relief, his mind still reeling.
“Are there any questions?” Dr. Lovette asks, looking between Ilya and Shane. About a million, Shane thinks, but Ilya beats him to it.
“Did, um… did I, you know, do this to him?”
Well, that was not one of them. Shane, aghast, whips his head over in Ilya’s direction to find him looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Jesus, Ilya!”
“I need to know!”
Shane looks at Dr. Lovette. He’s never been the best at reading others, but he gets the distinct feeling that she is channeling years of training into keeping her face perfectly neutral, albeit kind. Shane expected her eyebrows to be flying off her head at Ilya’s question. She smiles warmly at both of them. “You mean with the sex? No, I don’t think so. From the sounds of it, his appendix has been inflamed all day, and it’s probably been heading that way for a few days, but you just didn’t realize that’s what was going on. The sex probably just made Shane more aware of the pain because of all the jostling. Once he’s all healed up, you can get back to your normal… activities.”
Ilya nods, relieved. Shane thanks Dr. Lovette again from behind his hands, mortified, and heeds her instructions to not eat or drink anything until after his surgery before she shuts the curtain behind her. Shane takes a deep breath, dropping his head back onto the pillow behind him. He feels Ilya’s hand on his cheek.
“How are you feeling?”
“Embarrassed.”
Ilya snorts. “I meant about the surgery. She’s a doctor, Shane, I do not think it is news to her that people have sex.”
“Ilya, you seriously asked her if you fucked me hard enough to burst my appendix.”
“And she said no, so all good here.”
“We’re going to be on Sportsnet by the morning.”
“Mmm, no, she seems trustworthy, I can tell. Very good RateMD score.”
Shane groans. “She knows I’m a bottom.”
Ilya stifles a laugh. “Sweetheart, I think this ship has sailed.”
“Yeah, but-“
Ilya grips his chin gently, turning Shane to face him. He leans in to give Shane a quick peck on the tip of his nose, eyes soft as he pulls back. “You are nervous. It’s okay. Take a deep breath.” Shane does, following Ilya’s deep breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth. “There. Now: how are you feeling?”
Shane sighs. Ilya can read him like a book. “Worried. My stomach hurts a bit. Annoyed that you were right about coming to the hospital. Angry about being off for a few weeks. Grateful that you’re here.”
Ilya smiles at him, brushing his thumb along the skin under Shane’s eye. “I will always be here. I will text Wiebe to let him know. Your mom already knows, so she can deal with your schedule. You just need to focus on healing, yes?” He kisses the tip of Shane’s nose. “Besides, I am always right. We should listen to me more often.”
Shane chuckles. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“On the plus side, you are definitely not pregnant.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Shane objects, pushing against Ilya’s chest. Ilya grins.
___________
The surgery goes without a hitch, Shane is told, and he is free to go after a few hours in the recovery unit. Thankfully, someone has also apparently filled Ilya in about the rules Shane has to follow for the next few days, because Shane’s not sure he processed a single word the very handsome surgeon said to him once he woke up. On the plus side, he feels very good. Remarkably good. Like he didn’t even just have surgery to remove one of his bits. He doesn’t even miss his appendix yet.
He sits patiently on his gurney as Ilya helps him tug his sweater over his head. Okay, helps feels a bit generous, since it implies that Shane is participating in any capacity. Really, he sits there like a lump on a log while Ilya dresses him like a little kid. He’s being overwhelmingly sweet to him, which makes Shane’s chest feel fizzy and warm.
“Ilya?” He says, already smiling a bit as Ilya coaxes his arms into the air.
“Yes?”
“You’re so nice. Did I tell you that?” His head pops through the collar of his hoodie, his bangs all in his face as he looks up at Ilya, who seems unable to hide his smile.
“You have mentioned this, yes.”
Shane snorts. “Well yeah, I know, but did I tell you today? Because you are being extra nice today.”
Ilya brushes his bangs out of his eyes for him. Shane’s eyes flutter closed at the touch. “You have, believe it or not. About thirty seconds ago.” He crouches down beside Shane’s feet and starts to tug his sweatpants up his legs, the flimsy curtain around Shane’s bed draping over his back.
“Oops.” Shane purses his lips and tries not to smile. He knows, distantly, that he is maybe not functioning at peak mental capacity because of the medications he had for his surgery, but he can’t really care about that right now. Not when Ilya’s fingers are on his skin, slowly sliding his pants over his knees, before encouraging Shane to stand up a bit, using Ilya’s shoulders for balance as Ilya pulls his pants up the rest of the way. Shane can’t help it, then: he honest-to-god giggles.
“What’s so funny?” Ilya asks when he guides Shane to sit back down on the gurney. He looks very amused, his face soft and bright as he watches Shane carefully, like there’s nothing in the world that he could find more entertaining than Shane in that moment. Shane is briefly reminded of how Ilya looked the last time he visited Shane in the hospital, tense and worried, and he leans forward to kiss Ilya to dispel the memory. Well, he tries to, at least, but apparently his aim is a bit off, because his lips catch the side of Ilya’s nose instead. Ilya catches him by the shoulders and holds him steady, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Careful, Hollander.”
“You’re so pretty,” Shane blurts as he stares at Ilya’s face, unable to look away from Ilya’s sparkly eyes. “Prettiest in the world, I think.”
Ilya pinches his cheek lightly. “Mmm, I disagree, but thank you.”
“Ilya, I’m serious - why are you so pretty? It’s not fair. Makes me want to kiss you all the time.”
Ilya kisses the tip of his nose. “Ah, I see we are saying everything we are thinking, hm?”
Shane rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed. He can’t keep it up for too long, though - he feels too good and Ilya is just so funny. “You’re so funny,” Shane tells him, just in case he didn’t say that one yet.
“Shane,” Ilya says, crouching down so he’s eye to eye with Shane again. He cups his face with both hands, which lets Shane know he’s serious. “Do not get me wrong - I love everything that is happening right now, and will never let you live this down. But, maybe we should not talk for the next few minutes while we go to the car, hm?”
Shane frowns. “You want me to shut up?” He asks as Ilya stands back up, guiding Shane’s arm over Ilya’s shoulders. Ilya wraps his arm around Shane’s waist to steady him, being mindful of the small surgical wounds on his belly.
Ilya squeezes Shane’s waist in reassurance as he scoops their bag up off the gurney and throws it over his other shoulder. “No, moya lyubov,” Ilya tells him sincerely, a hint of laughter in his voice. “I promise, this is the best day of my life. I love hearing everything you have to say, and especially today. Seriously. But I do not think you will be very happy with me if I let you keep spilling secrets out in public.” He doesn’t wait for Shane to confirm before he throws the curtain to Shane’s bed open and gets them moving, which is really his own fault, if you think about it.
Shane giggles again, completely ignoring Ilya’s response. “Ilya,” he whispers conspiratorially. He tilts his face a little more towards Ilya’s ear, another snort escaping him as he shares his secret. “I can’t believe you popped my appendix with your dick.”
Ilya blows out an explosive breath, his cheeks puffing out with the force before it tapers off into a disbelieving laugh. “Shane, this is what I mean, you cannot be saying this, okay? You will be so mad at me. Don’t make me tape your mouth shut.”
“Hot,” Shane whispers, and Ilya groans quietly next to him. They walk past the nursing station, all of the nurses grinning widely at him, like they’re all in on the same secret as him. Shane grins back, happy to be a part of whatever the secret is, and waves. “Bye, ladies!”
“Bye, Shane!” One of the nurses calls out from her computer. Shane feels Ilya tugging him along as he approaches the nurse’s desk.
“I, um-“ Ilya starts, and the kind computer nurse smiles at him knowingly.
“You can count on our discretion,” she assures Ilya with a wink. “But he sure kept this shift exciting.”
“Nice,” Shane whispers to himself, grinning, even though he’s not sure what was so exciting about him getting an organ removed. He feels Ilya relax a bit at his side.
“Thank you,” Ilya murmurs earnestly. “Alright, Hollander, let’s get you home.” Just like that, they’re moving again. Shane doesn’t recognize the way out of the hospital, which makes him think they’re taking a back exit to stay out of the public eye.
“Do you think the hot doctor knows you did that?” Shane asks as Ilya guides him through the automatic door. Ilya stops in his tracks once they get outside, turning to look at Shane. He grips both of his shoulders in his hands as he stares at him.
“I-what?” He asks, seemingly bewildered. Shane lets out an exasperated sigh. How does Ilya not remember what they were literally just talking about?
“Do you think he knows that you exploded my appendix with your dick?”
Ilya’s eyes flit all over Shane’s face, searching for… something, Shane’s not sure what. Maybe some clarification, so he tries to provide it. “Because you fucked me. With your… you know.” He holds his hands out in front of him, suggestively far apart. Ilya’s eyes widen and he grabs Shane’s wrists, dragging them back down to his sides.
“Bozhe moy,” Ilya whispers to himself, seemingly unsure of what to say next. He’s grinning, at least, so Shane’s not concerned that he’s mad at him. “I...” Ilya drops Shane’s wrist to scrub a hand down the side of his face, before cupping Shane’s cheek. “There is so much to unpack here, I do not even know where to start.” He wraps his arm around Shane’s waist again and starts tugging him toward the parking garage, moving a little more quickly than before. “Please, Hollander, just wait until the car, yes? We are almost there.”
Shane blinks, finding it a bit harder to open his eyes again, but he forces them open so they can keep walking. “Maybe the hot doctor wants you to pop his appendix,” he mumbles, his words coming out a bit more slurred. Thankfully, they’ve finally reached Ilya’s car, and Ilya starts gingerly loading him into the passenger seat.
“So you think he was hot, hm?” He asks as he clicks Shane’s seatbelt into place.
Shane scoffs. “Did you not?”
“I did not say that.”
Within the time it takes Ilya to round the car and climb into the driver’s seat, Shane has managed to get jealous, despite the fact that he was the one to initiate the discussion.
“Ilya?”
“Yes, my love?” Ilya asks as he clips his own seatbelt. He turns to look at Shane. “What is it?”
“Please don’t explode the hot doctor’s appendix.”
Ilya’s mouth opens briefly before he closes it again. He licks his lips before trying again. “Just to be clear, I did not do this to you either, yes? You heard the doctor. You did not… lose your appendix because I fucked you too good.” He picks Shane’s hand up and kisses the back of his knuckles before starting the car. “But yes, I promise, I will not fuck anyone else so good that any of their organs blow up.”
Shane sighs and drops his head against the headrest, his eyes sliding shut. He’s having a harder time stringing words together. “Or bad either. Don’t fuck anyone else bad.”
Ilya laughs, endlessly amused as they start driving. “Yes, I promise you are the only person I will ever fuck, and it will only ever be good, yes? Is this okay?”
“Sooooo good,” Shane drawls, a ghost of a smile on his face as he remembers what led to all of this in the first place. “The best, Rozanov. M…V…P…” he adds, drawing out each letter of the acronym.
Ilya chuckles to himself. “I wish you wouldn’t kill me if I recorded you right now. This is the funniest day of my life, and you will not even believe me.”
Shane smirks, his head lolling to the side so he can look at the side of Ilya’s pretty head. He reaches out to twirl one of his curls… and misses, his finger nearly taking Ilya’s eye out instead. Ilya redirects his hand onto Ilya’s own thigh, his hand coming down on top of Shane’s and squeezing tightly.
“Careful, Hollander, one of us has to be responsible here.”
Feeling cheeky, Shane starts to wiggle his fingers against Ilya’s thigh, his nails scraping along the inner seam of his pant leg. Truthfully, he can barely keep his eyes open, but that’s irrelevant right now, as he’s got a bit of a one track mind when it comes to Ilya at the best of times. “Nooo, let’s be irresponsible, hm?” He tries to scoot his hand a little higher up Ilya’s thigh, but is thwarted by Ilya’s firm grip on the back of his hand. “We have some unfinished business, you know.”
Ilya scoffs at him. “You cannot be serious right now.”
Shane nods, his eyes slipping closed again. “Mhm. Serious, Ilya. Sooo serious. It would feel so good,” he sing-songs, trying again in vain to move his fingers.
“Shane, you can’t even keep your eyes open.”
“So?”
Ilya laughs again in disbelief. Everything must be very funny to him today. Perhaps he’s in a silly mood. “Okay, how about this. If you are still awake by the time we get home, I’ll fuck you, hm? Just like you want me to.”
“Finally,” Shane mutters. “It’s not even hard to stay awake. That’s a losing deal, Rozanov.”
“Mm, I bet,” Ilya hums. “Why don’t you close your eyes and think about what you would like me to do, hm?”
Funny, because Shane thought his eyes were already closed. He closes them again. “Will do.” He hardly notices that the words take about three times as long to get out as they would normally.
He feels Ilya squeeze his hand. “I love you.”
“Luh you too,” Shane slurs, slumping back into his seat again.
Shane becomes so focused on staying awake that he doesn’t even notice when he falls asleep less than a minute later.
__________
When Shane wakes up, he’s in his own bed, and the sun is filtering through the gaps in the curtains. He’s very warm and cozy, despite the vague soreness in his abdomen. Nothing he’s never dealt with before, which is certainly an improvement. He groans, stretching his arms above his head before cringing at the twinge it causes in his stomach.
“Hold on, he is waking up now,” he hears Ilya murmur from beside him on the bed. He feels a warm hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back gently. “Yes, I will. I will let him know. Thanks, David. You, too.” He hears the clatter of Ilya’s phone being set onto the night stand. “Good morning,” Ilya murmurs. “How are you feeling?”
Shane squints up at him. He feels a little disoriented, like the past however long has been a blur. He’s not exactly sure how much time has passed, other than the fact that Ilya just said morning, and last Shane checked, he was in the hospital in the late afternoon. “Um, could be worse, I guess. What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
Shane shoots up in bed, wincing at the pain that shoots through his abdomen. Ilya immediately reaches for him, easing him back down slowly. “Shit, take it easy, yes?”
“Ten in the morning?” He asks, looking up at Ilya with wide eyes.
Ilya nods. “Yes, you were very sleepy last night. Losing a pointless organ exhausted you, apparently.” His lips twitch. “As did announcing every single thought you had.”
Shane feels his face heat up. “Oh god,” he replies, sitting up much more slowly this time, accepting Ilya’s help as he shuffles backwards until he’s leaning against the headboard. “What did I say?”
Ilya grins at him, which does not help to make Shane less nervous. “You are very funny when you are high.”
“Fuck off,” Shane grumbles, his cheeks on fire.
“High Shane did not tell me to fuck off even once.”
Shane thumps his thigh with the back of his hand. “Asshole.”
Ilya laughs. “You did not call me this, either.” He nudges Shane’s shoulder with his own. “You did call me pretty about 40 times though.”
Shane drops his face into his hands. “Oh, god. Did anyone hear?”
Ilya is quiet for a moment, but Shane can tell that he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Only a couple of very lovely nurses who have sworn to secrecy.”
Shane feels even more like he’s going to die than he did before his rotting organ was removed from his body. “What else did I say?” He asks, his words muffled against his palms.
“Do you really want me to answer this?”
Shane risks a glance over at Ilya, who looks anything but reluctant to spill all of Shane’s secrets. In fact, he looks more gleeful than Shane can ever remember seeing him.
Shane groans and rolls his eyes, rather dramatically. “Ugh, go on, I know you’re dying to say it. And you took very good care of me yesterday and I am thankful for that, so you get a one time free pass.”
Ilya’s grin gets impossibly wider as he grabs Shane’s arm in excitement. “It was my favourite day ever.”
“Mind you, we’re married.”
“Yes, and maybe if you told me I was the MVP of fucking you on our wedding day, then wedding would win.”
Shane gapes at him. “I did not.”
“Mm, right after begging me not to fuck the hot surgeon.”
Shane drops his forehead onto Ilya’s shoulder, no longer able to tolerate looking at him. Or being perceived, really. Ilya’s shoulder starts shaking beneath him. He can’t even deny it, because he remembers thinking the surgeon was hot before the procedure, but he’d decided to keep that piece of information to himself in that moment, because they didn’t need to share everything, did they? Apparently, however, the Shane that he becomes while hopped up on pain meds has a real guilty conscience. And a shit filter.
“Oh my god.”
“Is okay, he was hot.” Ilya leans in to kiss his temple. “And most of all, he was a very hot, very good surgeon, because he got that nasty thing out of you very easy. Said everything went perfect and that you should be okay again in no time.”
Shane sighs in relief. “Good, because we’re making a genuine push this year and I can’t afford to be out for too long.”
Ilya nudges him with his arm. “You will be out for as long as you need to until you are back to 100%, yes?”
“Well, yeah, but I’m glad it’s not too long.”
He hears Ilya sigh. “You just had surgery, so I am not going to argue with you, but just know I am thinking it.”
Shane huffs a laugh, shuffling closer to Ilya until their sides are pressed together. “Wow, all it takes for you to not argue with me is to have surgery? I should get organs removed more often.”
“Oh, please, you love when I argue with you. Practically beg me for it with some of the stupid shit you say. And also, let’s keep the rest of your organs where they are, hm? I do not think my youthful heart can take this stress again.” Ilya wraps an arm around him, tugging him closer into his side, and Shane snuggles in, feeling very cozy. “I am very glad you are okay.”
Shane smiles against Ilya’s shirt. “Me too.” He peeks up at Ilya through his eyelashes, smirking a bit. “And, I’m especially glad that you didn’t burst my appendix with your dick. That’s one sacrifice I’m not willing to make.”
Ilya bursts out laughing, pressing his face into Shane’s hair. “I am also glad about this, because I would have to kill myself if it was my fault.”
Shane slaps him on the chest as he chuckles. “Honestly, I can’t think of a better way to go.” Ilya starts laughing harder, so Shane keeps going. “I mean, if I have to lose an organ, I’d rather lose it getting laid than like… I don’t know, walking around the grocery store. That’s lame.”
“Pervert.”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, I know you agree.”
“I thought we agreed I was always right and we should listen to me more?”
Shane grins. “In your dreams, asshole.”
They both laugh, Ilya pulling Shane impossibly closer against him until Shane is nearly on top of him, stroking his hands down his chest, his sides, randomly pressing soft kisses wherever he can reach.
Eventually, Shane needs to pee, and Ilya helps him out of bed and into the washroom, despite Shane’s insistence that no, he can walk on his own, as he lost his appendix, not a leg. Ilya ignores him, and Shane lets him (although he draws the line at Ilya holding his dick for him to piss, feeding Ilya an elbow to the gut as he snickers from where he stands right behind Shane). Afterwards, Shane takes his pain meds and flops onto the couch, Ilya and Anya both sliding in next to him and snuggling so close that they’re essentially sharing one cushion. Ilya flicks something onto the tv as the three of them cuddle on the couch together, Shane surrounded on all sides by his perfect little family that he never thought he’d get to have, and he can’t stop himself from smiling.
“I love you,” he murmurs to Ilya, turning to drop a kiss onto his shoulder. “Thank you for looking after me.”
Ilya tilts his head so his cheek is resting on Shane’s hair, and Shane can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “You are so Canadian, thanking your husband for loving you after you have surgery. This is what we do, yes? I believe I promised this exact thing in front of everyone we know.” He tsks. “Would look very bad if I let you suffer by yourself after this.”
Shane snorts. “Fuck off. I mean it.”
“So do I. I will not have Scott Hunter think I am an oathbreaker. Very embarrassing.”
Shane pinches his thigh. “You’re such an asshole.”
Ilya laughs above him, turning to press a kiss into Shane’s hair. Shane lets his eyes sink closed again as he lets his head settle against Ilya’s shoulder. “I will always take care of you, whenever you need, okay? I promise. I love you very fucking much.”
Shane draws in a deep, contended sigh, settling deep enough into the couch that he’s not sure where he ends and the couch begins. He feels the whispers of sleep tickling at the edge of his consciousness, but before he falls asleep entirely, Ilya speaks again.
“Besides, is good for me to care for you now - I still have many spare parts that might need to come out, and it is important that you have a good example to follow.”
Shane huffs a soft laugh, and falls asleep with a smile on his face, thinking about how he is truly the luckiest fucking man in the world.