Chapter Text
The whole day had felt off, Shane knew it was going to happen at some point, but in the middle of the night was not what he had imagined. It started when his alarm went off at 5 in the morning, his throat scratchy and irritated, it felt like swallowing knives, even after trying to sip water from the nightstand. As he untangled himself from Ilya’s arm and shuffled to the bathroom, he noticed his nose was running. After showering, Shane headed out for his morning run, and decided that he would head to the rink early this morning, knowing that Ilya would certainly worry about the heat under his skin that seemed to be building toward a fever. Ilya had never been shy about using his Captaincy to make Shane go easy on himself, though it was rare. Getting back to the house, he fixed himself and Ilya some toast and smoothies, and wrote Ilya a note stating where he had gone.
“Shane?...” Ilya called from the bedroom, voice thick with sleep. Shit. He needed to leave before Ilya had a chance to notice his cold. Shane darted, throwing his bag over his shoulder and essentially running to his car. He knew Ilya would try to follow him out and stop him in the driveway if he didn’t act fast, so he put his Jeep in reverse, and against his own beliefs, sped down the street.
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After skating a few laps and doing some shooting at the goal, Shane knew he was fucked. His head began to pound only a few minutes in, and he could feel his energy depleting significantly faster. He knew he should quit now, go home and get some rest, but playoffs were only a few weeks away, so that was just not an option. As he brainstormed ways to play his impending doom off, he felt someone skate up behind him.
“Hey Shane, you’re here earlier than normal, If that’s even possible” Troy said casually. Usually it was either Troy or Shane to arrive first, but apparently they had both thought to get there ahead of schedule.
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Shane laughed weakly. He felt like collapsing, and just letting Troy drag him off the ice.
“Are you alright man? You sound kind of… sick.”
“No no I’m good, just pressure changes.” Shane gave Troy a crooked, half-hearted smile, that was probably unconvincing, but what the hell. Shane didn't care, he just needed this to be over. Troy shrugged sheepishly and turned his attention to the horde of Centaurs that began to spill onto the ice, unfortunately for Shane’s headache, very loudly. The rookies were arguing per usual, as they lined up for their beginning drills. Bood, Hayes, and Ilya followed them in, with Ilya immediately spotting and beelining to Shane. Oh fuck.
“Shane you left so early, bed is so cold without you.” Ilya whined, as he loudly smacked a kiss on the shorter man's cheek. Shane melted into it, feeling his knees grow weaker by the second.
“You seem warm.. Are you alright?” Ilya’s eyebrows formed a knot, his eyes squinting with concern.
“I feel fine, just a little tired. I’ll feel better after we warm up and get going.” Shane said, using a more draining, but convincing smile. The Russian huffed as his husband skated away taking his place in line. This was going to be a long practice.
He was right, practice was exhausting. Shane felt like he was going to melt in his gear, and all that would be left were his aching bones. Ilya kept shooting him unconvinced looks after he would raise his eyebrows at Shane, who would just give a small thumbs up and turn away. The Canadian showered and changed quickly, telling Ilya all he needed was a nap. It was pathetic he knew, but if he didn’t keep this under wraps, he would lose control, and he already felt like shit. His throat was raw and his sinuses were like an open faucet. Once he got home, he puttered around Ilya, making himself busy, knowing that if he acted normal enough, things would have to eventually return to normal. He even ended the night by cooking a pesto pasta for Ilya, and sucking his husband's cock until he couldn’t see straight, pushing all the buttons he knew would keep Ilya focused on Shane's throbbing length, and not his throbbing muscle aches. Afterward, they cleaned up and the shorter man found himself snuggling into the taller man's arms, warm and embraced, almost forgetting about the sickness he had been fighting with. Almost.
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It was just after 1 in the morning when Shane woke up, and he felt the nausea immediately. Toilet. Now. His insides sloshed around and the pasta he had tried so hard to perfect was definitely coming up. Shane hated throwing up, and especially hated when people watched him as he did, so he ran with as much stealth as he could manage into the bathroom, and let it out. He closed the door after heaving for a few minutes, and flipped the harsh light on. His eyes and throat stung. It wasn’t over, it wouldn't be for a while. Another bout of nausea set in, as he gripped the porcelain bowl and accepted his fate. Coughing it up, he heard shuffling, then the bathroom door creaked open.
“Oh Shanya.” Ilya sighed, quickly lowering himself behind Shane and beginning to rub soothingly up and down Shane’s back as he continued to vomit into the toilet.
“You should go…. You’ll get sick, I’m so gross right now. Just go back to bed.”
“No I will not leave, you cannot make me.”
“I can handle this.”
“I know.”
“I’m not weak. It’s no big deal.”
More heaving, more vomiting, the edges of Shane’s vision began to blur.
“I never said you were weak. I love you, I only want to help you, and know if you feel sick. Is okay to be sick, you do not need to hide this from me.”
Ilya kissed Shane’s spine up and down, as he spat the last of his dinner into the toilet, slumping into Ilya and curling inward.
“I’m sorry.” Shane squeaked. Now he felt guilty. Ilya didn’t deserve to be shut out like that. They sat on the floor for a few minutes as Ilya rubbed his hand through Shane’s hair, whispering in Russian. He felt himself be picked up in a pair of strong arms, and carried to bed and tucked in. Ilya turned back toward the bathroom, flushing the toilet and filling a glass of water. Shane drank some, and rinsed with the rest, and willingly took the mint offered to him. He was too tired to brush his teeth. He felt Ilya's presence looming over him, watching him. Had he scared Ilya by waking him up to that view?
Ilya climbed into bed resting next to Shane, kissing his temple as he burrowed under the covers.
“Never be sorry sweetheart, I only worry for you.” Ilya whispered, draping his hand over Shane's stomach and settling down. Why did he keep it a secret? Fuck, he was such an idiot.