Chapter Text
A bone deep tiredness settles heavily on Shane's back as he enters his apartment after a particularly draining practice. He is mostly recovered from his bout of illness but being on the mend coupled with Ilya having to go back to Boston has left him miserable and exhausted. All he wants to do is curl up in bed and call Ilya.
He decides, instead, to get something to eat.
He settles his bag by the stairs, he'll take it up later, and shuffles off toward the kitchen. The refrigerator is full of his meal prep containers and ginger ale. Although, he spots a container that he definitely didn't put in there. It's tucked behind some pesto whole spelt pasta, just out of the way enough to not be immediately noticed. With a furrowed brow, Shane reaches into the fridge to pull out the cylindrical container. On its front is a label with handwriting that is very much not his own, but still very familiar.
Ilya's soup for Ilya's Shane.
Oh.
Somewhere in Shane's chest, just behind his ribs, his heart wobbles. He deeply, viscerally misses Ilya. And, even though it is not diet approved, Shane makes himself a bowl of soup. He sits at the kitchen island once it is warmed up and promptly calls FaceTimes Ilya, propping his phone up against the container on the counter.
Almost immediately, Shane's screen is filled by Ilya’s smirking face.
“Miss me already?”
Shane rolls his eyes as he stirs his bowl of soup, “I missed you as soon as you left.”
It's raw and vulnerable. It leaves Shane feeling more exposed than he generally likes, but when he looks back to his phone he can't help but smile at the syrupy-sweet expression that has flooded his boyfriend's face.
“Me too,” Ilya admits softly. There is a quiet moment between the two of them as they simply watch one another through their screens. Shane wishes he could crawl through the glass and curl his body around Ilya where he is reclining on his sofa. Ilya chuckles softly. “What are you eating?”
Shane reaches for his phone, pulls it from its place against the container, and flips the camera around. It's a little fuzzy at first before the image focuses on the label.
He can hear Ilya suck at his teeth, and sees his smile stretch a bit sadly across his lips.
“Do you still feel sick?”
Shane returns the camera and phone to where it had been. He shakes his head, “No. I just missed you.”
“You'll be in Boston in three weeks, yes?” Ilya says, hopefully.
“Mhm,” Shane hums. He takes a small spoonful of soup. It's still good, but it was definitely better when he was sharing it with Ilya. “A full weekend. I have ’business in New York’.”
Ilya snorts back a laugh, “Yes, many important business meetings being held in my bed.”
*****
When Shane's plane lands in Boston he is practically vibrating with excitement. He doesn't even stress about having to go through customs or making sure he has his bags before loading up onto the bus the team has for them. He sits near the back, the seat beside him empty, and pulls his phone from his pocket.
“Already texting Boston Lily?” Hayden asks, dropping into the seat in front of him.
Shane snaps his head up from where he had definitely been opening his messages to let Ilya know that he landed, and stares at Hayden over the top of the seat with wide, owlish eyes. He stammers for a moment, unable to get his brain and tongue to function as a cohesive unit.
Hayden laughs, rolling his eyes, “Chill out. When have I ever judged you for seeing your girl?”
“Sh-She's not my girl,” Shane mumbles half-heartedly.
Shaking his head, Hayden slaps the top of his seat with a grin, “Sure. Whatever, man. Just make sure you don't tire yourself out before the game tomorrow.”
“Gross, Hayd,” Shane grumbles, turning back to his phone.
Shane: Landed and through customs. On the bus to the hotel now.
There isn't a response right away. Shane stares down at his screen like he can mentally will Ilya into replying faster. The doors of the bus close and the bus lurches forward away from the curb. There is excited chatter and laughter from all around, but Shane can't look away from his phone.
Suddenly, three dots appear at the bottom of the thread followed, thankfully, by Ilya's response.
Lily: I am at practice
Lily: Will be for a while. You can go over, let yourself in
Shane: Okay, I'll see you later. I love you ❤️
Lily: Love you too 😘
Shane stuffs his phone into his pocket before turning to look out the window. It is a pretty gray day in Boston; when Shane checked the weather while packing it had said to expect rain all weekend. The rain definitely didn't bother him, he didn't have plans to leave Ilya’s house, let alone bed, for two whole days.
The bus ride and checking into the hotel are all a blur. Once in the room with Hayden, Shane promptly drops his bags and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling out his phone.
Hayden laughs, “Running out already? Not wasting any time I see.”
Shane doesn't reply, he just rolls his eyes and calls an Uber to pick him up outside of the hotel. Once the confirmation that Marnie is on the way, Shane gets to his feet and grabs his backpack. Did he specifically pack a smaller bag just to take and keep at Ilya's place just so he didn't have to conspicuously drag his luggage to and fro across Boston? Of course he did– He's Shane Hollander.
“I'll be back later,” Shane mumbles, double checking his bag and phone.
“Have fun,” Hayden chuckles, flopping down onto his own bed.
Shane waves awkwardly as he hurries from the room. He walks swiftly through the hall towards the elevator, wanting to keep his head down and avoid any of his teammates as he attempts to abscond across the city. Thankfully, he only briefly spots J.J. as he's walking across the lobby, and J.J. is too wrapped up in his phone call to do much of anything but wave at Shane– he returns the gesture just as he steps outside and spots the car he ordered pulling up in front.
The ride itself is uneventful. The car is nice– clean and smells a little citrusy– and the music is some soft jazz that is calming and fills the silence.
When the car stops outside of Ilya’s house, Shane thanks Marnie and promptly rates and tips her as soon as he is out of the car. He slings his bag over his shoulder and makes his way to the door. He desperately wants to take a shower and wash the smell of airplane off of his skin before Ilya returns from practice.
Shane: Heading inside, gonna take a shower.
There isn't an immediate response, which Shane expects, but his phone buzzes in his hand just as he steps through the threshold. He closes and locks the door behind him before looking down at the phone, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
Lily: Is not fair that you are naked at my house and I am so far away 😔
Shane: I'm sure I will also be naked once you get home 😉
Inside is mostly the same as the last time Shane visited, not that he spends much time looking around. He heads directly to Ilya’s bedroom, drops his bag beside the bed, and makes his way to the bathroom. He starts the shower before removing his clothes, carefully folding and setting them down on the counter as he goes.
The water in the shower feels fantastic against his skin, loosening travel tired muscles as it pours over his shoulders and down the curves and divots of his muscles. Shane takes his time in lathering his body with Ilya's body wash, a strange ache blossoming in his chest as he is surrounded in Ilya’s scent but not his body. The hands touching his skin weren't the large ones that he craves.
With a heavy sigh, Shane turns the water off and dries himself with one of Ilya's large, fluffy towels. He wraps it low around his waist and shuffles off into the bedroom, poking around in Ilya’s dresser. Shane, of course, brought clothes of his own, but he wasn't going to pass up the chance to wear some of Ilya’s lounge clothes. He slips a pair of joggers on, as well as a worn NHL shirt that feels so nice against his skin. Both are a little big on him, the joggers hanging low and the neck of the shirt pulling wide. Shane is aware that he isn't a particularly small man– He's nearly six feet tall and a professional athlete– but sometimes being reminded that Ilya is just a bit bigger than him sends a thrill up his spine.
By the time he's dressed, Shane's ears pick up on the front door unlocking and his feet are moving before he can even process it.
“Ilyusha,” Shane coos at the sight of his boyfriend.
Ilya positively beams back at him as the door shuts and Shane is across the floor in seconds, wrapping his arms around him in a way not totally dissimilar from an octopus. His face presses into Ilya's chest and his hands slip easily beneath the back of Ilya’s shirt. If he could, Shane would worm his way into Ilya's skin.
Ilya's… very warm skin.
Lifting his head from Ilya's chest, Shane peers up at Ilya with slightly narrowed eyes. He looks tired, and not just because he's come from practice. His eyes are dull and there is a faint flush to his cheeks that despite wishing it were from him, Shane is sure it isn't.
“Do you feel okay?” Shane asks softly, pulling a hand from Ilya's shirt to gently lay the backs of his fingers against his forehead.
Ilya huffs, leaning his head back, “I am fine. I am excited to see you.”
He tries to distract Shane with his lips pressing against his neck, but Shane lays a gentle hand to the center of Ilya’s chest. “Are you sick, Ilyusha?” he asks, left hand sliding up and down the length of Ilya’s back.
“I do not want to be sick. My boyfriend is here. We have game tomorrow and whole weekend together,” Ilya mumbles, dropping his head onto Shane's shoulder. At the close proximity, Shane can hear the slight sniffle and rasp of breath coming from Ilya.
Shane wraps his arms around Ilya, holding him close. “Well, then you should get in bed and rest so you feel better for our game and our weekend together,” he says patiently, pressing a kiss to the top of Ilya's shoulder. Ilya doesn't move or say anything, which just makes Shane chuckle softly as he squeezes him tighter. “I can order some medicine and make you something to eat.”
Ilya exhales loudly, his breath hot and moist against Shane's neck who pointedly does not say anything about it.
“Fine,” he huffs petulantly before standing upright, “I will go lay down.”
Shane smiles and reaches up to push his fingers through Ilya’s curls, “And I didn't even tell you that you look like shit.”
“Yes, yes. Shane Hollander – perfect hockey player and perfect boyfriend,” Ilya grumbles, his voice trailing off as he shuffles toward his bedroom.
“Your words, not mine,” Shane calls after him.
Ilya flips him off over his shoulder.
Once Ilya is out of sight, Shane makes his way toward the kitchen. He pulls out his phone, pulling up the Instacart app, and begins to formulate some sort of plan. He looks through the contents of Ilya’s fridge with a curious expression. There's more in there than the last time Shane visited, and certainly more diet approved foods too. Shane smiles to himself and looks down to his phone, he leans back against the counter and googles the soup that Ilya had made for him.
It takes a few times.
Shee? Shi? Shchi?
He finally finds a recipe that seems to be what he's looking for. It's simple enough. He looks through Ilya's kitchen, adding whatever isn't there to the instacart order as well as some cold medicine. Once the order is sent, Shane begins pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry. He works slowly, following each step of the direction to the letter. He absolutely does not want to mess this up.
As the soup is simmering, the doorbell rings and Shane has a brief moment of panic. Shane Hollander can't just open Ilya Rozanov's front door. Even if the delivery person had no idea whose house this was, whose to say that they don't recognize him and post something that leads somewhere. And, oh, Shane's heart stutter-steps inside his chest. He spots a Boston Raiders hoodie draped on one of the stools at the counter. He promptly pulls it on, pulling the hood up over his head and rushes to the door.
He tries to settle his breathing and pulls open the door to reveal an older woman with dark black hair and tan skin. She smiles and Shane for a moment is reminded of his grandma. She holds out the grocery bags, which Shane happily takes and thanks her profusely. He heads back into the house, to the kitchen, and finishes making the soup before spooning them into bowls. He garnishes them with some sour cream and even toasts a bit of bread for Ilya to dip with.
Looping the bag with medicine in it around his wrist, Shane stuffs a water bottle into the pocket of the hoodie he is wearing and walks into Ilya’s bedroom, holding both bowls of soup.
Ilya is sitting up in bed, shirtless, and playing some mobile game much too loudly on his phone. Shane shakes his head with a laugh. “This doesn't look like relaxing to me,” he grins, setting the soup on the nightstand.
“Ah, but I have beautiful man waiting on me hands and feet. What is more relaxing?”
Shane scoffs and gently corrects, “Hand and foot.” He tosses the water bottle toward Ilya and pulls the medicine out from the bag, handing it over with a soft smile. “Take this and then you can have soup.”
Ilya takes the medicine with a grimace, but looks back at Shane with a single raised eyebrow. “What kind of soup?”
A warm blush spreads across the apples of Shane's cheeks. He reaches to the side table, and hands a bowl over to Ilya who sets his phone down on the bed to accept it. His eyes widen like dinner plates as he cradles the bowl close to his chest.
“Shchi? You made me shchi?” he asks, his tone incredulous and delighted.
Shane rolls his eyes, picking up his own bowl and settling against the headboard. “Good to keep warm in Russian winters. Keeps you strong,” he replies in a less than stellar Russian accent.
Ilya cackles until a barking cough interrupts him.
“You are very cute, Shanya. Thank you,” he murmurs once his coughing fit is through.
Shane leans over to press a kiss against Ilya’s shoulder, “Of course. Now eat and rest so I don't feel bad about kicking your ass tomorrow."
Ilya shakes his head but returns to his bowl of soup, making the cutest little noises with each bite. Shane couldn't be any more smitten with him if he tried. When they're both done, Shane takes the bowls and returns to the kitchen. He cleans up his mess from cooking, leaving the kitchen looking better than he found it if he were being honest.
He finds a container to stow the rest of the soup in and grins to himself as he finds a label to stick to the side.
Shane’s soup for Shane's Ilya.
He tucks the container away in the fridge and makes his way back to the bedroom. Ilya is, thankfully, under the covers this time. His eyes are heavy but that doesn't stop the slight shiver from running through Shane as he closes the bedroom door. He removes the joggers he borrowed and makes a move to pull off the hoodie but Ilya makes an inelegant sound of protest from his blanket burrito.
“Ah! No. Keep on,” he mumbles, smirking lewdly.
Shane gives him a half-hearted glare but keeps it on, padding across the room to slip into bed beside Ilya, who lifts the edge of his blanket to allow Shane the space to slide closer. Their bodies meld together easily, like puzzle pieces seamlessly clicking into place. Shane kisses the top of Ilya's curls, gently scratching at his scalp.
“Thank you,” Ilya mumbles in a sleep heavy voice. “For taking care of me.”
Shane smiles softly to himself and kisses the crown of Ilya’s head once more,”Of course. Ya lyublyu tyebya.”
Ilya scoffs against Shane's chest. “Oh look at me Mr. I-Am-So-Smart-I-Can-Speak-Three-Languages,” he playfully mocks. Shane huffs, pinching Ilya’s side, making him yelp but press closer against Shane. He sighs and lifts his head just enough to press a gentle kiss to the underside of Shane's jaw.
“Tozhe, ya tozhe tyebya lyublyu.”