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Harsh, grating coughs sounded through the hotel room, faint at first but rapidly growing with intensity.
Shane groaned, head lifted from his pillow where he no longer felt the warmth of a man beside him. Hand outstretched, he patted the space to find it long cold. A shiver ran down his own spine as he looked around the room to find the sliding glass door open a crack, the coughing growing louder from the small space.
Stifling a sigh, Shane sat up, legs thrown over the side of the bed. His arms outstretch over his head as he stands, swaying briefly thanks to the crosscheck that he received last night from Ilya. Or perhaps it was from the fucking that they did afterwards. Ilya insisted that he was fine other than a scratch in the back of his throat that was due to one too many cigarettes after the game. A slight argument followed about the dangers of smoking from Shane while Ilya insisted that he was trying to quit.
From the sounds coming from the balcony, trying wasn’t quite the word that Shane would use.
“Rozanov,” Shane called into the darkness.
There was no answer, not that Shane expected one. It was slightly unusual for one of them to actually spend the night at the other’s hotel room, but with tomorrow being a later flight for Ilya, Shane decided that it couldn’t hurt to spend some time actually sleeping with him. It was a rare occurrence, though one that Shane savored, never knowing if and when it would happen again.
Shane eased forward into the darkness, creeping over to the balcony. The door was obstructed by a dark curtain, which blocked all of Shane’s view from the outside. However, just because he couldn’t see, didn’t mean he couldn’t hear.
The coughs were rougher the closer he came, thick and wet, cracking in the depths of his lungs. Just when he hoped that the fit was soon to ending, another fit of coughs were unleashed, even more painful sounding than the last. Phlegm kicked in the back of the Russian’s throat, refusing to be dislodged as Ilya sniffed back whatever was threatening to make an appearance. Shane grimaced only because Ilya couldn’t see him.
“Rozanov?” Shane found himself knocking on the partially open door. Suddenly feeling silly as he pushed it the rest of the way open and squeezed his way through.
The Boston’s player stood hunched over, cigarette between his fingers with a trail of smoke vanishing into the dark sky. He leaned partially over the railing, lips parted. His nose was pink tinged around the edges, face sickeningly pale. Beads of sweat shone on his forehead despite it being quite cold here in Montreal. A hollow look in his eyes was what Shane noticed first. It was as though Ilya was there but not really.
“Rozanov,” Shane repeated.
Ilya took another long drag of the cigarette, coughing harshly before he could take in a full breath. Smoke spilled from his mouth, flooding the space around him briefly as he fought to compose himself. His body seemed to stiffen as he straightened.
“I heard you first time.”
“What are you doing out here?”
Ilya picked up his wrist with the cigarette in hand. His eyes bore daggers in Shane’s direction, as even without words, Shane could sense the hostility.
“Oh, right.”
Ilya said nothing more as he was overtaken by yet another coughing fit, this one strong enough to bend him in half. His arms draped over the rail, forearms braced hard to keep himself from swaying. He coughed off to the side, opposite Shane’s direction, croaking loud enough that Shane could hear the irritation flooding through each infected airway.
“That sounds bad.”
Ilya managed to compose himself, sniffling wetly as he straightened back up. “No shit, Hollander.”
A shiver ran down Shane’s spine at hearing his last name roll off Ilya’s tongue. Even when his voice was hoarse, barely a conceivable whisper, layered thick by his accent, it still made heat pool down south. Shane shifted so that he too was leaning against he railing, frigid to the touch.
“You should really come inside. It’s freezing out here.” Shane shuddered for emphasis, noting that Ilya was only in a t-shirt and boxers.
Ilya turned up his nose at the suggestion. He lifted his cigarette back up to his lips, though he didn’t take another hit. Perhaps this was progress.
The light of the cigarette slowly began to diminish the longer the two stood out there. Ilya broke off to cough every couple moments. His other hand started to knuckle hard against his nostrils, which flared with an itch Ilya couldn’t scratch. A wet, liquid filled sniffle punctuated the silence between them, which only caused Ilya to scrub harder and swear softly under his breath.
Shane watched the faint light from above illuminate Ilya’s body, cascading down his muscular arms. A faint flush crept onto Ilya’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. The smell of smoke finally greeted Shane’s own nose, which wrinkled as he took another step back to press his against the corner of the small balcony. He doubted that anyone would be able to see them from up here, but there was always that possibility.
“You should be inside,” Shane announced again once he could no longer take the silence that stretched between them.
Ilya cast a quick glance over his shoulder, shook his head, and turned back to his cigarette. This time he brought it up to his lips and breathed in deeply. His lungs rattled, turning into a violence wheeze when he coughed yet again. He tucked himself to the corner of balcony to keep himself upright. Ashes fell from the tip as he pressed it against the wall to put it out. He set the cigarette into the ashtray on the tiny table, the final tendrils of smoke billowing from the smoldering object.
Shane gasped as Ilya reached into his back pocket for another cigarette and lighter, the flicker of fire burning bright in the small space.
“Don’t you fucking dare light another!” Shane lunged forward and snatched the lighter from Ilya’s hand. He may not be able to take each and every cigarette from Ilya, but without the lighter he’d solve most of his problems.
Ilya narrowed his eyes without a distinct look of fire within them. “Who knew Shane Hollander is so bossy?”
“Bossy?” Outrage washed over Shane, which he fought to overcome. “I’m trying to save you from giving yourself fucking pneumonia! Get inside before you catch your death.”
A sly smile twisted across Ilya’s features, one eyebrow raised. Shane thought he was about to argue, to put up some kind of resistance, but to his relief he passed by without another complaint. Shane brought up the rear, wincing as he heard Ilya continue to cough the entire way back to their bedroom.
Smoke clung to Ilya’s clothing. Normally it wouldn’t bother Shane in the slightest, but it couldn’t be doing his irritated lungs any favors.
“You should change,” Shane informed as he snagged the end of Ilya’s shirt in his hands and hauled him back.
Ilya grumbled in response. It wasn’t until Shane showed his insistence with another look that Ilya finally turned to face him.
“Into what? This is your room.”
Oh, right. Shane had forgotten that. Ilya didn’t have a change of clothes here as he meant to come for a hookup, maybe spend the night, and disappear early in the morning. The only clothes he had were the jeans that lay discarded on the floor, and the shirt that he currently wore.
“Um, you could have a change of mine if you wanted,” Shane offered.
Ilya’s eyes almost leapt right out of his head. “To leave tomorrow? You don’t think someone will notice?”
Shane hadn’t thought of that. Truthfully, his thoughts were still groggy as he tried to make sense of everything around him. He clearly wasn’t thinking straight if that’s what he was suggesting. However, it could work if Ilya just changed out of Shane’s clothes before he left or just threw a sweatshirt on inside out. There were plenty of options, all of which Shane was currently wracking his brain to come up with the best solution.
“No,” Ilya responded firmly, stifling a cough through tightly sealed lips. “Smoke is fine.”
Shane wanted to argue, to reassure Ilya that it wasn’t that big of a deal. However, they’d been seeing each other only for about a year, and most of that time was spent horizontal and with someone’s dick in someone else’s mouth. The notion of staying later than they intended was still new and Shane didn’t want to scare Ilya away. That being said, he also didn’t want him pushing himself to the brink either.
Shoulders sagging in resignation, Shane motioned back to the bed. “You should really lay down at least.”
“Mmm. Are you doctor now? Dr. Hollander.”
Shane pawed at Ilya’s shoulder. “I’m serious. That’s a pretty gnarly cough you have there, Rozanov.”
Ilya shrugged. “Change of weather. Too many cigarettes. Is nothing.”
It sure as hell didn’t sound like nothing. Although, Shane was about to chalk it up to those things, perhaps exacerbated from one too many checks into the boards when Ilya sucked in an involuntary breath and raised his fist to his face. He ducked down hard, sneezing fiercely twice one after the other. They were relatively contained, not quite silent, but certainly held back. Shane didn’t doubt that Ilya’s full sneeze was something much more jarring.
“Bless you,” Shane replied, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
Ilya sniffled, thick and watery, in response. His eyes blinked hard against the pressure that threatened to build that a few stubborn jams of his thumb against the bridge of his nose couldn’t solve.
“You’re sick.”
“No. Smoke tickles.”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “It’s never done that before, has it?”
Ilya turned off to the side, nose pressed against the side of his wrist as he sneezed once more, this one even more restrained than the other. He was left snorting back whatever hadn’t leaked out with the force of his sneeze, brow knit tight in frustration. When he finally dropped his hand, he swiped it against the back of his shirt as discretely as possible. He didn’t immediately look back to Shane, nostrils concaving with another sharp inhale through his nose.
Shane didn’t try and bless Ilya this time. Instead he closed the distance between the two and grasped the bottom of Ilya’s shirt. The soft material worked between Shane’s fingers as he glided the shirt easily over Ilya’s head. Ilya’s shoulders drew forward to combat the shivers that overwhelmed his body. Shane took Ilya by the wrist and led him over to the bed.
“We have a few more hours before either of us have to get up,” Shane pointed out as he eased Ilya back down on the bed. He made sure to nudge the tissue box on Ilya’s nightstand closer to his side of the bed in case Ilya needed them. “Lay back.”
Ilya watched Shane walk around the length of the bed before sitting on his side. “You make me cold,” he assessed with a shiver to match.
“Then you’ll just have to come closer,” Shane teased, his eyes warm in the darkness.
Ilya grimaced. “Do not believe you could smell smoke. You only wanted me naked.”
“You still have boxers on. You’re not naked.” Shane slung an arm around Ilya’s shoulder, fingers trailing over Ilya’s pec. Despite Ilya’s shivers, Shane found his skin quite warm. In fact, it was almost unnaturally warm.
The stillness didn’t last long as Ilya untangled himself from Shane’s embrace to start to cough. It was similar to the ones on the balcony until they increased in ferocity, Ilya completely upright with a fist jammed under his mouth. Abdominal muscles flexed against it, chest shuddering as tears caught in the corners of his squinted eyes. Agitation rippled through his body as he fought to taper the coughs. Unfortunately, it only seemed to increase.
Ilya let out a half gasp, half cough as something sticky and thick spewed from his mouth, caught in a cupped hand. Surprise clenched in his chest while Shane sprang to action, ducking behind Ilya to grab the tissue box. He pulled it close and grabbed a few, the tissues held under Ilya’s mouth until the Russian cracked his eyes open enough to clutch the tissues for dear life against his open mouth.
“Get it out,” Shane encouraged. His fist found itself in the center of Ilya’s back. What started at light rubbing turned into steady pounds in a clockwise motion. He hoped to break up some of the phlegm that was no doubt plaguing Ilya, no matter how much Ilya would argue he didn’t need to. “Cough up as much as you can. C’mon.”
Ilya gave one more exhausted hack, breaking up the worst of the congestion in the form of a harsh spat into the white folds. He surfaced with a frown, face twisted in disgust as he dried off his hand and tossed the tissue onto the nightstand. Ilya sighed as he leaned back against the headrest, chest heaving as though he’d just played an entire game. A loose fist came to his chest to rub in small circles.
“That hurt,” Shane fretted. If he was fearful before of whatever the hell Ilya had, it was nothing compared to this. There was no doubt in his mind that his smoking wasn’t helping matters, but it was no longer the only contributing factor to Ilya’s current predicament.
Ilya groaned in response. His hand held over his chest until Shane took it in his own to lower it down. Shane found the tips of his fingers cold to the touch and didn’t hesitate to work the digits between both hands by rubbing them back and forth between his palms.
“You should really see a doctor tomorrow, or maybe the team doctor if you don’t want to involve anyone else.” Shane’s voice grew oddly quiet as he helped Ily lean back against a fluffed up pillow that Shane tucked behind his shoulders. “Coughing up shit is usually a sign this more than a cold.”
Ilya huffed, snorting back a generous amount of congestion that loosened during his last display. He muttered a few words in Russian, words that Shane couldn’t understand. He could only guess their implication.
“Are you trying to ignore this conversation?”
“M’not sick.”
Shane frowned at the congestion that now flooded into Ilya voice. Combined with tiredness and his usual Russian accent, his voice no longer sounded like it belonged to Ilya. Shane would found it oddly attractive if not for the fact that it was Ilya’s voice that sounded like he’d spent the evening swallowing gravel.
“You’re certainly something.”
Shane couldn’t resist lifting his hand to brush a few stray curls from Ilya’s brow. He noted how Ilya leaned into his touch, guard lowered just enough for the backs of his fingers to stray to the center of his brow where the heat was the most concentrated. Shane may not have been able to gauge a clear reading, but he definitely could tell that Ilya was beginning to sport a fever.
Ilya groaned as his arms grew limp in front of him, left palm coming to press down hard against his soft cock. “We are wasting time when we should be doing something else. Something not boring.”
It was Shane’s turn to show his displeasure in the form of a groan as Ilya sunk down onto his side, head bowed towards Shane’s groin. Shane reached down to grasp Ilya by the shoulders before he could proceed, fingers dropped down to hook under Ilya’s chin to raise him up the rest of the way. Despite the flutter in Shane’s own stomach, he couldn’t allow Ilya to overexert himself when he was in this state.
“I don’t want you coughing on my dick,” Shane joked warmly, face crinkled at the idea.
Ilya didn’t seem hardly as amused. He raised his hand to trail his fingers under the skin spread under Shane’s eyes, along his cheekbones. “Freckles,” he rasped. “They are….more when you laugh.”
“Really?”
Ilya made a sound of confirmation that was cut off by another searing cough. This one he was able to direct into the crook of his arm just over his shoulder, strained but still less than the attack prior. Whatever his lungs attempted to shake free was choked back before Shane could offer an alternative such as a tissue.
“That’s gross, Rozanov.”
“Hmmm, you are doctor now? Doctor Hollander?”
Shane threw his head back to disguise the small smile creeping onto his face. Ilya was the only one that could bring out that type of smile from him, the only one who was privy to that look. There was no doubt, right then and there, that Ilya Rozanov would do anything in his power to make sure that he always saw that look on Shane Hollander’s face.
“No, not a doctor. Just someone with a little common sense. I know enough to understand that lungs shouldn’t sound like that.” Shane rested his hand over Ilya’s chest for emphasis, a harsh crackling embedded so deep that even without Shane’s ear angled downwards, he could hear the strain of the bronchi as they fought for breath.
Ilya’s chest stuttered under Shane’s light pressure. This time when he felt the need to cough, he suppressed it with the muscles straining on either side of his throat. His Adam’s apple quivered dangerously until it finally overwhelmed him, ripping free until he managed to free his elbow from his side and hack into it. Droplets of saliva stuck to his bare skin, not so easily brushed away when the fit finally came to an abrupt halt.
Shane couldn’t listen to it anymore, ears ringing at the thought of hearing Ilya’s body putting him through this over and over again. There was nothing he had on hand that would ease it, let alone soothe the worst of the ache. Perhaps a cold drink might coat his sore throat, but it would be a bandaid on a bullet wound. Hell, it probably wouldn’t even go that far.
“Fuck,” Ilya choked out when the fit finally passed, eyes half lidded. His chest barely moved to match his labored breathing, lips parted slightly to allow stuttering exhales.
Hesitancy completely voided, Shane tucked himself back against Ilya’s side, back completely upright against the headrest. One hand rested on Ilya’s shoulder, the other on his chest to pull him back towards him. Ilya fought him momentarily, weakly, with Shane easily able to overpower him.
“Shhh. Shhh.” Shane’s lips found their way to Ilya’s brow that was beaded with sweat. It soaked Shane’s lips as he trailed lower between Ilya’s eyes. “Relax, Rozanov.”
Ilya groaned, a wretched sound from the back of his aggravated throat. Shane continued to whisper sweetness against the crown of Ilya’s head, breath dancing around his ears. The backs of his fingers trailed over Ilya’s jaw, ghosting over his overly warm skin.
“If you didn’t have a fever before, you certainly do now.”
Ilya’s left hand flailed briefly in the air between them before Shane took his hand in his own and rested it down between them. Their fingers intertwined, rested on Ilya’s lap. “Promise me you’ll stop smoking, at least until this is passed. If you can’t do it for yourself or your team…..can you at least do it for me?”
Besides sounding way more intimate and pleading than Shane intended, Ilya’s minuscule nod gave him all the clarification he needed. Shane couldn’t help but nuzzle his face into the thick curls atop Ilya’s head as Ilya’s cheek rested upon his shoulder. Their hands were still clasped together, something that Shane never wanted to change.
Another wave of pain seared through Ilya’s chest in the form of two harsh hacks that roared in Shane’s ears. Somehow he didn’t mind as he felt Ilya’s hand tighten in his grasp only to release a moment later as if realizing what he was doing.
“It’s alright,” Shane chided with another kiss to Ilya’s brow. “You can hold onto me for as long as you need to. If it helps.”
Shane doubted that his words sunk in to the shivering man beside him until less than a minute later when he coughed once more. Shane could feel the heat from Ilya’s coughs against his chest, unbothered in a way that he couldn’t imagine unless it was Ilya doing it. Ilya grasped hold of Shane’s hand so hard that he felt his bones may crack. Somehow he was even less bothered by that than the coughing.
When the coughs tapered off, Ilya was left panting in the aftermath, nose dripping down his upper lip. Ilya weakly lifted his free hand to swipe weakly over his face, more or less smearing rather than actually cleaning it up. Shane stifled a sigh as he lifted the corner of the sheet up instead as the tissue box was just out of reach. Ilya flinched at the touch for a moment, only to relax back when his eyes fluttered open to gaze at Shane in mortification.
“Is gross,” he wheezed.
Shane shrugged. “Yeah, well, I like to think you’d do the same for me if I was stupid enough to smoke with a cold.”
“I would,” Ilya told him feverishly.
Shane pressed their foreheads together, careful to avoid their noses brushing. “Don’t make me hold you to that.”
An ache suddenly spread through his chest that had nothing to do with his worry for Ilya. This was just a casual thing that the two of them did, hooking up after games and occasionally spending the night at each other’s hotel rooms. It wasn’t meant to be anything more, and yet Shane couldn’t deny the feelings he felt creeping up inside of him for the asshole Russian Boston’s player. Try as he might to stuff down those feelings, they always came rushing right back up to the surface.
Shane may not be great at reading people, but he liked to believe that Ilya Rozanov felt the same as he did.
“This is not how is meant to be.”
If Shane’s head hadn’t been inclined on top of Ilya’s own, he wouldn’t have heard the broken words that spilled from his lips. Intrigued, Shane couldn’t let those words go unchallenged.
“I don’t know. It kinda works for me.”
The bridge of Ilya’s nose wrinkled, a resounding squelch sounding when he attempted to breathe through his clogged nostrils. “Liar. You liar.”
Shane couldn’t stop the spread of a tender smile, the flutter in his chest. He was partially relieved that Ilya couldn’t see him perched above the Russian’s head. “I don’t lie to you.”
Ilya grew still for perhaps the first time that evening, a peace that not even a cigarette could give him. The feel of Ilya’s skin against Shane’s own seemed to chase the worst of the chill from the Boston player, the only sound between them was Ilya hopelessly congested breathing that he would never admit to. Their fingers were still intertwined, though Shane had no intention of releasing them anytime soon. Ilya may not say how much he wanted Shane’s touch when this was supposed to casual, but Shane was already well aware.
Shane wished he could do more, that he was more equipped even though he couldn’t remember looking after anyone in his life. His mother was always the one that did the caretaking and it wasn’t like he ever had anything serious. However, being here with Ilya in his current predicament just felt right.
“Think too loud,” Ilya suddenly rasped with another cough that hardly shook him thanks to how weak it was. His face screwed up at the sour taste in his mouth, quickly replaced with a look of content when Shane kissed along the length of his forehead with small pecks of his lips.
Shane smiled behind each kiss. “I’m sorry. I promise they were all good thoughts about you.”
A smile, a genuine one, briefly flashed across Ilya’s face. His eyes were still closed, though the intimate nature of his smile was not lost on Shane. He said nothing more as he let out a hefty sigh, limp body sure against Shane’s own. Shane took the weight of Ilya with pride, the soft breath of his open mouth tickling the hairs on the side of his neck. It wasn’t long before his breathing finally evened out, a wiry catch at each exhale that thankfully didn’t produce into a full blown coughing fit. Even if it had, Shane would’ve coaxed him through best he knew how, holding him upright with tissues against to his swollen lips if need be.
Was this what love felt like? If so, Shane never wanted to feel the absence of this affection for Ilya ever again.