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The hit was pretty bad. In all honesty it was probably the worst one of the season. So bad that even the crowd flinched. Whoops and cheers quickly became gasps and silence upon viewing the impact.
Shane hopes his parents didn’t see it.
He takes a second, blinking up at the blurry bright lights above him as he recalls what happened.
He was skating down the ice, sailing really. Entering that state that only hockey allows him to reach where he’s so in tune with his abilities that nothing else can stop him. Well, almost nothing.
He was skating down the ice. Centre ice. With the puck gliding ahead of him. He remembers gearing up for a slap shot that would’ve ricochet off the side of the goal and into the net, securing a 3-1 win. Man it would’ve been a good one. A great highlight for sports betters and their parlay.
Right. He was skating down the ice when one of the San Jose Sharks defence men completely crushed him in every sense of the word. What was his name again? Carter, or Smith or whatever. Shane remembered the blow, the air leaving his lungs, the buckle of his knees. Did he fall on his wrists? He must’ve, they kind of hurt a little. Either way he was down and then J.J. was there. How did he get there so fast? What a good friend.
J.J. was there, then Hayden probably. Then a few of the sharks were there too. Shane chuckled at the memory. It’s like something out of West Side Story. Sharks and Jets. Sharks and Metros. They were fighting. Glove dropping, jersey grabbing. A flurry of bright jerseys and loud mean words and exaggerated masculinity. The violence was a part of hockey that Shane never really cared for… well sometimes. But not in the moment as he was down and caught underneath it all. As it all erupted right above him, the sharp blade of a skate slipped through his gear and right into the skin on Shane’s shoulder.
He crinkled his nose upon remembering the searing pain once his flesh ripped open in a messy jagged cut. Ouch. He really really hopes his parents weren’t watching.
He didn’t scream. Couldn’t if he tried. It was the type of pain that brought prickling tears to your eyes and caused your body to writhe through the inescapable burn that overtakes you. He wished he could jump up and run from it. Shane’s hand flew up to his shoulder as he rolled to his side, gripping it as if he could physically pull the injury out with his fingers.
From there the rest is fuzzy as warm blood pooled around his neck and shoulder and the side of his face. It filled his gear, making his head hurt and his stomach churn to feel over his already sweat slicked skin. Shane’s never been bad with blood, if he was he’d join baseball instead, but even the most accomplished forensic scientist could admit this was excessive. He barely saw the look on Hayden’s face through his visor as he peered down at Shane, but from the way his eyes immediately darted away, he knew it wasn’t good.
Blow of the whistle. Murmurs in the crowd. The wheels of a gurney. This would be a great time for a bathroom break if you’re in the nosebleeds- poor choice of words. Shane wondered if they cut to commercial break, deciding this was a little too gory for family viewers. Or if they left cameras rolling, zooming in and lingering on the way Shane folded himself in a ball, trying to get some type of grip on this feeling. He wished he could just pass out or truly die and not feel at all but he wasn’t so lucky. He felt his pulse in his shoulder and his head was so woozy like the first time he smoked weed at 17. It didn’t even work, just gave him a headache.
Then what happened… right. The gurney, the ambulance. The paramedics asked questions but Shane was too busy clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut to hear them. It was impolite to ignore people but he felt if he tried to answer the question of rating his pain level on a scale of one to ten, he’d absolutely lose his shit. Fuck. Ten. It was a ten.
From there it was hospital, doctor words, more questions. “Shane, are you with us? Wiggle your fingers for me Shane. Keep your eyes open Shane. Who should we call Shane”. He probably followed the instructions, he’s always been good at that. Who should they call? His mom and dad and… that’s about it. Should he have more people to call?
Then it was the table and the surgeons and the wires and the beeping. The pain subsided and Shane felt another type of woozy. The medically induced type. God Bless modern medicine. It was so relieving he drifted into sleep. Not before willing his eyes open and looking at the man in a mask and gloves leaning over him. The light of the overhead lamp shined bright through his curls and illuminated him. Shane distantly felt his hands pressing into his bare shoulder. When did they take his shirt off? The man - doctor? Surgeon? - was surrounded by a team of professionals who swiftly moved around him, but he didn’t look scared. His eyes flicked over to Shane’s and he could’ve sworn he saw them crinkle into a smile right before sleep overtook him.
Presently, Shane was in the hospital on a scratchy bed. He laid perched up by firm pillows with a thin blanket draped over his lap. Bandages wrapped around his left shoulder over to his right and under his arm pit in a secure position underneath his hospital gown. All things considered he was pretty comfortable. Shane wondered what time it was and if they lost. He looked out the window of his private room and saw the sun low in the sky. He must’ve been sleeping for a while.
Suddenly the door of his room opened and a young woman bristled in and began looking at his vitals.
“How are you feeling Mr. Hollander?” She peered at his IV drip.
Shane began to grind his teeth together, still feeling a little dreary. “Okay.” He managed, rather lamely.
Her voice was a little too bright as she responded with a cheeriness Shane was sure she gave all of her patients.
“That is good to hear, you’re in good hands. Dr. Rozanov will be stopping by in a minute to take a look and give you further information.”
Before he could respond, she was out. On to the next casualty. He was no better than anyone else here after all. Not deserving of lingering care. He respected it. Wishing he could grab his phone to check on them, Shane thought of his parents. He knows they must’ve come and gone while he was out. His mom must’ve sent his dad to pick up his belongings while she found someone to blame and worked out a way to get a hold on how the media would cover this. Shane smiled at the thought.
A twinge in his shoulder brought him out of it. The medication they had flowing into his veins was good for the most part. He felt drowsy and his head felt heavy when he lifted it from his pillow. It made his shoulder and arm feel fuzzy but the pain was still there. Bringing a tentative hand up to feel the bandage, Shane wondered how deep the cut was. Did it tear his muscle and the tendons keeping his arm attached to his neck? Would he ever be able to send a puck down the ice with his - not to brag - incredible back hand? Can he still do yoga?
His spiralling thoughts were interrupted when the door clicked open. The sun was lower now and the sky was painted a beautiful palette of oranges and reds. They seemed to coincide with the Doctor who entered the room. Blonde curls, strong frame, sharp features. If he didn’t know any better, Shane would’ve sworn this guy was a hockey player. No, he couldn’t be. Hockey players were never this handsome, Shane would know. The Doctor paid him no mind as he set down a clipboard on the desk in the corner and scanned the card in his lab coat pocket. Shane silently watched his back as he leaned down to type something into the keyboard. Loud clacking filled the room and Shane could just barely see his fingers bend and straighten across each key. He wondered how often this guy worked out because he must work out. The defined ridges of muscle on his back were outlined against his lab coat. Shane was momentarily transfixed in a sudden haze.
“How are you feeling Mr. Hollander?”
He snapped out of it for a second to register the Doctor now above him, pulling up his wheeled chair to take a seat next to the bed.
“Sorry?” He blinked.
The Doctor smiled and placed a hand on Shane’s knee in an effort to ground him. It was having the opposite effect as Shane felt the warmth of his palm seep through the paper thin hospital blanket he was under and spread up and across his pelvic bones. He blinked again.
“Tell me how you feel.” The Doctor’s eyes were soft but sharp, same as his tone beneath his accent. Shane flushed a little, feeling stupid for not responding the first time.
“Good. Fine. A little loopy but alright.” He said. Shane lets his eyes fall to the pocket on his lab coat, reading the engraved letters that spelt his name. I. Rozanov.
“That was some hit you took,” He says, checking something on the clipboard in his hands. “Large laceration.” He flips over a page.
“Comes with the sport. Would’ve happened eventually.” Shane attempted indifference and shrugged with his good shoulder.
Dr. Rozanov glanced up with a slight smile and a crinkle around the corners of his eyes. “I suppose it does. Very impressive, you are quite strong, Mr. Hollander.”
Shane preens at the praise but also notices the teasing tone beneath it. It irks him.
“Not a hockey fan?” He turns his head slightly to meet his gaze.
“No. I used to work in paediatrics, see a lot of children with ice-related injuries. Not a fun sight.”
“I’m not a child.”
His bright eyes, now dim under sharp brows, flick upwards to meet Shane’s gaze. “No, you are not.”
A beat passed where neither of them said a word and simply looked at one another. Rozanov’s eyes flit over Shane so quickly you wouldn’t notice as he wore an easy expression. In return Shane takes in the Doctor’s frame and demeanour. It’s unlike any doctor he’s ever worked with during previous accidents on ice. They all had sterile exteriors in a way meant to let Shane know he wouldn’t get special treatment for being a “celebrity”. It was comforting but chilling at the same time. With rough tones and blank faces, they’d almost treat him as if he wasn’t even human.
Shane wonders what Rozanov’s thinking as he regards him with precision. A knowing expression met his eyes and the corner of his lips.
He reaches forward and Shane flinches slightly at the sudden movement. The doctor notices and pauses his hand mid air with a small smile. Shane feels a little shy as he relaxes, allowing his touch. That was dorky. What is he, five?
Dr. Rozanov then reaches around slowly and slides delicate fingers over Shane’s cheekbone, tilting his head while leaning in for a better look. Shane holds his gaze and his mind goes blank at the contact. Goosebumps ripple down his back under the thin hospital gown at the touch of the doctor’s calloused hands. He rests his thumb near the corner of Shane’s top lip.
Dr. Rozanov peers closely and Shane can see the slight greys weaved in his golden hair. “You have a slight bruise here,” He shifts his hand up so his large fingers brush against Shane’s ear and over his hair. The Doctor’s thumb rests gently on the slightly pink mark blooming beneath his skin. Shane’s pulse began to beat against his throat where he was sure Dr. Rozanov could feel it.
“Must’ve happened when I caught an elbow.” Shane says in a quiet voice, appropriate for the moment he was suspended in, careful not to break it.
Unless he imagined it, Dr. Rozanov caught his breath before letting out a quiet - so quiet - stuttered breathy giggle. Has anyone ever heard a doctor giggle?
“You really are strong hm? Fighting ten men on skates. I would have loved to see that.”
Rozanov’s face was so close to Shane’s now that he could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke softly. Shane noticed how his accent seemed to wrap the words fighting ten men in velvet and it was intoxicating.
He distantly wondered what the Doctor looked like in action. When emergency cases arrived in need of urgent medical attention, causing him to snap on gloves while shouting orders to the rest of his team. Shane pictured the sweat on his brow during a particularly difficult surgery that required a steady and stable hand. Maybe he’d accidentally hit an artery that even the most skilled doctor couldn’t see. Maybe it resulted in a horrific mess. Something out of the slashers Shane enjoyed watching with Hayden. His entire front would be covered in squirts of blood that went up to the bottom of his exposed neck and reached the stubble of his jaw.
Shane’s mouth felt dry and he swallowed at the thought. The morbid and gross thought. Why would he think that?
Doctor Rozanov looked up from the bruise on Shane’s face to his eyes, briefly looking back and forth between both in a curious way that made Shane panic and wonder if he had read his mind. If anyone possessed the ability it would be a doctor. His eyes flickered down to Shane’s lips, his nose, his freckles then back to his eyes. A careful expression appeared over him and Shane felt as if they were both trying to wordlessly communicate in a language he couldn’t quite grasp yet.
Then, slowly the doctor pushed his thumb against the bruise. Increasing pressure, forcing the soft pad of his finger into pulsing sensitive skin. Shane gasps slightly and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the pain as he pushes further against the bruise. It hurt so badly there was a slight hot, throbbing building beneath it. Still, for some reason Shane doesn’t draw back. Doesn’t forfeit or retreat. He winces and sucks in a breath but lets Rozanov continue to dig his finger deep and hurt him.
Shane wants to open his eyes and look at him but the Doctor keeps a hard hand on his jaw, with his fingers curled around the back of his neck, keeping his head angled to the side in place. Shane can sense the heat of his face against his cheek. He can smell his scent - an intoxicating combination of cigarettes and coffee and that deeply sanitized hospital smell. He can feel his gaze and can hear his subtle shallow breaths, as if the action of pressing his thumb against Shane’s face required restraint and focus. As if he were holding himself back.
As the discomfort overtook him, Shane didn’t want it to stop. He felt a strange relief. It hurt so bad that his ears built a slight static. The kind that clears his head in a good way. Devoiding him from the rest of the world. The buzz seemingly spreads from his head to behind his eyes as Doctor Rozanov wiggles his thumb, trying to get underneath this layer of Shane’s skin. He pushes more and more and more until Shane’s sure there has to be a dent in his cheekbone.
Finally the pressure stops as he relents his grasp. The searing heat is soothed by the room's cool AC. Shane lets out a breath and finds himself a little disappointed when the Doctor retracts his hand with a drag of his dull nail against the throbbing skin.
He let his head rest against the thick pillows as he came down from the pain. Shane turned his head to the side to see the Doctor who returned to his clipboard, as if any of that was normal.
Shane could only lay back and catch his breath. Let his heart rate even out. Let the thumping in his head subside. He closed his eyes and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. Shane wondered if it was the drugs or something else that made him feel this heavy so suddenly. Like the aftermath of an adrenaline rush.
A current waved through the air. Shane felt as if he had passed a silent test.
“Hang in there Hollander, I’ll be out of your hair soon.” Dr. Rozanov placed a hand on Shane’s arm and jostled him slightly, causing his head to lift with great effort.
“No worries. Take your time.” Shane pulled himself out of the weight his head was under and sat up straight. “Sorry…” He added.
“Do not worry, you are model patient. Perfect in fact.” He said with a small smile. Shane watched as he took off his stethoscope and placed it down.
“I will check your wound now,” Rozanov said in a half whispering tone. Still, his accent persisted.
He pulled his hand up towards Shane’s shoulder and untied the knotted fabric holding his gown together in swift motions and let it fall away, revealing Shane’s chest and arms.
He felt a shiver at the sudden loss of coverage. The air conditioned hospital room sent chills across his body. The Doctor seemed to notice and he ran his hands, now donning thin latex gloves, up and down Shane’s arms swiftly to warm him up.
“Sorry about the temperature in here, it is impossible to manage,” He says as he continues to swipe his hands over his arms to create friction. Like he didn’t internally feel on fire.
“No worries.” He mumbled as a blush settled over his cheeks and neck. He could only feel the doctor’s large presence behind him and the action reminded him of what his Dad would do when they’d finally get inside after a day of tobogganing at the sports field nearby. He found himself leaning into Rozanov’s touch.
The doctor spread his fingers across the skin that stretched over the muscles covering Shane’s rib cage. Goosebumps bloomed beneath his touch. Doctor Rozanov let out quiet breaths as if he were scared to make sudden movements that would burst the delicate moment. He slid his rough calloused palm up Shane’s bare side, his fingers long enough to slightly curl around the side of Shane’s back. They passed over the grooves of the muscle that Shane worked so hard to build and preserve. The doctor’s touch was curious and greedy as he explored specific parts of Shane’s skin. It made him feel like some kind of toy. A sensory play thing that infants used to stimulate themselves. He could only sit and feel as the doctor touched his skin.
Fingers crept around his back and over his shoulder blade. From where he sat, Shane could not see the Doctor’s face as he had pushed him forward slightly so he was no longer leaning against the pillows but now had his back towards the window as he faced the wall. It was blank aside from one poster of a middle aged couple who both smiled with all teeth, seemingly filled with joy after getting flu season vaccines. Their bright eyes bore into Shane who was in a slight discomfort with his legs dangling over the side of the bed causing him to feel like he was being dragged down with the added effects of the medication in his veins. The hand retreated from his rib and trickled down the centre of his back, over the ridges of his spine that curled forward due to his current hunched posture. His mom wouldn’t approve. It was a strange sensation, like wires being stripped and exposed. Like cold water on sensitive teeth.
“Tell me if there is discomfort.” Rozanov said. Shane could feel his voice against the back of his head and could once again faintly smell the husky aroma of cigarettes. Were doctors allowed to smoke? Isn’t that against the rules?
Shane lifted his arm slightly and could hear the rusting of the gauze unwinding from the top of his left arm to under his right armpit. He hadn’t realized how tight the wrap was until he felt the pressure release from his arm to his neck. Cold air met the wound and it felt as if a spot was carved out of him with a spoon like a pumpkin on Halloween.
Behind him the doctor sighed.
“Well, the stitches are healing. I will have to take a closer look.” Dr. Rozanov leans forward. Close to Shane’s ear. Over his shoulder, he couldn’t tell what Rozanov was doing but he felt the heat of his body over his exposed skin. Almost touching but not quite. Not yet. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
The clock in the corner of the room on the opposite wall ticked as Shane continued to stare at the couple. He wished they’d look away. Turn around for a moment and give him some privacy. At the same time, he was glad they were here and someone was able to witness the peculiar bubble he was trapped in. Silence filled the room and Shane could only hear the clock and the sound of Dr. Rozanov’s breath. The rest of the hospital seemed to not exist.
Suddenly, a hot, searing pain erupted from Shane’s shoulder. On impulse he jerked away and moved out of the doctor’s reach, bringing a hand up to cover his wound, now wet with blood. Shane cried out as he turned around to meet the doctor’s eyes. He suppressed the primal urge he felt within him to attack the Doctor or flee entirely. Instead he froze and regarded him with a doleful look.
Dr. Rozanov looked stunned with his hands suspended in the air and three fingers slick with blood. Was that his? The Doctor set his hands down and took notice of the shock on Shane’s as his eyes darted towards the exit, then back to him and his blinking expression smoothed into something coy as lip quirked slightly.
“Shane, it is alright.” His tone was slightly condescending in a way that prickled Shane’s skin. He turned his palms upwards towards him so chest looked open beneath his lab coat. “Just relax, okay? Can you do that?”
Could he do that when the Doctor had just pushed his fingers inside his sealed wound? He’s pretty sure doctors weren’t supposed to do that. Shane wondered if this man was insane or just really good at his job to be able to lure him back into comfort despite the burning sensation he was experiencing. Dr. Rozanov looked at Shane with sincere but commanding eyes while he tilted his head up slightly to peer down at him. Shane felt as if he had no choice but to relax, to submit to his command. Slowly, Shane let out an exhale and hesitantly lowered his hand from his injury, revealing the vulnerable wound to the Doctor again. He settled back onto the bed and sat up straighter, meeting the gaze of the poster. Behind him he heard the shuffle of shoes as Dr. Rozanov stepped closer, assuming previous position. He raised his hand and brushed it just under Shane’s wound, causing him to jolt.
“It is okay. It will hurt, but you can take it.”
The sound of his voice seemed to amplify the drowsy effects of the medication, making his lids heavy. Dr. Rozanov stepped around the bed and into his field of vision. The moles on his face looked as if they’d be meticulously placed in each spot. In his ditzy state, Shane wondered where else they appeared and almost reached forward to find out.
“Can’t you?”
“Yes.” Even with his offkilter mind, he still aimed to please. Besides, he knew he could take it. The Doctor said so.
“It’ll be over in a minute. Just breathe, for me.”
Shane took a breath, for him.
Dr. Rozanov returned behind him and placed light fingers above the open wound. He pressed down into the skin just atop the opening and small streams of blood bubbled from the gaping cut. It was warm and the copper smell was filling the Doctor’s senses. He stared, marveling at the crimson red spilling from Shane’s soft, porcelain body. A body that was light and fine, yet strong. So, incredibly strong. The type of strong that thousands of fans watched and cheered for and bet money on. This type of strong, now gentle under his hands.
Shane felt his touch linger and dance around the cut, sending shivers all over. There was a sting every time Dr. Rozanov slid over the entrance of a stitch, which caused Shane to suck in air through his teeth. The wound was large, it spread from his shoulder to the center of his back. The Doctor moved over the center of the cut and slowly curved his index and middle finger. The tips stood over the entrance of the closed gash, and began dragging lightly back and forth over each groove and indent. It was nothing Shane had ever felt before. He was unsure what to compare the sensation to. Like being tickled with a wasps stinger, it itched in a…
In a pleasurable way. Scratching poison ivy or rubbing a tired eye.
Dr. Rozanov continued to feel each dip where the needle pierced into then pulled out of Shane’s skin to tighten and close the gap. He could only gasp and groan under the Doctor's touch. The sensitivity of his wound was building and a twinge within him that felt similar to something else - what else? It began to spark through his body. The Doctor halted his moving fingers and they returned gently to the center. The brief pause brought Shane momentary relief as the sensation stopped. His eyes which were squeezed shut opened slowly as the poser couple came into view. Have they ever done anything like this?
The feeling dwindled and as Shane was only a little disappointed that it stopped and pushed away the insane urge to impatiently continue by himself. It wouldn’t have felt as good anyway. He felt the Doctor’s breath behind him and he waited for the next impact.
Dr. Rozanov held still and waited for his patient to retreat; to change his mind. But he knew he wouldn’t. He knew the silent agreement they made when he pressed into his bruise still stands. Shane sat up straighter, rounding his shoulders back to brace himself, as if to say I’m ready keep going. To deny his request would be awful bedside manner.
Dr. Rozanov knew what he wanted to do next but wondered if it might be too much. Too far. Too unexplainable for a Doctor to do to a patient. But then again, this was no ordinary patient. After all, he wasn’t treating just anybody. He was treating Shane Hollander, a man who made a career out of being in pain. Who pushed his body to the limit. Dr. Rozanov lifted his gloved hand to lightly trace the muscle on Shane’s shoulder. Just perfect. He could take it.
Wandering finger tips found their way back over the wound, now even more bruised with spots of blood emerging from the edges of the stitches. The Doctor rubbed the blood until it coated his index and middle fingers just past the cuticle.
“Are you alright?” His voice was husky and rough. The only indicator that Shane wasn’t alone in how undone he felt by this procedure.
He nodded.
“Tell me.”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Good.”
A beat passed before a blinding, terrible pain burned from Shane’s shoulder through his body. Dr. Rozanov pushed between the thread and dug into his patient's flesh as the wound which had once been stitched into a thin line that was now being pried open by intruding fingers.
“Oh- God… ugh…” Shane can’t help the noises he makes. The doctor's touch feels like being prodded with a hot iron rod. It’s immediate and all consuming and he can hear the squish and gurgle of his own body molding around Rovanov’s touch.
It’s disgusting and nauseating and if it goes on any longer he’s going to come.
“Mr. Hollander?” Rozanov’s voice is low and teasing and Shane wishes he could turn around and see his face. If he could he’d be met with a hard glare and parted lips as Rozanov panted and stared in fascination at just how bright Shane’s blood was as it dripped between his knuckles.
“You are absolutely perfect.”
“God…hah-” Shane keened and hissed as Rozanov invaded the tight space. His vision became blurry and his breathing was erratic. The Doctor twisted and curved his fingers to carve out more room and the wet sounds of the inner lining of his skin being assaulted were awful.
“I don’t think I have ever had a patient so…” The Doctor withdrew his slick fingers almost entirely.
“So…” Then pushed them back in causing Shane to let out a clipped cry and involuntarily arch his back as a knee jerk reaction. A fire spread from his back to his chest to his throat to his finger tips. Shane closed his fists into the bed sheets and hunched forward with a whine. Tears formed in his eyes and still he took it.
“...Obedient.”