Chapter Text
Ilya felt arms snake around his waist, and a head fell on his shoulder as he was making coffee. He set the kettle on the stove before turning his head and placing a kiss on Shane’s temple.
“Morning, lyubov.”
Shane groaned against him, face buried in Ilya's shoulder. “I’ve got a wicked headache,” he sighed. “Maybe I should’ve gotten an IV.”
Ilya stepped away from the stove and brought an arm over Shane, pulling him around to his front. “Do not worry, milyy, I’m going to take care of you.” He kissed his forehead, running a slow and steady hand over his shoulder blade. “You’re going to feel so much better soon, okay?”
Shane nodded against his chest. “Okay.”
“The coffee will help you,” Ilya told him quietly. Loud noises made it so much worse. “And you will take some medicine.” He brought a hand to Shane’s cheek and tilted his head up. Shane's eyes were barely open. “You'll have to eat some carbs—”
Shane made a disgruntled noise.
“I know you don’t want to—to soak up all the alcohol. And after that, if you want, we will go back to bed, and you can sleep away the headache.”
Ilya held Shane close to him. “You’re going to be alright, baby, I promise.”
“Mhmm,” Shane replied, whining a little. It broke Ilya’s heart.
“Go sit on the couch,” Ilya said, giving Shane another forehead kiss. He didn’t want Shane in the kitchen when the water started boiling because of how loud it would be. “I will bring you your coffee.”
Shane pulled away from him, blinking and nodding. Ilya walked with him to the living room, where he helped him sit on the couch and brought him a fuzzy grey blanket. He tucked it over Shane’s shoulders and kissed his hair.
“I will be right back.”
Shane nodded, and Ilya walked back to the kitchen, hating to leave him. Ilya did everything in the kitchen mindlessly. He set up the French press with coffee grounds and put in the water when it was done, setting a timer for four minutes to let it brew. He walked back up the stairs to thei—Shane’s room, grabbing some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. He took out a pill before putting it away and going back downstairs, where the coffee was still brewing. So he got a glass of water for Shane to have with it. Once the timer went off, Ilya took two mugs from the shelf and poured coffee for Shane and himself. He left Shane’s coffee black, but put some Italian sweet crème creamer in his own. Shane had trays—of course he did—so he could carry multiple things at once and not worry about it. Ilya loaded one up with the coffee, water, and medication. He checked to make sure everything was there before remembering Shane needed food, so he put some strawberries Shane had prepared the previous morning on a plate before finally bringing everything back into the living room.
Ilya walked back into the living room to find a very sleepy Shane slumped back against the couch. Even like this, he was still such a beautiful sight to behold. His hair was messy from sleep, and he’d put on the glasses he’d left on the coffee table last night. In other circumstances, he would’ve looked delectable. But now, Ilya just wanted to hold him and make all of his pain go away.
Shane blinked out of his daze once Ilya set the tray on the coffee table. The first thing he did was pick up the water and medicine, holding it out to Shane.
“Here, moy lyubimyy, this will help with headache.”
Shane wordlessly reached out and took both items, shoving the pill in his mouth before gulping down some water. He drank the whole glass, which made Ilya a little less worried as he sat down next to the other man. Ilya put an arm around Shane, who went willingly into his chest as Ilya leaned back into the cushions. He kept one hand on Shane’s waist and threaded the other into his hair, being careful not to accidentally pull or cause him any more pain. He just made little ministrations on Shane’s scalp, placing little kisses here and there. After a minute or two, Ilya checked to make sure Shane was still conscious.
“Shane,” Ilya whispered, “you should have some coffee.”
Shane shook his head, hugging Ilya tight against him. “Just wanna sleep.”
Ilya leaned forward, Shane’s arms still around him, refusing to let go, and grabbed Shane’s coffee for him. He held it out to the other man, who reluctantly removed his arms from Ilya’s waist to hold it and take a sip. Once he had as much coffee as he wanted—about 1/4 of the cup—he crudely set it back down on the tray and buried his face in Ilya’s shoulder.
“There, I had some.”
Ilya popped a couple of strawberries into his mouth and leaned them back so they were horizontal. He made sure his head was against a pillow so he wouldn’t get uncomfortable and need to move, before pulling the blanket over both of them. Shane looked and sounded so miserable, and Ilya wasn’t going to push him more than he already had. He’d turned all the lights off while he was in the kitchen so they wouldn’t bother Shane in his state. Shane hated feeling sick, and this kind of sickness was entirely voluntary. Ilya knew that, besides feeling physically awful, Shane was also mentally kicking himself. He continued running a hand up and down Shane’s back and gently massaging his head, whispering comforts in his ear. Ilya felt Shane exhale before melting into him.
Ilya carefully took his glasses off and put them on the coffee table. “Get some sleep, my Shane,” he whispered, kissing his forehead again and again. “I got you.”
—————
In all of his 28 years, Shane had never experienced a hangover.
He had a good idea of what had happened when he woke up. He knew he shouldn’t have drunk so much last night, but Hayden had begged him to go out to bars with the rest of the team; they had been buying round after round of shots and kept cheering for Shane to partake. And hell, they’d just won the cup for the third time in five years, so why not?
Why not felt like a real crappy explanation now.
Shane had been terrified when he woke up, and Ilya wasn’t there. His head was pounding, and he thought maybe he’d imagined coming home to Ilya last night. He had been quite drunk, after all. He had been so relieved to walk downstairs and hear footsteps and running water in the kitchen that he almost cried. Shane hated touch from most people, but he’d really needed a hug from his boyfriend. For him to tell him it would all get better. Because he’d done this to himself, and his brain kept repeating how stupid he was, and the headache was making his thoughts so much louder. He needed grounding that could only come from his Ilya
Ilya, who, thankfully, was still there when Shane woke up this time. Shane’s eyes blinked open, and he felt a chest rising and falling against him. He looked up to see Ilya, who was still asleep; his eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly open, quietly breathing in and out. Shane could get up right now—he was feeling a little better—but Ilya looked so peaceful, and Shane was much too comfortable to leave. He lay his head back on Ilya’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
Eventually, Ilya’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Shane with a soft smile on his face. He put a hand to the other man’s cheek. “How are you feeling, moyo solnyshoko?”
“A bit better,” Shane answered honestly. His head was no longer killing him, but he still felt tired and sluggish. “I’m tired, though.”
“Is normal, sweetheart.” Ilya’s hand moved to Shane’s hair. “Would you be able to eat something now?”
Shane wasn’t hungry, but it must have been midday by now, so he really should eat something. He couldn’t believe he’d wasted so much of the day because he couldn’t say no to his teammates. “I can try.”
Ilya’s eyebrows knitted together, and his expression turned sympathetic. Shane should’ve known. He was tired and his guard was down and he wasn’t a very expressive person. But everything he thought still showed on his face, and anyone who actually knew him could tell.
“What is wrong, lyubov? Tell me.”
Shane exhaled. He should just be honest, right? He didn’t want to be any more trouble, but brushing it off would lead to more trouble until it blew up into an argument about honesty or something like that. And he didn’t have the energy for that. Talking would take energy, but fighting would take more.
“I just feel stupid,” he admitted. Ilya’s hand came back to his cheek, thumb running along the bridge of freckles under his eye. Shane leaned into the touch and took another breath. “And I’ve never had a hangover and I felt awful and I feel dumb because I did it to myself.” He heaved because he was getting worked up even though there was no reason. “And I feel bad because you had to spend your time here taking care of me when we could’ve been doing better things with our time and—”
“Moyo solnyshko,” Ilya interrupted, chuckling a little, “it is okay. You are okay. Everyone has—what you call—hangover at some point. It is—sorry I am waking up from nap still—rite of passage.”
“But I wasted your time—”
“No time that I spend with you is a waste,” he said quietly. “I always love spending time with you. Believe it or not, you are very cute when you are drunk.”
Shane laughed as blood rushed to his cheeks. “But still, you had to take care of me, and I feel bad—”
“Shane,” Ilya said, firm but not harsh, “my lovely, beautiful Shane.” He leaned forward to place a kiss on Shane’s forehead. “I will always take care of you.”
Dammit, Shane was going to start crying.
And Ilya knew too, because his expression went soft and he cupped Shane’s face. “Hey, hey,” he whispered, “I’ve got you. I want to be the one to take care of you. I want to be here. I will always be here. Whenever you need me. In sickness and in health, yes?”
“But Ilya, we’re not married.”
He kissed Shane’s cheeks, then his nose, before pulling Shane down to his shoulder and pressing another kiss on his hair. “But someday we will be.”
It wasn’t even a question. Just a fact. Like the sky was blue and the ice was cold. We’ll be married one day.
Shane’s eyes were still watery. But Ilya loved him so surely, and he was giving Shane so many kisses. All the anxiety left his system, and he was just left with love.
When he left the last kiss on Shane’s cheek, Shane turned his head and caught Ilya’s lips with his own. Because Shane loved him. He couldn’t help it. And he was here and he was holding him and calming all of his worries as soon as they were voiced. Ilya made a surprised little noise that Shane took with his mouth and smiled against him. Shane felt Ilya’s tongue on his lips, licking gently into his mouth. Ilya’s hands were on Shane’s face and in his hair, and he put his fingers in Ilya’s soft curls, and it felt so right. Ilya was just…made for him.
Sadly for them, they needed oxygen, so they pulled away, just barely. Ilya kept his nose and his forehead against Shane’s, still keeping his hands on the other man’s back, holding them together. Ilya giggled, and Shane could feel the whole vibration through his body. It felt wonderful. He was so wonderful.
“So,” Ilya said, smiling widely, “you are feeling better.”
Shane laughed against him. “I guess.”
Ilya pressed another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go get you something to eat. Then we can have some fun.” He winked, and Shane went giddy. “Not too much though, do not want you to feel bad again.”
Shane pressed his flushed face against Ilya’s neck. “I’d like that.”
But they didn’t move. Ilya just smiled and caressed his cheek.
“What?” Shane asked, lifting his head and laughing a little.
Ilya sighed, gazing at him fondly. “You just are so beautiful when you’re happy.”