Chapter Text
His husband basically carried him into their home, and Ilya almost died of embarrassment.
At least it felt like it, but he still held onto the broad showers in front him all the same.
Exhaustion seeping into his bones, making his limbs feel dull.
“Can you make it to the bedroom?” Shane inquired after he closed their front door, his voice still laced in worry.
Ilya gravitated to the warm hands wrapped around his waist, stomach still rolling, he holds on to the anchor in the uneasiness that consumed his person.
He nods his head in agreement and mourns the loss of soft hands on his body.
Regret already on the forefront of his mind at the loss of stability, Ilya head was spinning horribly but stubbornly he commanded his legs to move into their living room to face their shoe rack in an attempt to take off his sneakers.
He feels Shane eyes on him; he doesn't need to turn his head to prove himself right.
Hazel eyes closed, trying to focus as he leans to grab the laces of his shoes before his stomach rolls again, he follows a quick pattern of
of holding his hand to his mouth to ease the feeling.
Shane sighs, hands trembling with the urge to help.
He bends down quietly, grabbing Ilya’s waist, turning the man to face him.
Ilya's face warms at the position, his eyebrows raising in presumption. They have been here before; his brain supplies before he can help it.
Shane doesn't acknowledge him, just leans his head down to focus on the laces of his husband's trainers.
He unties them slowly, pulling up the socks softly before setting the shoes on the rack unhurried. He stretches back up to face red rimmed hazel eyes.
“I had it handled” Ilya mumbles looking at the warm brown eyes examining him, still.
Shane only smiles back, his arms already gravitating towards the other man’s waist anyways. He gestures neutrally to the pathway of their bedroom, not rushing, matching the steps of the fever worn person next to him.
Shane follows him as he shuffles his feet, and Ilya can't help when his cheeks flush harder; luckily, he can blame it on the fever and not his adorably caring husband.
Anya meets them in the hallway, poaching her head up at her parents as she watches the pair shuffle into the bedroom. Head tilting in confusion, she sniffs their legs and follows quietly observing.
“ Malýsh, I'm fine” Ilya grumbles, not fighting as Shane fluffs the pillows on his side before helping the taller man lay down, he can see his lover's thoughts already forming and calculating a plan. It was cute, yet also concerning.
“Peachy even as they say” Ilya joked; he watches as Shane rolls his eyes.
With years with him he knows it's good natured, concerned, perhaps even worried.
Ilya hums to himself, this is exactly what he wanted to prevent, the thought sings in the back of his mind.
“I know you're not hungry” Shane states plainly, eyes probing.
“You barely ate at dinner, unlike you” Shane gripes before adding, hands on his hips in thought.
Ilya loves him, he thinks feverishly while watching as the other man proceeds to take his jeans and shirt off while he speaks.
“Tea and meds then” Shane suggest softly, once Ilya clothes are off.
Just in his boxers, Ilya begins to feel his mind clear a bit; perhaps he does have a bit of fever. A little one, as he reminds himself and Shane. “A small rise in temperature, nothing to concern over” Ilya grumbles, his body using Shane’s as anchor; the words leave his dry mouth with zero confidence.
Ilya nods hoping to lower the concern in his counterpart, as he does his head spins and before he can blink Shane is gone; legs moving with purpose like he always does, brain focused on in the mission of helping.
Ilya sighs at the display of him walking away to get what's required, once the man turns to their hallway Ilya’s head thumps on the pillow once he’s gone.
Ilya’s eyes remain closed even as he feels Anya hop on the bed, curious as always.
Nose sniffing, restless, head resting just under Ilya’s ribs.
His brain still feels foggy, body burning hot, stomach turning but still a smidge more comfortable than before.
He can hear Shane shuffle around, cabinets opening, the tea kettle whistling and before he knows it, he’s being gestured to sit up.
His eyes only slide open, once Shane calls his name, he doesn't have the energy for anything else.
There his husband sat on the edge of the bed next to him, tea in one hand the other some type of fever reducer thing that Ilya definitely doesn't have the brain cells to probe about.
He trusts his malýsh, more than anything really, so he downs the little pills that he despises with no complaint; washing them down with tea. He gags before he can help it, and Shane gestures for him to drink more tea, holding the cup close to his lips and Ilya quickly takes a larger gulp.
He groans at the herbal taste, the honey sticks to his tongue, thoughts quickly gravitate towards complaining about the earthy taste. He wants to make a joke about how Shane always pushes gross healthy things but again his energy is lacking.
“Mm” Ilya bites and Shane understand him quickly.
“Gross leaf tea, I know but it'll help” Shane conveys, setting the pills and tea on the bedside table.
He watches with burry eyes as his husband strips from his day clothes seriously, and under different circumstances Ilya would be all over him.
Big hands spread on the inviting skin being showcased for him, the will to evoke the sounds he loves so much from his husband; but instead, he rots into sheets.
Criminal, he hates being sick.
The lack of sleep is hitting him, and Ilya can't help but audibly groan.
Shane's face looks confused and concerned all wrapped in one.
He can't sleep, that's not an option with how his dreams have been going; he can't risk Shane seeing that.
The early years of their relationship, then marriage was riddled with them. Shane knows the signs unfortunately, often overworking until the office closed; then the gym after that just to lessen time in bed. Then once he was in said bed, he would tire Shane out; mutually fucking his husband to sleep before tossing and turning in bed.
Ilya usually pretended to sleep until he knew Shane was knocked out before getting up to preoccupy his mind.
Now though, his destructive routine when nightmares haunted him was disrupted and his malýsh was watching him with warm calculating eyes, wide awake.
“Come here” Shane gestures, he scoots up to lean his back against their headboard.
His expression is warm, always warm, arms open and Ilya can't help but scoot next to him and melt into his embrace.
“Now since you refuse to sleep” Shane adds good maturely,
warm fingers spayed over his husband's back, rubbing even circles in an attempt to calm,
ignoring the huff Ilya gives in reaction feeling dark blonde strands tickle his neck as the man leans more into him, fitting his head into the conjunction of Shane’s neck.
“Can we talk about you” Shane questions, he doesn't ease on the petting, hands rubbing up and down the warm skin of Ilya’s back waiting for a response.
He adds his observations of the week to the forefront, he'll definitely have to start this conversation or it will never happen.
“You are working overtime for a company we own, then getting home late” Shane questions, it's not harsh but as straightforward as it gets. Ilya had hoped it would pass before the man notices, mere fantasies; Ilya begrudgingly thought.
“The extra gym workouts, you fucking me to sleep and then when I get up for my routine water intake your gone” Shane stated. “All things you do when something is on your mind” Shane softly mentions, his hands stop for a fraction before picking up again on his ribs to feel the rise and rest of his chest. So comfy, Ilya groans at the feeling.
“The lack of sleeping, I mean” Shane adds, for more emphasis, mouth drawing into a pout at the silence he receives in return. He doesn't prob harder after that just continues to rub soothing circles into the man basically laying on him, he waits for the meds to work before trying again.
“I- yeah…that, I haven't been sleeping” Ilya sighs, arms trembling. He doesn't want to say more, and it must be obvious with the way the body under him went still; he waits for Ilya to add more but he doesn't fill the silence. Stubborn as always, Shane supplies to himself.
“Milaya” Shane drops, lips pressing into the skin of his husband's neck, smiling softly at the grumbles that fill his ear at the action.
“Detka, ya budu zhdat' vsyu noch ” It's a promise, Shane calls him baby and states they will bring this up again. Ilya knows Shane is serious, just by his tone, he can't get out of this. It's just a matter of time before the questions come again but until then, he hides his face more into Shane’s embrace.
With the years of being together, Shane only gets more fluent with Russian; it helps in moments like this; when Ilya’s brain is too tired to form English.
It doesn't happen often, but enough that Shane justifies the excuse to learn with it, though he can just say he loves how a blush always reaches Ilya from hearing him speak it.
That alone was enough. He can wait, even though his brain tells him to probe Ilya more, he will let the meds break the fever and then he’ll try again.