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Shane Hollander had been vomiting for two days, and he is really tired of it. At first it was a headache, then achy muscles and now he’s throwing up in the locker bathroom. He’s just gotten the examination and the medical team confirmed that it was just a stomach bug. He’s been told to drink lots of water and take it easy, which means no practice for today. It isn’t great and he was hoping for better news, but he knows the faster he gets his rest in, the faster this goes away.
He’s gathering his stuff to go back home, while Ilya who just finished with the nutritionist is warming up the car. Shane can see a few of the guys making their way to their locker stalls.
“You looking peaky, there Hollzy.” Wyatt notices as he walks by.
“Yeah,” Shane sighs. “That’s what throwing up for three days straight does.”
“Oh that sucks buddy,” Chouinard says, giving him a shoulder pat.
“Is it food poisoning?” Young asks.
“No, it’s just a bug. It’ll pass, but in the mean time I’m off practice.”
Chouinard makes a sympathetic noise. “Get some sleep, Hollzy.”
“I will,” Shane says. “Hopefully I don’t wake up at 5am to puke again.”
Dykstra walks in the room and they exchange nods.
“Morning sickness?” Wyatt lets out with a little smile.
And that’s exactly right, so Shane answers with an emphatic. “Yeah!”
Wyatt lets out a cough, his head turned away, before he turns back with a peculiar look in his eyes. “Hey Hollzy, have you been feeling more tired lately?”
“Uh.” Shane thinks back to this morning and the missed hours of sleep, bent over the toilet bowl. “Well, yeah.”
“Have you been feeling a bit down?” Wyatt continues, as he nods sympathetically and Shane spots Dykstra approaching with a glint in his eyes.
“I guess?” Shane frowns, confused.
“Irritated, right?”
“I don’t like being sick,” Shane admits.
Wyatt nods knowingly.
“We’re all with you, man,” Wyatt says with a nice congratulatory pat on his back. “And congratulations.”
Well, now Shane’s confused. “Ok?” Is Wyatt congratulating him on his recovery? That’s weird. But kind of sweet, in a weird Wyatt way. “Thanks I guess.”
And then Shane goes back to packing up his stuff, missing the way Young looks quizzically towards the three other players, and the way Wyatt rubs his stomach meaningfully. Shane does hear the aborted snort but figures it has nothing to do with him.
It’s two days after, once Shane is back on his feet, and more importantly cleared to get back on the ice, that he understands what it was about. Ilya and him got to the rink together, but Ilya had a check-up to make sure he hadn’t caught the bug, which means he walks into the locker rooms a little later than the rest of the guys.
As soon as he does though, Bood is on him.
“Roz, how could you?” Bood exclaims.
Ilya doesn’t miss a beat. “I have said this before, I can not help being so beautiful, Bood. You will have to accept that you will always be second, very sad for you.”
“I’m being serious here, Roz,” Bood says, his twinkling eyes belying his words.
“Seriously, not cool man,” Chouinard chimes in, tutting to himself, and even Dykstra shakes his head in disappointment. Shane can’t help but let his lips turn up at the casual ribbing, though he’s not sure what this is about yet.
“Ok, what is the joke,” Ilya says and his eyes narrow.
“I never would’ve thought you’d do this to Shane,” Bood says and Shane looks up in alarm. Ribbing Ilya is fun, less so when he gets caught in the cross-fire. “What about playoffs, what about the team?”
“What are you talking about?” Ilya asks the question and Shane would love to know the answer to that himself.
And Bood, to his credit, gives it immediately.
“We’re talking about the baby growing in Hollander’s belly!”
Ilya freezes, before his eyes find Shane’s equally gobsmacked face. Then, his gaze slide to Shane’s abdomen and he reflexively puts his hands over his stomach protectively.
There’s a beat, and Shane feels himself flushing. He puts his hands down quickly.
“I’m not pregnant!” Shane exclaims under the stares of the group of dipshits he calls teammates.
Why did he come to Ottawa again?
Ilya’s eyes jump back up to his face, from where they are fixed on his stomach. “Of course not.” he answers too quickly.
“I’m a man,” Shane says pretending he’s not red as a tomato, and that it isn’t obvious that Ilya for a solid 2 seconds believed he had gotten Shane Hollander, biologically male, pregnant.
“I know this,” Ilya says, but it doesn’t sound as convinced as Shane would like. He can hear snickers and choked laughter in the locker room and Shane has a brief fantasy of burning the building down.
And then, Ilya’s eyes do another quick dip to his midriff like he can’t stop himself.
“Will you stop fucking- I’m not pregnant!”
“Mood swings,” he heard Bood whisper to Haas.
Shane swivels around to glare at both of them, Bood looking completely unrepentant and Hass looking like a deer caught in a headlight.
“Fuck off,” Shane snaps and he can feel his blush has not receded at all.
“Come on guys, lay off with the teasing,” Wyatt says reasonably and Shane shoots him a grateful look. He knew there was a reason Wyatt was his favourite. The goalie gives him a solid nod before turning back to the rest. “You know stress is bad for babies.”
The room explodes in laughter and whistle and Shane closes his eyes for a second.
Alright, fuck this. Shane is officially out of here. Fuck these assholes.
He grabs his gloves and makes a dignified exit, ignoring the way his ears are burning.
That night, they’re both lying in bed after a nice shower (and even nicer blowjobs), when Ilya broaches the subject in the most Ilya way.
“I would love to have a child, even if it is not in the plan yet,” his ridiculous husband says.
“That’s sweet, Ilya,” Shane says, from his side of the bed, putting down the book he’s reading. “But I’m not pregnant. I can’t get pregnant, because I don’t have a uterus, you understand?”
“I understand.” Ilya nods. “You would make a beautiful mother though.”
Shane opens his mouth to try and say something, but the glint in his husband’s eyes has him close it again. He’s not falling for this tonight. “Thank you, Ilya.” His husband nods and Shane goes back to his book.
Only to pause once again, a few minutes later, feeling insistant eyes on himself.
“What?”
“You do not say it back?” Ilya asks with a sad frown.
“Say what?” Shane is confused.
“I would be a good mother.”
“What?”
“You do not think I would be a good mother?”
“That’s not…” seeing Ilya’s pout Shane just stops. He’s not sure how much of it is a joke and how much of it is actually something he needs to hear but either way he knows the best way to go about it. “Alright, yes. I think you would make a good mother.”
“You do not sound convinced.”
“You would,” Shane insists. “Kids love you, and you’re amazing with Anya. You would be the best mother.”
Ilya hums and smiles.
“Thank you,” Ilya says before leaning over to kiss him.
Then the kissing turns into a making out session and soon all thoughts of pregnancy fly away from Shane’s brain.
Sadly, it doesn’t last.
At next morning’s practice, Shane overhears his husband and Bood talking.
“Why did you not say this when I got stomach bug last week?”
Bood gives Ilya a critical once over before shaking his head. “You haven’t got the hips for it. Too narrow, no good for child-bearing.”
Ilya gasps as if he’s never been more offended in his life.
“You take this back.”
“It’s only the truth.”
“Shane!” Oh no, why are they involving him. “Bood say I can not bear a child!”
Shane sighs. “That’s because you can’t,” he states, very concisely.
“You are my husband,” comes Ilya’s response. “You can not say this to me!”
Shane can feel his teammates amused gaze and he reluctantly skates back closer so he can stop shouting about pregnancy while they’re supposed to be warming up. “Ilya,” he says reasonably. “You are biologically incapable of giving birth.”
There’s a pause as his husband seems to consider his words, and for a brief moment, Shane sees a ray of hope and-
“Is still hurtful,” his husband says with a pout and Shane rolls his eyes so hard.
It does not get better.
“What’s that,” Dykstra asks as Shane unwraps his sandwich.
“It’s chickpea loaf on rye.” Now. Just because Shane has loosened up a bit with his diet, doesn’t mean he’s going to start eating crap: a healthy diet makes for a healthy life.
“Lots of pickles,” Dykstra remarks and Shane shrugs.
“I like them.” Pickles are good for your health. Really, all vegetables are good for you, as he keeps trying to tell Ilya, but no matter what he says it seems his husband is set on his toddler diet.
“My wife goes crazy for pickles you know. Also, salt and vinegar chips, like she can not get enough of them.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, she also had like chocolate cravings and stuff, but the pickle thing was everywhere. She put some in her scrambled eggs one time.”
“That’s… a choice,” Shane says, as he frowns. Wait a minute, cravings?
“It calmed down by the time the second one came ar-”
Shane’s head snaps up as he realizes.
“I’m not pregnant, Dykstra.”
The other player gives him a look before pointedly looking down at his sandwich.
“Lots of people eat pickles!”
That gets him another look and Shane lets out a strangled low cry of fury. The fucking team is full of assholes. Screw Dykstra, and screw his fried chicken sandwich, and his probably above recommended cholesterol intake. Shane and his lunch deserve better than this.
“Fuck you and fuck your probably not even organic chicken. Do you know how much growth hormones they put in those-”
Dykstra has long since lost it and is now too busy laughing to muster a proper answer. The asshole.
Shane takes his sandwich and walks away, like the grown adult he is, Dykstra’s chuckles following him all the way.
Man. He and that nasty mutant chicken deserve each other.
“I can’t believe this!” Ilya exclaims later when Shane relays in the car the reason Dykstra kept giggling after lunch.
“I know,” Shane says, grateful his husband is finally taking this seriously.
“Why does nobody think I can get pregnant?” Ilya exclaims.
“Seriously?”
“You would be an amazing mother, of course,” he says with a conciliatory pat on Shane’s hand. “But why does nobody think I can do it?”
Shane lets his head fall on the steering wheel and sighs.
“Mechanistically it does make more sense this way around,” he can’t help but point out.
“What does that mean?”
“Kinda hard to get knocked-up if you’re doing the fucking,” Shane answers, wondering how he’s talking about this.
“Hm,” Ilya concedes the point. “We could make it work.”
Instead of trying to inject any kind of common sense where he knows it will not be heard, Shane just starts the car.
Shane usually takes his vitamin D gummies with breakfast but Ilya and him had a bit of a morning and he’s resorted to getting one on the go. Once they’re in the changing room, he takes out the gummy and munches it down before washing it down with a bit of water.
“I’ve always wondered what those taste like,” Bood says.
“What?” Shane asks distracted.
“The multivitamins gummy,” Bood specifies.
“It’s just vitamin D,” Shane answers. “I think they’re orange flavoured.”
Bood frowns “Just vitamin D? Look Hollzy, I don’t want to tell you how to do this, but I’ve been around this block a few times now and one thing I know is that that’s not enough.”
“What?”
“There’s this thing, it’s called like Folic acid, and it’s super important. The nutritionist had a whole spiel on it. There’s also iron, and a bunch of other stuff you gotta keep track of.”
Shane considers himself pretty knowledgeable on sports supplements and he has never heard of that. Maybe it’s a fad or something?
“Folic acid?”
“Yeah, It’s for neuronal development.”
“Uh, Thanks. But I don’t think I need that.”
“Not for you,” Bood says earnestly. “For the baby. Prenatal vitamins are important.”
If only Bood was two heads shorter, Shane muses idly, he would’ve been the perfect height for a good tackle. Unfortunately for Shane, his teammate is a goddam giant and he’s built like a brick shithouse which is really fucking annoying.
“I don’t like you,” Shane informs Bood who breaks into a huge grin.
“Aw, buddy,” he says before engulfing Shane in a bear hug that has him flailing to get out.
One thing that should be said about the Centaurs is that they’re real fucking persistent. Usually, Shane loves it because he knows it’s what’s gonna get them the Cup. That is, if Shane doesn’t kill them all before they can get there.
“Anything for you sir?” The waitress asks.
“No,” Shane says. “I’m good with water.”
There’s some exchanges of glances and Shane braces himself for the comments. He’s still surprised that Harris is the first to speak, but they do say betrayal never come from your ennemies.
“Water, huh?” The social media manager asks.
“Good man.” Wyatt nods, and the guys around him nod as well except Troy who gives him a look of pity.
Shane wants to punch him a little. Stupid team dinners.
“For the last time, I’m not fucking pregnant,” Shane has just finished explaining it once again to Chouinard after he gave him a pamphlet on dietary need for pregnant women, when he hears a voice clearing from behind him. Shane turns.
“That’s good to know,” coach Wiebe says.
“Coach.” A part of Shane dies inside him right then and there.
“It’s ok,” Wiebe waves it away. “I know you wouldn’t do that to the team, especially during playoffs.”
“Thank you,” Shane starts saying before the meaning of the words hit and he feels his face fall. Yet another betrayal.
There’s a moment of silence where Shane gets to contemplate all the choices that have lead him there.
“Just teasing, Hollander,” the man says, looking a mix of guilty and amused, but it’s too late. Shane knows what he is.
A traitor.
“Why you were pouting all day?” is the first thing out of Ilya’s mouth once they get back home from practice and Shane frowns. First of all, that should be obvious by now and second of all-
“I don’t pout.” Shane says, to set the record straight. He is nothing if not dedicated to the truth. Well, he muses, considering his decade-long secret relationship to his archival, most of the times.
“Yes you do,” Ilya counters as he taps Shane’s lips which are definitely not pouting. “Is very cute.” Then, he puts his arms around Shane and kisses his neck.
“Not cute,” Shane protests though he’s melting in Ilya’s arms, already feeling much better now that his face is closer to his husband’s very nice pecs.
“Pretty,” Ilya amends and Shane keeps silent, which has Ilya smirking into the side of his neck. Shane allows himself a moment to luxuriate in the feeling before turning around, face to face with Ilya. He grabs his hands.
“Tell me honestly,” Shane asks. “Have I put on some weight?”
That has Ilya laughing immediately, and Shane’s lips pull up despite himself.
“I’m serious,” he protests, though the smile on his face doesn’t budge. “I mean why else would everyone keep doing this bit?”
“It Is because you are so fun to tease,” his husband explains while the chuckles die down.
“Yeah, well, they seem to be putting a lot of effort into it,” Shane grumbles. “With the way everyone keeps talking about it, I almost believe I’m pregnant.” By the time Shane is halfway through the sentence, Ilya has gone back to kissing him along his jawline.
“Want to try?” Ilya says as he starts nibbling at Shane’s ear, both of them hobbling towards the couch, refusing to separate.
“What?” Shane asks distractedly as he feels up his husband’s beautiful chest. “Getting pregnant?”
“Yes,” Ilya presses against him, and Shane can feel him hardening against his hip.
Now, Shane could once again explain that he does not have the parts needed to make a baby on his own, but believe it or not, he has actually learnt something about dirty talk in his decade of sleeping with Ilya Rozanov. So instead he smiles and pushes Ilya down on the sofa.
“You know what,” Shane says straddling his wonderful husband, “let’s give it our best try.”