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After over a decade of hooking up and then falling in love, Shane Hollander thought that he knew every possible sound his husband could make in bed. From breathy whispers to commanding growls to incoherent Russian shouts, Shane (and, let’s be honest, several teammates who’d had the misfortune of sharing a hotel wall on a roadie) knew exactly what it sounded like when Ilya Rozanov was having a very, very good time.
Which is how he knew almost immediately tonight when something was very, very wrong with his husband.
As he sat alone in the surgical wing waiting room, Shane shook his head, fighting back tears. He couldn’t stop reliving the moment when he heard Ilya’s strangled scream. Things had felt so good and then suddenly Shane was airborne, Ilya’s strong hands pushing him away. Shane had landed on the floor in a heap. He was naked, lubed to the gods, and about to be deeply pissed off, until he turned to see Ilya writhing in pain on their bed.
After a frantic call to Terry, their team doctor, Shane carefully helped Ilya into soft pants and his favorite hoodie. The car ride to the emergency room was quiet, except for the soft whimpers that escaped Ilya’s mouth when Shane eased over a speed bump. Terry had called ahead to the hospital and arranged for Ilya to be taken immediately back to a room, sparing them both the prospect of being recognized by any hockey fans who also had the misfortune to be in the Ottawa Hospital emergency room at 11pm on a Tuesday night.
Shane checked his watch. He forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it for four seconds before slowly breathing out. He checked his watch again. The doctor had told him to expect the surgery to last between three and four hours. It had only been twenty minutes since he’d left Ilya’s room, kissing him on the top of the head as the nurses came in to prep him. He’d fought back tears as he walked toward the door, guilt burning hot and fierce in his belly. Ilya’s voice, quieter than usual, had stopped him.
“You will call Mom and Dad, yes?”
Shane’s phone buzzed with a text from his father. We’re parking now, be there soon.
He dropped his head into his hands, letting out a small groan. He already hated everything that was going to come next.
**
“Shane, honey! Are you okay?”
Before he could respond, Shane’s mother was wrapping him into a hug. He wished, for the 37th time since he’d arrived at the hospital, that he’d been able to take a shower before they left, rather than just pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie.
“Son, how is Ilya? What happened?” David waited for Yuna to let go before giving Shane a quick hug of his own.
Shane bit his lip, unable to make eye contact. His parents exchanged worried glances as the silence spread between them. Guilt and embarrassment fought for dominance in his brain and he forced himself to take another deep breath.
“Um, so, okay, you know Ilya’s in surgery right now,” Shane began. His parents nodded and his mom reached out to squeeze his hand. “The doctor said the whole thing will last a few hours and that they’ll probably just keep him here for a few days for recovery and observation. So, that’s good. The doctor seemed really confident about it and Terry said he was the best for this kind of thing, which is kind of crazy that Terry even knows that, right? But we called Terry first and he called the hospital and so they got Ilya into surgery so fast and, um, and uh…”
Shane was rambling.
He knew he was rambling.
But maybe if he talked long enough his parents wouldn’t ask any follow up questions, right? Because maybe Yuna Hollander had a full personality transplant on the drive over and wouldn’t feel compelled to know all the details and figure out a 27 point plan for what to do next? Because maybe David Hollander, a smart man who loved Ilya dearly, wouldn’t actually want to know what happened to his favorite puzzle partner and vodka drinking buddy? That was possible, right?
“Shane, sweetie, you still haven’t told us what happened to Ilya. Did he have some kind of accident?” Yuna’s voice was soft but insistent.
David lowered his voice, leaning in closer to Shane, a little unsteady as he asked “Son, he didn’t hurt himself, did he?”
Oh god. Guilt clawed at him again. His parents looked so fucking worried and it was all his fault.
“No! No, god, no. Nothing like that, Dad. Ilya’s been doing great lately, actually.” Shane smiled despite himself. They’d just gotten back from three weeks at the cabin, tanned and relaxed. Ilya had been especially playful tonight, gloating when he beat Shane at Mario Kart, gleeful about taking Shane to bed to collect on their bet.
“Shane. You’ve got to tell us something,” Yuna persisted. “I’m going to need to talk to Farah and probably the team, if this is going to impact whether or not Ilya’s able to report to preseason training camp next month.”
Shane closed his eyes for a moment, inwardly shuddering at the thought of seeing Ilya’s name on an injury report, especially for this particular injury.
“He, um, he has a penile fracture.”
Well. Now those were words he had said to his parents.
David blanched before quickly fixing his face.
“What… what does that mean, exactly?” Yuna was already pulling out her phone.
“Mom, um, if you are looking that up, please don’t do an image search, okay?”
She nodded, already scanning a medical website. She turned to David, softly reading out a few key phrases like “blunt force trauma, usually involving an erect penis” and “most frequently occurs during sexual intercourse” and “requires urgent surgical intervention”
Shane waited for her to finish reading, trying to decide where to catalog this moment on his apparently never ending list of embarrassing Ilya moments. Maybe somewhere below the time a security guard pounded on their hotel room door in Toronto because someone reported hearing signs of a “violent struggle” as they walked down the hallway (Ilya did always appreciate beating Toronto)? But probably higher than time Shane accidentally sent the entire Centaur's group chat a text detailing his strong desire to be bent over the kitchen counter that night? The number of thumbs up responses he got to that text still concerns him, honestly.
Yuna put her phone down. “Okay, so I don’t think we need ANY DETAILS about how this happened.” David nodded quickly as Yuna continued. “But, are you okay Shane? Are there any injuries on, um, your end of the, uh, situation?”
Well, actually, Mom, I’ve got dried lube on my ass, I forgot to put on underwear and my sweat pants are feeling a little swampy, and my husband might not ever be able to fuck me again, thanks for asking!
“No, I’m okay. I mean, I’m not okay. I’m worried for Ilya and this is really embarrassing, and I feel like shit that he’s hurt, but physically I’m okay,” Shane replied instead.
“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to be embarrassed. We had a pretty strong suspicion already that you guys had sex, so…” Yuna gave a small laugh. “I’m glad you called us. I’d hate for you to be sitting here alone and we want to be here for Ilya when he wakes up.” She paused for a moment. “Does he know that you called us?”
“He was the one that asked me too, Mom.” Shane smiled softly. Yuna suddenly had that tender but determined look she got whenever Ilya openly needed her or wanted some motherly attention.
What “motherly attention” involved in a situation involving a 6’3, 220 pound, 28 year old Russian with a broken dick was something Shane still wasn’t sure he was ready to think too much about.
**
“Mr. Hollander?”
A doctor in scrubs stood in the doorway, smiling at Shane.
“Is the surgery over?” Shane straightened in his chair, wiping some drool off his cheek. He’d been dosing with his head against David’s shoulder. He glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly 4am.
“Yes, and it went very well.” He glanced at Yuna and David. “Hello, I’m Dr. Dickman. I’m the Chief of Urology here and one of the urology consultants for the MLH.”
David raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Dickman…the urologist?”
The man gave a weary smile. “Trust me, I’ve heard every possible version of whatever joke you are currently thinking of. But, yes.”
“I didn’t even know the league had urology consultants,” Yuna said, moving them along.
“Oh, sure. It’s mostly for bad puck injuries or the occasional testicular torsion, you know, that kind of thing,” Dr. Dickman said easily. “You’d be surprised what a puck going 120 kilometers an hour can do to a scrotum.”
Shane and David flinched.
“How is Ilya doing?” Shane asked.
“He’s still coming around, but he should be just fine. Now, I do want to go over some things with you, before you go see him. Are you comfortable with us discussing this with your parents or would you rather they go get you some coffee? It looks like you might need it.”
Shane glanced at his parents. “Whatever you prefer, son.” David said gently.
“They can stay. I don’t want to forget anything and I don’t think Ilya will care.” Shane could hear Yuna already pulling out her notebook and pen.
“Okay, well the good news is that the fracture was lower grade, which means that there was no damage to the urethra, so he shouldn’t have any issues with urination once the catheter is removed. He’s got some stitches, but those will dissolve so he won’t need to have them removed. If he follows the rules during the recovery period, I think he’ll very likely have minimal long term effects, barring possibly some small curvature of the penis, which you’ll notice more when it’s erect.”
Shane nodded and asked the question he knew Ilya would be demanding the answer to as soon as he woke up. “So, um, in terms of stuff like that…”
Dr. Dickman was reassuringly matter-of-fact. “Ilya is a healthy guy and this is a lower grade fracture and you got him in right away, I think there is every reason to assume that he’ll return to regular sexual function once he’s done healing.”
Shane tried not to look as relieved as he felt.
“But, Shane, this is the important part. Ilya’s penis needs to heal and he can’t rush that. Absolutely no sexual intercourse for at least four to six weeks. He’ll come back for a follow up appointment in a month and we’ll see where he is at. We’ll tell him all this once he is more coherent, but you should both know that getting an erection will be extremely painful for him for the next two weeks or so. I’m going to want to put him on a medication that can help limit his ability to get an involuntary erection while he is sleeping but…” Dr. Dickman paused for a moment, glancing briefly at Yuna, who was taking detailed notes. “You and he will both want to avoid doing things that might cause arousal, at least for the next several weeks. Getting aroused will hurt and it won’t help the healing process go any faster.”
Shane nodded, trying not to notice his mother carefully underlining “NO SEX” on her notepad.
Dr. Dickman continued, “Other than that, we’ll talk more about how to change the dressings and do some wound care when it gets closer to his time to be discharged. I’ll also talk to the team’s medical staff about clearing him to return to training and adding a little more protection in the cup department before regular season games start. Sound good?”
“Sounds good. And thank you. Thank you so much.” Shane shook his hand, a relieved smile on his face.
Ilya would be okay. All he had to do now was take care of him and make sure he didn’t get turned on.
How hard could that be?
**
Shane sent David and Yuna to get coffees and waited in the hallway outside Ilya’s room. He wasn’t sure what Ilya’s mood would be and he wanted the chance to apologize in private. He knew, logically, that it had been an accident, a stupid, sexy accident, but he still felt like it was somehow his fault. If Ilya was mad at him, he could take it.
The door opened and the nurse stepped out, smiling at Shane.
“Are you the husband?”
Shane nodded.
“He’s been asking for you. I should mention that he’s doing okay now, but he was a little, um, emotional when he first came around.”
“Emotional? In what way?” Shane’s heart hurt. Poor Ilya.
The nurse seemed to be trying to stifle a giggle. “Well, he got a little teary after he asked us, several times in fact, if this meant that he wouldn’t be able to get you pregnant.”
“Oh my god.” Shane could feel himself blushing.
“We tried to break the news to him gently but he was pretty adamant that the science was wrong on this one. I think he said something like ‘but I will try! For the sake of Canada and Yuna Hollander, I will try.’ Then he talked for a surprisingly long time about your freckles.”
“I’m so sorry…” Shane began before she interrupted. “Oh, please don’t apologize. He’s our favorite patient tonight. This is the urology wing. We don’t usually get a lot of patients under the age of 70, let alone ones that promise us all free hockey tickets if we make sure his penis doesn’t fall off.”
Shane groaned as she laughed and pushed the door open for him. “Go on, he’s waiting for you…”
Ilya was awake and sipping on a juice box when Shane walked in. His instant smile settled Shane’s nerves. He was probably still kind of high, but at least he wasn’t sad.
“Shanya! My love! Have you been sitting all alone, worrying about my beautiful dick?”
“I wasn’t alone. Mom and Dad are here. But, yes, I’ve been worried about you.” Shane reached out and held Ilya’s outstretched hand, bringing his knuckles up to his lips for a soft kiss.
Ilya pouted. “You were not worried about my beautiful dick also?”
Shane fought the urge to roll his eyes at his very recently injured husband. “Yes, of course I was worried about your dick–”
“BEAUTIFUL dick”
“Your beautiful dick, yes.” Shane kissed his hand again. “Ilya, I am so, so sorry. I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know if I did something wrong and I know it hurts and you must have been so scared and I’m so sorry. SO sorry.”
“Sorry for what? For being such an enthusiastic cowgirl? For fucking so good that you actually broke me? For distracting me so much with the sexy way you bounce bounce bounce on my cock that I forgot to hold on to your hips? For having such an ass that– MAMA Hollander! And Dad! My family!”
Ilya broke off, his eyes lighting up as Shane heard the click of the door behind him.
“Well,” his dad said with a rueful chuckle, “we’ll probably learn our lesson about knocking first eventually, right?”
Sure, Shane thought. It had been at least three hours since the last time he was mortified in front of his parents. He was probably overdue.
“Ilya, honey, how are you feeling?” Yuna scooted past Shane, definitely not making any eye contact.
“They fixed my penis and I am being very brave. And handsome. All of the nurses will tell you this.”
Yuna laughed, leaning over to kiss his forehead. Ilya reached up to hug her and then pulled back, a troubled look on his face.
“But, Mama Hollandar, they tell me terrible news. They say now I can’t get Shane pregnant, no matter how much they fixed my penis. I say I will try and try and they say it cannot be. But I promise you, I won’t give up until you have a grandbaby.”
“Oh my god.” Shane muttered under his breath as both his parents tried to stifle their laughter.
David walked to the other side of Ilya’s bed and gave him a hug. “Don’t you worry about that son, you boys will figure something out, I’m sure. But it sounds like you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about any of that right now.”
Ilya looked momentarily confused and then nodded. “Ah, yes. My dick is on injured reserve list. Is very sad for Shane, yes.”
“Well, I’m sure Shane will be very brave too,” Yuna said with amusement.
“And handsome!” Ilya added brightly.
“And handsome too,” Yuna dutifully repeated.
“But,” Ilya paused to take a loud slurping sip from his juice box, “not as brave and handsome as me.”
**
Shane stood in the shower, gratefully letting the hot water wash the stickiness and smell of hospital off his skin. He’d left Ilya sleeping and returned home to clean up their bedroom and pack an overnight bag for Ilya. Before he got into the shower, he stripped their king sized bed and tucked the bottle of lube into the nightstand drawer on Ilya’s side.
It won’t be so bad, he thought as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair, to not have sex for a month or so. They’d gone much longer than that in the past, months even. Sure, they’d been separated by hundreds of miles and an international border back then, but they could do it again. They had to do it again. He was not going to be responsible for doing anything that would prevent Ilya’s dick from healing correctly.
(Ilya’s beautiful dick, the suspiciously Russian sounding voice in his head corrected)
The thought of Ilya’s dick made his own start to perk up with interest. Shane turned the water to cold and resolutely ignored the part of his body that was seemingly suddenly determined to remind him of just how easy it was to get an erection.
He turned off the shower with a groan. This might be harder than he thought.
**
The next two days passed quickly for Shane, a blur of hours spent sitting beside Ilya’s bed in the hospital and fielding increasingly unhinged texts and memes from half the contacts in his phone.
Shane had thought (hoped? Dreamed? Fervently but futilely wished?) that they could take advantage of it being the offseason and manage to keep the injury to Ilya’s private part, well…private.
Ilya, however, made it less than 24 hours from The Incident before proudly telling the Centaurs group chat that Shane had “reverse cowgirled him into the hospital”.
The team had been disbelieving at first, until Ilya threatened to send a picture of his bandaged dick. Shane confiscated his phone for the afternoon after confirming that, yes, Ilya was recovering from surgery on his penis and that NO HE DIDN’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.
Once the injury was confirmed and Google hits for “penis fracture HOW?” spiked in the greater Ottawa area, the team was kindly sympathetic. Hazy and Haas sent flowers (lilies, of course). Bood arranged for a delivery of still warm cookies. Harris and Troy offered to take Anya for the rest of the week; Harris also, to Shane’s great relief, promised to keep all mentions of penises off the Centaurs social media feed.
But there is only so long a group of hockey players can go before the need to chirp a teammate about his broken dick becomes overwhelming. For the Centaurs, that was about five hours.
It started with a delivery of the world’s ugliest bouquet: a mixture of bananas, cucumbers, eggplants, and half frozen corndogs, accompanied by a card with the inscription “Thinking of you, Shane” in handwriting that definitely belonged to one of the team’s rookies.
Then it was a non-stop flood of memes and penis puns and an attempt to get “The Cowgirl Killer” going as a new nickname for Shane. That might not have bothered Shane so much if it hadn’t been Ilya who had suggested it.
Shane wasn’t sure if it was the pain killers that were keeping his husband in such a surprisingly good mood or if it was just that the reality of how long it would take to fully recover hadn’t fully hit Ilya. So he watched and waited and smiled along as Ilya offered every doctor and nurse who stopped into check on him their choice of produce from the phallic bouquet.
**
On the morning of his discharge, Shane was helping Ilya slide on some boxer shorts when Ilya pulled him closer, nuzzling his neck.
“You smell good, moy lyubimy.” Shane could feel Ilya’s warm breath on his neck and then the faint press of his lips.
“Ilya, I don’t think you should–”
His warning was cut off by Ilya’s sharp yelp of pain. He started to double over as Shane quickly guided him back to the bed. Ilya had gone pale and a light sheen of sweat started to form on his brow. Shane hit the call button for a nurse as Ilya curled into a fetal position. Shane felt himself reaching for him, wanting to stroke his back or do something to soothe him, but he held back, not sure if he’d be making things better or worse.
The door opened and Jack, one of Ilya’s favorite nurses, walked in. “Hey man, what happened? You were looking a hell of a lot better when I checked on you an hour ago.”
Ilya just let out a small whimper. Jack turned to Shane, “You want to fill me in or do we need to get your mom back here to scare the doctor into doing another bandage check for the eggplant king over here?”
Shane sighed. “Um, I was trying to help him get dressed and then… well, he was giving me a hug and I think, uh, I think he started getting an erection.”
Jack looked back at Ilya, who seemed to be starting to recover. “Does that sound about right, Rozanov?”
Ilya rolled over on his back and nodded.
“Okay, we covered this in your discharge papers, man. You can’t have sex or masturbate for at least the next four weeks. You’ve got stitches in there, so it's going to be painful to get an erection, especially this first week. You’re gonna have to be careful or you’re going to be in for a world of hurt.”
“I think he might be realizing that,” Shane muttered as Ilya glared at him.
“Have you seen my husband?” Ilya threw up his hands. “He is Shane fucking Hollander! He is sexy and boring and smells like a wealthy forest. He has 12 new freckles that I have barely even kissed yet. It is impossible!”
“Yeah, I’m not gonna comment on that.” Jack helped Ilya back to his feet. “But I will help you finish getting dressed if you need it.”
“That will be good,” Ilya said with another glare at Shane. “You are a very handsome nurse but you are not my Shane and you don’t even have freckles so there is no danger for me here.”
“My girlfriend will be so relieved to hear that, I’m sure,” Jack said dryly as he unfolded Ilya’s sweatpants. “Here’s my advice: sleep in separate rooms, put away anything that reminds you of sexy times, and don’t scroll through photos if you’ve got anything spicy in your camera roll. And, Shane, you probably know best what Ilya’s turn-ons are, so just try not to do those things, okay man?”
Shane nodded, pulling out his phone to text his mom and ask her to put fresh sheets on one of the guest beds.
No sleeping together, no cuddling, and he’d make sure to only put on his glasses when Ilya was in the other room. They would be a house without boners. How (not)hard could that be?
**
Unlike Ilya’s dick, it turned out to be quite hard indeed.
The problem, according to Ilya, was that Shane just didn’t realize how sexy he was. They arrived home and made it through lunch with Yuna and David, before they offered to go grab some groceries for them. Shane had started to clean up the kitchen and was bending over to pull out the bottom dishwasher rack when he heard Ilya’s curse and yelp in pain.
“You can’t do that, Hollander! You know you look so slutty when you load the dishwasher.”
Okay, thought Shane, I’ll add “doing the dishes” to the list of no-go activities. That’s fine.
They settled in to watch a movie, leaving a full cushion of room between them on the couch. Shane lifted his water bottle to his lips and took a long sip. Ilya yelped.
“Are you serious? I’m just having a drink, man!”
“Water bottle is slutty too. Reminding me of how thirsty you are, how you like to–
“STOP TALKING NOW BEFORE YOU HURT YOURSELF”
Ilya curled into himself, swearing softly in Russian. Shane moved to a chair across the room.
Okay, no drinking out of water bottles. I’ll be dehydrated, but this is fine. It’s fine. Really.
At some point in the afternoon following the discovery that Shane mentioning the word “yoga” was enough to cause a spike in pain, Ilya decided that he’d simply train Shane out of doing sexy things.
“Ilya, I’m not a cat.”
“Yes, but you have a nice pu-OUCH- no, we’re doing this.” He pointed a spray bottle at Shane and pulled the trigger.
“You should point it at yourself!” Shane sputtered, water dripping down his face and onto his white cotton shirt, which quickly became see through.
The flaw in this plan was immediately obvious as Ilya groaned in earnest now and curled back into a fetal position on the couch.
Shane went to get Ilya an ice pack, choosing to ignore the ominous feeling he had as Ilya whispered “I have a better plan, you will see.”
**
Later, it would occur to Shane to wonder where the hell Ilya even got an air horn from.
At the moment, he was still trying to calm his racing heart. He hadn’t even realized Ilya was awake yet when he wandered shirtless out of the guest room to go to the bathroom. The unexpected blast of the air horn almost made him pee his pants.
“Ilya, what the fuck??”
“Nipples! You are showing your nipples. You get the horn.”
“I didn’t even know you were awake!”
“You put on a shirt or you get the horn again.” Ilya waved the air horn threateningly at him as Shane hastily covered his chest with his hands and backed away slowly.
By that afternoon, Shane was ready to throw either the air horn or himself off the roof. He’d been blasted for leaning over the kitchen counter while scrolling on his phone, for putting on long white shorts that were apparently a problem because they reminded Ilya of Shane’s “slutty little white shorts”, for eating a banana (that one might have been fair, Shane thought, even though it wasn’t intentional), and for being sweaty after his morning run.
He finally convinced Ilya to take an afternoon nap, just to give his nervous system a break from the mounting horn-induced anxiety. It was clear they needed a different plan.
“Are you done now?” Shane stared at his phone as he watched Rose wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. “This is actually serious. I really don’t want him to hurt but I’m starting to worry that my husband has the potential to be turned on by literally everything.”
“I don’t think it is everything so much as it is just… you,” Rose said thoughtfully.
“But I’m not trying to be sexy!” Shane protested.
“No, babe, I know. But, like, you know that man is catastrophically down bad for you, right?”
“I mean, I am for him too. We’re married. We love each other. That isn’t weird.”
“I’m not saying it’s weird, Shane. Really. It’s just that you guys are notoriously horned up for each other, like all the time. So there probably isn’t much stuff that you can do around the house that aren’t going to remind him of fucking, especially as when he knows he not supposed to be thinking about it. You are kind of back in forbidden territory again, which is probably kind of sexy in a weird way too. You’re back to being forbidden fruit, Mr. Cowboy.”
“So what do I even do? It’s hard enough to not be able to touch him or cuddle him but I also can’t like walk around in a nun’s habit or something…”
“Oh, definitely don’t do that. He’d probably be into that.”
Rose was probably right. Shane would file that idea away for a future date where boners were back on the menu.
“I don’t know what to do here, Rose.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Shane, I have an idea and you are going to hate it, but hear me out.”
“Okay…”
“I think you need to go stay with your parents for like a week until the worst of the boner danger is over.”
“But I want to take care of him!” Shane sounded whiny, even to his own ears. “And he needs someone here. He’s supposed to be careful about lifting stuff and reaching too much, and what if something goes wrong?”
“I’m not saying you leave him alone, I’m just saying the sexy nurse on call can’t be you.”
“I guess I could ask my mom, but I think she’s supposed to be going to Montreal for a few days. And my dad has work, though I guess he could come for the nights. But that still leaves him alone during the day…”
Shane paused as Rose let out a laugh.
“Oh no. That laugh makes me nervous.”
“Oh Shaney, I have absolutely solved this problem. There is, in fact, someone that not only owes you a favor but is also guaranteed to not cause even a single, tiny Ilya dick twitch.”
Comprehension dawned on Shane. “You can’t be serious”
“Serious as a broken dick, baby.”
**
It was almost starting to grow dark as Ilya finally stirred from his nap. He’d slept longer than he meant to, but at least he hadn’t dreamed about Shane.
“Shane? I’m up! Shane? Where are you?” The house seemed unusually quiet. Ilya cocked his head, listening for the sound of his husband. But there was nothing. He walked to the kitchen to get his phone off the charger, he would text Shane and see where he was. Maybe he’d gone to the store. Maybe he would bring home ice cream. He could almost certainly guilt Shane into ice cream if he mentioned The Incident.
But laying next to the phone was a note that stopped him in his tracks.
Ilya,
I love you so much and I hate to see you in pain. I want to take care of you. I meant what I said about “in sickness and in health” but I think we both know that this isn’t working. I can’t take care of you if everything I do makes you think about sexy times and I already feel guilty about this whole thing anyways.
I’m going to stay with Mom and Dad for the next few days, just to get over the worst of it. We can text and talk on the phone but I WILL hang up on you if you start getting flirty and I’m going to ignore you if you try to send me any sexts. We both have to be responsible here. In solidarity (and because I’ll be at my parent’s house), I won’t do anything sexy with my penis until you are able to participate. We are in this together, my love. Except that we have to be apart for a bit while we are in this together.
But please don’t worry, I’m not leaving you by yourself. I’ve called for backup and it should be arriving soon. Remember, I love you and this is for your own good and for a future filled with good, painfree boners. BE NICE.
I love you,
Shane
PS - this was mostly Rose’s idea.
Ilya read the note twice, ignoring the way seeing the word “penis” written in Shane’s careful penmanship was already starting to cause some uncomfortable stirrings. He was about to call Shane to demand to know what he meant by “backup” when he heard a knock at the door.
He set the note down and moved to answer the door.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Hayden Pike stood at the doorway, with a duffle bag in hand.
“Hello to you too, Ilya. Are you gonna let me in?”
“No.”
“Don’t make me call Shane, man.”
“You are the back-up? This is a terrible plan.”
“Listen, Rozanov, this isn’t my idea of a good time either. I would actually, sincerely, like to know WAY LESS about your dick, as, like a general rule but as Shane reminded me, I kind of owe you guys for the whole accidental outing thing, so here I am.”
Ilya stepped aside and let Hayden in the house.
“Don’t you have a million children at home that you could be taking care of?”
Hayden grinned. “Rose volunteered to pay for a full-time nanny for the week, so Jackie is currently on her way to stay at a hotel by herself for two nights. She’s very thankful you broke your dick, actually.”
Ilya glared at him and then pointed in the direction of the guest bedroom. “Just go put your shit down, until I call Shane and get him to kick you out.”
Hayden shrugged. “Whatever man, Shane said we could order pizza for dinner, you want wings too?”
Ilya gave a grumpy nod and pulled out his phone. A text from Shane was already waiting for him.
Don’t be mad. This is a good plan. Think about it this way: who is less likely to accidentally give you a boner than Hayden?
Ilya sighed. Rose was maybe, probably evil. But she wasn’t wrong.
“HAYDEN!” Ilya bellowed down the hallway, “I want cheesy bread too! And you better not get fucking pineapples on the pizza again.”
“That’s Nurse Hayden to you, please! And I’m getting pineapple on my side, asshole.”
Clearly Shane was right. Ilya had never been less aroused.
It turned out that, after all these years, Ilya could finally say that Hayden really was the best at something.
**
Six Weeks Later
“Well, as we expected, everything looks like it has healed really well.” Dr. Dickman said with a smile. “Ilya, you’re cleared to start resuming some light workouts. I’ve already talked to Terry and the training staff, so they’ll walk you through some safety protocols and a workout plan when you report back tomorrow.”
Shane reached over and took Ilya’s hand. It would be good to get him back on the ice. The team missed him and, more importantly, he was driving Shane crazy with his pent up energy.
“And, sex? Can we have sex?” Ilya leaned forward, gripping Shane’s hand harder.
“Yes, you are cleared for that too so–”
“Okay, goodbye Dr. Dickman, come now, time to go.” Ilya said in a rush, starting to pull Shane from his chair.
Dr. Dickman laughed. “Hang on, just a few more things, Mr. Rozanov. You are cleared for sex but please take it slow and careful. I would suggest that you hold off on certain positions for a few more weeks and that you listen to your body. If something feels off or starts to hurt, stop and let your erection ebb on it’s own.”
“Okay, yes, we hear you. No cowboy Shane. Got it, okay, we can go?” Ilya was standing again, his gaze locked on Shane’s face. He was starting to look almost feral.
“Yes, you can go. Call the office if you have any questions or any issues come up, okay?”
“Yes, yes, only one thing is coming up now, we will be fine.” Ilya tugged on Shane’s hand, pulling him to the door. Shane gave Dr. Dickman an apologetic glance, murmuring “thank you” as he tugged his hand free to gather up the paperwork and notebook he’d brought.
They were almost out the door when Dr. Dickman, with a note of amusement in his voice, called after them: “Just FYI, Mr. Rozanov, there are security cameras in the parking garage, so please don’t traumatize the receptionist who keeps an eye on the monitors.”
Ilya let out a huff of frustration and then pulled Shane into a sprint to the car.
They made it home, but just barely, and only because Ilya had never been able to convince Shane of the virtues of road head. They fell into bed and stayed there for a very, very long time, comforted by the knowledge that soon, but not today, Cowboy Shane would ride again.