Chapter Text
Ilya was going to spoil his husband tonight! Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it, Ilya would do it.
Ilya had made a show of putting both their phones on Do Not Disturb soon after dinner and was now straddling Shane's hips on the couch, making out with his neck sloppily.
"What has gotten into you?" Shane breathed into his ear as he nibbled on a spot between Shane's neck and shoulder.
"You know," Ilya growled, then went back to the mark quickly developing under his teeth.
"I really don't, baby. What's got you this riled up?" Shane's hands slid out of Ilya's hair and down his back to firmly grip his ass. There was no denying how hard they both were, and Ilya didn't plan on staying on this couch much longer.
He pulled away to make eye contact with the hot-as-fuck man that was all his. "Oh, so you think you can just make me amazing food three nights in a row and I will not put my hands all over you?"
Shane scoffed out a laugh. "Oh my god, that's it? All this because I cooked dinner? You're so fucking easy!"
"Only for you. Other people need to try harder," Ilya winked then playfully tapped Shane's cheek twice.
"AH! FUCK!" Shane yelled.
Before Ilya could even blink, Shane had turned his head away, hands coming up to protect one side of his face.
"Malysh!? What is wrong? I hurt you? What is it?" Ilya knew he should probably do something, but he had no idea what was wrong. He jumped off Shane's lap and was stood in front of his husband as he folded over in pain.
Shane's eyes were squeezed shut, but it didn't hide the tears forming in the corners. His jaw snapped shut, then immediately opened with another pained yelp. Once it was open again, Shane started breathing heavily through his mouth. It took Shane a few deep breaths before he pulled himself together enough to answer.
"No," he exhaled sharply. "I'm fine. All good." Shane slowly turned back to face Ilya. His eyes were definitely watery.
"Fucking bullshit! What is wrong?" Ilya insisted.
"Nothing! Just that hit on Wednesday. Slammed my jaw into the glass." Shane rubbed the side of his neck. Ilya noted he was making an effort to avoid touching his face.
He hadn't been thinking about that hit at all! Shane didn't have a visible bruise, but that didn't mean he wasn't still sore. It had been a nasty one; Ilya could hear it in his head right now as he looked at his husband.
"I'm so sorry!" Ilya apologized quickly.
The last three nights flashed in Ilya's mind. Shane had taken up cooking duties without even asking and had made two different soups and a baked mac and cheese. They were all delicious, but Ilya thought it a little odd that Shane was breaking his diet of almost exclusively protein, rice, and veggies. Now he understood. Shane was in pain, so much pain that he had left all the meals he'd prepped last weekend in the fridge and made foods that were easier for him to eat.
"It's fine, I'll be fine," Shane was waving him off.
"No, fuck off with that." Ilya sat down on the couch beside Shane. "It's definitely not fine. It hurts?"
Shane just shrugged noncommittally.
"Show me, Shane," Ilya demanded, breaking out his 'Captain voice', the one he used on the ice to make people to listen to him.
"There's nothing to see. Look," Shane finally turned his head to let Ilya examine his jaw, "no bruise, nothing. All good."
"But you're in pain. It's the bone? Because I will not let you play again if it is fractured or something. I will not let you make it worse."
Shane rolled his eyes, "If I did break my jaw or some shit, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you," Shane countered.
He had a point, but none of this helped Ilya make sense of what had just happened. What was Shane not saying? He was hurting so much from ramming his face into the glass that he nearly screamed when Ilya playfully slapped him. But it wasn't his jawbone-
"Is tooth isn't it?" Ilya asked. Shane hated seeing dentists, avoided them like the fucking plague. They never discussed it, and Shane had never explicitly admitted it, but Ilya could take a hint. He'd watched Shane claim that toothaches "resolved themselves" or that it "wasn't worth the drive" to get checked out at the team-affiliated dentist across town.
And now this. All the signs were there and they both knew it.
Ilya only had to stare him down for a few seconds before Shane's shoulders fell and the fight went out of him. He looked anywhere but Ilya as he slumped down into the couch
It all made sense now: his insistence that he was fine after the game, even when everyone saw how hard of a hit he'd taken; his near refusal to have anyone look at him afterwards; the cooking; everything.
"Sorry," Shane whispered. He looked so much smaller in just a matter of seconds.
"Don't be sorry." Ilya wrapped his husband up in a tight hug, careful to set his chin on Ilya's shoulder so he wouldn't accidentally touch his cheek again. "What can I do? Does it still hurt?"
A moment's pause, then Shane nodded against Ilya's neck.
"Ok, what will help?" Ilya asked.
"Cold," Shane mumbled. "And ibuprofen."
"Ok," Ilya pulled back, holding Shane by his shoulders so he couldn't retreat back into the couch. He looked so tired in this moment. Probably from hiding how much pain he'd been in for three full days. "You stay here, lay down, and I will get you ibuprofen, ice pack, and ice cream for dessert. And if you feel better after that, you can still have blowjob tonight."
Shane chuckled at that, despite his burning red cheeks.
"What can I say? That chowder was amazing, Hollander!" Ilya threw up his hands in fake exasperation.
"Thank Jackie. She sent me the recipes," Shane deflected.
"Nah, thanking you is much more fun," Ilya winked. Then he stood up and went to fetch everything they'd need to rot on the couch for a few hours.
— —
After two bowls of ice cream, an ice pack, and a large dose of ibuprofen, Shane was ready to tell Ilya what was really going on. One of his teeth had already been bothering him before the game on Wednesday night. The hit he'd taken made it a hundred times worse. And now he didn't want to get it looked at because he didn't want to be given bad news.
"What is worst that can happen, moya lyubov?" Ilya asked, rubbing soothing circles on Shane's back. "They pull it? Then it's gone," he tried to reason.
A full body shudder went through Shane as he lay on top of Ilya's chest. Instead of coming up with any answer to Ilya's logic, Shane just buried his face further into the Russian's sweatshirt.
"Ok," Ilya hummed, bringing up a hand to run through Shane's hair, "so not that. We don't want that." He kissed Shane's hair for reassurance, but it didn't seem to calm him any.
Neither of them seemed to know what to say for a while. They were at a stalemate. Ilya just wanted Shane to not be in pain anymore, and Shane was adamant that he wouldn't get it looked at. So they just laid there.
Once Ilya's ass started getting sore, he decided to give up on this discussion for the night. "Still up for that blowjob?" he offered.
That made Shane's head pop up, a smile starting to form on his lips.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Ilya chuckled.
Shane broke out in a full grin. Getting up off of Ilya, he turned to go upstairs to their bedroom, and Ilya was right behind him.