Work Text:
The first time Shane meets Ilya Rozanov his breath is taken away. Not in the clawingly sweet romcom way. But in the way that makes his airways close up to stop the damn cigarette smoke from getting into his lungs.
Like everything else in Shanes life, his asthma is well managed. His preventative inhalers are enough to stop his lungs getting in the way of hockey or working out. The only thing he can't seem to prepare for is cigarette smoke. It always seems to take him by surprise, a sudden cloud of thick smoke that has him wheezing for breath.
He had to be firm once they started hooking up regularly. Telling Rozanov that he hates the taste and smell of cigarettes, so the man can't smoke just before they hook up. It's a simple request. And for the most part Rozanov bugrudgingly concedes.
Las Vegas is different in a lot of ways. Ilya is rougher. They don't even kiss. And after, Ilya lights up a cigarette in the room, not caring about Shane's only rule.
It takes Shane a minute to come back to himself. To shake himself out of the stupor that Ilya fucked him into. By the time he's back in control of his body again, it's betrayed him.
'You have got to be fucking kidding me.' Shane hisses, struggling to sit up.
Ilya looks over, raising an eyebrow.
'What the fuck is wrong with you today? I can handle all the other weird shit but I asked you for one fucking thing Rozanov.'
'You got your reward. This is mine.' Ilya shrugs, blowing smoke into the air, hitting Shane in the face with it. It's probably supposed to be playful but it switches Shanes brain to full blown panic mode.
He pushes back the sheets, ignoring the mess that Ilya would normally clean off him and stumbles for his clothes.
'Hollander-'
Whatever cold and indifferent mask Ilya has been wearing starts to slip. But Shane can't focus on that right now. There's a weight pushing down on his chest, and the lack of oxygen is starting to make him feel light headed.
'Hollander.' Ilya says more insistantly. 'You are having panic attack.'
'No, you asshole.' Shane wheezes as he struggles to get his pants on. 'Im having a fucking asthma attack.'
'I don't know this word...' Ilya admits. He stubs out the cigarette and shuffles over on the bed, trying to work out how he can help.
Shane opens his mouth to explain but the coughing kicks in, his lungs desperately trying to expell the smoke. Leaving his trousers unbuttoned, he moves over to the window. He tries to throw it open but it only opens an inch, probably to stop suicidal gamblers from jumping.
'Fuck.' Shane wheezes, resting his forehead against the cold glass.
He closes his eyes, trying to wrestle together a game plan. His inhaler is in his bag, five floors down from Ilya's suite. No way he can make it there on his own. Hayden normally carries a spare one with him, but that would mean calling the man up to Ilyas room, outing both himself and Ilya which isn't an ideal option.
'Hollander, what the fuck?'
Shane can't answer, his legs buckle and he hits the floor, gasping for breath.
'Do I need to call ambulance?'
Shane shakes his head. 'My room.'
'Seriously?'
Shane tries to stand up, Ilya catches him when he stumbles. 'Okay Hollander. Your room. Let me put pants on, yes?'
Without waiting for a reply, Ilya ushers Shane to sit back on the bed, back where the smell of smoke is thickest, and pulls on his trousers. 'What room are you?'
Unable to answer, Shane fishes out the keycard from his pockets and hands it over.
Ilya turns it over in his hands, reading the number. 'Okay, come on.'
Shane makes a valiant attempt at walking. When he fails, Ilya scoops him up to carry him. 'You just worry about breathing, okay Hollander? I can do the rest.'
Shane's head swims. It feels like both an eternity and only a second untill he hears a keycard buzz and the door to his room being opened. He forces his eyes open as Ilya places him down on the bed.
'What do you need?'
'Backpack.' Shane manages to say between coughs.
Ilya searches around, grabbing the bag and holding it in front of Shane. Shane grabs at it and tips it upside down, spilling the contents over the bed.
He reaches for his inhaler with shaking hands, finally bringing it to his lips and pushing down to inhale the medicine. The effect is instant, the coughing stops and he gasps for air, ragged and wheezing. He lets the medicine settle in his airways before taking another puff.
He sighs in relief and falls back against the hotel pillows, closing his eyes as the pain in his chest starts to ease. After a few moments, he opens his eyes to see Ilya, still shirtless, looking at him in complete horror.
'M'fine.' Shane says, even though his hands are still shaking.
'What was that?' Ilya asks quietly, sitting on the edge of Shanes bed.
'Ahstma attack. It's a lung thing? Stuff like smoke, dust, perfume... It makes my airways close up, so I can't breathe.'
He can see the lightbulb go off in Ilya's head. 'This is my fault.'
Torn between calling Ilya an Asshole and comforting the clearly distraught man, Shane just shrugs a shoulder. 'Its fine.'
'No, it isn't Shane.'
Shane looks up at the sound of his first name, sounding completely foreign in Ilya's mouth.
'I did this to you... Could you have died?'
'Not with this.' He holds up his inhaler for Ilya to see. 'I don't tend to bring it to hook ups though.'
'You should.' Ilya pouts.
'Or maybe the guy I'm hooking up with can just not smoke in the hotel room.' Shane counters, annoyed by the implication that this is his fault. Rozanov shouldn't have been smoking in the room, it's a miracle the smoke detectors didn't go off.
'... sorry.' Ilya says quietly, not able to meet Shanes eyes now.
'Hey, I'm okay now. Really.' Shane reaches out, putting a hand on Ilya's leg. 'I'm going to be shaky for a bit because of the adrenaline. But since the air is clear in here, I'm good.'
'Okay...'
'Are you good?'
Ilya looks at Shane like he's crazy. 'I am not the one who has attack.'
'I know I just mean... You're different today.'
Ilya sighs, hanging his head. 'Sorry. I am...' He clicks his tongue. 'I have to go home soon. And Russia is... Not good for me.' He admits finally. 'My father is dying. And my brother is terrible. And they make me terrible.'
'Oh...'
Ilya's hand move to cover Shane's. 'But that does not mean I should be terrible to you. I am sorry, Shane. I will be better with your rules.'
Shane gives him a weak smile. 'Okay Ilya. Thanks for telling me.'
'What do you need? To feel better?'
'A bath, probably? The water helps my chest. And these pants are gross...' He admits, wrinkling his nose.
'Okay.' Ilya brightens, seeming glad to have something to do. 'You stay here. I will run bath.' He squeezes Shane's hand and kisses the edge of his lips. Their first kiss the whole evening.
Shane is embarrassed by how much the simple contact makes him feel better, even if Ilya's breath still smells like cigarettes. Ilya smiles at him and pulls away, disappearing into the bathroom.
Leaning against the headboard, Shane listens to the sound of running water and focuses on taking long, slow breaths.
Ilya returns with an almost bashful smile on his face. It's so jarringly different to how he had been acting an hour ago that it feels like a completely different person.
'I used the mouthwash in there. So I won't taste like smoke.'
'Oh, thank you?'
He leans over, finally giving Shane a proper kiss. He doesn't linger or deepen the kiss, probably still worried about Shane being able to breathe properly.
'Come.' He says, helping Shane to his feet.
Shane finds himself ushered into a lavender scented bath. The warm water lies over his chest, soothing away the last ache of his coughing fit.
He's surprised to find that Ilya stays by his side. He sits on the edge of the bath, gently helping Shane clear away the grime.
'This happens to you often?' Ilya asks as he lathers the shampoo in Shane's hair.
'Not really. I have it controlled enough to play without bothering me. It's just sudden changes in the air that can fuck with me. It's been a long time since I had an attack like that.'
'Sorry.'
'You didn't know.'
'I knew you didn't like it.'
'Yeah, but not that it was a medical thing. I try to downplay that stuff, so people don't act all weird around me.'
'Okay... Anything else I should know?'
Shane shakes his head. 'Nothing that can kill me.'
Ilya rolls his eyes, rinsing Shanes hair. 'You have early flight?'
'No, staying an extra day.'
'Me too.'
'Oh...'
'So maybe... I can stay here? For the night?'
'I don't think my lungs could take another round.' Shane admits with a pout.
'I am offering to sleep here, pervert.' Ilya teases, he helps Shane out of the bath and drops a towel on his head, shaking off the water for him.
'Oh...' Shane is glad that Ilya is so focused on his task that he won't see how much Shane is blushing. 'Yeah, okay. I mean, I really am fine if that's what your worried about?'
'Maybe I am just too lazy to go back to my room after carrying you down here.' Ilya hums as he wraps a towel around Shane. 'I will shower, to get rid of smoke smell. Wait for me in bed, yes?'
Shane chuckles to himself as Ilya shoos him away. He throws on a pair of boxers and a metros t-shirt to sleep in, leaving some clothes out for Ilya to change into.
Sweeping away the mess he made back into his backpack, he leaves the inhaler out in easy reach, just in case.
Exhausted, Shane falls onto the bed, trying not to overthink Ilya's offer to stay. It's not something they've ever done before. But it's been a weird night for both of them. And it's rare that they don't have to leave early because of a flight. Maybe he can indulge just this once.
Ilya, dressed in Shanes boxers, slips into the bed next to him, pulling Shane to his chest to spoon him. Shane chuckles as Ilya nuzzles his head into this shoulder. 'Go to sleep, Hollander.' He grumbles.
'Goodnight Ilya.' Shane teases.
He hears a huff behind him as Ilya chuckles. 'Goodnight, Shane.'
***
Days later, back in his Montreal apartment, Shane is scrolling through twitter when he sees an article about Ilya pop up. The man was spotted at an airport, clearly heading back to Russia.
The main topic of the article is the nicotine patch on Ilya's bicep. Frowning to himself, Shane opens up the post.
Apparently when questioned about the patch, Ilya responded: "I have very frail loved ones who I could kill with smoke. Better to go without than to risk hurting them."
It looks like the man has kicked off a trend where sports fans are trying to quit smoking in solidarity with the Russian.
Baffled, Shane swipes away from the article to text the man.
Jane: Hope Russia doesn't suck too much
Jane: Good luck on quitting smoking I guess?
Lily: Russia always sucks.
Lily: Will be easy 💪🏻
Lily: Will not need to smoke by the next time I see you 😘
Shane thinks over his response, chewing on the strings of his hoodie. The next time they see each other will be months away. And if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't think he can wait that long.
Jane: Maybe we can find the time to call or something when you're over there?
Jane: I know time zones can be weird, but we can work something out
Lily: Are you offering phone sex? 👀
Jane: Absolutely not.
Jane: actually, I'm blocking your number
Lily: Noooooo!
Lily: Come back
Lily: Let me teach you how to have phone sex
Lily: I give up smoking for you, you can do this for me!
Jane: Ah, so I'm your "frail loved one"
Lily: Yes. You are very frail.
Lily: And very loved
Lily: I will miss you
Jane: I'll miss you too Asshole.
Lily: 😘 Will call you tonight
Shane rolls his eyes but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to the call. At least there'll be something to tide him over while the man is so far away. And besides, he needs to reward the man for finally quitting smoking.