Chapter Text
Ilya runs his hands through his hair, glancing behind him as he exits the elevator. No one is around, but he still feels the need to assure himself he won’t be noticed being somewhere he shouldn’t. His eyes slid down the hallway, 413, 415…417. He forced his grin into something he hoped was more cool and mysterious before two quick soft knocks. The door opened instantly and he stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.
He glanced down at Shane, smirking a little, “You waiting by the door for me, Hollander? How long?”
Shane rolled his eyes, letting Ilya lead him into the room. “Asshole. I just don’t want people seeing you knock on my door.” But he was smiling. No one would have seen him, the Metros were mostly out drinking away the memories of Boston destroying them earlier that evening. He was sure Shane told them he needed to review the footage or something lame like that. Of course no one would question it.
Ilya was grinning at him. “Ah of course. So good, always watching out for me.”
His hand tucked a loose strand behind Shane’s ear as he crowded into his space. Shane closed his eyes, letting out a shuddered sigh. Something about this felt off to Ilya. Normally Shane’s eyes were fixed on Ilya, watching the way he touched him and reacted.
“You tired? Can be exhausting to play like shit. I hear.”
Shane’s eyes opened again for him to scowl and bat Ilya’s hand away, “Shut up.” But he was smiling again, and Ilya relaxed. He leaned in to finally kiss him, pressing up against him hungrily, a hand curled around Shane’s back to pull him close. Instead of melting into him, he felt the muscles in Shane’s back tense, as though braced for impact. Ilya pulled back a little, keeping his hand in place but rubbing a thumb gently over the tension.
“You are hurt?” He asked, confused. He thought through the game. Shane took a few hard checks, but nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe he missed something.
“No-maybe. I guess. I didn’t notice in the moment.” Shane stumbled over his words, but before Ilya could question further Shane’s mouth was pressed up against his again, kissing him roughly.
Ilya happily responded, but held him gently. In the back of his mind he wondered if it would push things too far to massage his back after they were done, or if he’d have to dash out as usual right after. Either way, he’d be careful not to hurt him again.
As they removed their clothes and got into the bed, Ilya pulled away again. “You sure you are okay Hollander? Feel, tense?” He asked cautiously.
“I’m fine—I’m just sore. A little tired.” Shane urged, using his legs to shift Ilyas hips closer to his in an intoxicatingly desperate way.
Ilya sighed into Shane’s neck, “Fuck, Hollander. Okay. If you’re sure. I am gentle tonight, yes? Poor Metros, no chance if I make captain too sore to walk tomorrow.”
Shane shoved him playfully. Then resumed kissing him, his hands reaching down.
No matter how may times he went through it in the following hours, days, and years, Ilya couldn’t understand how he hadn’t stopped it from getting to this point. Their rhythm progressed as normal, if maybe a little slower. Shane was certainly tense, but Ilya tried to make him do as little work as possible. He was determined to ask to massage out the tense muscles in his lower back later, maybe leading to a second round.
He’d asked if Shane wanted to be fucked, to which he got an enthusiastic moan. Ilya took extra time prepping him, noting with some concern Shane wasn’t relaxing as easily as normal. But they hadn’t seen each other in nearly 6 months, and Shane himself said he was hurt. Ilya grew convinced Shane was more hurt than he was letting on.
After a while, Shane pulled Ilyas head up towards him, “Please,” he said, breathy and soft. “Want you, need this with you.”
Ilya felt the flush in his cheeks he got whenever Shane spoke to him this way. Unguarded. Desperate. Needy. Ilya kissed across his neck, “Are you sure? Maybe not for us today, you feel tense. Back is bothering you still. I can make you very happy with just my mouth, I think.” He said, then sucked on his neck to prove his point.
“Please, Ilya, I want you to fuck me. I’m fine, please.” Shane whispered, gripping Ilya’s hips and pressing into them to emphasize it
Ilya frowned slightly. He felt uncertain, this was new territory for them. Ilya tried to imagine if he was hurt, and guessed he’d probably still want this even if it had to be toned down a little. It wasn’t in his nature to ignore breathy begging for him to fuck Shane.
After getting the condom on and lube, he checked in one more time before slowly easing himself into Shane at his urging. He hissed in pleasure, but stayed focused on Shane’s face. His eyes were screwed shut, like he was concentrating, instead of the normal soft fluttering eyelids he normally got when lost in pleasure.
“Okay?” He panted, not moving.
Shane didn’t answer, but moved underneath him and moaned softly. Ilya got the message and started moving, slowly, feeling Shane was tighter than normal.
Slowly, Shane’s face started to relax, his mouth hanging open. Ilya, relieved, picked up the pace. He grabbed Shane’s free hand, pinning it above his head the way he knew Shane loved. “Fuck, Hollander. Take me so fucking good.” He moaned, eyes closed.
Shane didn’t answer, and for a moment Ilya was confused, then everything happened so fast.
Ilya opened his eyes and froze. Shane was staring at the ceiling, eyes watery and full. A tear streaked down his cheek, and suddenly his whole body was tense and he let out a pained cry Ilya had never heard.
Ilya instinctively tried to pull out of him, but this seemed to be the wrong move, Shane crying out again in obvious pain, so tense around Ilya the movement clearly painful.
“Shane! I—please, Shane, breath. Let me come out. Please.” He said, panicking. If Shane heard him, he didn’t show it.
Ilya tried again to pull back, cupping Shane’s face in his hand and directing his eyes to his own. “Please Shane, I’m sorry, I stop. Please, breath.”
This time Shane seemed to hear him, nodding tightly while still avoiding eye contact, and Ilya felt just a hint of the tension ease in Shane’s body. As he slowly pulled out, Shane grimaced but held still, taking a deep shuddering breath, eyes closed again.
Ilya felt dizzy and lost, a million questions and apologies in his throat that that died when he looked down and saw blood. Ice rushed through him and he felt nausea rise in his chest. “Shane. Oh my God. Shane what—I’m sorry. Let me—“ but before he could figure out what he was even going to offer, Shane opened his teary eyes and saw the same scene as Ilya.
He bolted upright with sudden urgency and nearly jogged into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
Ilya watched, frozen. He gripped his hair with his fists and swore under his breath. What the fuck? What did he do? What was wrong with him? Was he capable of hurting someone like this? Was he, just as he was told for so many years, just as cold and heartless as his father? He thought he knew how to care about Shane. In his way. In the way they were allowed to care for each other.
His spiral was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of retching. Ilya shot off the bed, pulling on his sweatpants to try and make Shane less uncomfortable. “Shane? He asked, desperately, knocking at the door. There was no reply, but some horrible choking noises. He couldn’t wait any longer and cautiously opened the door.
He didnt know he could feel worse until he saw what sight awaited him in the bathroom. Shane, curled over the toilet, gasping for breath in between dry heaves. He was still fully naked, and Ilya could see smears of blood between his legs. He worried for a minute he’d be sick too, mind spinning wildly to see where would even be a place he could throw up if Shane had the toilet. But then Shane let out a soft whimper. A noise Ilya’d also never heard before. It was the most heartbreaking thing Ilya thought he’d ever heard, and in an instant he was on his knees facing Shane. A hand reaching out to rub his back.
As soon as he touched Shane he regretted it, the other man wincing so hard it seemed to set off another round of vomiting. Ilya recoiled as if burned and felt the feeling of horror at himself grow. He was a monster. So much so that he wasn’t even sure still what had gone wrong. He shouldn’t be here, he obviously was just making things worse.
His mind was racing. He knew he was making things worse, but he also knew he wouldn’t let Shane be alone now. Who could be there for Shane? His parents? Fucking Pike? There was no one who knew, as far as he was aware. Then a scarier thought. Did Shane need…a doctor? It didn’t seem like much blood, but obviously there should be any blood at all. Was Shane’s throwing up and gasping from pure physical pain? Or from what Ilya had done?
“Shane…I don’t know what—do you need help? Help like doctor, like friend? I’m sorry…”
Shane looked up at him again, breath finally slowing a little. He swallowed dryly, opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing came out. Giving up, he looked to where one of Ilya’s hands was on the ground. Shane finally sat up away from the toilet, leaned against the bathroom wall, and delicately, timidly, reached his hand out to Ilya’s.
It would have been a relief if Ilya wasn’t still so scared. He gently rubbed Shane’s hand with his thumb in slow, soft circles, watching Shane’s clear efforts to slow his breathing.