#fluffy fluff fluff

★ “Hey.” You shift, turning in his arms until you’re facing him properly. “Look at me.”

★ He does, but his jaw’s tight. Self conscious in that way he gets sometimes, when the missing pieces feel louder than the ones that remain.

★ So you lean in and kiss him. Soft. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that says I’m here and you’re here and that’s enough.

★ When you pull back, you catch his right hand before he can tuck it away again. You bring it to your lips—press a kiss to his palm first, then his thumb, then each finger that’s still there. Taking your time. Making it deliberate.

★ Then you kiss the space where the others used to be. The pinky. The ring finger. Just the tender nubs remaining, the ghosts of what was two little fingies. Flambae makes a sound—somewhere between a laugh and something shakier.

★ “What are you—”

★ “Shh.” You kiss them again. “These too. All of you.”

★ His breath catches.

★ You guide his hand up, settling it against your cheek, and he cups your face like you’re something precious. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and his eyes are doing that thing where they’re too bright, too soft, too much.

★ “You’re ridiculous,” he whispers.

★ “Yeah, but you love me.”

★ “I really do.”

★ You turn your head just enough to kiss his palm again. “Besides,” you murmur against his skin, “you’ve still got your ring finger on the left hand.”

★ He blinks. Then he gets it.

★ His laugh this time is real—surprised and warm and a little watery. “You are such a sap.”

★ “That’s what really counts, right?” You grin. “The one that matters.”

★ Flambae pulls you back against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His right hand stays cradled between you both, but it’s not hiding anymore. It’s just there. Part of him. Part of this. On the TV, someone’s plating a dessert with gold leaf and unnecessary flourishes. Neither of you are watching.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Shane bit down on the pillow, his nose smushed into it as his hips lifted to meet Ilya’s tongue as Ilya licked over his hole with hot, wet strokes. 

They’d been at this - well, Ilya had been at this - for well over ten minutes now, with Ilya’s arm wrapped around Shane’s thighs to keep him from grinding his cock into the mattress, and Ilya’s tongue doing that thing that had his lungs inflating at an alarming rate. Shane’s skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, his cock was leaking onto the very nice duvet cover they’d purchased together last week, and in a more rational (small, but still there) part of his mind, he knew that maybe they should’ve waited to put it on.

Not that it mattered in that moment. He turned his cheek to let out a shaky breath, mixed with a low moan that rattled his chest as Ilya used his other hand to pry his cheeks open just a little more, thumb grazing the overly sensitive skin around his hole. Ilya pulled back with a ragged intake of breath of his own. “So good for me, moy lyubimyy,” Ilya praised, and Shane squirmed, though Ilya held firm, thumb still rubbing circles slowly around the puckered skin he could feel just how wet, how messy he was, and it made his skin flush hotter. “No no, you asked me to take care of you, yes? Let your husband take care of you.”

“Ilya,” He choked, fingers digging into the pillow under his head. It was a wonder he hadn’t ripped it to shreds yet. “Fuck - can you just–”

“Just what?”

“Fuck, you know what!”

“Mm,” Ilya mused, leaning back in to nip hard at the muscle of Shane’s ass, and his entire body twitched. “I am not sure I do.”

“Fuck you! You do know, I need–”

Ilya’s thumb gently pressed in against him, and Shane’s breath stuttered and stilted for a moment. “I know what you need, sweetheart,” Ilya said lowly, almost in a purr. “You asked me to help you stop thinking, and yet you keep thinking and not letting me do.”

Shane turned his face back into the pillow with a shudder as Ilya’s thumb pressed in a little more. “So, no more thinking, please, miliy, leave it to me.”

Shane could’ve come just from that alone and not been embarrassed by it.

Ilya unwrapped his arm from Shane’s thighs then with a gentle warning to keep his hips up. He grunted when Ilya removed his thumb, and Ilya chuckled, patting his ass firmly. “Relax.”

“Ilya, I swear to fucking god,” he said thickly, voice muffled by the pillow.

“You are very vocal for a man who begged me to switch him off,” Ilya hummed, reaching for the bottle of lube next to Shane’s knee. He flipped open the cap with his thumb. He jumped a little as Ilya spread his cheeks again, and poured the liquid directly onto his hole. 

Shane turned his head, his cheeks hot. “We’re ruining the duvet.”

Ilya snorted, closing the bottle and tossing it to the side. “Is that what you’re worried about right now?” Ilya asked, drawing his fingers down, down, pressing gently against his perineum before Ilya’s slick hand palmed and cupped his balls. “We can buy many duvets, tigryonok. Switch them out each time you make a mess.”

Shane whined. It was breathy, and pathetic, but the way Ilya’s skilled hands were palming and groping him, he didn’t fucking care. His shoulders dropped even more, and he could feel his muscles turning into something soft and pliable.

When Ilya finally, mercifully, pressed two fingers inside of him, the tightness in his chest unfurled, and Ilya leaned in to kiss his ass cheek. “There we are,” Ilya cooed, gently twisting, scissoring his fingers to stretch the muscle. “That feels better, yes? So tight for me.”

Shane could barely nod, but he pressed back into the touch, panting when Ilya’s other hand gripped his hip tight. “No no, sweetheart, this is my job.”

“Please–”

Ilya shushed him again, curling his fingers just so, and Shane trembled violently, knees parting on the bed when Ilya found his prostate. “Good boy,” Ilya praised gently, pulsing his fingers against the spot. “You always feel so…oh.”

Oh. Oh?

Ilya’s fingers had stilled completely, and Shane’s body went tight. “What’s…what’s oh?” He asked, voice thick, strained. “Ilya, what the fuck is oh?!”

“Shh, hold…” Ilya’s voice had become something softer, losing its sexual undertone as he pressed against Shane’s prostate, and his legs wobbled. “Yes, there.”

“Ilya I swear to fucking god if you don’t–”

Ilya kissed his hip and carefully removed his fingers. “This might be nothing,” he started, lips still pressed to Shane’s skin. “But I felt something.”

Shane’s blood ran cold, and at the same time as his mid-sex haze cleared, his heart found its way into his throat. He flopped, then scrambled to turn onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows as Ilya leaned over him, hand on the other side of his hip. “Felt what, exactly?” Shane finally managed. 

“I’m not sure,” Ilya replied, searching his husband's features. Shane’s eyes were a little wide, a little wild. “Is different from how it normally feels.”

Shane blinked, and whatever sexy thoughts that were coursing through his system, died at the look on Ilya’s face. “How did it feel?” 

“Like…a hard pea. Or a pearl, maybe.”

“Are you sure its–”

“Shane, I know the inside of you as much as I know the outside,” Ilya said gently, but Shane made a noise at the back of his throat. “I know what I felt.”

Shane could feel the edges of his vision blurring, and his heart rate spiked. “Fuck. It’s–”

“We know nothing,” Ilya cut him off again, lifting a hand to cup Shane’s cheek when he tried to turn away. “Hey, no, moy lyubimyy, we talk about this now, and we figure it out. We don’t know what this is, but we can find out, yes?”

A million things ran through Shane’s mind all at once, and each thing was worse than the last. It could be nothing, as Ilya said, but he could be dying, Shane thought. A shiver ran up his spine, and he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “What if it's bad? Ilya, we’re about to go into the fucking postseason, what if–”

Ilya pushed him down flat onto his back and settled his entire weight onto him, one knee wedged between Shane’s. “We will not what if,” Ilya said firmly. “There is no ‘what if’ing’ this situation, understand? We found something, we will get it checked out.”

“Today?” Shane asked, his fingers pressed into Ilya’s biceps. His nails were blunt but Ilya could feel the dig of them into his skin. 

“We can, yes, if there’s someone available. I will call?”

Shane couldn’t trust his voice at that moment. This could be nothing, but it could be something. He nodded, eyes trained on Ilya’s face, glossy with unshed tears. 

“Hey,” Ilya said softly, leaning down to kiss between his brow. “Hey, no,” he continued, kissing down his nose until he reached his mouth. “We will figure this out, sweetheart, is okay.”

Shane reached up to curl his fingers in Ilya’s hair to hold him there, their mouths simply ghosting together. Shane’s breathing came in short, staccato pants while Ilya took slow, deep ones. “Breathe with me, please, can’t have you passing out on me, too.” 

“Ilya–”

“Deep, like me,” he said, nose brushing Shane’s. “In–” his chest expanded against Ilya’s, warm and solid. “Hold it for one, two, three - and out…”

Ilya did this for 30 seconds until Shane’s body let go of the tension it had been holding. He felt cold, the sweat making his skin itchy and uncomfortable. “I should shower,” he mumbled, still gripping Ilya’s hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I will come,” Ilya replied. “Then we will call, okay?”

Shane nodded again, and Ilya pressed a soft, warm kiss to his lips again, once, twice. “Let’s go.”

–-----

While Shane had busied himself with the washing machine and putting new bedsheets on the bed, Ilya had made a call to their doctor. He’d hovered close as he spoke, explaining the situation, explaining that they needed discretion and a little urgency, and within the hour, Ilya had secured an appointment.

“Thank you, Dr. Rossett,” Ilya murmured. “Yes, we’ll see you in an hour.”

Shane sank heavily down onto the end of the bed as Ilya thanked their doctor again, hung up, then pocketed his phone. “We’ll leave in 40 minutes?” He asked, reaching over to draw his thumb over Shane’s cheek, smiling a little as he leaned into it.

“Can we leave a little earlier?” Shane asked. “Traffic is going to be a bitch at this time of day.”

Ilya hummed. He could make a joke about if they took the Porsche there’d be no issue, but he didn’t want to make Shane spiral even further. “Then we’ll leave in 20.”

Shane nodded, reaching up to grip Ilya’s wrist. “Am I being crazy about this?”

Ilya’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “What? No, you are not being crazy about this.”

“But you’re so calm, I feel like I am about to jump out of my own skin. It’s taken me everything not to Google every fucking symptom I’ve had since I was born.” 

Ilya’s lip twitched. He couldn’t necessarily tell Shane that whatever he’d felt when he had brushed over his prostate hadn’t scared the ever loving fuck out of him, or that despite his otherwise calm facade, he was also ready to crawl out of his skin. This could be nothing, he kept repeating to himself in his head. “Is in my blood to not panic,” he settled on instead. “Russians have panic removed from their DNA.”

“Ilya, be serious.”

“I am!”

Shane frowned, and Ilya sighed, bringing his other hand up to cup Shane’s face. “I’m not calm,” he admitted. “But I can be for both of us if that’s what we need.”

Shane’s eyes softened at that. “I love you, you know that?”

“I would fucking hope so,” Ilya grinned, leaning down to press quick, spongy kisses to Shane’s mouth. “Come, let’s take Anya out for a quick walk before we go.”

–----

When they got to the doctor's office twenty minutes early, Ilya side-eyed his husband. “For someone who is usually so good with time…”

“Shut up,” Shane huffed, glancing at the building, then back to Ilya. “I don’t want to sit in the waiting room for this long”

“There’s a coffee shop,” Ilya suggested, pointing to the corner of the building. He’d been in there a few times when either one of them went for check ups beyond what the Centaurs provided for them. “I’m sure they have juices maybe?”

“I don’t know if I should drink any–”

Ilya looked at him pointedly. “A fucking juice isn’t going to kill you, Hollander.”

“You’re such a fucking dick sometimes, you know that?”

Ilya waved him off. “Get out, we’ll get you juice, I am not melting in car for the next twenty minutes.”

Shane grunted, but Ilya simply unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door, pocketing his keys as Shane climbed out of the passenger's seat. Once the car was locked, he rounded the front of it and reached for Shane’s hand. It was clammy and warm, and he squeezed it gently. 

It could be nothing. Ilya told himself. 

They weaved through the parking lot and made their way into the coffee shop. It was quiet, with a few people sitting at tables with their laptops out, paying no mind to two professional hockey players standing in the doorway. Ilya pulled Shane towards the counter, where a woman glanced up from her book and smiled. “Hi there, are you guys ready to order?”

Ilya smiled, glancing up to the menus above her head, while Shane reached into his shirt pocket for his glasses. “Do you have juices?”

“Oh yeah! We have fresh pressed ones, or there’s some in bottles in our fridge behind you. We just made a batch of green juice - it has green apple, pineapple, spinach, celery, ginger and lemon, “ she said, shifting off her chair to check her fridge. “I also have a watermelon lemonade, a beet juice, then your typical apple, orange…”

“I will take the biggest watermelon lemonade you can make me,” Ilya said with a brilliant smile, and Shane sighed beside him. “And whatever he wants, is on me.”

“Such a gentleman,” Shane quipped, and he grinned wider. “I’ll take a medium green juice, please.”

The girl nodded, pressing buttons on her tablet. “Anything to snack on?”

“We’ll take two of those brownies,” Ilya said before Shane could say no, and he swatted his husband’s hand out of the way when he tried to reach for his phone to pay. “What part of ‘is on me’ did you not hear, moy lyubimyy? Go sit, shoo.”

Shane rolled his eyes and shook his head, but relented and went to sit on a stool near the window as Ilya paid and waited for their drinks and snacks. Ilya kept his eye on him, watching the way Shane’s shoulders slumped, the tap of his foot against the floor, and the drum of fingers along the table. 

He thanked the woman when she pushed their drinks across the bar, and handed him the paper bag with two of the biggest brownies he’d ever seen, and he scooped everything up with ease and made his way over to Shane.

Shane glanced up when Ilya set his juice down in front of him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, pulling the drink closer, eyeing the bag wearily. “I'm not eating that right now."

“Who said it was for you?” Ilya replied, thunking down onto the stool next to him. “Both for me. My treat to myself for being a loving, caring husband.”

“Dick,” Shane said with a syrupy, affectionate smile. 

“We’ll have them after dinner,” Ilya continued, patting the inside of Shane’s knee. “As celebration.”

Shane went quiet then, staring at his green juice for a long moment. Ilya squeezed his knee. “It could be noth–”

“But it could be something, right?” Shane interjected. “We can’t simply assume that it’s nothing, Ilya. We can’t, we’d be...we’d be fucking stupid to.”

Ilya tilted his head, watching carefully. He knew they couldn’t assume shit. For all Ilya knew this was a big misunderstanding. For all Ilya knew, it would be the biggest thing. “Okay,” he said quietly. “We can assume it's nothing, but know it can be something, yes?”

Shane exhaled slowly before bringing the paper straw to his lips, but then pulled back, nose scrunched, and carefully removed the lid. Ilya held his hand out for it, removing the straw and twisted his frame to toss it in the trash. “Hold on,” Ilya said as he slid from the stool to make his way to the self-serve station to find him a sipper lid.

“Thanks,” Shane said quietly when he came back and handed him one. “And thank you, for, you know, tolerating me.”

Ilya laughed at that, settling his hand back on Shane’s knee. “Yes, I moved from two different countries, changed teams, married you and have a sweet baby furchild with you, but only because I tolerate you,” he said dryly, picking up his lemonade. “You impossible fucking man.”

Shane hid his smile behind the lid of his juice, resting his hand over Ilya’s. “It’s nice to hear you say it every once in a while.”

–----

Dr. Rossett came as a recommendation from the team physician when Shane and Ilya had first really settled into married life in Ottawa. For ten months of the year, they were closely monitored by the best care team in the Centaurs Medical staff, but for those off days, those few months in between, Rossett had become an integral part of their lives.

And for moments like this, where they didn’t want to raise alarm bells with the team and staff if they didn’t have to, Dr. Rossett came in very handy.

The receptionist smiled at them warmly when they entered the office, and handed Shane a robe while Ilya fished out Shane’s health card. “Everything but your socks, hon,” she told Shane, then turned to Ilya. “Are you staying out here?”

Shane shook his head. “I need - I mean, I know it’s not, but I need him there, if that’s okay?”

“As long as you consent, and everyone is comfortable, then it's more than okay,” she replied, taking Shane’s health card from Ilya’s fingers. “Rossett will see you in his office, he’s just finishing up with one more patient.”

They thanked the receptionist, and Ilya slid his arm across Shane’s lower back and guided him down the hall towards the doctor's main office.

Once Ilya had closed the door behind them, Shane’s shoulders sagged as he stared at the sky blue gown in his hands. “I hate the gown.”

Ilya hummed. “I don’t mind it,” he mused. “Gives me a nice view of your best asset.”

“Pervert,” Shane said affectionately as he set it down on the examination table on the far wall. “We’re in our doctor's office, by the way.”

“When has this ever, ever stopped me?”

Shane shook his head as he stripped, and Ilya took each piece of clothing, folding them carefully and setting them on the chair next to the table. Shane slipped on the robe, and Ilya came to stand behind him to tie the little strings together. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Shane replied, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs to tug them down, a warmth flushing through him as Ilya squeezed his hips. “Stay close?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Ilya said quietly, leaning in to kiss just behind his ear. “Always close.”

Shane settled on the examination table with a wince as the paper crinkled under him. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and he shifted on it and sighed when it ripped under his weight. “Don’t fucking say it,” he warned as Ilya’s mouth stretched into a smile.

Ilya didn’t have a chance to, as the door swung open and Dr. Rossett slid inside, holding his tablet against his chest. “Afternoon, gents,” he said, closing the door behind him. 

“Doc,” Ilya said, reaching out to shake the older man’s hand. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.” 

Rossett shook Ilya’s hand firmly, then moved over to Shane to shake his hand. “Of course. Can’t have hockey royalty getting sick before the playoffs now, can we?”

Ilya sank down into a chair opposite the table, his eyes on Shane. Shane cleared his throat and dropped his hands into his lap. “We do appreciate the quickness, Dr. Rossett.”

“Of course,” Rossett repeated as he set his tablet down on his desk, and leaned against the edge. “Now, tell me what’s been going on.”

Shane took a steadying breath, his head tilting this way and that before sitting up a little straighter. “I uh, this is…we found something while–”

“I felt something while we were having sex,” Ilya chimed in. “Size of a pea, maybe, near prostate.”

“Jesus, okay, thanks Ilya,” Shane breathed out in a rush, eyes closing, a flush high on his cheeks. “But yes, I - he - we, found something, and we thought it best to get it checked out right away.”

Rossett looked between them both, then pushed his glasses up on his nose before he picked up his tablet again, bringing it to life. “Any issues going to the bathroom? Or too frequent urination?”

Shane shook his head. 

“Pelvic discomfort? Any sort of weird pressure that you’d not noticed before?”

“No,” though Shane couldn’t surmise if he did have pelvic pain or discomfort if it came from being in his thirties and playing professional hockey, or…

“Any lingering pain after intercourse?”

Shane’s eyes caught Ilya’s. “None.”

“And no blood in urine?”

“No.”

“Family history of cancer, prostate issues?”

Shane’s throat closed up, because up until this very moment, neither he or Ilya had wanted to say the word. It hit him like a semi. “No,” he managed to whisper, and Ilya frowned, inching forward in his seat. “None that I know of.”

Rossett hummed as he typed in a few things into his notes, then set the tablet aside. “Let’s do an initial exam,” he said as he moved towards the shelves on the wall to pull a pair of gloves out of a box. “Then I will send you upstairs to do blood, urine and an ultrasound. I know it sounds big,” he said as he tugged on the gloves and reached for the gel. “But it’s all precautionary, okay? One step at a time.”

“Can Ilya stay?” Shane asked, and Rossett looked between the two of them, before turning his gaze back to Shane.

“That’s entirely up to you, Shane. He’s your husband, and your comfort is important in all this.”

Shane nodded quickly, and Ilya gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “Not going anywhere,” he promised.

Rossett moved efficiently, instructing Shane to get into a comfortable position before he did the exam. Shane’s head bowed, and Ilya kept his eyes trained on his husband, crossing his arms over his chest, hands fisted under his pits to keep from going over to comfort Shane.

“There’s certainly something there,” Rossett finally said as he pulled off the gloves and tossed them into a wastebin. He pumped sanitizer into his hands. “Small, but there. I’ll send the info up right away so that all you have to do is walk in.”

Shane sat himself up as Ilya pushed up out of the chair and retrieved his clothes. “Is it…is it serious?”

Rossett shook his head almost immediately. “I don’t think so,” he said, calm and steady as he picked up his tablet again, typing away. “It feels very small. Something like a tiny cyst or benign module would be much more likely than anything serious.”

The knot in Shane’s chest loosened, but not by much. “But you could feel it.”

“I could,” Rossett replied. “Which is why I want the imaging and tests done, just so we know what we’re looking at. Based on size alone, and the fact that you’ve not had any pain, urinary issues, or other symptoms, I am not especially worried.”

Ilya exhaled. “How long will testing take?” “More likely an hour, maybe two,” Rossett replied. “Blood and urine won’t take long, but there might be a wait for imaging. I’ll rush the results, though, if it will ease some of the stress.”

“Yes please,” Ilya said, reaching up to squeeze the back of Shane’s neck gently. “We appreciate your help.”

“I know it can be a bit of a scare,” Rossett said, pressing send on his notes. “But this is not a panic situation, simply more of a ‘lets be thorough’ situation, okay?”

Shane nodded, and they thanked Rossett, who left them so Shane could get dressed.

“Okay?” Ilya asked him as he pulled his underwear back on. 

“Okay as I can be knowing our doctor fully knows we were having sex no more than three hours ago,” Shane replied dryly. Ilya smirked, handing him his jeans. “Shut up.”

Ilya tried to hold it in, he really did. “Made it easier?"

“I hate you,” Shane snapped, face hot, and Ilya chuckled, reaching over to stroke his cheek. Shane leaned into it and closed his eyes for a moment. “Thank you for being here.”

“Stop thanking me for doing the bare minimum husband duty,” Ilya replied, leaning in close to kiss his temple. “Fucking course I would be here.”

Shane dressed quickly after that and pulled on his runners while Ilya stuffed the gown into a bin next to the door and waited as his husband made his way to him. He settled a hand to Shane’s waist, pulling him in close, smiling gently when Shane bumped his forehead to his chin. “Let’s get this done, hmm? Then we’ll go home and eat brownies for dinner.”

“We’re not having brownies for dinner.”

“They’re big brownies,” Ilya said, kissing Shane’s hair. “Contain at least three major food groups.”

“Ilya, no.”

Ilya grinned, and Shane lifted his head to kiss him firmly. “Move it.”

After getting Shane’s health card and test notes from the receptionist, they made their way up one floor so Shane could do his testing. Ilya sat in the little waiting room, on a chair much too small for his large frame, entertaining a four year old who happily handed him every block from a basket in the corner. 

“Mr. Rozanov?” 

Ilya glanced up, arms full of colourful blocks. “That’s me.”

The technician smiled. “We’re just prepping him for the ultrasound, he asked for you.”

Ilya nodded, then stood up to put all the blocks back in the basket, much to the dismay of the toddler. “Sorry, solnyshko,” he sighed, smiling at the toddler's mother. “Hopefully some other unsuspecting Russian man will come to help you with the blocks.”

He followed the technician down the hall, and his heart clenched when they opened the door to the room. Shane lay on his side on an examining table, dressed in a patterned gown, his cheek pressed to his hands. His knees were drawn up slightly, and he had the most forlorn look on his face. The room was dim except for the glow of the monitor.

“You can sit up near his head,” the technician offered, and Ilya nodded, reaching for the chair to pull it closer to the table, and sank down. 

“Come here often?” Ilya asked him, and Shane sighed, making the technician laugh quietly.

“The probe might feel uncomfortable, but shouldn’t hurt,” the technician said as they set themselves up. “Please let me know if you feel anything that you shouldn’t, okay?”

Shane nodded. “Okay.”

Ilya drew his fingers over Shane’s cheek, and watched as he closed his eyes again. “Want my hand?” He asked.

“Yeah, please,” Shane replied quietly, shifting one hand closer to Ilya’s, and he dropped it from Shane’s face to grip his fingers. “Thank you.”

Ilya hummed, squeezing, keeping his eyes on Shane’s face. 

Shane’s expression pinched slightly, and he kept his eyes closed as the technician worked, the image popping up on screen alongside Rossett's notes.

“So, what we’re seeing here,” the technician started, turning the monitor so both Ilya and Shane could see. “This little thing right here?” They tapped the screen. “That’s what your doctor felt. It’s quite small.”

Shane squinted at the screen, hand gripping Ilya’s tight. “Is…that bad?”

“Not necessarily,” the technician said. “Smaller cysts and benign growths like this are actually pretty common. Most of the time they’re harmless and don’t cause any problems.”

Shane and Ilya shared a look. “And what happens now?” Ilya asked.

“I’ll send the information and imaging off to the radiologist” the technician said, and Shane’s facial expression pinched again as they removed the probe carefully. “Your doctor may want to keep an eye on it over time, but from what I can see, there’s nothing that looks especially concerning.”

Shane hummed, eyes closing again. Nothing especially concerning. 

It could be nothing.

“I’ll let you get cleaned up and changed,” the technician said sunnily. “You can head back down to Dr. Rossett’s office when you’re ready.”

When the door closed, Shane finally sat up with a heavy sigh, reaching for one of the large paper towels to wipe himself down as Ilya unfolded his underwear. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I never want something up my ass ever again,” Shane said tiredly, tossing the towel into a wastebin. 

Ilya gasped, clutching Shane’s underwear to his chest. “You can’t mean that. I will die if you mean–”

“Present company excluded,” Shane laughed despite himself. “Can I have my underwear now?”

“Should make you go commando for scaring me like that,” Ilya said, handing them over. 

“About denying you my ass?”

“Not that,” Ilya replied with a little frown, and Shane shuffled forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Ilya’s mouth. 

“We’re okay,” Shane said with more confidence than he felt. “Okay? You will have me and my ass and any other body part for a long time, whether you want it or not.”

“If I only had your left hand–”

“Just my left??”

“Da, your right is weak.”

“Fuck you,” laughing again, dropping his forehead to Ilya’s shoulder as he tugged on his underwear. 

“Is true, but your left?” Ilya groaned, biting his lip. “I’d die a happy man.”

“You’re so weird,” Shane mumbled, reaching for his jeans to tug them on. He pulled the gown off and tossed it into a basket off to the side as Ilya handed him his sweater. “But I suppose it’s why I love you so much.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya vsey dushoy,” Ilya replied softly, tugging Shane in with his sweater in hand to kiss him tenderly. “Even if you call me weird.”

–----

They found themselves in Rossett’s office, sitting next to each other, turned into one another ever so slightly. Shane’s ready to sleep, and Ilya is more than ready to get them home. 

“I will run us a bath,” Ilya continued as they waited, one hand on the back of Shane’s neck, rubbing slow but firm circles with his thumb. “Then we order in from that new Italian spot that opened up near us.”

“I don’t think they deliver,” Shane replied, his eyes half closed.

“Then I will pick up.”

“No, we can order from somewhere else, I don’t…can we just hole up tonight?”

Ilya’s smile softened, and he squeezed the back of Shane’s neck gently. “Da, we can.”

The door opened and both men turned their heads as Rossett came in, holding his tablet. “Okay, gents,” he said as he stepped into the room and made his way to his desk. “Myself and the radiologist reviewed everything, and it’s as we expected: a benign cyst near the prostate.”

Shane’s body visibly unclenched. Ilya blew out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“So, not cancerous, not dangerous, and not something we need to do anything about unless it changes or,” he glanced directly at Shane. “You start experiencing symptoms. But cysts like these can be pretty common.”

Shane let out a breath so hard it almost sounded like a laugh, then dropped his chin to his chest. 

“So, he is not dying,” Ilya hedged and Shane snorted to cover up the odd little sob that escaped him.

Rossett’s lip twitched. “He is absolutely not dying.”

Beside him, Shane felt Ilya’s hand squeeze tight around the back of his neck, warm and grounding and just a bit shaky. He lifted his head to gaze at his husband.

Ilya’s eyes scanned over Shane’s face, thumb pressed to the soft tissue just behind his ear. “Can I name it?”

He watched Shane’s expression go from soft and so in love to absolutely mortified in half a second. “The fuck? What? No Ilya, you can’t name my cyst!”

“Do not worry,” Ilya said solemnly, leaning in to kiss Shane’s very scrunched up, very red nose. “We will get through this together. You, me, and Greg.”

“I will divorce you.”

Some days you wondered if the child you had carried for nine long months had gotten anything from you.

She was a mini replica of her father - from the way her small mind worked all the way down to how she wiggled her feet in her sleep. Her tiny eyebrows would furrow when she was deep in thought, and her penchant for reading and her unquenchable thirst for knowledge could only be matched by her father. She had even adopted his gentle tone when speaking, and somehow at nearly 5, had almost mastered the slight snark Spencer used when he was frustrated. The only difference being that her small voice still had trouble pronouncing some words, a childlike lisp escaping the faster she spoke, particularly present when she was upset.

Even the mop of brown curls atop her head were Spencer’s, and your daughter had refused to have it grow past her shoulders, telling you firmly that her hair “couldn’t be longer than daddy’s hair”. She was 100% a “daddy’s girl”. You swore her stubbornness came from him as well.

That particular trait is why you were calling Spencer, even though you knew he was at work. The team had only just returned from a case that morning, and unit chief Emily had promised a Saturday off if they finished their paperwork. You had been worried Spencer was going to miss Halloween and had been absolutely delighted when he’d called you eagerly that morning, stating they were already on the jet to come home.

“Is everything alright?” Spencer’s worried voice sounded through the phone, not even bothering with a normal greeting.

“Your daughter would like to wear high heels for her Halloween costume and is refusing my alternatives. She said her costume had to look authentic”.

Spencer had immediately relaxed at your slightly strained yet amused tone and he sheepishly chuckled, running a hand through his curls. He knew he shouldn’t have taught her about authenticity before he left, but she’d been so eager to learn why people weren’t allowed to touch the art in the museum, why it had to be protected, and his answer had led to a rabbit hole of information. Secretly, he was pleased that she had grasped the concept and was using one of her new words in the proper context.

“Let me talk to her, please” he replied easily, shaking his head with a fond smile.

You put the phone on speaker, alerting your daughter that daddy was on the phone. She had immediately perked up, her eyes lighting up at his voice. She uncrossed her arms from where they had been over her chest, standing from the floor to come over to the phone.

“Daddy! Mommy won’t let me wear the tall shoes and, and, and - if I don’t my, mas- masherfleecey- my art will be ruined! It won’t be au-then-tic!”

“Okay, okay, little one. Take a breath”, Spencer’s even tone spoke, waiting to hear his daughter loudly breathe in and out.

“There. Now sound out the word - mas-ter-pee-sah. Masterpiece.”

You rolled your eyes that even now he went into professor mode but watched with a smile as your daughter followed his instructions, her look one of complete concentration as she repeated the syllables. Her t- was still a th- but she happily clapped her chubby hands together when Spencer praised her.

“Now, I know you want to wear the high heels, but you have to do a lot of walking tonight in order to go trick or treating. Plus, your feet haven’t grown all the way yet, and those shoes could hurt you. We don’t want you to get hurt on accident because of something as silly as uncomfortable shoes, do we?”

Your daughter pondered his words, her tiny shoulders dropping.

“No, I guess not”.

She sounded so defeated that her daddy had used the same argument that you had and you waited to see how Spencer would take her defeat, knowing he despised making her sad.

“Hey, no, no. Don’t be sad, pumpkin. I actually bought shoes for you that I think will make your costume completely authentic - they’re very glittery and sparkly. They’re in daddy’s closet - maybe mommy can help you get them”.

“For real life daddy?!” She cried, jumping up and down excitedly. You huffed out a laugh, already getting up so your daughter could tug you over to the master bedroom. She squealed in excitement when you found the special shoes, shouting out a thank you as she ran to dress up. (All by herself, of course). Thanking your husband you promised you’d see him soon, and reminded him to make sure Penelope was seated when you arrived to greet her goddaughter.

Over an hour later, after your daughter had asked for three different hairstyles with different accessories, she declared her costume perfect. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was only 4, although she was about to turn 5. She excitedly held your hand as you walked into Quantico, the standard Halloween bucket exchanged for a brightly colored purse. A feathered headband stuck up from her unruly curls, along with bright pink nails that somehow perfectly matched the shoes Spencer had bought. You texted Spencer right before entering the elevator, and he let you know that you were set to come up.

Exiting on the sixth floor, you led your daughter to where the BAU sat, making eye contact with your husband. No one had seen the small child over the cubicle walls yet, so when she rounded the corner her small voice loudly exclaimed,

“Hello my fine furry friends!”

Penelope had gasped loudly as your daughter posed, and then squealed, running over to pick your daughter up and spin her around.

When she set her down, they both started excitedly talking to each other, and Penelope exclaimed how wonderful her shoes were and asked your daughter if she thought she could get a pair to match. The two of them were quite a pair, and you laughed when your daughter mimicked the way Penelope stood.

Spencer approached you as you watched the scene, pressing a kiss to your temple. Together, you watched as Penelope declared your daughter her “mini me” as no one else could ever have such impeccable fashion taste or be quite so smart. Then, she had taken your daughter to the bat cave, giving her one of her precious toys to “complete the whole look”.

Upon her return, your daughter invited everyone to go trick or treating with her. When Luke had piped up stating he wanted some candy, neither you or Spencer could stop laughing when your daughter turned to him, hand still in Penelope’s and said,

He knew he made a mistake by bringing you to the pictures for your first date when you started tearing up but it was the perfect opportunity to hold your hand and comfort you.

He brought you flowers every other week when the one he brought you previously had died. And he saw the look on your face when you had to throw out the dead ones so he made sure to keep new ones coming.

He never told you about what happened while he was working as to not upset you, and he tried his hardest not to get battered up as to know worry you, considering you nearly cried when he came home bleeding once.

He once saw you stop to pet a stray cat once so he decided to buy you one of your own and you let the kids name it (they called it Catsby).

You were the sweetest most kindest person he’d ever met and he saw the way you care for him and others, especially the kids he falls in love with you all over again