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Quinn knocks on Kirill’s door and then takes a step back, shifting his weight between his feet while he waits.
Kirill had skipped their practice today, something Quinn doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kirill do. Even the optional skates they sometimes have before games, Kirill is always there.
He had texted the older after practice to ask where he was and got a not feeling good in response. So, he took it upon himself to make Kirill some soup. Kirill always took care of him, he finally had a chance to step in and do the same.
The door creaks open and Kirill peeks through, a smile creeping onto his face when he spots Quinn. “Quinny! What are you doing here?”
“Brought you some soup.” He smiles sheepishly, lifting the tupperware container.
The grin gets bigger and he opens the door to let Quinn sneak past him.
Quinn heads to Kirill’s kitchen right away, grabbing a bowl from one of the cabinets and then pouring half of the container in carefully. He grabs a spoon and then turns to hand it to Kirill.
He gets a good look at him for the first time then, not hidden behind the door. He’s still in what Quinn hopes are pajamas, his shirt similar to the “Mr. September” one he loves, only somehow even more destroyed. This one is Moose themed instead, the hem frayed and smattered with so many holes there’s almost more skin showing than cloth. Quinn cannot imagine that it’s comfortable.
Placing the bowl in front of Kirill, Quinn presses a soft kiss into his hair and rests a hand on his shoulder, massaging gently. “You feeling okay?”
Kirill leans into the touch and hums. “I will be.” He replies, leaning forward to grab the spoon and take his first spoonful.
“That’s not really an answer.” Quinn says, ruffling his hair, and walking away to put the leftovers into Kirill’s fridge.
“Just little bit cold.” He says between bites. “Will be fine for game.”
Quinn leans against the countertop across from Kirill. “Sure.” He shrugs, not fully sure where he wants to go with this. He’s not usually the comforting type. “But I still want to know when you’re not feeling good. I want to take care of you too.”
Kirill looks up at him over the bowl, “Yeah?” He asks after a moment.
Nodding, Quinn reaches to grab the hand Kirill isn’t using to eat. “Yeah, of course.”
He’s rewarded with another smile and a squeeze of his hand before Kirill continues eating.
“You like it?”
Kirill nods around his spoon. “Yes, is very good. Where did you get it from?” He asks, brows lifting in confusion when Quinn giggles.
“I made it.” He grins, watching as Kirill’s mouth drops open just slightly.
“You made this?” He asks incredulously. “Why did you not say you could cook?”
Quinn laughs again, shaking his head. “It’s a family recipe, I’m not all that good.” He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish.
“No, this is great. You are good cook Quinn.” Kirill says firmly, “You will have to teach me.”
Quinn continues shaking his head, “If I taught you, you wouldn’t need me to take care of you.”
Kirill squeezes his hand again. “Mmm, no. I still need you.” He says, lifting the bowl to drink the remnants. “Will always need you, Quinny.”
And Quinn ducks his head at that, snagging the bowl to rinse so that Kirill can’t see his face turn pink. “You wanna watch a movie?” He asks over his shoulder, placing the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher.
When he turns around Kirill is already standing. He nods and then heads to the couch, Quinn following just behind.
Quinn sits down normally and Kirill tuts, shaking his head. “Lie across.” He says, refusing to sit until Quinn agrees, positioning his body so that he’s lying across the entire sofa.
Kirill smiles then and lies down on top of him, hands snaking underneath Quinn’s torso and resting his cheek against Quinn’s collarbone.
Grabbing the remote, Quinn runs a hand through Kirill’s curls and the older man practically purrs. He shakes his head, grinning stupidly before scratching gently at Kirill’s scalp. He redirects his attention to the tv then, aimlessly scrolling through one of Kirill’s various streaming services.
“You have any preference?” He asks lowly, shifting to look at Kirill the best he can.
Kirill shakes his head, pressing his nose into Quinn’s neck. “No, I’m probably going to fall asleep.”
Quinn twists a curl between his fingers. “Alright, get some rest then.”
Kirill hums in return, the sound vibrating against Quinn’s chest.
Turning on something he hasn’t seen in a while, Quinn lets his eyes slide closed as well. Practice is done for the day and the tired of a hard game played the night before has settled into his bones, emphasized by Kirill’s firm weight on top of him.
He’s kind of like a weird weighted blanket Quinn finds himself thinking as he drifts off to sleep.
When he wakes, the credits are rolling and he still has a hand clasped in Kirill’s hair. He slowly massages at Kirill’s scalp, not wanting to wake him but feeling trapped underneath him.
Kirill has always been able to manhandle him like it's nothing but Quinn doesn’t carry the same strength Kirill does. He’s not broad in the same ways and his thigh is probably the same size as Kirill’s bicep if he flexes.
Not that he’s complaining… he usually loves feeling smaller than Kirill. It just means that now, stuck under his dead weight, he’s trapped until Kirill wakes up.
He’s grateful when Kirill stirs a few minutes later, body tensing a little as his arms tighten around Quinn and he shoves his nose even further into Quinn’s neck.
“Hey,” Quinn greets softly, tucking a stray curl behind Kirill’s ear. “You feeling any better?”
He nods against Quinn, nose bumping his jaw as he hums an affirmative.
A small smile creeps onto Quinn’s face as he moves his hand down the back of Kirill’s neck, dipping under the hem of his shirt to squeeze at the junction of his neck and shoulders.
Kirill exhales and sinks back into him, pressing a soft kiss against the column of Quinn’s neck.
“Let’s get you to bed.” Quinn suggests, trying to stretch out but failing.
Kirill shoves his nose under Quinn’s jaw in protest. “But you’re so comfy.” He whines.
Huffing a laugh, Quinn twists a hand in Kirill’s curls. “The couch isn’t as comfy as your bed though.”
He groans again and then shifts, slowly extracting his arms from underneath Quinn. “I guess so.” He agrees, standing up unsteadily.
Quinn sits up and grabs either side of Kirill’s waist to steady him. “You sure you’re feeling better?” He asks, trying not to let worry seep into his voice.
Kirill opens his eyes and looks down at Quinn. “Yes, much better.” He grabs the hands at his waist and then uses them to tug Quinn up to his feet. “Just got- umm, what’s it called. When you stand too quick and your eyes get little bit fuzzy.”
“Like a head rush?” Quinn asks, beginning to walk towards Kirill’s room.
“Yes! Head rush.” He confirms, attaching himself to Quinn’s back “Thank you, Quinny.” He smiles, arms wrapping around his waist tightly causing them to waddle the rest of the way down the hall.
They make it to Kirill’s room slowly, Quinn finally depositing Kirill onto the bed. When he steps away Kirill shoots a hand out to grab his wrist.
“Where are you going?” He asks, eyebrows high and eyes wide. Quinn has to try not to imagine him as a dog, begging for extra attention.
Quinn smiles at him placatingly. “Just gonna steal some pajamas. I’ll be right back.”
Kirill seems to decide that that’s a good enough reason to walk away, dropping his wrist and nodding as he lies back on the bed.
Searching through Kirill’s drawers, Quinn eventually comes up with a hoodie he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Kirill wear before and a pair of loose boxers.
He changes into them in Kirill’s room, slightly self-conscious that the older was watching him. It wasn’t like it was anything he hadn’t seen before, the context was just different. Oddly more intimate.
Dropping his day clothes into the corner, Quinn shuffles back to Kirill’s bed before climbing into it.
Kirill’s arms wrap around him immediately, tugging him so that his back meets Kirill’s chest. He presses a kiss to the nape of Quinn’s neck, nuzzling into him.
Suppressing a giggle, Quinn leans back into him. His eyes fall shut, letting Kirill’s warmth wash over him.
“Thank you.” Kirill whispers, pressing his nose into the curls that trail down the nape of Quinn’s neck.
A smile creeps onto Quinn’s face. “Of course.” He hums, letting his legs tangle with Kirill’s. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”
Kirill hums, shuffling to press the last little bit closer to Quinn. He plants a kiss against Quinn’s shoulder and then finally settles, sighing contentedly.