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~ Somewhere in Northern Ontario ~
It was after a meal of salmon poke bowls, and a full bottle of chardonnay gifted to David from his work that Ilya brought up the game that kicked Montreal out of the playoffs. Shane looked at him incredulously as he loudly declared his disdain for the newest addition for the team. “Why the hell would they put Holdaway on in the third period? His pass accuracy is shit, and his edge work is somehow even worse. He is stupid player yet somehow every time I look he is on the fucking ice, bothering me.”
It was Yuna that spoke up in the kid’s defence. “It’s only his second season Ilya, and he was showing a lot of promise last year. Of course he would be shaky in his first playoffs. Although I do agree with you, the pass accuracy is concerning. Has he been okay in training Shane?”
Shane looked between the two of them. “I am not revealing any team strategy to you Ilya.” He ran a hand through his hair and shot a pointed look at Yuna. “You shouldn’t either, Mom.”
“Oh, you mean team strategy of putting shit player on ice. Yes, Centaurs will use this. Maybe we trade for Hayden Pike, make him Ottawa star centre.” Ilya grins at Shane.
Shane huffs. “Hayden has more cups than you,” he says, clearly not amused at Ilya’s constant ribbing. “Besides, I could name four players from Boston that shouldn’t even have been drafted into the league in the first place.”
David presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Despite Shane and Ilya’s denial of their rivalry, and claims that it was all media-created, he knows that at least professionally they will always argue and compete with each other. The hockey talk is getting exhausting, he hears it enough from his wife. “Do you two actually talk about anything besides hockey? I mean, you may as well just be colleagues having a professional conversation. Or siblings, from the way you’re bickering.”
Shane groans loudly. “Do not call us siblings Dad. Oh my god.”
“We talk about things that are not hockey. But it is major part of life.” Ilya shrugs.
“I don’t think Shane would survive if he couldn’t shop talk. He lives and breathes hockey.” Yuna teases. “I know because I’m the same.”
Shane frowns. He loves hockey, of course he does, but he thinks about it the same amount any other professional would think about their job. The way that his mother and boyfriend are staring at him has started to make him feel defensive. Ilya has a wide grin on his face, while his mom has a smug look as if she knows all there is to know about the inside of his brain. “I’m not obsessed. I bet if we banned hockey talk for a week it would be Ilya who cracks first, not me.”
Ilya gasps in mock hurt. “Shane you think so low of me. I am not boring like you, remember?”
“Take the bet then, Ilya. One week and first person to bring up hockey has to give up custody of the blue fleece. My blue fleece. Winner gets full ownership. Forever.”
“Deal.” Ilya would not lose this. He had grown attached to the dusty blue sweater. It had somehow been permanently imbued with soft scents of seaweed shampoo, whey powder, laundry detergent, and something distinctive that made it entirely and addictively Shane.
They drove home from Yuna and David's in companionable silence, Ilya holding Shane's right hand in both of his and running his fingertips over Shane's knuckles. Ilya looked out at a disgustingly picturesque view through the car window, all sloping hills and the setting sun reflected in sparkling light off the water. It reminded him of the postcards he saw in the airport when he first moved to Ottawa. He had thought of sending one to Svetlana as he knew she would've laughed at the cartoon rendition of a snowy mountain, the big cartoon letters expressing their GREETINGS!, and the artistically rendered Parliament Hill.
"I used to go camping with my parents around there. You could hike up and there was a campground near the top. More of a clearing than a proper ground really, but the council let you camp there so it was all allowed."
Ilya snorted. "Oh, I'm very sure that your mother checked that. I remember camping one time, when my mother took me and my brother. I think my father had work trip, probably. I do not remember it very clearly."
Shane glanced over, and intertwined his free hand with Ilya's two. "We could go someday, if you wanted to. I don't know if you'd want to. It's nice in summer, not too cold. But obviously you don't just have to agree for me."
Ilya turned away from the window. "Shane." Running his hand over Shane's forearm he spoke, "It sounds fun."
"Really? I mean this particular one is quite a hike, and we have to carry all our supplies in. Like food and water bladders and tents, sleeping bags, everything. We'd have to go buy equipment."
Ilya's hand travelled down to rest on Shane's leg, his thumb rubbing in soothing circles. "I want to go camping with you. Ok?"
"Ok." Shane agreed.
Pulling into the cottage driveway, Ilya had slightly regretted agreeing to this trip. Shane was in full-planning mode, the words filter pore size, optimal flow rate, ultralight tarp and zipperless closure system floating through the air as they walked through the cottage doorway. Before long he was on his phone, sitting on the couch scouring websites for the best water bladders with built-in filters, light tents for hiking and weather-proof sleeping bags. Ilya leaned over the back and pressed his nose into Shane's neck, arms wrapped under his armpits.
"I know a way to get half-price off the sleeping bags, you know."
"Really? Can I still get the brand that I want. It says that it has generous shoulder girth."
Ilya smirked. "Oh I'm glad it can allow for my girth."
"Shut up." Shane reached and attempted to swat the back of Ilya's head, but failed. "Most sleeping bags wouldn't accommodate the build of professional hockey players. How do I get half-off."
"Is simple." Ilya went back to Shane's neck. "We just share one."
"I know you're trying to flirt Ilya, but that would be so hot. Not in the good way."
"What you don't want to share a single-person sleeping bag with me and sweat and be uncomfortable all night? I do not understand. We would be together. It would be extra girthy. You would love that, Shanya."
"Shut the fuck up." Shane was laughing. "Do you actually want to go camping or not?"
"I do, actually. I really enjoy the hikes we have been going on. Is like one long hike." Ilya stood up and started to massage Shane's shoulders.
Shane looked up. "Are you being sarcastic?" He asked.
"No. Like I said before, I want to go camping with you. I enjoy hiking with you. I love everything about our time together here, we can be slow. You know?"
Shane didn't think he had ever felt fonder towards Ilya. So many things between them had always had to be so fast. Stolen conversations disguised as chirps in a face-off. Brief hours before or after a game in those long years before they admitted how they felt towards one another. Even the quick overnights or Skype calls that they had now still felt rushed. But their summers at the cottage were deliciously slow. Languid mornings stretched into lounged afternoons by the lake stretched into intimate evenings. They had time.
And now, learning that Ilya wanted to camp with Shane? No activities, no movies, no hockey. They would hike together and set up the tent and collect water in the bladder and cook over the fire and just enjoy each other's company. The Shane of three years ago wouldn't have even dreamed of this.
Ilya woke up to golden light streaming through the windows and Shane's hands running gently up and down the front of his torso. Ilya woke up to sunshine.
He turned and sank a hand into the hair at the nape of Shane's neck. Ilya's nails scratched up Shane's back as he teasingly brought their hips together. "Morning, solnyshko."
Ilya waited for a signal. A hand dipping into his waistband, an exhale, a movement of Shane's hips.
"Ilya." Shane breathed out.
There it is.
Ilya leapt out of bed, walking towards the bathroom. "I want to swim today. Cardio, you know for fitness." He risked a glance back towards Shane. Stupid idea. Shane's hair was sleep tousled, his eyes were lidded and as Ilya trailed his gaze down to his pyjama shorts his willpower faltered. He no longer wanted to make Shane mad, to tease him. All he wanted was to dive back into bed with his gorgeous boyfriend. But he turned instead, opening the bathroom door and running a shower.
Shane stared. "Are you serious? There's other cardio you could do first."
"Then get in here, Shane." Ilya called out, grinning.
Ilya was whisking a bowl of eggs at the counter while Shane cut bananas for a smoothie.
"Have you moved the sunscreen, Ilya? I can't find it where I put it last."
"I don't use. But I think is in cupboard near back door from when you ran yesterday."
"You don't use sunscreen? I ask you to all the time, seriously do you have some goal to develop melanoma alongside lung cancer?"
Ilya moved over to the stove, bumping his hip with Shane's on the way. "I'm not getting any cancers, Shane. I never get burnt without sunscreen, but if I put it on I do get burnt. Is pointless product."
"You're making zero sense. How do you get burnt with sunscreen on?"
"I put it on and my face feels like hot and stinging and goes red."
Shane switches his blender off, pouring the smoothie into a glass. "I think you might just have sensitive skin, baby."
"Sensitive? Ah, no." Ilya scoops the glass out of Shane's hand and moves both their breakfasts over to the dining table. "Is faulty product, probably."
"One of Hayden's kids is the same. You just can't use regular sunscreen on your face. I have a different one my mom left here once. It's gentle on your face. Just try it today and see. Please?"
Ilya rolls his eyes hard enough to pop a blood vessel. "You think I am like Pike baby? I couldn't think of anything worse. But I will try fancy Yuna cream for you, solnyshko."
"You make it sound like I'm torturing you."
"Yes I am abused and tortured by my beautiful boyfriend who buys me food and takes me swimming and sucks my-"
Shane's chair clatters abruptly across the floor as he stands up. "I'm going to get dressed!"
Ilya never mentions the tiny rectangular sunscreen that Shane lends him, or the fact that his skin isn't stinging or burning for the first time ever. But back in Ottawa weeks later, he finds four bottles of the stuff zipped into a pocket of his bag with a post-it note.
Don't get skin cancer and die or I will kill you - S <3
Shane started their fire while he waited for Ilya to come back from the creek downhill. The four hour hike in had been pleasant, the weather was warm but with a good breeze and they had stopped to eat sandwiches Ilya had prepped for them. The fire sparked, slowly catching on the small white cubes Shane had interspersed throughout the pile of kindling. He fed in a large log and let it gradually build.
Then Ilya emerged into the clearing, torch in one hand and the now-filled water bladder in the other. Shane looked up at his crooked grin and his slightly mussed curls from the wind, standing to take the 5L bag from his hand, brushing his lips across Ilya's nose. "Find the creek ok?" Shane asked, turning to hang the bladder on a nearby tree.
"No I died at the bottom of a barren ravine, no water or escape in sight."
Shane grabbed the other man's hand, rolling his eyes and pulled him down to sit against the pillows he'd set up on the floor. They adjusted until Shane had his back against a tree, Ilya's head in his lap as they looked into the fire. He combed his fingers through Ilya's hair as he always did, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.
"Svetlana and I used to sneak into the woods in high school with our friends. We would make fire, but bigger than this."
"Like a bonfire?" Shane asked, his hand coming to rest around Ilya's throat, thumb gently tracing his jawline.
"Yes, bonfire. We would burn schoolwork, drink, smoke. People would go and fuck in the bushes. It was like end of school year party, to blow off steam."
"Yeah, I went to a bonfire like that once." Ilya tilted his head up to look at Shane. He looked so pretty in this light, the golden light flickering across the angles of his face, his blue eyes reflecting the light of the fire and his golden curls framed silhouetted with a golden glow. Like a halo, Shane thought. "All my teammates were off with girls. I had a girlfriend at the time, so we just hung out together. I was miserable."
"You didn't want to have sex with your girlfriend? Why not, solnyshko?"
"Shut up." Shane laughed. "I just thought there was something so wrong with me. I didn't want to smoke or drink or spend time with her and I couldn't understand why everyone else had talked up this party so much. It was all so stupid, looking back."
"I don't think is stupid. You are here now, at bonfire. Enjoying yourself, I hope. You can go and have your sneaky fuck in a tent later, if you want."
Shane laughed. "I like thinking about what you were like, in high school. We would not have been friends, I don't think."
Ilya pinched Shane in the side. "You think so low of me. I would have cornered you in bathroom first day. Would not have been able to resist cute boy with freckles and glasses. Maybe I would have gotten you to tutor me."
"I could not have tutored you. I spent all my time at practice. My grades were just good enough to pass and stay on the team that is all. I was definitely not a straight-A kid in math class with my glasses on. Sorry to destroy your mental image like that."
They move into their tent, unzipping their sleeping bags all the way to use as one big blanket. Ilya wraps an arm around Shane's chest, pulling him towards him and intertwining their legs together.
"You want to know a secret, solnyshko?" Ilya whispers directly into Shane's ear, one hand carding through his hair as the other toyed with the hem of Shane's shirt. "I was good student. Partied, yes. But I was top of year in mathematics and science. Chemistry was my favourite."
Shane wasn't surprised at how turned on that made him. As Ilya's hand crept down to his waistband, reaching beneath to palm him through his boxers Shane imagined Ilya studying chemistry. Ilya's fingers smudged in pen ink, working through advanced problems with ease. Shane is glad about this new piece of knowledge he's learnt. His head tips back against Ilya's shoulder, throat working as Ilya wraps his second hand around it. The golden light of the now-dying fire plays gently against the walls of the tent.
They had reached the fifteen-minute mark of Netflix scrolling, trying to find a movie for that night. Shane held the remote, Ilya laying between his legs with his head resting underneath Shane's chin. Shane had seen most of the movies already, and Ilya's suggestions were growing increasingly desperate. He suddenly pointed at a red poster, Big Hero 6.
"Please, this one!" Ilya exclaimed. "Is such a good movie, I will gladly do fourth rewatch."
“You’re seriously telling me you’ve seen this movie three times already?”
“I just said that Shane, you need hearing fixed?”
“It’s for kids.”
“So? Is good movie, plus main character reminds me of you.”
“What, Hiro? Just because I’m Japanese?"
“Not him, Shane. He does illegal robot fight gambling. You are way too boring. I mean the big robot. Is cute like you.”
“Oh my god, Ilya. Baymax? Seriously? You’re such an asshole.”
Shane goes to flick his forehead in mock-annoyance, but Ilya catches his wrist, pressing a kiss to the heel of Shane’s hand and looking up from where he is laying on his chest.
“You love me though.” Ilya teases, sarcastically rubbing his cheek against Shane’s hand.
Shane presses a kiss to Ilya’s curls.
“I do.” He says fondly, relishing in the freedom of saying it out loud. Shane loved the calm, the comfort of this relationship. Everything could be said out loud, feelings could be laid bare. He wraps his arms under Ilya's, hands resting on his chest.
He thinks back to the bet they made, weeks ago at his parents' house. Shane hadn't even thought about hockey, let alone had to abstain from speaking about it. For a long time he thought that nothing could ever consume his brain the way that the sport did. But that was before he had this beautiful, intelligent, kind man with golden curls resting against his chest and chuckling at a kids' superhero movie. Shane sunk his fingers into Ilya's hair. He hadn't ever felt as overwhelmingly calm as he did in this moment.