Archive of Our Own

“Ilya, why is there a mechanical bull in the front yard?” Shane calls from the kitchen where he’s watching a crew of people unload a literal mechanical bull, complete with a blow up perimeter around it. 

He’d just returned from pilates and in the time he had been gone, said bull was in their front yard, and their kitchen island had been turned into what looked like a full scale, full service bar. 

He heard Ilya before he saw him. Bounding down the stairs with his phone in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. “Okay, okay, okay. Don’t be mad.” he says as he crosses the room towards Shane. “You know how I am in charge of Harris and Troy’s bachelor party? I called the club this morning, and, wait - you got new shorts.” He stops as he enters the kitchen, eyeing Shane’s legs where they were in fact exposed in new shorts he’d gotten.

“Yes. Why is there -” Shane is cut off as he points to the bar.

“Those are very good, excellent choice.” Ilya winks and walks closer to Shane, reaching out to hold his hips in his hands. Shane can only blush as Ilya pulls him in for a kiss, squeezing his ass once as he does. “Hello moya lyubov.”

“Hello. Why the hell is there a bar in our kitchen and a bull on the lawn?” he asks, not moving from the warm embrace of Ilya.

Ilya sighs and shakes his head. “Tragedy has struck. The club where we were supposed to party had something with a pipe exploding and is closed, and there is nowhere big enough in Ottawa to have hockey team bachelor party, so, I tell them to come here instead.” he shrugs in a way that can only be described as deeply Russian, like what he’d just said was not even a little insane. 

“We’re having the party here?” Shane asks, feeling his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. 

“I know, I know. Not ideal, very loud, very drunk hockey team in the house.”

“You invited the team to our house. . . for a bachelor party.”

Ilya pauses before smiling and wincing. “Yes.”

There’s a beat of silence between them. “Ilya, they are going to destroy our house.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” he argues. “Plus, it is for Harris and Troy. We should be the ones to do it.” Ilya shrugs.

“Because we’re gay?”

“No, because we knew. We knew when we still had to hide and now they get married so we celebrate.” he shrugs and picks a piece of lint off of Shane’s shirt casually like he hadn’t just said the sweetest thing Shane has ever heard. 

“Ilya that is. . .” Shane looks around and sees things getting set up around his home. 

Normally, he’d freak. 

Like fully freak the fuck out; but something in him felt not terrified at the idea. He felt himself start to smile just a little when he turned back to Ilya. “This is crazy. Troy doesn’t even drink, right?”

“I am aware of this, yes.” he nods. “But it is for both of them and they wanted a big party, just team, and it is an emergency and we need to party. We live in Ottawa, moye serdtse, there are no clubs here we can leave them at.”

Shane laughs and nods his head. He looks around where the furniture has already started to be moved and then back to the bull on the front grass. He loved his team, he loved his boys in Ottawa that had welcomed him so warmly and made a home for he and Ilya, and landed them further and further into the playoffs each year they played.

And so what if his therapist had jokingly suggested that he ‘live a little’ and find moments to see if resigning some control felt okay; if he felt like that now that he was much safer in his life, he could grow. 

“Then we bring them here. We can do that.” 

“I know that you won’t - what?”

“Bring them here. Let’s do it. How bad can it be?”

Ilya opens his mouth and then closes it, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Really?” he asks, tilting his head with a mischievous grin. 

“Really. I think we should. What do you need help with?” he asks and claps his hands. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boring husband?”

Shane just laughs and shakes his head. “Still boring, but you’re right; this is important and you did already sign us up for it so, fuck it. Let’s do it.” 

“I love you.” Ilya growls and pulls him in by the hips for a kiss. “But, you tell me if it's too much. If they are too loud. I’ll take care of it.” he adds when he separates from his mouth. 

“I will, I promise.” he kisses him once for good measure and then turns to get to work. 

They move in easy sync; Shane directing traffic of vendors bringing things in, Ilya doing the heavy lifting. The dining chairs get relocated to the garage. The rug gets rolled up “just in case.” The decorative bowl that absolutely does not need to be anywhere near a bachelor party disappears into a cupboard.

In the kitchen, Shane starts lining up glasses in neat rows and putting away bottles of champagne.

Ilya leans against the island, watching him with a small smile. “You are nesting for bachelor party.”

“I am organizing. Leave me alone.” Shane corrects, not looking up. If he looks up, he’ll see Ilya with his arms crossed across his chest, biceps bulging, and then nothing will get done in time for the party. 

Shane had, at one point, genuinely believed things would calm down.

It had seemed logical in a way that appealed to the part of his brain that liked patterns and outcomes and predictability. There had been so much before, so much chaos wrapped around them like barbed wire. 

Being outed. The media storm. The tension in locker rooms that didn’t quite know what to do with them at first. The emotional whiplash of going from private to very public. And then that first season playing together, good, but intense, everything heightened.

So Shane had thought: once we get through this, once we’re married, once life settles. . . it’ll settle.

They’d still love each other, obviously. He wasn’t an idiot. But maybe it would be quieter. Softer, less horny. But that was not the case. 

Not even close. 

It had been like at the start; handsy and desperate and a little unhinged, like they couldn’t quite believe the other one was real, was allowed, was staying. Like if they didn’t touch constantly, something might take it away.

That kind of thing, logically, should fade with time. Right?

Shane found himself standing in the doorway to the backyard when he was done setting out the glasses, watching Ilya start to tap a keg, sleeves pushed up, forearms flexing as he turned the tap, trying to get it open carefully.

And - no. No, actually. If anything, it had gotten worse. Significantly worse.

Embarrassingly worse.

They’d been late to the last dinner they’d had with Svetlana when she was in town, showing up fifteen minutes late, rumpled and out of breath to her knowing eyes and slow shake of her head. They’d been caught, more than once, still, by different members of the Ottawa staff making out against their car in the parking lot, in the tunnel, in the stands, in the locker room, and once in the medical room when Ilya had been icing a black eye after a game. 

They were married for Christ’s sake. But yet, they could not physically keep their hands to themselves. Always searching the other out in some way, making up for lost time and drunk on the pure elation that they could finally be together. 

Shane had never been more well fucked or well loved in his life and they couldn’t, and didn’t need to, stop. 

Ilya shifted slightly, the light catching the line of his jaw, a hand coming up and pushing his hair back for a second before leaning down to move the keg, once again showing off how his muscles strained under the too-tight shirt Shane was pretty sure was his anyway.

Shane’s brain helpfully supplied: you are married to him. Chill out. He’s not going anywhere.

Which should have made it better.

Because now there was no reason for this level of reaction. There was no scarcity, no fear of losing him, no secrecy. Ilya lived here, they shared a bed. They shared a last name for crying out loud. 

There was absolutely no reason Shane should be standing here swooning like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

And yet. “I can feel you staring,” Ilya said without turning around, voice amused.

Shane didn’t move. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m observing.”

Ilya huffed out a laugh, rinsing the pan. “Observing what?”

Observing the way your arms look doing something as stupid as tapping a keg for our friends like it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

He went with, “Just here to help if anything goes wrong.” and a shrug.

Ilya snorted. “Ah, yes. You stand there and judge, good system.”

Shane pushed off the doorframe despite himself, stepping closer. “I’m not judging. I don’t even know how to do that. Just want to make sure you don’t get shitty beer all over the deck.”

Ilya turned just enough to glance at him, eyes bright, a little knowing. “Then why you come closer, hm? To make sure I don’t?”

He stopped a foot away instead, gripping the edge of the deck railing. This was ridiculous. Ilya looked up and winked at him. There was a beat. Something in his chest folded in on itself, soft and helpless and entirely gone.

“Oh my god.” Shane muttered under his breath.

“What?” Ilya said, grinning now, fully turning, clearly pleased with himself.

“I thought this would stop happening.” Shane said.

Ilya tilted his head. “What would stop?”

“This,” Shane gestured vaguely between them, then more specifically at Ilya, at the sink, at the entire situation. “You doing something normal and me reacting like, like. . . ”

“Like you are in love with me?” Ilya supplied, far too pleased.

Shane exhaled sharply. “Yes. Shut up.”

Ilya’s smile softened just a little at that, less teasing now, more. . . something else.

“And this is problem?” he asked, quieter.

Shane looked at him for a long second. At the familiar lines of his face that somehow still felt new sometimes, like Shane’s brain hadn’t quite caught up to the reality that this was his, that he got this every day.

“No,” Shane said, just as quiet. “No, it’s not a problem.”

He reached out then, finally, catching Ilya’s wrist and pulling him a step closer, ignoring the abandoned keg.

“I am going to kiss you one time, maybe two, and then I am going inside to finish cleaning before you can distract me anymore.”

Ilya’s eyes sparkled with mischief and glee. “And how am I distracting you, Hollander?” he asks seductively, crowding him against the deck railing and nosing the side of his jaw. Shane’s hands rest on his waist, one of his fingers threading through the belt loop of his jeans to pull him close. 

“If I stay here and look at your arms in this stupid shirt,” he reaches up to run his thumb along the seam of it, “we are going to get nothing done.”

“Hmm, and you like that, yes? Big strong man carrying things around the house for you?” Ilya teases, but his eyes don’t leave Shane’s lips. 

“Yes.” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Of course he does, who wouldn’t? “Plus, I know how else you can put them to use, so my mind is in the gutter.”

Ilya’s smile somehow becomes wider. “And how else,” he stops to kiss his jaw “do you like it when I put them to use?” he asks against Shane’s ear, fully pressing him against the deck railing now. 

Shane smiles, small and slow, before answering. “I have a few favorites,” Shane muses “but when you hold me up to fuck me aginst the wall it really takes the cake.” he whispers cheekily in his ear. 

Ilya just groans and reaches up to hold his jaw and pull him in for a kiss. Their mouths slide against each other and they both hum and exhale like they’d been holding their breaths since the last time they were able to kiss.

Shane can’t help but smile into it, but before he loses his train of thought, he pulls back and reaches up to hold Ilya’s cheek in his palm. “Now, get back to work.” he smiles and pats his cheek lovingly. 

“You said two kisses!” Ilya complains, looking genuinely offended. Shane pinches his cheek slightly, just because he can, and leans in. Connecting their mouths and earning a soft hum from Ilya, like he’d soothed a burn he didn’t know he had. 

“Better?” Shane asks when he pulls back. Kissing his cheek once for good measure.

“Better.” Ilya nods and kisses his cheek as well. “Now, you have to go away or nothing will get done.” he sighs and leans back, motioning Shane to go back inside the house. 

Shane just laughs and rolls his eyes, earning a quick slap on the ass from Ilya as he goes, not daring to look back over his shoulder or else truly nothing would get done. 

Inside, Shane arranges gold decorations Ilya had delivered across their windows and the front door. He wipes down the counter one more time even though it’s already clean. He adjusts the thermostat. He puts another bottle of Ilya’s favorite vodka in the freezer “just in case.”

The bar outside and the patio that’d been cleared for a table of food and drinks becomes Ilya’s domain; speaker tested (twice), ping pong table positioned at a safe distance from anything expensive, an emergency keg tucked discreetly in the corner. The whole thing looked like the most insane bachelor house party set up and Ilya looked at it like a piece of fine art, nearly moved to tears. 

They’re almost ready by 7:00 PM.

Coolers are stocked, lights glow warm in the backyard, and music is on through the outside speakers. Upstairs, their bedroom is a mess of discarded clothing options. Shane stands in the closet in jeans and nothing else, holding up two shirts like this is the hardest decision he’s ever made.

“Black or white?” he asks.

Ilya is sitting on the edge of the bed, halfway through pulling on his Centaurs shirt. He looks up and forgets how to speak. Shane isn’t even trying. That’s the worst part. Just standing there in low-slung jeans, hair still slightly damp from the shower and tucked behind his ear, shoulders broad and skin warm from steam. 

“Hello?” Shane says, waving a shirt. “Focus.”

Ilya clears his throat. “Black.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Ilya says with a groan as he eyes Shane and chews on his lower lip, “it will make me insane.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Ilya just shrugs, never taking his eyes off Shane. He rolls his eyes but pulls the tight black t-shirt over his head anyway. And that is, objectively, a mistake. The fabric hugs him and clings across his chest and shoulders, tapers at his waist. The sleeves sit just high enough to show the line of muscle in his arms.

Ilya exhales slowly. “Oh my god,” he groans.

Shane glances down at himself. “Too much?”

“Not enough.” Ilya mutters, licking his lips.

Shane looks back up sharply, knowing by his tone what he was thinking. “We have people coming over.”

“I am aware.” Ilya replies, but his eyes are very clearly not behaving.

Shane steps closer, toeing off the last of the clothing on the floor. “You’re one to talk.”

Ilya has finished pulling on his own shirt, a vintage navy Centaurs tee that stretches across his chest in a way that should probably be illegal.

Shane’s gaze drifts as he stands and stalks towards him. Down to where his pecs are on display under the tight fabric, nipples poking through the material. 

“My eyes are up here, Hollander.”

They’re standing close now. Close enough that Shane can see the way Ilya’s pupils have blown a little dark. Close enough that Ilya can see the faint flush creeping up Shane’s neck.

“This was a bad idea,” Shane murmurs.

“What was?” Ilya asks innocently.

“Getting ready at the same time.”

Ilya steps into his space fully, hands settling at Shane’s hips. “It is a very good idea.”

Shane’s fingers curl lightly into the hem of Ilya’s shirt. “We have a bachelor party to host.”

“Yes.”

“With twenty men.”

“Yes.”

“In our house.”

“Yes.” Ilya says again, but his mouth has drifted dangerously close to Shane’s.

Shane exhales a quiet laugh. “You’re insatiable.”

“You wore that shirt on purpose!”

“You wore yours on purpose.”

They stare at each other. There’s something ridiculous about it, both of them pretending this isn’t exactly what they’re doing. Showing off a little, preening. Ilya leans in, brushing his mouth slow and deliberate over Shane’s.

It’s supposed to be quick. It is not quick. Shane makes a soft, involuntary groan and fists his hands in Ilya’s shirt properly this time, pulling him closer. Their bodies line up, chest to chest, heat through thin cotton.

“Five minutes,” Shane breathes against his mouth.

“We do not have five minutes.”

“Three?”

Ilya kisses him again instead of answering. Shane’s hands slide up into Ilya’s hair. Ilya’s grip tightens at Shane’s waist. The room feels smaller suddenly, warmer.

Somewhere downstairs, a car door slams.

Shane groans and takes a full step back from Ilya, hands up in surrender. “We can do this.” he nods and Ilya groans but nods as well. 

“We can do this.” he reaffirms. “And,” he adds “if it is too much, you tell me, yes?” he asks, eyes dead serious.

Shane’s heart swells at his words, at his thoughtfulness, and the feeling of being known for who he is and being loved for it, not in spite of it. “Yes. I promise.” he nods and Ilya moves towards him again. He wraps an arm around his waist, tapping his ass once, before herding him downstairs as the first doorbell ring of the night sang through the house. 

“Ready?” Ilya asked as he put his hand on the handle. 

“Let’s do it.” Shane nods and Ilya swings the door open. 

From then on, it’s a steady stream of people coming into the house. 

All the players stop and say hi to Shane and Ilya, most of them bringing some sort of food or alcohol with them as a thank you, ready to get the party started in an absurdly rowdy way. The rookies come in together in a clump, looking somewhat nervous until Ilya pats them on the back and shoves them towards the bar with a welcoming smile. 

Harris and Troy arrive while the sun is still mostly out. The whole house erupts into a symphony of cheers and wolf-whistles and at some point Bood comes out of nowhere with sashes and “I’m getting married” pins for both of them. Troy ends up with a ridiculous sash that says GROOM in gold glitter. Someone put it on him against his will as he made the rounds, but he hasn’t taken it off. 

The backyard is strung with lights that Shane swore were “tasteful” and Ilya insisted were “aggressively romantic”, but set the mood for a nice outside space for the players to mingle and drink. There’s a rented dj booth set up by the back doors that Evan is holding down like his life depends on it, drinks buried in ice buckets, and half the team already two drinks in before the sun’s fully down.

At some point, after a first round of shots, before the second wave of chaos, Ilya climbs up onto one of the patio chairs and whistles sharply.

It cuts through the noise. “Oi!” he calls. “Shut up for one second, assholes.”

There are immediate groans.

“God, he’s doing a speech.”

“Oh captain, my captain.”

Ilya ignores them. He points at where Harris and Troy stand in the center of the small crowd. “You. Stand still.” Harris covers his face in somewhat embarrassment and looks at Ilya from behind his hands. Troy rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth.

Ilya lifts a brow. “Good. Now you are all quiet. This is already going better than I expect.”

A few laughs ripple through. He exhales through his nose, then gestures loosely across the room.

“Harris, Troy.” His mouth quirks, something softer already there when he looks at Troy. “Troy, my friend,” he adds, tapping his chest lightly. “I am very happy for you. You have always been very grumpy, but somehow this man made of sunshine has decided to spend the rest of his life with you.”

“Hey!” Harris protests with a laugh.

“No, no, listen,” Ilya says, holding up a hand, grinning. “This is compliment. For both of you, actually. Because Harris,” he tilts his head, considering, “,you are wonderful. And you have a very hard job of making us not look like idiots, even though we are all very handsome which makes your job easier.”

The room laughs louder at that. Even Harris can’t help it.

“But you love big, too. We all feel it being around you.” Ilya continues, voice softening just a touch. “And Troy, you meet him there. You don’t try to make him different. You stand with him, you love him. Even when things are hard.” He pauses, looking between them. “This is not easy thing to find.”

The room quiets a little without being asked. “For long time, I think, people like us, we are not sure we get this. Not like this. Not easy, not with people who actually show up and celebrate it.”

His gaze flicks across the room, lingering, just for a heartbeat, on Shane. “And then somehow. . . we do.”

There’s something quieter in his voice now, more deliberate. “You find person who makes your life make sense in different way. Not because everything is perfect, no.” He huffs a small laugh. “Nothing is perfect. You fight, you annoy each other, you say things you maybe should not say,” He points slightly. “Troy, this will be you. Often.”

“Oh my god” Harris mutters, laughing into his drink.

“But still,” Ilya continues, unfazed, “you wake up next day, and you choose him again. And again. And again. This is the part that matters.”

“Harris, I see someone who knows exactly what he is choosing. And with Troy. . . I see someone who is very lucky that Harris is choosing him.”

That earns a louder reaction, half teasing, half fond. Ilya smiles, small and genuine. “And I see two people who built something strong. The kind that holds when things are not easy.”

He takes a breath, then adds, a little lighter: “Also, the kind that can survive multiple playoff seasons together. Which is very impressive.” A few people cheer at that.

“So,” he says, lifting his glass slightly, “to Troy, my friend, who deserves this kind of love. And to Harris, who somehow convinced him this is good idea.”

Ilya’s expression softens again, just briefly. “And to both of you. . . for finding something real. Something worth choosing every day.”

He raises his glass higher now. “To love that is strong enough to last, and stubborn enough to survive you two.” The room laughs, louder, warmer. Ilya glances once more toward Shane, just instinct, just gravity, then back.

“To getting married.”

“To getting married!” echoes back, messy and bright and full.

They erupt into cheers. Glasses clink and someone starts chanting “GROOMS! GROOMS! GROOMS!” again. Troy pulls Ilya into a hug that nearly knocks him off the chair.

“Thanks, Cap,” Troy mutters into his shoulder.

“Do not make this weird,” Ilya replies, but he squeezes back. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” he squeezes him tighter before turning to find Shane. “And thank you too, for letting us invade, I know this isn’t really your thing.”

“No, none of that. I’m happy to do this, it’s the least I can do.” Shane insists. 

Troy looks at him for a long moment before resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “You know you don’t owe us anything, right?” Troy says, shockingly earnest in response. It catches Shane off guard.

“I, uh -” Shane stammers, not knowing what to say to that. 

“I mean, we’re glad you’re here. And not just ‘cause you’re a great player. We like having you around. Rozy or not.” he nods and claps Shane’s shoulder and squeezes it. “You’re one of us now. Sorry.” he shrugs and Shane can just huff a laugh as he digests his words, throat somewhat tight at the sudden wave of emotion he felt. 

“C’mon man.” he sighs and pulls him in for a hug. “Thank you.” he adds quietly. When they part Troy is smiling but as he looks over Shane’s shoulder his face drops. 

“Oh no.” Shane turns to look and somehow, the mechanical bull had been dragged to the backyard and the team was lining up to get on. 

“You’re gonna have to do it. You know that, right?” Shane asks and Troy just nods grimly.

“Oh I know. No time like the present, right?” he shrugs and Shane can only laugh as he walks away towards the bull and to the excited yells of the rookies and some of the team staff.

Shane just laughed and headed in to get a drink. Inside, the kitchen was louder than it should’ve been. Not in a chaotic way, just full; warm. Voices overlapping, someone laughing too loudly, the sharp crack of a bottle cap hitting the counter. The kind of noise that meant people were comfortable.

Shane leaned back against the island, a drink in his hand he’d barely touched, listening to Nick to argue with Bood about something completely ridiculous.

“I’m telling you,” Nick was saying, gesturing wildly, holding a martini glass with one hand, “if you drop me in the woods, I’m surviving at least three days.”

“Three hours,” Bood shot back, gesturing with beer in hand. “You’d eat something poisonous immediately.”

“That’s slander.”

“No it’s not. You ate a power bar off the floor of the bus last season. You’re not making it through the day.”

Shane huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself. Both of them looked at him.

“See?” Nick pointed. “Holzy agrees with me.”

“I absolutely do not.” Shane said, still smiling.

“Wow,” Bood said. “Betrayal.”

Shane shook his head, taking a small sip of his drink just to have something to do with his hands. But he felt. . . good. It caught him off guard.

He wasn’t hovering awkwardly at the edge of the room. He wasn’t overthinking every word before he said it. He wasn’t measuring himself against expectations he couldn’t quite name. Talking and laughing. Part of it without feeling like he had to bend over backwards to try or fit in as someone else.

For a second, it almost felt unfamiliar. His mind flickered, uninvited, to Montreal. To the pressure, the noise, the way everything had felt like it was constantly on the verge of slipping out of his control. Like no matter what he did, it wasn’t quite right.

The weight of it had followed him for longer than he liked to admit.

But this -

This felt different.

These guys had just taken him in. No hesitation. Nick chirping him like they’d known each other for years. Bood handing him a drink without asking. Someone in the living room shouting his name earlier because they wanted him in a group photo.

It had been easy. Normally, especially for Shane, it was not easy. 

Shane stared down at his glass for a second, a quiet thought settling in his chest.

You’re okay here.

And he felt, unexpectedly, proud of it. Proud that he’d stayed open enough to let it happen. Proud that he wasn’t shutting down or pulling away. Proud that he could stand in the middle of a crowded kitchen full of teammates and not feel like an outsider.

“Um, Hollander?” Shane almost jumps as he’s pulled out of his train of thought and turns to Haas standing behind him looking nervous. 

“Haas, what’s up man?” he smiles, trying to read the anxious look on his face.

He takes a big exhale before starting. His eyes were darting around like he couldn’t quite make eye contact with Shane and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his denim jacket. “Um, Evan asked me to ask you, because this is your house, which thank you again for having us; but he wanted to see if maybe, if you were okay with - “ he rambles like he’s running out of breath. 

“Luca - “ 

“Because he was too scared to ask because you’re Shane Hollander,” he stresses with a small laugh like he’s nervous and still somewhat starstruck by Shane, “and this is your house, and we do not want to be bad guests, but again, Evan wanted me to ask you if maybeitsokayifwesmokeweedonthesideofthehouse?” He mumbled and rubbed the back of his neck as his face flushed.

“What?”

“Uh, maybe it’s okay if we smoke weed on the side of the house. It’s okay to say no. I don’t even know why I asked, you can forget this ever happened.” he stuttered and turned away like he was going to disappear back into the crowd. 

“Oh!” Shane replies, eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise. “Is that allowed?”

Luca turned around and looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t know, man, it’s your house.”

“No, no I mean like because of hockey and stuff. Can we do that?”

“Oh!” Luca stops, seemingly surprised by the question. “Yea, yea. Of course. We wouldn’t risk it for the team like that, we just don’t really want to keep drinking but we want something. And we’ll do it out of the way.” he shrugs. 

“Yea. I mean, yes. Totally.” Shane nods, processing the request. They’re doing it outside anyway so he really didn’t care, as long as they were being safe. He thinks about it for another second and suddenly, the next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Can I, um, can I do weed? With you guys? If that’s okay?” he asks, tentatively but still doing his best to sound brave. 

Luca’s eyes go big and his jaw literally drops open. “You? Want to smoke weed with us?” he asks slowly. 

Shane huffs a laugh, trying to cover his embarrassment. “I’m trying this new thing where I ‘live a little’, so yea, I do. Plus I read a research paper about the benefits of THC for sleep improvement and recovery for athletes in the off season so. . .” he trails off hoping he doesn’t sound insane. 

“No, that is correct. Weed sleep is amazing.” he smiles earnestly and Shane can’t help but huff a laugh. “C’mon, they’re out there.” he motions for Shane to follow and they end up on the side of the house where their fire pit had been turned on and Evan and Wyatt were lounging in lawn chairs next to it when they arrived. 

“As I live and breathe.” Evan sighs, “Shane Hollander, are you going to do drugs with us?” he asks with glee, placing his hands over his heart dramatically. 

“Ottawa changed you, man.” Wyatt smirks with a warm smile.

“He is trying to ‘live a little’.” Luca provides serious support to the group and Shane can’t help but laugh. 

“Yes, thank you Haas. Just trying something new is all and I feel comfortable here.” he replies honestly and Wyatt just nudges him towards the chair next to him. Shane sits and watches in somewhat awe as he pulls a small joint out of the front pocket of his shirt and lights it. He inhales fast, getting the tip to glow and then exhaling with a smile and a long stream of smoke out of his mouth. 

“Welcome to the unofficial smokers club of Ottawa, sir Shane Hollander.” Wyatt declares dramatically and Evan and Luca just applaud before he passes it to Shane. “First time?”

“That obvious?” Shane asks and looks at the smoke curling out of the joint like it’s going to pounce on him and attack. 

Wyatt grins immediately. “Painfully.”

“Don’t psych him out,” Evan says, reaching over to take the joint back for a second. “Okay, listen. Small hit. Don’t inhale like you’re trying to clear the entire thing in one go.”

Evan leans back in his chair, beer balanced on his stomach. “If you cough too hard, though, we will laugh at you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Shane mutters.

The fire crackles softly between them, orange light dancing across their faces while music thumps faintly from the other side of the house. Somebody inside yells loud enough to make all four of them glance over instinctively before dissolving into laughter again.

It feels strangely removed out here. Private, like they carved out their own little pocket away from the chaos of the bachelor party.

Luca passes the joint back over carefully. “You got it.”

Shane takes it between his fingers, trying to ignore the fact that all three of them are watching him with varying levels of excitement and amusement.

“Okay.” he says to himself quietly.

Then he copies Wyatt as best he can, brings it to his mouth, inhales cautiously. . . 

And immediately starts coughing so violently he folds forward in the chair. Evan actually chokes on his own drink laughing.

“Oh my god,” Wyatt wheezes, slapping his knee. “There it is.”

“I’m dying.” Shane croaks.

“No, you’re learning. It’s a right of passage.”

Shane keeps coughing, eyes watering now while Luca reaches over automatically to pat between his shoulders with a slightly worried look.

“Please don’t die. I can’t kill you, I will never play hockey again.” Luca laughs.

“Why does it burn like that?!”

“Because you inhaled like a Dyson vacuum.”

Shane flips them off weakly while the group dissolves into another round of laughter.

And weirdly? It feels good after that. Just. . . warm and easy. Nobody’s laughing at him. They’re just with him. Pulling him into something familiar to them without making him feel stupid for not already knowing it.

By the time Shane takes a second and third hit, much smaller this time, he’s already smiling.

“There you go,” Wyatt says approvingly as Shane exhales successfully.

“I still think this is insane.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” Evan says in the most patronizing voice imaginable.

“Shut up.” Shane groans as he exhales.

“You blush every time one of us does.”

“I literally do not.”

“You literally are right now. Luca says helpfully.

“I’m not blushing, I’m high.” Shane groans and sinks lower into the lawn chair while they laugh again.

The joint keeps passing around slowly after that. Nobody rushes him. Nobody pressures him to take more than he wants. The conversation drifts naturally; chirping teammates, terrible road hotel stories, Wyatt passionately arguing that gas station hot dogs are “nutritionally misunderstood.”

And somewhere in the middle of it, Shane starts feeling different. At first it’s subtle.

The firelight looks softer somehow. The cold drink in his hand feels unbelievably crisp and good. His body, usually wound tight in ways he doesn’t even notice until he’s trying to sleep, suddenly feels loose against the chair.

“Oh.” Shane says quietly after a moment. He’s distantly aware that he’s squinting and smiling but he can’t care enough to want to change it.

Wyatt immediately points at him. “There he is.”

“What?” Evan asks.

“He just got high.”

“I did not - “ Shane cuts himself off mid sentence.

Because.

Oh. He’s high.

The realization hits him all at once and he starts laughing before he can stop himself, ducking his head into his hand.

“Okay, yea I did.”

Luca’s grin turns soft around the edges. “How you feeling?”

Shane takes a second to think about it seriously.

“Really nice?” he says finally, sounding surprised by his own answer. “Like. . . my brain is usually so loud all the time and now it’s just. . . ” he gestures vaguely into the air. “Quieter.”

The three of them visibly soften at that.

“Yea.” Wyatt says gently. “That’s kinda the appeal.”

Shane stares into the fire for another second, watching sparks curl up into the dark sky. The music from the party sounds distant now, muffled by the fence and the steady crackle of flames.

Everything feels slower and softer. Then suddenly he looks over at Luca with wide eyes.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“I get why you guys always look so comfortable on the plane rides now.”

Evan bursts into helpless laughter. “HE FIGURED IT OUT.”

“You guys travel like this?” Shane asks, scandalized.

“Not all the time.” Wyatt says through laughter. “Jesus.”

“Okay but that explains so much.”

Luca is laughing hard enough now that he’s bent forward with his face in his hands. Shane watches them for a second, really watches them. Wyatt nearly falling out of his chair laughing. Evan’s head tipped back toward the sky. Luca nudging his knee against Shane’s without thinking about it.

And there’s this sudden sharp warmth in Shane’s chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the weed.

Because he feels included.

Not tolerated. Not “the captain’s husband”, not The Shane Hollander. Not somebody hovering awkwardly at the edge of the group trying to earn his place.

Just. . . one of them.

“You good over there, Hollander?” Wyatt asks after noticing him staring.

Shane smiles before he can stop himself, slow and genuine and maybe a little dazed.

“Yea.” he says honestly. “I feel awesome.”

For a minute, Shane just watches the flames again while Luca digs through a bowl of pretzels beside him and Wyatt starts passionately explaining why mechanical bulls should be “a standard feature at all weddings.”

Then, from somewhere across the yard, comes the unmistakable sound of Ilya’s laugh. Shane’s head lifts automatically before he even realizes he’s doing it.

And immediately the three of them notice. Evan points. “See? That.”

Shane blinks. “What?”

“You two.” Wyatt says, grinning into his beer bottle. “You’re insane. It’s adorable.”

“In the most loving way possible.” Luca adds.

Shane narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Excuse me?”

“You heard his laugh from forty feet away and activated like a sleeper agent,” Evan says.

“I did not.”

“You literally looked up before the rest of us even noticed it was him,” Wyatt argues.

Shane opens his mouth to deny it. Then closes it again. Because… okay, maybe.

Evan laughs softly beside him. “You guys are kind of codependent, but like an old married couple.”

“Kind of?” Luca echoes quietly.

“Oh, deeply,” Wyatt says. “Clinically.”

Shane groans into his hands while they laugh. “We are not codependent.” he argues, but even he knows it’s not true.

“You text each other from different rooms.”

“Okay, everybody relax.”

“Ilya stares at you like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.” Evan continues.

“That’s true.” Luca nods seriously.

“And you,” Wyatt points at Shane now, “look at him like you were personally handcrafted in a lab to love that man.”

Shane feels his face go warm instantly. Which unfortunately only makes them laugh harder. “I hate you guys.”

“No you don’t.” Evan says easily.

And the thing is? He doesn’t. Not even a little. Another burst of laughter echoes from across the yard and Shane glances over instinctively again, spotting Ilya near the deck railing talking animatedly with a couple teammates. Even from here, Shane can tell he’s still riding the adrenaline high from the mechanical bull, gesturing wildly while people around him laugh. Shane smiles before he even thinks about it.

“There it is again!” Wyatt shouts.

“Oh my god,” Shane laughs helplessly.

“You’re disgusting.” Evan says affectionately.

“But,” Wyatt says after a second, quieter now, “I’m glad you came with him.”

The comment catches Shane off guard enough that he looks over. Wyatt shrugs lightly, staring into the fire.

“At first it was kinda like. . . okay cool, Ilya’s husband is around now, and you’re like The Shane Hollander,” he says honestly. “But you actually hang out with us. You care about us. You remember stuff about people.”

“You chirp back.” Evan adds.

“And honestly,” Wyatt continues, glancing over at Shane with a small smile, “it’s nice getting to be friends with you too. Not just because you’re married to him.”

The words hit Shane hard enough that for a second he doesn’t know what to say. Because maybe that’s the thing he’s been quietly scared of this entire time. Being tolerated. Included by extension.

Temporary. But this doesn’t feel temporary. This feels real.

Wyatt points at him suddenly. “Uh oh, he’s emotional.”

“I’m not emotional.”

“You have the ‘I’m gonna cry’ face.”

“What face?”

“The high face where you realize friendship matters.” Evan says.

Shane laughs softly despite himself, ducking his head for a second. “That’s. . . really nice you guys.” he admits quietly.

And it is. Embarrassingly nice. Enough that his chest actually aches a little with it.

Wyatt nudges his knee with his own. “Sorry, you’re one of us now, man.”

Shane feels warmth bloom low in his chest, deep and full and overwhelming in the gentlest way possible.

Then Wyatt ruins the moment immediately.

“You’re still codependent though.”

“Violently.” Evan agrees.

Shane flips them off while laughing, shaking his head and groaning. 

The guys keep laughing and Shane can’t help but sink further into his chair and just let it all happen. Distantly they can hear hollers and yells from the party, and with a gentle nudge from Luca the Smokers Club of Ottawa get up and go over to observe the mechanical bull situation with a laugh and a promise of snacks inside. 

The walk back around the house feels weirdly cinematic through Shane’s haze, warm summer air, music thumping louder with every step, string lights glowing gold against the dark yard. The party is still in full swing; teammates crowding the deck, people yelling over each other, someone absolutely butchering a country song near the speakers.

And then they round the corner.

Shane stops dead.

Because there, in the middle of the backyard, beneath hanging patio lights and the roar of the party - 

Is Ilya.

On the mechanical bull.

And Shane’s brain fully short circuits. “Oh.” he says faintly.

The bull jerks hard beneath him and Ilya just laughs, loud and bright and completely unbothered, one hand gripping the rope while the other lifts in the air like he’s actually at a rodeo.

Jesus Christ.

His shirt has ridden up enough to expose a strip of stomach every time the bull bucks beneath him. His thighs are spread wide around the saddle, forearm flexing with effort as he keeps himself balanced with unfair ease.

And the worst part?

He’s good at it. Like genuinely, devastatingly good at it. Shane’s mouth actually falls open a little.

The operator (Bood) cranks the speed up and the crowd around the inflatable mat starts screaming. Ilya only grins wider, hair falling into his eyes while he leans with the movement effortlessly.

Shane feels like he’s ascending out of his body.

“Oh he’s gone.” Evan says beside him immediately.

“Fully left the planet.” Wyatt agrees.

Because Shane cannot stop staring.

Being high was already making everything feel softer, warmer, more intense somehow, and now his husband is straddling a mechanical bull in front of a cheering crowd looking like every single fantasy Shane’s ever had wrapped into one impossible visual.

It’s actually unfair.

“Damn. He can really ride it, huh?” Wyatt asks distantly.

“Hmm.” Shane thinks for a moment. Not as good as me, he thinks to himself and watches as Ilya gets bucked off onto the inflatable barrier. “He’s okay.”

Luca bursts out laughing while the rest of the crowd boos dramatically. Ilya lays there for a second laughing breathlessly before sitting up, flushed and sweaty and grinning so brightly Shane feels it somewhere directly in his spine.

When he sits up he’s flushed and laughing and he turns his head automatically and finds Shane standing with the guys. They hadn’t seen each other in over an hour, which wasn’t long by any means, but suddenly it felt like it had been years since they had been close to each other. 

Ilya seems to have the same train of thought as he stands up and makes his way over to Shane, wrapping his arms around him tightly and kissing the side of his head.

“Shane! I was - what?” Ilya leans back, taking in Shane’s red eyes and goofy smile. “What happened to you?” he asked seriously. 

“Ilya, I smoked weed.” Shane giggles and whispers poorly, watching Ilya smile and take in his appearance. 

“You? Shane Hollander? Shane Hollander, my husband, boring husband Shane smoked weed?”

Shane just laughs.

“Haas, did you make my husband do drugs?” he asked, turning his head sharply towards Luca, who looked honest to god scared for a moment. 

“He wanted to! I asked first, Evan made me, I swear!” he laughed, putting his hands up and smiling.

“I did good, they were nice to me.” Shane adds as he absentmindedly fixed the curls that were disheveled around his face. 

“You feel okay? Not too much?” Ilya asks seriously, looking surprised and scanning his face for any hint of discomfort. 

“No, no. It’s good, it’s really good. I didn't think I would like it this much.” he nods and Ilya just smiles wide.

After that, Shane barely leaves Ilya’s side for the rest of the night.

Not intentionally, at least. It just sort of happens.

One minute they’re standing near the fire pit laughing at Wyatt trying to explain why he’d “absolutely dominate” on a ranch despite growing up in suburban Ontario, and the next Shane realizes he’s somehow drifted close enough that Ilya’s hand is resting absentmindedly at the small of his back.

And because he’s high, he feels it everywhere.

The warmth of Ilya’s palm through his t-shirt. The weight of it.

The tiny movement of his thumb brushing once against Shane’s spine while he talks to someone else. It sends a full-body shiver through him.

Ilya glances down immediately. “You okay?” he asks quietly

Shane looks up at him with wide eyes. “Your hand is very warm.”

A beat.

Then Ilya starts laughing softly while Shane feels himself flushing all over again. “Oh, baby.” Ilya murmurs, unbearably fond.

The nickname lands directly in Shane’s bloodstream.

From there, it only gets worse. Every touch feels magnified tenfold. Ilya’s fingers catch Shane’s wrist to guide him through the house. His knee pressed against Shane’s when they sit together on the outdoor sectional.

His arm draped over the back of Shane’s chair while they watch teammates attempt karaoke with varying levels of disaster.

Shane feels all of it. And he loves it.

He ends up tucked against Ilya’s side while Bood absolutely massacres a Bon Jovi song to thunderous applause from the patio crowd. Harris is bent over laughing beside the speaker setup while Evan films the whole thing for blackmail purposes.

“This is the best night of my life.” Shane whispers seriously.

Ilya snorts into his hair. “Because of karaoke?”

“Because this team is insane.”

“Our team.” Ilya corrects automatically.

The words settle warm and heavy in Shane’s chest.

Our team.

Across the patio, Wyatt and Luca are attempting a duet that has somehow devolved into shouting. The rookies are screaming the chorus while standing on patio furniture. Someone has put a cowboy hat on the mechanical bull.

It’s loud and chaotic and ridiculous.

And Shane feels so strangely, overwhelmingly happy sitting in the middle of it.

At some point, he ends up nearly sideways against Ilya on the outdoor couch, their legs tangled together while Ilya lazily rubs circles over Shane’s knee.

“You’re clingy tonight,” Ilya teases quietly.

Shane blinks up at him slowly. “I can feel my molecules.”

Ilya fully breaks, laughing hard enough his shoulders shake. “That high, huh?”

“You’re also very handsome right now.”

“Oh my god.” Wyatt yells from three seats away. “I can hear him flirting from here.”

“He flirts like this sober too.” Troy points out.

“Yea but now he means it with his whole body.” Evan says.

Shane flips them off without lifting his head from Ilya’s shoulder.

Eventually, slowly, the party starts winding down.

The music gets lower. Empty bottles pile up on tables. People start lingering near the driveway saying long drunken goodbyes they already said twenty minutes earlier.

The rookies, unfortunately, seem nowhere near done for the night.

“We’re going downtown.” Wyatt announces importantly around one in the morning. “I am taking the younglings with me.”

“That sounds like a horrible decision.” Shane says.

“That means it’s a great one.”

Ilya immediately pulls his phone out. “Nobody is driving.”

“We know, dad.” someone yells and Ilya looks at them sternly.

“I am serious.”

“You’re always serious.”

Still, he calls a car anyway, then another when it becomes obvious too many of them are trying to pile into the first one. Shane watches fondly from the porch while Ilya points at each rookie individually like he’s assigning children on a field trip.

“You text when you arrive.”

Wyatt salutes lazily, herding the last of them. “Yes, captain.”

“No losing anybody.”

“We already lost Chouinard once tonight.”

“That was for fifteen minutes!” 

“He was in the inflatable bull ring.”

Ilya presses a hand over his eyes while Shane laughs helplessly beside him.

Then the cars arrive and the younger guys tumble into them loudly, shouting goodnights out the windows while Wyatt yells, “GOODNIGHT SHANE HOLLANDER I LOVE YOU.”

Shane cups his hands around his mouth. “GOODNIGHT WYATT YOU ARE VERY LOUD.”

“I KNOW.”

The cars disappear down the street still blasting music.

And suddenly, everything feels quieter. Softer.

Just a handful of people remain now, scattered across the backyard helping clean up or lingering around dying conversation circles.

Troy and Harris make their way over last.

“There are not enough words for how insane this night was.” Harris says immediately.

“You rented a mechanical bull.” Troy adds, pointing at Ilya.

“I stand by decision. I am captain. It is my job.”

“You should.”

Then Troy looks at Shane, expression softening. “Seriously though. Thank you guys for hosting this.”

“Of course,” Ilya says easily.

“No, like. . . ” Harris gestures around the yard. “This felt really special.”

And Shane understands what he means. Not just a party. A home. A place people wanted to stay.

Ilya pulls both of them into a hug without warning, nearly crushing Harris in the process while Troy laughs.

“Okay, thank you captain.” Troy squirms.

“I am so glad you are getting married.” Ilya replies and squeezes them a bit tighter.

“Still less codependent than you guys.” Harris shoots back immediately.

Shane groans while everyone laughs. Then the hugs stretch a little longer. The kind that happen at the end of really good nights people don’t want to let go of yet.

“We love you guys.” Harris says quietly before stepping back.

“Love you too.” Shane replies instantly.

Eventually their car arrives too, and Shane and Ilya stand side by side on the porch waving as it disappears down the street.

The yard is almost silent now.

Just crickets. The low hum of the string lights. The faint smell of smoke from the fire pit that’s since been put out.

Shane leans into Ilya automatically, tired and warm and still pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Ilya presses a kiss into his hair.

“You ready for bed, baby?”

Shane sighs happily. “So ready.”

Then he tilts his head up, looking at him with sleepy sincerity.

“I had a really good night.”

Ilya’s expression softens instantly.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

Shane nods. And maybe it’s the weed still lingering in his system, or maybe it’s just the truth finally settling into place, but he says it before he can overthink it.

“I think this feels like home now.” he smiles when he sees something soften in Ilya’s eyes. “And I’m still like really high so. . .” he drifts off and Ilya just throws his head back with a cackle. 

He calms down and for a second, Ilya just looks at him.

Then he reaches up, cups Shane’s face gently in both hands, and kisses him slow and sweet under the porch lights while the party finally fades completely around them.

“I am proud of you.” he whispers as he pulls away, kissing his cheek. “You are very brave.” he kisses his jaw. “And you are very good to our stupid, drunk friends.” a kiss to his nose. “And you are a very good teammate,” a kiss to his other cheek, “,and you are a perfect husband.” Ilya smiles and presses their lips together again. 

It’s a soft kiss, a far cry from the passion they often hold, but Shane moans against Ilya’s mouth nonetheless and he can feel Ilya smile against his lips.

The adrenaline from the party has burned off into something warm and floaty, leaving him boneless as he trails behind Ilya through the kitchen while they turn off lights and shove leftover beer bottles into recycling bags.

Shane leans heavily against the counter watching him.

Or, more accurately, staring.

Ilya notices eventually without looking up from where he’s rinsing out cups (because he knows there’s no way Shane will go to bed unless they do some cleaning). “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Shane considers the question seriously.

“You’re very pretty.”

Ilya snorts quietly. “So you’ve said.”

“Because you keep being pretty.”

That earns him a real laugh, soft and tired and fond enough that Shane feels it straight through his chest.

God. Being high and in love might actually kill him.

Ilya tosses the last cup into the sink before walking over, stopping directly in front of Shane where he’s still half slumped back against the counter.

“You still with me?”

Shane tilts his head back to look at him properly and immediately gets distracted again.

This close, everything about Ilya feels overwhelming in the gentlest way, the warmth radiating off him, the smell of smoke and cologne still clinging to his shirt, the roughness of his hands when they settle automatically on Shane’s hips.

Shane visibly melts. “You feel really nice.” he informs him quietly.

“Yeah?”

Shane nods earnestly. Then Ilya leans down and kisses him. And Shane nearly short circuits. Because sober kisses from Ilya are already dangerous enough. But high?

High, Shane can feel everything.

The slow press of Ilya’s mouth against his. The scrape of stubble against his skin. The firm weight of his hands pulling him closer until Shane is practically folded against his chest.

It feels warm all the way down to his fingertips.

Ilya kisses him slow, patient and familiar, like he already knows Shane is experiencing this at a completely unreasonable intensity. When he pulls back slightly, Shane actually follows him instinctively.

Ilya laughs softly against his mouth. “Oh?”

“That was. . . ” Shane blinks slowly. “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“You’re literally glowing right now.”

“I am not.”

“You are to me.” Ilya’s entire face softens. “More please.”

Then he kisses him again.

Shane makes a quiet sound into it immediately, hands bunching in the front of Ilya’s shirt without even thinking about it. Every little movement feels amplified; the slide of Ilya’s thumb against his side, the way he hums softly when Shane kisses him back deeper this time.

It’s almost embarrassing how much Shane loves it.

When they finally part again, Shane’s eyes stay closed for a second too long.

Ilya brushes his nose lightly against Shane’s. “You okay?”

Shane opens his eyes slowly and looks completely dazed.

“. . . more?”

Ilya breaks instantly, laughing warm and helpless while Shane flushes.

“No, no, don’t laugh at me.” Shane complains quietly.

“I’m not laughing at you.” Ilya kisses the corner of his mouth once. “You’re cute.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, baby.”

Then, because he’s weak for this man in every possible universe, Ilya cups Shane’s jaw gently and kisses him again.

And again.

Slow kisses that leave Shane smiling into them. Little ones pressed to his mouth, his cheek, the corner of his jaw while Shane quietly soaks up every second of it like sunlight.

Eventually Shane just wraps both arms around Ilya’s middle and hides his face against his neck with a groan.

“What?” Ilya asks, rubbing a hand up his back.

“You’re too nice to me.”

Ilya goes soft immediately. His hand settles warm at the back of Shane’s neck while he presses one lingering kiss into Shane’s hair.

“Never.” he murmurs.

Shane sighs happily against him, still smiling.

Then, after a beat: “I think weed might’ve unlocked a new level of how much I like kissing you.”

Ilya laughs so hard he almost doubles over. His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s not really even drunk at this point but his eyes are bright and glittering to Shane and he can’t stop staring at his beautiful face.

“I’m serious! This is crazy!” Shane can’t help but laugh as well.

“Is that so?” Ilya asks with a warm smile as he composes himself. 

Ilya’s hand came up, a simple gesture to brush a stray lock of hair from Shane’s forehead as he nods. 

But the contact wasn’t simple. It was a current. A warm, buzzing wave of pleasure that started at his temple and cascaded down his neck, into his shoulders. Shane gasped, a sharp, quiet intake of breath.

“Crazy?” Ilya murmured, his fingers now tracing the line of Shane’s jaw. The touch was feather-light, but to Shane, it was a sculptor’s tool, defining him anew.

“Yes.” Shane’s eyes widened, locked on Ilya’s. “It’s all. . . electric.”

A predatory, loving grin spread across Ilya’s face. He knew. He knew the weed had dissolved all the usual barriers, leaving Shane’s nervous system wide open, raw and receptive. The party had been fun, but this was the prize. Their private, unlocked world.

Ilya didn’t ask. He simply stepped forward, his arms sliding around Shane’s waist, and lifted him. Shane’s laugh was a breathy, surprised exhale as he was hauled up against Ilya’s solid chest. 

He was carried, not towards the living room, but towards the stairs. Each step Ilya took jostled them together, and each jostle sent another pulse of that incredible sensitivity through Shane’s body, the friction of their clothed hips, the pressure of Ilya’s arm under his thighs. It was all so vivid.

Upstairs, in the dim light of their bedroom, Ilya didn’t gently lay him down. He placed him on the bed with a bounce, then stood over him, peeling his own shirt off with a deliberate slowness Shane could feel in his own pores. 

Shane took a moment to rip his own shirt off and relished the groan that it punched out of Ilya. He knelt on the mattress, his hands going to Shane’s jeans.

“More touch, yes?” he asked, and Shane could only nod, chewing on his lips as he took in the sight of Ilya’s bare chest. He’d seen it earlier that day but he was feeling needy, and he missed the moles and freckles that were hidden by his tight shirt at the party.

The zipper’s rasp was a long, drawn-out sigh in the quiet room. As Ilya pulled Shane’s jeans and underwear down together, the cool air of the room hit his newly exposed skin, and it was like a thousand tiny, cool kisses. He shivered, arching off the bed and moaning.

“You’re so loud tonight.” Ilya whispered, his own jeans now discarded. He was naked, magnificent, kneeling between Shane’s legs. “Every little thing. I want to hear it all.”

His hands began their work. They started on Shane’s ankles, palms sliding up the calves with a firm, possessive pressure. The muscles there tensed, then relaxed into the sensation, a direct line of pleasure firing straight to his groin. Ilya’s thumbs dug into the tender flesh of Shane’s inner thighs, and Shane cried out, a soft, broken sound. It was too much. It was perfect.

Ilya leaned down, his mouth replacing his hands. He didn’t go straight for Shane’s cock. He kissed the inside of Shane’s thigh, his tongue laying a hot, wet stripe along the sensitive skin. 

Shane’s hips jerked. “Ilya. . . please. . .”

“Please what?” Ilya breathed against him, his own cock hard and pressing against Shane’s leg.

“Just. . . touch. More.”

That was all the permission Ilya needed. He moved up, finally, his lips enveloping the head of Shane’s erection. 

The sensation wasn’t just wet heat. It was a concentration of every previous touch, a supernova of that buzzing sensitivity. Shane’s back bowed, his hands flying to Ilya’s hair, gripping tight. Ilya sucked, deep and slow, and Shane saw stars behind his closed eyelids.

“Oh my fucking god.” he cried out and he felt it all the way up his spine as Ilya let out a happy hum around his cock.

His hands were still everywhere, groping Shane’s chest and plucking at his nipples with one hand while holding his legs open with the other. His eyes closed, looking every bit an angel with his golden curls in the warm light of their bedroom.

Angel Ilya can only last so long though. It’s like he can feel Shane’s eyes on him as he looks up and watches him through his lashes. Then, deliberately, he draws back so the head of Shane’s cock is resting on his lips. 

He kisses it sloppily, holding his eye contact, letting spit pool over so that it was running down his cock messily. Shane couldn’t look away as he kissed it wet and messy before smiling. 

He hooked one of his muscled arms under Shane’s thigh to keep him still where it was bent on the bed, and closed his eyes as he exhaled and took him all the way down his throat. 

“Ilya, please, please. . .” Shane cried, honest tears sparkling out of his eyes as he thrashed on the sheets. 

It was too much and not enough. He felt as though he’d die if Ilya moved his mouth off his cock but he missed the close press of his body against his own. He was frustrated and overwhelmed and couldn’t figure out what he needed. 

Then, as if he could read his mind, Ilya took one of Shane’s hands and interlaced their fingers, bringing it down to rest on Shane’s chest so that the weight of their connected limbs pressed down on his heart like a weighted blanket. 

Shane sighed and took a stuttering breath, instantly soothed by the gesture and instantly heartsick with just how much he loved him. Over and over again he was reminded just how much Ilya loved him, just how much he knew him and cared for him.

His head bobbed and shook where it was nestled in the cradle of Shane’s pelvis and the hand that was still gripped firmly around his thigh kneaded the flesh with greedy pulls. It was like even though he wasn’t under the same influence as Shane, he was still pressing his body into his flesh with a determination, like he wanted their bodies to fuse together. 

And honestly Shane was fine if they did. 

“So good.” he moaned. “So, so good, baby.” he sighed and then cried out a moan when Ilya hummed around his cock, sending warm and wet vibrations up his spine. 

Shane could feel his head drifting into a familiar space of floating and warmth that he was used to when he was with Ilya. He knew this. He knew that he could let go and be safe and well loved. One of the only places, if not the only, where he could. 

He knew under his warm, heavy body nothing could touch him and all he had to do was feel him and be good for him. Easy. Like breathing. 

“Ughh. . .” he groaned when Ilya’s tongue drew up his cock, poking at the soft underside of the head before swallowing back down again. 

He repeated the motion when Shane whimpered and his hips stuttered and shook and Shane officially lost all grip on any semblance of composure when Ilya hummed again. 

Shane came with a cry that made no noise in their bedroom. 

Just a punched out moan a moment later as he felt Ilya hold him in his mouth, swallowing his cum greedily, but not subjecting him to the cold air of their bedroom just yet.

He whimpered after another moment and with weak limbs, he stretched out his leg and used the hand that was tangled with Ilya’s to tug him so that he got the message that he wanted a kiss. 

Ilya released his cock and pressed a long kiss to his lower stomach before climbing over him so that his body was caged in by his arms. His strong biceps were right next to Shane’s face and he couldn’t not tilt his head to kiss it and lick over one of his moles, kissing over the wet stripe for good measure. 

He turned his head and Ilya met him halfway. Their lips pressed together and it was still warm and slick, Shane’s head too far gone in the clouds to care that he still tasted like his cum, finding that actually he liked it as he licked further into his mouth. 

He sighed and shuddered when he felt Ilya’s hard cock on his stomach and whimpered when he realized he hadn’t had it in his mouth yet. He felt like he needed it to ground him, to put him in a place that felt safe where he knew he could be good, where he knew he could keep his hands pressed against Ilya and get his fill of his warm skin and muscle under his hands. 

He pushed lightly at Ilya’s shoulder, not enough to actually move him, but Ilya got the message and pulled away with a smile, letting Shane push him over onto his back so that his head was on their pillows and Shane was settled between his strong thighs. He ran his hands up and down them, watching goosebumps form and his muscles flex and tighten when his hands drew further and further up to squeeze the meat of them under his hips.

Shane was nearly drooling by the time he made it to his cock. He took it in his hand, and the sheer texture of it was astounding. 

The smooth, hot skin. The pulse of blood underneath. He leaned in, licking a slow path from base to tip, and Ilya’s groan vibrated through the room. Shane swallowed him down expertly, the weight and taste filling his mouth, and the act of giving pleasure was now a reciprocal loop of sensation. Every suck he gave, he felt in his own body. Every groan from Ilya, he felt in his bones.

They moved together in a silent, desperate rhythm, Shane sucking Ilya deep, Ilya stroking his hair and his shoulders with strong and powerful hands. A messy, perfect exchange. The room filled with the sounds of wet friction and moans.

Partway through, as Shane came up for air, his lips slick and swollen, a sudden, profound thought pierced the haze of pleasure. He looked at Ilya, at his husband’s face flushed with desire. 

We didn’t get to touch.

The memory was a sharp, tender ache amidst the physical bliss. Their first years, stolen moments in hotel rooms and parked cars, always hurried, always cloaked in fear. They could never linger like this. Never explore a single touch for minutes, just to feel its every contour. Never be naked and loud and free in their own home.

A wave of emotion, fierce and grateful, crashed over him. It mingled with the heightened sensitivity, making the next moment transcendent. He swallowed Ilya’s cock down and ran a hand up his chest to hold the muscle over his heart in his hand. 

It was more intense than usual. It wasn’t just warmth. It was a fusion. Shane could feel the precise pattern of Ilya’s chest hair against his palm like a map he could follow by touch alone. The gentle pull in his hair guiding him easily as he took his cock like he was made for it. 

Maybe he was, he thought distantly. Maybe the stars aligned and made them for each other. Made Ilya need to go smoke a cigarette outside junior hockey that day they met, made Shane brave enough to get down on one knee and ask him to be his forever. 

Ilya’s hips shook under Shane’s head and he let his tongue run wild and wet on the underside of his cock. Just how he knew he liked. 

Ilya didn’t make it another minute before he whimpered Shane’s name and came in his mouth. Shane moans like he just took his first breath of air in hours, even though his mouth was still stuffed with his cock. 

The pounding of two heartbeats, close enough to feel like one erratic drum.

“I love you.” Shane choked out, the words thick with feeling and physical overwhelm.

Ilya understood. He saw the tears glistening in Shane’s eyes. He didn’t speak. He answered by nodding and pulling him up so that he was laying on top of Ilya. Blanketing him as he caught his breath so they were chest to chest. Their naked skin pressed together from collarbone to ankle.

“I love you. So perfect for me, malysh.” he sighs into his hair and presses a kiss to the side of his head. 

Shane is distantly aware that he has tears leaking out of his eyes, but he knows Ilya is aware and not worried. That he’s just catching up with his body and feeling the sensations of drifting safely with him. 

“Takoy khoroshiy mal'chik dlya menya. Takoy ideal'nyy, takoy krasivyy.” Ilya hums and rocks them slightly, feeling Shane relax on top of him. 

After a moment, Shane lifts his head to meet his eyes. “I don’t know that one right now.” he replied, eyebrows scrunched together. His Russian lessons not comprehending anything with his floaty state. 

Ilya smiles warmly and kisses him gently. “That is okay. I said such a good boy for me. So perfect, so beautiful.” he whispers like he’s in awe running a finger over the freckles over Shane’s nose. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” he adds quietly, like it’s only for Shane to hear. And it is. 

“I know that one.”

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

“Tell me.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Shane sighs, focusing on his pronunciation, knowing he’s done better, but he can’t find the strength to care at this moment. “I love you.”

Ilya smiles warmly, like every time Shane says it it’s the first time. “I love you.”

They make it approximately thirty seconds before Ilya sighs. “Nope.”

Shane, already halfway melted into sleep, blinks up at him slowly. “What?”

“You still smell like smoke and outside.”

“Mhm.”

“And you need to brush your teeth.”

Shane groans dramatically and buries his face into his chest. “But I’m comfortable now.”

Ilya laughs quietly from the doorway where he’s pulling drawers open for sleep clothes. “You said you trusted me to take care of you tonight.”

“I did say that.”

“So up.”

Shane peeks at him with sleepy suspicion. “You’re abusing your power.”

“Absolutely.”

Still, Ilya sits them up and helps Shane stand. “C’mon, baby. Shower, water, pajamas. Then I will tuck you in properly.”

The promise makes Shane visibly consider it.

“. . .properly?”

Ilya bites back a smile. “Of course.”

Shane sighs like this is an unbearable burden before finally letting Ilya pull him upright by both hands. High Shane, apparently, is deeply clingy. The second he’s standing, he just sort of folds directly into Ilya’s chest with a sleepy hum.

“There he is.” Ilya murmurs fondly, wrapping his arms around him automatically.

“You’re warm.”

“You’ve told me.”

“Still true.”

Their shower ends up taking twice as long as normal because Shane keeps getting distracted. By the warm water. By the steam. By the fact that Ilya keeps touching him.

Nothing dramatic, just guiding hands at his waist so he doesn’t slip, fingertips brushing shampoo through his hair, palms smoothing over his shoulders to rinse soap away.

But Shane feels every second of it like fireworks.

At one point, Ilya gently tips Shane’s chin up to rinse conditioner out of his curls and Shane actually closes his eyes with a blissful little sigh.

Ilya snorts softly. “You are having profound experience in here.”

“The water feels so good.” That makes Ilya laugh hard enough he has to lean briefly against the tile wall.

By the time they’re done, Shane is fully sleepy-soft, dressed in one of Ilya’s old t-shirts and boxers, curls damp, skin warm from the shower.

Ilya brushes their teeth side by side with Shane mostly leaning against his shoulder the entire time.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Ilya says while Shane squints at himself in the mirror like he’s discovering mirrors for the first time.

“I’m always cute.”

“Confidence. Nice.”

Then comes the part Shane apparently wasn’t kidding about caring deeply over. Tucking him in. The second they get back to the bedroom, Shane crawls under the blankets immediately and waits expectantly while Ilya turns off lights and plugs in phones.

“You forgot something,” Shane says shyly once Ilya climbs into bed beside him.

“Oh?”

“You said you’d tuck me in properly.”

Ilya actually has to pause because the sincerity in Shane’s voice is killing him.

“Right,” he says solemnly. “Of course. My mistake.”

Shane watches with complete seriousness while Ilya pulls the blankets higher around him, smoothing them carefully over Shane’s chest and tucking the edges around his sides like he’s handling something precious.

“There,” Ilya says softly. “Perfectly tucked.”

Shane looks absurdly pleased.

But Ilya isn’t done. He reaches over to fluff Shane’s pillow. Adjusts the blankets one more time. Then presses a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“How’s that?”

“So good,” Shane sighs immediately.

Ilya finally settles beside him then, and Shane wastes no time curling directly into his side, one leg thrown over Ilya’s while he buries his face against his chest.

For a minute, neither of them says anything.

The house is finally quiet around them. The party cleaned up. The lights off. Just the low hum of the fan and the lingering warmth of summer outside the windows.

Then Shane speaks softly against Ilya’s shirt. “I had fun tonight.”

“Good. I am glad.”

“No, like. . .” Shane tilts his head up slightly. “I really liked being with everybody.”

Ilya’s hand moves slowly up and down his back. “They like you a lot, baby.”

Shane smiles sleepily at that. “I like them too.”

“I know.”

Another quiet beat passes.

Then Shane mumbles, already half asleep, “I also liked weed.”

Ilya laughs softly into the dark.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pulling the blankets a little higher around him one last time. “I gathered that.”

“Did I do a good job?” Ilya asks from where he’s slumped under Shane. 

“You did amazingly.”

“I wanted to do a good job, for the boys. My boys, you know. I like to take care of them. To take care of you.” He adds and kisses Shane’s head. 

“You did. You do. It was perfect. Best party ever.”

“Fuck yes.” Ilya sighs seriously as his eyes close and he drifts into sleep. It makes Shane laugh as sleep takes over his body, and he falls asleep smiling with his cheek pressed to Ilya’s chest  over his heart. 

Just like he dreamed of for so long.