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Date nights work a little differently in the Hunter-Grady house.
Going anywhere in New York comes with almost guaranteed 'Yoo, Hunter, can I get a selfie?', 'Bro, that's Scott fuckin' Hunter!', 'Dude! Is that that gay hockey guy?!' moments. It also now very often comes with 'my son/brother/friend/cousin/nephew came out to me because of you, so now let me tell you our life stories' moments.
Scott really does genuinely appreciate the fact that he's lived a life that brings others joy and peace and happiness- he does. It's something that helps him sleep at night. But when he's just trying to share a dessert with his husband (using one spoon, of course, because they're gross) and play footsie under the table and send the world's strongest set of fuck meeyes, he just really doesn't want to hear it.
The twinge of irritation always makes him feel guilty afterwards, even though he sits and nods politely through the story every time, so it's just better not to try to have their private moments in public.
So they don't go on dates like that often. Being sat in one location long enough for someone to snap a sneaky picture, send it to the hockey fan in their life, and have it confirmed to be him just doesn't work.
As a result, he's become an expert in at-home romance. He owns candelabras now (when Carter first saw them he laughed so hard he fell to his knees), he has a record player with a stack of the most romantic, mushy, lovey-dovey albums known to man, and most importantly he has an all consuming need to woo Kip like it's their first date every single time. He feels a little bad he'd never got to 'court' Kip in the traditional way— Kip's assured him there is not a single gay man in New York who expects to be courted, but that doesn't matter. He's not trying to impress random New York City gays, he's trying to impress Kip.
So there's a routine to it, now. Scott picks a day he knows Kip will be out of the house for and plans something special.
He had actually planned for this particular one to take place on Friday, so they could stay up later without worrying about Kip having to wake up early the next morning. But when Kip called during his lunch break choking back tears Scott immediately decided it could be bumped up a day.
He got straight into his well practised routine. He made a mad dash to the farmer's market for the necessary ingredients, thankfully making it with just over a half hour before it closed, set up the table, put out the candles, popped one of the most mushy albums into the record player, then got started on prep. He even sends a 'date night. unless ur literally dying, leave me alone.' text to the Admirals group chat.
It shouldn't be necessary, but after Breezy started knocking at his door while both he and Kip were naked on a blanket in the middle of the living room with thirty candles burning, a plate of chocolate covered strawberries between them, and Frankie Valli crooning to them it became clear some boundaries needed to be set. He gets a lot of saluting emojis and a couple of 'get itttt cap' type messages in response, which he chooses to not read into. Kip is his husband— they all have to be aware he is very regularly getting it, right?
That's not what date nights are about to him, anyway. Sure, it's fantastic to have a great night and then end it with great sex. But they have great sex very, very often. Scott doesn't like to toot his own horn too much, but if he wants to seduce his husband all he has to go is exist. Date nights are about showing Kip he's willing to put in the effort. Date nights are about making sure Kip knows he's loved. Date nights are about carving out time in their hectic schedules to spend time with each other outside of their bed.
Date nights are also about making Kip moan while he eats. That one's a little self indulgent, sure. Sue him.
First course; bruschetta with super crispy bread (just the way Kip likes it). Piennolo del vesuvio tomatoes and fresh basil from the farmer's market, homemade pesto, and a drizzle of well aged balsamic they picked up in an enoteca in Tuscany.
Main course; a slice of homemade lasagne— made the way Kip prefers it, with bechamel, never ricotta. It took Scott several months to perfect that damn sauce, he kept getting lumps, but it was worth it to see Kip's eyes flutter shut and that indecent moan leave his mouth when he tried it. A few parmentier potatoes and buttery, lemony, garlicky greens to go along side it.
Dessert; dark chocolate and pistachio brownies. Scott actually got the original brownie recipe from George, but the addition of pistachios and a pinch of coffee even got his approval. They're rich, they're fudgy, and the taste lingers long enough that they get to share chocolatey kisses afterwards.
It's a perfect meal. He doesn't half-ass date nights, he tries to make things just as beautiful as if they'd been able to go sit in a fancy restaurant, because Kip should never have to miss out on anything.
Before happening upon the at-home date night idea Scott had offered to book out the whole restaurant so they'd have some privacy. Kip told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he walked into a restaurant that had been cleared out just for them he would be going back home and Scott would be sat in the restaurant alone. Harsh, but fair. It would probably be a little eerie.
Scott hears the whirlwind of chaos that is Kip coming home from a day of work and smiles. Even the fact that Kip always comes home with three times as many belongings as he left with, dropping folders and precariously balancing stacks of books, is endearing.
Scott walks past the record player as he heads for Kip and switches it on. The opening of Lenny Williams' Cause I love you starts to play just as he catches sight of his oh so incredible husband.
"Good evening, Mister Grady." Scott purrs.
Kip does that adorable little shimmy and smile he always does when he feels extra happy.
"Something smells very yummy."
"You look very yummy."
Kip laughs and pulls him down into a slow kiss by the collar of his shirt, sighing contently when their mouths meet. Scott is more than happy to kiss back, savouring the taste and the feeling he misses so very much whilst apart.
Kip humms as he pulls away, his tongue sliding over his lower lip, "You made pesto."
"Damn it," Scott grumbles, "do I have garlic mouth?"
Date night is supposed to be sexy (not sexual, but sexy). Garlic mouth is not that.
"No, you have pesto mouth. Delicious."
As if to prove his point he kisses Scott again, this time a little deeper. Scott melts into it— he always does. He can't help it. He's a sucker for Kip's kisses.
"Yum."
"You feeling a little better?" Scott asks.
Kip wraps his arms around Scott's waist and Scott wraps his own around Kip's shoulders in return.
He's put a lot into tonight but if Kip wants to change into ratty old sweatpants and burrow under a pile of blankets with a tub of ice cream he's down for that, too. He'll do anything to make sure Kip's okay.
"Way better now I'm here with you." Kip mumbles into his chest.
Scott holds him a little tighter and nuzzles into his curls, "Do you want to go get relax for a bit or should I dish up?"
"Gimme fifteen minutes? I need a shower. I smell like the subway and college kids."
Scott smiles and kisses Kip's forehead as he pulls back out of the hug.
"Perfect. Gives me time to make everything look pretty."
"You look pretty." Kip returns as he saunters off down the hallway, totally oblivious to the fact that Scott's cheeks heat up at the comment.
It's ridiculous, and Scott can accept that. But it's not at everything, in fairness. Kip can call him hot or sexy or whatever and it's fine. Handsome, pretty, gorgeous, beautiful— those types of words? Yeah, he's done for. He practically melts every single time. He never has been able to figure out exactly why they get to him the way they do, but it fills him with pleasant tingles so he's not going to overthink it.
He heads back to the kitchen to plate up and garnish instead. Everything is in a warm oven so it won't need to be heated before serving. He's gotten pretty damn good at these date nights.
Kyle had told him once that his love language was acts of service, and it hasn't left his brain since. He'd never really thought much about these love languages (he'd never had a reason to), but it's very true. He would do anything for the people he loves. Something like cooking a nice dinner or shooing Kip out of the way to finish washing the dishes or doing the laundry. Or, even simpler, being the one to make the bed every morning, and get the coffee ready. He loves it. He loves seeing Kip's little smile and hearing his soft "thank you, baby". It makes something deep in his chest feel so, so warm.
It's only like this now because he's fought for it to be. Kip and his damn 'fifty fifty is fair' ways kicked up a fuss about it for a while.
It took Scott being slightly high and very emotional, rambling for what turned out to be three hours about how good he feels when he does these things, how it's one of the few ways he feels he can truly show his love, for Kip to give in.
A set of strong arms wrap around Scott's back, and a kiss is placed beneath his left ear, just as he's finishing adding the drizzle of balsamic to the bruschetta.
"Anything I can do?" Kip asks, more out of formality and politeness than anything else.
He knows the answer by now.
"You can sit down and relax, and get started on the wine."
"Thank you, baby. I love you."
"I love you too."
There's a firm squeeze to his ass that draws out an embarrassing yelp, and then Kip's gone.
One of many reasons Scott loves to dote on his husband is how genuinely appreciative and expressive he is when it happens. When the bruschetta is placed in front of him he lights up. His eyes brighten, his smile widens, and his hands rub together while his shoulders jiggle. God, Scott loves him.
"You are literally my favourite person ever." Kip says as if it's the easiest thing in the world.
It feels very very precious and not at all easy to Scott. Kip's family and friends are the most incredible people— he's lived a life full of joy and love and care and wonderful people. It feels extra special to make the cut when they are the standard.
Kip finishes off the bruschetta in no time at all, which just confirms Scott's suspicion that he'd worked through his lunch break and hadn't eaten since this morning. He will be texting Mina, Kip's best colleague, and begging her to lock him out of his office during his lunch break.
Scott clears the table of the empty plates and goes to dish up the main course. It's a very pretty dish to begin with, so there's not all that much faffing and garnishing happening, but he tries to make sure it looks as close to what you'd get in a fancy restaurant as he can.
Kip pulls Scott in for a kiss once he's set down their dishes.
"Thank you, Scott." He says seriously.
"Any time."
He means it. He'd drop anything to make Kip's day a little better.
Kip's not famished anymore at least, so they can chat and joke as they eat. Scott doesn't press about work— Kip's asked on previous date nights for them to not broach the topic.
"I'm so lucky," Kip says between bites, "I'm so happy. What did I ever do to deserve you, hm?"
"You changed my life and made me happy." Scott answers honestly.
After years with Kip at his side he can't imagine going back to the way things were. Scared, lonely, paranoid… He wouldn't have survived his original life plan. If he'd tried to stay hidden until retirement it would have killed him. He knows that now. The constant looking over his shoulder, the constant lies, the crippling loneliness— it wasn't sustainable.
This is so much better. This feels like living, not surviving. Every day he wakes up with the love of his life next to him feels like a gift.
"You changed your life," Kip corrects, "But I guess I can take a little credit for some of the happiness."
They have this "argument" (it's not an argument, because that implies there's two sides, and there's not. Scott knows exactly what changed) semi regularly. Kip doesn't seem to understand that had he not been there in the rink that night, none of this would have happened.
Scott would probably be dead.
He's never told Kip that. He probably never will. It would upset him, and Scott never ever wants to do that. He wants to make Kip as happy as Kip keeps him.
"You can take as much credit as you'd like."
He knows how much of it Kip deserves, and it's at least 90%. The support and love of his teammates and friends and one incredible Mr George Grady make up the rest.
Scott steals a kiss as he clears away the now empty plates and grabs the brownies.
Scott really loves the whole sharing one dessert thing. It's romantic and gross and sappy and that's exactly what he craves. He and Kip are also two grown men with a love of chocolate, and one brownie will last approximately six seconds between the two of them. So two warm, gooey brownies (that are definitely larger than average) get put on one plate, with a quenelle of (definitely not homemade, because Scott's only one guy) vanilla ice cream atop each one.
As soon as Scott sits back down after setting the plate down between them Kip brings out his phone and opens up the camera.
Scott tries to shuffle out the way of the picture, but Kip pins him in place with a simple look.
He tries for his best I-swear-I'm-not-being-held-at-gunpoint smile. He's shockingly bad at posing for pictures for someone who earns close to half his income from doing just that. The only pictures he likes of himself are ones where he's not aware they're being taken— his absolute favourite of himself is, of course, one from their wedding. Kip's laughing with Carter, and Scott's stood just beside them watching him, looking the happiest he's ever been. He was, in fact, the happiest he's ever been so it does make sense.
Scott doesn't look like that when he's aware he's being photographed. He looks awkward and unsure and, honestly, usually unstable too. There's something about the way his eyes stare down a camera lens that he's sure gives off serial killer vibes, despite numerous assurances otherwise.
Kip smiles at the picture anyway and taps away on his phone for a few moments before dropping it to the table.
Scott's phone buzzes in his pocket.
He sighs, "That's not the group chat, is it?"
"Nope," Kip answers with a big grin, "You look so cute. I need everyone to see how perfect you are."
Kip's not bothered by sharing moments like this to the public. Scott's not anymore, either. He used to be. He used to be so afraid of what people would say, what the reaction would be, how many people would see it,… He can't even remember why now. If his husband wants to show him off then isn't that just the best feeling in the world?
Kip's phone buzzes- it won't be from the Instagram post, because he'd had to stop those notifications as soon as they kissed on the ice. He reads the notification and giggles.
"Dad says there better be brownies left, and also that I better be telling you I love you."
Scott smiles. Of course he's made enough for George to have a Tupperware, and of course Kip is being loving and sweet and perfect.
"Tell him yes, to both."
"Okay, no more phone. And my laptop is tucked away. I'm all yours."
Scott lets out a content sigh. His favourite words.
They polish off the brownies together, occasionally indulging in the urge to feed each other instead of themselves. Kip "accidentally" gets the ice cream on Scott's nose at one point and leans in to lick it off. That's been a semi regular occurrence since it happened with their wedding cake— Kip's been very enthusiastic about his love for Scott's nose. Scott doesn't get it, but he's never going to say no to any part of Kip on any part of him.
"You've got that look in your eye." Kip observes.
Scott bites back a grin.
"What look?" He asks, wide eyed and innocent.
"Mm, no. Not that one. The one before. The planning look."
Scott can't help but smile. Kip knowing his planning look, if such a thing exists, makes him so very happy.
"You've been stressed." He reminds Kip, as though that explains everything.
It should, really. He should be well aware by now that this is an emergency situation to Scott.
"Well, yeah. It's exam season," Kip replies with a wave of his hand, "It's fine."
"But I can help, so it doesn't have to be fine."
It isn't fine. Scott understands now why Kip doesn't want to be a kept man- he does get it, he has no issues with that. What he does take issue with is when the job Kip's been dreaming of stresses him out to the point that he's skipping meals and breaking down in tears. That's not okay, and if he can do anything to help he will.
"What does helping involve, exactly?"
Scott shakes his head, "I'll show you when you're ready. It's a surprise."
"Kiss me first."
Scott, of course, obliges.
He truly doesn't understand what people mean when they say long term relationships, especially marriage, gets stale. How could this ever get old? Every nerve in his body lights up every time they kiss. It always has, and it always will. There is nothing and nobody in the world that could ever compare.
Kip ends up perched on Scott's lap, hands in his hair, while Scott rubs circles into his lower back. It's Kip that eventually pulls away, both of them breathless.
"Show me this surprise of yours before I get distracted."
Scott stands, lifting Kip with him, and grasps his hand.
The end of hopelessly devoted to you plays as he leads Kip to their bedroom. It's a favourite of Kip's— Scott had felt a little attacked when he'd first heard it, but now the song just conjures memories of Kip drunkenly swaying his hips whilst belting along to it, so he loves it too.
"Take your clothes off." Scott says once they're in their bedroom.
"You really don't have to go through all this trouble to seduce me, y'know. I'm always up for it."
That's not an exaggeration. Kip will make time for quick kitchen blowjobs even when they're already running late— and Scott is weak, so he always falls for it despite being late to things being an anxiety inducing experience for him.
Scott laughs and kisses his forehead, "I know you are, pervert. That's not what I'm doing."
Kip still looks sceptical, but he does strip. He takes Scott's breath away, still. What lab was this man made in? How does he repay them for making the worlds most beautiful creature and giving him to him?
"Lay down."
Kip goes to sit back on the bed, but Scott shakes his head, "Other way. On your front."
Kip raises an eyebrow but does as he's asked.
"You say that's not what you're doing but it really feels like I'm about to get my ass eaten."
It's tempting. Kip sprawled out on their bed naked is very tempting.
"Later." Scott promises, even though he would be very very happy to change the plan right now.
"Ooh, yay."
God, he's so cute. Scott wishes he could just squeeze him, full force, and not hurt him.
Scott settles on top of Kip's legs, then pops the top of the massage oil bottle open.
Kip lets out a surprised sounding laugh.
"What the Hell are you doing with the lube that isn't sexy?"
"Not lube. Get your mind out the gutter."
He allows the sweet, almond scented oil to warm up and thin out in his palms. This oil had been a recommendation from his massage instructor, who'd asked all kinds of questions about what Kip's skin is like, where he carries his tension, what his activity level is… Scott is always happy to talk about Kip, so he was very okay with these questions, but he just hopes she's right. He wants this to be perfect.
He rolls his shoulders, taking a breath in that steadies the nervous thrum behind his ribs. His hands hover for a second over Kip's back, mapping familiar hills and valleys that always feel so right beneath his fingers. He starts at the nape of Kip's neck, thumbs working in small, warm circles where the muscles bunch most.
Kip makes a noise that's half sigh, half moan.
"Feel okay?" Scott checks.
The last thing he wants to do is accidentally hurt Kip-- that's why he's taken seven classes in the art of massage over the past two months, so he can do this correctly.
"Feels perfect," Kip sighs. He tilts his head back to press a quick kiss to the back of Scott's hand, and then lays back down, "Do whatever you want to me."
Scott smiles at both the kiss and the words. He presses down through the traps and along the shoulder blades, moving slowly, making sure to use the right amount of pressure. He'd been nervous to use as much pressure as his instructor had directed him to, initially, afraid it would end up feeling like the "massages" (read: torture sessions) he's received from PTs. She'd laughed at the worry and promised him that level took a lot of effort, and there was no way he'd accidentally veer into it.
He works the shoulders with a well-practised pressure— enough to unknot and unwind, nowhere near enough to bruise, fingers digging into the base of the neck and tracing outward. Kip's breath evens out. Scott's thumbs find a stubborn knot near the right shoulder blade and hold there patiently until Kip's jaw relaxes and the knot loosens.
"You're so good at this," Kip says after a groan, "You should charge for it. Post retirement plan."
"Shut up." Scott teases, but warmth spreads through his chest. He is so grateful to be the one helping alleviate some of Kip's stress, even if this is only physical. Scott knows all too well how stress can change the way you hold your body, and make everything uncomfortably tight.
He slides down the spine in long, firm strokes, palms spreading heat along the vertebrae, then fans out to the ribs where Kip's breath catches and deepens. Scott loves the little noises Kip makes; soft, unguarded, little sounds. He remembers the first time he got to touch Kip in the way he wanted to— how nervous and shaky his hands were, how desperate he was for it to go well. Now his hands can say everything without his voice needing to. How lucky he is to get to experience this level of intimacy with the greatest man he's ever known.
When he reaches the lower back, he kneads with both hands, thumbs pressing in opposing directions to coax out tension. Kip arches slightly, fingers splaying into the sheets.
"God, Scott," Kip breathes, "That feels-"
He doesn't get to finish, because a heavy groan interrupts him.
"Good." Scott answers simply. He shifts, straddling Kip's thighs to reach the backs of his legs. His movements are slow and careful as he remembers the path his instructor had given. He traces the hamstrings, palms gliding in long strokes down to the calves, tapping lightly at the Achilles. He finds the small scar along the back of Kip's knee and gives it an extra stroke.
"You're spoiling me," Kip sighs, "I'm ruined."
"Good," Scott replies, "You deserve it."
He takes his time with the feet. He starts by rolling each heel in his palms, then massages between the toes, then moves to flatten the arches with the heel of his hand until Kip's toes curl.
"You're so good with your hands," Kip murmurs, "How are you this good at everything?"
Scott hums, pleased and embarrassed by the words simultaneously.
"Practice," he replies. "And you make me want to do nice things."
He moves back up, over the small of Kip's back to the shoulders, then along the arms. He massages each bicep, palm stroking from wrist to elbow, fingers working the joints, kneading the forearms until the muscles soften. Kip lifts his right hand and threads their fingers together for a quiet second, squeezing softly.
Scott takes his time at the hands. His thumbs press the pads of Kip's fingers, then run along the heel of the palm. He lingers over the pulse at the wrist, smiling when Kip catches his eyes.
"You didn't learn this from a YouTube video, did you?" Kip asks.
Scott snorts. "I wish. No, I took some classes."
He finishes Kip's arms and moves up to the neck again, this time with broader, gentler strokes, slowing everything down. Scott feels the muscles give under his palms as stress unwinds from Kip's body, and it makes something in his chest ease too.
When he reaches Kip's shoulders the last time, he leans down and presses his forehead briefly to the back of Kip's head. He presses a soft kiss into the hair, and Kip turns his head and meets his eye. He looks blissed out-- eyes so heavy they're almost closed, an open smile on his mouth, his face relaxed.
"Turn over." Scott whispers.
Then he steals a kiss before Kip can do that.
Kip then obliges, rolling onto his back with a lazy stretch. Scott cups his face in one hand, moving his thumb across the stubbled jaw, before indulging himself one final kiss before he continues.
He applies oil to his thumbs and begins to work the planes of Kip's chest. He finds himself a little entranced by the rhythm of Kip's heart. He moves in slow circles, feeling the rise and fall there— Kip's heartbeat is the greatest sound in the world.
Kip's fingers find Scott's wrist, and he squeezes it gently.
"You always make me feel like the most loved person in the world," Kip says, voice soft, "Thank you. Even though you're being dramatic about it."
"I'm dramatic because it's important," Scott answers seriously.
It is. Kip needs to know that out of all the however many billion people there are in the world, he is the most important. At least according to Scott— there is nobody on planet earth who matters more.
He kisses Kip's palm and keeps working: collarbones traced, ribs softened, pecs kneaded justenough to have his mouth falling open. He lets his hands rest a moment, warm and reassuring, beforemoving to the other side.
When he massages Kip's jawline, tracing the tender place where stubble starts, Kip's eyes close. Scott tilts his head, pressing a short but firm kiss to Kip's mouth.
"You're not allowed to be this good at everything," Kip says against his lips, "It's not fair to other people."
"Good," Scott says. "I like being unfair. You know that."
He finishes with the temples, small, circling motions that make Kip's face slacken in the mostpeaceful way.
Kip yawns, and then smiles, Scott's favourite of all— the one that scrunches his nose and crinkles his eyes.
"D'you want more?" Scott asks.
He looks pretty damn relaxed, but if Kip wants him to keep pouring love into him he's very happy to continue.
"I think I will turn to liquid and soak into the mattress if you keep going."
That lovely warm tingly feeling makes itself known behind Scott's ribs again. Kip's so happy, so relaxed, so content. And he did that. He took his husband from calling him crying during his lunch break to the point where he's so blissed out he can barely lift his head.
Scott kisses his cheek, then his nose, then his lips.
"I'm going to run us a bath now, okay?"
Kip humms and nods, so Scott rises from the bed but only manages a single step before Kip rolls onto his side and stretches out an arm to grasp his wrist.
"Wait- no, fuck me first."
"What?"
"I showered, like, two hours ago. If we bath now, and then fuck, I'll have to shower again after. My skin will fall off."
"Well… we don't have to have sex tonight." Scott points out.
He doesn't do these date nights for a guaranteed lay at the end- he does them to make Kip's days a little better.
"Don't ruin the date night by being cute. You promised me something."
Kip punctuates the sentence with a deliberate jiggle of his ass.
Well, he did do that. And making Kip's toes curl and his breath get caught in his throat is his absolute favourite way to be of service…
He falls back down onto the bed and gives Kip exactly what he'd asked for. It's slow, and gentle, and relaxed. It's far less fucking and a lot more love making. Scott knows the difference, now, and though he'd be the first to admit his love of the former, this holds a very dear place in his heart. He went thirty two years of his life without knowing how this feels. He can't get enough, now.
When Kip comes it's with repeated choked cries of "I love you so fucking much", which is a noise Scott will never ever forget. Scott follows soon after, and doesn't pull out immediately. They lay there, entangled in each other, catching their breath together.
"You are literally perfect, y'know that?" Kip asks, voice still hoarse and breathy.
"Perfect for you." Scott agrees.
He's not sure if he even believes in soulmates and fate and destiny and all those things, but one thing he's certain of is that there is no better match for either of them than each other.