Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

August 2016 - Shane

Lily: Here.

Jane: I'll see you in a few hours.

Lily: I will be waiting.

"It's your decision," his mother conceded as she had before, but it was different this time. Today the papers were getting signed. It was a done deal.  A year of waffling and weighing. A year of finding ways to bring it up with her that didn't set off alarm bells.

A year that Shane had spent wondering if he was losing his mind or finally finding something like sanity.

"Thanks. I've decided. Let's get it done." 

"You're sure you can work with Rozanov? This won't be a one and done, Shane. It'll be years of work or people will talk." 

Shane liked to get to the airport two hours before his flight, even if it was only a one-hour flight. The minutes were escaping him, but if he picked a fight with his mother then he would be late and feel shitty about hurting her feelings. 

"This was partially his idea," Shane cut her off carefully. "I can't start this without him. Anyway, he's a lot, but the jerky stuff is mostly an act." 

She frowned and nodded slowly. "But he's still your biggest competitor." 

"Yeah, I know. No one ever lets me forget it," Shane said, his resolve starting to crack. 

"I didn't know that it bothered you that much." 

The horrible cavernous ache that Shane had spent years ignoring was getting harder and harder to press down in these moments. Getting a single fourteen-hour taste of what could be had only made it worse. It had seemed easy in Sleepy Hollow. Simple. Then Shane had to face the music at home and Ilya had been swallowed up by Russia again, rendered flatly down to flirtatious, but vague texts. 

It made it all worse.  

But there was a plan. Some tiny steps forward. 

He wished someone else was here. Any of them. Ilya, ideally, even though that would be an actual nightmare in reality. Scott would be steadying and his mother would absolutely respond to him better than she would to Ilya. Shane didn't know Kip and Svetlana very well, but he'd take one of them over being alone right now. 

It was a foreign, invasive desire. Longing for company wasn't something Shane did generally speaking (Ilya excepted, but that longing was a constant nagging toothache of a feeling instead of a sudden desire), but it was frightening to be alone in this moment with his mother. He had to say real things to her. Things that might let her see the bigger truth behind the trickle he was about to feed her. But he had promised to try.

"No one else really understands how it is out there," Shane said and it was meant to be an easy PR delivery, but his voice broke a little. "He gets it. We're friends." 

"Friends," she said, her hand fluttering in the air for a moment before landing solidly on the table.

"Yes," Shane said and it was like pushing a boulder up a hill. He wanted to let go and let it run him over. Surely that would be easier than this. 

How could he ever tell her the full truth if this was so hard? 

"Is that who you've been texting?"  she asked. "We noticed that you seem a little preoccupied, but we thought maybe it was Rose." 

"Sometimes it's Rose, but it's Rozanov too. And Hunter. It started with the ad stuff, but we do just talk now sometimes. It helps." 

"Because they understand about being captains,"  she acknowledged. "Hunter makes sense. He's a reliable person."

If only Mom knew what Scott was really like. Reliable was certainly a word for it. Stubborn. Possibly entirely unhinged.

"Yeah, but he's got his own thing going. He said he can give us some advice, but it's better if the foundation is just me and Rozanov. It'll split the funds from the shoot, but it's a lot of money, should do a lot of good."

"It will," she conceded. "The two of you together will attract a lot of attention. The Nike ad will get a lot of eyes. Maybe we can spin it off into other things if working with him isn't going to be difficult for you."

Yes, Shane thought. Many, many things.

"It'll be good," Shane nodded. "Fun." 

"Fun," she repeated. "I don't think you've ever said that about doing an ad." 

He didn't remind her about that first CCM shoot, years and years go now. It was only time he could recall out and out laughing on a set. The memory had taken on a strange blue glow, the intense lighting separating the two of them from everyone else on set. It had blown a bubble that Shane wanted to crawl into and never leave whenever they were in each other's orbits. 

"Rozanov makes me laugh," Shane said, then froze. Was that too much? Too obvious? 

"I see," she said with a tone that conveyed she truly didn't.  

It worked though. The conversation shifted to practicalities. Shane signed the papers and she sent them on their way. The foundation would launch in a few months, alongside the Nike ad. Rozanov and Hollander would no longer be legendary enemies. The charade would fall and they could meet for lunch in public without starting Twitter storms.

Shane felt a little sick.

"Do you want to come home for lunch?" his mother asked. 

"No, thanks," he said. "I've got a thing in New York, remember? J.J. asked if I'd meet up with him for his shoot for some moral support. " 

Such a bad liar.  Wouldn't it be nice if it was true?  

"That's sweet," Mom said warmly. "Tell him I said hello." 

"Will do." 

Shane got to the airport on time. He put on his headphones and pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, trying to make himself as unrecognizable as he could. He took out his phone and started another message to 'Lily', then gave up when he couldn't settle on anything to say.   

He opened up the group chat. It had been fairly quiet over the summer, some remarks on comings and goings. A handful of invitations, mostly for Shane. He'd declined them, unable to picture being in the house with only Scott and Kip around. 

Now he wished he'd said yes at least once. Maybe that would've taken some of the nerves out of today.  

The flight was mercifully short and uneventful. No one approached Shane and he arrived in the far more anonymous scrum of New York. Kip had helpfully sent along directions for the train and then Scott had messaged Shane directly with the place to meet the car Scott had sent.  Both were kind gestures and both made Shane deeply uncomfortable.  Did they think he couldn't manage himself? Were they worried he'd get lost or something? Was it a jab? Why weren't they talking to each other about it? 

By the time the car pulled up to the house, Shane was more questions than person. He tipped generously so the driver would have no reason to complain about Shane to anyone.  

The house was beautiful. Shane hadn't had time to appreciate the property last time, mostly because he'd arrived drunk out of his mind. He walked up the path slowly, taking in the old growth trees and the lush careful landscaping. On the doorstop, he dithered for a moment, considering if he should use his keys or knock. He knew the keys worked. The point of them was to use them. He was welcome here whenever and they knew he was coming. There was a colored-coded google calendar and everything.

Yet, barrelling in seemed too much without the veil of booze and victory clouding his eyes.

"If you want another minute, I can close the door and pretend I didn't see you," Kip said. 

Shit. The front door was open and Kip was standing there in khaki shorts and a polo like any well-ironed summer party host. His feet were bare. 

"Sorry," Shane said automatically. 

"Don't be. It's good to see you. Your flight was okay?" Kip held the door open and Shane was over the threshold in two quick steps. Committed.

"Yeah, definitely quicker than driving." 

Shane took off his shoes, setting them on the rack by the door. There were two pairs of sneakers there already. One pair were simple black Nikes, the others were over designed, cut low and streaked with neon yellow. Shane's heart quickened its pace. 

"He's upstairs," Kip said. "Zombie walked past me and right to bed when he got in, but I think I heard movement a few minutes ago."

"Okay," Shane said, hesitating. Was it rude to run off up the stairs?

Kip studied him then smiled. "Dinner is in the slow cooker. You've got like two hours before we eat. Scott won't be back from the city until then any way. You won't offend me if you disappear."

That was all the permission Shane needed. He didn't run up the stairs, but it was a near thing. A painting had blossomed on the landing. Shane had known about it because Kip refused to hang anything that didn't have the full group approval. It was weird because Shane knew fuck all about art and had very few opinions on it, but somehow he did find he cared about what was on the walls of a house he'd been in all of once. He'd liked this one, a portrait of a man from the waist up with his back to the viewer done in entirely in shades of purple.

Shane didn't slow down to admire it, but made a mental note to look at it closer later.

For now he had singular goal.

Their room.

They had a room. A place designated for the two of them. Sometimes Shane looked at pictures of it like they were the most tawdry pornography ever made. A room in a house where everyone already knew their secret and approved of it. The whole concept was a wild fantasy that he had to keep reminding himself was real.

Shane put his hand to the doorknob. He didn't even consider knocking, only turned it slowly so he wouldn't disturb potential rest. The curtains had been pulled shut, mostly closing out the late afternoon sun. A single slice spilled through, dropping a thin rectangle over the light blue comforter and the mound beneath it.

Setting down his bag, Shane moved quietly across the room and found only a slice of forehead and curls visible above the blankets. He reached out then stopped, hovering his hand over that tempting peek.

"You are here?" That voice, deep and cajoling, rumbled out from under the blankets.

"Did I wake you?" Shane asked.

"Mm, no. Come here." Two hands emerged and Shane took them, let himself be urged under the superheated air of the blankets.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Shane," Ilya said reverently and then Shane was being kissed in the humid darkness.

The first time Ilya had called him Shane was a year and a half ago. Another bedroom, another lifetime. They'd fucked in Scott Hunter's bed (a concept that still made Shane squirm uncomfortably whenever it rose to mind and then jerk off to like it was his full-time job), and in the mess they'd made of the sheets, Ilya had whispered Shane's name like it was a secret he'd been keeping.

Shane could admit that he hadn't taken it particularly well. He didn't think he was wrong to run, all things considered. How was he supposed to take it? Ilya played hot and cold with him so often that Shane got freezer-burn from it. To steal an intimacy right after revealing the reality of Scott's involvement in Ilya's life had put Shane's brain in the washing machine. Running away had made more sense than any other reaction he could land on.

It wasn't Shane's proudest moment, but he stood by it anyway.

For a good six months, Shane had wondered if it was over between them, even though he'd been the one to ask for time. If he were a little stronger, maybe it would've been. If he hadn't craved Ilya's touch like a drug. If he hadn't met Rose. If Scott hadn't sat him down in Vegas and been so starkly kind and bizarre all at once.

The amount of ifs scared the shit out of Shane when he thought about them too long. So many ways that he could have missed out on this past year. This year when they finally started to get it right. There hadn't been a single time since that day in Central Park that their meetups had left Shane feeling worse. Instead, he felt lighter and lighter after each one as if some cosmic weight was shifting off him.

They called each other by their first names in private now. They texted constantly. They didn't talk about feelings, but they had started to talk about their lives in tiny slivers. Ilya had spoken of his mother in little broken sentences. He faced away from Shane when he told him, focus on the far wall of the hotel room while Shane's fingertips traced his shoulder over and over.

Shane knew Ilya's father was sick. Ilya knew that Shane's parents were loving, but sometimes focused on the wrong things. Ilya had sort of had a conversation with Hayden and J.J. that hadn't ended in a fist fight.

They could talk a little more and kiss softly without scaring each other away. They could say each other's first names without disintegrating.

Even better, they could have this. Shane kissed Ilya in the shadowy depths under the comforter.

"Ilya," he whispered, "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Ilya said and slid his arms around Shane drawing him in close, then pausing. "You are still wearing clothes? Unacceptable."

"I just got here. Should I have stripped down in front of Kip?"

"He would not care," Ilya said, paused, then amended, "He would enjoy it."

Between the two of them, they got rid of Shane's objectionable clothes. He wound up on his back, the covers having shifted enough that when Ilya loomed over him, his face was illuminated by the slice of waning light. His eyes were bright, the cross hanging from his neck a pretty point of light.

Shane wanted him so desperately it felt like a literal sickness.

"I want to know about your summer," Shane said, sliding his hands up Ilya's arms to wrap around his biceps. "After though."

"After," Ilya agreed, his gorgeous smile spreading over his face.

The sex had always been the easiest part for them, but there was a new flavor to it now. Ilya had always handled Shane with a certainty that rendered him to mental pudding. He'd always kissed Shane like he was starving for him. Over the last year though, a new tenderness had made its way in too. All Shane could hope was that Ilya felt the same from him.

In that hotel room in Vegas, Scott had stared into space for a long time before he'd said that he 'cherished' Ilya and it had turned Shane inside out at the time, trying to figure out what that meant.

He knew now. Shane cherished Ilya too.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Hollander?" Ilya asked, nosing in along Shane's jaw to kiss just under it, tiny reverent kisses even as his hands made demands on Shane's thighs.

"Yes," Shane breathed out. "Four days. I want to do everything. I want to suck your cock."

"If you do this then there will be no fucking. It has been too long," Ilya admitted with some chagrin before kissing Shane again, licking into his mouth.

As much as Shane longed to be pounded into the mattress, he wanted more to touch Ilya all over and make sure he remembered him correctly. Maybe Shane should be used to the long gaps between their meetings by now. It seemed like the closer they got, the less tolerance Shane had for losing the sense memory of Ilya pressed to him.

Without another word, Shane shimmied down the bed, grasping at Ilya's hips. It sunk him down back into the dark. Good thing Shane didn't need to see for this. Different senses mattered in this moment, taste above all as he laved his tongue over the head of Ilya's cock and then took it into his mouth with a slow moan of appreciation. Hearing mattered too, both for the slick wet sounds of the blowjob itself, but for Ilya's sharp inhalation. That slight noise starred in many of Shane's lonely fantasies.

This angle was theoretically terrible, but Shane had never given a goddamn about supposed physical limitations. Honing his body into a useful tool every hour of his waking life meant he got these heady moments. Clutching at Ilya's thighs and then his ass, encouraging him closer, Shane was surrounded and embraced.

"Shane," Ilya moaned and there were fingers in Shane's hair, possessive and harsh. Holding him still. Shane made a protested noise as best he could. "Hungry for me, I know. But I cannot see you and if I fuck your face this way, I cannot know if you are all right."

That was a very compelling point. With a sigh, Shane backed off. The covers were thrown back, the dim light intruding. Shane licked his lips, a little compulsively and Ilya tugged him back up towards the pillows.

"I want," Shane whispered mutinously.

"You will have," Ilya said and kissed him.

Turning, Ilya settled himself against the pillows and headboard, then spread his legs. He gestured down and for all the world was a king, awaiting his servicing. It should be disgusting. Terrible behavior. Shane wanted him so badly he was salivating. He saw no point in hiding it any more and took his place between Ilya's thighs and lowered himself down. There was some advantage to his returned sight. He could watch Ilya's face under his eyelashes as he took him back into his mouth.

He meant to watch Ilya's mouth, the way it compressed as he got close, the beautiful lips disappearing into a tight line as if to keep any treacherous noise from escaping. Watching would be nice, but Shane's eyes slid closed without his consent as he weighed the thick head of Ilya's perfect cock on his tongue.

The curl of Ilya's hand around the back of his head ensured that Shane's eyes stayed shuttered. The twist of fingers in his hair untied the ever-present knot between Shane's shoulders. Under Ilya's control, Shane's body relaxed. He moaned around his prize as Ilya fucked into Shane's mouth with slow concentration. All Shane had to do was hold himself up and be used.

"So easy for me," Ilya murmured. "Shane…fuck…"

Ilya did come quickly and Shane swallowed it all down, unwilling to let a single bitter drop escape him. He rested his head on Ilya's thigh, his own arousal distant to him for the moment. Ilya's hand never left his hair, though it changed from a punishing grip to a soft caress.

"I want to kiss you," Ilya complained and Shane grinned, crawling back up Ilya's body to settle over his hips.

They kissed and their hands roamed, remapping each other's bodies in greedy handfuls. Eventually, Ilya took Shane's cock in one hand to jerk him off as he licked and sucked at Shane's neck and chest. It was bliss and Shane gasped and cursed until he was crying out into Ilya's mouth. Ilya praised him, kissed him, pulled him closer, smearing come everywhere in an attempt to keep Shane impossibly close.

Eventually, Ilya fished around for Shane's discarded t-shirt and before Shane could summon a protest, it was put to work wiping them both off.

"Gross," he grumbled.

"It washes," Ilya tasked, then rolled them back under the blankets, pulling them into darkness again.

"You won't adjust to the time if you sleep more," Shane pointed out, even as he rested his head on Ilya's chest. The steady beat of his heart made Shane's eyelids heavy.

"You will make me tired enough to sleep tonight," Ilya said. "Yes?"

"Yes," Shane allowed.

It was a very good nap.

He woke to a polite tap on the door.

"Dinner in twenty," Kip called through the door. "If you want it later, I'll just leave some in the fridge."

"We will come eat," Ilya called back.

"Mmkay!"

Shane yawned and rubbed his cheek against Ilya's chest. "I want to rinse off. Get the plane off me. Come with?"

"Yes, of course."

It was incredibly hot to shower with Ilya, but it was also fantastic to know they didn't have to have sex right that moment because there would be more time later. So much time. Days of time. They kissed, the water slicking their tongues, and Ilya washed Shane with a reverent diligence that did things to Shane's head.

They stepped into their bedroom and dressed out of their suitcases, forgoing socks and shoes. Shane smoothed his hand down the front of Ilya's tank top, pleased by the softness of the fabric and the entirety of the man underneath it.

Somewhere else in the house, a door opened and closed. Ilya's already-wide smile increased. He grabbed up Shane's hand as if he needed to be led. That was fine. Shane would probably follow him anywhere, even if he argued about it the whole way there.

The kitchen was big and clean and bright. Shane approved of it. He approved of the entire house in a way that surprised him. He had a lot of strong ideas about what a home should like from the months poured into planning the cottage. It seemed that he and Scott ran on parallel tracks in those ideas: the more windows the better and lots of polished wood. The house was old where the cottage was new, but that was all right. Scott had spotlighted the age of the place rather than gut it, which gave it a lot of charm.

The man himself was standing behind the kitchen island, apparently interrupting the progress of dinner by bracketing his boyfriend between his arms, and kissing him. Kip had one hand on Scott's chest and the other still clutching a spatula.

"You will starve me?" Ilya asked plaintively.

Scott continued to kiss Kip, only parting from him slowly with a last peck to his cheek, before looking up like it was a chore.

"Hello, brat. Welcome back," Scott said dryly, then tracked over to Shane. "Hey! Good to see you."

"It is not good to see me?" Ilya grumbled. "Hunter. My feelings."

"All two of them?" Scott teased, then held his hand out and Ilya took it, letting himself get reeled into an engulfing hug.

Kip, still pinned to the island, shook his head and wiggled out past his boyfriend. "Shane, do you want your quinoa on the side or under the stew to mix in? I don't know if you're a separate food guy or not."

"Separate," Shane confirmed, trying to concentrate on Kip, but his attention wandered to the hug.

In theory, Scott was an inch or two shorter than Ilya and about the same breadth at the shoulder, but somehow Ilya made himself small against Scott. His shoulders rounded in and Scott almost buried him in the embrace. When Ilya tilted his face in silent demand, Scott rolled his eyes as if the whole thing was a joke Ilya was playing on him, then kissed him, face held between both of his hands.

A prickle of jealousy rose in Shane, but it sat on top of something larger.

When Shane had been a little kid, eight or nine, a pleasant woman had sat with him in a small room and shown him a wheel with feeling words on it. The simple words he knew 'happy', 'sad', 'angry', and bigger newer words. She had asked him to point at the one he felt. When he'd tapped the center of the circle, the black void in the middle, she had frowned a little. Wrong answer. So he'd moved and tapped happy which made her smile. A misunderstanding, that was all. He wasn't sure who she was and she'd never shown up again, so it must not have meant much.

Except the memory lingered. The wheel of a thousand feelings, a swirl of possibility and Shane wasn't sure if he'd meant he was feeling all or none of them when he tapped that black circle. It was a long buried moment, but all through this year he'd thought of it again and again.

The needle spun now. There was no name he could find for what he felt, except that it no longer festered. It was growing instead, tender and new as the first tentative leaf of an early spring flower.

"Ilya," Kip's voice broke through Shane's white noise thoughts, "bring me the bowls. Shane, the silverware is to the left to the sink, can you get on that? Scott, salad, please."

"Have I said lately that I love when you take over meals?" Scott asked Kip, releasing Ilya over his mild protests.

"Don't get used to it," Kip said. "We're taking turns this weekend or we're eating takeout."

"I'll do tomorrow night," Scott immediately vowed.

"You're on breakfast," Kip reminded him.

"Breakfast is ten minutes," Scott said, already rooting around in the fridge. Ilya went to get the bowls and for a moment, Shane was certain that he was outside of yet another group. "I can still do a dinner thing."

For a moment, Shane was utterly outside the conversation. The three of them had a rhythm that had nothing to do with him. Then Ilya looked up and pointed. "Silverware, Hollander or we will eat with our fingers."

"He might do it," Kip said, poking at whatever was in the slow cooker. "Which considering this is basically a stew will get messy."

"You're an animal," Shane said to Ilya.

"Which one, do you think?" Scott asked, setting down an enormous bit of tupperware full of greens. "I keep picturing something bite-y."

"I am a bear," Ilya declared.

"Oh, honey," Kip said immediately. "Absolutely not."

Aligning forks with drinking glasses, Shane listened as Kip explain about bears and otters. Ilya started out playfully bantering with him, but then got thoughtful, asking follow-up questions. If Shane hadn't known that Kip spent a significant amount of time explaining things to college kids, he might have guessed from the way he lapsed into a lecturing style and gave questions room to be answered.

"Why is it so looks-based?" Shane asked, then pressed his lips back together as if he could stop the question from ever being asked.

"Hook-up culture, maybe," Kip mused. "Or how men experience attraction? Straight guys do it, right? Call different kinds of female body types different things."

"Too many," Scott said grimly.

"And none of it is a law or anything," Kip said. He was still holding the spatula, but now it was waving around to punctuate his points, possibly splattering sauce here and there. "It's a way of saying 'I like what I like', you know? I mean, no one in this room has a leg to stand on. All gym rats all the time around here. "

"Gym rats do it for looks," Shane protested. "We all have useful muscle."

"Not me," Kip said, apparently entirely unbothered by this bit of self-assessment. "Allll vanity here."

"You open jars," Scott said loyally.

"Yes. Definitely worth my gym membership. I think I put too many chickpeas in this."

"I like chickpeas," Shane offered.

"I know, I read that interview you did with EAT last year," Kip said merrily. "I hope that's not weird, but we wanted to make sure there were things you liked in the house."

"I- thanks," Shane said, his chest a little tight. Hayden and Jackie did that for him. His parents. "Maybe we need a shared grocery list?"

"More google," Ilya groaned, but he was smiling about it. "Organize me to death. They will bury me with color-coded stickers on my face."

"We don't need your list, brat," Scott said. "You want coke, cake, and the worst protein bars I've ever tasted."

"Which ones?" Shane frowned.

"The ones with the chalky bits in them," Scott said. "That claim to be cookies."

"Gross, Ilya." Those bits always made Shane's tongue want to exit his skull. "That's worse than the McDonalds."

"More for me," Ilya said, unperturbed.

"Raccoon!" Kip declared as he spooned a thick red stew into bowls.

"Nailed it," Scott laughed.

"I am not a raccoon!" Ilya protested.

"You are," Shane said, laughing along with Scott. "Only animal I know that looks like it's laughing and getting one over on everyone else all the time."

That gave Ilya some pause. He brought the bowls over and set one down in front of Shane, then glanced a kiss off his cheek. Casual. Easy. A kiss in front of people. It sent a shiver over Shane and for a moment, he called it fear. Then he met Ilya's delighted eyes.

Joy. Pure joy. Shane kissed him back. A small peck, but real and there and witnessed.

"If I am a raccoon," Ilya said, "then you are a fox. Clever, fast, and runs like he's being chased. We can hunt together at night."

"I don't think raccoons hunt. They're scavengers, right?" Scott mused. "Shane, do you want dressing on the side?"

"Yes, please," he said absently, his attention mostly on Ilya's lips.

They sat down to eat, Ilya beside Shane, eating like he hadn't seen food in months. It was good, hearty food without being heavy.

"This is really good, thank you," Shane said because he was damned if he'd let his mother down in the politeness department, even when he was failing her in so many other ways.

"You're welcome," Kip said happily. "I miss cooking. The kitchen in my dorm is shitty."

"You live in a dorm room?" Shane frowned. "Why?"

"Such a good question," Ilya said without looking up from his bowl.

"Is that a requirement or something?"

"It's just practical," Kip sighed. "Some of us don't have a dozen zeros behind the one in our bank account or whatever."

Shane cut his gaze to Scott, who met it with a woebegone look. Okay, so it wasn't that Scott wasn't offering cash apparently. What the fuck then?

"I didn't grow up this rich," Shane offered.

"No, but I bet you were 'comfortable'," Kip said. "Right?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so."

Kip nodded, "I'm not saying that you guys didn't have a tough time or anything, but before you were all twenty, you knew you were set for life as long as you didn't do anything stupid. I've never known that. It's nice to have this place and all the things Scott's lifestyle gives me, but it's not something I've made for myself."

"But-" Shane started, stopped. No one else was talking. Scott's eyes were fixed on his plate and Ilya had conveniently stuffed his mouth full. It was awkward in a way things hadn't been until that moment. All of Kip's giddiness had been erased in a second, replaced with a tightness that Shane recognized. "I didn't make it for myself either."

Razor-sharp attention cut across Shane, but he was used to the intensity of a press scrum. Ilya and Scott's combined weight wasn't enough to throw him off.

"What do you mean?" Kip asked, eyeing Shane up with his fork hovering over a few lettuce leafs.

"My mom manages my career. Her job is me, basically. My dad still works, but he spends a lot of his free time doing things that support my career. I've got an agent, a publicist, and I hire people to do a lot of shit for me. Mom always says that we're like a corporation with one product."

"I can see that," Kip said. "So what?"

"So it's not like I'm a self-made man," Shane said, shifting a little uncomfortably. "I don't think anyone is? If you need help for your lifestyle to work, then yeah, man, me too. All the time."

"Yes, this!" Ilya waved at Shane. "I try to tell you, but he says it better. We cannot live, breathe, eat hockey unless someone else does things. We cannot be millionaires without paying other people to do normal people things sometimes."

"Well, maybe I don't want to be one of those people," Kip hissed.

There was a clink of metal hitting a plate, a dropped fork, then Kip was gone and the door to the sliding glass door to the porch was being shut. Not slammed. A very polite disappearance.

"Shit," Scott sighed.

"Sorry?" Shane frowned. "I didn't mean to piss him off."

"Not you, Me. Scott. You didn't know," Ilya said with a shake of his head. "This is old news. Big ego bruise for him."

"Don't say it like that," Scott said.

"How else should we say?" Ilya challenged, his brows flying up. "He is very smart, but not about this."

"He doesn't want to feel like an escort."

Scott kept eating in that grim way Shane recognized. When you knew you needed the calories, but you wished you didn't have to.

Shane glanced at the glass doors. Kip was standing at the railing, bowed over it a little. Neither Ilya or Scott were making a move to go after him and Shane had no idea if that meant no one should or if they were both being weird about it.

There was no manual for any of this. Shane had done some very strange google searches the past few months and come up empty a lot of the time or reading articles that made him viscerally uncomfortable until he cleared his history.

But he did know he felt like he'd done something wrong and that generally meant apologizing if he could figure out how. Ilya and Scott were still talking, but it seemed to be going around in circles. Shane pushed away from the table and went outside.

He liked Kip, what little he knew of him. Being picky about friends was for people who could easily make more generally, but Shane had reached a point in his life where he thought he could afford to be more choosy. Kip was really smart and knew a lot of shit that Shane had never bothered to even ask about. More than that though, he was kind and generous with his time. When Shane had slept with Kyle, Kip had texted him and been supportive without knowing anything about him really.

And he was good to Ilya. How could Shane not like that?

He went to the railing and followed Kip's line of sight across the trees to the slice of the river. It wasn't the lake that Shane loved, but it had its appeal. In the heat of late summer, it was dotted with smaller boats, some with sails, and a single barge.

"I'm sorry," Kip said before Shane could say anything. "That was really childish of me."

"Oh. No. I mean, I was coming out here to apologize."

"That's okay. We can both be sorry," Kip said ruefully. "But you don't have to be. I know you're right, mostly. I just can't internalize it."

"What do you mean?" Shane frowned.

"Which part?" Kip glanced at him.

"The internalize' thing."

Kip gave him a tight smile. "You know when someone gives you a compliment about something about yourself that you know is right, but you have a hard time believing it? That. I can hear it, know it's true, but I can't get it to stick in my head."

"I get that," Shane said. "I feel like that all the time."

"You do?" Kip frowned.

"People tell me things about myself all the time that don't feel true. They think they know me, you know? For a long time, it felt like the only person who really got me was Ilya," he admitted.

"That sounds lonely."

Lonely. Spin the wheel. Pick a feeling. Lonely had certainly applied.

"It was," Shane said. "There's Rose now though. And you, Svetlana, and Scott."

"You don't have to add us on for my sake."

"You know more about me than anyone on my team," Shane told him.

"Wow. Is that true?"

Shane shrugged. "About the personal life stuff? Yes."

"Personal life stuff," Kip repeated. "Yeah. Okay. Wow. Thank you. That's a lot of trust."

It was, but Shane didn't want to talk about that. Or think about it. "Do you really think Scott treats you like staff?"

"No," Kip gusted out. "He doesn't. That was a cruel thing to say, but it gets to me sometimes. The disparity. I guess you get it. You don't think of your mom as your staff, do you?"

Shane hesitated, "We talked about it a lot. She takes a salary. When we started it was more like I worked for her, you know? I was too young to really know how to handle things. We're more like partners now and try to leave the work stuff out of the family stuff. But that's not you and Scott. You're not doing work for him. Right?"

"I feel like sometimes my job is boyfriend," Kip said quietly.

Shane stared out over the water. "I don't know if this is mean or not, but if he wanted to pay someone to be a boyfriend, he'd just hire Ilya."

The bark of laughter startled Shane. It was loud from a small guy and a little more intense then he'd expected.

"So you've heard the sugar baby jokes."

"Ilya thinks it's really funny."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it means a lot to him and that's how he talks about it so no one else will say it and hurt his feelings about it," Kip said.

Shane went blank and then sighed so heavily he was probably releasing breath he took on the airplane this morning. Revelations were annoying. "He does do that about stuff that matters. I know that he likes that Scott buys him things that he could get himself. I don't really get it."

"Me either," Kip said then blew out a stream of air. "I take your point though. Ilya was sort of filling that void for him for a long time. "

"Does you not taking stuff from Scott make you feel less like he wants to pay you to be his boyfriend?" Shane said, trying to find the shape of the problem. " I can understand that."

"There's that. And also how guilty I'm going to feel if he never comes out and I wind up breaking up with him about it. If I've taken stuff from him then I'll feel like I have to give it back. Even stuff there's no way I could afford."

That was terrifying. Would Kip simply leave Scott over being closeted? Was that how it worked when you both weren't in the same boat with all of that? What if Ilya wanted to come out some day and Shane didn't? How could Shane ever agree to it while they were still in the public eye?

"Is there a timeline on that?" Shane asked faintly.

"No," Kip said. "We talk about it sometimes, but I've got a Ph.D. to finish and that's not an overnight thing to take care of. Also, I'm so in love with him that it makes me stupid, so there's that to consider."

"That's not nothing."

"It's not." A bird called through the trees, three trilled notes rising. "Hey, thanks for coming out here. I think at this point if Scott and I talk about this again, one of us is going to start crying and not stop. And this is pretty much the only thing that Ilya and I argue about. Elena thinks I'm ridiculous about it. So…thanks. It felt good to just talk about this with someone who's not judging the hell out of me for it."

"Sure, no problem," Shane said, only a little guilty that maybe he had been judging a little.

"I'm going to go for a walk, but you should go back in and finish eating. Okay?"

"Okay."

Scott and Ilya had started in on the dishes when Shane ducked back in though they had left Shane and Kip's places untouched. Shane sat back down and started to eat again mechanically, running the conversation over his head. To his surprise, Scott and Ilya both left him alone. Neither of them were talking now, just moving through the space, clearing things away.

When Shane brought over his now empty bowl, Ilya plucked it from his hands, eyes searching his face.

"He said he was going to take a walk," Shane said.

"Yeah, he does that," Scott said tightly. "I'm going to not track him down, so I don't make it worse. Fuck."

"You have a grocery list to make," Ilya said. "Go make a nice document to share, yes?"

"Good idea," Scott said, then wandered out of the kitchen with his head low.

"Did I make things worse?" Shane asked.

"Why do you think this? I was the one who made him go." Ilya rinsed the bowl. "You were nice. It's good for Kip to talk to someone else."

"He said that too. You want help?"

"Almost done. You want to watch a movie?"

The living room couch was wide and deep, the cushions welcoming. Without discussing it, they sat down beside each other. They bickered over their choices, but Shane let Ilya prevail in the end, still too preoccupied to concentrate fully. As they watched, Ilya's arm went around him and Shane dropped his head to Ilya's shoulder.

They had never quite done this before. There were overnights now, when they could manage them, but they were still mostly sex appointments with some sleeping. But they had all weekend now and Shane could rest here, Ilya's clever fingers drawing nonsense patterns against his arm than straying up into his hair.

"I like this," Shane told him as a car crashed through a wall on screen.

"Me too," Ilya said and held him a little closer.

They actually watched the whole movie which Shane would've taken bets just hours before would absolutely not happen. It was good though. Startlingly easy to lay there and let Ilya touch him while Shane rested his hand on Ilya's knee. Around the hour mark, Kip returned, coming in through the front door. He acknowledged them with a nod, but made for the stairs, following Scott's upward trajectory. If they fought, there was no yelling as far as Shane could hear.

It was hard to imagine Scott or Kip yelling at each other. Shane had certainly heard Scott's shout before. He was a force on the ice and his guys listened to him with rapt attention. But Scott seemed more inclined to exasperation than anger in his personal life. Meanwhile, Kip in a storm of rage had very politely exited the room with barely any noise at all. Did Kip even have a yelling voice?

Probably not. Kip and Scott probably had nice rational relationship talks with everyone respecting each other and hugging it out afterwards.

Still when the movie was over, hanging out upstairs didn't appeal.

"Hot tub?" Ilya suggested.

"Yeah, okay," Shane said, readily enough that Ilya's eyes went a little wide. "What?"

"No, nothing, we go."

"Wait. Swimsuits."

"Noo," Ilya groaned. "We can be naked. No one can see."

"That can't be sanitary."

"I hate this word. It is very hot water and we will shower after again."

"We're not fucking in the hot tub," Shane said firmly. "Other people use that."

It occurred to him only after Ilya agreed too readily that it was highly likely other people had already fucked in the hot tub. Possibly Ilya himself. As Shane trailed Ilya out to the deck, he had a very vivid sudden picture in his head of Scott with his head hanging down over the side of the tub and Ilya under the water. The thought burned through Shane, mind-racing through the mechanics so he didn't have to examine the spike of sharp heat that spiked through him.

Undressing outside wasn't totally foreign to Shane, but getting all the way naked was definitely transgressive. The trees were packed in close, none of the neighbors anywhere near close enough to see, but it raised goosebumps all over his skin despite the body warm temperature of the evening.

Watching Ilya unselfconsciously skim out of everything did a lot to alleviate his concerns. He still got into the water faster than Ilya. It was the good kind of hot, easing into his muscles. It wasn't that different without a pair of trunks, though he didn't love the slight grit of the bench seat against his bare ass.

"What?" Ilya asked as he settled in beside him. "Too hot?"

"No," Shane said. "It's good. Glad we have a clear night. Too bad you can't see stars here."

"You like stars?" Ilya asked.

"Who doesn't? I don't know constellations or anything, but it's nice to look at them."

"I have a better view."

"Of what-oh," Shane found Ilya's eyes on him and it was so cheesy and ridiculous.

I'm so in love with him it makes me stupid, Kip had said.

Shane was so fucked.

"I hate this bench," Shane said. "I'm sitting on you. It's not for sex."

"Come then," Ilya said, already reaching for him.

With the water, Shane didn't really have to put a lot of weight on Ilya. He did slouch some, to keep himself mostly in the heat and it was only natural to put his head back on Ilya's shoulder. To Shane's surprise, Ilya only kept his arms around Shane's waist, occasionally nuzzling into his temple. They started talking idly about their preseason obligations when a very distinctive sound cut through the air.

"They left the window open," Ilya said giddily.

"Are they-" another moan dropped down from the second story. "They are!"

"Scandal," teased Ilya, nuzzling his nose against Shane's hair. "You know what we need to do."

"We absolutely don't need to do that," Shane said firmly.

Lips trailed down Shane's jaw. "They are having fun. We can have more fun."

Was it Kip or Scott making that noise? It was loose and heedless. Relaxed. Pleasured. Ilya was so close and it had been hours.

"Bad idea," Shane said, but his words got swallowed in a kiss.

They kissed like that for a long time, growing a little dizzy in the heat. Then Ilya got his hands under Shane's ass and lifted him up, standing and turning. Shane automatically wrapped around him, this move practiced between them by now and only helped along by the water. Set down on the edge of the tub, Shane's legs still dangling in the bubbling heat, the last of his good sense disappeared into the rising steam.

When Ilya gave his best 'playful menace' look, all Shane could do was spread his legs for him. It was easily one of Ilya's best expressions and Shane liked almost all of them, so it was difficult to rank. He was rewarded by watching that smile disappear down his body as Ilya gave him a playful slap on the cheek.

Shane, superheated from the water, was only just starting to get hard. He liked getting hard in Ilya's mouth and it didn't happen often. Being in the man's presence was an unbearable turn on that meant it was usually too late by the time Ilya dropped to his knees. Which would be embarrassing if Shane had ever gotten his hand on Ilya's cock and found it even slightly disinterested. This was already off to a good start.

Except Ilya didn't suck Shane's dick. He wound his hands behind Shane's back, bracing him and then in one move, hooked Shane's legs over his shoulders and shoved him backwards.

"Fuck!" Shane hissed, only barely managing to grab the ledge. "Ilya!"

"This makes you so much louder," Ilya said and then his tongue was exactly where Shane liked it most.

The agile thick length drew a circle over Shane's hole and Shane was gone. He couldn't have said what noises he was making. Maybe he was quiet, maybe he was louder than the couple having meaningful make-up sex fifteen feet over the heads. It stopped mattering as Shane's entire awareness funneled down to the point of Ilya's tongue.

Ilya had eaten him out as a prelude before (including that first time, the memory so golden that Shane recalled it more as waves of light than in specifics). He had even taken his time with it once or twice, drawing things out while Shane's spine melted through the bed. It had always been an appetizer though.

This was not an appetizer. Ilya was eating him out like it was his last meal and he wasn't going to miss a single crumb. Shane's brain hung out an 'Out of Order' sign, and then dribbled out his ears. He became a thing of pure want, wrapping his legs around Ilya's shoulders to bring him in closer and rocking against him with needy urgency.

"Touch yourself," Ilya pulled away only long enough to order.

Shane's hand flew to his achingly hard cock. He only needed a few good strokes and he came with his head thrown back and his heels digging into Ilya's back.

Breathless and body humming like a struck tuning fork, Shane accepted Ilya's return to his lips with grateful lassitude. They kissed for all of a second before a new noise intruded.

"Are they clapping?" Shane asked with lethargic bemusement.

"Good performance from a beautiful man. 10 out of 10. They should give it standing ovation," Ilya praised.

"I can't believe we did that," Shane groaned.

"Oh, you can't?" Ilya laughed and kissed him. "You like it. I think you like knowing they could hear."

Did he? Shane shivered a little, more aware of everything cooling, including the come on his stomach.

"A little," he agreed. "But we should've brought a towel or something."

"You do not know Hunter so well yet," Ilya said merrily, reaching over and opening the lid of a plastic trunk that Shane hadn't noticed. Tucked inside were several towels. "Mm, I will put lube and condoms in here for next time."

"You're not fucking me in this hot tub," Shane said automatically.

Wiping at Shane's stomach with one corner of a very soft towel, Ilya didn't even acknowledge Shane's protest. Rude.

He reached for Ilya anyway, drawing him in, towel mashed up between them. "I want to ride you. On the bed. If I fall off the edge of this tub and crack my head, it's going to be fucking embarrassing."

"Mm, fine," Ilya conceded. He gave Shane the towel to wrap around his waist, collected their clothes under one arm, shaking himself off a little, then walked naked into the house.

It was probably bad that Shane's only thought was that he got to watch Ilya's ass flex as he climbed the stairs in front of him. His only excuse was that Ilya's ass was just as much, if not more, a work of art than anything hanging on the walls.

They fucked in their bed, pressed so tightly together that no light could pass between their bodies. Shane wrapped himself around Ilya afterwards, luxuriating in the closeness before the various fluids started to make him itch. Together, they stripped and replaced the sheets afterwards, another quick shower that Ilya chirped at Shane about even though he kissed him slow and sweet all the way through it.

They went to bed together. Nothing remarkable, except for how it entirely was.

The morning dawned and Shane snapped awake, his schedule ground down in his bones. Ilya was sprawled out beside him, face utterly lax with sleep. When Shane carefully sat up and got off the bed, Ilya didn't so much as twitch so he must be deep under.

Drawing on boxers and a t-shirt, Shane hovered for a moment, then decided against waking him. Jet lag was murder and Ilya had dragged himself halfway across the world yesterday. Shane hadn't even remembered to ask him about the summer. Later. There was time, he reminded himself.

For now, he used the bathroom, then slipped out of the room as quietly as he could. Shutting the door behind him, he wavered in the hallway. There was a creak above him, a sign of life. He could go downstairs to the kitchen and get something like breakfast for himself.

Shane wasn't hungry yet. He usually had coffee, worked out, then had breakfast.

Another creak.

The stairs up to the Nest were narrow and a little steep. Shane climbed them with a hand on the banister in a way he normally didn't bother with. Emerging into the bright space was well worth it. The air conditioner had already kicked on, a slight whistle in the air. counteracting the ferocity of the sun coming in through the windows.

Sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs was Scott. He was in the same basic outfit as Shane, his hair sticking straight up in places and both feet propped on an ottoman that was a new addition.

"Good morning," Shane said.

"Good morning," Scott said, saluting him with a mug. "Sleep all right?"

"Yeah. The mattress is fucking great. Where'd you get it from?"

"I'll have to look it up. I've got a whole spreadsheet with receipts from the interior designer."

So they didn't have to talk about last night. That was a relief. Shane made his coffee in one of the thick ceramic mugs that must've been made by an artist. He sat down in the armchair next to Scott's. They were quiet together for a few minutes.

"Question," Scott said. Shit. Shane knew that tone all too well from a thousand locker rooms. Apparently they did have to talk about it. "Did Ilya call you a fox because you scream like a murder victim in the middle of the night or what?"

"Never heard someone have a good time before?" Shane asked, taking a sip of his coffee knowing full well he was going red. "Sad for you."

"There's a 'having good time' moaning and there's 1 am static-scrambled porn noises," Scott said, grinning at him over the rim of his mug.

"I'm sure you guys were just shaking hands," Shane said. "Telling each other 'good game'?"

"It was a nice night, I like the fresh air. And I felt the need to remind someone that I love him."

"Did it work?" Shane asked more seriously.

"I hope so. Sometimes we have to get this shit out of our system on weekends like this or it festers while we're apart."

"I get that," Shane admitted. He had held out months to have conversations in person with Ilya. Sometimes only to realize after they'd crashed together and separated again that they'd never gotten around to saying a word.

"Anything you wanted to do this weekend?" Scott asked.

"I was hoping we didn't have anything planned," Shane admitted. "I've been doing endorsement stuff, press, and a whole bunch of other bullshit for the last two weeks. I want to just veg out."

"No plans then. Sounds good to me too."

Shane meant to go back to looking out the window, but Scott had caught his attention now. Something about he sat slouched as if perfectly relaxed while still giving the impression he could leap to his feet and end a fight with one punch at any second.

There was no reason to tell him anything. Scott pried a lot, but he always backed off too. Wary of pushing until you realized he'd already shoved you off the cliff. It was exhausting to navigate, but it had gotten a little easier with the secrets swept away between them.

"It's the longest we've ever had together," Shane said. Had wanted to say to someone, anyone, desperately. He and Ilya both knew it was true, but they had both been carefully not acknowledging it.

"Is it?" Scott shifted a little. "I didn't really think about that. It's good though, you'll see."

"It's already good," Shane said. "A little too good. I like waking up next to him a lot."

"It's scary, getting the things you want," Scott said it like it was genuinely frightening instead of an idle reassurance. "Gives you something to lose."

"Why did you send a car for me?" Shane asked.

"Do you not want me too?" Scott asked with a frown. "It's just what I do, I guess. For Ilya. For Kip, when he lets me."

"But we're not…that."

Scott shrugged. "I won't if you don't want me to. I just like making sure everyone has what they need."

"You bought a house for us already. That's not enough?"

"Turns out that I don't really know what enough would be. It's a bottomless pit," Scott said. "The house helps."

What was enough? Shane wasn't sure he knew either. The idea unsettled him, so he moved on. "How's the home gym coming along?"

"Almost done. We can use it this morning if you want."

The previously blank basement had gotten a mild facelift since Shane had briefly toured the place in June. A thin carpet had been laid down then been mostly covered with mats. A range of machines and workout equipment had been carefully spaced out around the generous space. There weren't any mirrors, but there was another wall of picture frames. Instead of the heartrending family wall in the Nest, someone here had picked out a series of ads and magazine covers and framed them.

"Did you do this?" Shane asked, the back of his neck hot as he spotted his last Rolex ad and a Sports Illustrated cover that only his parents probably remembered. Between them were several of Scott staring down the viewer with varying degrees of intensity and Ilya sprawled over the years on top of cars, over models, and weirdly in front of sacks of coffee beans.

"That is a Kip original project," Scott said ruefully. "He said it was motivational, but wouldn't say for who."

"It's not helping my concentration," Shane said.

"Mind if I put on some music? Speaker system is decent."

"I don't care. I'll listen to whatever."

Shane was halfway through leg presses when Kip came down the stairs. He apparently had come prepared to join them, giving a cheery enough 'good morning' before running through some stretches. His workout clothes didn't leave much to the imagination.

"That's vanity muscle?" Shane asked in disbelief.

"I'm very very vain," Kip said with a wink. "Leg day?"

"All over day. I'm behind on bulking up."

"What metric are you measuring that by?"

The question was probably meant to be sarcastic, but when Shane started to outline his actual goals, Kip didn't seem to mind. If anything, he asked a lot of follow-up questions. Meanwhile, behind Kip, Scott was going through his routine like someone might shoot him if he got a step wrong. Or maybe he was just thinking about breakfast. Scott's resting face was inscrutably brooding. What did Shane know?

"No one wakes me up for this?" Ilya's head poked down the stairs. "We are all sweating together and I sleep through it?"

"You have jet lag, brat. Your boyfriend was being nice to you."

Boyfriend? Who the fuck-

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Shane froze mid-bicep curl. On the stairs, Ilya's expression ironed into the still, cold edifice that Shane had learned to dread. Shane carefully finished his lift and then set the weight down like he'd already done all his reps. When he glanced up, Ilya had come down three more stairs, but not fully entered the basement. He was staring at Shane.

"You needed to sleep," Shane said, meaninglessly.

"Mm. I will be back in two minutes," Ilya declared, gaze still boring into Shane's. "Will my boyfriend spot me?"

They should probably have an actual conversation about it, but Shane didn't give a fuck. His ears were ringing like he'd been walloped. "Yeah, okay," he said, far, far too softly.

The incandescent smile that went over Ilya's face should be illegal. He charged back up and out of the basement.

When Shane went to glare at Scott, Scott was already on the treadmill which conveniently put his back to Shane.

"He did that on purpose, right?" Shane asked Kip.

Kip winked at him and picked up a kettlebell. His form in a squat was impressive. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Working out around muscular, occasionally attractive, men was part of Shane's job. He was literally a professional at Not Looking. But when Ilya came back downstairs looking a lot like a boy Shane had once encountered in a much shittier gym, all of those years of practice went out the window.

Shane was allowed to look here. As in reminder, Ilya gave Scott a slow up and down on the treadmill than swatted him on the ass.

"What the fuck!" Scott protested, waving his hand vaguely in Ilya's direction like he might hit him back, but he didn't even try to connect. "Leave me alone, brat."

"You are being very annoying this weekend," Ilya said. "Maybe we kick you out and me, Shane and Kip have a sleepover in your bed."

"The way you say thank you is incomprehensible," Scott said tartly and pushed his speed up another notch.

Ilya stalked over to Shane and stood in front of him, arms crossed. It put Shane at eye level with his crotch which was not a view he needed while he was trying to get on with his very strict morning routine. One that included Not Looking.

"You will spot me?" Ilya asked, nudging his knee against Shane's.

"Yeah, if you'll do me," Shane said.

"I will," Ilya said, thick with promise.

"Stop," Shane said weakly.

"No." Ilya smirked at him.

Spotting meant looking. It meant watching the flex of Ilya's arms and the concentration on his face that was all too familiar. It meant getting chirped at until Shane took his place and lifted just as much as Ilya did with just as much ease, all while staring up at his boyfriend's (fuck, fuck fuck) perfect body.

It broke a dam in Shane's head. Even once they'd moved on, Ilya taking Scott's place on the treadmill and Shane sinking into his yoga routine, his eyes kept roving without his permission. Scott was doing side planks with the kind of form that made trainers weep with joy. It showed him off to good effect, the strength of his entire body on display.

Kip was stretched out next to him, doing crunches with a far more relaxed approach, talking at Scott who was only nodding occasionally, but making a lot of mushy eye contact.

It wasn't that Shane meant to look at them exactly. He could do his yoga routine in his sleep by now though and his eyes tended to scan a little. Now they were getting snagged on a calf muscle, a quirk of the lips, or a particularly slow moving bead of sweat dripping down. When Scott lay down with a huff and pulled the hem of shirt up to wipe at his face, Shane wondered if he was being tested. Not by Scott exactly, but by some unseen entity that existed purely to torment Shane in particular.

Fucking around with Kyle had made things seem simple. Kyle hadn't minded Shane's paranoia about secrecy though he had insisted on his apartment over a hotel room which had been nice. Personal. Kyle himself was lithe and fun and sexy. There had been none of the terrible dread that pitted in Shane's stomach the few times he'd tried to have sex with Rose. Kyle was even a little commanding in his way, able to summon a much bigger presence than his initial appearance would suggest.

So Shane figured when the whole brief affair had left him feeling lukewarm at best that he'd been right from the start: Ilya was it for him. Shane wasn't only gay, he was fixated on a single point in the cosmos and that was the end of it. Sure Shane had noticed other men before, but that was normal. You saw someone hot, you made a note, moved on.

Shane was for Ilya and that was that.

Throwing back his head to laugh at something Scott had said, Kip planted his hands behind himself on the mat, making himself a long enticing line. The curl of Scott's grin reconfigured his face, gave him an boyish look. When Scott walked two fingers up Kip's thigh to his hip, Shane followed them. Kip didn't bat Scott's hand away, only lifted his brows and waited until Scott gave in, flattening his hand against Kip's stomach.

They were talking the whole time. Shane had no idea what they'd said. On the treadmill, Ilya's feet smack down to the beat of the music Shane hadn't been listening to.

Somehow, Shane made it through his workout and into the shower without spontaneously combusting or anyone noticing his raging hard on. A miracle of epic proportions.

To his surprise, the day stayed peaceful. Scott oversaw breakfast: eggs and yogurt with granola, then they dispersed through the house in their own pursuits. Shane read outside under the awning and somewhere between hour one and two of that, Ilya arrived, slotted himself between Shane's legs and fucked around on his phone. They were content together, without speaking.

After lunch, they threw a Frisbee around that Ilya unearthed from the garage. It flew all over the front yard, menacing the landscaping a few times. Kip joined them, barefoot again and seemingly unconcerned about that.

"I didn't grow up with a yard," Kip explained, tossing the disc with surprising accuracy at Shane. "I'm making up for lost time."

"Check for ticks!" Scott called from the door.

"You keep saying!" Kip yelled back with a grin. "You could come play!"

"With those two? Absolutely not!"

"Scared, Hunter?" Ilya sing-songed.

"Yes," Scott said without hesitation. "Getting between you two when you're competing is a nightmare scenario."

"It's okay, love, both of them kind of suck at this," Kip assured him.

"No, we fucking don't," Shane said immediately as Ilya snapped, "Take this back."

"You really do. It's kind of sad. Aren't you elite athletes or something?" Then Kip threw a very straight hard pass right at Ilya which Ilya failed to catch. "See?"

"I was not ready!" Ilya protested. "Hollander, you see how he cheats?"

"Grow up, Rozanov," Kip cackled like Ilya didn't out mass him two to one and play a sport that encouraged punching. "You can't be good at everything."

Kip might actually be kind of unhinged, Shane decided. No wonder Scott loved him.

"Okay," Scott sighed and strode across the yard. "We'll even it up. Kip did Ultimate Frisbee in college, so this isn't really fair."

"What the fuck is Ultimate Frisbee?" Ilya demanded.

When it got unbearably hot, they retreated inside. They played video games and when Scott got sick of their shit, he took control of the remote and put on a Guy Fieri show.

"That is not food," Shane said.

"Shut up, Hollander," Ilya said, practically in his ear, apparently transfixed.

To add the to cozy miraculous feel of the day, Ilya made dinner. Shane had vaguely known that Ilya could cook something. The man fed himself, and must've been doing it well enough to keep that physique. It wasn't a complicated meal, just salmon, green beans and mashed potatoes that probably needed a few more minutes. But Ilya served it without any acceptance of praise, only a shrug.

"You can do tomorrow," he said to Shane when he attempted to tell him he'd enjoyed it.

Shane didn't have to ask to go their room after dinner. Ilya led the way and instead of the bed, they wound up on the sofa set in one corner. It had seemed a pointless addition when Shane had first seen it, but he could see the benefit of a built-in living room space now. Sometimes he wouldn't want to be in the general spaces of the house.

"Tell me about the summer," Shane coaxed and with a sigh, Ilya actually did.

"It was not so bad when Sveta was there," he said, draping himself over Shane's lap, laying on his back so he could look up at him. "We went out a few times. Old places that we used to like. But my father is much worse now. I was with him most days. He does not remember me most of the time."

"I'm sorry," Shane said. He laced his fingers into Ilya's hair.

"It is better," Ilya said bitterly.

"Is it really?"

"Yes. He is not a kind man. When he does not remember, he is not kind to a stranger instead of to me."

Fuck. Shane could only nod, acknowledging that. "And your brother?"

"What about him?" Ilya scoffed. "He does not see me unless he must. And then we fight, always."

"About what?"

"Money. He wants. I give. He wants more. I give more. It is never enough."

"What a shithead," Shane said and Ilya gave him a weak smile.

"Yes, very. So. This is my summer. You?"

"I spent a few weeks at the cottage," Shane said. "Two and a half. There was all the Cup day stuff, the parades."

"I hate you," Ilya said with a smirk.

"I know," Shane laughed quietly, but a somberness had stolen into the room. "It was quiet. I mean I did a lot of things I had to do, but it was really quiet."

"You did not come here," Ilya said. "I looked at the calendar a few times. No blue."

"They invited me down. I said no. I wasn't sure how it would be without you," Shane admitted. "I should have tried."

"Next summer you will then."

Next summer. Because this would still be happening next summer. Houses could be sold, but not this one. Not easily. Five names on the paperwork and stakes in some murky shared future. It was the first huge transaction Shane had done without any consultation to his parents. At least there hadn't been money involved. He hadn't had to lie or move cash around. There was paperwork, printed and professional, sealed in Shane's safe in the cottage along with his will and his passport.

"Are we really boyfriends?" Shane asked in a hush.

Ilya gazed up at him with a soft smile. He reached up to cup Shane's face and Shane leaned into the touch. "Yes, I think so."

Shane turned his head to kiss Ilya's palm. The bracelet that Ilya had taken to wearing as devotedly as his mother's necklace caught the light.

"I like that."

"Me too."

Midnight, Ilya's Phone

NYTY: I can hear you pacing. Can't sleep?

BH: Why can you hear me?

NYTY: Can't sleep either. I'm in the kitchen, sitting in the dark. You know. Normal stuff.

BH: When did you tell Kip that you loved him?

NYTY: You were there.

BH: I would remember this.

NYTY: On his birthday. At the Kingfisher.

BH: You were not even together!

NYTY: We made up. Then I told him.

BH: Was it scary?

NYTY: No. You made sure it wasn't. You can tell him, sweetheart.

BH: Soon. I want hot chocolate.

NYTY: It's a million degrees.

BH: Please.

NYTY: Fine. It'll be ready in five.

BH: And a dog.

NYTY: Nice try.

September 2016 - Kip

The screen was starting to go blurry. Kip took off his glasses and closed his eyes for a second. He'd thought coming up here when he was having trouble going back to bed would be a good idea, but only two hours in and he'd already lost his train of thought a half-dozen times. 

Maybe he should try to go back to sleep for a few hours. The house was quiet, Scott gone to practice after accidentally waking him on the way out and apologizing with a few lovely kisses. Svetlana had blown through yesterday, hitting like a whirlwind with gifts from Russia, hugs, and promises to return as she swept back out. Ilya and Shane were likely still sleeping, though Kip was reasonably sure that Ilya was supposed to be getting on his way soon.  

It was unlikely that they would have many more mornings with so many people here for some time, the end of preseason heading towards them like a bullet. They'd had a group dinner to enjoy it last night. It had been good to eat outside, soaking in the last of the summer's warmth. They'd stayed up too late, talking shit and attempting to play ping-pong. A good night.

But now Kip was tired and grumpy with it. He'd have to wind his way back to school at some point today so he was on campus for a Tuesday class. A headache was threatening, a tenseness in his jaw like a terrible premonition. If he could only finish this article and get it back to his co-author then at least he would have time to work through grading tomorrow and maybe not get buried by the week. 

Summoning some willpower, he pried his eyes back open. Which, naturally, was when there were footsteps on the stairs. Kip groaned and paused his 'Focus Up, Motherfucker' playlist. 

Ilya appeared in the doorway, already showered and half-dressed, still pulling on his shirt as waited for Kip acknowledge him. Kip had set the rule that if this was his space, then it could only be entered with permission. To everyone's credit, they obeyed with an adorable childlike strictness.

Bedrooms were more permeable. Kip wasn't sure about staking such a strong claim on an already shared space and he didn't mind occasionally getting a surprise chat that was actually a plea for a cuddle (Ilya) or a polite knock and then a gossipy chat (Sveta). So far Shane had not breached Kip's perimeter at all, still flitting around the edges of the house, finding the little pockets that he wanted to make himself at home in. 

"Come in," Kip said.

"Headache?" Ilya asked immediately.  

"How can you tell?" 

"You are glaring at me and the sun and the desk and the world. You only do that when you're in pain." 

Scott hadn't even noticed that yet as far as Kip knew. Kip wasn't sure he'd fully known it about himself. Sometimes Ilya was the most perplexing person on earth. What he noticed and what he didn't could fill books. 

"I'll be okay if I take something before it gets worse. Did you come say goodbye?" 

"Yes and..." Ilya trailed off, then pursed his lips together. "I was going to ask a favor, but if you are not well than I do not want to be too much." 

"Just ask, I can say no," Kip assured him. 

"You will not because you are nice," Ilya said, "but maybe it will be good for you too. I'm worried Shane might not be in such a good head if I leave right now, but I have to." 

"Why not?" 

Ilya sat on the edge of Kip's desk like the biggest cliche of a student trying to get a better grade.  "We had a good kind of morning, but maybe not the best idea when I have to go." 

"Ah, got it. Now I'm just jealous. Scott left at dawn. What do you want me to do?"

"Keep him company? He will say he does not need anything, but he does not have to leave for a few hours and I think it will be bad if he sits around alone. Already, he is...mm. What did you say last week? Ants in pants." 

"I did say that. I was channeling my dad, let's never speak of it again," Kip said. "What's he doing right now?" 

"Packing. But that will take him five minutes, even if he double checks everything three times. He has not eaten yet. Did you?" 

That was a good point. "I could do with breakfast. Did you eat?"

"I will put an order in at Dunkin'," Ilya said as if that was self-evident.

"Seriously, what is your metabolism? It's unfair." Kip shut down his laptop. He wasn't making meaningful progress anyway. "I'll go get something started. I wouldn't mind some oatmeal this morning anyway."

The face Ilya made was so childish that Kip had to laugh.

"Okay, eat your horse food. Thank you."

Ilya leaned down and kissed Kip's cheek like that was a regular occurrence, before disappearing back down the stairs. Kip smiled to himself, despite the incipient throb in his head. Whatever gateway the house had opened inside Ilya, it had left him a little softer around the edges. At least within these walls. From what Kip could tell, he was the same rage-baiting danger on skates everywhere else.

Fine, let the outside world have Rozanov. It was delightful to have Ilya in here.

A quick stop to swallow down a few pills, then Kip made his way down to the kitchen. The rumble in the garage suggested Ilya was leaving in whatever candy-colored growling beast he'd driven here in. Kip liked being a passenger when Ilya drove short distances, but the idea of doing a three-hour-long drive in one of those things sounded like torture.

Making the executive decision that it was an apples in oatmeal kind of day, Kip started cutting one up as Shane came down the stairs. Whatever he and Ilya had gotten up to, it was all neatly hidden under a t-shirt and sweatpants To Kip's eye, Shane seemed normal enough, but he didn't know him well enough yet to really gauge it.

"Good morning," Kip said. "Are you for or against fruit in your oatmeal?"

"Depends on the fruit," Shane said, then took in the kitchen. "Are you making some?"

"Mhm. Yes to apples?"

"Apples are good," Shane said. "Can I do anything?"

"You can sit and keep me company. It's not like it's hard to make and it's mostly waiting."

Shane didn't sit, but he did step into the kitchen properly and hover around the island. Antsy. Right.

"Did you have coffee yet? I could use another cup if you want to put a pot on."

Shane sprang into action. He was fascinating to watch though Kip tried not to stare and make him uncomfortable. Scott and Ilya were both graceful in their ways, but there was an economical precision to Shane that they didn't show in their day-to-day. There was a method to everything he did, an exactitude that Kip appreciated even if he couldn't emulate it. It was if he had honed himself as sharp as his skates, a blade made to slice through life as easily as it went across the ice.

"Are you playing in a game this week or are you exempt from the preseason?" Kip asked. He did already vaguely know the answer, but hockey made Shane comfortable.

"I'm in one of them, but they're more for show than anything. I have to go back for press. Lots of 'how do you think the season will go' type interviews," Shane said wryly.

"Right, I forgot you're a hockey psychic," Kip said, dumping the diced apples in with the oats and giving it all a stir.

"Wouldn't that be nice," Shane said, leveling off the grounds in the scoop with the back of a butter knife. "They just want me to smile and nod and say everything is great. Part of the job."

"Scott does that too," Kip agreed. "He gets all serious about it. It's adorable. Very somber captain's face. But I know he's thinking about how he'd rather be in the gym."

"Same," Shane agreed.

"Meanwhile, Ilya is winking and sweating and telling them all he's going to arm wrestle a bear after he wins the cup."

When you were a smallish out gay guy in high school, there were only so many coping mechanisms available to you socially. Kip had gone the predictable route. He'd found girls that thought he was funny and sweet (and sometimes a pet which was less ideal, but one made do) to hide among. From there he cautiously ventured out into the world of men. The sweetness didn't do him much good out in the testosterone-soaked sphere, but the funny was always useful. Making people laugh was a buffer, a safety net, and an an excellent way to tell straight guys that you were no threat to them. Even if it did sometimes chafe.

But it was different as he made his home with these men who were not straight, but had been entirely deprived of queer culture and had the kind of trauma that afternoon cable TV fed on. Coaxing them into laughter didn't feel like he was appeasing a hungry, easily-angered pack of slavering wolves. Instead, it felt he'd blew aside dark clouds to let a little sunshine in.

Scott laughed very easily these days and it made his eyes wrinkle up at the edges so sweetly that it was addictive. Ilya was a little tougher, but when Kip got him, it lit him up from the inside out, wiping away years of cynical shellac.

Still, Kip thought that Shane's was the most rewarding. His laugh was physical more than it was a sound. It made his shoulders shake and his head bow a little like he was trying to hide how funny he found it in the first place.

So Kip would take that laugh as a win, along with coffee and oatmeal. They ate it outside at the the table Scott had arrange close to the railing. Everything smelled green.

"Are you heading back today too?" Shane asked.

"Yeah. Haven't decided when yet. I'd like to see Scott before I go. It's about to get pretty lonely around here."

Shane's face never gave much away. It was one of the first things Kip had learned about him. He wasn't even sure it was intentional or if so many years of trying to hide had rendered his mask permanent. Emotion had to be read in Shane's hands, in the bob of his throat, and the twitches in his hands. Ants in his pants. Twitchy.

"I hate how much I'll miss it here," Shane said. Or he could just tell you how he felt. Stark and unafraid. Good for him.

"It's a good place," Kip said. "We'll miss you too, you know."

Shane frowned. "Will you? I mean you and Scott are here together a lot, right?"

"Well, yeah. A lot is relative though." It never seemed like enough. Not really. "I don't live here any more than you do. And Scott lies about how often he's here."

"He does?"

"Not big lies, just that he doesn't always match the dates on the calendar if no one else pops up. He always tells me where he really is. But he hates staying here alone, so usually even if he has practice out here, he goes back to the city still. I guess he lies to himself, I should say. Pretends that he will."

Shane shook his head and before Kip could raise a defense, Shane said, "Yeah, I get that. I'd probably do that too."

"Scott was saying you guys have plans for the October 28th Montreal game, at least?"

"Yeah, one of our 'inter-team building exercises' or whatever the fuck he's calling it now," Shane said, not without some warmth. "Hayden wants to go to an arcade. Something about challenging Huff at skeeball? I have no idea."

"You're close with him, right? Hayden?"

"He's my best friend."

"But he doesn't know."

"No," Shane said and picked up his water glass, chugging about half of it.

"Would you ever tell him?"

"No."

Nothing to argue with there. Kip let it go. "Okay. When is your car coming?"

"Twelve."

Four hours. Kip's head was clearing up a little, but not enough that going back up to finish work appealed. Fuck it. Ilya had given him an assignment and even if Shane seemed fine, Kip should take it seriously.

"You want to watch something? I don't really want to workout, I've got a killer headache."

Which was how Kip discovered that Shane was the perfect Love It or List It companion. Whatever facade of Canadian nice boy had remained intact in Kip's presence cracked and peeled away when Shane was exposed to people making baffling real estate choices.

"They're going to have to gut that whole kitchen, are they fucking blind?" Shane complained. "It's more dated than my Dad's jokes."

"Tell me how you really feel," Kip laughed.

"They're totally blowing their budget for substandard bathroom fixtures and a shitty paint job. That's how I feel. And what's with this guy's whole attitude? Why does he keep fighting with his wife for a house he doesn't even like?"

"The central question of almost every episode," Kip said gravely.

"His wife should divorce him. What a fucking dick," Shane fumed.

"I can't believe I didn't see it before," Kip said, delighted.

"What? That their marriage is a sham? I think it's pretty obvious."

"No! That your very butch persona is hiding the fact that you're very bitchy. I'm very into it. Excellent disguise."

"Thank you?" Shane blinked. "Being bitchy isn't a good thing. Is it?"

"It is in this situation," Kip assured him. "These people can't hear us. Fuck them. Look at that abstract monstrosity of a print they have on their wall. It screams 'I have no taste'."

"It's ugly as shit," Shane agreed.

Towards the end of the episode, Shane got quieter. He'd started checking his phone periodically, his knee bobbling a little every time he didn't find what he was looking for. The tension worked his way into him limb by limb. Okay. Good call, Ilya.

It had been mentioned to Kip that he was occasionally too blunt. So far, operating this way had gotten him a hot, pro-athlete boyfriend and into an Ivy League graduate program, so he figured it was working for him. Time to figure out if it worked with Shane.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine."

"So you're not getting anxious and spacing out because Ilya had to run out the door this morning?"

Shane's nostrils flared. Fun new sign to add to the Body Language of Hollander and You booklet that Kip wasn't writing.

"No."

"Okay. So we can pretend that's true or you can tell me what would help. Hug? Hot drink? Blowjob?"

"What?" Shane's voice cracked. Kip should not be having fun right now. This was not a fun moment. Be serious, Grady. Scott would be so disappointed if after all his hard work bringing Shane into the fold, Kip ran him off. Ilya might actually kill him.

"I'm just saying you need something to take the edge off and I'm available."

"I don't need-"

"Nope," Kip cut him off. "Listen, I know you're used to doing this on your own, but you're not a lone right now. You helped me with my stupid breakdown, let me help you with your totally reasonable one."

"I didn't."

"I get to decide that," Kip said firmly. "What would help?"

Shane's left hand twitched. His right tapped the pocket with his phone. Not helpful, it wasn't like Kip could summon Ilya.

"He plays with your hair, right? I can do that," Kip offered.

Aside from a handshake, Kip and Shane hadn't touched. That was about as much as Scott had managed too. But Kip knew when someone was checking him out, not matter how subtle they thought they were being. He knew Shane approved of Kip's body, even if hadn't occurred to him that it might be something he could reach for.

"I'm not sure it would be the same."

"It absolutely won't," Kip said. He held up his hands to Shane. "Pretty sure these are smaller, but they do still work. I am fantastic at back scratches if that appeals. You don't have to lean on me for that, just bend forward a little."

With a reluctant sound, Shane bent forward and planted his elbows on his thighs. From this angle, it was obvious how he tanked hits from guys built like Ilya and kept going. Shane was enormous in his own right, hidden by shapeless clothes. With the fabric of his t-shirt pulled a little tighter, the breadth of him was beautiful.

Shane, in total, was beautiful. Tired, sad, and beautiful. Maybe Kip had a type beyond 'gym rat'.

Kip scratched Shane rhythmically through his t-shirt, glad he hadn't gotten around to trimming his nails like he'd meant to last night. They were still very blunt, but long enough to get the job done. When Shane's shoulders started to relax, Kip drifted from scratching to rubbing, getting in small circles along the spine.

On TV, the couple chose to love it and then drifted into commercials. Very slowly, so slowly that Kip almost missed it, Shane leaned in towards him. Cautiously, Kip slid his hand to Shane's shoulder encouragingly.

With a soft sigh a few minutes later, Shane put his head on Kip's shoulder. It seemed like a request more than anything, so Kip tentatively tripped his fingers into Shane's hair. The weight against Kip increased, an unmistakable letting go. Score!

The comments restarted, Shane listing complaints about 'cheap new builds' and 'poor sustainability plans' in a lower voice with less swearing. He had very little opinion of interior design in the specific, but loathed anything that closed off a house to light or made rooms seem cramped.

It was very endearing. Kip's headache faded. When the episode ended, Shane went a little stiff again.

"Were you fucking around about the blowjob thing or is that…I don't really know what the deal is with us," Shane said. "Are we like in-laws? Friends? Like our boyfriends fuck so that makes us…what?"

"There's a term for it. Metamour. I like 'friend' too," Kip said. He had settled his hand on Shane's upper back a few minutes ago and he left it there now, not wanting him to read it as rejection. "I wasn't kidding though. You're very hot and I have pretty low impulse control around hot guys historically."

"Would it be okay? After?"

"I'd be fine," Kip said. "I can't speak for anyone else."

"Ilya," Shane started then stopped.

"It's up to you if you want to let him get away with being a huge hypocrite. I'm the only person in the house that he hasn't fucked."

"Why hasn't he?" Shane asked and to his credit, there wasn't an edge to it. Just a question.

"You'd have to ask him. Best guesses are either he's not attracted to me or he thinks it would upset Scott."

"Would it?"

"I'd have to ask Scott. He's implied that he'd be okay with it, but implied and outright stating are different things."

Shane sat up, scrubbing both hands over his face. "This doesn't fuck with your head at all, does it?"

"Mm, no. Not really," Kip shifted too, tucking one ankle under his other leg so he could stay angled towards Shane. He weight his options and decided on sharing. "My mom ran out on us when I was nine."

"I'm sorry," Shane said, a frown etching onto his handsome face. "That sucks."

"It was better than her picking at my dad all the time. They were a good match in the beginning. Or Dad says they were. They loved each other." The story was old, ironed out. Kip could talk about it without much feeling bleeding in these days. "But she wanted a different life than she got. So she left. Moved out to California and started a career as a jazz singer. After a year or two, she missed me, so I'd go out and spend summers with her when she could afford the flight. She runs through guys like water. Dad never dated again. I don't think he's interested in dating, really, but the heartbreak didn't help. I'm not telling you this for sympathy. I just never grew up thinking believing in the 'one true love' thing."

"Even Scott?" Shane asked helplessly.

"I love Scott," Kip said it and he meant it with everything he had. "If what he wanted was just the two of us forever, I'd make it work. I'd probably be happy. But he came with an attachment and it's taken a lot of the pressure off, honestly. My little tantrum last month aside."

"You didn't have a tantrum," Shane said with an iron surety that was very sweet. "I know some guys who can really throw one. You didn't even raise your voice. It was polite."

"Thank you," Kip said. "Anyway, I know monogamy works for people. But I'm glad I don't have to do it. So no, it doesn't fuck with my head. Scott and Ilya make sense. You and Ilya make sense. Me sometimes kissing Sveta is a little out of character, admittedly, but she's really cool."

"You're gay."

"Yep. Very."

"And Sveta…"

"Is a good kisser," Kip supplied, smiling a little. "Someone had to teach Ilya that."

Shane huffed, then said with a hint of a smile, "He is a really good kisser."

"I can tell. You go all gooey. It's sweet."

"No, it's not," Shane protested, but he was smiling a little more. "So what? If we kiss, have you collected all of us?"

Was Shane actually coming around to the idea? Kip grinned. "Nope. Me and Ilya haven't made out either. We have shared a bed, but it was sleeping only and Scott is a pretty big barrier to cross."

There was a spark in Shane's eyes now and Kip laughed. "Are you thinking about kissing me so you can win something over on him?"

"Yes?" Shane winced. "Sorry."

"I suggested the blowjob. A make out would be tame in comparison. But if you want to check in with him first, I get it."

Shane touched the pocket with his phone it again, then glanced shyly at Kip. "For real?"

"Very much for real," Kip said. "Like I said, you're hot. I'm pretty sure I'll enjoy kissing you."

Without another word, Shane walked out of the room, already dialing. Here's to hoping Ilya didn't crash his very expensive car. Weighing things and checking the time, Kip shot off a text too.

LOML: Might kiss Jane. You have three minutes to make any objections.

Scott: I just spit Gatorade on the rookie.

LOML: Kinky.

Scott: Why are you kissing Jane?

LOML: Very kissable face. 11/10 want to kiss.

Scott: Lily might have a few things to say.

LOML: She doesn't scare me.

Scott: You are the bravest person I know.

LOML: Nope, just very horny. All good?

Scott: I don't have a say in who you kiss.

LOML: You don't, but I'm giving you the option to have a say this time. Extenuating circumstances.

Scott: I'm a little jealous, but I think I'm mostly pissed I can't be there to see it.

LOML: Not sure how he feels about an audience.

Scott: Hot tub.

LOML: That was so hot. It was like they were in our room. Surround sound porn.

Scott: I can't talk about this right now or I'm going to have a bigger problem than Gatorade. I have to get paper towels for the rookie. Kiss him with my blessing if you want it.

LOML: Thanks! Love you!

Scott: Love you too

Shane was gone for more than five minutes. Kip kept the TV on, listening the white noise of it. Usually his most impulsive hookups happened under the influence, but he was content to be sober for this. It felt more honest. In a bid to keep himself occupied, Kip checked his school email and replied to a nervous student who had sent him several paragraphs on why their paper might be late. It still baffled him that he was somehow the authority figure in these moments, but he thought he was handling it okay.

"I learned a new word in Russian," Shane said coming back in with a very smug look. A very Ilya look.

"A curse word?"

"Da," Shane said. "But I think he was kind of proud that I asked at all. He seemed to think I didn't have to do that."

"Did you ask him when you hooked up with Kyle?" Kip asked.

"No, but we weren't boyfriends then."

"Did you talk about what 'boyfriends' meant?"

Shane's eyes cut away across the room. "No."

"Might be time for that. But for now, your lack of boundaries is my win unless you changed your mind?"

"If I don't like it, you won't take it personally?"

"Not sure how else I could take it," Kip said wryly. "But I'll accept that you are immune to my many charms and treat you exactly the same."

"Okay," Shane said, then didn't move, his thumbs tucked in his pockets and his eyes anywhere, but Kip.

On someone else it would be a clear rejection, but Shane radiated interest in his own way.

"You gotta sit down," Kip said with a smile. "I'll come to you, but I need a little leveling of the playing field so no one gets a neck cramp."

As if pulled on a string, Shane sat down on the couch, still a few feet away. Kip grinned and crossed the distance. He could've sat more chastely at Shane's side, but why pretend? Kip put his hands on Shane's shoulders and straddled his lap, planting his knees on either side of Shane's thighs. For a moment, Shane froze, but then his hands remembered the way and the alighted on Kip's waist.

"Hi," Shane said thickly.

"Hey," Kip said softly. "You say the word and I'm gone, okay?"

"Okay."

Up close, Shane was even better looking which was deeply unfair. No wonder Ilya sighed over the freckles and soft brown eyes. It was a killer combo with that bone structure. When Kip pressed his lips to Shane's, he found those soft too.

One kiss was sweet, the next a little deeper, and then it was hypnotic. When Shane's grip on him tightened, Kip took that as permission to start exploring. He ran his hands down Shane's back, dipping lower than he'd dared before and pressed himself closer. There was minty smell that clung to Shane, made him taste fresh and new. It was delightful.

When Shane's hand dropped lower, then hesitated, Kip reached for it and put it on his ass. "Free range groping approved."

Scott had big hands. Kip was maybe a little obsessed and could no longer settle for a guy that couldn't palm his ass like a basketball. Lucky for him, Shane came well equipped for that and once permission was granted, happy to knead like he was making bread. Kip moaned into Shane's mouth.

It was mostly accidental that Kip's hand landed on Shane's neck, part of a roving exploration. When he gave an experimental squeeze, aiming more for massage, Shane's breath caught. Right. Kip knew that theoretically about him in a way that felt slightly illicit now. He did it again more deliberately and Shane's hips hitched upward.

"Mm, you like that," Kip determined and pulled away to nip at Shane's jawline.

"Yeah," Shane said shakily.

"You are really delicious," Kip told him, and trailed his lips up to one earlobe, giving it another experimental nip. He could feel Shane going liquid and easy beneath him.

If Kip hadn't been hard before, he certainly was now. A guy like Shane going pliable and wanting was a harrowing turn on. Kip went back to Shane's lips, indulging both of them in more long kisses though he did add in a little self-serving grinding down. Shane's erection was twitching like his hands, knocking against Kip through layers of cloth.

"We can stop," Kip said, pulling back enough that Shane could meet his eyes if he wanted. For a second, Shane chased after him with a wanting mouth like he hadn't heard. Kip gave him another kiss because that was insatiably adorable, before really pulling away. "We said making out and I'm getting some strong 'get naked' feelings."

"I don't want to stop," Shane said. He didn't look up, but he sounded sincere.

"I'm like five seconds from whipping my cock out of my pants," Kip told him. "That is not making out behavior."

Shane rested his hand on Kip's chest. Not pushing away, just resting. "Maybe…just hands?"

"Yeah, okay," Kip said, immediately breathless. "Hands are good."

Hands were fucking excellent, actually. They didn't even take anything off. As soon as he had permission, Shane shoved his hand right down the front of Kip's loose shorts and Kip was absolutely not going to complain about that. He returned the favor, drawing Shane's cock out and admiring it for a second (of course he had a fucking gorgeous one, was there even a question?) before pressing them together again, Shane's hand wrapped around both of them.

It wasn't a hardship to keep a strong grip on the back of Shane's neck as Kip rode his palm and kissed him with increasing urgency.

"So good," Kip said senselessly, "you're so good at that. More..ah!"

It was instantly a mess and got substantially worse with Kip coming like he hadn't been thoroughly dicked down fourteen hours ago. It didn't seem to turn Shane off though as he bit off a grunt and came too. Kip kissed him through it.

"That was…" Shane trailed off, wide-eyed.

"I liked it," Kip said, sitting back just enough to pull of his shirt and use it to wipe them both off a little, before tucking Shane's cock back into his underwear. "You're ridiculously sexy, do you know that? Lethal."

"Thanks," Shane said, and then a little shyly, "you're hot too."

"Thanks," Kip said brightly. He felt amazing, high off the orgasm and having made Shane smile at him like that. "God, I feel like I could do anything right now. And also like I want to take a nap."

Shane huffed a laugh and he tipped forward a little to drop his forehead to Kip's chest. Taking that as invitation, Kip wrapped his arms around around him, instead of getting off his lap.

"That was crazy. I can't believe I did that," Shane said right into Kip's pecs.

"I mean, I can. No pressure, but if you ever want to do it again, I am very game."

"As friends?" Shane asked, voice muffled.

"Yep," Kip said and rested his chin in Shane's hair. "Very friendly handjobs are on the table. Possible negotiations for amicable blowjobs to come. Who knows? One day, companionable penetration."

That made Shane laugh for real and Kip grinned in triumph. Maybe not how Ilya had intended their morning to go when he'd asked for a favor, but he'd been right about one thing: it had been good for both of them.

The timing wiped any potential awkwardness away. Shane had to leave only a handful of minutes later, but he did give Kip a one-armed shy hug before dashing off to the waiting towncar at the gate.

Fully revived, Kip went back to his office and finished off the article. By the time Scott got home, he'd even done some of his grading. The sound of the garage door opening lifted his head though and he dashed downstairs. Poor Scott barely had time to put down his bag before Kip was throwing his arms up around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

"Hi," Scott said happily. "Had a good day?"

"So good." He might've been climbing Scott like a tree. A little. Barely noticeable. "How hungry are you?"

"Not so hungry I can't eat you first," Scott said.

"Excellent answer."

They fucked with the windows open because they both enjoyed the fresh air on their skin. Scott was such a thorough lover that Kip was still overwhelmed by him even after two years together. When they were locked together, Scott fucking into him in Kip's favorite languid rhythm, Scott whispered, "Tell me about it?"

So Kip described how Shane was both hard and soft, the way he'd been breathy and wanting, and silently demanding. He told Scott about the art of Shane's orgasm, how his mouth had fallen open as if in surprise and his eyelids had fluttered closed.

They had only ever played this game in reverse with Scott telling Kip about some moment with Ilya that had been particularly sexy. Nothing vulnerable or private, just the beauty of a moment or the feral reality of a bite.

It worked just as well this way. They both came with each other's names on their lips even with the ghost of another body conjured between them.

"You're really okay with it?" Kip checked as they got in the shower.

"Yeah," Scott said and he did seem okay. "I like him."

That stirred an idea in Kip, but he waited until they were sitting down to dinner to form in it into a question.

"Are you more jealous that I hook up with strangers or more worried about me?"

Scott frowned, eyebrows coming together. "I worry all the time, that's just background radiation, love. I'm working on it."

"I know that. I mean do you think the reason you're not as jealous of Shane is that you know him and you think he's safe? Like how Sveta and me didn't bother you or Sveta and Ilya."

"Ilya was getting up to way more with strangers than you and it didn't bother me nearly as much," Scott said. "It was basically a hobby of his for a few years there."

"Okay, that's true," Kip conceded. "But you also think of him as tougher than me. I know that. Which like…fair. He punches people as part of his job and the last fight I had was in second grade."

"Over what?" Scott asked.

"Johnny Caldwick said I ate bugs," Kip recalled. "I strongly disagreed."

"Did you win?"

"Yes," Kip said with some satisfaction. "I punched him in the throat. Mostly by accident. Dad had to come pick me up from school and tell them I was having a rough time at home which was ridiculous. Not the point though."

"Right, sorry. I'm stuck on that image," Scott admitted with far too much fondness. "I can see little Kip giving a bully a wallop and it's really cute."

"You're not getting out of this conversation," Kip warned him. "No matter how many times you compliment me."

"Okay, okay," Scott sighed. "Yeah, I'm sure me being an overprotective douchebag is part of it. I know you can handle yourself. It's not rational and I know it's not great."

"It's a little rational," Kip conceded. "But I am careful."

"Okay. Do you think Ilya is actually comfortable with all this or is it going to be a thing?"

"We'll find out. In like…five weeks? I feel like it's going to be forever until I see everyone again."

"I'll be in Jersey in two weeks," Scott reminded him. "I'll come down, spend part of the night."

"I know, but I got spoiled over the summer."

"You can always use the apartment if you want to spend a few nights in the city with your friends," Scott reminded him.

"I won't really have time either," Kip admitted. "Things are getting busier. I'll be okay. Especially if we can fit in some video calls."

"Always," Scott promised.

To say that Kip was lonely over the next two weeks wasn't precisely fair. He talked to Elena every Thursday night, the two of them catching each other up as if they'd missed a lifetime with each other. He took the train into the city and met up with Shawn to see a gallery show of college friend. There were his students and professors, days packed with things to do.

He was busy and fulfilled, but his dorm room was not an airy bedroom in a house full of people he cared about.

One Week Later - Kip's Phone

Sveta: I heard an interesting rumor about you.

Kip: It's true. I did get in a fight with my Masculinity in Modern Art professor, but it only made him like me more somehow, so I might wind up with a new advisor which I did not think was something you could do. I'm being poached.

Sveta: That is very exciting. Almost as exciting to hear that you kissed Jane.

Kip: I would argue they're about equal. Both might prematurely end my life.

Sveta: Lily seems very torn about it. It's very funny.

Kip: Can't wait to talk to Lily about it then. We can compare notes.

Sveta: Or you could tell me.

Kip: Seems like an in-person conversation. Possibly with wine.

Sveta: I'll be in the city this weekend. Come out to play?

Kip: I'm yours.

Sveta: 💙

One Week After That- Scott's Phone

NYTY: You good?

BH: Yes. You?

NYTY: Surprisingly fine. I think this year's rookies might be actual babies though. Why do they keep getting younger?

BH: I think everyone looks young to you now, Captain T-Rex.

NYTY: Laugh now, you'll see. You're two seasons away from someone using slang you've never heard of.

BH: It is always slang I've never heard of, but I learn because my brain is still quick and yours is very slow.

NYTY: You and Jane talking or have we lapsed into sulky silence again?

BH: We are talking. But with everything starting, Jane gets very focused. I think we are okay.

NYTY: Maybe distract Jane a little. Help the rest of us out.

BH: Fuck you, never. I like watching Jane win when it's not against me. Almost as good as doing it myself.

NYTY: Wow. It really must be love.