Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Multi

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Scott Hunter/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Kip Grady/Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander/Scott Hunter, Kip Grady/Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov/Svetlana Vetrova, Rose Landry/Svetlana Vetrova, Shane Hollander/Scott Hunter/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Ilya Rozanov/Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Kip Grady

Additional Tags:

Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Light Dom/sub

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Tearing Down Our Walls

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-24 Updated: 2026-10-22 Words: 154,767 Chapters: 9/10

Brick by Brick

Summary

“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”
― Maya Angelou

Notes

With a thousand thanks to Internerdionality, my first reader and beta for this series.

A Note About Pairings: For now the tags will stick to duos, but there will be threesomes etc as things unfold. I will try to add them to the tags as they happen.

A Note About Tags In General: I will likely add tags as the story progresses as well. I'm not entirely sure where each path will lead yet, so didn't want to jump the gun. I will also add anything I think needs a specific warning to the chapter notes should that arise. If you feel I've missed something that should be signposted, please let me know.

Chapter 1: The Pigeon and The Loon

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.

Chapter 2: Cigarette Cases and Crinkled Paper

Chapter Notes

As always, many thanks to Internerdionality for beta/first read/being awesome.

This chapter is a single POV (most will be two. probably).

October 2016 - Ilya

"You coming out?" Marley asked, leaning in while Ilya assembled himself back into the dress-code-approved suit.

"No," Ilya said. "I leave early in the morning."

"Big dog on his big day," Marley said, elbowing him in the ribs. "Can't believe you're getting that Nike bag, brother. Good for you."

"Very good for me. Good for you too when I buy a few rounds."

"A few rounds!" Marley shook his head. "You owe me at least six right now."

"I do not remember this," Ilya said. "I think maybe you hit your head again? Are you going to be sick? Medic!"

"You're so full of shit. Are you still flying with the team to Pittsburgh on Friday or should I ask Vinnie if he wants to get cozy with me?"

"I will sit next to you," Ilya said with a shake of his head. "Hold your hand so you don't get lost in the airport."

"Fuck you," Marley said happily. "Great. See you then."

The press were gone already. It had been an unremarkable game and they'd bantered around questions in the room, then dissipated as quickly as they arrived to chew over stale news. Ilya drove home without anyone else slowing him down and took off the suit even faster than he'd put it on. What he should do was have some kind of recovery meal, then go to bed so he could be up with the dawn to get to the city on time. That was the plan. The very safe plan, made for him by very safe men.

Checking his phone, he found the Admirals vs. Metros game had resolved in 2-1 win for the Admirals. They had wrapped up twenty minutes ago. Within an hour, Shane and Scott would be in Sleepy Hollow.

There was absolutely no way Ilya was sleeping alone tonight. He changed, grabbed a protein shake and got right back in the car. Why anyone thought he could be held to a plan that kept him alone in Boston when he could have the best kind of company, Ilya couldn't say.

The drive was familiar after all these years and was even easier now that it ended earlier. Ilya had playlists on his phone, but he let the Top 40 radio sing to him instead. The voices of after dark DJs had always had an appeal to him, the way they sunk into a hypnotically lower tones as the night wore on as if they too were sinking into a dreamlike state.

He sang along to "I Took a Pill in Ibiza", but otherwise, let the music wash over him. On the passenger seat, his phone screen lit up. Alexei. He let it go to voicemail. Let his brother yell into the void for once. Maybe he knew Ilya had a game tonight, but likely he didn't. Whatever awareness he used to have about Ilya's career had vanished over the last year or so, along with the last of their father's short-term memories.

Without his father to pass on the specifics, Alexei resorted to the classics. Ungrateful, lazy, stupid, and a degenerate of the worst kind, all said with casual disdain and a demand for more. Ilya stepped on the gas and heard his brother's voice with the same clarity that he would've if he had picked up the phone.

The hatred chased him through Connecticut. Whenever he knew he had an unguarded straightaway, Ilya pushed the car to inadvisable speeds. The drive to Sleepy Hollow was three and a half hours without traffic. Ilya usually made it in three hours and fifteen minutes. Tonight, he got there in three hours and five minutes. Then he sat in the car, in the garage, and took in deep, even breaths.

Ruthlessly, Ilya shoved down all the jagged angry pieces of himself, so he wouldn't cut someone he actually gave a shit about. Yes, Galina, he could learn. He could be taught. Pulled stubbornly along one horrible session at a time.

When he was nearly ready, he picked up his phone like it had thorns and shoved it into his hoodie pocket without looking at it. He thumbed the button on the side to silence it. Maybe he'd sit in the kitchen or the Nest for awhile, trying to deny his desire to smoke until he could finish the job.

It was well past 1 am. The living room was dark when he stepped into it, but the light had been left on over the staircase. Ilya paused, taking stock of that. Usually Scott was a big fan of turning off lights and he imagined that Shane would be too. Had they anticipated him or just been too tired to consider it?

Either way, it was a beacon. Ilya, moth to the flame, went up the steps two at a time.

The door to his and Shane's room was slightly ajar. Intentional then and not from Scott. Shane did not like open doors as a rule. Ilya slipped inside. The lights were all off, but the curtains were open, moonlight spilling in. The covers were mounded on the right side of the bed, perfectly smooth on the left.

He was expected. Anticipated. Wanted.

For thirteen years, Ilya hadn't considered anywhere home. The apartment he'd grown up in, cold and austere, had lost anything homelike about it with a handful of chalky white pills. Boston was good, a city he enjoyed once he adjusted to it. He liked his house that was perfectly to his taste and held most of his favorite things. But it was a place he existed in alone and if he had to sell it, he wouldn't even think twice about it.

Scott's apartment had been the closest he'd had to home, but it hadn't belonged to Ilya. The borrowed pockets of time that Ilya spent there had always felt safe in a way nowhere else did though. Food was prepared for him there and his preferences catered too, not in the way of a hired person, but in that way when someone simply liked you and wanted your life to be a little easier.

When Scott had finally given Ilya a key to the apartment, it had come with a note. Be kind to him and yourself. The place is yours. Whenever you want. -S

But the apartment had still not been Ilya's. Not really. Just like Shane hadn't been his yet.

Now there was this. A staircase with a light on. A room. A boyfriend.

Upstairs, his mother's picture hung on a wall between Sveta's graduation photo and Ilya and Shane's draft day picture. There was a mug that he favored that hung on a ridiculous 'tree' next to the coffee maker. The over-engineered fridge had a smart screen that displayed the overlapping schedules of five very busy people. Ilya's assigned color was brown, lacing in among Shane's blue, Scott's red, Sveta's green, and Kip's purple, all equal in value. There was an ashtray on the railing of the deck, thick blown glass with a rainbow ribbon shot through it, left there without comment. There was a drawer in the walk-in closet attached to their room with a label inside that Ilya had discovered only on his third stay: 'For the Magpie'.

The primary collection remained in Boston where Ilya preferred it (needed it), but he had a few little things in there now too.

Was that what made a home? A few little things? Most of them so small as to be invisible to the naked eye?

Ilya stared at the shape Shane made under the duvet. He shucked off his clothes and tossed them in the hamper. Then he got into his side of the bed.

"Hey," Shane said in a low rumble.

"Hello," Ilya said and reached for him.

Scooting back, Shane settled under his arm, rubbing his cheek against the pillow a little. Then he seemed to fall back asleep. Cautiously, Ilya pressed his lips to the back of Shane's neck, then another. Shane went even heavier against him, his breathing even and light.

Trust. Comfort. Warmth.

A few little things.

Ilya kissed Shane's neck a last time and fell asleep too, no longer even a little jagged.

The alarm very rudely woke him about five minutes later.

Okay, it was probably five hours, but Ilya felt entitled to groan and tighten his grip on Shane.

"Ilya," Shane said in that way that meant he was trying to hide a laugh. "I gotta get up."

"Mmm, no," Ilya said and groping at Shane's chest until he could get a firm grip on one pec to squeeze. "The alarm is wrong."

"I want to get in a workout this morning. We're going to be standing around a lot today."

"So I will work you out. No problem. Happy to help," Ilya said. He dragged his morning wood against Shane's ass in a single lazy stretch.

"That's not on my program," Shane pointed out, even as he pressed back against him.

"Your program is garbage then. No wonder you lost last night."

"I lost last night because the Admirals are all of a sudden a real team this year," Shane bit back. "Have you played them yet?"

"This is a lie," Ilya determined. "You like Scott now, so you lie about his team."

"I don't- you know what? Never mind. Shut up and fuck me."

All the usual athleticism was discarded in favor of ease. Ilya stayed right where he was for the most part, breaking away only to get the condom and lube. He opened Shane up slowly on his fingers, kissing his neck and shoulders, then his cheek and with a bit of effort, his lips. When Ilya pushed inside him, Shane went fluid and wanton in his arms. Then they were locked together and Ilya had no other thoughts except how to bring Shane closer to him, to get more of him in Ilya's greedy hands and mouth.

They were quiet in the pool of growing sunlight, heavy breathing and a few broken moans the only evidence that they weren't still sleeping. Ilya never picked up the pace like he normally would. Generally, he ended hard and fast, Shane rocking back into Ilya's strokes with equal fervor. There was a beauty in staying the course though, moving in slow tandem like waves beating against the shore. This morning, Shane came with a sigh instead of a moan, clenching down hard around Ilya like he might slip away.

Ilya rocked into Shane a few more times than came with a noise he muffled against Shane's neck. He didn't pull out. He'd never had a partner that liked Ilya to linger like Shane did. Scott wanted to cuddle, a nearly pathological clinger sometimes, but he didn't want Ilya to stay inside him.

Shane liked him as close as possible, the two of them glued together with sweat and come. People assumed that Shane was tidy and neat in all things as if the fact that he was rigid about hockey, his body, and his schedule meant that he was rigid all over. What Ilya had learned, gathering stray facts without his full conscious consent, was that Shane reveled in certain kinds of messes. Sweat, come, and saliva were acceptable under a surprising amount of conditions.

"You drove in after the game last night," Shane said. "Weren't you tired?"

"No," Ilya said. "I had a lot of energy. Enough to say 'the last person to make my boyfriend come was not me and this must stop being true as soon as possible'.

"You fell asleep instead of waking me up," Shane pointed out.

"Yes because you also played a game," Ilya said "I do not want you to be cranky."

"Cranky is for kids," Shane said decisively.

"Oh, is there word for adults who give me mean looks at breakfast and tell me I am breathing too loud?"

"I was hungover," Shane grumbled. "And you were breathing in my ear. You said you were okay with me fooling around with Kip. Were you lying?"

Was he? Ilya sometimes felt jealousy like a physical threat. When he'd found out about Kyle (Shane telling him in his frank and awkward way on a video call with wide upset eyes like he was already prepared for Ilya's rage, so Ilya had tried to be calm with him), he'd held himself tense for days as if a punch was about to land.

Galina had put a different word to it. A Russian word so he couldn't even hide behind translation. Having a therapist that spoke Russian was good. So good. The best. Fuck.

"Are you afraid?" she asked. Another video chat in his condo in Russia.

"Why would I be afraid?"

"It feels like waiting for pain, you said."

"No, I said it's like-" but he stopped. It wasn't really like prepping for a punch. Ilya could take those and keep rolling without a second thought. "I am afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

Ilya had let his head hit the couch cushions. He took all his video calls on the floor in his Moscow condo, the couch a physical barrier between him and the door. All the things he had once did out of thoughtless habit had new terrible light shone on them. Of course, Ilya was afraid. The world was full of terrors.

For years, he couldn't even recognize the fear anymore because it saturated everything. Afraid of failing. Afraid of blame. Afraid of his father, then for his father. Afraid of what his brother might do. Afraid of failing them both. Afraid of being caught. Afraid of never being found out, so he lived his entire life caged in tiny pockets of freedom like Scott's apartment and his own house.

And the worst one:

"I'm afraid he'll realize he has better options and leave," Ilya said.

"Do you think that's a fear he has about you?"

Ilya stared at her. Galina looked implacably back.

"Fuck," he said, in English because sometimes it was a very useful word.

Last month, Shane had called him and asked, "Kip offered to give me a blowjob. What do you think?"

Ilya had given his blessing after getting over his first 'fuck off' reaction. He had thought about it the rest of the drive home. For once, fear did not arise. He wasn't waiting for the punch.

Kip had been Ilya's friend and ally in keeping Shane from running off for years. That first hungover morning together, Kip had read over their texts, Ilya somehow giving up his phone to him without being sure how it had even happened.

"Woof," Kip had said, and slid the phone back with two fingers like it might be contaminated. "You both suck at sexting."

"I am great at this!" Ilya had protested.

They had both been in states of undress, almost immediately comfortable in a shared near nudity. Scott's apartment was always drowsy warm, inviting to exposed skin. Maybe that was part of it. They had met in such specific circumstances, in that vulnerable place where Ilya had learned to lay down his sword and armor at the door.

"You flirt like a hammer to the head," Kip chirped at him like Ilya didn't out mass him twice over. "Okay, first of all, you need to text him literally anything because if some guy thirsted after me for two years than ghosted me after I let him hit it, I would probably cry. A lot. Then try to ruin his life."

Kip had never, not once, been even a little afraid of Ilya. If anything, he seemed to regard him as slightly helpless, but never hopeless. Kip had let Ilya stay in Scott's bed, in Scott's life, when he probably could have ousted him with a few well-placed requests. When Ilya got handsy with Kip, he not only allowed it, but leaned into it as if he were happy to bear up Ilya's weight while they discussed something. Sometimes, out of the blue, Kip would text or call to ask Ilya's opinion as if he really wanted it. As if Ilya's advice was genuinely useful to him.

No one wanted Ilya's advice outside of hockey except, maybe, Scott. Even then, Scott didn't ask for it so much as he accepted it with a heavy sigh and then followed it despite himself sometimes. But Kip thought Ilya was good with people, maybe even a good leader. Kip asked him how to deal with squabbling students or his difficult advisor and then often acted on his advice.

Was Ilya terrified of Shane experimenting? Of Shane leaving? All day, every day. Beautiful, funny, clever, astronomically talented Shane, who could land Rose fucking Landry without even being vaguely interested in women? It was dangerous to let that man out of Ilya's sight, let alone to romp in other people's beds.

But to be afraid of Kip was fundamentally impossible for Ilya. So Ilya had run it over and over in his head and come up empty.

Shane cleared his throat nervously. The silence had gone on too long.

"I am okay," Ilya said. "I think. Was it good?"

"Yes," Shane said. "Okay, I want to face you to talk about this."

Ilya pulled out carefully, holding the base of the condom. As Shane turned over, Ilya deposited it in the very conveniently placed garbage bin. "You didn't want to hear about Kyle."

Ilya pulled a face. "Kyle is bad choice for you. He is a nice man, maybe, but you do not like nice so much."

Shane clearly wanted to contradict him, but came up short. "Kip can be nice."

"Kip is very kind," Ilya corrected. "He is only nice sometimes. This is what Scott likes. Good heart, mean tongue."

"Is that what you think you are?" Shane asked.

"No," Ilya said. "My heart is also bad. You like terrible men too."

"You have a very good heart," Shane corrected and laid his hand on Ilya's chest. "You can be mad. I would get it."

"There is mad somewhere," Ilya admitted. "But far away. Jealous too. But you asked and I said yes, so…it is okay, I think. He was good to you?"

"Very," Shane said. "I can tell you? If you want to know. You're the only person I've wanted to talk to about it. Weird, huh?"

"Not weird," Ilya said because Shane needed to hear that. Then he added another truth because they were doing that now, "I like that you want to tell me."

"But do you actually want to hear it?"

That was the question, wasn't it? It was one thing to know. It was another to know in detail. Ilya was aware that Scott and Kip shared 'Ilya stories' because Scott had asked his permission like the proper gentlemen he imagined himself to be. He also knew that Scott would probably curl up and die if Kip told him about the shitty Grindr guys.

Ilya and Kip traded hookup stories sometimes, especially the bad ones. It would, for instance, kill Scott to know about 'Secret Fetish Boy', who had sprung a piss kink on Kip in the middle of things and thrown a hissy fit when Kip wasn't into it, then messaged him across every platform with desperate apologies. It would probably bother Scott a lot more than all the times Kip had a perfectly nice hookup and went home satisfied. So Kip told Ilya instead, comparing horrors, dissecting them in rambling late night phone calls.

Would this be like that? Would it be sexy? Would it make Ilya climb the walls or settle him down?

"Maybe start and I will decide?" Ilya ventured.

Shane weighed that and nodded. "Okay. He told me to sit down. I guess the height difference is enough to be annoying."

"Yes," Ilya said. "You have kissed small women before. You know this."

"I wasn't paying attention," Shane said dismissively. For a tiny fraction of a second, Ilya felt a little bit bad for Rose Landry. "I sat on the couch and he sat on my lap. We kissed. He's a good kisser. I like how you do it better, but it was really fun."

"Kip is fun," Ilya started to smile a little. This was not horrible. "But you did not stay at kissing."

"No," Shane said, giving Ilya a flirtatious look. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

"I can handle anything you have, Hollander," he said, out of pure reflex. "Say more."

"We kissed for a long time, then he put my hand on his ass."

A war waged in Ilya and for some goddamn reason, the side that won said, "He knew how to handle you."

"Little bit," Shane admitted. "He's like you. Doesn't make me guess about things. In bed, anyway."

"Yes, we are talking about sex, not big things," Ilya said.

"Sex is a big thing," Shane countered.

Was it? It was and it wasn't to Ilya. Except that sex with Shane was a big thing. "Yes, fine. One big thing, not others right now. You got to touch Kip's ass. Clothes?"

"Stayed on mostly," he reported. Shane's tone was factual and simple, even while he was doing his best to smolder at Ilya. It was adorable and exactly as hot as Shane wanted it to be because Ilya's libido had grown around Shane like a tree that had grown around fence. "We weren't really going to go further than that, but we both got pretty turned on. We agreed that using our hands was okay. So I jerked us both off."

The image was clear to Ilya now. Shane sitting on the couch, moved around by Kip's certainty and clever hands. They would've been sweet with each other, probably. Not too rough and probably pleased with themselves over the transgression of doing it in the shared space, even though no one else was home.

The way Shane described it wasn't intimate or deep. It sounded like he'd had a good time.

"Do you want to do it again?" Ilya asked.

"We have to decide that together," Shane said solemnly.

"Big talk that is not sex."

"It is sex. Mostly sex. So. Big question:Are we open or closed?"

Closing would ward off the possibility of a certain kind of heartbreak. It would also mean ending sex with Scott and Svetlana. It would mean that whatever they were building in this house would fall out a certain way. Everyone in their own rooms, friends and still very close, but an entire avenue of intimacy gone dead and quiet. It would still be very good. Better than anything Ilya had ever hoped for when he arrived at seventeen in Canada in two enormous suitcases and a white-knuckled hold on his second language.

All he had wanted back then was to be the best at hockey and impress his father. Only one of those things was realistic, but he hadn't grasped that yet. When he achieved one without the other for the first time, he found a well of emptiness in him that seemed bottomless.

Then there had been Shane and Scott and a life lived in tiny gasps of air between long dives in the dark. Sex had given Ilya a lot of things aside from orgasms. It had tied him to the people that kept him from drowning. From the seed of the physical, all his most profound emotional bonds had grown.

How could Ilya take that from himself? More importantly, how could he take it from Shane if he wanted it? It wasn't just reciprocity, it was cutting off pieces of themselves to conform to a standard they already flaunted every moment they spent in this bed together.

"I think open, but we must both agree."

"I think open too," Shane said. "But maybe not to the whole world? At least for now. Can we stay open with our people? Scott, Kip and Svetlana."

"Yes," Ilya agreed readily. "I cannot say for them, they will do what they want, but I do not need anyone else. It has only been 'in the house' for me for awhile anyway."

"Really?" Shane studied his face. "How long is awhile?"

That brought Ilya up short for a second. He actually had to think about it. It hadn't been a decision he'd made all at once. Tracing back, recounting moments and nights out, he finally reached the last hookup. It was one he had told Kip about because she had been very into scratching at Ilya which could be a turn on, but she had liked drawing blood a little too much for his taste.

"Over a year ago," Ilya said.

"No," Shane said immediately. "A year?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Ilya shrugged. "Central Park. You come up with the charity idea and then we have that long afternoon in the apartment."

"That was a good afternoon," Shane said with a soft smile.

"Very good afternoon," Ilya agreed. In Scott's ridiculously soft sheets, Shane had melted like butter under Ilya's hands. The unspoken words hadn't choked them for once, but instead been allowed to hang in the air, light with possibility.

"And that made you stop?"

"It wasn't like that," Ilya corrected, but gently. "It was like I went out and the women I see were not you. Why would I have them if I could have you instead?"

"Or Scott," Shane said dryly, "Or Sveta."

"She is not as available as you think she is," Ilya snorted. "We spend more time together not fucking than with. But yes. I have you and I have Scott and sometimes Sveta. I do not need some woman that does not know how to kiss me or touch me."

"Or some guy?" Shane asked wryly.

"I never did anything with other guys. It was never safe enough. Before our rookie season, I knew it was the last time my face would not be known and I could try. I went to another city, found a club. I got very lucky," Ilya admitted. "So there was you and Scott. Before that only Sasha and you know about him too."

"Oh," Shane processed that. "Really?"

"Yes," Ilya said.

The shit-eating smile that spread over Shane's face would probably shock most of his fans. "I've fucked around with the same amount of guys that you have. We're tied."

"What?" Ilya scowled. "Hollander! It is not a competition."

"Can't handle it?" Shane's smile only got wider. "Afraid of my body count, Rozanov?"

"You are an asshole," Ilya declared, repressing a laugh. "You come in your pants for one very easy man and now you must win at being a slut too? Leave me one thing."

"I think I'd make a better one than you. I'm more discreet for one thing- hey!"

Ilya rolled over on top of him and kissed Shane's ridiculous smile. "See, you are already terrible at being a slut. It is only fun if everyone knows. Also, makes it much easier to get more people interested."

"We have different play styles," Shane said seriously. He tested Ilya's grip once, then finding it sufficient to pin him down, relaxed into it. "Don't slut shame me."

"Who taught you this?" Ilya demanded, laughter starting to crackle out of him.

"Rose," Shane said earnestly. "She told me I should have a hot boy summer and a 'slut era'. I think I'm doing okay at it, what do you think?"

"I think, you are a gorgeous fucking slut," Ilya said and then kissed him.

Shane didn't get to pump any iron or go for his run or do his yoga. He did get to do some weightlifting, cardio, and stretching though. Ilya was very good at adjusting a workout plan.

All told, they made it downstairs for breakfast nearly a full hour later. Scott was already at the kitchen table, picking his way through a fruit salad. He gave both of them an amused look as they strolled in still damp from a shared shower. Just seeing him unwound Ilya a little, lowering his defenses and his heart rate. Fucking Scott Hunter, the critical pillar in Ilya's shaky infrastructure.

Ilya crossed to him very casually, leaned over and stole a piece of melon straight out off his plate.

"Weren't you supposed to drive in this morning, brat?" Scott asked with the tone of the long-suffering.

"Why would I do this?"

"Because it's what we talked about?"

Next to Scott's plate was a vintage cigarette case, red enamel with blocky silver sunrays across it. As Shane went to the fridge, Scott met Ilya's eyes and tapped it once with a finger. Ilya grimaced, gesturing at Shane's back. The eye contact got deeper. Scott's gaze could drill into Ilya's brain sometimes, all hazel determination. A tilt of the head and a look that accused Ilya of cowardice. He flipped Scott off, but dutifully went back upstairs. Shane should know. Ilya was aware of that. He was equally aware that left to his own devices, he wouldn't tell him.

It was too much to say 'take me with this other man that I love (except not the way I love you which I haven't even fucking told you yet because I'm also a coward), with all my baggage, oh and also I'm fucking crazy, that's fine, right?'. Ilya hadn't even wanted to tell himself, had only told Scott because Galina had said it was too dangerous for no one to know.

"Sweetheart, there's nothing wrong with needing help," Scott had said, patient as a saint.

"So where are your pills?" Ilya had challenged.

Which had shut Scott up for all of two days. Then a picture of written prescription, Scott's name covered with a finger, showed up on Ilya's phone. Fucking figured.

Ilya's hands didn't shake (much) as he took out the white bag and the gorgeous gold case with its artful polka dots from his suitcase and went back down the stairs.

"Do you want eggs?" Shane asked as Ilya reentered the kitchen.

"Yes, that would be good," he said, fairly sure his voice was even as he set the items in front of Scott then resolutely turned his back on him.

"Scrambled, okay? I think I already broke a yolk," Shane said, glanced up from the bowl, took in the scene and frowned. "What's that about?"

Ilya could hear the pills hitting metal and winced. "Scott has side hustle. Drug dealing. I keep telling him it is not worth it, but he cannot be stopped."

"Oh yeah," Scott said, "I deal in 'shut the fuck up, Rozanov' pills. It's doing really well in certain markets."

"I'd buy it," Shane said, but he wasn't fully committing to finding it funny, no smile or laugh in his voice. He was waiting, patiently, for an actual explanation.

Fuck.

"For me," Ilya said after too long a silence, except for the click of pills. "I am numb. Sometimes."

Galina rarely gave anything away. When Ilya described the dulling of his senses, the way the world went flat and uninteresting sometimes, she had only listened. When he was finished, she put a word to it and it had been a harder hit than any he'd taken in his career. When he looked at pictures of his mother, he didn't find himself in her face, but there she was apparently, under the surface.

He had imagined her feeling sad. That had been understandable. Of course unbearable sadness would be hard. He had not imagined her feeling nothing at all. Had it manifested in her like that? How long had it lasted before it became unbearable? How long could Ilya last? Usually it left him in a week or two at most because he ran too fast for it to keep up. What if he had to stop moving?

The weight of Shane's gaze usually made Ilya want to grab him up, but right now it was a pressure on his shoulders and in his gut.

"Numb how?" Shane asked.

"Nothing is good or bad. No pain, but no joy either," Ilya said. "I am flat. They call it depression and that is how it feels. Like I have been pressed down."

"Oh," Shane said. "So you're taking meds for it. Do they help?"

"Yes," Ilya said reluctantly. "The first few weeks I was sleepy, but it went away. Doctor says it might break my dick, but no complaints so far, yes?"

"No complaints," Shane said, but the gambit hadn't distracted him. There was very little Shane in him right now, all that Hollander laser focus on Ilya. "So you don't feel numb?"

"Not right now," Ilya confirmed. "Never with you."

"Never?" Shane asked.

"Never. Sometimes after. I miss you and it makes me," he waved at his temple hoping the gesture covered the words he didn't have, "but a little less now."

"It doesn't make me great in the head to say goodbye to you either," Shane said and Ilya's heartbeat kicked up faster again. Treacherous thing. "Okay. So pills. Cool. What's Scott doing with them?"

Ilya cast his eyes up to the ceiling. It wasn't particularly helpful, just plain white paint. There was no helpful divine entity to remove him from this conversation. So instead, he used the only helpful entity to hand, earthly and currently counting under his breath.

"Scott. You tell," Ilya demanded.

"Me?" Scott asked. "C'mon. You're a big boy, I believe in you."

"No," he said mulishly and used the word that worked like magic on Scott: "Please?"

"Fine, but get me another cup of coffee."

That seemed fair enough and Ilya didn't want to play fight about it. He picked up Scott's empty mug and went over to the coffee maker. He might have paused to kiss Shane once at the temple. An apology of sorts though he doubted Shane would read it that way. Shane's fork was still hovering over the bowl of eggs like he had paused all forward momentum until this was resolved.

"Tell what?" Shane prompted.

"When he started taking them, his therapist made him tell someone about it because obviously he's not disclosing it to the team doctors."

"They're not supposed to say anything," Shane said automatically then sighed. "But yeah, I wouldn't either. Okay. So he told you?"

"Yes," Scott said and tapped his red case. "I started taking anti-anxiety medication around the same time. But he was being difficult about taking them."

"Difficult!" Ilya protested.

"You want to tell it?" Scott challenged. And no, Ilya did not so he settled for flipping Scott off. He rolled his eyes and continued. "Wouldn't tell me why for like two weeks. Turns out he's triggered by the bottle."

"What's that mean? 'Triggered'?" Shane finally set down the fork, apparently disengaging from breakfast entirely.

"You see something and it brings up bad shit. Parts of a memory or just the feeling," Scott said. "It doesn't always make sense. It's driving sometimes for me. In certain circumstances. For Ilya, apparently it's pill bottles."

"They do not even look the same. It's fine when someone else needs them, I had them around for my father all the time and I was fine. Makes no sense," Ilya muttered as he poured the coffee. "Very stupid."

"Yeah, well," Scott sighed. "If it made sense it'd be easier. Can't have that, can we?"

"No, we cannot," Ilya agreed tiredly.

"His therapist said 'so put them in something else'."

"See? Ridiculous," Ilya grumbled, pouring in milk. "Playing tricks on myself."

"It works though. I got these," Scott said, gesturing to the cases. "And at some point when he renews his prescription, I decant it for him. It's been a close call a few times with timing, so I'm fucking glad he showed you. Now you can do it too."

"You do not have to," Ilya said immediately. "I can do this. I am only-"

"Is the counting part of it?" Shane cut him off.

"That's just habit," Scott said. "I get stuff like that in my head and it's hard to get out."

"Yeah, same," Shane said. "Okay. Good to know, thanks."

He went back to scrambling the eggs like nothing had occurred. Not sure what to make of that reaction, Ilya left him to it and carried the mug back to Scott. Scott nudged him in the side with an elbow then handed him the case. "Eat first though."

"That is not in the instructions," Ilya argued because at least that made sense.

"Can't hurt though."

It couldn't. They ate eggs and talked about other things. Ilya could have imagined the whole conversation hadn't happened if Shane hadn't nudged the case towards him when the food was done. It was a silent cue, no follow up. Ilya took a pill with the last dregs of his coffee. The world spun on.

"We should leave in twenty," Scott said, checking his phone. "I'm going to get ready."

That left Ilya and Shane alone to load the dishwasher. Silence descended thick and choking. It had a texture Ilya was all too familiar with.

"You are angry," Ilya said quietly as Shane slotted in the last plate.

Shane turned to face him. He folded his arms over his chest, rounding in a little. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wish I didn't have to tell myself or Scott, not just you," Ilya said, diverting his gaze to the floor this time. The wood was at least varied in shade. "And I do not know how you think about them."

"You thought I'd be a dick about it?"

Ilya shook his head because he hadn't thought that for a second. "Maybe that you would be…sad? For me. I do not want that. Or maybe you would blame yourself. You do this a lot and it is not your fault. I have been like this a very long time, I think. Longer than I knew."

"How long?" Shane frowned. "We've known each other a long time."

"Since she died," Ilya said. "Maybe before even that, but I don't remember."

"Your whole life?" Shane asked and now he did sound sad.

"I don't know," he huffed. "The whole time you have known me. So. Nothing is different."

Then he was getting hugged and Ilya hugged Shane back, resting his forehead on his shoulder, uncertain why he was getting such forgiveness.

"I didn't know," Shane said.

"I hid it from you. Why would you know?" Ilya clung to him.

"I want that to stop," Shane said firmly, his hold tightening. "I don't want you to hide from me anymore. I hate it. You don't say anything for years and then you drop shit on me like a bomb. Fucking enough, Ilya. Just tell me things when they happen. Okay?"

"Okay," Ilya whispered, his throat tight.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" Shane asked, pulling way to search his face. "Might as well get it all out of the way."

Brave Shane with his beautiful face and warm eyes, still holding him even though Ilya could feel the anger in him. He was angry and he still wanted to hold Ilya. He was so scared and yet here he was, ready to go to a photoshoot that made a public declaration of his connection to Ilya and Scott. So fiercely, terribly brave and somehow, he had picked Ilya and kept picking him. Even when it went against all sense and reason.

The words could simply no longer be contained. It was not a matter of choice. It was being on the ice, and seeing a clear line to the goal. You didn't pause to think about it. The body reacted.

"I love you," Ilya said thickly.

Shane went still. He might've stopped breathing for a moment. "Holy shit."

"I mean-" Ilya started. Surely he could get out of that. It was too soon (how?! but yet it still felt that way) and too much (always too much, Rozanov, calm down, back off, shut up).

"I love you too," Shane said reverently, dazed. "So much."

"Fuck, Hollander," Ilya said and that was it. He was weeping. Not even a little. Not a few masculine tears. He was just crying and it would've been terrible, but Shane pulled him in closer and when their cheeks pressed together, Shane's was damp too.

They rocked each other a little, swaying in the hard embrace as the dishwasher churned beside them. Ilya couldn't let go and Shane didn't seem inclined to leave.

"Does it kill you too?" Shane asked.

Ilya pulled back to kiss him, then rested his forehead against Shane's. "Not anymore. It hurts you?"

Shane's breath ghosted over Ilya's lips. "It did. I think maybe it doesn't anymore."

"You will say if it does?" Ilya asked. "If I tell you things, then you tell me things?"

"Yeah, from here on out. We'll be honest with each other, okay?"

"Okay," Ilya said then sniffled. "Crying is not good for photoshoot."

"Shit, do I look terrible?" Shane asked.

"No, you are beautiful. Your eyes only look bigger and sweeter and your skin is always perfect," Ilya grumbled. "I will be all red."

"Here." Reaching past him, Shane snagged a paper towel, wet it with cold water and then started patting Ilya's cheeks with it. It was ridiculous. Ilya didn't move, reveling in the gentle touch. "You are a little red, but it'll probably be gone before we get there. And my skin isn't perfect."

"It is," Ilya contended. "You are always beautiful."

"Most people would say handsome," Shane said, a thread of tightness in his voice.

"This is not my problem," Ilya said. "You want me to say you are handsome? You are. Very. But you are also very beautiful to me. Like art."

Shane cleared his throat a few times, then shook his head. "Okay. Fine. Fuck. You're beautiful too."

"Thank you," Ilya said.

"Okay," Scott said, walking back in with his phone in his hand. "The studio is a little closer then I- what the fuck happened to you two?"

"We're having all two of Ilya's feelings at the same time," Shane said.

Ilya laughed through his remaining tears, worming his hands under Shane's shirt to palm his back.

"Got it," Scott said. "You've got ten minutes and then you have to go have feelings in the car."

The sounds of his footsteps retreated again.

"What a dick," Shane said, then made a soft apologetic sound. "I mean-"

"No, he is terrible," Ilya agreed.

"You don't think that."

"Sometimes, I do." Ilya said with a shrug. "We are being honest. He is one of my favorite people and also sometimes he is too pushy and thinks he knows everything. He wants to fix things that are not even his business."

"He acts like he's a thousand years older than us."

"Mm, well he is a hundred and twelve. Very sad for him. All his other friends died when the meteor hit."

Shane laughed quietly in Ilya's ear. "I don't want to be mean about someone you care about."

"It is okay. Scott can take it. It's one of the things I like about him. He knows how he is fucked up and you can just tell him if it goes too far. He will say 'so sorry' and try harder. It is fucking annoying, but also nice."

"You're like that."

"I am not, always. I don't like to think about how I am broken."

"You're not broken," Shane said firmly.

Ilya had to look him in the eye again. Shane had apparently decided that was fine today. He was just going to torture Ilya with eye contact and let him look his fill.

"I am, a little."

"Then so am I," Shane said.

"You are not. Shane! You're not."

"Maybe I am. I don't know. But if I'm not, than you're not."

"I do not think it works this way," Ilya muttered.

"Fine. Whatever," Shane said. "How about you're broken into a shape that I love?"

"You must stop," Ilya groaned. "Or I will cry all the way to the shoot and they will use the terrible eye drops on me."

"This happened to you before?" Shane asked.

"Because of a hangover, not tears," Ilya said, then kissed Shane because he could. "I love you in this shape too."

So that was a lot before nine am. With a few minutes to spare, they got dressed, getting in each other's way with kisses and small speaking touches. They piled into Scott's SUV and he mercifully didn't tease them about getting into the backseat together, only put on music and ignored them for most of the drive. Ilya's phone buzzed twenty minutes into the ride and he had to let go of Shane's hand briefly to dig it out of his pocket reluctantly.

His brother again.

"Give," Shane said and held out his hand.

Bemused, Ilya turned the phone over to him. "You cannot speak to him. Even if you do, he does not have much English."

"I'm not going to pick up," Shane said with an eyeroll. He silenced the call and shoved it in his pocket. "He calls over and over, right?"

"…yes," Ilya allowed. "But I need my phone?"

"I'll check it for you. If someone else calls, I'll give it to you."

Ilya considered that. He could get the phone back from Shane without much struggle. Shane would probably hand it over if he simply asked seriously. He didn't.

"Okay," Ilya said and rested his head on Shane's shoulder. The stylist would have to redo his hair anyway, what did he care of Shane made a mess of it running his fingers through it? It felt good.

As expected, Nike ran a tight and expensive ship. As soon as they arrived, they were met by a phalanx of assistants and coordinators. Todd was there, grinning like he'd won the lottery as he talked to some other serious people in suits. Apparently, Shane had gotten his mother to stay home by telling her Todd would be there ("She's not a fan, but apparently she thinks he's a good manager? The Ferrari thing really impressed her").

They were ushered to makeup chairs and as they were polished and painted into better versions of themselves, a man with a headset and a clipboard ran them through the day's schedule.

Ilya barely listened. He was with Scott and Shane, who were probably very seriously memorizing everything coming out of the man's mouth. There was no need for Ilya to be on his guard or play captain. Instead, he spoke quietly to the woman doing his makeup, asking her about her impeccable bright green mohawk which was very impressive and somehow never stabbed him in the face no matter how many times she bent her head to airbrush his skin smooth. That she had a tiny pride flag patch sewn onto the wrist of her surplus army jacket might have had a little to do with it.

"You do this with gel?"

She winked at him. "Don't tell, but sometimes I use some glue too."

"Glue!" Ilya said with delight. "How do you get it out?"

"It's surprisingly dissolvable," she said. "Don't use it on these curls though, it would be a crying shame."

"I will not," he promised her, hand to heart.

"Good. Do as I say, not as I do," she grinned. "All right, mascara time. You've got nice lashes, but they must disappear on camera."

"Eyebrows too," he agreed. "Too many lights and poof! I am a bald face ghost."

"Tragic. We'll make sure you look very hairy," she said through a giggle.

"Thank you," he said solemnly.

"I see how it is," Scott said when she took a step back. "You're polite to strangers, just not me."

"She is making me pretty for cameras. You always say thank you for this, Hunter. Do you not do this? Rude."

"Oh my god," Scott huffed.

"He's got a point," Shane said. He was sitting perfectly still, letting tiny brushes sweep over his forehead. Did he even register it anymore after so many years of being a pretty model hockey boy?

"I'm not arguing with the point. You've been great," Scott said to his artist, who suppressed a smile and gave him a serious nod. "I'm saying that Rozanov loves to remind me that he's capable of being perfectly polite to people and chooses not to be."

"Yes," Ilya said, repressing his own smile though he winked at his artist. "I am polite to polite people. You are terrible."

"I'm going to leave you here," Scott decided.

Wardrobe was a perplexing assortment of actual Nike gear and what Shane immediately identified as 'bullshit fake hockey stuff'. It was suggestions of their actual gear without ruining the lines of the clothes, in other words. The sneakers were interesting, chunky and over-designed in a fun way. To make up for not being able to use any official team logos, they suggested them in the colors. Scott with red to black ombre on his sneakers and a streak of red up the side of his pants. Shane had a rich blue v-neck t-shirt and slightly more tasteful blue sneakers.

Ilya had gotten gold. He was very pleased when his bracelet and necklace were allowed to stay. Taking them off at these things always made him a little nervous. They were mostly hidden anyway. The black turtleneck suited him, even if it had the silly swoosh on it and the gaudy streaks of metallic fabric pleased him too. The sneakers were ridiculous, white and gold and red. He hoped he got to keep them.

It was a blur of positioning after that, the three of them moved around with gestures, words and once or twice with a delicate hand. The photographer let them take a look at what they had so far while they took a break to bring in a few pieces of black blocky wood.

"We're going for this," the photographer gestured at one of the photos. It looked identical to about a hundred other photos, but Ilya could admire that the three of them standing together, even with neutral expressions, could be striking. "But a few more candid kinds would be good too. Right now the copy is 'Just Play' and I want to give them a few more casual candid ones in case the campaign pulls that way in post."

The wooden blocks turned out to be for leaning on. Ilya draped himself over the first one dramatically, mostly to prod at Scott and Shane.

"Nike, not Playgirl!" the photographer barked. "Knees together, Rozanov. You're not for sale!"

There was no comment from Scott or Shane, so Ilya tilted his head aback with his best shitty grin to see what chirps they might be holding back. Instead he found them both looking pissed off and not in his direction. Whatever was about to brim out of them was abruptly cut off.

"I must've not heard you correctly," Todd said. "What the fuck did you just say to my client?"

Scott's shoulders came down a notch, but his jaw stayed clenched. Shane's focus was fixed on the photographer.

"He knows what I meant," the photographer said lightly.

"That man is a hockey legend. A generational talent who spits out teeth worth more than your whole fucking life. Nike is lucky to have him, not the other fucking way around. So unless you want me to call Eli and tell him you just committed a textbook sexual harassment claim on the talent, you will apologize."

By the end of that little rant, Ilya was sitting up straight, knees together. In the murky darkness beyond the lights, he found Todd in his turtleneck and blazer. He was looming over the photographer, his gently rounded frame becoming a threat.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rozanov," the photographer said quickly. "I got a little too into the spirit."

"Yes," Ilya said icily, even though he wasn't clear on what everyone was so fucked up about. He'd been going for a little sexy and been told to button it back. These things happened. But he did know how to read a room and being too forgiving right now was the wrong move. "Thank you."

Things continued with a slightly more stifled air after that. They did their solo shots next and Ilya got the distinct pleasure of watching two of his favorite people attempt to model. Shane was good as long as he didn't have to produce anything like manufactured joy. They stopped asking him to smile fairly quickly, but his serious, piercing gaze was smoldering hot.

"This is ridiculous," Ilya murmured to Scott. They were both in robes to protect the clothes, elbow to elbow. "I did not know he could act this well."

"I don't think he's acting," Scott said dryly. "I think he's trying to kill that man with his mind."

"Why?" Ilya asked.

Scott gave him a sidelong look. "Why do you think?"

"I do not pretend to always understand him," Ilya huffed. "Will you do your little Eddie Bauer moves?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd wow them with my suburban dad impression."

What Scott actually did was follow direction and lapse into the expression he usually made when he was barrelling down at someone on the ice. Maybe he was also trying to kill the photographer with his thoughts. The photographer should worry. Scott was very creative about imaginary kills.

It had been a very confusing day for Ilya's mind and cock. One had gone through several dozen emotions and wound up at 'seasick'. The other had passed out after hard use, then been woken up abruptly by the sudden change of mood an hour earlier, only to discover they were still at work.

"You know, Hunter isn't usually an intimidating guy," Shane said idly, taking a sip of bottled water through a straw so as not to disturb the makeup. So well-behaved. "It's hard to get worked up about him on the ice. I can kind of see it here though."

"I do not think he is very scary either, then I remember who we are," Ilya said wryly. "We both make other centers cry. Hard to remember how to be afraid of someone else on the ice. Maybe Hunter does scare people that aren't us."

The wolfish grin Shane gave him came and went so quickly someone else might have missed it. Ilya saw it, noted it and it did very little to convince his dick that there was nothing fun happening in the immediate future.

"Let's get all three of you back here," the photographer called. "Wardrobe?"

There were a few minor changes. Sneakers were changed out to sleeker ones that someone might actually wear for a sport though still very showy. They also all got hockey sticks. Ilya tapped his idly against Shane's, who gave him a warning look. Too bad Shane's warning looks were catnip to him. He tapped again, this time Shane smacked his stick against his.

A third stick smacked down on top of theirs and Scott lifted his eyebrows at them. Before Ilya could protest or Shane could stage a polite revolt (which Ilya would frankly pay money to see), Scott produced a piece of paper from who the fuck knew where, smashed it down to a ball and tossed it up in the air. He caught it on his stick, smacking it back up again.

Ilya repressed a grin, whipping out to catch it before Scott could on the return and sending it sailing up again. It was visible the second the game clicked with Shane, his expression going from mild annoyance to giddy focus immediately.

All around them, paid professional adults adjusted expensive equipment. People in hushed serious voices said hushed serious things to each other. Meanwhile, the three most discussed hockey players in the league played keepsie-up with an intensity bordering on murderous. At no point did they say a single word to each other, beyond making triumphant or frustrated noises. The piece of paper never hit the floor.

Ilya was only aware he was smiling when his cheeks started to ache a little.

"Ha!" Shane said, slapping Ilya's stick out of the way, and beating him to the paper by a picosecond. "Eat shit, Rozanov!'

"Fuck off, Hollander," Ilya laughed.

"Way to demonstrate how far you've come, guys," Scott said dryly and reached it before either of them this time with such a casual turn of the wrist that Ilya's mouth went a little dry.

"Fuck you too, Hunter," Shane said, so pleasantly that anyone who hadn't heard the actual words would think he was commenting on the weather.

"Perfect! You guys can stop now!" The photographer called.

The paper slipped past all of them and bounced with a sad crinkly noise against the floor. All three of them turned to the cameras. There were two video cameras in addition to the still ones, a nod to potential backstage internet content that had been agreed on in contracts, but Ilya had utterly forgotten about them.

"That was great," a marketing rep, who had been silent until that moment, said. "Very natural."

"Agreed," the photographer said. "All right, let's get a few more posed shots and then it's a wrap."

A half hour later, they were getting back into their own clothes and washing their faces clean. Ilya's makeup artist produced moisturizer for them without prompting.

"I like you," Ilya told her and managed to slip a little cash into her bag while her back was turned. "You have a card?"

"Oh! Yeah, of course," she said brightly. She produced a glossy card with her name written over the arch of an enormous false eyelash with neon green mascara to match her hair. Ilya tucked it into his wallet. Good people were always good to keep around. "Pickle is a nickname, for the record."

"This is ridiculous. I love it," Ilya declared.

"You can't tell people their names are ridiculous," Scott chided.

"It's all right," Pickle said with a wink to Ilya, shouldering her bag. "I could ditch it. I choose to be ridiculous."

"No wonder you two get along immediately," Shane said and Scott barked a laugh.

"There's my talent!" Todd said, swanning back into view. "Everyone feeling good about today?"

"Didn't love the photographer," Scott said.

"I got that, kid," Todd said with a nod. "I'll be letting the right people know, don't worry about that. You good, Roz?"

Ilya shrugged. "Yes, of course. It was all a lot for a bad joke. I don't care."

"Care more," Todd suggested with only an edge of sharpness. "They can't do this without you. I never say this, so listen close: all three of you can afford to be bigger divas than you act. Especially you, Hollander. Roz at least gives off diva-energy and Scott throws his weight around when he remembers he can. You're way too nice."

"You don't know me," Shane said, immediately on the defensive.

"I know you're worth liquid gold to these assholes and you let them torture you," Todd gestured at the whole set. "If you need five minutes away from the lights and shit, you can tell them. Hell, take a half hour."

"That would throw off the whole timeline," Shane said bemused.

"Who gives a shit? Timelines exist to get fucked with."

"Wouldn't that get me a reputation of being hard to work with?"

"What? That you need to take five? Fuck that. A good reputation can be hard to get, but you've already got one. What's earning it for if you can't use it for leverage? That's the end of free advice though, I charge an hourly rate after that. Scott, I'll see you on the thirteenth?"

"Yep."

"Great. Bye, boys!" And Todd was gone as quickly as he had appeared, already picking up a call with an effusively fond. "Morris, you stupid old fuck!"

"So," Scott said to Shane, "that's Todd."

"Yeah," Shane said with a blink. "It sure fucking was."

Unsure of which way that tower was about to topple, Ilya decided to move the conversation on to more pressing matters.

"Scott, I am going to starve to death. They only gave us little crackers all afternoon."

"There was a full craft table and I saw you housing deli meat," Scott scolded, even as he rolled his eyes to the side in thought. "I've got steaks at the house or we could do a pickup. Shane, would you do steak?"

"Tonight, I will," Shane decided. "If there's salad."

"There is always salad," Ilya said with funereal solemnity. "I am tortured with terrible lettuce."

"I stopped buying iceburg two years ago, Roz. Get over it," Scott groaned. "I don't know why Todd thinks you aren't already a diva with your microgreen bullshit."

"I like microgreens," Shane said mildly.

Scott gave him an exasperated look. "I know. There is no way he knew what one even was until you fed them to him."

"This is a lie," Ilya said immediately.

It was absolutely true. As soon as Ilya and Shane had ventured into the wide world of sharing meals after hooking up, Ilya had tried a lot of new things. Shane liked vegetables in a way that seemed fake to Ilya, but he had gamely taken bites while complaining vehemently. As soon as he'd discovered the joys of better-made salads, it had been over for every low quality one he'd ever eaten.

"You were using iceberg?" Shane asked Scott, deeply offended and apparently missing Ilya's weak defense.

The two of them talked about fucking lettuce all the way into the car. Shane even got into the passenger seat so he could more passionately defend his stance, seemingly oblivious to the way Scott had mostly given up fighting back.

Watching Scott indulgently let Shane rant, making quiet listening noises as punctuation while driving with his usual hyper-alert confidence, made Ilya want to start crying again.

Despite the cold, Scott grilled the steaks outside, wearing a brown puffy winter coat that made him look like a grumpy bear. They ate without much discussion, all of them hungry enough to drop any pretense of where their focus lay. They segued to the living room, Scott throwing himself into an armchair and turning on the television. Vaguely, Ilya recalled a debate about a movie, but he had slowly removed himself from the argument and, in fact, all conversation altogether.

What he cared about was that Shane had tucked in under Ilya's arm, resting his head on Ilya's shoulder. The warmth seeped through Ilya's clothes and his skin to settle under his ribs. When he started to play with Shane's hair, Shane only relaxed further instead of pushing him off.

Ilya was subjected to some sad story movie with a lot of longing stares and whispered declarations. The kind of bullshit that Scott gravitated to when left to his own devices.

Shane watched it like it was a homework assignment. To Ilya's delight though, he stayed right where he was and after the first twenty minutes, he took up Ilya's hand and started to fidget with his bracelet. He turned it around and around Ilya's wrist, a slow drag of metal, never tugging. Ilya wasn't sure Shane even knew he was doing it.

It felt amazing. This tiny reminder that they were together and Ilya's body was something Shane could casually appropriate.

When the credits rolled, Shane was already yawning.

"I'm going to head up to bed," he said. "Coming?"

"Yes," Ilya said. "You want a glass of water?"

"Mhm," Shane murmured, before heading upstairs. He never took steps slowly. It was as if stairs were a part of his daily workout, meant to be conquered every time.

"You good?" Scott asked, voice thick with sleepy amusement.

Ilya huffed at him, but he did cross to the armchair, setting one hand on the back of it so he could loom over Scott. The sparkle in Scott's eyes had taken up a more permanent residence the past year or so and it always made Ilya breathe a little easier.

He would never forget those very dark hours in 2013 when Scott hadn't picked up the phone. There had been a defeated dullness to his eyes when Ilya finally reached him and found him alive, at least. After that horrifying night, Ilya would have done a lot more than walk into a gay bar to make sure that never happened again. Did Scott knew that? Ilya thought he might these days.

"I told him that I loved him," Ilya said.

"Good boy," Scott whispered. The words only for them.

There was no one else on earth who was allowed to say that to Ilya. No one else could make it so sweet or so kind without even a little bit condescension. It still hurt to hear, but in the same way it hurt to clean out a wound.

Ilya leaned down and kissed Scott softly. "I hate you."

"Mm, I know," Scott said with a laugh. "Do I get a glass of water?"

"No," Ilya said. "Get your own."

"I see how it is," Scott snorted. "Brat."

"Yes," Ilya said and touched his nose to Scott's for only a second, before going to get Shane's water.

Their room (their room, their room, Ilya would never get tired of that) was softly lit with the bedside lamps. Shane was shucking off the last of his clothes, tossing them in the hamper. They had all taken to leaving some things here and cycling out whatever had been washed back into their suitcases. Scott's laundry service must wonder at the fluctuation of intake, but they got paid either way.

Shane glowed in the lamp light. Ilya set down the glass and reached out for him. Like magnets, they snapped back together, Shane's mouth on his and their hands everywhere. It was never enough to only touch each other, they had to squeeze and tease and weigh and slap. There was no end to the way Ilya wanted to take account of Shane's flesh. He gripped at his ass with almost cruel pressure and Shane only moaned into his mouth with want.

They rolled over and over each other on the bed, the simple delight in not having to choose a single thing because they had hours to do what they wanted with. Eventually, Ilya pinned Shane's wrists to the mattress and fucked into him with maddening slowness as Shane keened a little, the heels of his feet digging into Ilya's back in silent demand for more.

There was no world where asshole Ilya Rozanov deserved the life he had now. The cosmic scales could not balance out to make this his life by rights, but he would hold onto it tenaciously anyway.

Below him, Shane arched his back, the whole gorgeous display of him only for Ilya.

"I love you," Ilya murmured in Russian, in English, in sounds beyond language and Shane gave it back to him, over and over.

They cleaned up perfunctorily, before winding around each other and falling asleep. They must have chased each other across the mattress all night because they woke up entwined in a new position, Ilya sprawled on his back and Shane half on top of him, a heavy hot weight.

"When do you have to leave?" Ilya asked.

"Never," Shane lied and rubbed his cheek against Ilya's chest.

"Good," Ilya grinned. "You will stay here and suck my cock every morning, let me fuck you every night?"

"Make me an offer," Shane said with a yawn. "What's my hourly rate on that?"

Ilya slapped at Shane's ass which only got a huffy little kiss right over his heart. They were both still dozy and talking shit when there was a knock at the door.

"Good morning!"

"Kip?" Shane asked. "When did you get here?"

"Twenty minutes ago. Figured I'd see if I can sneak in a hello before you have to go, Shane, but I can fuck off if you're still in bed."

Ilya glanced down at Shane, who had gone still and thoughtful. It wasn't like Ilya didn't invade Kip and Scott's bedroom with barely a knock all the time. Svetlana's door was merely a suggestion unless she locked it. But Shane had remained reticent about such things, still gauging his welcome as he lingered in hallways.

"Yes or no?" Ilya asked.

"Yes," Shane decided.

"Come in!" Ilya called out.

Kip entered, holding a cardboard tray. "Good choice because I brought coffee from that insane hipster place in town."

"Give," Ilya said happily, extending a hand.

"You're the worst," Kip said with a laugh and put a warm paper cup into Ilya's hand.

"Thank you," Shane said reverently, then clearly had a moment's debate about sitting up so he could actually drink the proffered cup, even though it would reveal how naked he was under the covers.

The lure of caffeine was apparently too much to ignore and he sat up, blankets pooling demurely around waist. Kip set the holder down on the coffee table in the little living room like nook then bounded over with his own cup to perch on the foot of the bed. He looked far too bright-eyed for someone who'd just taken two train rides.

"Did you tell Scott you were coming?" Ilya asked.

"No," Kip said with a wink. "Fourth cup is for him, obviously, but he's still sleeping. I heard you two talking, so figured you could get a fresh delivery. How'd it go yesterday?"

"Clean," Shane said before Ilya could put together an answer. "Professional. Fun. The photographer was a dick though."

"You had fun, Hollander?" Ilya asked, teasingly.

"I did," Shane said simply and took a sip of his coffee.

"Me too."

"Fun is good," Kip said, glancing between them with repressed amusement.

"Did you come because Scott texted you and tell you things like a gossipy girl?" Ilya asked with increasing suspicion.

"He was on the calendar to arrive today, Ilya," Shane chided.

"For this afternoon."

"I can't want to see my friend Shane?" Kip asked with wide-eyed innocence.

"Oh, I know how much of Shane you want to see," Ilya said, narrowing his eyes. "Truth, Grady."

"I did want to see him!" Kip protested. "And maybe yes, Scott mentioned forward momentum when we did our good night call and I was curious."

"You said this out loud, so he sends a car for you."

"Look, I can't stop the man sometimes," Kip said with only a slight edge of annoyance. "It's nicer to do my work here anyway."

"I'm glad I got to see you," Shane said like a truly obnoxious brownnoser. Why did it make Ilya only love him more? "Everything all right in Princeton?"

"Mostly, yeah," Kip said. "I'm taking a pretty intense seminar, but it's good. Feels like I'm stretching the right muscles and it's giving me some ideas for my dissertation."

"I can't believe you have to write that much," Shane said. "It sounds like a nightmare to me."

Kip grinned, "Yeah, well, you couldn't pay me to do what you do either."

That seemed to surprise Shane. Of course it did. Hockey was the air he breathed. Not that it wasn't Ilya's too, but he was better at remembering that was a them thing, not an everyone thing.

"I think I would like to take a class, maybe, when hockey is over," Ilya said, before he'd fully thought out the words.

There was suddenly a lot of attention on him. Kip asked tentatively, "What kind?"

The right answer was something funny and dismissive. The right answer was something that let them talk about Shane or Kip instead or at least generated some mild annoyance at Ilya so nothing else he said had to be taken seriously. But he was still a little sleepy and very warm. Shane was beside him, their bodies touching incidentally at a dozen points, and Kip, boyfriend kisser or not, was one of his best friends looking at him with wide-eyed hopefulness.

Ilya's defenses were low. It was probably a good thing they were talking about the future instead of the past. Who knew what could've happened if someone wanted to drag him back there right now?

Except he was in the past already, wasn't he? To linger in bed in the morning was to remember the gauzy specter of his mother's love. Many mornings after his father had left for work with the rising sun, a small Ilya had climbed up into bed with her. She would pet his hair and read him things he didn't understand. Sometimes, she would get up with him after and make him breakfast.

Sometimes she didn't. The times when she did got fewer and fewer as he got older. Eventually, Ilya would bring her food. At first incapably, silly combinations of whatever he could find in the kitchen. Then more competently. For Mama, he learned to cook and load a tray. He made her strong black tea to help wake her up. She ate and drank his best offerings and he learned what worked and where he had failed without her saying a word. No matter what, she still read to him. Right to the end, Ilya had sat with the forgotten tray in his lap, listening to her voice lap over him like waves until he absolutely had to get ready for practice or school.

There were many stories and poems she repeated over and over until Ilya could mouth them along with her. She had a particular love for Anna Akmatova. Sometimes when his bed seemed to have its own gravity and he lingered there too long himself, he could almost hear her saying:

One goes in straightforward ways,

One in a circle roams:

Waits for a girl of his gone days,

Or for returning home.

But I do go -- and woe is there --

By a way nor straight, nor broad,

But into never and nowhere,

Like trains -- off the railroad.

"Russian literature," Ilya said, then summoned a smile. "Would be easy for me, yes? I will be a star student."

"You're smart enough for it," Kip said offhanded like that was simply the truth. Ilya had never been much of a student. When had there been time?

"You are," Shane affirmed. Which was ridiculous from him because Shane was the reader between the two of them. Maybe it was all hockey books, but Ilya hadn't read a whole book in years.

Sometimes he read a poem or short story on his phone when he missed his mother so much it was a physical pain, but that was between him and the BPL Libby app's sparse Russian language offerings.

"Okay," Ilya said dismissal and a plea. "Anyway, I will not retire until Shane does. I cannot have him get more lifetime goals than me because I choose to leave early."

"In your fucking dreams, asshole," Shane said without a hint of rancor. "Did you figure things out with that jerk of a freshman, Kip? The one who got obsessed with you saying the wrong paint type or whatever?"

"Ugh, no. He's moved on to other things, but I swear, he lives to make me question myself."

"He wants this," Ilya guessed. "So he can feel bigger."

"Oh yeah, I know," Kip sighed. "I'm sure he's got some chip on his shoulder or whatever, but he's making it my problem. At least all the other students seem equally annoyed with him at this point."

"There's always one," Shane said with a nod.

"Rookies always want this," Ilya agreed. "One comes in thinking to show how they will show us up."

"How do you make it stop?" Kip asked.

Shane frowned, taking a sip of coffee. "I'm not sure it would translate."

"We don't need to say anything, we just do what we do and run circles around them," Ilya interpreted. "Yes?"

"Yeah," Shane agreed. "I mean sometimes they just don't quit or they are good enough to fool themselves. Then you just ignore them. Freeze them out. If you get into it with them, they think they're winning by getting a reaction."

"Ah," Ilya smiled slightly. "I poke them back."

"Shocking," Kip said. "Why?"

"It's very funny. I don't care if they think they are better than me. They are not. Let them try. Then I take them out with the rest of us, let them drink, pay for their night. I take very good care of them. Once. Maybe twice. They feel very special when the captain pays them so much attention."

"Doesn't that just feed their ego?" Kip asked.

"Sometimes. But then I ask a few questions when they are drunk and they start crying about something. They are homesick, their heart is broken, they are scared that they will wash out. Rookies are always afraid a little that they will not make it."

"I wasn't," Shane said.

"Yes, I know. I was not either. Probably Scott was because he is sometimes afraid to breathe."

"Hey," Kip said without much power.

"I did not say he should have been," Ilya pointed out. "But, yes, most are afraid. So I get them drunk, listen to their little fears and then I am a friend. You can chirp at your friend, but if you are too much, maybe they are not your friend anymore. Now you have something to lose."

"You really do that?" Shane asked.

"Yes," Ilya said. "Simple."

"Simple for you," Shane muttered.

"I don't think I can ethically get students drunk. Also becoming their agony aunt sounds like a horror show," Kip said.

"See, doesn't translate," Shane said.

"Mm, rookies are not like freshman, maybe."

"I don't know. The way Scott talks about you when you were a rookie suggests a similar vibe," Kip said, gesturing at Ilya. He had both legs on the bed now, sitting criss-cross facing them.

"What's he say?" Shane asked, all keen attention.

"No," Ilya said. "He was lying. All lies. I was perfect."

Kip winked at Shane, "Maybe later."

"Ech," Ilya protested and slumped against the headboard.

Shane finished his coffee and checked his phone. "Shit. I gotta jump in the shower and then get out of here. Thanks for the coffee, Kip."

"You're welcome. Glad I caught you before you left. I'll-"

But before Kip could finish, Shane set down the cup on the bedside table and got out of bed naked and seemingly unselfconscious about it. Why should he be? He was a gorgeous man, who spent years of his life taking off his clothes in a crowded room. Kip's lips parted and his eyes went very wide.

Shane was approached the end of the bed. Ilya carefully did not move. He didn't want to disturb a moment that had taken on a nature documentary feel, Kip starring as the stunned prey and Shane co-starring as the silent predator. It was not a role Ilya had ever seen Shane take on in proximity of sex and it hit Ilya like a freezing-hot spear right though his stomach.

Shane extended his hand, pausing only for a second, waiting for Kip, who swayed towards it. With that permission, the hand cupped Kip's cheek and Shane leaned down to kiss him once, very gently. Not the hungry greeting he and Ilya gave each other. Only an acknowledgement.

"Bye, Kip. It was good to see you."

Then he was gone, striding towards the bathroom. Ilya watched him go with rapt attention then swung his focus back to Kip, who was still looking at the closed door.

"I know," Ilya said, not without sympathy.

"I cannot believe you kept him to yourself for so long," Kip said, shaking himself a little. "How? People must be trying to crawl into his pants all the time."

"Mm, I get to him very early and ruin him for everyone else."

"Not everyone," Kip said a little slyly. "We're good, me and you?"

"I told you in text."

"Tell me in person too. Spoil me."

Ilya tapped his fingers against his cup while Kip gave him the woebegone look that was a copy and paste of Scott's. Annoying.

"We are good. I have," he waved a hand around in lieu of words, "feelings. But it is fine."

"Do you think it's hot?"

"Yes," Ilya said with an eye roll. "He is hot, you are hot, of course it is hot that you kiss. This is just math."

"Hot math," Kips said with delight. "Wait. You think I'm hot?"

"Girl," Ilya said with every ounce of Kip's tutelage behind it.

The laughter that peeled out Kip was reward enough for practicing. "Holy shit, okay. I didn't know! You've never said or done anything about it."

"Because of Scott," Ilya said simply. "You would say no because of him. Maybe I would too. So better to not ask."

"Except you're saying it now. Because I made out with Shane?"

"You did a little more than make out."

"Okay, is this because your boyfriend jerked me off?" Kip asked with an eye roll.

"No, it is because Scott is not upset that you and Shane had a cute little hookup. He should be doing all of his things." Ilya mimed pinching his nose a little and made the gusty sigh that Scott did when he was worrying over something. "Maybe staring at Shane and not asking, but giving him eyes like 'please tell me, please don't tell me, please kill me or I will kill you'."

"That's kind of uncanny. Like almost exactly Scott, if he was a little bit Russian."

"He would be a terrible Russian," Ilya said. "But he does none of these things. He was happy we were here. Told Shane things about me which is his favorite new hobby. So he must be okay with you and him."

"He seems to be," Kip agreed. "I know he gets jealous, but we talked about it and I'm starting to think he's more worried about me than jealous of me."

They'd just figured that out? Ilya could have told them that two years ago.

"You are very safe with Shane," Ilya said. "He is one of the safest people I know."

"Not the safest? Is that Scott? Scott is pretty safe."

"No. You."

Kip blinked at him. "Me?"

"Yes."

"Explain?"

For a moment, Ilya considered it, then shook his head. "No. I have not had breakfast. Did you bring breakfast with coffee?"

"Nope. No breakfast for pointlessly mysterious men." Kip said. "Be grateful there was coffee. I'm going to go see if Scott's up and give you two space to say goodbye. We can make something together if you want after Shane leaves."

Right. Shane had to leave. That was a thing that was happening soon. Kip exited, closing the door behind him and Ilya listened to Shane showering. He could go and interfere with said shower, but it would be rushed and stolen. Instead, he waited in bed and when Shane emerged in a cloud of steam and pretty smells, Ilya held a hand out to him.

"Don't pull me back into bed," Shane warned.

"Only for a minute," Ilya wheedled.

"Fine, but really only a minute."

Ilya stole five. He didn't try to do anything truly interesting, just kissed and kissed Shane as if he could fill a tank of affection and adoration to live off of for the coming weeks.

"I'll see you soon," Shane reminded him. Reminded them both. Poor Shane didn't look any happier to leave than Ilya was to say goodbye to him which was a little reassuring, but also terribly sad.

"Not soon enough."

"I plugged your phone in your charger. I cleared the missed calls, but left the voicemails. Is that okay?"

"Yes," Ilya said, shoving the thought away. He wanted to focus only on Shane right now.

Another kiss and then Shane was gone from under Ilya's hands. He wrapped himself back up in his pedestrian clothes, the kinds of simple things that said 'nothing to see here' as if they weren't covering one of the best athletes in the world. As if they weren't containing the love of Ilya's life, his heart made manifest and free to move about the world without him.

"Goodbye, Shane," Ilya said. "I love you."

"Goodbye, Ilya," Shane said and stopped at the side of the bed again, leaning down for a last, too long kiss.

"Ilyusha," Ilya murmured to him.

"I've heard Svetlana call you that."

"Yes," Ilya said. "No time to explain, I think. But I want it."

"I love you too, Ilyusha," Shane said. Perfect. First try. Asshole. "I'll text you when I land."

Then he was gone.

Ilya considered the merits of pulling the blankets back over his head and staying there until he had to leave himself. He had hours and hours yet. The flight to Pittsburgh left early in the morning. He would have to go back to his house and pack a bag. Sleep must factor in somewhere. In the meantime though, there were no other demands on his time.

Ilya could wallow here alone, in the bed that smelled of their sleep and sex, for some time.

Unfortunately, his therapist had done some terrible mind trick on him because he could practically hear her in his ear asking, Is that productive and helpful or will you feel worse?

She would probably want him to engage with the day. Go work out or make breakfast with Kip. That seemed a little too hard. Ilya could go smoke on the deck, but that had a lot of steps too and with Shane in his life more regularly he had cut back to only a few pathetic puffs a week. He couldn't stand the way the smell made Shane a little more hesitant to touch him.

Ilya: Was Scott awake?

Kip: Still out. I think he was up late. You coming down?

Ilya: Not yet.

The hallway was short. A dozen or so steps from one room to the other. The main bedroom door was cracked open. Kip must've not wanted to shut it all the way in case the latch catching woke Scott up.

The man himself was sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over his face as if to block the light coming in from the windows he so heavily prized. Ilya went around the bed, pulled up the covers and got under them. He moved slowly so he wouldn't jar Scott until he could slide his arm over Scott's waist and press his face against Scott's side.

The arm over Scott's face came down, curling around him. Scott slept on, clingy and protective even while unconscious. Ilya exhaled shakily and closed his eyes. A minute later, the hand on his back started rubbing in circles. Stealth had not been effective.

Scott didn't make him talk though. Maybe he wasn't awake enough to venture into talking himself. He just rubbed Ilya's back and let him stay until their growling stomachs pulled them out of the bed and towards company.

Ilya and Kip made breakfast side by side while Scott unloaded the dishwasher. It wasn't watching Shane meticulously scramble an egg like he might be being graded on it, but it would do for now.

One Week Later - Scott's Phone

Unknown Number: I apologize for reaching out to you this way. This is Yuna Hollander. I got your number from Shane.

Scott: Hi, I think we've met once or twice.

Yuna: We have. I wanted to say thank you. Shane said the shoot was very professionally run and your manager stepped in when there was an issue.

Scott: Todd is like that. I'm sorry if he gave you any kind of a hard time. He's just very enthusiastic about his job.

Yuna: I can handle him and I'm inclined to give him a little more latitude now. I was wondering if you could tell me more about what happened?"

Scott: More than Shane did? I assume he has his reasons for not going into it. I can tell you it wasn't aimed at him if that helps.

Yuna: It does and it doesn't. I don't like that anything happened at all.

Scott: Me either, but Todd put the kibosh on it.

Yuna: I have another question for you. Slightly less professional.

Scott: I can't promise to answer.

Yuna: Of course. I just want to know if Rozanov is really a friend to Shane? If it's only PR that's fine, but I want to know how to handle this.

Scott: It's real. Roz likes Shane very much. Respects him a lot too.

Yuna: And you?

Scott: If Shane considers me a friend, then I would take that as an honor. You raised a good man.

Yuna: Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to respond.

Scott: Any time.

Five Minutes Later

NYTY: Jane's mother is frightening even over text. Godspeed to when that meeting happens.

BH: I do not think it will ever happen.

NYTY: Keep telling yourself that. She wanted to know if you were actually Shane's friend. I told her that you liked and respected him. I want compensation.

BH: She will not believe you.

NYTY: Maybe, maybe not. But it's worth a shot.

BH: You think Jane would want them to meet me?

NYTY: Yes.

BH: But Jane does not want to tell them.

NYTY: People can be complicated.

BH: You know what is not complicated?

NYTY: Do not start with me. Who would even look after this fictional animal?

BH: Spreadsheet! We would take turns!

Chapter End Notes

If you're curious this is Scott's cigarette/pill case (there was no price listing) and this is Ilya's vintage Cartier case which sold at auction for $9,000 apparently.

Chapter 3: Limonik and Apricot

Chapter Notes

There is a spoiler at the end of this chapter for the movie But I'm a Cheerleader. If you've never seen it, it will not ruin the story for you, promise. I have also included a short summary in the end notes if you want more context for the emotional beat it provides without watching it.

Remember when I said I'd go back to two POVs per chapter? I lied. We're getting one per chapter.

November 2016 - Svetlana

Three Weeks Ago

Scott: You have strong feelings on festive meal proteins, so I'm checking with you first. Okay to skip turkey, yes or no?

Sveta: Turkey is so dry and terrible that your people have invented fifteen side dishes to hide it.

Scott: That's a no?

Sveta: No turkey.

Scott: Great. Seems like a pain in the ass to cook anyway. How about chicken and roast beef?

Sveta: Better. I like pie.

Scott: Me too. I might buy those. I'm a better cook than I am a baker.

Sveta: I will bring them. Do not feed me bad pie.

Scott: Putting you down for pie. How was St. Louis?

Sveta: I made two commissions. My boss was very impressed.

Scott: Isn't Missouri landlocked?

Sveta: Some millionaires will take planes to their yachts.

Scott: Am I spending my money the wrong way?

Sveta: No, please continue to spend it the way you do. Getting me nice things is a much better investment in your future happiness than yachts.

Scott: 🫡

One Week Ago

Kip: Kyle is trying to convince me that cocktails with egg whites are a good idea. I'm trying to explain salmonella to him. How's your day going?

Sveta: A baby tech bro asked me if I came with the luxury package.

Kip: What did you tell him?

Sveta: That I only came for luxury men. He thought it was very funny. At least he bought a fucking boat.

Kip: I think you need a new job. Or a knife. Or a gun.

Sveta: Maybe I will just borrow Scott and let him hold a knife behind me.

Kip: It would be effective. He's such a marshmallow of a guy, I don't know why he looks like a serial killer when he's thinking about making dinner.

Sveta: Your marshmallow makes grown men cry on the ice. Please tell me you know this.

Kip: He is very good at his job. It's hot.

Sveta: There is something very wrong with you. I like it. Marry me?

Kip: Tempting. I heard you're bringing pie. What kind?

Sveta: All of them.

Kip: Amazing. Love that. Can't wait to see you!

This Afternoon

Ilyusha: room or speed for the drive?

Sveta: Do not ask stupid questions.

Ilyusha: Spyder it is. Take out tonight before we go. Mine or yours?

Sveta: Yours. Thai please?

Ilyusha: Yes, good. I will be home by six with it.

Jane 🙄: Sorry to bother you, but Lily said I should ask you when you're both getting in?

Sveta: Around midnight.

Jane 🙄: Good. Great. Thanks.

Sveta: I look forward to seeing you.

Jane 🙄: Thanks, you too.

"Why do you have so many?" Ilya grumbled as he loaded another plastic bag into the Ferrari's tiny trunk.

"Americans love excess for this stupid holiday," Svetlana said. She stretched, preparing to be in the car for a few hours. "You know this. Anyway, there will be enough mouths to feed it all too. If there are leftovers, we can have pie for breakfast and lunch. It is a very pie heavy holiday."

Ilya went quiet and Sveta knew she'd given herself away with too much talking. When he straightened back out from settling the boxes, he gave her a long look.

"Sveta," he said. "Did you make these?"

She sighed. "What does it matter?"

"It matters to me," he said.

"Yes. I made them," she mumbled.

Then she was being swept into a hug and she was forced to hug him back.

Maybe forced was a strong word. Maybe she collapsed into it, safely shielded from the entire world by the enormity of him. It was intensely comforting to be swept up in Ilya's beloved cologne and ferocity.

It hadn't always been this way between them. Their friendship had been something closer to partners-in-crime when they were children. They clung to each other with feral smiles and walked arm-in-arm, but they were skittish, scared, and scrawny things. Often they had lashed out at each other when there was no one else close enough to claw at.

It had changed when Ilya arrived in Boston after they had been apart for two long years. She had been so happy to have him here, a taste of home and the comfort of an old friend, that the time apart melted away. They were both busy, but they made room in their lives for each other, gave each other keys to their apartments, and moved between the two with little concern for their personal lives. Infrequently, there were days when Ilya warned her away, of course. The days she knew now had been pockets of stolen time with Scott or Shane.

Their lives were permeable to each other, the solace of a lover with the expectations of an old friend. Day by day, bit by bit, the boy Svetlana used to give amateur blowjobs to for practice and once threw up on in an alley became the person that knew her best and could be relied on to be there on her worst days.

"When did you even have the time?" he asked, resting his chin carefully on top of her head.

"I made time," she said. "It was good. I enjoyed it."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

Ilya pulled back and smiled down at her. "Good. I will enjoy eating them then."

"You will share," she said firmly.

"Did you make the limonik?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"This I will not share," he said.

"Don't be greedy," she said and slapped him on the chest.

They parted and she got into the passenger seat. She loved driving with Ilya. He drove expensive cars the way they were meant to be driven. His control and reflexes brought them around curves with perfect form. As soon as they were underway, she let go of conscious thought and watched the dark landscape whip by. Occasionally, Ilya sang quietly along with the radio, not particularly melodically, but it was nice. Companionable.

Driving up to the Sleepy Hollow house was the relief of a hot shower at the end of a long day. It startled her every time, how happy she was to see the familiar brown-shingled siding and the blue-green window frames.

Svetlana was a child of many houses: the condo in Moscow with its fading grandeur and her father's stiff, but very real, love; her mother's London flat always tinged with melancholy and the scent of brown sugar; the diplomatic housing in Washington with the brisk white paint that had seen her loneliest moments; the dorm room at BU where her heart had broken for the first time; and her Boston apartment, beloved and utterly hers.

She lived in three countries, her international flights wracking up points on credit cards to earn more flights, a Sisyphean effort to be in all places at once.

So yes, she had many houses, many shelters from the world.

Sleepy Hollow was different and she'd known it from the moment Scott had opened the door to the green and gold bedroom.

"You're smiling," Ilya said.

"So are you," she told him and wiggled her feet back into her shoes as they turned up the driveway. "Is Shane waiting up for you?"

"Shut up," Ilya said and his smile only got bigger. It was the goofy one that he only did when he was too pleased to remember to hide it.

She wondered if she had one that matched it. It seemed likely. That was disconcerting.

"Don't tell me to shut up, you shut up," she said.

Scott's SUV and what must be Shane's rental car were already parked in the garage. Ilya pulled in beside them and grabbed both their bags while she gathered pie boxes.

"I will come back for them," Ilya scolded her. "Leave it."

"I can take in a few boxes."

"If you drop my pie, I will be very annoyed."

"Not yours!"

The door to the garage opened, outlining Scott in the warm light.

"I thought I heard a Russian invasion," he rumbled. "Brat, why are you making her carry all that?"

"Making her!" Ilya protested. "She won't wait for help."

"I have it," she insisted, only to find several boxes lifted out of her arms. "Scott! I can manage."

"Yep," Scott said. "Me too. Anything else in there?"

"That's it," she conceded.

"Okay, let's get this all into place then."

Despite the overhead light being on in the living room, there was a hush to the house. Maybe it was the way the TV was on mute or maybe it was the way Shane had fallen asleep on the couch, sitting up with his arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to defy his own state of rest.

"He was awake until ten or fifteen minutes ago," Scott whispered to her as Ilya stood in the center of the room staring at him like a starving man eyeing a steak.

"Ilyusha, put my bag in my room before you do anything filthy," Sveta ordered.

"Am I a bellboy now?" Ilya asked even as he started moving towards the stairs. "No one else wake him up! I will do this."

As if either of them wanted to poke Shane Hollander awake. The man's reflexes were ridiculous and he didn't seem like a guy that took well to being abruptly shaken. Without a word, Svetlana headed into the kitchen with Scott right behind her. When she opened the fridge, she was met with a wall of food.

"I do not think there is enough room," she said, amused. "Scott, did you buy the entire grocery store?"

"I had a list," he said without much conviction. "Do they all need to be refrigerated?"

"No, some of them will be fine on the counter," she said and picked out the three that really needed the cold. Together they managed to squeeze them in and get the door to shut. She’d even managed to hide her favorite one behind the milk. Apricot could wait for just them. 

As it closed, Ilya came back down the stairs and then he was speaking in very fond Russian while Shane made sleepy annoyed noises at him.

"What's he saying?" Scott whispered to him. "Or should I not ask?"

"He knows I can hear him, so it is not a secret," Svetlana whispered back. She listened and then repeated. "He is telling Shane that he is very cute and sleepy. That he looks like an angry kitten."

"Only Ilya would think Shane Hollander looks like a kitten," Scott said with a soft laugh.

"And then he says…oh," Svetlana stopped, just listening. Her voice dropped even lower, barely articulating it. "He says that he missed him very much and that he loves him more than he has the words for."

Scott went quiet too beside her, both of them just listening as Ilya kept talking and Shane started answering, then both of them went up the stairs, surprisingly quiet for such large men. Upstairs a door opened, then closed, cutting off most of the sound.

"That's very- Sveta," Scott said, startling her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice came out all wrong.

"Hey," Scott said far too gently.

Svetlana hated tears. Not only for the physical aspects, though she did loathe the heat, the damp, and the snotty nose, but for what they telegraphed to the world. Letting herself be so easily read and seen made her want to snarl and hide. She rarely cried and when she did, it was alone and in the dark where she could pity herself quietly. Even then, she required herself to have very good reasons for it. Anything short of heartbreak was not allowed.

What she absolutely did not do was cry for no reason on a Wednesday night in the warm light of a kitchen in front of Scott. That was an impossibility and entirely unacceptable.

"No," she said.

"No what?" Scott asked, a picture of confusion.

"I am not crying," she told him, tears streaming down her face.

"Okay," he said softly, the confusion wiped away into understanding. "Can I hug you for no reason then?"

Svetlana did not want a hug. She wanted to crawl into her bed, block out all light and stimuli to be miserable alone.

Except that would only make it worse, she knew that. A hug would be better.

Instead of clearing her throat enough to say 'yes', she just let her head drop to Scott's broad chest with a groan. His hugs were as encompassing as Ilya's, his body wrapping around hers with ease and blocking out the world. There was no expensive beloved cologne, only the sharp smell of his deodorant and the very soft texture of his t-shirt. The strength of him was evident, but he hugged her very gently like she might shatter.

Svetlana started crying harder. It was choking and awful, but Scott held on and kept her steady even as her shoulders shook and she finally held him back. When she was finally too overheated and disgusted to stay, he let her go without a fight. He reached for the paper towels and handed her one, so she could blow her nose.

"I hate crying," she told him mutinously.

"I hear that. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Ech."

Scott's lips twitched. "Did he get that from you or did you get that from him?"

"Get what?"

"That noise. You both make it when you don't have words," Scott said. He mimicked it with a less effusive 'ech'.

"That is Ilya's first," she decided. "But it is a very useful noise."

"It conveys a lot," Scott agreed. "Doesn't tell me why you're this upset though. Is it about him? The 'I love you' get to you? He told you that he said it already, right?"

"He did, it isn't that," Svetlana said. "Or it is, but not what you mean. I am very very happy for him. It is only hearing him so happy made me realize that I’m not nearly as happy."

"Your job?"

"Some of it," Svetlana agreed. "All of my friends are so settled now. Everyone is getting engaged and some of them have babies. Even Ilyusha, who I thought would never let anyone in, has so much love now. I don’t want these things, but I also want… something. I don't know. I don't want to keep selling things, I think. I don't want to keep going out for drinks with people I don't like much to have somewhere to go."

"Okay," Scott said. "So you find the next thing. You're incredible, you can do whatever you want."

"What I want to do is burn everything to the ground," she admitted. "I want to quit and pack all my things and move."

"Is that burning everything to the ground?" Scott asked thoughtfully. He set his shoulder to the fridge, leaning on it as if now deeply invested in troubleshooting her middle of the night crisis. "You don't like your job, so who cares about quitting it?"

"It’s harder to find the next job when you are unemployed," she explained. Why was she surrounded by men who had never had a real person's job? She needed Kip. "Gaps in resumes make people nervous."

Scott took that on board and seemed to store it wherever he put information that was interesting, but generally irrelevant to him. His brain was a warren and Svetlana had a cursory interest in exploring it, but a deeper desire not to get lost in a fathomless labyrinth.

"But maybe working a job that makes you cry randomly is also not good?" Scott ventured.

"Maybe," she conceded and blew her nose again. She was still crying a little. Fuck.

"Do you like living in Boston?"

"I did," she said. "I really did. I loved college and the city was good to me, but my friends keep moving. It's good to be near Ilyusha, but he's away more than he's home and I don't want to only have one friend and-"

"Sveta," Scott said so gently that she must truly look like she was going to crumble to dust. "You don't have to make any decisions tonight, but you know you can live here, right? This is your house as much as theirs or mine. You can keep the place in Boston and take a sabbatical here for as long as you want."

That stopped her dead in her tracks. Of course, that was legally true. Scott had ensured it. One fifth of this place belonged to her. He had made sure she had a bedroom and a place on the calendar, room in the fridge (usually; no one had room in the fridge right now, because Scott had apparently prepared for this holiday like the apocalypse).

"But none of you live here," she pointed out.

"I would spend more time here if you were here," Scott said simply.

Like it was easy to say. Damn the man, no wonder he had so fundamentally changed Ilya's brain chemistry. It was like being confronted by a very sweet and well-meaning boulder.

"That wouldn't be strange for you?"

Scott frowned. "Why would it be?"

Why was she even entertaining this? She had a life in Boston. It was only her being a little melancholy listening in on her closest friend being disgustingly in love that was making her even consider this.

That and the way her job had been a low-grade buzz of awful lately. Svetlana was very good at what she did and she earned her fat commissions. Sometimes earning them felt like letting leeches suck at her for fun though. Sometimes the numbers in her bank account did very little to make it feel worth it.

So what if watching her friends pair off (happily and unhappily) and starting new phases of their lives that were perfectly curated on social media made her jaw ache and her stomach clench? What did she need a partner for? Svetlana could manage perfectly fine on her own. She always had. If she needed sex, she could have it. If she needed help, she could pay for it. If she needed company, there were plenty of people to spend time with her.

If she needed to feel loved…

Before Shane, Sveta had imagined Ilya quietly filling as much of that part of her life as she would allow to be filled. Unfair, perhaps, but it wasn't as if she had made him sign a document about it. Or founded an LLC about it.

Oh no. Was she just as bad as Scott?

Was Scott even 'bad'? He was certainly good to her. Excellent to Ilya. A profoundly good boyfriend to Kip, despite the obvious limitations. Scott was odd and definitely not normal, but he loved in an undeniable way that Svetlana liked. She could do worse than to be like Scott.

"I will think about it," she said.

"You do that. Offer isn't going anywhere," Scott said easily. "Do you want to go to bed or do you want to watch something? I'm wide awake."

"Why?"

"If I knew the answer to that question, I could delete my podcast app and save a lot of storage on my phone."

To Scott's pleasure, Svetlana agreed to watch a true crime documentary, provided they were not about murder or rape.

"Ilya won't watch these with me because he thinks they give me ideas and Kip talks over them," he explained as he queued it up.

"This is about art forgery," she said with a laugh. "Does Ilyusha think you can paint?"

"I don't think he's gone that far in the thought process," Scott said. "He sees crime and thinks I'm planning on dismantling him for parts."

"Why? He's much more useful in one piece."

"That's what I said. He didn't seem reassured."

The documentary was interesting, but mostly Svetlana needed the noise. She had sat next to Scott on the couch because it seemed rude not to. Gradually though, she gave up the ghost of pretending and let her head come to rest against his arm. When he shifted and put it around her, there was no fight left in her.

"This is how you got him," she realized.

"Hm?" Scott's attention was on the screen, not even her.

"I know my Ilyusha. You pretended it was all sex and then you cuddled him. He never had a chance."

"He was very much not letting me cuddle him in the beginning," Scott said with a quiet chuckle. "I didn't even want to. Pointy bastard would've taken my eye out."

"It was quick," she guessed. "Third or fourth time."

Scott's shrug translated all along her body, settling her in closer. "Maybe. Who remembers?"

Said like a man who absolutely remembered every minute of it, but Svetlana didn't press. The trap had been laid long ago and if it was good enough to snap up Ilya, she supposed it was good enough for her.

There would be no harm in taking off a week or two and holing up here. No harm at all. That wasn't a big crazy decision. That was simply a vacation.

She did not recall even feeling sleepy. There had been the couch, the show, and then she woke up in the green bedroom, still in her clothes, but under the blankets. Ridiculous man. Her hair was a wreckage, but she didn't have a crying hangover or an ache in her neck from sleeping at a weird angle.

The en suite had been less personally designed than the bedroom, but it was a tranquil bathroom with gold fixtures. She and Kip had picked out a painting for the wall across from the toilet, a lovely abstracted cityscape. It was no particular city, but it reminded her of Moscow most of all. As she peed, she considered the infinite streets with their blotches of yellow light.

She had always lived in cities and apartments. What would it be like to live in a house in the suburbs for any length of time? Dull, maybe. Certainly quieter.

The shower finished the process of evening her out. Instead of washing her hair, she worked it into an artful bun with a few curls hanging around her face. Who was she going to impress? The bulk of today's attendees were gay, taken or both. If she wanted to look a little frumpy, she could.

Of course, all things were relative. She knew she still looked cute in jeans and a cropped t-shirt, but it was a comfortable kind of cute instead of a targeted arrow. There was a makeup kit in her bag. She left it there. If she was playing any kind of game today, it was one she wanted to meet barefaced.

When she drifted downstairs, it was to find Kip at the kitchen counter staring down at several sheets of paper with his brow furrowed.

"Kip!"

His head snapped up and he beamed at her. "Sveta!"

They charged into each other, spinning around a little, giddy. "Hi! Do you want to meet my dad?"

"Yes!" she said. "Mr. Big Kip!"

"He told you about that?" Kip laughed. "Ridiculous."

"I love it," Sveta said. "Where is he?"

"Scott and him are puttering around the front yard pretending either of them know anything about landscaping."

"Why?" Svetlana asked.

"I think it's arcane male bonding," Kip said. "Or they're talking about me. Probably both. They're co-conspirators, it's awful."

"That does not sound awful," she said, finally releasing him. "It's cold. I will meet your father when he comes inside."

"Good call. Coffee?"

"Please. What are we looking at?" She gestured at the papers. "Work?"

"No, I told Scott that we should write out what we want to serve so we don't forget anything in the fridge."

"This is a lot of pages," Svetalana said.

"Yeah. He used a big font, but it's…concerning."

"We have four hockey players. Maybe this will help make a dent. Are Ilyusha and Shane still sleeping?"

"We can go with 'sleeping'," Kip said with a wink. "But yeah, they're still upstairs. That's fine. The only thing that needs to get started right now is the roast beef and Scott wants to do that. I think everything else mostly just needs to be warmed up or finished off. He didn't actually think he'd do a million hours of cooking today."

"Are we sure?"

"No," Kip admitted. "But let me live in denial a little longer."

They had coffee and toasted bagels that had been fresh the day before.

"Would you mind if I spent more time here?" Svetlana asked him. "I know you're not here as much as Scott, but you're here the second most often, I think."

Kip raised his eyebrows, not really surprised. When had he gotten in? Or had he and Scott gotten effective enough at communicating that it only took a handful of minutes to get each other up to speed? Or had they texted about her while she slept against Scott's chest?

None of the options bothered her, she decided. If anything, it was nice to be worried over a little when she was being worrying.

"It's just as much your house as mine. I think it'd be good if someone was here more consistently and I'd love to see you more," he said and it seemed sincere. "You're right on the train line into the city. It's a dream commute if you want to find another job."

"It is," she agreed, taking another bite of her bagel and chewing through it slowly. "Do you like being a student again?"

"It's a little different this time around," he said with a shrug. "I'm working at the same time, you know? Teaching, doing my own research. It's a little more intense, but it's also a lot less like being a kid listening to lectures."

Svetlana had liked college. Her degree had been in public relations, but she'd liked many of her other classes. She wasn't sure she wanted to make academia her life though, like she suspected Kip ultimately would. That seemed like a bridge too far.

The front door opened and voices trailed in.

"Dad! Come meet Svetlana!" Kip called.

The man that arrived in the kitchen was instantly endearing. He was balding and a little round, a fond smile so easily sliding onto his face that it must be a near permanent installation.

"I've heard a lot about you," George said, holding out his hand. "Kip is a big fan."

"I am a fan of his," Svetlana said and meant it. "You made a very good boy."

"Thanks," George laughed. "Mostly he did it himself, but I like to think I helped. What do you say, Kipper?"

"I'm an excellent boy and you can have forty percent of the credit," Kip said. "Hi, babe, how are the rhododendrons?"

"I'm not sure which ones are rhododendrons," Scott admitted. "Mostly we pointed at dead things and tried to remember what they looked like when they were alive."

"Pretty sure they're the big bush things by the deck," George offered. "I googled it."

"Thank god for landscapers then," Kip laughed. "Okay, let's get the extra leaves in the table and maybe figure out if we have enough silverware for this."

"I bought extra," Scott said immediately.

"Oh, babe," Kip said with a fond sigh. "Of course you did. What are we supposed to do with that when it's not a holiday?"

"Box in the pantry," Scott supplied without missing a beat. "It's marked 'holiday silverware'."

"You know, I used to feel bad that you can't smoke weed or anything during the season, but you're high as a kite on this right now aren't you?"

"Yeah," Scott said with a grin that showed too many teeth. "I've got Thanksgiving endorphins."

"Cute," Svetlana assessed and Scott winked at her before jogging off, likely to fetch even more shit he'd purchased for one day.

"That man," George said vaguely. "All right, let's get this party started. What are we making first?"

By the time Ilya came down a half-hour later, the kitchen had become a well-oiled machine. Svetlana had been given a corner of the island entirely untouched by food preparation and a stack of napkins once she showed off her fabric origami skills. As she folded, Kip had casually said 'Sveta knows everything about hockey, Dad' and that was the end of that. They were talking about the weakest teams in the Western Conference when Ilya blundered in to flop over Svetlana's back, heavy and sweetly-scented from a shower.

"What are you doing?" he rumbled in her ear.

"Making useful things beautiful," she said.

"You are showing off," Ilya noted. "Will you do swans?"

"You want a swan?" she asked indulgently.

"Yes," he said and kissed her cheek, then bee-lined for the coffee. "Good morning, Gradys."

"What am I?" Scott asked. "Chopped liver?"

"Are we having liver?" Ilya asked. "With everything else?"

"No liver," Kip said firmly. "We’re drowning in side dishes as it is.” 

Ilya did discreetly also give Scott a kiss on the cheek while George's focus was on dicing onions. The pleased look on his face made Svetlana smile down at her napkins. She was surrounded by touch-starved idiots. Good. It made her stand out less.

"Where's Shane?" she asked as Ilya circled back towards her, mug in hand.

"Mm, he is concerned about the amount of butter he saw in the fridge, so he is getting in his run," Ilya said with amusement. "He is not much help in the kitchen, so this is no loss."

"Are you going to help?"

"Maybe."

He did, of course. Svetlana got to setting the elongated table, laying out the pretty silverware Scott had bought. There were new dishes too, not particularly showy, but even nicer than the ones they usually used. The tablecloth was a pretty shade of green, leaves lightly embossed on it. As she laid out dishes and her swan napkins, the men bustled around each other in a coordinated chaos of cooking.

"We should put on the parade," George said as things wound down.

"Oh, c'mon," Kip grumbled. "It's so boring."

"It's tradition!" George said merrily.

The men slowly abandoned the kitchen for the living room. The parade went on as Shane came in, damp from his shower. "Did I miss everything?"

"You avoided helping successfully," Kip said, then when Shane looked vaguely distressed, added, "It's fine, you can be on clean up duty after."

"Kip," George said tiredly. "That's Shane Hollander."

"Yeah, Dad," Kip said with a grin.

"Why do you do this to me?" George asked.

"He said it would be funny," Scott said quickly. "I wanted to tell you."

"Oh my god, Hunter," Ilya groaned, kicking at him, but not connecting. "Stop shoving your boyfriend under buses."

"Under the bus," Shane corrected absently. "Um, hi?"

"Hi," George said and held out his hand. "Sorry. My son thinks it's funny to jump scare me with all the best players in the league apparently. At least he can't top this. Anyone else after you will be a letdown at this point."

"Thank you?" Shane shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Very good to meet you too," George said heartily. "Watching you play is a delight, except when you're playing my team. That's all I'll say about that. We're watching the parade."

"Over my objections," Kip said. "Hi, Shane."

Then Kip got up on his toes and smacked a kiss on Shane's cheek which left him a little pink. Poor guy didn't know where to go or who to sit with as everyone settled in. He had been terse in the group chat the last few days. He and Ilya were technically still a secret from George, but everyone else coming today knew. It was a little heartbreaking how quickly Scott had made it clear to everyone that if they didn't let Shane make the choice to tell or not, then they'd be dealing with Scott.

These men. Horrific what they did to her heart. At least this was something Svetlana could help with.

"Come sit with me," she said to Shane quietly, slipping her hand into his and heading for her end of the couch. Shane let himself be led which was promising. "I don't even like parades and I want to hear what you think of the Tampa trades."

Bracketed by the arm of the couch and her, Shane relaxed a little, bending his head down so they could hear each other over the TV and the other more boisterous conversations. It was very hard not to like Shane once she had met him. He was sharp, sweet, bitingly funny when given the room to be so, and he adored Ilya with such clear devotion that she could've loved him for that alone.

"Sorry I didn't say hi last night," he said a few minutes in. "Ilya said you wouldn't care."

"I don't," she assured him and rested her hand on his wrist. Not a flirtation. Shane wasn't Scott who had been adorably flustered, then game to play with her that first time. It was only a reassurance. This was just a touch that she hoped conveyed 'I like you'. "You were tired and he was very excited to see you."

"I miss him like crazy," Shane confessed, almost under his breath. "I always used to, sort of, but it's different now."

"He misses you too," she said. "It's very annoying. Lots of loud sighs and grumpy texting."

"What does grumpy texting look like?" Shane asked like she might be lying to him.

"Ah, I will show you." She had to scroll back a week and then handed him the phone. "Don’t scroll up, that is a little more private, but the rest you can read."

"Okay," he said, handling her phone like she'd given him gold. Then he paused and laughed. 

"What?"

"Sveta, this is all in Russian."

"Oh, right," she said with a soft sigh of exasperation at herself. "I will translate for you."

"I want to learn," he said a little wistfully. "I don't know when I'd have time to take lessons."

"No problem," she waved that away. "I will teach you. It’ll take a lot of time, but we can do some simple phrases and things. Enough to make Ilyusha a little crazy."

"I'd like that," Shane said.

"Okay, but for now, I’ll translate:

Sveta: So I will come by in a half hour for it

Ilyusha: Fine

Sveta: Or I can stay home and you can bring them to me tomorrow.

Ilyusha: No. Come.

Sveta: You do not sound like you want me there.

Ilyusha: It's fine. You're fine. Everything is fine.

Sveta: What's wrong?

Ilyusha: Nothing.

Sveta: I'm bringing treats. Something has to sweeten you up.

Iluysha: I can't. Games this week.

Sveta: No cheat days?

Ilyusha: No.

Sveta: What are you punishing yourself for?

Ilyusha: Leave me alone.

Sveta: I won't come then.

Ilyusha: No please come over. The house is too quiet. "

Shane didn't laugh like she thought he might, he only looked a little sadder. Oops. "You did go over? Even though he was crabby?"

"I did," she said. "If his moods were enough to keep me away, we wouldn’t be friends anymore.  Anyway, mine are just as bad."

"They are?"

Svetlana hesitated. Ilya had reluctantly disclosed the extent of the help he was getting to her recently. That she had been the last to know made her furious in a way there was no point in expressing. Her place in his cosmos had shifted and that was all right. She knew now and while she may have been the last to find out, she had a feeling she'd also be the last person he told. He probably thought the household was already too many people.

It had also not been particularly surprising to her that his issues were diagnosable. She had watched him in low tide before, monitoring the conditions like a lighthouse keeper, unable to do a thing about it, except ward off the things that might crash on the rocky shores and make it worse.

"Not as often," she tempered. "They are a different shape, maybe."

"Oh," Shane said. "Does he know that?"

"Yes, but we don't talk about it. Or we didn't," she amended. "Sometimes we do now, a little."

"Yeah, exactly," Shane said and now he laughed quietly. "A little. Bit by bit."

"Archeology," she decided.

"What?"

"You know when they find dinosaur bones? They use little brushes to move the dirt so they do not break or scratch them. It's like that."

Shane put his hand over hers. He made her fingers disappear under his palm. His skin was pleasantly cool.

"Yeah, it's exactly like that."

The doorbell rang.

"That'll be Carter and Elena," Scott said, bouncing to his feet and headed to the door.

"And Maria and Kyle," Kip yelled after him. "They hitched a ride!"

"No Shawn?" Svetlana whispered.

"No, he apparently has family in driving distance," Shane whispered back.

"What an asshole."

Shane blinked, then laughed. Ilya's attention zeroed in on them. "What is funny?"

"Your face," Shane said without skipping a beat.

"What?" Ilya demanded and now Svetlana was laughing too.

It wasn't even that funny, except that Ilya had to react like he'd been shot. It wasn't a bad way to greet the influx of people. Guests? Were they her guests too? She supposed they were. Svetlana got to her feet and accepted a hug from Elena. They had only met twice, but Svetlana had liked her immediately.

She liked all of Kip's friends. They filled the house with noise, excitement, and playful banter. Hockey talk was abandoned in favor of debates of music that Svetlana hadn't heard and plays she hadn't seen. That was fine. Learning about new things was nice. Shane lingered near her even as the groups mixed together. Maybe it was that they shared a confusion in the topics at hand or maybe he wanted the familiar accent if he couldn't let himself get close to Ilya. Either way, she indulged him, making sure he stayed included in the conversation.

Still, it was a relief when the doorbell rang again and he darted towards it. There was only so much social lubrication Svetlana could provide when she was already a little out of her depth.

"Who else is coming?" Elena asked. "Aren't we all here?"

"Hi everyone!" a cheerful voice chimed.

"Hi, Rose!" half of them yelled back.

"Wow," Elena said with a smile. "Rose Landry has nowhere better to be on Thanksgiving than here?"

"This is the best place to be," Svetlana said and she'd meant to add a little sarcasm to it, but found it coming out entirely sincerely.

When Shane had tentatively asked if anyone minded Rose coming, he had explained that she was in a small budget film that couldn't afford to give her enough time off to make the flight home worth it. The resounding response had been 'INVITE HER'.

It was possible that Svetlana had been a little more effusive than anyone else, but luckily it had gotten lost in the quick stream of holiday planning texts.

"It is pretty great," Elena conceded, flashing Svetlana a smile. "All the best people say so."

It was a room of good looking people, yet Rose outshone all of them without trying. If anything, she had tried to downplay herself as much as Svetlana had this morning. There was no makeup on her face, except for some lipgloss, and her bright hair had been pulled back from her face with an alligator clip. She wore an oversized beige sweater and highwaisted jeans. Please treat me like I'm normal, the whole outfit screamed.

Too bad that she had become famous for a reason. The energy Rose brought in with the cold air was electric. Her eyes were bright and her focus was intent. Apparently Kip had braced his father for her (why that was all right, but not Shane was a question that Svetlana doubted Kip even had an answer for), and he only greeted her politely as she moved around the room. Everyone else did their best to answer her unspoken request. Casual hellos and questions.

Until Rose got to Svetlana.

"Hi," Rose said, frank and assessing.

"Hello, Rose," Svetlana said, meeting the look dead on. Go ahead. Ask me.

"It's good to see you again. What are you drinking?"

"Nothing fun. We are staying sober until lunch," Svetlana said. "Would you like a soda?"

"Is there diet coke?"

Svetlana got it for her, settling into playing hostess. As she handed the glass to Rose, their fingers brushed, but Rose's face stayed pleasantly neutral.

"It was good that you could come," Svetlana said, bland in a way she rarely was. "I'm sorry you couldn't see your family."

"So am I," Rose said. "My mother was in hysterics when I told her, but then my oldest brother announced that his wife is pregnant, so I've been forgotten about. What about you?"

"My family isn’t American," Svetlana returned Rose's pleasant distance. "No one cares. My job is closed though. Not yours?"

"Oh, it is for the day. A lot of the crew and cast are local. There were a few invitations, but it seemed like more work, you know? Shane was so sweet to offer and I liked it here a lot drunk, so I thought I'd try it sober."

The question stayed behind Rose's teeth as they talked about work. Or maybe it wasn't there at all and Svetlana was only hoping for it. Shane came to Rose's side and the two of them got pulled into Carter and Elena's effervescent tide. Drifting from them, sorting through her own thoughts, Svetlana caught Scott frowning at his phone.

"Did something burn?" Svetlana asked.

"No. Do you think we could fit one more at the table?"

Even with the extra leaves, it was getting to be a squeeze, but Svetlana was excellent at dinner parties.

"I’ll make it work. Who else is coming?"

"Eric, I think."

"Bennett?" she asked, bemused. "What about his wife?"

"I don't know what's happening, but she's not coming," Scott said and typed back. "I can help."

"You have ten timers going. Take care of the food, I can do the table."

Halfway through shifting place mats, George appeared at her elbow.

"What's up?"

"We are making room," Svetlana explained. "For one more."

"Okay."

He asked no questions, simply followed her lead on shifting silverware. It must've been nice to grow up with someone like that. Svetlana loved her father, but he definitely saw himself as her leader. The only time he let her take control was in the land of the feminine and even then it was more of a 'that is not particularly important so you can handle it' sort of handover. There was a reason she had left him for the country he'd taught her to treat with suspicion, even if she did still go home to visit with far less reluctance than Ilya.

In different circumstances, would her mother have let her do this? Simply make room at a table?

"Sveta," Ilya's voice pulled her from reverie. "Open."

She opened her mouth automatically and he popped a cracker with some kind of sweet jam and a very salty cheese into her mouth.

"Good cheese," she said approvingly once she'd swallowed.

"Sheep," he provided.

"Interesting. Approved."

"I will put out the tray then." Then he was gone again, lifting up an oversized charcuterie platter and calling out. "If you are not cooking, out of the fucking kitchen. You can have cheese in the living room."

A small phalanx of people did actually detach from the kitchen and follow him into the living room. Scott visibly relaxed and Kip seemed to take a full breath for the first time in a half hour.

"He's good at that," George observed. "Controlling the room."

"Don’t say that where he can hear," Svetlana admonished him gently. "His ego will swell up, explode, and get all over the nice food."

George laughed. "You chirp like him. Or does he chirp like you?"

Svetlana considered that for a long moment and concluded, "Yes."

"That's cute," George said.

"Russians are not cute," she said firmly, but she smiled when she said it.

They were cute sometimes and that was all right these days. They could sometimes afford not to be the fanged, clawed menaces that patrolled their borders with the wariness of soldiers. Especially here.

Without conscious thought, she looked for Shane. He'd stayed in the kitchen, apparently manning a pot that needed stirring. His shoulders were a little hunched again, his brow furrowed. Svetlana adjusted the last fork, then went to his side.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Gravy," Shane said. "Apparently it can get lumpy if you don't whisk it."

"And lumpy gravy is bad," she surmised.

"This is what I've been told."

They both looked into the beige depths with equal amounts of disbelief. "Do you think they're making things up to fuck with us?"

"Yes," Shane said without hesitation. "But also, I don't want to do whatever is happening in the living room, so whisking it is."

"I think it’s mostly cheese happening in the living room," she said. Though it was getting loud. Loud cheese. They could talk hockey again. They could be quiet together. But Svetlana wasn't selfless and she had her own questions. "You and Rose are close?"

"Uh, yeah. We're friends," Shane said cautiously. "I'm not having sex with her if that's what you're asking."

"It’s not," she said, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice. "If you were interested in that direction, you and I would already have seen each other naked."

His whisk froze momentarily. "You're confident about that."

"Very," Svetlana said. "You would not be able to resist me if you liked a woman's body."

"How do you figure that?"

"I seem like a more accessible, legal-in-your-head Ilyusha," she said.

"Fuck," Shane said into the pot, then started whisking again. "You're not though."

"I am not," she confirmed. "But it would have been close enough, I think."

Shane stirred mechanically. "Not sure I wanted to know that about myself. Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," she said sunnily. "In return, please tell me if Rose ever said anything to you about me after you brought her here."

The slight pause in his stirring and the quick flit of his eyes over to her and away told her everything that his falsely nonchalant, "What do you mean?" couldn't say.

It had happened. Svetlana had not been drunkenly conjuring fantasies. And Rose did remember it. Good. That was good. Probably. Fuck.

"Nothing," she said lightly. "You know, George is a very nice, very quiet man. He keeps a lot of secrets. But he will also go home tonight."

"You think I'm being stupid," Shane muttered.

"Not even a little," Svetlana said. "Too many people know. Secrets in too many hands are not secrets anymore and that is very frightening."

"Yeah," Shane breathed out.

"I want Ilyusha to get a green card," Svetlana told him. 

"He mentioned that a few weeks ago," Shane said. "U.S. citizenship…"

"Mm, it is not perfect. Not even close, but he lives here and has for many years. He has a very good visa. He could get it very quickly and it would be safer."

"Canadian would be better."

"But it takes longer. I do not think he has ‘longer’ any more."

Ilya's voice carried in from the other room, some declaration of vengeance with a laugh under it.

"He said you can help with the paperwork."

"I can," Svetlana said. "I did it for myself and I have a good immigration lawyer."

"Help him. Please."

"You do not have to ask," she assured him. "I will do it if he wants it."

"He wants to be closer. I want him closer. But I don't know how to do that without one of us changing teams."

"It is a tricky problem. But we have a lot of good heads in this house. We will find a solution. And a green card is not a promise. He can have one, then go be a Canadian someday. Okay?"

"Okay," Shane agreed.

"Wow," Kip said, suddenly at Svetlana's elbow. "You two should stir gravy more often. It really is a two-person job figuring out the answers to everything."

"You’re very nosy," Svetlana scolded, even as she leaned against him. "I like your father."

"Cool, me too," Kip said and put his arm around her waist. "Do you two want to solve world hunger too?"

"Scott is already on that," Shane said without looking up. "We're going to have enough leftovers for a small country."

A timer went off and Scott careened back into view. "I need the oven, Hollander, scoot."

"Scoot," Shane repeated in disbelief. "You really are a hundred and five."

Scott's put upon sigh could register on the Richter scale. "Yeah, I was built in the 40s by a mad scientist with a hard-on for hockey. Fucking move."

"We shouldn't have watched Stepford Wives last week," Kip concluded and they did all jointly move out of Scott's way. "It's doing things to him that I don't like."

"You told me the fact that I hadn't seen it was a 'travesty'," Scott reminded him. "You put it on a syllabus."

"A syllabus for what class?" Svetlana asked, doing her best to try to stay solemn.

"How the Hell Did You Miss this?: Cinematic Education for Men Who Watch a Shit Ton of Movies and Still Haven't Seen Any of My Favorites," Kip recited. "It's a little long, but I prefer accuracy."

"Is Scott your only student?" Shane asked.

"Nope, I enrolled you and Ilya. As soon as I'm done writing it up, you're getting a copy. Consider it mandatory."

"Okay," Shane said, apparently simply pleased to be included.

"You don’t think I need this?" Svetlana asked.

"No, because you knew what I meant when I quoted Some Like It Hot, but I'll send you the list too," Kip said, giving her a last squeeze before stepping away entirely. "You can add to it, if you want."

"Do we get to set up a rival syllabus?" Scott asked, removing things from the oven and replacing them with a frankly irresponsible speed.

"If you three can agree on every single movie you put on it," Kip decided.

"Oh, so you just want us to fight for your entertainment?" Shane asked with a small smile. "Seems familiar. You're a hockey hooligan."

"Excuse me if I think it's hot when three beefy men get sweaty and put each other in headlocks," Kip singsonged. He opened the fridge and handed a bowl to Svetlana. "Let's get the island set up. We're going buffet style."

"On the beefy men or the food?" she asked mildly. "Because one I know I can eat all of, the other I might need some help."

Kip almost dropped the green bean monstrosity he was holding (no loss as far as she was concerned), Scott visibly stalled out trying to think of a rejoinder, but the real joy was that Shane made a noise like an injured goose.

Last night, she had wept in this kitchen. Today, she had it in hysterics. Such was life.

They managed to get the whole party to filter in, fill their plates with literal mountains of food, and get seated at the table within relatively short order. Eric Bennett had arrived somewhere in the chaos and he'd taken his fair share, then sat down to stare at his plate like he didn't know how it arrived there. Carter sat down next to him, full of smiles, but also darting worried looks from Eric's face to Scott at the other end of the table. They were having some kind of silent joint panic attack.

Svetlana sat down across from Eric, expecting Rose to settle closer to Shane. Instead, she slipped bedside Svetlana, but instantly started talking to Maria who was on Rose's other side. Interesting.

"I don’t think we've met," Svetlana said to Eric. There were gray strands streaking into his dark hair, but he otherwise seemed youthful. He was only old in hockey terms, she supposed. "I'm Svetlana."

"Vetrov's daughter," Eric said immediately. "I know. Scott mentions you a lot. I admire your father's play style a lot."

"He was very good," she said. "You are better, I think."

"Maybe by the numbers," he shook his head, the gray catching the light. Yes. A good looking man. "But he had an art to things."

"Numbers are what matter," she said. "Art does not get you to playoffs. He would say the same."

Eric was a polite conversationalist. He didn't let her dwell only in hockey as if he thought it would bore her. That was fine, she let him be chivalrous and polite. They spoke about their education and he told her about his art collection. Beside her, Rose and Maria were having a spirited debate about fast fashion in which they both seemed to agree, but enjoyed sounding like they didn't.

Further up the table, Ilya was stabbing his fork into the air vaguely in Elena's direction as he expounded on some point about finances that he absolutely knew nothing about. Kip had gotten Carter and Scott's attention with pictures of some graffiti he'd seen on the train here.

And Shane was watching. All of it. From the other end of the table, he met her eyes. They regarded each other. He raised his glass to her in silent acknowledgement. She tilted hers towards him. It was good not to be alone in paying attention. Maybe the lighthouse could have more than one keeper. It didn't have to be such a lonely job.

Beside her, Rose said something quietly, then reached up to tuck a stray strand of her pretty red hair behind the perfect shell of ear, exposing a slice of long pale neck. Svetlana's teeth itched. She dug her fork into the roast beef and chewed through it, returning her attention to Eric. With renewed purpose, Svetlana flirted lightly with him. Nothing that said 'I'm actually interested in taking you to bed', but the harmless light flirtation of a distraction over a drink. Not every man could be trusted to tell the difference, of course, but Scott wouldn't keep the wrong kind of man close to him.

"I think," the man himself announced, "we should go around the table and say something we're thankful for."

"Love that tradition," George said readily. "We used to do it at my mom's house, right, Kip?"

"Yeah, it was a regular thing," Kip said, suspended somewhere between fond and irritated.

"Then you go first, love," Scott encouraged, then went a little still, the endearment hanging in the air. Then he relaxed again. Maybe one day, he'd remember it was safe before he even started to say it. Wouldn't that be something?

"I'm thankful that the bidding war for my academic charms seems to have ended in a detente and I won't be split in half like Solomon's baby," Kip said. "Maria?"

Maria was thankful for her new job, which was working out well, while Kyle was thankful for good tippers during the holiday season. With a sincerity that bordered on pathological, Carter said his thanks for Elena, who had made his life better by being in it. For her part, Elena announced she was grateful for a more relaxed dress code at work. Carter seemed unoffended and Svetlana guessed that was partially because of Elena's hand on his thigh under the table.

"I'm grateful to be here," Eric said and produced nothing more.

Which made it Svetlana's turn. The desire to be flippant was ever present. It was so much easier to laugh, but not five feet from where she was sitting, Scott had earnestly hugged her and tried to fix a wound that had likely been gradually bleeding for years. Sometimes an effort was called for.

"I'm grateful for this place," she said. "And the people in it."

"It's a good place," Rose said softly beside her. "I'm grateful to have good friends."

Ilya was quiet for a beat, then said, "I am grateful for stupid nights in very dark clubs."

The non-residents laughed, but everyone who lived in the house stared at him, the sincerity taking them off guard. Svetlana longed to take his hand and ask 'all the clubs?' because some of them had been very very stupid, but most of them had been the best times of her life. Or did he only mean one night in particular that had nothing to do with her at all? Damn him for being so open and so closed all at the same time. Damn him for making her an archeologist.

"I'm grateful for my family," George said. "Whatever form it takes."

Shane ran a finger over the tablecloth and with his eyes fixed on his plate said, "I'm thankful for having enough time."

Then he leaned against Ilya. Only a little, barely anything, but more than most male friends would tolerate.

An invisible hand reached around Svetlana's heart and squeezed. That was the only explanation for the tiny gasp that escaped her lips.

"I'm thankful to have every one of you here," Scott said and his eyes jumped from face to face. "A very good night to be alive. Let's raise a glass to us, huh?"

Everyone obediently raised their glasses and knocked them together. Plates started being cleared not long after, filed away into the dishwasher mostly by Shane, who became the emperor of dishware almost immediately. Svetlana weaved her way through the crowd, chatting with every guest and giving each of them her full attention for a few minutes, except for Rose, who seemed to be doing much the same thing though she stayed a little closer to Shane.

"Sveta, dessert is all you," Kip said, sliding his hand into hers and tugging her gently away from Kyle. "You tell us how you want everything."

What she wanted was to not look at what she had done. It seemed so exposed to open each plain white box and show the depths to which she had sunk over the last few days.

"Fuck me," Kip said as she opened them reluctantly. "Sveta. You made these?"

"Yes," she said tightly. "It's only baking. It's not hard."

"These are gorgeous and they all smell amazing."

"Butter, sugar, and fruit always smells good," she said.

"Sveta."

"Kip, please," she said with a groan. "It is what it is. Please just put them on the plates and don't tell people they are all mine. It's embarrassing."

"Okay," he said with a frown. "I don't understand why though."

"Another time, I promise. Not tonight."

"Okay," Kip agreed and quietly plated pies as she unboxed them.

"Wait," she said before he could reach for the last box. "This is Ilyusha's. I told him he had to share, but that is mostly a lie. If you ask him nicely, maybe he will let you have some."

"How are you going to protect it from the hoard?"

"I am not paid to barrel through men with a tiny round disc, he is," she said. "Ilyusha!"

"What, Sveta? Why are we yelling?"

"Limonik."

He didn't actually shove anyone to get to her. She was relatively sure of that. What he might've done was relocate people with some forceful delicacy and not a single 'excuse me'. With a triumphant cry, he took the box out of her hands, seized on one of the forks and stabbed straight into it.

"What are you doing, brat?" Scott asked, watching this unfold with a thin veneer of distaste barely hiding his amusement.

"Sveta makes this for me, the rest of you can have your ridiculous American pies and leave this to me."

"I'm not American," Shane said. Where had he even come from? Had he simply followed in Ilya's wake?

"You do not like dessert," Ilya said, clutching the box a little closer, the first bite not even having crossed his lips yet.

"I like it, I just don't eat it most of the time," Shane said, eyeing the fork with its bite on it. "What is it?"

"You won't like it," Ilya said.

"Okay," Shane said peaceably. Then simply waited at Ilya's side, quiet and expectant. Diabolical.

You couldn't even call it crumbling because that implied that Ilya put up any kind of defense at all. Within a second he was holding the fork to Shane. A quick glance around the room, ascertaining no one else was paying attention, then Shane wrapped his hand around Ilya's to hold the fork steady and took the bite off the tines. He chewed slowly, then his eyes went a little wider as he swallowed.

"Holy shit," he said. "What'd you put in that, Sveta? Is it drugs?"

"You have not had butter in too long," Ilya determined with a grin, quickly took his own forkful then offered another to Shane. "But yes. She puts all the drugs in this."

"Ok, now I have to try it," Kip said.

"Me too," Scott said, edging in closer.

And to Svetlana's surprise, Ilya just gestured at the forks. "Yes, yes, fine. One bite each. You too, Sveta. Eat."

"It's your-," she said, but her mouth was full of her own pie as she tried to say it.

It was good, rich and tart. She glared at Ilya as she chewed, but he ignored her in favor of holding the box out to Kip and Scott's questing forks. For a brief moment, it was only the five of them, the noise of the rest of their party retreating into silence as the four of them dismantled her baking with a frankly frightening amount of intensity. They rendered the pie to crumbs, a small smear of lemon cream left on Ilya's mouth only to be wiped away tenderly by Scott's thumb.

"Scott," Ilya protested as Scott then sucked the filling off his own finger. "That was mine."

"Were you saving it for later?" Scott laughed. "Mine now, brat."

"You're all animals," Svetlana declared. "Disgusting."

It came out so warm and loving that she was embarrassed for herself.

"Humans are animals," Kip agreed. He was licking his fork like a cat, long, slow and pleased with himself. "You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves."

"What's that from?" Scott asked.

"A poem. "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver. Maybe I need another syllabus."

The moment ended as it had to. There were other people here and they wanted the apple pie, the key lime pie, the pumpkin pie she had made with her nose scrunched in distaste the whole time, and the perfectly latticed blueberry pie that she had made at midnight the day before, unable to sleep and furious with her wakefulness.

When the guests asked where it came from, each one of her boys gave their own lie. Shane went with 'no idea' which was probably best since it left no room for follow up questions that he could stammer through. Scott said 'a secret place that I can't tell you about if I want to keep getting things from there' which had all the benefits of being true. Kip without blinking said 'my friend in Princeton makes them as a side hustle', and Ilya, the idiot, winked at her and claimed, 'a Russian witch that runs a bakery in Salem, they are all cursed'.

It became the joke of the evening, but not one run down particularly hard. Everyone was too heavy with food and the few beers that had finally emerged from the fridge. A movie was put on, something black and white and saccharine with it. When it was over, people started to leave in slow lazy moves.

"Am I leaving you here?" George asked Kip as he helped pack up the last of the leftovers.

"Yeah, sorry," Kip said. "Full house, I want to enjoy it."

"No sorrys," George assured him. "Have a good time, kiddo."

They hugged at the door.

What was that like? To have no unspoken sins or apologies between you and your parents? It seemed nice.

They were down to the five of them, Rose, and Eric. Scott and Eric were on the couch speaking very quietly, Eric's head bowed and Scott's expression frozen into sympathetic horror. Ilya and Shane were both talking to Rose, which seemed to amuse her very much. Or maybe that hint of a smile was her default expression, the resting face of a woman who was always at least a little on camera.

"Kip," Sveta whispered, "would you like to get stoned?"

"Yes," Kip whispered back. "For the love of all things holy. You have?"

"I have."

It was freezing outside, but it felt good after the intense warmth of the house. Scott always kept the heat high and combined with all the bodies, it had gotten ridiculous by the end. Stepping out into the November night air woke her back up.

She pulled out the joints and lit them, passing one to Kip. They smoked by Ilya's ashtray, the glass catching the moonlight.

"You're a fucking goddess," Kip decreed, planting his elbows on the railing. "I kept waiting for something to go wrong today."

"Why?"

"Mm, I dunno. Seems like a holiday staple with big groups of people. Not to mention all the weight Scott was putting on it. I was worried it would all collapse out from under him, you know?"

"But it did not."

"It didn't," Kip agreed. "And now we have a whole day and a half with them before they have to go careening back around the country."

"A treat," Svetlana said and blew a stream of smoke upwards. "We should make them be lazy. Do you think we can?"

"Honestly? I think they all need a day off enough that it might not even take a lot of coaxing. This is always when Scott starts panicking that he's going to lose his early season mojo."

"He's doing well this year."

Kip glanced at her. "Okay, I'll bite. What do you think?"

"I will not say," she decided.

"Oh," Kip's eyes went wide, "because it would be bad luck."

"It might," she said. "Or I do not want to play favorites when things are still so new."

Scott had never played better. His line had clicked with a recent trade and the Admirals had finally built out the kind of defense they should've had four years ago. Svetlana could see an arrow pointing straight in one direction. The only real obstacle was Montreal. They were demonic right now with their back-to-back cups and returning this season with mostly the same team. Boston was good, but she knew even Ilya would admit that they didn't have the depth of talent to make it all the way to the end this year unless some truly strange things happened.

So it wasn't a betrayal that she was pinning some hope to Scott's broad chest, but her hopes were private things, not fun hockey speculation.

"It's funny, cause it is all kind of new and it's also all so old," Kip said and he blew an impressive smoke ring that drifted and dispersed into the night sky. "If you think about it, I'm the newest addition. But I get what you mean. It all feels fresh."

The sliding glass door opened and closed. Kip tensed and Svetlana took another toke, far less concerned.

"Oh, could I get a hit of that?" Rose asked.

"You can have the rest of mine," Kip said, holding the joint out to her. She appeared in the moonlight, more of a pale oval in the thinned light than a full face. She took the joint from Kip.

"Thanks."

"No problem, it's freezing out here, I'm going to go make one of those stick handlers hold me until I can feel my fingertips again."

"Ilyusha is a furnace," Svetlana suggested.

"Good call."

Rose replaced Kip, her elbow inches from Svetlana's on the railing. She held the joint knowledgeably and took a long hit, holding it in for a beat longer than Svetlana would, then blew it out slowly.

"I kiss people a lot," Rose said. "For work. And then also sort of for work like with Shane. 'Personal' gets sort of weak and blurry after a while."

Svetlana squashed her roach into the ashtray. So there wasn't a question waiting for her. Only statements. "You remembered."

"You're not someone I can just forget, drunk or not," Rose said, still looking straight ahead. "What I'm trying to say is that I kiss a lot of people and none of them kiss like you."

"I wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. It wasn’t even my best work."

In the maelstrom of the post-cup party, the number of beds versus the number of bodies hadn’t added up anymore. It had not been a hardship to extend her hand to Rose and offer the use of the other half of her own bed. They were drunk and also that special kind of high when you met someone that you knew you could be friends with. A sleepover of a few hours would be nothing at all in the grand scheme of things.

It would be a story to tell in a few years, Svetlana figured. The night a starlet slept beside her in bed had a certain ring to it.

Rose was a talkative drunk though and even as they lay in the dark, she told Svetlana a dozen funny little stories, coaxing some out of Svetlana in return. The intimacy of the humid drunk darkness had only grown. The boldness that had carried Svetlana through most of her life had let her reach out and cup one pale cheek. When Rose had moved into the touch rather than away, the kiss became a foregone conclusion.

They fell asleep kissing.

When Ilya had walked in on cat's feet in the morning, Svetlana had taken very quick stock of the situation. Rose slept beside her, long red strands of hair clinging to the pillow and to Svetlana's outstretched hand. They had been very drunk and Rose was very famous. It didn't seem like something that could become anything.

Wordlessly, Svetlana had rolled over and reached out to Ilya. He hadn't hesitated to sweep her up and because he understood her silences, he asked her no questions. The stairs to the Nest were steep, but she had perfect faith in his ability to deliver her safely away from her own bad decisions.

It had been hours before Rose had woken, joining the rest of the hungover crowd for Scott's ridiculously rich french toast and Kip's intense coffee. She was chipper in face of her hangover, pressing a mug to her cheek and smiling with her perfect teeth at everyone equally. She said nothing to Svetlana.

Then Rose and Shane were gone, fading out from the day as if they had never been there at all. Ilya had gone the worrying kind of quiet after that, so Sveta had dragged him into her bed and they had both napped.

That had been the end of that.

Until now. Svetlana had asked for this. Arranged it. Curated the moment and now she was being an asshole about it and she wasn't even sure why.

Rose didn't seem to care. She set down the joint delicately into the ashtray and turned to face Svetlana at last.

"Will you do it again? Then I can decide for myself."

So maybe Rose had had a question behind her teeth. Svetlana liked this one better than the ones she had been imagining.

Instead of answering, Svetlana reached out again. She cupped Rose's soft cheek and she kissed her.

The pot made everything feel more deliberate and calm, lending a sweet syrup to the already careful touch. Rose tasted like smoke and little like blueberry pie. The pie that Svetlana had made listening to the music her father loved, bombastic Western rock and roll that he claimed was a holdover from American locker rooms being ground into him, but she knew he enjoyed for its own sake too. It was what he listened to when he had won something. Svetlana had willed that victory into crust and wove strips of it over the lush purple filling with a hope she didn't normally allow.

Svetlana licked the taste of her efforts out of Rose's mouth and considered her options. She could play this cool and assume that Rose would be back, now inextricably linked to Sleepy Hollow. An easy out to say 'if it's meant to be we will see each other again'. Or she could run it hot and heavy, flirt Rose into her bed. Or-

"I'd like to keep doing this. Preferably laying down," Rose said against Svetlana's lips.

That simplified things.

"Do you want to stay over?" Svetlana asked.

"Mhm. I brought a bag. I told Shane I might. I didn't tell him what bed I was hoping to sleep in."

"You came here hoping?" Svetlana asked, pleased at the smoothness of the delivery.

"I came here to spend Thanksgiving with my friend and to see if the girl I kissed would be interested in kissing me again," Rose said plainly. "I've never had sex with a woman before though. If that's a deal breaker, I understand."

Beautiful, famous Rose, who glowed in the moonlight, was asking if it was a problem for Svetlana that she'd be the first woman to touch her. The Sleepy Hollow house was magic. Or maybe her pies really were witchcraft and Ilya had had it right from the start.

"I think you will be a natural," Svetlana said and kissed her again.

They made out against the railing until Svetlana could feel Rose shivering a little against her. They slipped back into the house which had gone mostly quiet. The boys had dispersed to their bedrooms most likely and Eric had probably been duly parked in one of the guest rooms.

"Shane must think I left without saying goodbye," Rose said with a hint of distress.

"No," Svetlana assured her. "Kip will have said we were talking. He’ll know you didn't run off into the night."

So they went up the stairs, quiet on the stairs. The house was old and despite Scott's renovations, sounds could wind their way under doorframes in the right circumstances. When Svetlana opened her bedroom door, she found a pastel blue suitcase tucked to the left side of it. She grinned and got out her own phone.

Sveta: Did you break into her car?

Ilyusha: She left it by the front door. I am a very good bellboy. I want a tip.

Sveta: Stop cheating left when you play Tampa. They're on to you.

"Shane said- oh," Rose faltered when she spotted her bag.

"I'm sorry if you were trying to be a secret," Svetlana said. "Ilyusha likes to be a know-it-all, but he won't say anything to anyone else."

"I don't know about a secret, but maybe not…" Rose trailed off then shook her head. "No one here is going to run to TMZ. It's fine."

"Yes. Scott likes to call it 'mutually assured destruction'."

"There's something wrong with that man," Rose said with the same fondness that got everyone in the end with Scott.

"Yes, all the best things," Svetlana said. "But I don't want to talk about him right now. Or any of them. Lock the door or we may get company."

"Really? They just barge in here?" Rose asked, locking the door.

"It is not barging," Svetlana said firmly. "We agreed. If the door is not locked, then it is an invitation. Kip, Scott and Shane still knock anyway. Or Shane will, I imagine. He has not even tried yet."

"Not Ilya?"

"Ilyusha is different," Svetlana said. She wavered. They were only kissing. What did it matter? Except that it might. "He is allowed in my bed. We’re friends who fuck sometimes, but mostly sometimes we sleep together."

"Yeah, Shane wasn't specific, but he said things weren't straightforward here," Rose said.

"Mm, very little is straight," Svetlana agreed. "I can tell you more if you want or we can kiss."

"Kissing," Rose decided and crossed the room to her. She sounded confident, but she held herself a little tense.

Who was Svetlana to deny Rose Landry? They fell back into each other, one kiss leading to another and another.

"Do you want to just do this?" Svetlana asked. "I will kiss you as much as you like, but if you want more there then I will give you more."

"More," Rose said, her voice tight, but decided, "please."

They went in stages, clothes dropping away like the first leaves signaling fall. Svetlana revealed Rose's body, flesh that had been exposed to millions of eyes and must be shaped and maintained accordingly. So Svetlana sought out the little imperfections. She kissed the tiny mole on Rose's left shoulder, she mapped the thin scar razored over her left breast. When Svetlana palmed Rose's tits, she found them ever so slightly uneven and she made sure to study the difference with her fingertips then the point of her tongue.

Down the toned, but never too muscular, stomach and her long lean thighs. Svetlana lavished attention on them both. At last though, she ran her fingers over the band of Rose's panties, silky expensive things that must've been pulled on in the hope that someone would see them. That Svetlana would see them. They were the same dark green as the bedding.

"You can keep them on," Svetlana offered, tucking her hunger far away from her voice.

Throughout Svetlana's meanderings, Rose's breathing had turned to waves of tiny little moans. They were delicious, encouraging, but not without a little tense restraint.

"Can I touch you first?" Rose asked.

Svetlana's careful plan to ease Rose into things went firmly into the trash. "Yes, of course. Wherever you want."

Rose's hands were as silky as her underclothes. At first, she grazed over Svetlana's skin, an almost ticklish tease, but the boldness of earlier returned. The last of Rose's lipgloss was smeared away on Svetlana's neck, and then there was only the warm brush of naked lips over Svetlana's breast. One experimental kitten lick over Svetlana's nipple became a dedicated suck that made Svetlana writhe below her.

Svetlana had never been good at simply laying there and taking it. She shifted, got her thigh between Rose's legs so she could feel the slight dampness of the silky panties. With a roll of her own hips, she encouraged Rose to start moving against her. Rose moaned around her mouthful and pulled off enough that Svetlana could see her face a little slack with pleasure.

With mischievous care, Svetlana danced two fingers to the waistband of the panties.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Yes. Please."

Eating a woman out was a different realm of pleasure from sucking cock. Cocks did not require art. They liked what they liked and often preferred to simply take it when that was on offer. Pussy required finesse, attention to detail, and a delicacy that Svetlana enjoyed practicing. As Svetlana flicked her tongue over Rose's clit, there was room for no other thought. Svetlana could put together a grocery list while sucking dick (not Ilya's - that required her full concentration, if only because he noticed when it wandered and would make her stop), but her attention was fully held by the act of spearing Rose with her tongue.

Then again, she had once or twice planned a shopping trip while eating a woman out. Maybe it was just Rose. She was not only gorgeous and tasted like the cleanest ocean Svetlana had ever swam in, but she kept up her tiny little gasping moans like she couldn't believe what was happening to her. When Svetlana started to tonguefuck her in earnest, the last of the politeness dropped away and Rose's thighs clenched around her as she threw back her head and wailed.

It was loud and demanding. What was asked for, Svetlana gave and she held Rose through a shaking orgasm punctuated with a bone-deep groan. Reluctantly, Svetlana pulled away and was rewarded with sight of splotchy skin, red hair mussed and static-blown against the duvet. No set here, no cameras, only a blotchy, slightly sweaty woman with a radiant smile.

"I want to do that to you," Rose said. "Take you apart like that."

"You already did," Svetalana told her. In Russian. Because she wasn't a fucking idiot, thanks so much. She switched back to English. "Go ahead and try."

There was nothing tentative in Rose's touch now, but there was something slow and steady about it. There was a reverence in how she slid between Svetlana's thighs that made it a little harder to breathe.

Yes, Rose was new to this. She didn't use enough pressure and she was all over the place. When Svetlana cupped the back of her head and said, "Go harder" though, Rose took it like an order from on high.

It took some doing, but eventually, Svetlana was panting, soft hair in her palm as she bucked up, chasing the last tremors of a very good orgasm. She watched as Rose sat up and delicately licked her lips that gleamed with a very different kind of gloss.

"You," Svetlana said with a groan, "are a very quick learner."

"I'm motivated," Rose said, sliding her hands back up Svetlana's sides, the rest of her following. "I want you to let me do it again."

"I will," Svetlana promised. "As much as you like. We've got hours."

"I meant after tonight."

Svetlana stared up at her and Rose met her gaze without faltering.

"You don't know me," Svetlana said.

"I think that's what dating is for," Rose said plainly. "Do you date?"

Svetlana stared up at her, all sense and reason slapped from her head. Yes, she had tried to get Rose back here. Obviously! Who wouldn't? Yes, she had just tried to make her most compelling case for Rose to continue to invite Svetlana into her bed. That was just sensible.

But what had she done that made Rose want to get to know her? To date? 

"You didn’t even speak to me tonight," Svetlana said, instead of answering. "Until we were almost alone."

"A girl can't be nervous?" Rose asked. She was still naked, still kneeling between Svetlana's thighs and she seemed content to stay there. "You're so confident and cool, I had a whole plan on how I was going to talk to you when I got here and instead I hid behind Shane like I was in middle school all over again."

"I didn't know you were hiding," Svetlana said. "I thought you didn't remember. You didn’t say anything that morning."

"I thought you didn't want to acknowledge it, the way you slipped out of bed, but the more I thought about it, that didn't make sense. We had fun and you're not shy. But I got in my head about it and then this movie came up…anyway. I didn't want to just get your number through Shane. I wanted you to give it to me."

"You can have it," Svetlana said faintly. "Yes. I like dating. But I also like going to see my father sometimes. I cannot live too out loud with the way Russian is right now."

"Neither can I," Rose said matter-of-factly. "I don't even want to. Anyone who goes public with me loses their private lives too. It only worked with Shane because he's already under a microscope and even now, I think it's really too much for him. I'm glad he's pulling away from it. He wasn't ready for the next rung up on the attention ladder."

"So we date privately?" Svetlana asked, weighing that. "How?"

"I guess we figure it out as we go along," Rose said with an apologetic little smile. "If you even like me once you get to know me. I'm not very exciting aside from the obvious stuff."

"This is a lie," Svetlana said. "You excite me. Come back down here, let me show you."

It wasn't even that late. They did have hours and hours. Svetlana tried to show Rose exactly how excited she was by every bit of her until they were both too heavy-lidded to continue.

"C'mere," Rose mumbled when Svetlana made to shift away. Then she was being manhandled a little, tucked under Rose's chin and wrapped up in her arms. There wasn't much heat to Rose, but she was startlingly strong.

"I’m the little spoon then?" Svetlana asked, amused.

"Yes," Rose said and rubbed the tip of her nose over Svetlana's neck. "Please?"

"Okay," Svetlana said, breathing out slowly. "Okay."

There was no repeat flight in the morning. Instead, Svetlana lured Rose into the shower and they washed each other clean with pleasure (and soap afterwards). There was still breakfast with the boys, Scott producing omelets with the merriment of the very well laid. Who was Svetlana to judge? Rose sat next to her at the table, no part of them touching, but the hum of potential rising up between them.

Numbers had been exchanged and plans made to see each other again next week. Rose was filming in Connecticut, it wouldn't be hard to meet her there for dinner, just friends sharing a meal. If Svetlana brought her favorite wine and they went back to Rose's hotel room after, then that was just a pleasant way to extend their evening.

For now though, they sat beside each other and ate eggs while Ilya tried unsuccessfully to get Shane to sit in his lap. Kip was draped over the island, head pillowed on his crossed arms, reading off his 'syllabus' list of movies to see what he could get everyone to watch that morning. Rose threw out titles too and Svetlana could see Kip's list updating far too quickly.

"We’lll need forever to see all of these," she pointed out. "When will we see anything new?"

"Never," Kip said. "We must conquer the past before moving into the future."

"Then how will we see Rose's movies?" Shane asked. "I like them."

"I can't stop you boys from watching things on airplanes," Kip said, then made a face. "Sorry, Rose. I like some of your movies. You're the best part of the ones I don't like, if that helps."

"Wow," Scott said. "That's our guest, babe."

"She doesn't want me to lie to her. Do you?" Kip asked.

"Some of them are really bad," Rose laughed. "I'm aware, trust me. Shane has terrible taste."

"Fuck you," Ilya said without much heat. Unable to cajole Shane into his lap, he had apparently settled for keeping his arm around Shane's shoulders as they both ate. "He chose you and me, Landry."

"I chose him, very different," Rose said, then winked at Svetlana. "I have fantastic taste."

Svetlana had no idea what expression crossed her face, but she knew Kip had caught it by the way his eyes went wide. She shot him 'shut up, please' look and he said nothing, but the delight didn't disappear. That was fine.

"Ilyusha is an acquired taste, but so are many expensive worthwhile things," Svetlana said loyally.

He pulled a face at her as Scott chuckled over that and Shane's brow furrowed a little sorting through it before giving one sharp nod. "Yeah. What she said."

Rose couldn't stay to watch the movie. She could stay long enough to kiss Svetlana over her open suitcase. After she left, Svetlana lingered on her unmade bed, not thinking about much of anything and also everything all at once.

"The war is over," Ilya announced from her doorway. "Kip won."

"I am so very surprised. What are we watching?"

"But I'm a Cheerleader," Ilya said carefully as if he wasn't sure the words were in the right order.

"I haven’t seen that one," she said.

He studied her face, then crossed the room and sat down beside her.

"Sveta," he said carefully. "I thought you would be happier to have her, but you seem very sad."

"I’m happy about Rose," she said with a sigh. "It’s everything else. I don't know. I think that I might be done with Boston, but I don't want to leave-"

"Do not stay for me," he cut her off. "I'm never there, Sveta. It would be crazy. I will miss you, but if you stay here then I will have even more reasons to be here."

"Scott told you?"

"No," he said. "You know him. He tells no one's secrets. I know you like it here and you would not have to pay rent while you think of your next thing. Or maybe this is the next thing, I don't know."

"I need to work. Go to school. Do something."

"You have been doing something since we were children," Ilya said with a slight frown. "Always, you were working. Your father's assistant, he said it like a joke, but it was true."

It was true. She had been his eyes and ears, his clever hands. He loved her and he cared for her, but she had been expected to hold up her half of that care too. She was good at hosting dinner parties for a reason.

"So you think I should do nothing?"

"I think you should be Sveta," he corrected. "Be here. It will be good for Scott unless you kill him when he's too much. And nice for Kip not to wait alone sometimes. You take some time and you be Sveta and you will come up with the next thing."

"You’ll call me. If you are too alone in Boston. If I am doing nothing, I can go to you, you know."

Ilya hesitated, then nodded. Just once. Barely a nod. She would take it.

"Thank you for being good to Shane last night."

"I like him very much, Ilyusha. You do not need to thank me. He was good to me too."

"Not as good as Rose was," he said, a smile starting to curl on his lips.

"Ah, well, she likes fast sleek sports cars a lot more than your Shane does," she said, meeting his smile with her own.

"I hate you," he grumbled.

"I know. I hate you too," she said and rested her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You brought us here, Ilyusha."

"No," he said weakly. "This is Scott. I am not this crazy."

"No, but you love hard enough to convince a man to buy you a house big enough for all the people you love," she said.

"Sveta. No," Ilya said firmly like she was trying to stab him. He would probably prefer that. Idiot.

"You are ridiculous," she told him. "Come, let's go watch a movie with them. I hope it's funny."

To her delight, it was both very funny as a film and even funnier to watch Scott, Shane and Ilya react to. Kip barely looked at the screen, just studied them like rats in a lab, eyes sparkling with delight, winking at Svetlana every time their eyes met.

Until the end, when Megan ran on screen with her little pom-poms and declared her love for Graham in front of everyone. The room got quiet. A little chilled. Shane, who had been happily snuggled up to Ilya, had gone rigid.

The happy ending of the girls running away together, leaving their lives behind, faded with the credits and Ilya kissed Shane very deliberately and carefully. Then he got up and disappeared upstairs.

"Okay," Kip said quietly. "I can admit I've made better choices. Sorry, guys."

"Not your fault," Scott said, clearing his throat, then giving his head a shake. "I liked it. I loved it, I think, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Scott said, pulling him in for a quick hug. "I think I should…probably."

"Yeah," Kip agreed, glancing at Shane, who was staring into space, clearly not up for running after Ilya. "Unless you want me to?"

"No, not for this," Scott said, gave his knee a squeeze then followed Ilya upstairs.

"Kip, make us some tea, please?" Svetlana asked.

His eyes went a little wide, but he nodded and got to his feet, letting her take over.

Svetlana said softly, "Shane."

"Yeah?" he said, as ironed out as ever.

"Do you want a hug?"

His head flew up, his pretty brown eyes were glassy with unshed tears, taking away all the ferocity they could hold until he was pure sweetness. It was honestly amazing Ilya hadn't done something insane in public for this man.

"I don't- you don't have to-"

"You're my friend. You're sad. We don't have to talk about it."

"I- yeah. That'd be nice."

Svetlana got up on her knees so she could wrap her arms around him without making him get up. It was a sideways kind of hug and he was stiff in her arms for a long beat. When she rested her chin in his hair and made a soft soothing noise though, he went a little more loose and then very tentatively, got an arm around her waist. He was no smaller than Ilya and Scott, no less dangerous, but right now, he was just a sad guy, who probably felt about two feet tall. She understood that all too well.

So what? Small, sad people could be excellent lighthouse keepers. Svetlana's resolve hardened. She could wait here a little while, keeping an eye on her people and the shore.

"I didn't know the solve was a cuddle pile," Kip said when he came back with mugs. He set them down on the coffee table. "Is this a two-person situation or can anyone join?"

"Up to you, Hollander," Svetlana said. "Can you handle a threeway?"

His laugh was a little wet, but he nodded and held out his other arm for Kip. It was nice, really. Kip bundled in on Shane's other side, not quite in his lap, but almost.

"The thing about movies-" Kip said and Shane made an annoyed noise. "What?"

"I promised no talking," Svetlana said amused. "You're breaking the rules. This is stoic hour, Grady. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh my god," Kip groaned. "No."

"Yes," Shane said, slightly muffled by Svetlana's sweater.

"Fiiine. God. I'll just drink my- is that why you had me make tea?"

"Shh, drink. No talking."

"Fucking ridiculous," Kip said, but he did distribute tea.

It was raining outside now, the droplets hitting the window with an irregular rhythm. Svetlana sat back a little, but her knees crossed over Shane's thigh.

By now Rose would be getting back to her hotel room, perhaps running through the rain to reach it. There, she would be alone, perhaps turning on the television to fill the silence. Upstairs, Scott and Ilya likely weren't talking either. It was the kind of mood Ilya needed to be held through and Scott would take solace in that too.

Kip sighed, shifted and rested his head on Shane's shoulder.

With pursed lips, Svetlana blew over the top of her mug. The gauzy steam danced with her breath, then disappeared. A faint warm sweet scent was invading the air.

"We missed one of the pies. It was behind the milk," Kip said, disrupting the silence as if he couldn't quite help himself. "So I put it in the oven to warm it back up. I thought it'd be good with the tea."

The smell must've reached upstairs because Scott and Ilya re-emerged long before Svetlana thought they could be coaxed back down. The five of them migrated without much discussion to the island. 

“What is it?” Shane asked. 

“Apricot,” Ilya answered for her. “Sveta’s favorite.” 

“Never had apricot pie before,” Scott said. “Smells good.” 

“It is,” Svetlana said without a trace of humbleness. “It’s my mother’s best recipe.” 

The questions that raised hung in the air. Shane picked up his fork.  “Cool. Thanks for sharing it with us.” 

“You’re welcome. Eat.” 

They ate it together, every last bite until only crumbs remained.

Two Weeks Later 

Rose: Do you want to come out to California next month? It’s a good place to be in January. 

Sveta: We said goodbye three hours ago.  

Rose: And we should have made a plan for next time before I even left. Come to my place? Stay a week? Maybe two? 

Sveta: Maybe. Let me think about it. 

Rose: I’ll have a break. Send my staff home. We’ll be alone together. Please? 

One Hour Later 

Sveta: Yes. I want to come. Send me dates. 

Same Day 

Group Chat: Legends of Sleepy Hollow

Sveta: I attempted to give notice. My boss was a dick about it. I am now unemployed. Packing my bags. I do not wish to talk about this any further. 

Kip: 🤐

Jane: 🤐 

Lily: 🤐 

Scarlett: Do you want a moving service or are you coming with just a few bags for now? 

Sveta: Bags.  

Scarlett: Great! You want chicken parm for dinner?  

Sveta: Yes. Thank you. 

Lily: I would also like chicken parm.  

Scarlett: You’re in Memphis. Go eat BBQ and leave us alone.  

Jane: There’s actually a great protein bowl place right by the arena. Want me to send you the address? 

Kip: Babe, do you actually like setting him up for easy hits?  

Sveta: Why do you ask questions that you know the answers to?

Lily: Yes, my Jane, send me address to bowl place.  

Jane: Really?  

Lily: Yes.  

Jane: Okay! 

Scarlett: Got perceived too hard there, Lily?  

Lily: I will bite you.  

One Week Later  

Scott: Fuck  

Sveta: What?  

Scott: You’re not going to believe this. You’re home, right?  

Sveta: Yes. I am a lady of leisure, I am always home.  

Scott: Your leisure looks stressful, but okay. You won’t believe what the hell I found.  

Sveta: What? 

Scott: [image] 

Sveta: Where?!  

Scott: On the side of the road by the practice rink.  

Sveta: And he calls me a witch.  

Scott: This is insane. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Maybe get a towel ready?  

Sveta: I will start a bath too.  

Chapter End Notes

But I'm Cheerleader, a quick summary/explanation. The movie follows a high school cheerleader, who's friends and family have realized she is gay while she has not realized this. They stage an intervention and send her to a conversion camp (this is still a comedy and the camp is very much played for laughs with all the teachers being obviously gay including one being played by RuPaul). But at it's heart it's a very genuine story about being your authentic self and falling in love. It's going to hit our guys hard because it focuses in on everything the main character has to confront and give up about herself (and her sport!) to come out.

Chapter 4: Fur and Tangerines

December 2016- Scott

Group Chat (Scott's Phone): Everyone but the Target

Scott: ETA?

Sveta: 8:45

Scott: We're factoring in that he will be definitely get here early just to spite us, right?

Sveta: I always take off 15 minutes for that.

NAD: I'll be back in my hotel room by then.

Scott: Great! We'll get you on video call.

NAD: Anyone have a contingency plan for him fainting?

Sveta: He won't faint.

Scott: I took a first aid class last year, we're good.

LOML: When did that happen?

Scott: I accidentally got included on an arena staff email and I thought it sounded like a good idea. Coach gave it the thumbs up, so I went instead of going to practice. It already come in handy a few times. The guys do stupid shit on nights out.

NAD: That's a good idea. I might look into it. Are you guys all sitting in the same room texting each other?

Sveta: We're in different rooms. This is much better than yelling down hallways.

LOML: And we wanted to make sure you were part of the lead up too. Half the fun in a surprise is getting to be in on it.

NAD: Thanks, appreciate it.

LOML: Red alert! I think I just heard the sound of a car that says 'I am really really butch, I swear'.

Sveta: 😂

NAD: Can men be butch? I thought that was a lesbian thing.

LOML: Yes, men can be butch or femme or neither or both. It's a whole thing.

NAD: It's always a whole thing.

LOML: I refuse to reduce things to the simplest parts, it's only going to give everyone the wrong idea.

Scott: Focus. Incoming.

The door from the garage opened and Scott tried very hard to look nonchalant on the couch. Sveta was in her room and Kip was carefully tucked away on the stairs, phone pointed to get Shane the best angle on the scene. It was entirely possible this was going to be a bust somehow and Scott would live to regret it, but he was attempting to be more optimistic these days. It was hit or miss.

When Ilya stepped into the living room, he didn't look suspicious at least. He did look exhausted though. Not a shock coming off of a two-week roadie, a flight and then a likely too reckless drive to Sleepy Hollow. That was probably what most people would think.

As soon as Ilya dragged his eyes off the floor to meet Scott's though, he recognized the demons that must've chased Ilya here.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said softly, no longer having to feign anything. The concern was real.

"Fuck off," Ilya mumbled, dropping his bags, walking heavily to the couch and gracefully collapsing onto it.

"Long couple of days, huh?"

"Yes," Ilya said. He far less gracefully flopped over Scott's lap.

Kip froze on the stairs, now in direct line of sight, but Ilya must've closed his eyes because he didn't tense up at all or make a comment. Scott rested his hands over Ilya's side, slotting his fingers between his ribs with long familiarity.

"Hey, so. We were going to do this anyway, but now it seems a little more important," Scott said quietly. "We got you an early gift."

"What are you talking about?" Ilya groaned. "Shhh. I am sleeping."

"You are a noisy sleeper," Scott laughed quietly. "Gift. Present for Ilya. Yes?"

That registered a little and Ilya must've opened his eyes because he said, "Kip, why are you pointing a phone at me?"

"The present requires documentation," Kip said smoothly.

Ilya had definitely gone tenser under Scott's hand, suspicion flooding in. "Why?"

"Probably best to give her the sign," Scott said. "Before he riots."

"Sveta!" Kip called up the stairs.

"Yes! Okay!" She called back.

There was a quick scrabbling noise and then a thunderous ruckus down the stairs that Scott had been getting steadily used to over the past two weeks. Proceeding Sveta down the stairs was a blur of brown that started excitedly yapping.

Ilya sat up so fast that he almost got Scott in the face with his shoulder.

"You are lying!" Ilya said.

"I didn't say anything," Scott said, repressing a grin.

"Scott!" Excitement reanimated Ilya, his eyes wide and wild when he turned to him. "This is for me?"

"For all of us, by definition, but yeah. For you. Go say hi."

Whatever Scott had imagined for this moment, he had not aimed high enough on the cuteness scale. Ilya didn't run or make any loud noises. He simply plonked himself on the floor near the foot of the stairs and made soft cooing noises. Coaxing. Patient.

The dog that Scott had lifted out of the ditch by the practice arena had been a pathetic dirt-coated whimpering mess. When he and Sveta had (with more confusion and flailing then they would ever admit to) got the poor thing into the bathtub, there had only been more shivering and whimpering. No biting, no malice, only fear. Food and water helped only a very little and there had been three fear peeing incidents in the interim.

That had been two weeks ago. Since then, with a visit to the vet, regular meals, and a luxury sleep situation, the pathetic mudball had become a glossy sleek streak of happy energy. As soon as Ilya started making noises, the dog focused on him, made some kind of assessment, and came down the stairs to greet him with a lot of sniffing, licking, and barking.

"Yes, yes, hello," Ilya said, the smile on his face wide and carefree as if he hadn't come in like death's apprentice two minutes ago. "You are so beautiful! Ah, best looking puppy in the world. Hello!"

Scott got to his feet to move in a little closer to that. The dog temporarily circled over to him, accepted a few pets from him then was back to investigating Ilya with intent.

"Merry Christmas, Ilya," Kip singsonged.

"He doesn't actually do Christmas," Shane's tinny, phone-captured voice said.

"Shane!" Ilya said, his delight impossibly bigger. "Look at this beautiful—boy or girl?"

"Girl," Scott supplied.

"Look at her! Pretty little thing, yes, hi, hello. What kind of dog are you?"

"Not a bullshit pedigree," Scott assured him.

"The veterinarian says that she is maybe a little bit something fancy," Sveta reminded him.

"Oh, yeah," Scott said, "St. Charles Spaniel?"

"Cavalier King Charles Spaniel," Shane supplied.

"Yeah," Scott said, "Thanks. That. Maybe half? That's why she's got the long ears, but the face is wrong for one or something, so she's mixed up with something else."

"Your face could never be wrong," Ilya said fiercely to the dog. "You have the best face. Better than his. Ignore him."

Scott rolled his eyes. Sveta sat down on the steps, smiling more than she had the past few days combined. Kip sat down a step above her. The dog went a little nuts, thrilled about having everyone nearer to her level, so she darted up and down the steps giving them equal attention.

"What is her name?" Ilya asked.

"We figured you'd want to name her," Kip said, scratching her between the ears before she hopped down to Sveta, nosing at her hand.

"She did not have a name before?" Ilya asked.

"Wasn't an entirely intentional adoption," Scott said. "I found her. Or she found me. Arguments to be made on both sides."

"You found her," Ilya repeated.

"Yeah, I was leaving the practice rink and it was pretty dark. I heard something making noise in the ditch and it was weird. Like a person's noise almost? So I turned on my phone flashlight and saw this muddy lump with big wet eyes. I thought she was a groundhog for a minute, but a car drove by, full headlights, and I got a better look at her."

"He saved her with a hockey stick," Kip provided.

"You did?" Ilya asked.

Scott sighed and sat down on the floor next to him. "It was no big deal, I just needed to be able to reach her. She was really far into the ditch."

"Captain Hockey saves tiny animals," Ilya said with a grin, leaning a little into Scott. "Dog."

"Dog," Scott confirmed. "Sveta said the house is kind of quiet when no one else is home anyway. She likes having her around."

"She is much better company than all of you," Sveta confirmed.

"Even me?" Kip asked with a pout.

"Yes," Sveta said without hesitation. Ruthless.

"Even me?" Shane asked.

Sveta considered that. "Tie."

"Wow!" Kip said. "Wow. I'm devastated."

Ilya snickered and apparently didn't even see a need to ask if the dog outranked him. He was warm and heavy against Scott as he simultaneously curled around the dog like a second fur coat. She wasn't protesting a bit, only attempting to lick his face and sniff his neck.

"Give her a name," Scott prompted him.

Ilya carefully pet her and when she leaned into it, he ran a hand down one of her ears. Scott knew from personal experience that her fur was silky soft there.

"Anya," Ilya declared. "Her name is Anya."

"I like it," Shane said.

"People name for a dog," Kip sighed. "Of course we're those kinds of gays."

"What kind is that?" Scott asked, glancing at his boyfriend.

"You know it when you see it. Ilya, are you hungry? We were going to do a late night second-dinner thing."

They all said goodbye to Shane though Ilya was clearly still texting him under the table as they ate the salad Scott had made. Anya was a bit confused by their congregation during sleeping hours, but she gamely went from person to person to see if she could persuade them to part with some grilled chicken.

"No, beautiful girl," Ilya crooned when she put her front paws on his leg to plead her case. "All of this is bad for your stomach, I think."

"We bought like ten kinds of treats and put them in the blue jar," Kip said, pointing to it. "Supposedly we're using them to train her, but we're all fucking useless at it."

"Hey," Scott protested weakly. "I got her to sit this morning."

"Debatable," Kip said.

"She is still adjusting. We do not need to train her so early," Sveta said.

"What is the hand signal for sit?" Ilya asked Scott.

Scott showed him and Ilya got to his feet, fishing a treat out. Then he replicated the sign. "Anya, sit."

She stared up at him. Ilya grinned, leaned down and gently pressed at the base of her tail. She wagged it and sat. "Yes! Very good."

He gave her a treat.

Scott, who had most been giving her a treat when she happened to sit down, felt a little stupid. Maybe he should've watched a video on YouTube or something.

"You've trained a dog before?" Kip asked.

"No, but there is a dog training class sometimes at the park I run in over the summer," Ilya explained. When Anya popped back up, he repeated the whole sequence. "I pay attention."

"Is our dog going to be bilingual?" Scott asked, amused by the prospect. "You can teach her the commands in both, right? Or is that too confusing?"

"I do not know," Ilya admitted, looking down at her. "But we can try. She seems very smart."

"She tried to eat her own poop this morning," Kip said wryly.

"Lies," Ilya declared. "He is slandering you, Anya. You can sue."

"Loyalties have shifted," Kip laughed, leaning against Scott's side. Scott put his arm around him. "I wasn't prepared for how fast that was going to happen."

"Really? Because I've always known he'd sell me for a Snickers if he was hungry enough," Scott said.

"I would not need to be hungry," Ilya said. "Shelf stable food. I could have it for later."

"At least get a box of them," Kip said. "He's worth a few dozen candy bars, at least."

"Snickers are disgusting. I would not trade you for one," Sveta said, patting Scott's knee. "Maybe for a pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food though."

"See if I fish anyone else a dog out of a sewage drain," Scott said and couldn't imagine being happier with relentless chirping than he was at that moment.

Except maybe, if Shane had been there too.

It had crept up on Scott, how fond he'd gotten of Shane. He liked the wry humor, the complete focus on the problem at hand, and how he put aside every hard edge to give Ilya all his softness. Over the past few months, Scott often found himself reaching for the phone to text Shane. They talked about work a lot, naturally, both careful to keep far from anything that could be considered privileged information.

They also talked about Ilya, of course, but not as much as Scott expected. The logistics of the house interested Shane, and if Scott needed input on making non-aesthetic changes, Shane was his first port of call. The day the downstairs bathroom toilet started running continuously, Scott had wound up with his phone propped up on the sink, Shane reading off instructions for him from an online article he'd found.

The glasses had been a sweet surprise. They made Shane look like the quiet boring nerd that Ilya liked to describe him as instead of the hypercompetent jock that Scott knew him to be. The extremely attractive hypercompetant jock. Scott had eyes and a cock that pointed north for hot musclebound men. It was fine. Normal. Normal and fine to notice that his friend Shane was ridiculously good looking.

When he'd said as much to Kip, he'd gotten an eyeroll and a 'yeah, babe, he's hot like burning, if you weren't attracted to him than I'd be worried you'd died'. So there was that. Whatever that was. Then Kip had gotten into Shane's pants and apparently snuck in a makeout session with him over Thanksgiving that had ended with Scott getting a lapful of a very horny boyfriend.

"Why didn't you get off with him?" Scott asked, tugging Kip's shirt off. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Ilya is here," Kip said with a shrug. "I am well aware of my place in the Hollander Pecking Order."

"He turned you down?" Scott asked, trying to reckon with that. Who turned down Kip?

"No, I excused myself," Kip said. "So he didn't have to."

Which did leave the question of if Shane would have or if Kip had simply decided he wouldn’t. Scott could really see it going either way and at the time, stopped thinking about it immediately in favor of more interesting pursuits.

The conversation around Scott had moved on to the merits of different ice cream flavors. 

Sveta announced,"You are all wrong, I'm right, and I'm going to bed."

"Actually to bed?" Ilya asked.

"No. My door will be locked."

"It is only eight in California," Ilya said with a knowing look.

"I can also count," Sveta said, unphased. "Good night. Let Anya out, she always needs to use the yard once before bed."

"Does she sleep with you?" Ilya asked. "You lock the door against our girl?"

"She sleeps with Scott when he's here. There's a bed in his room that she likes."

Ilya turned to Scott and raised his eyebrows.

"What?" Scott grumbled. "I'm not heartless."

"You say 'no' to a dog for months and then you have her in your room?"

"She chose me, not the other way around," Scott said.

Ilya glanced down at Anya. She looked balefully back up at him. "I think maybe it is mutual. Okay, we go outside."

"Scott put up a run for her in the backyard," Kip said, getting up to open the sliding glass door. "We take her to the parks for walks."

There was a world of hiding in that sentence. 'We' was never 'Scott and Kip'. Going to parks was really Scott's thing, mostly to throw off the scent of him from the house. If he started taking regular walks on the road, people would notice. Sveta and Kip could walk Anya on the street all they liked, but they seemed to take his precautions to heart.

Some secrets were growing heavy to carry, but never the house. Scott would do a lot to protect this place from prying eyes. Taking a quick car ride to walk the dog (his dog apparently, all their dog, including Scott. Scott had a dog. Scott had somehow acquired an Ilya which apparently meant he had been doomed from the start to also acquire a dog) was not much of an effort in the grand scheme of things.

"You built a place for her to run?" Ilya asked, his gaze raking over Scott.

"I paid someone to do it, but yeah. It's too much property to fence in entirely. This way she's got a safe place to pee."

Ilya sighed heavily, leaned over and kissed Scott on the corner of the mouth. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sweetheart.”

He chalked the whole night up as a win.

Twenty minutes later, the house was quiet. Scott and Kip were brushing their teeth before bed, Anya snuffling a little in her bed in one corner of the bedroom. Scott watched Kip in the mirror, and when Kip caught him at it, he grinned around his toothbrush, winking at him. They both spat into the sink, rinsing away foam. Scott slid his arm around Kip waist from behind, pulling him closer just to feel the warmth of him under his t-shirt.

"Sleepy, babe?" Kip asked in a hush.

"Yeah, little bit," Scott said and rubbed his cheek against Kip's lazily. "I don't know. Just feels good to be near you. Missed you."

"I missed you too," Kip said and turned in his arms to kiss him, all minty fresh. "You're still sure about tomorrow night?"

"Positive," Scott said, even though the thought of it threatened to unsettle his calm. "I want you to come and Elena might actually skin me alive if I kept you away."

"Yeah, she's a little nervous. She's never made it this far, you know?"

"I do," Scott said and kissed him again lightly, before reaching for the door. "That was me too, not that long ago."

"And now you and my Dad have phone dates. Have I mentioned how weird that is yet?"

"Only a half dozen times," Scott said with a grin.

They tumbled out of the bathroom and then came to a stop.

Ilya was sitting on the edge of their bed. The door had been left open, less with intent and more out of forgetfulness, but Scott was glad that they'd forgotten. Ilya had stripped down to his briefs, but he wasn't in a seductive pose. He was slouched over, elbows on his knees, scrubbing at his face with one hand.

"Hey," Scott said, crossing to him. "You sleeping in here tonight?"

"Yes. Please. Kip?"

"Fine by me, hot stuff," Kip said. "Everything okay?"

"No," Ilya said heavily. "But I do not want to talk about it right now. I want to sleep."

It was easy to make room for him. The bed was large enough for all of them, purchased over a year ago with the vague thought that it might be needed. Scott shifted to the middle, flat on his back, Kip to his left, curled up on his side, using Scott's arm as a pillow, and Ilya to his right, arm thrown over Scott's waist. Despite the chill outside, Scott only drew the top sheet over them. Their combined body heat would be a nightmare under anything heavier.

As soon as everyone's breathing settled, Scott was out like a light. He woke in a dreamy haze untold hours later with his face pressed to Kip's waist and the familiar weight of Ilya half-draped over him. There was a hand in his hair, playing with the strands that always fell in his eyes. Kip was awake then, sitting up. Scott pushed into the touch a little.

"Stop moving," Ilya grumbled.

"I'm not a body pillow," Scott said. "Good morning, love."

"Good morning," Kip said warmly. "I already let Anya out and gave her breakfast. I figured you two might want to take her for her morning walk."

"Yes," Ilya said, his breath ghosting over Scott's shoulder.

"Sounds good," Scott said, rubbing his thumb over Kip's knee. "You came back to bed?"

"It was that kind of morning," Kip said and set down his book, turning onto his side to give Scott a quick kiss. Then he leaned over Scott and dropped a kiss on Ilya's forehead. "How are you?"

"Very good," Ilya said. "I have a dog."

"I noticed. You were less good last night," Kip said. Watching Kip be gentle with Ilya did things to Scott's heart that he wasn't prepared to inventory at this hour of the morning. "How about you tell us what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

"My father," Ilya started and stopped. Scott was prepared to fill in the blanks, but to his surprise, Ilya restarted. He wasn't looking at either of them. "I told Shane a few days ago that I think he is dying. It did not feel real until I said it to him."

"I'm so sorry," Kip said softly.

Ilya turned his face into Scott's side, shaking his head a little. "He is not nice like your father."

"What is he like then?"

"Hard," Ilya said. "Cold. But he is still my father and he is dying without me there."

Kip looked at Scott and what could Scott offer? He rubbed Ilya's back as a matter of habit and tried to be of some use.

"I don't think you watching him die would do either of you any good," Scott said, hoping it wasn't the wrong thing.

"He would be taken better care of if I was there to do it," Ilya said, directly into Scott's ribs.

"I don't doubt that," Scott said, closing his eyes and searching for the right words. Maybe they didn't exist. "But I also know you're doing everything you can from here while doing the job he wanted you to do."

It was a guess, actually. Scott had no idea if Ilya's father wanted him to play hockey. But he must've put some force behind it to get his teenage son across an ocean and into number one draft pick.

"I cannot be in two places at once, but I want to be," Ilya said.

What could anyone say to that? Scott looked to Kip, who looked back at him equally lost. So Scott did the only thing he could and kept on rubbing Ilya's back and listening to the baseboard heating tick as it fought against the chill assailing them from all sides.

"Hey, it's early. I bet Shane is in the gym. What if we call and bother him?" Kip suggested after a long quiet minute.

Ilya went still, then pushed up a little, enough to see Kip. "Yes. He will be very annoyed."

Kip didn't even text, just called and it only rang twice before Shane's voice filled the room. Apparently the phone was on speaker.

"Hey, everything okay?" Shane asked.

"Sorry to just call, but Ilya's having an existential crisis and getting it all over our sheets," Kip said.

"Fuck," Ilya groaned and let his head drop to Scott's chest. "Do not listen to him. There is no crisis."

"Is it your dad?" Shane asked immediately.

"Nothing has changed," Ilya said. "I am just…I don't know. Upset."

"It's upsetting," Shane agreed. "But you didn't try to tough it out alone and you're talking to them and me. I'm proud of you. Good job, baby."

Ilya made a soft noise and Scott knew his eyebrows were at his hairline. Even Kip cracked for a second, a wicked smile going over his mouth than disappearing into something more appropriately somber.

"You really did do good, sweetheart, " Scott whispered to Ilya and rubbed at his shoulder, then a little louder, "We're going to have breakfast and walk Anya soon. What's your day like?"

"Going to finish my work out, shower, then head over to my parents' house. They're having a few people over and I'll help them get ready for that. It'll be a short party though. It's supposed to snow up here tonight."

"Fucking Canadian blizzards," Ilya said with particular vehemence.

It must’ve been an inside joke because Shane laughed quietly. "It's not supposed to be a blizzard, but I'm staying over anyway. Christmas morning is always just me, my parents, and a tatertot casserole."

"I know those two words, but not together," Scott said.

"It's a breakfast casserole," Shane said patiently.

"New to me too," Kip put in.

"I'll send you the recipe. It's not hard, but it's way too heavy to eat most of the time. Definitely a holiday food."

Something for Scott to put into his mental filing cabinet then.

"You will eat it?" Ilya asked.

"Yes," Shane said like he was indulging Ilya instead of himself. "I eat it every year. A big piece, I promise."

"Good," Ilya said. "And you will be here soon."

"December 30th and I'm staying through New Year's. Scott and Sveta will be there and you'll be there on the 31st, but Kip will be too busy and smart for us."

"I got invited to a professor's stuffy party," Kip corrected though Scott knew he was immensely pleased about it. "I have to go. It's not cool."

"The party which is at The Frick," Ilya said with the confidence of a man who had definitely not found out what The Frick was roughly ten days ago when Kip got invited.

"I mailed your birthday gift, Kip."

"You send him a birthday gift, but no Christmas gifts for me?" Ilya asked.

"Yeah," Shane said with an audible eyeroll. "That's exactly how it's going down, Rozanov. Because you don't do Christmas. I'll give you your gift on New Year's Eve."

"Got you there, brat," Scott said merrily.

"Shane," Ilya said reverently. "I love you."

"I love you too," Shane said. "I'll video call tonight. Text me when you get back from the party, okay?"

"Okay," Ilya said.

"Looking forward to seeing you," Scott said. "Merry Christmas."

"Same. Merry Christmas!"

"Bye, Shane," Kip said.

"Bye, guys," Shane said, his voice a little tight and the call ended.

"Aw, I think he misses you," Kip said to Ilya.

"Yes," Ilya said and finally sat up. His curls were all mashed up one side of his head. "Walk first?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Sure you don't want to come, babe?"

"Do I want to come on what will probably be a several-mile walk at 7am when it's 28 degrees?" Kip asked. "Yeah, no, I'm good. You two go do your thing."

The park really was freezing and the sky was winter white. The path went around a small lake and Anya quickly peed, then came to trot at Ilya's side like they had trained together for weeks. When she went to investigate a smell, they would stop and allow it, standing in the quiet together. There were only a few other diehards out and about, runners who were probably here every day of the year.

"Do you think tonight is a good idea?"

Scott had to ask. His therapist had said one thing, Kip had said another, Carter had even had a few thoughts, but it was Ilya who had walked this path beside him. Who had sometimes dragged him down it, even when he was terrified too.

"No," Ilya said. "But all of your bad ideas have been very good things, so I think you should do it anyway."

"You're only saying that because you're the cause of at least half of my bad ideas."

"Mm, no," Ilya said, watching Anya investigate the base of a sign with extreme prejudice. "At least seventy-five percent, I think."

"I haven't known you my whole life."

"I know you for the part that matters. You were not making bad decisions at hockey school. You were a very good hockey boy."

"Untrue. I was a professional player for years before I met you, remember?"

"They don't count," Ilya said dismissively.

Which was ridiculous and hurtful. And maybe a little true. Scott had had a life before Ilya Rozanov and that mattered. It hadn't been nearly as much fun as his life since. Or as complicated and heartbreaking and beautiful.

"Fuck you, it counts. If someone says something…"

"Then that will be bad. But probably it will be nothing," Ilya said. "Anyway, Mrs. Vaughn would kill them. She loves you."

"She truly does not."

"You are so bad at telling," Ilya scoffed. "She does. She would not have you over every year and ask me if you are eating enough if she didn't."

"She asked you that?"

"She worries and Carter does not let her worry enough over him anymore. You stand still and look sad so she can worry over you quietly and not get in trouble with him."

The assessment from one evening over a year ago should not feel as correct as it did.

"Do you think they'll like him?"

"Yes," Ilya said without hesitation. Anya decided she was done investigating and they started walking again. "I think maybe that will be scarier for you. That no one will be angry and they will all like him."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it would be scarier for me too," Ilya said simply.

"I think the Hollanders would like you."

Ilya shook his head once. He was wearing the black scarf that he'd taken from Scott's closet that first Christmas. The cut of his coat was more expensive these days and he held himself differently. The hungry restlessness of the early years had mostly left him now.

"They won't know me, so it does not matter."

"I think he'll tell them. Soon, I bet."

"Did he say something to you?" Ilya asked.

"No, but I think when someone's sure about you, they do crazy things."

"You do not count," Ilya said firmly. "Stop. Please."

Scott nodded and they walked on in quiet. The cold sent Scott's nose running and his skin buzzing, but it felt good too.

Before they got into the car, Ilya produced a hand towel from somewhere and wiped off Anya's paws, letting her lick his face while he worked. It was a silent action that Scott could already see becoming a ritual. It was possible Scott should have figured out how to get him a dog earlier, but no time for regrets now.

"You must stay in the back, Anyechka," Ilya scolded her gently when she tried to leap into the front seat. "You are too small to be here."

Maybe a small amount of regret.

"She's going to be so spoiled," Scott said.

"Good. She had a hard start. Let her be a spoiled brat now."

"Yeah," Scott said softly. "That tracks."

"Do not," Ilya narrowed his eyes at him.

"Do not what?"

"Scott!"

The day passed slowly. There was a tree in the living room. Scott had tried very hard not to go too big, after all the Thanksgiving teasing. It was a sensible tree, small enough that it needed to be on a side table to reach a decent height. It was adorned with the same white fairy lights he'd always kept at the apartment. The ornaments were evenly distributed, white and gold globes. Very tasteful. Very not required since they would go over to the Grady house tomorrow and all the presents were already tucked away there for safe keeping.

"You killed a tree for no reason," Ilya remarked as they all settled into the living room for another harrowing bullet point on Kip's Must Watch list. At least this time, Kip had read a plot summary to ensure a more peaceful day.

"It's not dead," Kip said. "Scott got one of those ones that you can plant after. He thought it'd be nice to add one to the treeline every year."

"You buy a tree that was happy in the ground, put it in a pot so you can put it somewhere else."

"It smells good," Scott said defensively. "And that's what it was raised for. Better than chopping it down."

"I like it," Sveta declared then tossed her legs over Ilya's and dropped her head onto Kip's lap.

Observing her, Anya took a slow measure of the situation, then launched herself upwards to tuck herself against Sveta's stomach with a heavy doggie sigh that deflated her little body.

"Yes, things are very hard for you," Ilya said affectionately, reaching over to pet her. "Difficult life for you to lead."

They watched To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar and Scott was very charmed by it. Growing up, he might've had a tiny crush on Patrick Sweyze, so to watch him move through the world as a drag queen without a trace of shame was a balm against ancient burns. The story wasn't complicated, but it was funny and touching by turns.

Kip occasionally mouthed bits of dialogue which filled Scott with almost unbearable fondness. If Kip minded that Scott kept leaning over to dash a kiss against his temple or cheek, he didn't say anything about it. If anything, he kept peeking at Scott from under his eyelashes with a hint of flirtation. When the credits rolled, Sveta stretched out and then sat up straight into Ilya's lap like she belonged there. Anya flopped into the warm spot she had left behind.

They started speaking in Russian, a bubble forming around them. Perfect.

"Hey," Scott said to Kip. "Want to take this upstairs?"

"Slick," Kip laughed, getting to his feet. "I wouldn't mind some brisk exercise."

Chasing Kip up the stairs was far less subtle, but it wasn't like Sveta and Ilya didn't know what was what anyway. Kip fell into bed with shining eyes. Happily, Scott followed him down, kissing him slow and easy like Kip liked at the start of things.

Making love to Kip was one of the great joys of Scott's life these days. They had perfected each other now, easy patterns that were never boring, only deliciously familiar. Fitting together like puzzle pieces on the bed, they licked and sucked at each other like savoring a spoonful of ice cream.

"I love you," Scott told him as he nosed into Kip's trimmed pubic hair. His cock was spent and limp, but twitched a little in interest anyway.

"Love you too, babe," Kip said, winding his fingers into Scott's hair to scratch a little over his scalp. "Like a crazy amount, actually."

"Same," Scott said and let his head come to rest on Kip's thigh.

"Do you think one of these days, Ilya will sleep with us and we can have the most ridiculously hot threesome of all time?" Kip asked as if it was a very casual question.

"Oh my god," Scott groaned. He could picture it all too easily. "I might not make it. He wasn't really in favor of threesomes before though."

"That's fair. Okay if I ask him? Just out of intellectual curiosity."

"I don't think it's your intellect driving that one," Scott said amused. "But sure. Ask. It'd be more fun with Shane too, though."

"You don't know that for a fact," Kip said with an edge of superiority. "I mean, I know that because I have put my mouth on that man."

"Bragging."

"Little bit. I bet Shane would be into it though. You kissing him, I mean."

Scott was about to deny that, but then he remembered that speculative look in Vegas. The quick thoughtful appraisal Shane had made of Scott's person. Their conversations ever since had been friendly, growing warmer every time they spent time together. It wasn't lost on Scott that Shane was slow to like people, but somehow Scott had made the cut at some point.

"I wouldn't mind kissing him," Scott said casually.

"You're kidding, right? I think if he offered, you'd be all over that man like white on rice."

"I'd freak him out if I came on too strong."

"Babe," Kip said with barely concealed amusement, "do you think Ilya approached him quietly?"

That was an excellent point.

"Do you know how it started? Ilya never gave me specifics."

"No idea, but I have to imagine it was Ilya hitting him with his usual cartoon hammer-like subtlety. If you're interested, just tell him. That's what I did and it worked out pretty well."

"Yeah," Scott said with a slight frown. He dragged his fingertips over Kip's calf. "I think it's different with the two of us. I've already pushed him a lot. Enough that I regret some of it. Not where we wound up, but how we got here, maybe."

Kip's fingers stilled in his hair. "Oh, babe. I didn't know you felt that way."

"Ilya said something like that to me last year and I guess it stuck. Shane deserves to make his own choices."

"He does. But he can't make them if he doesn't know what's on offer," Kip said. God, how did he always sound so reasonable?

"It would be easier if it was just sex," Scott grumped.

"You don't have to tell me. That's why I like my quick and easy hookups," Kip said. "No muss, no fuss."

"You were just proposing a threesome with Ilya 'muss and fuss 24/7' Rozanov," Scott reminded him.

"Sometimes the muss and fuss is part of the fun," Kip conceded. "I like mussing you up for sure."

That led to a little more post-coital making out and an end to serious conversation that was probably for the best. At least it was something else for Scott to pace about as the evening came towards them at speed.

"You could come with us," Scott said again.

Sveta, fully in her pajamas, wearing a face mask, and hair in a bonnet, didn't even honor him with a response. Anya did come over to investigate his slacks and then give him a beseeching look.

"Sorry, girl. It's a no pets allowed kind of affair."

"This is very unkind. Bad hosting," Ilya declared as he squatted down to fuss over her. "Sveta, do you want me to bring you back peanut brittle?"

"Mm, yes, please."

"I will smuggle it," Ilya promised. "Did you get that mask out of my bathroom?"

"Yes," she said, daring him to say something with her eyes.

"Okay. The brand was on Rose Landry's essentials list for Vogue. Did you know this?"

"Is that why you bought it?" She asked lightly.

"Only an interesting fact."

Scott watched them and then sighed. "Are we pretending that I don't know things again? I can go wait in the car."

"You know?" Ilya demanded. "How?"

"I literally live with her," Scott said.

"For one month!"

"I pay attention," Scott said evenly. "Also she told me."

"Sveta!"

"What?" She fluffed a pillow. "He's a good listener. And I don't want to hide in my room every time she calls, it's embarrassing."

"Sorry, I'm ready!" Kip said as he came down the stairs. "Oh no fair, you look way too comfortable."

"So sad for you," Sveta said, reaching for a blanket. "Girls' night, go away boys."

They followed instructions, if only so they wouldn't be late. Scott drove, his grip on the steering wheel entirely normal and his breathing even. He was totally fine. This was going to go fine and well and normal.

"Babe," Kip said a little warily. "You need to breathe."

"I'm breathing," he protested. "I'm great."

"He will be fine once we go through the door," Ilya said from the backseat. "Doors are a problem."

Which was objectively insane, but also felt subjectively extremely accurate. Scott counted his breaths and tried to come down to baseline so Kip wouldn't make him pull over.

The Vaughn family home hadn't changed in a year. Two of the teenage cousins were sitting on the front steps despite the cold, talking a mile a minute to each other. Kip sidled in a little closer and for a terrifying second, Scott wanted to push him away. They'd discussed acceptable PDA (impolite to do much of anything anyway, hand holding was okay) and Scott had sworn up and down that he'd allow it.

Allow them to be seen. To make it clear what was what. Or at least that's what Scott had thought, but as he fought down his own clawing demons, he finally clocked that Kip didn't look himself either. His posture was very straight and his jaw was tight. Maybe some reassurance was needed both ways.

"Hey," Scott said softly. "You're good."

"Am I?" Kip asked. "This feels very big and weird all of a sudden."

"It is," Ilya said and then started up the steps. "And it is also just nice people too much in each other's business. Elena needs you, come on."

"Right," Kip said and started up after him.

"Wait," Scott said and Kip froze, clearly waiting for something terrible. Scott reached out and took Kip's hand in his. "Okay, now we're good. Go on."

Kip held his hand hard as Ilya rang the bell.

Carter opened the door, took them in and grinned. "Hey, guys! Elena has been asking me every five seconds when you're getting here. Please rescue her from my mother before she decides to break up with me."

They were separated from their coats, the host gift taken and disappeared into the kitchen. They made their way through the crowd, Ilya darting away to his bevvy of aunties that greeted him like a long lost son.

"I thought last year was his first time here," Kip said.

"It was," Scott sighed. "He's very good with older women."

"Godspeed to him, I guess," Kip said. "Okay, which one is Carter's mother? No. Wait. I see her."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Vaughn," Scott said as they approached. "It's good to see you again."

"Hello, Scott," she said and her eyes darted over to Kip.

"This is Kip," Scott said and despite all the worry and fear, he smiled as easily as anything. "My boyfriend."

Her eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch and then…her face actually softened. Perhaps for the first time since Scott had met her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Kip," she said, and shook Kip's free hand. "Carter mentioned that Scott was seeing someone."

"I'm someone," Kip agreed and then he was utterly himself, charming and fluid.

There had been so many events like tonight. Intended to be personal, but really almost work obligations. Places Scott had been invited that were lukewarm to him and he had to smile through. He'd never truly had a partner in those moments. Friends, often, sometimes even Ilya, but not someone whose only purpose in the space was to stand at his side and make nice small talk with him.

Kip was a natural at it. He moved through conversations and remembered names. Some of the partygoers had some kind of reaction to the two of them together, but Carter had already advised Scott who to avoid entirely and who it was a good idea to stand near. Occasionally, Ilya would turn up, taking a break from his self-appointed duties to fill them in on something he had overheard or to stuff more peanut brittle for Sveta in Scott's pockets.

It wasn't perfect. Scott didn't fully relax again until they left and he was still acutely aware that it was an imperfect holding tank of information. This was how rumors got started, cycling through the city and then out into the world.

The trade off of getting to walk around a party with Kip, without lying or hiding anything, was worth it. The bargain Scott had struck tonight didn't feel unequal. There might be rumors. There might be a photo or two now. Nothing salacious. Nothing more than two men standing next to each other. It had actually been too warm for them to keep holding hands for long.

Proximity was not proof.

"We can drive you," Scott said as they stepped out into substantially colder night air.

"To Brooklyn? Then home again? No way," Kip said.

"Then we're waiting with you for the Uber," Scott insisted.

"You know he will only do that or walk you all the way," Ilya said, unbothered and still eating something. One of the kids had put a spring of holly in Ilya's shirt pocket. He'd been sitting on the floor with them playing some complicated imaginary game that required fierce attention until bedtime was loudly called.

"Fiiiine," Kip said, but he was clearly pleased, leaning into Scott a little. "You're okay?"

"Yeah. Are you? Long night with strangers."

"They were nice strangers," Kip said. "And Elena fit in pretty well, did you notice?"

"I introduced her to all the aunties," Ilya said with some pride. "I told them she is ruthless and they were very happy. They think Carter needs a strong woman."

"I think Carter agrees," Scott said.

Attention snapped to him and Scott raised his eyes to the starless sky.

"You know something," Ilya accused.

"He definitely does," Kip determined.

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Scott said steadily.

"Oh my god, he's going to propose," Kip squeaked. "When? How?"

"If you know things, you can say things. Carter will absolutely know where the leak came from and he will be really upset with me," Scott said.

"I would never," Kip gasped. "How dare you accuse me?"

"You have not kept a secret from her possibly ever," Ilya observed.

"You betraying asshole!"

It passed the time, Kip attempting to get information out of Scott, mostly playfully, and Ilya switching sides to whatever amused him most in the moment. When Kip's car finally pulled up, Scott did a quick survey of the situation. The street was fairly dark. The driver was looking at his phone. The sidewalks weren't empty, but the nearest person was definitely too far away to make out specifics.

Scott leaned and kissed Kip quickly. "I love you. See you tomorrow morning."

"Love you too," Kip said, eyes wide. "Christmas really is magic."

"Shut up," Scott laughed and pulled away. "Go."

"Going!"

The drive back was familiar. Ilya spread over the passenger seat, loose and relaxed. Occasionally, Scott glanced over at him and every time, he found Ilya studying him until finally Scott had to ask, "What?"

"I was thinking," Ilya said and for a moment it seemed like he might stop there. But as was happening slowly and more steadily the last few months, he pushed on. "That maybe next year I will not be here. You won't need me."

Scott did him the courtesy of not instantly denying that, but it did make his blood boil a little.

"There's not a day coming when I don't need you, you fucking idiot," he said evenly. "Jesus."

"That seems like an insult and a compliment."

"It's both. Maybe I don't need you to get me through the door anymore, but that wasn't why I wanted you to stick around. It certainly isn't why I sent Kip to his father's on his own."

"You said it was because that was their thing," Ilya said. "Christmas Eve."

"Sure. It is. It's also our thing. And maybe next year, you'll be asked somewhere else and you'll say yes and that'll be…fine. We'll figure it out," Scott said. "But for right now, we'll go home, you'll talk to your boyfriend and I'll chat with Sveta, and then we're going to bed in my room. Right?"

He hadn't meant to end with a question, but maybe his assumptions had become just that. Assumptions.

"Yes," Ilya said with hesitation. Thank fuck. "He is not going to want me to have Christmas with his nice parents."

"Let's not have the same argument twice in one day. It's boring," Scott said, giving the word Ilya's accent.

"Fuck off, Hunter," Ilya groaned, but a twitch of a smile came over his lips.

Anya rushed to greet them when they got home and Scott left Ilya to fuss over her, heading upstairs. Sveta's door was cracked open so he just knocked once then walked in. Her decadent night in had apparently included nail polish, the pungent scent punctuating the air, and red wine, a glass sitting mostly empty on her bedside table. The woman herself was starfished on the bed over her covers, scrolling through her phone with an accusatory glare.

"Is someone wrong on the internet?" Scott asked.

"Yes," she said and let the phone drop to her chest. "You survived. Good work."

"It was nice," Scott said.

"Only you could make that sound like a compliment."

"Nice is good!" Scott protested. He sat down on the edge of her bed and she rolled to face him. "What's got you in a storm?"

"Graduate school applications," she said, half into the blankets.

"Oh?" Scott asked lightly.

"I haven't decided yet," she said sternly. "I'm considering my options."

"Okay. What do you want to study?"

"Sports psychology."

"Huh." He leaned back on his hands. "Certainly got enough guinea pigs to practice on around here."

"I would not," she promised. "Do you think it's too…I don't know. Maybe I should do something else. Move away from hockey. Make sure it's my life and not so tangled up in this."

"It's always your life," Scott said firmly. "And anyway, who's to say you have to be a hockey therapist? I've heard there's other sports. Ever met a tennis player? Some of those guys are as high strung as their rackets."

"Big words from you," she said, poking him in the thigh.

"Takes one to know one," Scott said unabashedly. "I think you'd be great at it. You know I'll help. Any way you want that to look, I will."

"You must mean it because I'm not Kip, I won't say no, and I'm not Ilyusha, who takes only because he knows he can return the same if he wanted," Sveta warned. "I will just take from you."

"I mean it," Scott said firmly. "It's fucked up how education works here. I know that better than some other guys like me. If some old guy with a shitton of money hadn't died and cared about kids learning hockey, I don't actually know what would've happened to me."

She frowned. "You're a smart enough man. Something would have opened to you."

"Would it?" he asked wryly. "Maybe. I don't want to 'what if' it to death. I know that I got lucky though. What kind of person would I be if I hoarded that luck away?"

"A normal one," she said, but she was smiling. "Let me get through even applying first."

"That I can't help with," he admitted.

"Oh, I know, I will bother Kip about it."

"Good call."

"When do we leave tomorrow?"

"9ish."

"Mm, I should sleep. Get out. Good night."

"Good night," he said with a grin and left her to go about her evening. She didn't lock the door behind him, probably anticipating Ilya saying his good nights too.

It was hard, in that moment, to remember the other Christmas Eves when it had just been the two of them locked up away from the world. Had they really spent years like that? They had made each other somewhat happy most of the time, but it was nothing like this.

Some tired small wounded part of Scott longed a little for the simplicity of it. It had, in its way, been easier, if colder. The two of them store up a little warmth for the push through the next few months of the season. This life was better, but it required a lot more thought and steadiness.

Going through his bedtime routine, Scott settled in to wait. He hoped Shane and Ilya had time for a long talk for their sake. If it was the kind of phone call that required clean up, Scott could reconcile himself to another night of simply sleeping beside Ilya. It was downright selfish to want more anyway, Kip's touch still lingered from hours before.

Scott was a very selfish man sometimes.

He listened to a podcast (his therapist had strictly forbidden any hockey-based ones which was so obvious that Scott had cringed through the floor when it was suggested) and let a soothing voice tell him about yet another cult. His therapist was not keen on those either, but since they were less obviously harmful to Scott in particular, Josh agreed that Scott could carry on if nothing else caught his attention.

The door opened and Scott tried not to breathe out a sigh of relief. Anya came in first, her collar clicking as she came to the side of the bed, wagging practically her entire body until he put his hand down to pet her. Ilya's shadow fell over them both.

"Shane says to tell you 'Happy Christmas'," Ilya reported. "I think he said this already, but he was very insistent. Too much eggnog."

"Cute," Scott deemed and Ilya nodded in agreement. Then he started shedding clothes, launching them at the hamper.

"Did you two have a good talk?"

"Mm, yes, but he is a sleepy drunk."

Hands slid over Scott's shoulders, familiar and warm. Ilya leaned down to kiss him and Scott met him with curious hunger. When it was returned he hooked his hands around Ilya's waist and pulled him towards the bed.

"Can I fuck you?" Ilya asked as he piled in over Scott. "I am so fucking horny."

"Yeah," Scott said with a grin. "Let's do that."

They kept it simple, mostly kissing messily as Ilya fingered him open with his unique brand of hot determination. Eventually, Scott rolled up onto his elbows and knees and Ilya pressed into him with a soft grunt. When he bottomed out, Ilya dragged his calloused fingertips down Scott's spine in the exact right way to make Scott moan into the duvet.

There was no punishing rhythm, no harsh clenching or sharp-edged chirps. It was good and slow, drawing out sensation instead of crashing towards an end goal. As they both got closer, Ilya leaned down more, a kiss pressed between Scott's shoulder blades. His hand dropped over Scott's, their fingers entwining.

They both came quietly and neither one of them made any move to disentangle. Scott went flat on the bed and Ilya covered him, even after he pulled out. In her bed, Anya gave a heavy doggie sigh and Scott laughed.

"I don't think she's impressed by our performance."

"Like a commentator," Ilya agreed with a matching laugh. He got up, some joint popping as he did so.

They cleaned up a little, then got back into bed. Moonlight streamed in through the open curtains. Ilya pressed against Scott's side, arm over his waist.

"Love you, sweetheart," Scott told him because the feeling had welled up in him so strongly tonight. This beautiful, frightening night that Ilya had midwifed into existence whether he knew it or not.

"Mm, yes, I know," Ilya said. "I love you too. Shut up and go to sleep now, so you can wake up before me and make the coffee."

Scott grinned at the ceiling. "You're such a fucking brat."

Of course Scott did wake up before him and he did make coffee in The Nest. He texted with Eric, who was an even earlier riser than Scott. He'd gone to his parents for the holidays and apparently everyone was walking on eggshells around him. The divorce was inevitable at this point, only the legal untangling of their lives renaming.

Eric lived alone in his big house in Long Island now. It wasn't a fate Scott wished on anyone, but for the first time he could remember, he could give Eric actual advice. Before, Eric had been the adult in the room. Older than all of them, long married, and ruthlessly disciplined with himself, it had always felt like Eric was the one with wisdom to dispense.

Now it was Scott who said, "Go out to dinner sometimes, even if it's alone," and "Close a few doors or the echoing will drive you nuts."

Eventually, the Russian contingent groggily arose, accepted their travel mugs of coffee and fell into Scott's car still half-asleep. Ilya rested his head against the window and Sveta theatrically yawned in the backseat before going suspiciously quiet. Scott put music on quietly, content to point the car towards Brooklyn as they dozed. Only Anya stayed alert with him, watching the world go by with canine vigilance.

The Grady house was full of life that morning. They ate breakfast and handed out gifts, five people somehow generating six conversations at once. Kip's hair was a mess and he never changed out of his pajamas which meant every time Scott reached for him, he found warm flannel.

When they crowded into the living room, Sveta and George pulled up footage of a Western Conference game from the week before to argue over San Francisco's defense. Kip sat in Scott's lap. Ilya sat on the floor in front of Sveta, occasionally offering arguments as he played tug-a-rope with Anya.

"Good Christmas, babe?"

"The best," Scott said. "You?"

"Yeah, really good.”

And as if choreographed, both of them glanced to the right. The space between them and Sveta which was just large enough to hold one more person.

"This is the kind of greed they write about in the Bible," Kip said.

"Have you read the Bible?" Scott asked.

"No. Have you?"

"Babe, I went to a Catholic high school. I promise the greed they're writing about is not wishing the fifth member of your polycule was also at Jesus' birthday party."

"I've heard that a lot of that book is open to interpretation," Kip said.

"This would be a lot more believable if you weren't bitching to me about saints in medieval art for three months last year."

"They're so gruesome," Kip whined. "Eyeballs on plates! And everyone is smiling about it. Least favorite era."

"I know, you were really clear about that while you were making me look at the cut off breasts."

"Someone should suffer with me."

They didn't say anything else about it. Or at least not until much later when they were back in Sleepy Hollow, tucked up in bed. Ilya was talking to Anya outside in the dog run, his voice distorted through the windows, but persistent anyway.

"It'd be nice for my dad to have some company his own age on the holidays," was all Kip said.

And then Scott could see Kip's vision, taking over his own. Before, he had imagined Ilya meeting the Hollanders as a loss. An inevitable breaking away as Shane's family became his. It would be good for him, Scott figured, the same way knowing George had been good for Scott. Christmas would be different again and Scott would reconcile himself to that. He'd still have Kip (fuck, would he? Could they really last like this, teetering in these gray areas for another year? two? three? Kip would start writing his dissertation soon and the countdown would tick louder and louder). He and Ilya would still see each other and annoy each other with texts. Probably. Maybe.

But Kip's tiny remark opened a door that Scott hadn't even known was in the hallway. A dangerous door that suggested everything Scott had done in Sleepy Hollow wasn't some temporary soap bubble, but perhaps a thing of staying power and a promise of a future.

It gave the rest of the week a hopeful sheen that never wore off. Not when Ilya headed out with a kiss for Scott and then a startlingly long and involved kiss for Kip which left them both looking a bit stunned. Not at Kip's by-now traditional birthday party at the Kingfisher where Kyle pulled Scott behind the bar with him and made him pull beers while he did the cocktails. Not when Eric and Carter showed up as if there had been no way they weren't coming.

"Who is that?" Kyle asked, his hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle of rum like he was trying to choke it to death.

"My friend Eric? You've met him a couple of times," Scott said bemused. "He was at Thanksgiving."

"No, no. That was a sad sack middle-aged man," Kyle said. "This is a certified hottie with a few grays. Why does he look so much sexier now?"

"I have no idea. He's kind of having a hard time right now with the divorce and everything."

Eric didn't look like he was having a hard time at the moment though. He was leaning down a little to hear what Maria was saying and smiling at her encouragingly. Maybe Kyle was onto something because some of the tightness around Eric's mouth had eased a little.

"A divorce," Kyle repeated and then started pouring rum into the glass like he'd never paused.

"Yeah, they happen. He said they've been drifting apart for a long time."

"Noted," Kyle said.

"What's been noted?" Scott asked.

Kyle glanced at him then grinned and nudged Scott gently. "Oh, darling man, you need to spend more time around here. You can't coast forever with Kip and Ilya doing all your interpretation."

On the 30th, Kip wriggled out of Scott's embrace early in the morning with a laughing swat, then doubled back to give him parting kisses and reminders that he'd be back before Scott's next roadie started. Sveta was still sleeping so Scott rounded up Anya and took her out. They went for a long walk and then to the pet store to restock on her food. If Scott also got her a new toy and some marrow bones for later that was between him and his debit card.

He sent a picture of her to Ilya before he could get the near daily demand for one. The instant returned heart emojis were already predictable.

NYTY: You like her more than me.

BH: No contest. Tell her I love her and give her kisses for me.

NYTY: Done. You good?

BH: Better when I come home. Kiss my dog that will help. One other thing too.

NYTY: I already got lectured. There will be caviar and some supposed salad recipe that has a lot of mayo in it. Our girl was very clear on the menu.

BH: Not a food request. Whatever my Jane asks you for, please give. Okay?

NYTY: I always do. Jane asks more politely, she can have whatever she wants.

BH: What brand of caviar?

NYTY: There's two and I have no idea. She put them in my cart and I hit purchase.

BH: Sometimes you are smarter than you look.

NYTY: Eat shit. Hope you make an own goal.

In the afternoon, Scott had some press obligations which led straight into the evening game. Anaheim had been deeply unserious this season and the Admirals blitzed through them with the kind of ease that Scott usually thought well out of his grip by this point in the season. He brought home two goals and a truly bizarre sense of optimism that he was afraid to look at too hard.

Anya barked when he arrived, came down the stairs and pranced around him as he made his post-game meal. He didn't feed any of it to her, despite her very persuasive looks and big wet eyes.

"Ilya gave me immunity to those," he informed her. Her eyes got impossibly wider. Scott sighed, scraped off the seasoning of a piece of chicken and gave it to her. "Yeah, I didn't believe me either."

The front door opened as he set the plate into the dishwasher. Anya ran off barking her head off like she was warding off an invading army. Scott went after her and found her defending her territory by sniffing wildly at Shane's sneakers as he attempted to get them off without tripping on her.

"So you've met our security guard," Scott said. "Please excuse the level of service, she's a new hire, very eager."

"She's lousy at it," Shane said as Anya hopped a few times, attempting to get up his leg by sheer force of will.

"I think her bark is better than her bite. If you let her sniff your hands, she'll calm down a little."

Shane did, watching her with his eyebrows drawn together like she was a puzzle to solve. "I've never had a pet."

"Join the club. Kip had a cat when he was a kid, but apparently it's not a comparable experience. Sveta says it's not any worse than taking care of someone called Sasha when he was high, but I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"It's definitely not. He's the guy Ilya hooked up with before us."

That statement processed through Scott in several stages, especially the dismissive tone Shane had taken. Dismissive to the briefly mentioned Sasha. Dismissive in comparison to him AND Shane. A class they were in together, somehow above this third unknown man.

Maybe Scott was still on an endorphin high because it made him grin.

"Sounds like an asshole. How was your flight?"

"I watched one of Kip's movies. After I read a Wikipedia summary," Shane said with half a smile. "Think you'll like it. It's about a gay baseball team."

"They have those?"

"They do in the movies," Shane said and barely avoided getting his face licked.

"Hungry?"

There was a hesitation, then a nod. "But you don't have to make anything."

"Too late even for me to start cooking. There's pretty good leftovers though. Pesto chicken, charred broccoli, and brown rice. It just needs some time in the microwave."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

Scott put on hot water too, so he could hold a mug of whatever herbal tea Kip had stashed away and keep his hands busy while he sat with Shane. They talked quietly as Shane ate, bullshit about the games they'd played this week and some Anya antics. The dog was having far less luck with Shane, who only gave her a stern shake of the head when she begged.

It was something about the hour then, and not the content of their conversation, that imbued it with some stolen intimacy. They were almost whispering, the soft lights of the kitchen drawing them in. Upstairs, Sveta was already asleep and perhaps that added to the dozy warmth too.

"He seemed okay last night," Shane said without any warning of a segue. "We talked after the Detroit game."

"Comes in waves, I guess," Scott said. "And all this with his father…"

"Yeah," Shane sighed and set down his fork. He'd eaten almost everything anyway. "It's a lot. Can I ask you something? About you, not him. Or it is about him, but not—fuck."

"Just ask and I'll answer if I want," Scott said.

"What does it feel like when things are bad for you? He's told me what it's like for him and I think I get it, but it's not something that happens to me."

"And you think maybe we have a closer experience?" Scott guessed.

"Yeah," Shane said, sitting back a little. "Maybe."

Scott nodded and stared out into the darkened living room, trying to figure out how to say it. "Part of it is grief. I think that's what we have in common, me and him. You've had a tooth knocked out, right?"

"Only once," Shane said, watching him closely.

"Lucky you. So you know how for the first few days, your tongue keeps going to that spot, poking that emptiness?"

"It's fucking irritating."

"Yeah," Scott said with a half-smile. "It is. That's what it's like for me. Just this sense that something is missing. Eventually it becomes normal and you stop prodding it every day, but it doesn't stop being something I miss."

"That sucks," Shane said. His tone was flat, but his eyes were wide and on Scott's face. He meant every syllable of it.

"Thanks. I think I was already a pretty anxious kid, but everything got worse after that. Every minor inconvenience became a potential disaster in my head. Every stranger looking at me wanted something from me that I didn't know how to give. Then, you know, I grew up and that sort of became true."

"Shit," Shane muttered.

"Is it still paranoia if they're actually out to get you?" Scott asked wryly. "It feels like crap is what I'm saying. Therapy helps. Medication helps. I don't hold myself so tight in my sleep that I wake up with an aching jaw. I fall asleep more easily sometimes. I don't play out worse-case scenarios every time I stop filling my head with outside noise."

Shane stared down at his plate. "It's so loud."

"It is," Scott agreed quietly. "I'm sorry. I'd rather it was just me. Horrible things to relate to."

"I didn't lose anyone," Shane said. "I don't have anything like that going on.”

"Yeah, you're only the most photographed man in hockey, savior of the Metros, and darling of forty-two ad campaigns while also leading an entire secret private life," Scott said dryly. "What could you have to be anxious about?"

"Five," Shane said. "It's only five active campaigns and only three of those are ongoing."

Scott smiled at him. He couldn't help it. "Yeah, okay. You're right. Only five? You're absolutely not allowed to complain."

"Shut up," Shane said, lips twitching. "I get it, I have a lot going on."

"You do. You're killing all of it too. Takes a lot though. To be the best at all of that."

"You think I'm the best?" Shane asked, one side of his lips quirking up.

"Don't get me involved in you and Ilya's fucked up foreplay," Scott said immediately. "Just because I've had a few bad years doesn't mean I can't still put you two assholes in your place."

"That's not what the stats say." There was a sly brightness to Shane that usually Scott only saw around Ilya.

"Then why haven't either of your teams won a game against us yet this year?"

"Twice is not a pattern," Shane said.

"Yeah, I said that to myself once and now I own a home with him. How'd it work out for you?"

Shane opened his mouth then shut it again. For a brief moment, Scott wondered if he'd pushed too far. Then Shane laughed quietly, "Like dogshit, thanks for checking. I think I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

"Good pattern," Scott said.

"The best." As if he just clued in that he was done eating, Shane picked up his plate and brought it over to the garbage to scrape. It put his back to Scott. "He always gets me out of my head. It doesn't seem fair, I'm not sure I'm doing the same for him."

"You are," Scott said. "I can see it. Kip too. He smiles the most when you text him. I'm pretty sure he thinks you're the funniest person to ever live."

"That's objectively insane," Shane said flatly. Scott couldn't help it. He laughed.

"I don't know. You have your moments."

Shane set his plate in the dishwasher, closing it with a brisk finality. Then he turned to pin Scott with the same ferocious stare that Scott had seen over the dot a hundred times. Hollander didn't scare Scott. He'd lost the ability to fear an opponent a long time ago. If anything, before Scott had known him better, it had mostly made him tired. It was the warning sign of a hard fight that Scott was probably going to lose.

Except Scott actually had been winning against it recently. Right now, the same prickle of promise came over him. There was a game here and if Shane clued Scott in on the rules, maybe he could win this one too.

"I had a poster of you on my wall when I was a teenager," Shane said. It came out even and calm, but there was a waver in Shane's body. "It was a promotion for All Stars. You're holding a fucking flip phone."

"2005." Scott tried to mirror Shane's tone. "Rookie year. They made bank off me then. Didn't have Todd yet and my first manager thought he had to cash grab everything in case I wiped out."

The shoot had been boring, the photos the kind of thing he'd get used to doing eventually, but wasn’t yet.  Verizon had paid big into All Stars that year and Scott had dutifully walked around an empty coffee shop in an Admiral's t-shirt smiling at nothing as he talked to dead air on the other side of the phone. At the time, it had felt like some kind of terrible metaphor for his whole life. Now, Scott thought of it almost fondly. A dumb kid doing his best with a bad prop.

"Ilya thinks it’s hilarious that it’s still up," Shane said, his voice dropping a little. Huskier. "But it's not like I live there anymore. My parents keep it the same way I had it at eighteen."

This was a face off. Scott absolutely could not lose his cool now. "Of course. Nothing you can do about that."

"He asked me to take a picture of it when I was staying there over Christmas. When I was taking it, I realized the last time I really looked at it I was nineteen. I moved out after I got drafted."

"To Montreal," Scott said helplessly. He was starting to lose sight of why he was trying to be so calm. Because his head was racing and his pulse was thudding. Something about how Shane was standing, no longer stiff at all.

"Yeah. So I'm thinking, at nineteen I was looking at this poster of you and maybe somewhere at the same time, Ilya was getting to actually touch you."

Maybe Scott was having a heart attack. Only years of practice kept Scott from reacting. This was worse than any chirp Ilya had ever aimed at him though.

"You were probably having a better time. Neither of us really knew what we were doing with each other yet."

"That's not how he tells it," Shane said.

"He talks to you about me?"

"Only recently. It used to be too weird. Too hard. These days though…" Shane trailed off and for the first time, started to waver a little. "I like how he describes you. It's different from how we are. He's not bratty with me."

"That's a lie," Scott said, the back of his neck was getting hot. "I see him pull your pigtails all the time."

"Not like that," Shane said. "Not…you know."

What war was happening in Shane? He was forward, but so shy about it.

All at once, Ilya's text came back to Scott. The plea. Give Shane what he asked for. But he hadn't asked yet and Scott didn't want to misstep. It was thin ice out there, barely holding their weight.

"He's not really that bratty in bed with me either, whatever he's telling you. That's more of a lead up thing. I know he'd kill me for saying it, but we're pretty vanilla in bed."

"Boring." Shane said, a full on chirp. What a dick. Why did Scott like assholes so much? His type sucked.

"Oh yeah, I put him right to sleep," Scott said. "That's how I kept him coming back for years. Insomnia is a bitch."

"I've been having trouble sleeping," Shane said.

"Is that so?" Scott said and his mouth went dry. "Have you tried podcasts?"

Shane stared at him then groaned and scrubbed at his face. "Okay, I hate this part. Just…"

Kip's advice. Why did Scott never remember advice until it was almost too late?

"Shane," Scott said carefully. "I will do whatever you want, okay? If you want this just to be a weird conversation we had once, that's okay. If you want me to come over there and kiss you, then I'll do that too. Whatever you want."

Maybe that meant Scott had lost the game and blinked first, but the game was clearly torturing Shane, so what was the point?

"Please kiss me," Shane said, his hand still over his face. It was kind of cute, really. "I've been thinking about it for months."

"Me too," Scott said and almost knocked his chair to the ground in his haste to get to his feet. "God, you're ridiculously hot, do you know that?"

"Yeah, I'm aware," Shane said and his hand dropped away as Scott came closer. "I've made a few dollars about it."

"More than a few," Scott said.

It had not escaped his notice that Shane's gaze tended to snag on him when he boxed Kip up against a counter to kiss him. Kip liked the reminder of Scott's size and strength, almost as much as he liked putting a single finger to Scott's chest to get him to back off. Keeping up the slow pace in case he was wrong, Scott planted his hands on the counter on either side of Shane.

"Hi," Shane said softly.

"Let me rephrase," Scott said. "Watching you do yoga is borderline pornographic and I enjoy it a lot."

He followed the compliment by leaning in to kiss Shane's small smile. He'd meant it only as a friendly press of lips, but Shane opened up like he expected tongue and who was Scott to deny him?

Shane kissed with the same devouring energy as Ilya, except where Ilya's was a demand for more, always, Shane's seemed more like joyful hunger. If pressed, Scott wasn't sure he could explain the difference, but he definitely felt it.

Then to Scott's shock, Shane pulled away. For a split second, Scott was certain he'd fucked up. But before he could even ask, Shane was gone, dropping to his knees so quickly and gracefully that Scott didn't have time to register what had happened before fingers were hooking into his sweatpants and dragging them down.

"Woah," he said, trying to recalibrate.

Shane glanced up at him from under his eyelashes. Whatever he saw, he must've taken as consent because he went for Scott's underwear next. Far be it from Scott to stop a blowjob in progress, but this was like sexual vertigo. He considered saying something until roughly point five seconds later when Shane took in Scott's penis with a soft, huh, then lapped at the head with a few curious licks. It was cute and sort of shy and maybe Scott might have kept thinking that if Shane hadn't proceeded to casually deep throat him.

It was insane. Sure, Ilya had been quick to suck Scott off and sometimes Kip got a wild hair about deep throating, but it was nothing on this. Shane went from a tentative lick to having his nose to Scott's pubes without any sign of hesitation or effort.

"Jesus Christ," Scott practically swallowed the words as he said them.

The blowjob was something beyond good or bad, it was devastating. Nuclear level. It brought him from half-hard to the edge of coming faster than anything had in years. Scott dropped a hand to Shane's shoulder, massaging a little.

"Gonna come and make a short night of it if you don't stop," he admitted. "You're a fucking hurricane."

Shane pulled off, but didn't get up. He looked up at Scott with a smirk. "Can't come twice in a night?"

"Not this late, after I already played a game," Scott said.

"Old man," Shane said without half the edge of Ilya, but certainly with the same intent.

"Wow. He's really in the room with us," Scott said dryly. Then he dropped his voice, quiet and certain. "Get upstairs and let me take my time with you. Then you'll remember that this 'old man' taught your boyfriend half the shit he knows about giving a hot guy a good time."

If he had pulled that Ilya, it would have become a flirtatious argument. He wouldn't even bother with Kip, who didn't find chirping a turn on.

Shane…Shane got up and went for the stairs like a starter pistol had gone off.

All of the vague conversations Ilya and Kip had had in Scott's vicinity clicked into place. No time to consider all the implications. Apparently Scott had thrown down the gauntlet and Shane had picked it up with gusto. He tucked away his dick then took off after him.

They thundered upstairs, hopefully not waking Sveta. For a brief second, Shane hesitated in the hallway. Then he pushed open the door to his and Ilya's room with determination. It was Scott's turn to pause.

He'd been in their room, of course. Ilya did not see the act of changing clothes or taking a piss as a reason for a conversation to stop. They hadn't had sex in here though. Scott wasn't sure they'd ever even kissed in this room.

Shane took off his shirt and dropped it into the hamper. He gave Scott an expectant look. Scott stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him, locking it. Sveta's door was cracked for Anya, the dog could find company there if she wanted it tonight.

"You're really zero to sixty," Scott said.

"I know what I want," Shane said simply.

"Okay then."

Considering where Shane's mouth had been, it was hard to get nervous about kissing him again. Scott closed the distance and started kissing him again, this time sliding his hands around his waist. Silk over steel, all over.

Comparison drifted away and Scott's focus narrowed to Shane. He matched Shane's hunger. Between kisses that trailed from lips to neck, which Shane very clearly approved of, Scott walked them backwards to the bed. With sheer curiosity, Scott pushed Shane down. No need to trip him or fool him. Shane went down like he'd been hoping to be shoved, legs already spreading in invitation.

Scott knelt down between them, bracketing Shane again, hands by his head this time.

"I'm going to run my hands over every inch of you and then suck your cock. If you object to that plan, speak now."

"I want that," Shane said immediately, then a little slower. "I don't know if- shit. Would you fuck me?"

Taking a deep breath, Scott centered himself and said, "Yes. Absolutely."

Shane smiled like that was fantastic news. "That's what I used to think about."

When looking at the damn poster? No. Maybe? Scott wasn't even sure if that was scary or a turn on. Maybe both.

"Then I better make sure I live up to the fantasy."

Learning Shane's body was an adventure. He was responsive to almost any kind of touch, his breathing quickly going thready. A steady trickle of small noises encouraged Scott to kiss and touch everywhere he went. His cock was as gorgeous as the rest of him, leaking and flushed before it even got attention. When Scott got his mouth around it, Shane wrapped a leg around him, encouraging him in closer.

Tempting as it was to prove that he could manage the same trick, Scott shoved competitiveness aside to figure out what Shane liked. His cock was heavy on Scott's tongue, his balls warm and full in Scott's palm. Dark lush pubic hair invited Scott in closer. Heaven.

He lost himself in it for a few minutes before Shane was tugging at his hair a little.

"Close," he warned. With some reluctance, Scott pulled off licking his lips.

"Are you always so wet? That's incredible."

"It just happens," Shane said, like it hardly mattered to him, but there was that smile again. Barely there and pleased. Only visible if you were looking for it. Can't hide from me anymore, Hollander.

"What do you like? Tongue? Fingers? Both?"

Shane's fingers sank into the duvet, some of that fast confidence bleeding away for the first time. Scott stroked over Shane's thighs, taking some fast (possibly impulsive) leaps.

"Get me the lube. I'm going to eat you out until you're on the edge again. Okay?"

"Okay," Shane said and reached for the bedside table. The lube, Scott's standard brand these days thanks to Shane himself, appeared. It was set down neatly.

"Wow, good service in here. I bet you've never tried to concuss someone with the bottle," Scott said. Maybe a few little comparisons.

"What?" Shane asked, eyebrows flying up.

"Ask your boyfriend. He gets violent when you eat him out."

"He does?"

Oops. Time to put his mouth to better use before he got himself in more hot water than he could bail himself out of.

"No comment. C'mere."

Scott didn't wait for Shane to move. He slid his hands under the muscular globes of Shane's ass and pulled him towards his mouth. Using his thumbs to part the way, Scott watched Shane's hole flutter a little in anticipation. Licking into him was a revelation. All the tiny noises of before became a louder continuous moan. Shane could bend his legs back like a gymnast and Scott took full advantage of the wide open playing field. When he speared his tongue into the dampened heat of him, Shane made a wounded sound and shoved his hand into Scott's hair. He didn't pull exactly, but he wasn't gentle either.

"Fuck," Shane groaned. "Stop."

Scott grinned as he pulled away and trailed a few kisses down the inside of Shane's thighs. There was almost no hair there, only soft skin that Scott could've explored if he hadn't had another mission.

"Close?" Scott asked him playfully. Shane's hard length twitched against his stomach. The inch of stomach beneath the head gleamed with fluid.

"Yeah," Shane said roughly.

"Good job telling me," Scott praised, mostly to see what would happen. To his glee, Shane's eyelids lowered and a little shiver Scott only felt from their intense proximity. "Get me a condom."

"Ilya said you and him test before Christmas," Shane said, something akin to a whine in his voice.

"We do, but I've been with Kip since then. We always use protection, but he hasn't tested recently."

The affronted expression on Shane's face was equal parts hilarious and hot. "Fine."

The gold packet landed perfectly in Scott's outstretched palm. He kissed Shane's knee in apology. "If you want a repeat of tonight and we plan ahead enough, I'll make sure I'm ready for you."

"Yeah?" Shane lit up like Scott had promised him the moon. "Really?"

"Really," Scott vowed. "You deserve whatever the hell you want, gorgeous."

Rimming had made Shane soft and welcoming to Scott's lube-soaked fingers. It would've been fun to linger there, but apparently Shane was a man with focus tonight. Scott had barely worked in a second finger when Shane started fucking himself against them like he wanted Scott's whole fist lodged deep inside him.

"Okay, okay," Scott said, rubbing his other hand over Shane's stomach soothingly. "I've got you."

"Please," Shane moaned.

"You ask so pretty, of course you'll get it. Be good though and let me make sure I don't hurt you."

"You won't," Shane insisted. "C'mon, please."

Scott intimately knew the trials and tribulations of regularly getting fucked by Ilya's considerable situation. He had to trust that Shane knew his limits. Not to mention that he was starving for it himself now. Pulling out his fingers, he got the condom in with relatively deft speed. Before he was fully positioned, Shane hooked his legs over Scott's shoulders and pulled him down with them.

"Fuck, no one should be able to bend like that," Scott groaned. "Feelings on ass to mouth?"

"Don't care. Kiss me," Shane bit off.

Had Scott really cared once upon a time? It seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd force Ilya to brush his teeth. If Shane didn't care then Scott wasn't going to get particular about it. He bent down and kissed Shane filthy and deep. It made lining himself up tricky, but he wasn't going to pull away from the tip of Shane's tongue dragging over his bottom lip for something as unnecessary as seeing what he was doing.

When Scott did finally nudge the head of his cock through that first tight ring, Shane's face shifted from concentration to a Renaissance painting of divine ecstasy. Unable to hold the position and adequately push in, Scott traded kissing for sitting back and studying him like he was on the wall of the Met. He slid into Shane, sheathed in welcome tight heat and barely taking account of it, in favor of watching what it did to the man instead.

He kissed Shane's knee and ran his hands over his waist and thighs. Their combined breathing created a percussive music, choral in its harmonies.

"Please," Shane murmured and then Scott was moving.

He took him slow because he wanted to savor it. Shane indulged him for a bit before he started to move again, his hips making demands for harder and faster. A perfect match to a demanding brat, who loved to ratchet up and up as things got more heated. For a brief, ridiculous second, all Scott could think was that he would almost prefer watching Ilya in his place. Almost.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around Shane's cock, the brand of it across his palm wired straight to his dick. Shane moaned and pushed back still harder, his eyes glazed over with want.

"Okay, okay," Scott murmured. "You get on top and show me how you like it then."

He got his hands under Shane's shoulders and when he rolled them, Shane tucked in with a grin and went with him. It took a little rearranging and then they were truly off to the races. Scott got his hand around Shane again.

"I can-"

"You concentrate on what you're doing, I've got this," Scott assured him, shifting so Shane could lean back against his legs.

Shane Hollander, back arched, hands gripping Scott's knees, head thrown back, eyes closed and kiss-pinked lips parted, rode Scott like he was a bronco. It was an image that would be tattooed on the back of Scott's eyelids for some time. He did his best to meet Shane's pace, thrusting as he drove down and adding more lube to the situation when he accidentally smacked the bottle on his way to get his free hand on Shane's thigh.

The tight spasm of Shane around him as he came knocked Scott out of his concentrated hectic metronome and he was coming himself in short order. He rose a few inches off the bed, curling into himself, before thudding back to the mattress. All the air in his lungs puffed out at once and he was left staring up at Shane, who was only a little out of breath and gleaming with a light layer of sweat.

"Get down here and do me the courtesy of pretending to be a little winded," Scott demanded. With a huff of laughter, Shane started to clamber off, but Scott reached for him and pulled him straight down. "You're good here."

There was no objection, Shane only shifted a little and settled his cheek pressed to Scott's chest. Idly, Scott drew patterns on his back with his fingertips and tried to recollect his scattered higher reasoning powers.

"You lived up to the poster," Shane said after a few minutes. "If you were wondering."

"I was," Scott laughed. "Thanks. I didn't have a clear idea of what this would be like and I don't think I could've imagined that. You were phenomenal."

"Is it weird that I was kind of thinking that I could see what you were talking about?"

"Which bit?" Scott asked.

"Like, I could kind of tell there were things that you know from each other," Shane said, almost absently. "It was definitely different, but there's overlap."

"I don't think that's weird. I was trying not to play comparison in my head, but…I don't know. I could kind of imagine Ilya in my place if that makes sense. It was pretty hot."

"Would you tell him that?"

Now there was a question. Scott flattened his hand over Shane's lower back.

"Yeah, I think so. I know it'll go straight to his head, but sometimes he deserves compliments. That's if he even wants to know about this beyond that it happened."

"He does," Shane said, a hint of smugness there. "I may have said it was the first step in a plan."

"You have a plan that involves me watching you bounce on my dick like it'll get you the cup?"

"Wow. Shut up. And yes, actually."

"I like this plan. Do I get to know the goal?"

"Not yet. I don't know if it'll freak you out or not."

"That's less promising."

Shane lifted his head a little, enough that he could study Scott's face. "It'll be fun. Trust me?"

What could Scott say in the face of that? They had to put a lot of trust in each other for the past few years. Mind, body, and soul, before they were even properly friends.

"I do," Scott said solemnly. "Quick question, is kissing over because the sex is over or can we make out a little?"

His answer was a return to the kissing. Great response.

"Did you want to stay?" Shane asked, clearly attempting something like nonchalant. It was cute.

"I think you've heard the rumors that I do better when I'm not alone," Scott said. "I'll always say yes to that, but if you'd rather I didn't, I get it."

"I don't like sleeping alone here. It's fine in other places, but it's weird in this room," Shane said, levering himself up. He had been preventing Scott from taking full breaths, but he missed the weight of him anyway. At least Shane didn't go far, apparently content to lay on his side next to Scott.

"He'll be home tomorrow."

"I know," Shane said with a yawn. "That'll be good. I'm not eating any caviar."

"Between me and you, I'm not sold on it either. I've barely managed to avoid it this long."

They went quiet for a second and before Scott could wonder if they'd finally made their way into the awkward part of the night, Shane sighed deeply and said, "We're both going to eat the fucking caviar, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Scott laughed. "We fucking will."

It never got awkward. Mostly because they were both too tired. After a bit of mutual complaining, they got out of bed long enough to use the bathroom and do some perfunctory cleaning before they rolled back into the bed and under the covers. Scott meant to do some thinking about whether or not they should try cuddling and he simply passed out before it became an issue.

The morning might've gotten a little weird. They had mostly stayed apart in the night, but Scott did find his morning wood happily pressed to the back of Shane's thigh. He considered attempting to get out of bed, but when he started to move away, a hand snaked out, grabbed his hips, and pulled him in. Instead of getting up, Scott spent a very happy start to the day rutting between Shane's thighs while jerking him and pressing his lips to Shane's neck and shoulders.

"You still going to work out?" Scott asked when he stopped seeing stars.

"Yeah. We'll probably be hung over tomorrow and I don't want to skip two days in a row."

"Smart," Scott conceded.

They worked out like nothing had changed. Maybe nothing had changed really, only shifted a little, a puzzle piece sinking into place. When he finally retreated into his own room to shower, Scott retrieved his phone. He had two messages.

BH: Did my Jane kill you?

NYTY: Honestly? Close call. How did you not lock that down immediately? Or was it not as good the first few times?

BH: Always been like that.

NYTY: So much more of you two idiots makes sense to me now.

BH: You thought we were doing all that without the sex being good?

NYTY: There's good and there's meeting god.

BH: Better than with me?

NYTY: I didn't say that.

BH: You aren't not saying it.

NYTY: It's just different. I'm not going to start a tier rank so the two of you can play whatever mind games get you both off.

BH: I will have to fuck you better next time.

NYTY: I can't have one minute's peace can I?

LOML: You're probably already asleep, but that third period goal was very hot.

Scott: Good morning love and thank you.

LOML: Good morning! Do you think I should wear the gray or navy blue slacks tonight? I think I've worn the gray ones to the last few events, but the blue ones don't do anything for my ass.

Scott: Are you picking someone up at a faculty party?

LOML: Dress to impress always applies.

Scott: Noted. I think if you do a different shirt with the gray ones, no one will notice a re-wear. The last party was with the history department and you said there wasn't much overlap anyway.

LOML: Good point! Okay, crisis averted.

Scott: I fucked Shane last night.

His phone rang and Scott picked up with a happy, "Hi, babe."

"I cannot believe you buried the lede like that."

"You were having a pants crisis that seemed more important."

The sound Kip made was strong enough to grow legs and walk from Princeton to Sleepy Hollow to thwack Scott upside the head. He grinned down at his feet.

"Tell me everything."

"I need to shower."

"Put me on speaker and yell at me about it through the curtain!"

"I'm not sure if he really wants me to say much. I figured the fact was okay because Ilya clearly knew ahead of time, so fair is fair."

"Clearly—babe. You have to be so honest with me right now: did Shane seduce you?"

It wasn't like Shane had done any of the usual things. Nothing Scott would term a seduction per se. Until the poster thing. That had been….

"Oh shit," Scott said, the penny dropping. "Shane Hollander seduced me."

"I hate you so much," Kip groaned. "You tripped and fell into Ilya, now this. You should not be able to pull this easily."

"You didn't exactly make me work that hard for it either," Scott teased gently.

"You had to do a little work," Kip said.

"I had to take off my shirt."

"You did a few things before that too," Kip said annoyance replaced with warmth. "You promised me you weren't a serial killer. That was hot."

"Oh god," Scott said. The embarrassment had mostly burned away off those moments now. It had gotten him here, how could he be ashamed of it? "I didn't tell Shane I wasn't a serial killer. Should I clarify that?"

"I don't know, you fucked three guys this week, babe. That's a high body count."

"Too close together," Scott laughed. "That'd make me a spree killer."

"My bad!"

It wasn't until they were off the phone with promises to text at midnight that it really sank in. Scott could run through a flipbook of the past week and see a very slutty picture. Ilya between his thighs, Kip watching him as he sucked his dick dry, and Shane on top of him beatific as an angel. Less than six days.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned," Scott muttered as he stepped into the shower, "and it was pretty damn good."

Sin did not extend to breakfast, unfortunately. It was egg-white omelettes with onion and peppers and turkey bacon all around. Sveta emerged to eat hers and Scott was relatively sure she hadn't heard anything or she would've teased them. It took Shane longer to come to the same conclusion and Scott watched him visibly relax as she only asked about the plan for the rest of the day.

"Next year we should swap," Scott decided, once Sveta explained the bowl of tangerines to Shane. "Do the big party on New Year's Eve and make Christmas quieter."

"You want to have a big Russian party with only two Russians?" Sveta asked dryly, even as a smile tugged at the edges of her lips.

"Two important Russians," Scott said. "It'll be a cultural exchange."

"That'd be cool," Shane agreed. "I could be here."

Sveta cut a glance at Scott, ulterior motive detected. He wasn't going to apologize for it. She gave him an approving nod, so maybe she didn't think it needed an apology either.

There was some cooking to do, but with only the four of them the scale was far more reasonable than Thanksgiving. Sveta kicked them both out of the kitchen so she could bake in the afternoon.

"Ilya said he landed," Shane said casually as if he hadn't been checking his phone constantly.

"Gives us about an hour. Want to take Anya out with me?"

Shane apparently liked nature. He was a little less patient with Anya's pauses, so Scott nudged her along a little faster. If that bothered her, she didn't show it, prancing off each spot as if it had been her idea to move on.

"She's definitely Ilya's dog," Scott said after the third time of that pantomime.

Shane laughed quietly. "A brat and a sweetheart?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "I'm doomed to find the same kind of strays over and over."

"I'm not a stray."

"He found you, doesn't count," Scott said. "Anyway, the rest of it's the same."

"I'm not like that," Shane frowned.

"You think you're less bratty than him? Or less of a sweetheart? I don't think I've earned the right to start hanging endearments on you yet, but you are definitely both those things."

"I'm really not," Shane said. He bundled up in winter gear, pinked from the chill, so it was hard to tell if he was blushing. "Yet?"

"Yet," Scott confirmed.

Shane didn't reply, but he also slowed down a little and bumped his shoulder against Scott's.

In another life without Ilya, would Scott have found Shane first instead? The upset guy he'd blown off at the award show, who had called him Mr. Hunter and done shots like they hurt him? What would that have been like? Would it have worked at all?

The idea of Ilya missing from his life gave Scott a stomach cramp so he shoved the thought away as they got back to the car. They'd barely walked back in the garage, still taking off their coats when the front door opened.

"I'm here!" Ilya called out, "and I am fucking freezing, someone come warm me back up!"

Scott held his hand out for Shane's coat. "I'll hang it up."

"Thanks," Shane said, shoving it at him and running off. He took his time getting out of his own.

They were still wrapped up in each other in the front fall hall, Ilya leaning against the wall and Shane cradling Ilya's face in his hands. Circling their feet, Anya sniffed at Ilya's shoes, apparently already placated by whatever greeting he'd given her.

"This is terrible, you are colder than me," Ilya complained happily.

"Your life is a tragedy," Shane agreed and started dotting kisses all over Ilya's face.

Hanging out and watching with popcorn was not an option, so Scott wandered into the kitchen to see if he was allowed in again yet.

"Come," Sveta said. "I am going to tell you how to make Olivier salad."

"Great! Let me wash my hands and then they're yours."

Dinner ran late, the table groaning with too much food for the four of them even mid-season.

"Leftovers are good," Sveta decreed. "Lunch tomorrow and dinner for me when you all leave me alone."

There had been vodka in shot glasses, Sveta and Ilya announcing toasts with growing hilarity and entirely in Russian. Shane switched to water after the first one and Scott reluctantly followed his lead after he'd had two. Tomorrow was an off day, but then it was a flight out and no rest for the wicked.

With some reluctance, Scott attempted his caviar on buttered bread and found it not nearly as horrific as he'd feared. When Shane gamely attempted his then quietly set it down on his plate with a far off look, Ilya snatched it and ate it without comment.

They ate tangerines and Sveta's oreshki cookies, which Scott thought were just okay compared to her pies until he realized he'd eaten ten of them. Shane peeled Ilya's tangerine for him, passing him sections as he worked on his own. When Sveta made a face while getting her nails into her own, Shane plucked it out of her hand, peeled it, and returned it to her without comment. She held the segments in her palm and stared at them for a beat too long. Her thank you was a small strangled thing. All the while, Ilya kept arguing with Scott about what the Rose Bowl was like as if he knew anything about American football.

Scott might have texted Kip a few choice tidbits about the evening and gotten back increasingly jealous emojis, along with complaints about canapes. They went quiet as it got later though and Scott imagined he'd found his people in the din of the party, charming a small group and leading them outside to see the fireworks.

At least he hoped so as they all went up to The Nest. With the trees skeletal in winter's grasp, they had a clear view of the skyline. There was no TV in The Nest by design, so Sveta propped up her phone on the coffeetable with a livestream of Time Square. They counted down together to 2016 gracelessly giving way to whatever 2017 would hold. As Ilya and Shane got lost in a kiss on the loveseat, Sveta leaned over in her chair with mischief in her eyes and kissed Scott square on the lips.

"Don't worry, this is from your boyfriend. He kissed me before he left. For you," she said, highly amused. "You are very lucky I have a sexy date in a few days, so I was feeling generous."

"Thank you?" he got out.

"You're welcome."

The fireworks started at the same moment, startling both of them. Anya started barking and seemed to be shaking a bit, so Scott scooped her up. She leaned in hard against him with a whine. Maybe Scott should've done some reading on dogs and fireworks.

Sveta tapped Shane on the shoulder. "Give me one second with him, Hollander."

"Yeah, sure," Shane said, watching with a blank expression as Sveta leaned in and kissed Ilya gently. Much more gently than she had kissed Scott. Then she paused and glanced at Shane. "Uh, I'm good. Thanks."

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek instead. "Happy New Year."

The fireworks were mercifully short and when they ended, Anya was very happy to follow Sveta down the stairs and to bed.

"That should be me too," Scott realized as he cracked a yawn. "Happy New Year, boys."

"No kiss for us?" Ilya asked. "Scott. That is not a way to start a fresh year."

"That so? You've got legs too. Rumor that I heard."

"I am very comfortable and you are already standing," Ilya pointed out.

"Glad we're starting off this year the way we've lived every other one together, brat."

Of course Scott leaned down to kiss him. Ilya got his hand around his neck holding him in place. "Shane too."

"I think that's Shane's choice," Scott said.

"Sometimes Shane is shy."

"I'm sitting right here," Shane said.

Sitting right beside Ilya, watching Scott like he was doing something particularly interesting instead of being held in a slightly awkward position by Shane's ridiculous boyfriend.

"He has a new year's resolution," Ilya said.

"No, I said I had a plan," Shane said patiently. "I think something else is my resolution."

"What?" Ilya demanded.

"I'm not 100% on it yet. I'll tell you tomorrow. But yeah, plan tonight. If he wants."

Suspicion grew in Scott. He thought about Shane stepping into the bedroom and the space they had closed between them last night. No matter how close they got there, there had been the inference of Ilya around the edges.

All around them, the world had settled into silence after the cacophony. The house was warm as the wind rattled the windows outside.

Scott took Ilya’s hand off his neck so he could press a kiss into Ilya's palm, then leaned over to kiss Shane gently.

"Ilya asked me to give you whatever you wanted. I already said yes," Scott said, meeting those lovely brown eyes.

LOML: Sorry I didn’t reply, it got loud here. Are you headed to bed?

Scott: Babe, I have thirty seconds. I love you, I will tell you everything in the morning.

LOML: Are you going to war or having a threesome?

Scott: Not war, but I may die.

LOML: You whore! I'm so jealous. I love you, have the best time!

Chapter 5: Sweat and Grit

Chapter Notes

Added a pairing tag and a topic tag.

January 2017 - Shane

Sveta: Happy New Year, lovely.

Rose: Happy New Year! I hope you're having a better time than me, this producer keeps calling me Rosa and trying to pour me more champagne.

Sveta: Start calling him the wrong name back. It won't help, but it will make me laugh.

Rose: You got it. I think he looks like a Brian. Did you guys have fun?

Sveta: We did. The boys are having more fun though I think.

Rose: Which ones?

Sveta: Yes.

Rose: Oh my god, my night just got a thousand times better. Or worse if you're not okay about it?

Sveta: I am fine about it. Only a little horny and jealous.

Rose: This house has so many bathrooms. I'll go find one, lock the door and I think we can take care of both those things. Sound good?

Sveta: You are too good to be real. Yes, please.

People talked about Shane's hockey IQ a lot. He said all the right humble things about it in interviews and laughed it off with his teammates later, but the reality was that sometimes he didn't know how other players didn't see what he saw. Laypeople could be forgiven, they lacked the depth of experience, and he had assumed at the time that his juniors' teammates weren't taking it as seriously as he was deep down. Yet, once he got to the pros, he found more of the same.

Shane could see the game play out in his head as he played it. As every good player should. As many of them had nodded along when he explained and claimed that they did. Yet, he got praised and won based on it far more consistently than they did. Having that bird's eye view didn't come automatically, of course. Shane put the work in studying tape, watching his teammates, and practicing against imaginary opponents in his head when there wasn't actual practice occurring.

It was, in the end, bodies, and bodies were predictable. Players, even great ones, had their weaknesses and their predictable habits. Only Ilya truly surprised Shane with any regularity. They had never discussed it, but Ilya seemed to see things the way Shane did, the plays unfurling for him. When Ilya noticed Shane picking up on tell in his own playstyle, it disappeared. Shane did the same in reaction to Ilya. They were blades sharpening each other in the clash.

This season, Scott had gotten the drop on Shane three times. It wasn't a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it was more than anyone except Ilya had managed. If Shane hadn't already been feeling some growing complexities about Scott, they certainly had not simplified when Scott appeared at his elbow a fraction of a second before Shane was prepared for him to arrive, snatching the puck and whipping it to Carter.

The Admirals hadn't even scored off that, but a fire had lit under Shane's skin. That was the Scott Hunter that Shane had admired in his teens, watching with his mother as the rookie player had outskated all the vets on his team and scored against Montreal like it was as easy as breathing.

Yet, Scott was still no Ilya. Which was something that Shane was relatively sure Scott himself would admit if pressed about it (Shane would never and he was surprised to find that Ilya didn't seem to want to either, for all his teasing). So when it came to bodies off the ice, Shane had made the assumption that Scott would still be fairly easy to predict.

Except that while by now Shane saw certain kinds of sex as an arena of equal competence for himself as hockey, it was in a much more narrow band. In other words, Shane was a master of sex with Ilya, but he simply didn't have the knowledge base to see the ice as clearly with other people.

So he'd gotten a scouting report.

"Why do you want to know?" Ilya had asked warily.

They had been in a hotel bed on a rare night where they played separate away games, but wound up within a reasonable drive of each other. When Shane said he was 'headed out', Hayden had asked if Boston Lily had finally discovered how planes worked. Sometimes, Shane had the squirming idea that Hayden knew something, but then Hayden would smile his 'no thoughts, just hockey' smile at him and it seemed impossible.

"I'm curious," Shane had said.

"Curious?" Ilya kissed his shoulder. "Hollander. Curious how?"

Shane gave him a sideways look and Ilya's eyebrows flew up into his hairline. "Just. Curious."

"This is a loaded word," Ilya said and poked him in the side. Shane slapped at his hand then winced and reached for him.

"Sorry."

"For what?" Ilya waved that away, but he did take the kiss Shane offered. "Do you want to fuck Scott?"

The question was playful and if Shane had managed a playful reply, who knows where it would have gone. These days though, Shane was trying hard to be as honest as he could with Ilya. If he couldn't be with him, then with who?

"Maybe," Shane mumbled instead. "A little."

Ilya's whole face changed, surprise flying over it. He turned more towards Shane, dropping a hand to his thigh.

"Since when?"

"You can't laugh."

Ilya made a soft protesting noise. "But that means you are about to say something funny."

"You'll think it is," he said. "I think I had a crush on him. A small one. As a kid."

The delight that stole over Ilya's face was worth the pain of the confession. "How old?"

"Sixteen, seventeen. I didn't know it was a crush. I just knew I liked watching him play. I had his poster up in my room."

"Shane," Ilya said, his smile threatening to break clean off his face. It was so big. "This is the best thing I've ever heard. You had a crush on Scott when you met me?"

"I don't know. Yes. I kind of forgot about it honestly. Until he came to hang out with me in Vegas."

"Ah, I understand. You met me and you forgot about him."

"You're unbelievable," Shane groaned.

"And yet you believe in me," Ilya said, putting a hand to his heart. "Every day."

"I do," Shane said. Because it was true and why not? "I do kind of want to fuck Scott now. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Why do you want to? So you can 'win'?" Ilya asked. Flat, but not prickly.

"No. Cause he's hot and…" Shane hesitated. "I've started thinking. About things I want to do. Like if we're doing this. If I kiss Kip sometimes and you do things with Scott, then maybe there's other interesting things we can do."

"You have things," Ilya said, eyes going a little wider. "Shane. Tell me."

So Shane told him and Ilya's grip on his thigh got tighter, his breath coming a little faster. They made out, then rolled into round two. When Shane had some fun new aches, Ilya rubbed his back idly.

"So that's why I want to know," Shane said, circling back around. "I think it'd be easier if Scott and me messed around first, just him and me. See if we're even comfortable with each other."

"You have met Scott. All he will want to do is make you comfortable," Ilya pointed out.

"I don't think I'd mind that," Shane said. "Tell me though. What's he like?"

Ilya had declined to describe specifics ("It is more fun if you discover it on your own") and used a few words that Shane wasn't sure he'd apply to sex like 'determined' and 'relentless'. It had been minimally helpful, but at least they'd had a good talk about how they both felt about moving forward and Ilya had tacitly greenlit it.

"You will have fun," he said at last. "Or you will not and that will be okay too."

"It will?" Shane asked him, wavering.

"If you don't like it, Scott won't like it," Ilya said, leaning over to kiss Shane's shoulder. "So you will agree that you do not work that way together and not do it again. Maybe you two will be weird with each other for a little bit, but then you will be okay."

Was that wishful thinking or true? Shane had weighed that over and over before he'd landed in New York. The car Scott had ordered was waiting for him. It was a courtesy that Shane adjusted too embarrassingly fast. Brands did it, sometimes the league too when they wanted him somewhere without the team. There was a tiny ping in Shane's chest that said this was different somehow, but a car was a car in the end.

The night had gone far better than anything Shane had gamed out in his head. Scott had not been predictable. He had risen to Shane's flirting with a glee that he couldn't have anticipated. When he'd boxed Shane against the counter and somehow managed to loom over him despite them being the same height, all of the careful tactics had dissolved. There were no plays, no intent. Scott wasn't some other player that Shane had to work around.

Scott was the guy that had smiled down at him wistfully from a ridiculous poster while Shane pretended he was jerking off to thoughts of his high school girlfriend. He was the one that had taken care of Ilya when Shane couldn't. Scott was the one who had bought a house and carved a space in it for Shane long before he knew he wanted to fill it.

And then Scott was the guy kissing Shane like he'd already figured out exactly how Shane would like it. If Shane got a hunger after that, then he blamed Ilya who had always fed him everything he asked for until Shane had become little more than a living appetite. Lucky for Shane, Scott seemed into that.

All in all, Shane thought phase one had gone extremely well. He'd walked around in a well-fucked haze all day, only heightened by Ilya's arrival. They had crashed into bed, Ilya chasing down all the places Scott had touched Shane and layering his own fingerprints over them. When Ilya ate him out like he might find traces of Scott there too, Shane came so fast that he'd startled himself.

There wasn't even teasing afterwards, only Ilya's cock in his mouth and then a nap, Shane's head on Ilya's chest so he could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Their small party in the kitchen felt like a celebration of the people at the table as it did the new year.

"You still want?" Ilya checked before they went up to the Nest.

"If you're still okay with it," Shane said quickly.

"I am," Ilya said and nipped at Shane's jaw.

"If he's good with it, can you take the lead? Do the talking?"

Ilya huffed a laugh in Shane's ear. "You did not have to ask. I know where you go. Come, we will miss the fireworks."

They didn't miss them. The brilliant explosions sang through Shane.The exchange of kisses afterwards set off new fireworks under his skin. Even Sveta leaning down to kiss his cheek felt bright and alive. Barely two minutes later, they all followed her lead down the stairs.

"Your room," Ilya said to Scott.

Probably wise. The walls were thick, but there were three of them and Sveta didn't deserve that. Still, Shane thought longingly of their bed. It had been good to have Scott there too, like something they had stolen away. Shane hadn't understood Ilya's impulse to take things until recently. Maybe being with Ilya had awoken the greedy dragon inside Shane.

When the door closed, Shane hovered for a moment. He had gotten them this far and he knew where he wanted them to go, but he couldn't see the play. Ilya pressed against the door, watching both of them, seemingly also momentarily frozen. That had to be a bad start.

Scott cupped the back of Shane's neck. He leaned in, voice a buzz in Shane's ear.

"I like watching you two kiss. Is that okay?"

Fuck. Was that okay? Shane pressed Ilya against the door and that woke Ilya up. All at once, Shane was being manhandled from both sides. Scott was up against his back, hand resting on his neck and Ilya had gripped his jaw, angling him for a filthy kiss. Caught between them, Shane could only kiss back, his hands clumsy on Ilya in a way they hadn't been in years. There was a moment of awkwardness, Scott and Ilya's hands colliding across Shane's chest. Shane stilled, watching as Ilya's eyes flew up, pinning Scott over Shane's shoulder.

"Play nice, brat," Scott said. It didn't have the weight of Ilya's commands, lacking force or an edge. Instead, it sounded playfully tired as if Ilya had been pushing Scott's buttons all day instead of for a single second. "Share."

"Only because he wants it," Ilya said as if making an enormous concession.

"And what does he want exactly?" Scott asked. His hand had landed on Shane's chest after all and his thumb rubbed over Shane's nipple through his shirt. Shane bit back a moan.

"He wants you to fuck him while he sucks my dick," Ilya said with all the lush frankness that drove Shane out of his head. "But don't make him come. He comes on my cock."

"Is that so?" Scott said, his thumb still circling, a tiny point of unrelenting stimulation. "He really spelled it out for you."

"He knows he cannot always get the words out when he's already here," Ilya said and he arched a little against Shane, the brand of his erection seared against Shane's thigh. "You promised."

"I did," Scott agreed and god, he wouldn't stop. It was so little and so much. Shane was overheating. "Can't think of a promise I'd like better to fulfill. You're good with this? Really?"

Then Ilya leaned in even closer, his stubble scraping against Shane's cheek. The sounds of a filthy kiss an inch away from Shane's ear as Scott's nail caught at his nipple just a little finally broke Shane. He moaned.

"Fuck, Shane," Ilya said, a hint of a groan in his voice.

Lips trailed over Shane's neck. Not Ilya's because Ilya was kissing him. Hands swarmed him and Shane parted from his clothes gladly. Pressed naked between them, both of them still dressed was a new level of madness. Cloth caught at Shane's skin, rubbing him into oversensitivity as he was kissed and handled.

"Bed, Shane," Ilya said, the words ringing clear through the fog. "Sit on the edge. Watch and wait."

Shane sat. He had seen Ilya and Scott kiss before, of course. That had always been in a 'goodbye, hello' sort of way though. This was something else. They kissed each other with knowledge and heat. The way Scott rested his hands on Ilya's waist intrigued Shane. It wasn't control exactly, not in the way Ilya moved Shane around. It was more like earned confidence. Scott knew the way of Ilya's body and expected it to react accordingly. Ilya didn't tear into him as much as he did Shane either. There was no clear leader, both of them stripping themselves between languid kisses. At one point, Scott said something in a low rumble and Ilya huffed, shoving at his shoulder a little. That only made Scott chase his lips again, kissing as he grabbed Ilya's ass by the handful.

There was jealousy in Shane. He could feel it, but it was as distant as the river right now. This was fucking hot and he wasn't going to let possessiveness rob him of the best porn he'd ever seen. His boyfriend making out with Shane's teenage crush was doing things to his brain that likely couldn't be undone.

"He's being very patient," Scott observed.

"Yes, he is not usually so," Ilya said, gazing down at Shane. His attention was aloe on a burn and also, somehow, more fire. "You want to taste?"

"Yes," Shane breathed out.

"Which one?" Ilya asked, the burr in his voice that made Shane want to do any obscene thing Ilya could dream up.

How did Ilya want him to choose? Be loyal? Be a good…host? He was torn immediately, both cocks already hard and appealing. The familiar? The new?

"Mean," Scott observed.

"Do not ruin my game," Ilya chided.

"Yeah, but if he sucks you off, I can go get condoms and lube, move them closer."

That was just good tactics, so Shane nodded in agreement and Ilya sighed gustily. "Fine. Come here."

Having Ilya's cock in his mouth was grounding. Shane knew this part by heart. Hearing someone else moving around in the room was new. Instead of being off putting, Shane was struck by the heat of it. Someone was watching. Someone knew now that Shane could make Ilya's breath come fast and hard in seconds.

A hand was in his hair. Not Ilya's because both of Ilya's hands were on Shane's shoulders, massaging. Scott was playing with Shane's hair.

"He's fucking fantastic at that," Scott said. Shane swallowed down around Ilya, showing off a little.

"I know," Ilya said with pride.

In the highlight reel Shane would make of tonight in his memory, that might be the part he put first. He was fucking great at this. The idea of someone else knowing that in any other context would probably have made him throw up, but this was Scott. They were safe in this house, in this room. Shane preened.

"He likes getting eaten out even more than you do," Scott was saying thoughtfully to Ilya.

That sparked Shane's memory and he pulled off a little to say, "I want to do that."

"Do what?" Ilya asked distractedly, running his thumb over Shane's bottom lip.

"I want to rim you. Scott has." If he sounded like was pouting then so be it. He was, a little.

"Ah," Ilya said. "You have been telling on me."

"I don't know what you two get up to or don't," Scott said. He must've sat down where Shane had been a minute ago because his legs were bracketing Shane's sides now. Trapping him. A knot in Shane's back came undone. "And you like it. Why wouldn't you tell him?"

"It is not how we do things," Ilya said. He reached down and urged Shane forward again. Not a hardship. Shane wasn't sure what to say to that anyway. Sucking Ilya's cock always made sense even when the world lost cohesion.

Being held, almost incidentally, by Scott while he did it was really good too. Shane had always liked pressure on his joints and never been afraid of small spaces. There was something inherently good about being pinned right where he most wanted to be.

"Maybe it could be," Scott said idly.

"You are talking too much," Ilya determined and leaned down over Shane's head for another kiss.

It made the angle a little more difficult, but Shane was up to the challenge. There was something in this moment, something about being used for pleasure and going unacknowledged, but not quite forgotten, that was sending Shane into a comfortable place he hadn't known he could reach. Ilya would never forget about him really and Scott was holding him close. Shane wasn't discarded. He was simply serving his purpose at this moment. He was useful and good.

"How do you know he's not choking?" Scott asked, the words filtering through Shane's haze.

"Ah, Shane, Scott is worried I will choke you on my dick," Ilya said, amused. "What do you do if you are not okay?"

Shane reluctantly took his hand off Ilya's thigh and tapped his hip a few times. To his displeasure, Ilya stepped away, pulling free of Shane's mouth.

"Hey," he protested, "you asked. I wasn't actually tapping out."

"I know," Ilya said soothingly, feeding him two of his fingers which Shane took as a consolation prize. "We move to the bed now or you won't get all the things you want."

Oh. Right. Shane got to his feet, angling his face in silent request. Ilya kissed him indulgently for a second. "What do you think? I will sit against the headboard?"

Before Shane could piece that together, Scott said, "Yeah, that works. Should be enough room."

Logistics. Shane liked logistics usually, but it was good someone else was handling it right now. He watched as Ilya got comfortable against the pillows and the pretty, if plain, headboard. Why was Scott and Kip's room so boring? The rest of the house had so much to look at.

"Shane," someone said and his attention refocused on Scott standing in front of him. He was smiling a little. Two fingers slid under Shane's chin. "Hey."

"Hi," Shane said.

More kissing. Shane melted into it, sliding his hands over Scott's shoulders. They were strong and broad. Ilya lifted more weight, but Scott always seemed like he could've held the barbell in the air forever without getting tired. Relentless. Ilya had said Scott was relentless in bed and Shane imagined some kind of hard pounding, but that wasn't it.

He kissed Shane like he could do it all day. As if there was no end to that moment until Scott got whatever he wanted from it. How could Shane have seen that coming? Ilya's scouting was lousy and he was going to tell him so as soon as he had two brain cells to rub together. Right now, he was doing very important kissing.

"You are ridiculously, illegally good at that," Scott informed him as he pulled away. "Go on, go kiss your boyfriend for a second. He's trying to set fire to the back of my head."

"Bad angle," Ilya complained. "I could not see anything fun. Come."

Shane went eagerly. He straddled Ilya's lap, trapping both their erections between their stomachs, a pleasant friction that Shane dutifully ignored in favor of kissing Ilya. Barely a few moments into that and Scott's lips returned to him too, this time trailing over his shoulders. One strong hand grasped Shane's hip, preventing the slight grind he hadn't realized he'd been doing.

"Knees a little further apart and you can stay right there for now," Scott said.

That was very doable. Shane adjusted and happily went back to kissing Ilya, who had also gotten his hand into Shane's hair. The tug wasn't hard, but definitely present, and Shane moaned again. It redoubled on itself as Scott's other hand came back into play, the pad of one finger rubbing over Shane's hole.

"Fuck," he said into Ilya's mouth.

"Yes," Ilya agreed, playfully tweaking one of Shane's nipples. "This is what you wanted. Still okay?"

"Yes," Shane breathed out.

Scott didn't skimp on stretching him and time took on a sticky inexactitude. With Ilya's hands wandering over him while Scott slid fingers into him, Shane became a thing of pure want.

"Now, please," he managed to get out and instead of one of Ilya's teases, Scott just kissed the back of his neck.

"Got to do some rearranging."

Shane had to participate in very little of it. Ilya sat up again, having sunk down a little as they made out. Scott shifted back and then his hands were on Shane's waist again, guiding him backwards too.

"C'mere," Scott coaxed. "Take care of your man. I've got you. Okay?"

"Okay," Shane breathed out. The checking in was nice. Familiar. Also kind of unnecessary, but Shane didn't feel like debating that right now.

Sinking back down, Shane braced himself up on his elbows and took Ilya's cock back into his mouth. He glanced up under his eyelashes at Ilya to check in and got rewarded with Ilya's hand stroking through his hair.

Then there was a cock nudging at Shane's hole.

Once, he and Ilya had managed an interesting sixty-nine with Ilya working a plug in and out of Shane while they sucked each other's cocks. That had been really good, but also a little complicated and hard to maintain any rhythm. This was entirely different. Ilya's whole attention was on Shane, the hand in his hair, a slow rocking of his hips to meet Shane's bobbing head. Yet Shane was also being slowly and expertly penetrated, warm, strong hands on his hips.

He wasn't sure what sound he made, but it must've been good because Ilya rolled his hips with a little more insistence.

"Do not treat him like glass," Ilya said. "He can take more."

"Maybe I want to savor the moment," Scott said with an audible eyeroll. "Not everything is a race, brat."

The banter went on for a bit as Scott moved with wicked slowness. Shane let it sink into him. They were so warm with each other and instead of feeling outside of it, Shane was folded into it. Scott was running the heel of his hand up and down Shane's spine and Ilya was playing with his hair. If his mouth had been free, Shane had every confidence that their dialogue would have included him too. When he had conceived of this moment, he hadn't been thinking of the interpersonal, only the magma heat of it. To feel that connection, to hum as a conduit between the two of them, was a very interesting side effect.

"If I fuck him hard, he's not going to be able to keep up a good rhythm for you," Scott observed.

"He will do fine," Ilya contended, a conciliatory thumb stroking over Shane's cheek. "I am not going to come yet either. Go before we both fall asleep."

"Yeah, you look really tired," Scott scoffed.

He did take direction though and started moving. Shane gave up on thinking entirely. With long, even thrusts, Scott nailed Shane's prostate every other stroke. Each time he shoved Shane forward, it forced Shane to take Ilya into his throat. Bright sparks of pleasure peppered over Shane's body, no longer properly moored to the places being stimulated. It didn't help that there were hands everywhere on him. Two men could have been six, the way he felt petted and grabbed all over.

At one point, Scott's hand wrapped around Shane's cock and he knew he made an unholy sound, welcoming the touch until Ilya said, "No."

Shane's eyes snapped open, and he glared up at Ilya who had the audacity to laugh at him. "This is your fault, my love. Your plan. You made me your voice, so now you must let me speak for you."

That was true and very fucking annoying. Scott's hand retreated and there was a breathless laugh from behind him.

"I'm close," Scott said, a little strangled.

"Yes," Ilya said. "Go hard. He likes this."

"I noticed. The two of you are insanely well-matched, you know that?"

"Mm," Ilya rumbled, "maybe it is fate or maybe we were seventeen and made each other."

Why was that so hot? Shane shifted, groping across the sheets until he could find Ilya's hand. Ilya slid their palms together.

"Romantic," Scott deemed without a hint of teasing. A statement.

Romance. Shane was being used like a cheap finger trap. It was tawdry, pornographic, and…yeah. Fucking romantic. Ilya was giving him what he wanted, sharing one of his favorite people with Shane, simply because Shane had asked.

Choking on a cock could bring tears to your eyes, no matter how big and tough you were, so Shane let them fall as Scott started to really give it to him. He was hard as a rock, leaking against the sheets like a faucet and yet, coming was a distant thought. There was only this moment, filled entirely.

Scott came the same way he had last night: nearly silently, but curving into himself. In this position that meant that Scott could graze a kiss over Shane's back as he came down. Soft, warm, appreciative lips swept over Shane.

He was drooling over Ilya's cock copiously by now, barely moving himself. When Scott pulled out with care, Shane attempted to regain a rhythm, only to be hauled off by his hair.

"Ilya," he complained.

"Yes, I know," Ilya said. "You can do this or I can fuck your sore little hole. Which one?"

Right! That had been what Shane had wanted. The fantasy of being taken over and over had been haunting him since he had woken from a late afternoon nap with the haze of a dream still over him. He had jerked off so quickly that he almost gave himself friction burns, then texted Ilya because that was his life now.

"Please fuck me," he said, his voice a wreck. Cock and pleasure had battered his throat raw.

"Jesus Christ," Scott said. "How are you still alive when you get to hear that regularly, sweetheart?"

"I have more stamina than you," Ilya said smugly.

"We both know that's a fucking lie," Scott said. How did he never get truly riled by Ilya? It was a superpower that Shane envied. Envied, but didn't actually want, if he was honest.

Ilya seemed prime to continue the banter though and Shane was not in any mood.

"I'll get a fucking stopwatch and time you both another day," Shane said. "Move, Rozanov."

"Bossy," Ilya said with delight. He popped a kiss on Shane's cheek then rolled them so he was perched over Shane. There was a wet squelching noise, lube being quickly applied, then he gripped the back of Shane's thighs, bending him in half half with ease. "You want me to get a condom?"

"I will fucking kill you," Shane said flatly.

The choked laugh to his left was roundly ignored. Ilya grinned at him and at last lined himself up to press slowly into Shane. Even still freshly fucked, Ilya was larger enough than Scott that Shane could feel the stretch. He threw back his head in raw delight.

"Look at you." A deep voice curled in Shane's ear as a hand slid over his chest. Scott's thumb found Shane's nipple again. "Taking both of us like it's easy."

"It is easy," Shane said. It felt like the truth just then. He could do this all day.

"Brag, brag, brag," Scott said as Ilya picked up the pace.

Scott's mouth was on Shane's neck as he keened. He didn't quite bite, but the graze of teeth made Shane's eyes roll back into his head. The gentle circles around his nipple became harder, more insistent, groping at his pecs with a roughness that made Shane break into tiny rhythmic moans that he tried to suppress.

"Let him hear you," Ilya said, bending down to take a kiss from Shane. He pulled away with a groan when Scott’s finger tips grazed the leaking tip of Shane’s erection. "No, he doesn't need your hand, Scott. Shane, you're going to show Scott your little trick."

"Noo," Shane said. "Please touch me. I can't."

"You can," Ilya said. "I know you can, my love."

It was mean and glorious. Very normal for the two of them, but there was a new player in the game which could tip things in Shane's favor. Shane turned his head to find Scott watching him hungrily.

"Touch me?" Shane asked, pouring on the plea.

"Oh, Shane," Ilya said. "That was very stupid."

"You going to punish me?" Shane asked. Maybe a little too eagerly.

"No. You just did not say the magic word."

"I'm not a fucking genie," Scott said. "But that was a little rude, Gorgeous, and I do want to see your trick."

Any gentleness in Scott's touch fled. Shane's left nipple, already sensitized from Scott's investigations, was pinched hard between two fingers. It was a spike of pain through the clean lines of pleasure Ilya was pounding into him. 

Shane's body went over the threshold. No more input required. He came with a grunt like he'd been suckerpunched and went limp on the sheets, taking Ilya's last few ragged strokes with weak moans that might have been protests or encouragement as Scott apologetically kissed his neck again. The warm wet sensation of Ilya's come was a good match for the thick liquid Shane's entire body had turned into.

"-too much," Scott was saying.

"Not even close," Ilya said. "Shane?"

"Mm?" He opened one eye with annoyance.

"Scott is worried about you. Tell him you are okay."

Shane held up his hand. He extended his middle finger. Laughter fell around him like rain and he smiled, pleased with himself, and kept his eyes closed. Ilya slid out of him, laying down beside him. Shane gratefully curled up, resting his head on Ilya's chest. The bed moved disconcertingly.

There was a hand in his hair and Ilya's heartbeat coming down slowly to a resting rate under his ear. The familiar postcoital annoyance at having to rise was starting to reassert itself when a warm washcloth made itself familiar with his stomach and pubes.

"Oh shit," Shane mumbled.

"What?" Ilya asked.

The washcloth more tentatively got between his legs, so Shane shifted forward, draping one thigh over Ilya's, giving Scott room to work. The soreness made itself known as raspy material went over his hole, but nothing too far out of the ordinary.

"This is amazing. You can stay here and hold me AND I don't have to be sticky," Shane said. "Why didn't we do this sooner?"

"Glad to be appreciated as the sex concierge," Scott said.

"I do not get a washcloth?" Ilya asked airily.

A tiny splatter of water droplets hit Shane in the face as Scott unceremoniously dropped the damp square on Ilya's stomach.

"Scott," Ilya whined, even as he made use of the cloth. "You got Shane wet."

"Sorry," Scott said and kissed Shane's shoulder. Did Scott have a thing about shoulders or were they just convenient? "You want some water?"

"Mmm, yes," Shane determined.

Partially because he was thirsty and partially because he was starting to understand what Ilya had liked about being with Scott. The level of care wasn't something Shane needed or even wanted most of the time, but it was really nice when he'd recently been fucked stupid in a new thorough way. The bed moved again. The door opened and closed, footsteps treading away.

"You enjoyed?" Ilya asked.

"So much," Shane said. "Was it good for you?"

"Better than I thought. I liked it. I did not know that I would."

Shane pushed up on his elbow with a frown. "Why did you agree if you thought you wouldn't?"

"I wasn't sure," Ilya corrected. His expression was soft, no cold mask asserting itself. "I thought I might like it this time, but if I did not then we would not do it again."

"Damn right," Shane said. "Thank you for trying it. We really don't have to do it again."

"You came so hard you made a new noise," Ilya said amused. "We will do this again. Any way that you want to do it."

"You know what I want. Would you be okay with that too?"

"Yes. I know I will be now. It will be a lot of fun," Ilya said. "Kiss me and stop asking questions."

They were still kissing when Scott got back with water glasses. They paused for that and then Scott asked, "Am I getting back in my own bed or should I go steal yours?"

"Get down here," Shane said, setting down the water and getting comfortable again. "My back is cold."

"Was he always like this or did you make him more like you by repeated injection?" Scott asked idly as he got in and fished around for the top sheet.

"Why do you think it is this direction?" Ilya asked. "Maybe he made me like him. I was a polite, well-behaved boy before maybe."

Shane and Scott laughed at the same time. That was nice. Scott was nice. He was warm and solid at Shane's back. The combined warmth of their bodies, the exertion of the day and the late hour were a potent combination. Shane fell asleep before the sheet fully settled over them.

There were worse ways to start a new year. Privately, Shane didn't give much credence to January 1. His new year started with the first game of the season, the fresh rush of the potential spreading out before him. Still, he appreciated waking up in 2017 warm, well-rested, and well-fucked.

It would've been nice to spend the morning languidly soaking up attention, but instead, he had to move quickly through his morning routine so he could still steal a few minutes with Ilya before he left.

"All Stars," Shane said.

"All Stars," Ilya repeated.

Soon. They would see each other soon. Shane kissed Ilya, trying to get closer to him and soak his very presence in through his skin, so he could carry him through the coming weeks. Shane pulled back enough to study Ilya's face. An ache that Shane was becoming all too familiar with started in his chest.

For years, Shane had regimented Rozanov in a box in his head. It was a box with a shitty lock and a leak, but it had at least been a box. Ilya was another matter. There was no containment large enough for Ilya. Shane's thoughts strayed to him at the oddest moments. Hockey made sense. Ilya was hockey. Of course, Shane thought about him at practice when no one else was living up to Shane's standards. Naturally, Ilya's smirk wound through his mind when Shane missed a pass or stumbled.

Outside of hockey was the problem. When Shane had sat down to eat his dad's tatertot casserole on Christmas morning, he thought about Ilya's tentative curiosity about it. He'd love the potato, egg, and cheese brick. Unlike Shane's slow consumption of a single piece, Ilya would probably have thirds. It would've made his father happy to feed someone so eager to eat. When Mom gave Shane his traditional new socks, he could practically hear Ilya's peal of laughter.

When Dad kissed Mom's temple and handed her hot chocolate before they put on a movie, Shane was keenly aware of the empty space at his side. Watching movies with Ilya was a new thing, but somehow it had crossed every wire in Shane's brain. It didn’t feel right to do it without resting his head on Ilya's shoulder and hearing his low rumbling commentary.

Shane had Ilya now with so much more certainty and regularity. Instead of satisfying him, it only made him hungrier.

A thumb swept over Shane's cheek, tender and reverent. "It is not so far now."

"It isn't," Shane agreed, mustering up a smile for him. "And we'll be on the same team."

"Yes, that will be interesting," Ilya said, mirroring his smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "You will be late."

Shane might miss his flight and have to stay here. That would mean missing practice and tape review. That would be a bewildered conversation with Coach, who relied on Shane's steady presence. It would attract attention and questions. It still took a tremendous amount of willpower for Shane to give Ilya a last long kiss and to pull away.

Ilya didn't follow him downstairs. For the best. Shane wasn't sure he could withstand a longer goodbye. Sveta waved to him through the door of her room and he waved back. She seemed absorbed in something on her laptop, so he let her be as he descended.

In the living room, Scott was stretched out on the couch, also on his laptop. He stopped typing when Shane came in and closed it up quickly, setting it down on the coffee table.

"Hey, headed out?"

"Yeah," Shane said, slowing. How did you say goodbye to someone you'd had a threesome with the night before and wasn't your boyfriend? Where was the etiquette class on that?

"Are we good?" Scott asked. "Seemed like it this morning, but I didn't have time to ask."

"We're good," Shane affirmed and it was like saying it made it so. He settled into the idea. They had a good time. Nothing had shifted. Scott still seemed like Scott.

"Pleased with how your plan worked out then?" There was a hint of a smile in there.

A thrill cut through Shane's melancholy. He gave Scott a long look. "Who said that was the end of the plan?"

"Okay, mastermind, you want to share or am I just along for the ride?" Scott's eyebrows lifted. "I'm good either way if it keeps working out like last night did."

"There's something I want to try," Shane admitted. Secrecy no longer felt as fun as it had yesterday. Right now, all the things Shane couldn't say were building up in him like radiation, superheated and sickening. Sharing one nice thing couldn’t hurt.  "Something I think I can do."

"What's that?" Scott propped himself up on one elbow.

"I think I can take both of you at the same time," Shane said and it came out in a rush instead of the casualness he'd been hoping to convey.

"Holy shit," Scott said, his eyes going wide. "That did not even occur to me as an option, I'm going to be honest, but you can sign me up as extremely interested."

"Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah," Scott said. "Damn. That is going to be so distracting for the next few weeks."

"I don't really want to try until the off-season, in case I need some recovery time," Shane said. That sounded more casual. Practical. "And you know. If Kip was there, that would be…nice."

Scott got off the couch, crossing the distance between them. "I'm going to kiss you goodbye if that's good with you."

"Yeah, sure," Shane said, a little strangled.

It was a goodbye kiss. Very sweet and not lingering. Scott rubbed a hand briefly over Shane's arm as he stepped back.

"Can I tell Kip about all of this?"

The thought of information about him being shared made Shane's stomach flip. But it wasn't a stranger and if Shane had been the one excluded, even incidentally, from the night before, he would want to know. It would also relieve Shane of a few awkward conversations.

"Yeah, go ahead as long as Ilya doesn't care."

"I'll ask him too," Scott promised. "Okay, shit, you probably have to go. Bye, Shane."

"Bye, Scott," Shane said and forced himself out the door and down the driveway before he did something nuts like stay exactly where he was and never leave.

Sleepy Hollow was a trap. Not the kind with sharp metal teeth that clamped around a leg, but the kind that lured in flies with honey until they were stuck fast and drowning in it. The kind that even if you escaped, the sweetness clung to you and weighed you down. It made you tired enough to fall asleep on a short flight home and send you back to your condo to stand in the quiet, still space without two thoughts to glue together.

It was only Shane's routines that caught him and saved him from wandering around like a stranger in his own life. Practice the next morning washed him clean of some of the stickiness as he drilled with the new right winger that had come up from AHL to replace Berk, who was out for a shoulder surgery. Hayden and J.J. ate lunch with him, the predictability of the conversation asserting reality firmly back into Shane.

He texted with Ilya a few times because that was normal now too. They talked about everything and nothing at all in a text chain that once was a volley of blunt planning. Shane could no longer easily scroll back far enough to find their last monosyllabic conversation.

Around dinner time, Shane's phone vibrated and he took it out, assuming it was Ilya reporting a safe return from Boston. Instead, he found Kip.

Kitten: The amount of FOMO I am experiencing right now could register on the Richter Scale. What a way to bang in the new year.

Shane: I'm sorry if we did anything that made you uncomfortable.

Kitten: Uncomfortable? I mean maybe in that my pants aren't fitting particularly well at the moment.

Shane: I know Scott probably talked to you before. I just should've checked too.

Kitten: Where are you right now?

Shane: My apartment.

Kitten: Can I call you?

Shane: Yes

The call came through for Facetime and Shane had to scramble to find the jar he usually rested the phone against when he talked Ilya from the kitchen. Kip's face took up only half the screen, so he must have set the phone down on the counter. It took Shane a second to place the background, before recalling the backsplash.

"You're at Scott's apartment?" Shane asked.

"Yeah, it was the closest place to crash after the party the other night and then Elena wanted to meet for lunch today which turned into a lot of mimosas. I'll head back out to Sleepy Hollow in the morning."

"That'll be good," Shane ventured.

"I can't wait. I probably could have gone tonight, but I figure this way I can be hungover and grumpy on my own in the morning, then see Scott and Sveta for lunch when I don't want to bite off any heads."

"Good call," Shane agreed. He wavered, then barreled ahead. "So Scott told you?"

"He did," Kip said, his lips curving up slowly. "Shane Hollander, you don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"No," Shane conceded, heat starting to prickle at the back of his neck. "I feel like I should apologize and also like you're going to tell me not to."

"Great instincts," Kip said merrily. "And you don't feel that bad about it or you wouldn't have done it."

"I- shit," Shane groaned and dropped his head to the cool welcoming marble.

"Aw, Shaney, it's okay," Kip said with a laugh. "Trust me, if any one gets the undeniable appeal of Scott Hunter, it's me, right?"

"Yeah," Shane said to the countertop.

"Was it everything you expected?"

"I didn't think he'd play along with us as much as he did," Shane said, lifting his face only enough to see Kip. "I thought Ilya would tone it down or something for him. I don't know why."

"Scott likes to make people happy and he doesn't mind playing a little rough," Kip said. "Also, he'd probably follow Ilya into Hell if he told him it wouldn't burn, so there's that."

There was that.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"No, Scott has enough loyalty for an entire team of people he doesn't even like that much all the time. He can spare some for us."

"He doesn't like his team?" Shane asked, bewildered.

"I think he likes some of them a lot and he could do without a lot of the rest of them," Kip said. "Why? Do you like everyone on yours?"

"No," Shane said before he could even think about it properly. "Some of them are assholes, but I like my team."

"Oh, huh," Kip said, staring past Shane for a second. "Okay, like 'the team' as an entity unto itself. Instead of as a group of individuals."

"Yes?" Shane hazarded.

"I think Scott would agree with you there then. I never really thought of it that way."

"What way?"

Kip refocused on him. "So, I know this is going to be a foreign idea to you, but not everyone is a natural team player. I don't even like group projects. This whole polycule thing is the first time I've ever gotten the appeal of it."

The word had been teased around the edges of Shane's consciousness for a few months. The feverish private browser googling he'd been doing had suggested the concept several times. It slid through him and lodged itself in the back of his head like a stubborn thorn. On its own it seemed like something that would happen to other people. Mysterious people that lived in coastal arty cities and talked about relationships how Kip talked about art.

It wasn't something that a bunch of hockey players would do. It didn't sound like a word that would ever find its way out of Shane's mouth. Polycule was something that could be studied in a lab, not done by a guy who had turned down going to college so he could get drafted earlier.

"Oh shit," Kip said. "Did I break you?"

"No," Shane said reflexively. "I'm not broken."

"I know," that came out with no joking at all. "You're startlingly intact for the shit you've gone through, actually. It's hot."

"Why?" Shane blurted.

"If I knew that, I could write a book and people would pay me. Why are we both attracted to guys with more baggage than the JFK lost and found?"

It would be nice to protest that, but it was true that Ilya lugged around a lot of heavy shit with him. Sometimes, Shane wondered if he'd ever be able to put it down. The thought lodged with that ache of the goodbye from yesterday.

"That's not what I liked about him at first," Shane said.

"Yeah, no, I know that," Kip said. "It was the bad boy vibe, the frankly insane body, and being excellent at hockey, right?"

"Pretty much. What was it with Scott?"

"His shirt was painted on and he makes very good eye contact," Kip said a little dreamily. "The abs were literally art, Shane. I was a victim of washboard abs."

"You seem really upset about it."

"Horribly," Kip agreed. "Anyway, I mostly called so you see that I'm being serious when I say we're okay. I'm really glad you guys had fun and I'm only a little miffed that I missed it, but I get that it wasn't a spectator moment."

It hadn't been. It was odd to think of something that happened between three people as private, but it had been.

"I had to do it before I talked myself out of it."

"Been there," Kip said. "But you know, if you ever want to mix it up, I'm ready, willing, and definitely able."

"I'd like that," Shane said and meant it. Could he take on three guys? Two had been a lot, but it hadn't been too much. The thought made him a little hazy. That would be hot. Really really hot. "You like to top sometimes, right?"

"Yep," Kip said. "I like both."

Six months ago, Shane might've melted through the floor over this conversation. Even last week it might've made him squirm. January 1 had come and gone though and Shane felt remade.

"Maybe you and me alone first? Like I did with Scott?"

"Oh, for sure," Kip said, like it was something they had already agreed on. "I'm greedy. I want all your attention for the first time."

"Yeah," Shane said, already envisioning that.

"Shane," Kip sing-songed. "You want to take your phone somewhere you can lie down?"

"Yes. Please."

"Amazing."

It wasn't like doing this with Ilya. Video chats with Ilya were direct and filthy, their talk mostly devolving to a few keywords and cursing as their interest heightened. Kip was glassy-eyed quickly, but he never lost his golden tongue, describing things so vividly that Shane could see them playing out behind his eyelids.

"You're really really good at that," Shane told him when they were both cleaning themselves off. Kip had lost his shirt and was sprawled over the huge couch in Scott's apartment. His whole face was lightly flushed and his lips had gone a bitten red. This part wasn't any different. Shane hated the second he recalled how far away Ilya really was.

Kip was in New Jersey. Might as well be the moon right now.

"Thanks. You're pretty great at it too," Kip said with a quiet laugh. "Now I'm feeling cuddle-deprivation though."

"That's not just me?"

"No, babe. This stuff is fun, but it doesn't really scratch the itch all the way," Kip sighed. "I probably won't see you for ages, will I?"

"Probably not."

There were no All Stars or games with Kip. Except. Wait.

"We're playing New Jersey in February. How does Scott see you when he’s there?"

Kip pulled a face. "He takes the risk and comes to me, babe. Hotel meetups make me feel a way. I know that's not really what you're game for, so don't worry about it, okay?"

"What's wrong with a hotel meetup?" Shane asked.

"That hired boyfriend thing? Way worse in a hotel room where I have to look both ways coming and going."

"Oh. Shit. I didn't really think about that."

"I know. It's different for you and Ilya. I get that."

Shane nodded vaguely.

Princeton had a hockey team. They even produced a few decent players sometimes. Was that the same as having hockey fans? Scott had been apparently driving down occasionally for some time and Shane had never heard anything about it.

The risks Shane took were calculated. Lately though, he had allowed for greater margins of error. He desperately didn't want to get caught out, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that the things he considered dangerous were closer to harmless. What if a picture surfaced of Shane Hollander at a Princeton graduate dorm? People might be confused. He'd have to answer an awkward question or two. Or maybe not. Maybe people would write it off as an oddity. It wasn't like he was going to tongue kiss Kip on a quad or something.

"You okay?" Kip asked. "Should I be apologizing?"

"No," Shane said quickly. "I want to do that. Come see you after the game at your dorm."

"You do?" Kip's pure joy rewarded the impulse immediately. "You don't have to just because I'm weird about it."

"You've been great about all the stuff I'm weird about," Shane said. "And I don't think you're the weird one about that anyway. Sneaking around in hotel rooms does suck. There just weren't many other options for a while."

"Yeah, I get that. Okay! Wow. I'm excited! If you change your mind though, I totally get it."

"I won't," Shane said with a confidence he didn't quite have. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Whatever you want, babe."

The repetition of the endearment that Kip usually reserved for Scott must mean something, but Shane couldn't bring himself to ask. It was sweet. Light. Meaningless, maybe.

There were all these things that Shane was now. New appellations attached themselves to him with alarming frequency: boyfriend, gorgeous, babe. 

They made a plan and reluctantly hung up. Shane slept like dead and moved into the game the next night mostly following the motions. 

"Earth to Hollander," Hayden said during the second period break. "Where did you go, man?"

"Before or after I scored?" Shane asked flatly, re-affixing his attention to adjusting his laces.

"Just now, man. Looked like you were in space instead of listening to Coach."

Coach had been talking? "I missed that pass."

"Yeah, and you scored a goal. Literally no one cares. Even me and it was my pass," Hayden pointed out. "Hey, you want to come over tomorrow for a few hours? The kids have been asking for you."

"Can't, I promised my parents I'd go see them. Mom has some stuff for me to sign."

"Gotcha. Sunday lunch?"

"I can do that."

They won and Shane got the adrenaline rush that always followed a solid victory. It was pure. It didn’t dislodge the ache though. It only flowed around it. 

Mom: Beautiful goal! Dad and I were thinking of trying somewhere new for lunch tomorrow. What do you think?

Shane read the message twice. He showered and got changed. Some of the guys were going out for a drink, but J.J. and Hayden both declined which meant Shane could easily bow out. Instead, he went home and went through the motions of prepping for an away game that was three days out.

He thought about new restaurants and being in public. His breathing started to come faster. Everything got loud in the silent space.

Jane: Are you busy?

Lily: Just got home.

Shane called. If someone was with him, Ilya wouldn't pick up and that would be fine. Sensible and fine and-

"Shane," Ilya said and Shane sat down on the edge of his bed like a puppet with cut strings.

"Hi," he said.

"What is wrong?" Ilya asked. "You won your game. Beautiful goal."

Ilya had had his own game tonight, but he'd somehow already watched parts of Shane's. Watched and said the exact same thing his mother had. The ache throbbed.

"I'm going to come out to my parents," he said. "Tomorrow. That was my resolution."

"You are scared?" Ilya guessed.

"Fucking terrified."

A door slammed on Ilya's end. "You think they will be bad about it?"

"No. Maybe. I don’t know," Shane said. "I do think they'll be upset about how long I've been lying to them."

"You have good reasons to lie." An engine started up and the quality of the audio changed abruptly. "It is frightening."

"Where are you going?" Shane asked, the confusion breaking through the fog of his panic. "You said you just got home."

"You do not have to do this alone," Ilya said.

The words were only words for a long beat as Shane tried to parse that.

"It's a five-hour drive," he said and he meant it to be a scold, a protest, but it came out of him weak and quiet.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"They'll know. I'll have to tell them if you're there. About us," Shane stumbled through. "You're okay with that? It’s a risk."

"Will they call the Russian embassy and tell them?"

"No!" Shane protested. "Come on."

"Then I do not give a fuck," Ilya said simply. "Do you want me there?"

Shane closed his eyes. He wanted to cry and laugh all at once. "You have practice tomorrow."

"I have not missed a practice in years. I will tell them I have food poisoning and I will be back for the game. Shane, answer me: do you want me there?"

"Yes," he said. "Fuck, please, Ilya."

"Do not wait up for me," Ilya said. "I will let myself in."

"I love you so much," Shane gushed out.

"I love you too," Ilya said. "Breathe."

"Okay. I'll see you soon. Not too soon. Don't drive like a madman."

"Mm. Good night, Shane."

The line went dead before Shane could scold him. He stared down at his phone. Ilya was coming. This was real. He was going to do this. Not only that, he was going to do it all the way. No trickle truth, no evasions. 

He could call Ilya back and tell him to turn around. Ilya would do it, even though it would hurt him. The wound it left behind would scar. They already had enough of those between each other.

How was Shane supposed to sleep? He paced the bedroom, then went out into the living room. He ate a banana because he'd skipped his post-game snack and his body was starting to give him shit for it. The maintenance of the body was easy. Bodies were easy.

The phone was quiet in his pocket. He pulled it out and thumbed over his texts.

Mom. Ilya. Kip. Hayden. Sveta. Team group chat. The Legends of Sleepy Hollow. Scott.

Shane: Could we do lunch at home instead? I have something to talk to you guys about that I don't want overheard.

Mom: Of course. We'll make something simple here. Is something wrong?

Shane: No, everything is okay. It's private, not bad. I might have a guest with me. A friend.

Mom: Just a friend?

Shane: I'll explain tomorrow. I promise. I need to get some sleep.

Mom: Ok. As long as you're all right.

Shane: I'm good.

He was lucky it was late. Usually Mom would've called after that kind of conversation and tried to run him down. Instead, she was probably getting into bed and figured she could do it in the morning. Shane listened to the silence and filled it with her confused questions anyway. The longer he sat, the more they sounded like accusations. Things she would never say, but what if she did?

Shane ran his finger down his contacts again. He pressed his lips together and tapped one then started typing.

Jane: How's Arizona?

Scartlett: Surprisingly cold.

Jane: It's a desert. They get cold at night.

Scarlett: Pretty though. Not that I'm in the pretty part right now. My hotel room has a view of a parking lot.

Jane: I think I might be doing something stupid.

Scarlett: Of all of us that seems least likely with you, but okay. What are you doing?

Jane: Coming out to my parents. With Lily. Driving up here now. I didn't ask for that to be clear.

Scarlett: That surprised you?

Jane: A little.

Scarlett: Reasonably sure Lily would drive out there if you needed something from another room and didn't feel like getting up.

Jane: That's insane.

Scarlett: Reasonable behavior is not in Lily's wheelhouse.

Jane: Can I blame you for that?

Scarlett: You found Lily first. Can I blame you for it?

Jane: Maybe.

Scarlett: That was a joke. Sorry. Bad timing. 

Jane: My parents barely believe we're friends. What if they won't accept Lily?

Scarlett: I can't imagine that happening.

Jane: You know what they think.

Scarlett: I know that when Lily is most herself that she is one of the most endearing people I've ever met. She'll win them over.

Jane: You really think that?

Scarlett: I do. Worst brat to ever live and one of the kindest, most loyal people I know. I can't imagine you settling for anything less.

Jane: Because I have high standards?

Scartlett: Because you're a good man.

Shane read over those words a few times and fell backwards on his bed with a groan. The wheel spun. Joy. Pride. Melancholy. Ire. Lust. What did any of it mean really? 

Jane: Kip said we're a polycule. Makes me feel like a science experiment or something.

Scarlett: It's a little clinical, but it feels accurate to me.

Jane: I can't come out to my parents as polyamorous too. It's too much in one afternoon.

Scarlett: Not everyone has to be welcome in our bedrooms. A partner is one thing, friends you fool around with is another.

Jane: That's true. Is that what we are?

Scarlett: I think that's something we have time to decide.

Jane: Okay. Thanks. Sorry for blowing up your phone.

Scarlett: No sorry. Let me know how it goes. Or tell the chat. I'm sure everyone will want to know if you're up for it.

Jane: I'll see how it goes.

Scarlett: If it helps, you can tell your parents about me and Kip.

Jane: Really?

Scarlett: Really.

Jane: Thank you.

Scarlett: I owe you. Try to get some sleep.

Jane: Good night

Scarlett: Good night

The rush in his ears had quieted. Shane set his phone on the bedside table and went to brush his teeth. He could read in bed until Ilya got here. That was his intention anyway. As soon as he got under the covers, he was heavy-lidded. He slid into sleep before he could turn off the lamp. At some point in the night, he partially woke up to the bed dipping.

"Hey," he mumbled.

"Sleep," Ilya said, pulling him in close.

When the alarm went off, Shane was pinned halfway under his boyfriend. He should get up and work out. There were things to handle before they drove down to Ottawa. Ilya's mouth was a little open and his curls were smashed against Shane's chest. Shane rubbed a hand over sleep-warm skin and turned off the alarm.

They slept until nine. It was decadent and drugging. Both of them moved slowly around the apartment, colliding into each other and holding on for a moment before careening away to pursue food, showers and the obligations that could not be shed.

"Are you coming back with me tonight or going back to Boston?" Shane asked as he checked traffic. "You could follow in your car."

"I am coming back," Ilya said without hesitation.

"That's a lot of driving."

"I like driving. Shut up."

"Fuck you."

In the second parking space that Shane never used was a black sedan. It was clearly very expensive, but it wasn't one of Ilya's jewel-toned sports cars.

"Did you sell the Spyder?" Shane asked.

"No. I did not want to get stopped, so I picked something that would not interest police," Ilya said. "I need gas. You drive."

"I was going to," Shane said. Mostly because he'd been conceiving one of Ilya's wild rides. "If you can stand being in a boring car for two hours."

"I will look at other things," Ilya said and winked at him.

In his haste to depart, Ilya hadn't packed an overnight bag. He hadn't exactly admitted to that, but the fact that he'd delved into Shane's closet said it all. Somehow, he made a pair of Shane's slacks and v-neck knit sweater that Shane didn't even remember owning look like high fashion. Annoying.

Shane knew he was tense and he tried to compensate by letting Ilya have the aux cable. The jumble of music grated on Shane's nerves, but it was better than saying any of the shit that was tumbling through his head. As suddenly as it had started, the speakers went quiet, smoothing into something instrumental and low. Ilya's hand settled on his, their fingers tangling together.

"I'm so freaked out," Shane said.

"I know," Ilya said. "Me too, a little. I have never met parents like this before."

"You met George."

"Ah, I was not fucking his son," Ilya said. "And do not say Sveta either. Her father has known me since we were very young."

"What's he like?" Shane asked.

"Serious. Thoughtful. Careful," Ilya listed. "He loves Sveta, I think."

"You think?"

"I do not know if he says those words. You would have to ask her. He made sure she had good schooling, nice clothes, and the right things. She was never angry with him. They talked like they were both adults with each other. Maybe some families are just like this."

"I can't imagine her as a kid," Shane admitted. "Are there pictures?"

"Some," Ilya said. Then smirked. "Ah. You want pictures of me very young?"

"Maybe," Shane groaned. "I don't know. You're about to see a lot of mine."

"I cannot wait for this."

Shane could've stood to wait longer. There wasn't even any traffic. He pulled into his parents' driveway and turned off the car. He should open the door.

"We can go," Ilya said softly. "But I do not think that is what you want."

Shane grimaced. "We can't just leave."

"We can. Find an excuse and we can go. You can show me boring Ottawa."

"I want to do this," Shane said.

"Then we do it," Ilya said and opened his door, getting out.

Shit. Ilya absolutely could not beat him to the door. Piling out, Shane met up with him at the front steps. He opened the door and took off his shoes on autopilot.

"It's Shane!" He called out. "We're here."

"Oh good, your mother was just-" Dad said coming in through the living room and stopped dead. He took in Ilya. "Hello."

"Hi," Ilya said stiffly.

"We're making that chicken salad you liked so much over the summer, sweetheart. I hope that's okay," Mom said, stepping out from the dining room, wiping her hands on a dishrag. She blinked. "Well. A friend."

"Boyfriend," Shane corrected immediately and ice water poured into his veins. How had he screwed that up so badly and so quickly? It had to be a new low. "I mean. Shit. I'm gay. This is Ilya. Rozanov. You know that. He's my boyfriend. And I- yeah. Hi."

"Hi," she said. The dishrag flagged.

"Your boyfriend?" Dad asked.

"Rozanov," Mom said.

"Sorry," Shane said. "That is not how I meant to tell you."

"I think it was very good," Ilya said softly. "You said everything you wanted to say, very quickly. It was efficient."

"Shut up," Shane sighed.

"Why don't you boys come and have a seat," Dad said, rallying first. "We can talk."

"With a drink," Yuna said.

"Yes, please," Ilya said.

They settled down around the table, glasses of water and a plate of cheese and crackers seemingly emerging spontaneously out of Dad's nervous energy. Mom surveyed Shane and then Ilya.

"I'm sorry," Shane said again because it probably needed repeating. "I wasn't trying to ambush you. I didn't know how else to do this."

"It's all right," Dad said. "Rozanov is right. It was efficient."

"Ilya," Ilya said softly.

"Ilya," Dad repeated. "Of course."

Of course. Shane's throat got tight. They were all in the same room. His parents were meeting Ilya as his boyfriend and it was happening right now. The wheel was spinning wildly out of control.

"Is this why you wanted to start the charity?" Mom asked, gesturing between them.  “What is the end goal here?"

"We wanted to be able to go out in public together and not have it be a whole thing," Shane said, willing her to understand. "Hiding has been exhausting. Ilya can't come out, it's too dangerous for him. I don't really want to either, but I don't want to have to hide that we like each other, either."

"It is my fault," Ilya said. "I must go back to Russia sometimes. If they know, then it would go very badly for me."

Mom sat back. "I understand that. I guess what I don't understand is why you would even take the risk for a new relationship."

"It's not new," Shane said. "Not even close."

"Since when?" Dad asked, frowning. "The charity talk started last year. Was it new then?"

Shane shook his head once. A weight was bearing down on him now, all the lying and hiding coming to roost all at once.

"We started getting serious around then, but it started rookie season."

"Summer before," Ilya murmured.

"Ilya."

"It was the summer before," Ilya repeated.

It mattered to him. Of course, it mattered. It all mattered.

"Wow," Dad said. "Wow. Wow. I mean, we guessed that you might be gay."

"You did?" Shane asked.

"We know you pretty well," Dad said. "This last year or so…honestly, we were guessing it was Scott Hunter. You talked about him a lot."

"You can never tell him this," Ilya said to Shane immediately. "He will repeat it forever."

"You think I would?" Shane asked in horror. "Oh my god, that is so embarrassing."

"Scott was helping," Ilya explained. "He is a very good friend to me and now to Shane."

"He's gay too," Shane said. Thank fuck Scott had given him permission. "He and Ilya knew about each other. Helped each other out a little."

"Yes," Ilya said calmly. There was no hint of amusement or anything Shane's parents would be able to read into. "His boyfriend has also helped."

"Scott Hunter has a boyfriend," Dad said. "No wonder the three of you wanted to get into business together. I can't imagine that it's easy carrying all that around."

Across from Shane, Mom covered her mouth with a fluttering hand. She rose from the table.

"I have to check on the chicken."

Shane knew his cue. They had had very few fights over the years, all things considered. Generally, Shane bowed to her will or pushed back in quieter ways. Every time they really fought though, she would take a moment and Shane would follow, penitent. The first few times, his father had to teach him the way of it. How his mother needed to change venues, sometimes, to even herself out. 

It was freezing out and she'd walked out in only her thin cardigan. Shane grabbed her coat by the door and followed her into the yard.

He apologized to her and for the first time in his life, she simply wouldn't accept it. She shed tears in a way he hadn't seen in a long time and apologized to him instead, hugging him hard. When she pulled back, she studied his face.

"You love him?"

"So much it makes me stupid," he said quietly. Kip's words, but they rang true in his mouth.

"He's good to you?"

"He drove here from Boston last night to be with me to tell you guys. I only told him I was planning to after the game."

His mother frowned. "Doesn't he play tomorrow too?"

"Mom!"

"I'm not saying it's not romantic, sweetheart, but it can’t be good for his game to sit in the car for that long."

"Oh my god."

The rest of the afternoon barely felt real. They had lunch and his parents peppered Ilya with questions. He answered all of them with honesty and without offense. When Shane needed to take a second, Ilya only rubbed his back, whispered a reassurance and kissed him gently. After they ate, he offered to help clean up and followed through with ferrying dishes into the kitchen even after he was told he didn't have to. For a span of an afternoon, Ilya was the perfect man to bring home to your parents.

None of it was an act. It was simply Ilya the way he was with Shane in their quieter moments. This was the man Shane had fallen so slowly in love with that by the time he fully realized it was happening it was already done.

When they got back in the car, Ilya clutching several tupperware containers of leftovers like they were a gift from on high, Shane didn't put the key in the ignition or put on his seatbelt. He waited until he was sure his parents had retreated inside to do their own deconstruction of the afternoon, then leaned over and kissed the corner of Ilya's mouth.

"Thank you," Shane said thickly.

"There is no thank you. Or maybe it is me thanking you," Ilya said. "This was one of the best afternoons of my life."

"That was?" Shane asked, voice cracking. "With them being all intense and weird? And me having fifty-two panic attacks about it?"

Ilya tapped the top container with a single finger. "They called me Ilya. Your father said I should text him to let him know I got home safe to Boston. Your mother gave me leftovers. They were both very kind. They love you so much. It was like meeting George again, except there are two of them and I am their son's lover."

"Gross," Shane said, smiling too wide for the word to come out normally.

"They did not have to be nice. You understand?" Ilya asked.

"I- Ilya. They were always going to be nice to you. I was worried they were going to be mad at me," Shane protested. "Holy shit, did you come all the way here and think you were going to get yelled at or something?"

"I did not know," Ilya said, wholly unconcerned. "I came for you. I did not expect to like them so much. It makes sense. I like you very much."

What could Shane do? He kissed him. He held his hand as they drove back to Montreal. Halfway between the two places, suspended in the exhaustion of an emotional few hours, a question stumbled out of Shane.

"What do you think Scott's parents were like?"

"I have thought about this before," Ilya admitted.

"You have?"

"I do not know what comes after death. It is nice to think that my mother and Scott's parents might find each other. I hope they would be good people. Kind to her. Maybe they could be friends. I know that is crazy, but it is a very nice thought."

Shane pulled their joined hands to his lips, not even kissing, only pressing them there. "It's a really nice thought, baby. I hope it's true."

They made love in Shane's bed that night, spread over the sheets and moving with slow appreciation like they had nothing, but time. Ilya's alarm went off in the wee hours. They fucked again, stolen minutes before Ilya had to go.

Shane took in his last full breath of air for a week and a half as he kissed him goodbye.

By midafternoon, the ache had returned.

Hayden: J.J. is coming too. 

Shane: Want me to bring anything?

Hayden: Jackie asked if you could bring that sweet potato mash thing. We all liked it and she says it would go good with the chicken she's making.

Shane: Can do.

The mash wasn't of Shane's devising, but it was frankly a relief to be told to bring something that could be purchased and therefore would deliver consistently. If it didn't, then it wasn't even his fault. Jackie had the tastebuds of a Michelin chef and Shane rightly feared bringing anything to her table that wouldn't meet her standards.

Getting the mash simplified Shane's day. Morning routine, answer a few emails, talk to his mother (which was comfortingly all business and utterly the same as usual except that when touching on the now moved up charity launch, Mom said Ilya, instead of Rozanov, and gave it a hint of warmth. So maybe not as usual, but in fact something new and tremulous and amazing), then to the specialty grocery store. A fan spotted him in the parking lot, so he waved and got into his car before they could approach.

The Pike home was familiar territory with the door left cracked open for his arrival. The twins greeted him exuberantly and Arthur babbled at him from a high chair. Jackie gave him a warm hug and put a beer in his hand to wave him out to the living room where Hayden and J.J. were already talking.

It wasn't hard to enter the conversation. Shane relaxed into the enormous couch and engaged in the idle speculation about trades and J.J.'s recent restaurant finds. The twins lapped through occasionally, Jade going so far as to sit next to Shane for a few minutes. When she wanted something from Hayden, she clamored over Shane's lap to get to him.

"Ma petite," J.J. said with a laugh as she almost took a header into his chest. "Are you trying to be a gymnast?"

"I'm a dancer," she informed him haughtily and rolled off the couch to show off a few ballet steps.

They ate together, boisterous around the table. Shane quickly became occupied with retrieving Arthur's thrown spoon.

"He's experimenting with gravity," Jackie said with a sigh. "You really don't have to keep giving it back."

"I don't mind," Shane said.

"How will he learn that not everything comes back if you keep doing it?" she asked.

The spoon was tossed and Shane caught it before it hit the ground, setting it back down. Shane didn't argue with her because who was he to say what a baby could and couldn't learn? Yet as the conversation wound around him, he wondered if it wasn't the opposite. Wasn't it better for a baby to believe that someone was there to help them? Life would teach them that not everything returned. Sometimes it would teach them so hard that you had to spend years convincing them and yourselves that you were staying no matter how they tried to toss you to the floor. Just as an example. 

"That reminds me," Hayden said and Shane had to tune back in, "J.J. said he ran into that lady Brit again, right?"

"She is very hot," J.J. confirmed. "But all she wants is your number, Hollander."

"Tell her '24'," Shane said, which he got a polite chuckle for.

"What can it hurt?" Hayden asked. "I know you're not a huge foodie, but hot chefs are great wives."

"Stop flirting with me at the dinner table," Jackie said, but she was smiling broadly.

"We thought you might need help after things didn't work out with Landry," J.J. said, elbowing Shane. "You haven't dated anyone else since."

The Pike house was comfortable and familiar. Hayden was allowed to flirt with his wife and J.J. could talk about his woman of the week while Shane had to be helped. Guided. As if he hadn't orchestrated a threesome a week and a half ago with two of the hottest men in the league. It was somehow, at that moment, no longer tenable to say nothing. 

"I am dating someone," Shane said.

"Who?" Hayden lit up like a lantern. "Do we know her?"

"How long?" J.J. asked. "What does she look like?

He could lie. He could evade. The night on the roof, it had seemed so easy for Scott to make his declaration. J.J. and Hayden had never said a word about it afterward for good or ill. When Scott proposed another meetup between teams, they had both agreed without hesitation.

So it was fine. Probably.

Everyone was staring at him now.

"He's closeted. It's not safe for him to be out," Shane said. "So I'm not telling you anything, except that it's serious. I'm gay. By the way."

That had to be a slight improvement from how he'd presented it to his parents. Maybe once Shane had done this forty or fifty times, he would manage to say it all in the right order. Not that he would do that many times. Having told those assembled, he thought he had covered anyone he would ever possibly tell. The rest of the world could live on in ignorance.

The table had gotten very quiet. Hayden nodded once slowly. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay?" Shane asked, a little strangled.

"Okay," J.J. confirmed and punched him in the arm without much force.

"We talked a little. After Hunter," Hayden explained, face slightly flushed, "that maybe something was up with that? The way he said you didn't know who was in the room with you."

"You knew?" Shane asked. Fuck. Had everyone guessed? Was he wearing a neon sign?

"No," Hayden said quickly. "Not really. We wondered if something was up though. The way you became friends with Hunter."

"Scott is nice," Shane protested weakly. "Actually, he can kind of be an asshole, but he's a good guy."

"Is he the guy?" J.J. asked.

"No!" Shane protested. "He's got a boyfriend, remember?"

"People break up!" J.J. protested.

"It's not like that. We're just friends."

"Thank you for telling us," Jackie said softly, her voice sliding in under the noise.

"It needs to stay at this table," Shane said. "Please."

Assurances poured in from all angles and Shane breathed a little easier.

"Is your boyfriend-"

"No," Shane said firmly. "I'm not talking about him. I'm serious."

"But he really exists?" J.J. asked, a return of friendly teasing in his voice. "You’re not making up a man so we stop bothering you?"

"He exists," Shane groaned. "Why would I come out with a fake boyfriend?"

Hayden pressed his lips together. "Can I ask one question? Not about who he is."

"Fine. One. I reserve the right to not answer."

"Are you happy with him?"

Ilya's parting kiss came to Shane all at once. The soft, sweet press of his lips and fleeting warmth of him departing by degrees. The wheel spun on. Was Shane happy?

"When he's with me, I think it's the happiest I've ever been off the ice," Shane said.

"Okay then," Hayden said.

He didn't bring up Boston Lily or ask about Rose. J.J. didn’t keep teasing him and Jackie only gave him one quick hand pat instead of trying to smother him in hugs. They didn't even linger on the topic, Hayden bringing up something funny Ruby had said at school. Shane could've hugged them for it if they were the kind of friends that did that. If they had discussed a plan ahead of time, Shane no longer cared. It worked.

Somehow, Shane had come out of the closet to all of his important people and the world refused to end. Everything here was calm and easy, nothing had changed. He was gay. His friends accepted him anyway. The wheel should slow and land on 'happy'.

So why did it keep on spinning?

Shane pressed the heel of his palm into his chest. One week to All Stars. Three weeks until the game in New Jersey. Five weeks until a break long enough to justify a trip to Westchester. Barely any time at all. 

The Legends of Sleepy Hollow (Shane's Phone)

Kitten: So I just happened to be in Times Square and you'll never believe the hotties I spied fifty feet tall.

Scarlett: You voluntarily went to Times Square?

Kitten: I heard a rumor and made a sacrifice. This is true love. I expect appreciation.

Scarlett: Thank you. I love you.  

Shane: Wait, I thought the ad was supposed to drop with the start of All Stars! They put it out a week early? Mom is going to have a stroke.

Sveta: Pics or didn't happen.

Lily: Todd will love this. Contract mistakes mean more money.

Scarlett: More for charity, not for you to buy a new car, brat.

Lily: 😛

Kitten: Sorry took me a second to find a good angle where I wasn't being bounced around by tourists.

[A slightly shaky video of the video billboard above the M&M store. A black and white photo of Ilya flashes up, he holds a hockey stick behind his shoulders, staring down the barrel of the camera. The word 'POWER' pops in white against his black shirt. It fades out into Shane, standing in profile only just turning to face the camera, jaw set. The word 'Skill' appears in the same place. He fades out replaced with Scott, arms folded over his chest, head tilted slightly to one side. 'Leadership' comes to life over him. Then it fades again into a video. The three of them are laughing, smacking a ball of paper into the air with their sticks. The skill that this takes is evident, all of them moving with smooth precision showing off their reflexes. Ilya smacks the paper up, eyes bright with delight. The white font returns 'Work Hard, Play Hard'. The screen goes black with the Nike logo taking over. The ad restarts, Ilya once again smoldering down at Times Square.]

Sveta: What is this expression Ilyusha? You look like you are trying to solve world hunger.

Scarlett: That's how he looks at the fridge when I don't leave meals in it for him.

Shane: I like it.

Sveta: You are not an objective observer.

Lily: Thank you, my love. The rest of you may fuck off.

Scarlett: May we? How nice.

Kitten: I like the video bit.

Shane: I didn't know they were going to include that.

Lily: I think it is good they did. We look like friends.

Kitten: Social media agrees. Also lots of thirsty tweets. 

Sveta: Apparently Scarlett is a DILF.

Scarlett: I'm 31!

Lily: Shh, nap time for old men.

Shane: Mom is already on the phone with Nike and Todd. They're claiming that it was a miscommunication.

Lily: Will someone die for this?

Kitten: Someone said Jane could spit in their mouth and they would pay Jane for the favor. It got five thousand likes in three minutes.

Lily: 😂😂😂😂😂

Scarlett: There's worse alternative revenue streams.

Shane: I wish I could say that was the first time a fan said that to me.

Sveta: What is the filthiest thing a fan has ever said to you?

Shane: They don't say them directly to me most of the time and I stay off socials.

Kitten: You must have at least one good one.

Shane: I had a woman ask me if I would sign her lower back so when her husband fucked her that night, he would know who she was actually thinking about.

Scarlett: What. The. Fuck.

Shane: I didn't do it. Obviously.

Lily: A legend.

Sveta: I hope she has left him.

Kitten: What in the Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolff?

Shane: I had to google that. I’ll add it to the list.  

Chapter 6: Flowers and a Nail

Chapter Notes

I have updated the pairings tags!

February 2017- Kip

NYTY: So.

BH: I know.

NYTY: I don't know if I should send encouragement, tips or just let this unfold.

BH: We could FaceTime and get off imagining it.

NYTY: Sometimes you have good ideas.

BH: I have the best ideas. Do not text him.

NYTY: What if I text Jane and you text him?

BH: Better, but still bad. They will think we are checking up on them.

NYTY: That would be accurate.

BH: We cannot.

NYTY: I'm not even jealous, I just want to know.

BH: I am a little jealous. And nervous. For him? Is this weird?

NYTY: If it is then I'm weird too. 11:30?

BH: Yes. I will be in the room by then.

Ten minutes before eleven, Kip had to admit that he was maybe a little stressed out about tonight. His room was never particularly messy, but right now it was immaculate. He'd vacuumed this morning and then again this afternoon when he got back from his office hours because he'd trailed in salt from the sidewalks. He'd taken out his garbage so there were no lingering dinner smells. Then he'd started stacking his paperwork for the second time and decided he'd officially lost his fucking mind.

Kip: I'm acting insane.

Sveta: Did you piss in a bottle?

Kip: No! Why is that your metric for insanity?

Sveta: I watched The Aviator at a very impressionable age. What are you doing?

Kip: I've cleaned everything three times. I really don't think he actually cares if my desk has been wiped down. He's not checking for crumbs.

Sveta: That is normal. People get nervous about dates.

Kip: This is not a date. It's a hookup with a friend.

Sveta: So you wipe down your desk for hookups?

Kip: I'm going to be so for real with you right now. I've hooked up without showering when I knew penetration wasn't on the table. Draw your own conclusions.

Sveta: Disgusting. But hot under certain circumstances. Enjoy your date!

Jane: I'm here. I think. Your building is the one with the left light out by the front steps?

Kip: That's me! I'll come down to get you.

Kip didn't bother waiting for the slow elevator and took the stairs two at a time all the way down while clinging to the railing. It would be very stupid to fall and break his neck while Shane was waiting patiently outside. Or impatiently. Oh fuck, what if Shane regretted this already and was considering if he should leave while Kip ran down the stairs?

Pre-Scott, Kip had spent a lot of his life relatively carefree. Or, more accurately, he had been burdened with a lot of cares and found ways to carry them around cheerfully. He worried about things, he was only human, but it was never like Scott's paralyzing anxiety or even Shane's quieter, deeper, panic. Moments like these made him wonder how either of them survived if their brains were like this all the time.

Throwing open the front door while heaving in air to make up for his mad dash, Kip revealed Shane like a magic trick. He stood framed against the dark of a winter's night in the outpouring of fluorescent lighting like a Rembrandt. The outfit was practical, arming Shane against the cold and hiding most of him in layers. He had a duffelbag over his shoulder and he was holding a plastic shopping bag in the other.

"Hi," Kip said.

"Hey," Shane said, sliding inside, his coat brushing over Kip's t-shirt. "This place is very…"

"Better than you imagined?" Kip prompted.

"Actually, yeah," Shane said. "I love that they left the original beams exposed."

"Me too," Kips said, relaxing a little. "It's a pretty building. Come on, I'm on the second floor."

At nearly midnight on a Wednesday, there were some people still up and around, but they were mostly in their rooms or maybe in the shared kitchen. No one was there to see Shane Hollander step into Kip's room. All to the good. Kip didn't think any of the people he'd met would recognize him anyway, but it would make Shane more comfortable.

"Those are for your Russian seminar, right?" Shane asked, gravitating to Kip's desk, the fingertips of his free hand ghosting over the printed out images of Soviet Union propaganda posters.

"Yeah, it's really more literature focused, but I've been pulling in physical media for discussion and the professor seems into it."

"Maybe I should read some of it," Shane said. "Do you think I'd like it?"

"Not the way we're reading it. Is this because of what Ilya said? About if he went back to school?"

"A little," Shane admitted, turning to face Kip. "Little because of you too. I don't really get anything you're studying and I want to."

"I get to talk about this stuff all day to other geeks like me. I like the change of pace," Kip said, even as his heart did a little double time. "But I get it. We could do a little book club, if you want. Me and you. Russian poetry."

"I'd like that," Shane said. He lifted the shopping bag. "I got something for you. It's probably weird."

"You got me a gift?" Kip asked, bemused. "Why?"

"I stopped in a grocery store before I got here," Shane said, reaching into the bag. "I needed to grab something to eat. They were selling these and I remembered you said you'd killed your fern."

"I like to think it died of old age," Kip said, a little guilty. He may have left it behind when he went to Sleepy Hollow for winter break. "Natural causes."

"Sure," Shane said with a hint of a smile.

He produced a plant in a plastic pot out of the bag. A price tag had been hastily pulled off it, leaving a white rectangular ghost where it had been. The plant itself looked like a small shrub, except that it was studded with tiny red flowers.

"Are those miniature roses?" Kip asked.

"Yeah," Shane said, still holding the plant. He regarded it as if he wasn't entirely sure why it was here. "I thought…. honestly I didn't really think. Seemed right, so I did it?"

"Thank you," Kip said. "It's really pretty."

Taking it out of Shane's hands, he felt the slight heft of it. The flowers were in full bloom, likely forced that way. It wasn't hard to imagine the display they had sat on. Valentine's Day was this week and it had likely been nestled in with bouquets and flowers. Had Shane seen that and really thought of Kip and his dead fern?

Gently, Kip set it down in a clear space next to his books. Tomorrow, he'd read the care instructions and make sure it sat somewhere the sun reached. Right now, he had far more important things to do.

He held out his hands again, "Let me take your bag. Unless you've got more surprises in there."

"Just a change of clothes," Shane said, sliding the duffel off his shoulder and handing it over. Kip stored it under the desk.

Then Kip registered that. It was his turn to let his fingertips linger on an inanimate object. Not just a random bag, but a statement of intent. Shane would need a change of clothes. He was staying the night. Even if the night only meant a few hours between now and whenever Shane had to run to make sure no one noticed his absence.

The smile on Kip's face was likely indecent. That was fine. He was up to some very indecent things tonight. He straightened up, making sure to do so directly into Shane's personal space.

"Shane, has anyone ever told you that you should be registered as a deadly weapon?" Kip asked him.

"Yes," Shane said solemnly, "but it was a chirp."

He looked so earnest. What the hell else was Kip supposed to do? He reached up and dragged Shane down a few inches to kiss him like they had been parted for years. Strong arms wrapped around him and he was kissed back. For a long, delicious time.

"You brought me flowers," Kip said into the small space he made between their lips.

"Yeah," Shane said, his voice gone a little hoarse. "That okay?"

"Do you think of me as a girl?" Kip checked. "Is that where that's coming from?"

"What? No! I'm gay," Shane said like Kip might've forgotten. How was a guy his size so cute? It should be impossible. "I know you're a guy and you're not- I mean you're a little- but not in a bad way! Shit."

"Compared to your cohort, I'm a little femme," Kip said with a laugh, kissing him again. "But good to know it's not a bad way."

"You're laughing at me," Shane groaned. "Not how I wanted this to go."

"Ilya laughs at you all the time. I think you might like it," Kip pointed out, but he did rub Shane's shoulders a little soothingly. "I love the flowers. Thank you."

"Really?"

"Really," Kip said. "Gives me good ideas too. Maybe I should get Scott flowers."

"He'd probably love that," Shane said.

Huh. Scott probably would actually. Why hadn't Kip done that yet? Even if only to see his face as he figured out if he did like it or not.

"C'mon, let's get comfortable," Kip coaxed.

Much like with Scott, Shane managed to make the twin bed look even smaller when he sat on the edge of it. It was totally disproportionate, but Kip didn't give a goddamn when Shane shed coat, sweatshirt and t-shirt, letting Kip fling them in the direction of his office chair. Kip matched him and then straddled his lap to press their chests together, heat already gathering between them as they got back to kissing.

They did have to breathe, annoyingly, but it gave Kip some space to ask,

"How do you want this to go?"

"Hmm?" Shane blinked slowly, his focus seemingly still on Kip's lips.

"I mean, I know you like it a little rough sometimes, but do you want that tonight? Want me to be bossy or something?"

"Do you like doing that?" Shane asked. His hands were on Kip's thighs, fingers flexing a little. It was horribly hot, the broad span of his palms doing things to Kip's head.

"It can be fun," Kip said. "But no, it's not what I usually do."

"Let's not then," Shane said. "Companionable penetration, right?"

"Right," Kip laughed. "I'd like that. How about we take off our pants and lay down?"

Being naked with Shane was lush. He was big all over, but a lot softer than Scott, both to the touch and in action. They spent a delicious few minutes simply touching each other, smoothing hands over peaks and valleys, lips following. Eventually, Kip wiggled down between Shane's body to discover a mottled green and yellow patch on his inner thigh.

"This can't be from hockey," he determined.

"All Stars souvenir," Shane said with a hint of pride.

"Babe, that was two weeks ago. What'd he do, chew through the muscle?" Kip asked, gently pressing his lips to the spot. Goosebumps rose over Shane's legs.

"He was down there awhile," Shane murmured.

"Damn. If only Nike knew how seriously you guys were taking 'play hard', you might get a bonus."

"Shut up," Shane said, but he was grinning, so Kip took it as approval.

"I want to blow you for a bit," Kip decided. "Can you get me a condom off the side table?"

"For a blow job?"

"You have no idea where my mouth has been. Trust me, I'd love to explore your foreskin with the tip of my tongue, but I'd feel terrible if I gave you herpes or something."

"Do you have herpes?" Shane asked, even as he reached for a condom.

"Not that I know of, but that's kind of the problem," Kip said. "Being a slut is fun, but only if I do it ethically."

"Scott was the first guy I've blown who was circumcised," Shane said.

"Kyle wasn't?" Kip asked. "Wait, no. None of my business. But yeah, pretty standard issue in the U.S. in the 80s and 90s. No idea about now. We could have some fun with that if I get tested before next time."

"Like how?"

"Oh wow, I found a thing Ilya hasn't done to you?" Kip asked with delight. "It's called docking. You can get the head of the circumcised cock into your foreskin and jerk them off with it."

"That's kind of…" Shane trailed off. "Huh. Is it good?"

"Yeah, it's like mutual masturbation with a really fun extra."

"Fuck, I would try that."

Kip grinned and kissed the bruise softly again. "For now?"

The condom packet slid into his hand. He opened it and unfurled on the fluorescent green latex down Shane's very nice dick.

"What the fuck?" Shane asked.

"Sour apple flavor," Kip said with a wink, then went about distracting Shane from that as quickly as possible.

Blowjobs were always fun, but Shane made lovely little sounds and his hands roved like they couldn't settle anywhere, brushing over Kip's shoulders, neck and hair. It made it easy to want to pleasure him and bring more and more of it out of him.

"Stop," Shane panted.

Kip pulled off with a slightly too loud smacking sound. He looked up at Shane who was flushed all over now.

"You are really really edible," Kip said. "I get why he bites you now."

"I think he's just rabid," Shane said, collapsing back against the mattress. "Can we?"

"Yeah, lube, please."

"I did some prep before," Shane said.

"Explain ‘some’," Kip said as he held his hand out expectantly. The bottle was pressed into his hand.

"Fingered myself a little in the shower. I didn't know how tired we'd be."

"I know this is our first time like this so you wouldn't know, but I'm promising you right now that if I have enough energy to fuck you than I definitely have enough to finger you," Kip assured him. "But that's very fucking hot."

"Noted," Shane said. "Want me to turn over?"

"Yeah, please."

As soon as Kip sunk two fingers into him, he became vividly aware that Ilya's vague bragging over the years was entirely earned. Kip enjoyed bottoming, but Shane clearly loved it. He moaned and rocked back into every touch.

"You are so good at this," Kip praised. Usually he wouldn't do three fingers. He was a respectable size, but nothing that needed that kind of stretch. But he had to know.

Kip pulled out enough to tuck his index finger against his middle and forefinger, then slid them carefully into Shane's fluttering hole.

"Kip," Shane moaned, "fuck…"

"Feels good?" Kip checked, rubbing Shane's back with his other hand.

"So good," Shane said.

"I am so tempted just to do this," Kip told him, fucking him slowly, watching Shane easily take three fingers.

"Nooooo," Shane protested. "Come on. I want you to fuck me."

"Yeah, I'm gonna," Kip said fervently. "But I want to do that too, some time. Would you let me? Maybe four fingers, would you like that?"

The groan Shane made was unholy. "Yeah, I want. Didn't Scott tell you?"

"No, he's being very annoyingly discreet about the incredible threesome I missed out on," Kip grumbled, trying to maintain a steady pace with his fingers.

"I want him and Ilya to fuck me at the same time," Shane said into the pillows. 

Kip had to close his eyes for a second. "Oh. My. God. When? Can I watch? Or like, get a recording?"

"You can be there," Shane said. "If you'd want to be?"

"Do I want to be there when three of the hottest men I've ever met do a porn scene tailored to my personal fantasies?" Kip asked incredulously. "Yeah, babe. I want."

"Okay," Shane said with a contentment that did not belong with a guy getting his hole stretched and talking absolute filth. "Maybe you can help me prep. That'd be good."

Kip was going to come from someone talking and it wasn't even intentional. This was ridiculous.

"I'd love that," Kip said. He kissed Shane's back reverently. "I am so turned on right now. If I don't get you off before I come, I promise I will make it right. I've got a really good vibrating dildo that'll blow your tits off."

"That sounds like a threat," Shane said with a laugh. "Come on, Grady. Get your head in the game."

"Sports talk is not a turn on," Kip said.

"Good, maybe you'll last a little longer."

"Oh my god, now I'm starting to get why Ilya bites you. Spanks you?"

"Sometimes," Shane muttered. "When it's…sometimes."

"I can't ask any more questions," Kip decided, the image riling him up unbearably. "More sports talk, please."

Shane obediently rattled off stats to him which was both charmingly hilarious and exceedingly necessary. Kip got a boring regular condom on listening with half an ear.

"Okay?" Kip checked.

"Yeah, please," Shane said, apparently unbothered to be holding the same position through all of that.

Kip lined himself up and meant to push in slowly, but Shane rocked back to meet him immediately. He slid into welcoming heat with an embarrassingly high pitched moan. He bottomed out and had to bend over to press his forehead against Shane's back for a second.

"Stop being so sexy," Kip said, "right now. Hollander, you're testing me."

The laughter vibrated a little through Kip's body. He grinned and kissed the spot under his mouth.

"Come on," Shane said. "You've got this."

"Oh my god, I truly do not," Kip groaned. Another laugh that was almost a giggle.

Luck and experience landed on Kip's side. He lasted a respectably long time. Long enough to change positions and get to watch Shane's face when he came. He was so pretty with Kip's hand on his cock, his head thrown back and his body shaking a little with pleasure. Kip pulled out reluctantly, still teetering on the edge.

"You should come on my chest," Shane said, wrapping one of his legs around Kip's waist encouragingly. "That can't be dangerous."

"Only for my mental health," Kip agreed. "Because I'm going to replay this every hour of every day for the next three weeks."

Shane with come smeared over his stomach and chest really was a vision. It was like he was meant to wear it as much as his bright blue and red jersey. Kip collapsed next to him, resting his head on Shane's shoulder.

"Good?" Kip checked.

"Yeah, really good," Shane said, stretching his legs a little. Something cracked and he relaxed again. "You?"

"Very good. No dignity left, but whatever. I wasn't using that anyway. I bet you're wiped now though."

"Yeah, kind of," Shane said. "I should probably sleep. I have to get out of here around six."

"Ew."

Shane laughed and rubbed his hand over Kip's back apologetically. "I'll try to be quiet on my way out."

"No, wake me up," Kip said immediately. "That's half the fun of the sleepover. Waking up with someone. I don't care if it's early. I can take a nap later or something."

"A sleepover? Isn't that what kids call it?" Shane asked. "Were you getting off at sleepovers?"

"Sometimes," Kip said with a shrug. "My first boyfriend wasn't out to his parents and they had no idea I was gay somehow. We had a lot of sleepovers."

"But your dad knew," Shane said, scandalized. God, he was cute.

"He had night shifts sometimes and he was happy that I wasn't by myself," Kip said. "We had a lot of safe sex talks and I had more condoms than socks by the time I was seventeen."

Shane went quiet, his hand still moving with just enough pressure not to tickle. Whatever he was thinking about, Kip was pretty sure their joint semen puddle was getting tacky and gross. He got up carefully so he wouldn't knock into anything sensitive and got the wet wipes he kept on his dresser.

"That's smart," Shane said when Kip pulled out a few, handing them to him.

"Meant for butts of all ages," Kip said merrily. "Did I freak you out? You look like you're trying to solve a puzzle."

"Sorry, just made me think. I'd messed around with girls as a teenager, but it was like I wasn't even there, you know? Not their fault. Obviously. I would imagine other stuff and I didn't even really let myself think that's what I was doing."

"Yeah," Kip said, giving himself a quick wipe down. "I've heard that before. I'm sorry that it was like that for you. It sounds awful."

"You make it sound like it was okay for you, but was it? Were you this chill in high school?"

"Not even close," Kip said ruefully. He tossed the wipes into the trash and sat down on the edge of the bed near Shane's waist. "Sex was always easy though. I was never interested in hiding. I'm not sure I could've succeeded even if I'd wanted to."

"Because you're kind of 'camp'?" Shane hazarded. The word sounded like another language in his mouth.

"Oh my god, I'm being read to filth by Shane Hollander," Kip said with a huff of laughter. "You're awful. And sort of. Camp is a funny bit of slang that way."

"Sorry?"

"No, it's good," Kip assured him. "High school wasn't a nightmare factory or anything, but I had plenty of days where I wished I was different. Or at least that other people reacted to me differently."

"But you didn't change for them," Shane said.

"I didn't know how," Kip admitted. "It was less stubbornness or pride and more lack of ability. I like a lot of traditionally masculine stuff, but when I tried to be macho it was laughable. Or at least, I got laughed at."

Shane frowned, then pushed up and pulled Kip into a sideways hug, resting his chin on Kip's shoulder.

"It's not fair. Any of it. I wish they'd just let us live."

It was so simple and stark that Kip went from feeling the humor of the moment to the verge of tears in seconds flat. He turned so they could hug properly.

"Yeah. It fucking sucks," he said quietly because it fucking did.

"I used to wish so hard I wasn't gay," Shane's voice was a shaky whisper. "But now it's all the best things in my life that aren't hockey. If I was straight, I would have never even have talked to Ilya. Never gotten to know Scott better. Never met you. Or made friends with Sveta. Maybe never run into Rose either. I never- it's not something wrong with us."

"Never was," Kip agreed. "There's nothing wrong with you, babe. You're smart, gorgeous, sexy, funny and you've got a good heart."

"There's nothing wrong with you either," Shane said with the kind of conviction that must inspire guys to go into icy battle for him.

For a night that had contained so much laughter, Kip really hadn't counted on holding Shane while he maybe cried a little. Maybe Kip cried too. There was no one there to take minutes, so the record would never be read back.

They did eventually settle in to sleep. Not for nearly long enough, but the few stolen hours were nice. Shane obligingly woke Kip up by kissing his cheek.

"Going to use your bathroom then head out."

"No," Kip whined and attempted to tug him back into bed. Shane didn't even pretend to move. "Fuck. You're really strong. It's annoying."

"Sorry," Shane said with a laugh.

"Liar," Kip grumbled.

"You're cute," Shane declared and leaned down to kiss him again. "But I do have to go."

"Text me when you land? I know you're fine and travel all the time. But still."

"Yeah, I can do that."

There was some rustling around the room, the sound of the sink in the bathroom. Kip listened to it vaguely, already dozing again. He watched blearily as Shane got dressed out of his duffel bag. A shame to cover up that body, but necessary for leaving the soft private world they'd made here last night.

"Shane?" Kip called before he could step towards the door.

"Yeah?"

Kip got out of bed, shivering a little despite the radiator ticking away. He pulled Shane into a hug and got one in return.

"Thanks for coming here. For the flowers. For all of it."

Shane buried his face against Kip's neck. Then he pulled back only enough to give him a quick kiss.

Then he was gone, taking his warmth with him, but it clung to Kip anyway. It followed him through his morning routine and his time at the gym. It stayed with him as he taught his section of European Art History to sleepy undergraduates, dashed down lunch, and ran to his next class. Somewhere in there, Shane sent a text confirming he was home and Kip sent back a heart emoji without thinking about it too hard. It was just an emoji.

He grabbed dinner with some of his friends in the department, sharing an enormous Caesar salad and a frozen lasagna. They shared horrifying quotations from essays they were grading while eating around the center part that hadn't quite cooked through.

Back in his room, Kip was confronted with the lovely tiny roses studding through dark green leaves. He touched the petals of one flower gently. The small white stick gave him instructions, so he watered it and positioned it on his windowsill where the fern had lived. Best of luck to it. He didn't exactly have a green thumb.

His phone buzzed as he sat down in front of his laptop.

Scott: I think I've been very well behaved and patient. What do you think?

Kip: You are the goodest boy. So proud.

Scott: Do I get a treat?

Kip: You can call.

Scott: My favorite!

When Scott called him, Kip's phone lit up with a picture of his handsome face. It was a risk, of course. One that Scott would probably not appreciate if he knew about it, but sometimes Kip needed to see him to remember what this was all for. There were a lot of long quiet hours between visits from beautiful men that wanted pieces of his soul seemingly for rent and never to buy.

That was cruel. Unfair. Kip shoved the thought away.

"Hey, babe!"

"Hey, love," Scott said. Scott's voice always took away the ache immediately. He'd heard Scott all those years ago, before he even saw him. A literal wake up call, shaking Kip from the rut he'd found himself in. It still did that for him now. "Did you have a good day? Did Kali get back to you about the poster session?"

"Just ask what you actually want to ask," Kip laughed. "It's clearly killing you."

"Did you have a good time?" Scot asked eagerly.

"I did," Kip said, leaning back in his chair. "I really did."

"Is this a details conversation?" Scott asked. "I get it if it's not."

He was so painfully sincere all the time. Kip had grown up in a land of cynicism, he and his friends making an art of refusing to take the world at face value. He still thought he was right most of the time, but god it was hard in the face of Scott's rough honest belief in the good of the world.

"I think it's a vague outline situation," Kip said. "Sorry, love. It was very very good. Very hot."

"Surprising no one," Scott said. "Okay. I'm glad. You feel good about it?"

"I think so. His walls are built pretty high, but once you get in the door, you get why he was guarding it all so closely."

"Yeah, that's it exactly," Scott said. "Makes me wonder how Ilya picked the lock."

"I keep telling you, he's a battering ram, not a lockpick," Kip laughed. "I doubt he gave Shane a lot of choice once he got a whiff of the treasure."

"Nah. I know he's loud, but trust me. At his core, that man is a thief."

Is that what he did to you? Kip didn't bother actually asking. By now, Kip was familiar with the shape of Scott and Ilya's relationship and all the ways they defended the tender heart of it with their briar-thick language of insults.

"Either way, I'm glad I got to walk in the front door," Kip said. "It's nice in there."

"It really is," Scott said fondly. "I love you. So much."

"I love you too. What brought that on?" Kip asked bemused.

"Because I fucked it with him so hard. Just absolutely disastrous conversation after conversation for a while there. Ilya took years to talk to him straight. You just took his whole measure, kissed him about it and got the job done. I know you were teasing about me having it easy, but babe, you actually made it easy for him. You're so kind and careful. I love that."

Kip tried to find a way to bat that away. A joke, a laugh. He couldn't. He sat with it, staring at the rose plant.

"I only wanted him to like me," Kip said quietly. "I like him a lot."

"He does," Scott said.

"Are we going to be okay if I maybe have a few feelings about him?"

Scott breathed out, "Yeah. I think so."

"I really thought we were just friends," Kip said quickly. "I didn't mean to-"

"Love, it's all right," Scott said. "Really. We'll take it as it comes. We've been doing pretty well with that so far."

They hadn't been. They had made it this far because Kip refused to let Scott be his whole everything. Instead, Kip had had a boyfriend that didn't touch any other part of his life, except a little around the edges, but now those lines were starting to blur. It was getting harder to pretend that Kip wasn't looking at maybe another unspeakable amount of years of living exactly like this. Scott thinking he'd come out enough to satisfy him, Kip chafing at the edges, not yet ready to fully give up.

It was a half-life and Kip had embraced it, even as it stabbed him.

"Yeah," he said lightly. "We really have."

The boys were scattered right now, roadies every which way. The group chat had taken on a longing tone, photos of hotel breakfasts and comparing gym stats that were encoded with a fierce undertone of smothered affection. Sveta chopped through their waters with grumbling questions about essay responses and dealing with academic bureaucracy to wrestle out transcripts.  

Kip did send Scott flowers on Valentine's Day, Sveta acting as his hands to carry them into the house and set them up on the kitchen counter. He got a flustered phone call that made it very worthwhile. Especially when it transitioned to a very sexy kind of video call.

Kip: Happy Valentine's Day! You made mine a lot better. 

Jane: What did I do? 

Kip: Gave me a very good idea. Did Lily get you anything? 

Jane: We got the night together last night. That was enough. 

Kip: Cute! Did you have fun?

Jane: We did. A lot. 

Kip: Brag! Tell me more.  

Jane: Not over text. Maybe tonight, okay?

Kip: Very okay! 

That had all been very promising until Kip's phone had lit up during his afternoon office hours and instead of a fun story, there was a bomb in the group chat.

Group Chat: The Legends of Sleepy Hollow (Kip's Phone) 

Sveta: His father died. We are leaving on the next flight out to Moscow. Do not do anything romantic/supportive/very fucking stupid like try to come with us. He has a lot of arrangements to do, I told him I will handle texts for now. 

Scott: What can we do from here?  

Sveta: Nothing. This will be unpleasant, but over quickly.  

Jane: Please tell him he can call me any hour. That I'm here. 

Sveta: I will. He knows. I will send the flight information.  

Kip: If he's accepting hugs, hand out a few from us.

Sveta: I will.  

The next two days were horribly silent. Kip had sent Ilya a quiet text hours later. It never turned to ‘read’'. That was fine. Kip didn't know what he'd be doing in Ilya's shoes. He dreaded the day his mother died and he’d have to figure out how to feel about that. 

Sveta sent short stiff updates to the group chat that had nothing to do with feelings and everything to do with logistics. The funeral was arranged quickly. Ilya's father would be buried next to his parents which had taken significant 'efforts' that Kip read as bribes. 

On the third day, Kip took the train up to Sleepy Hollow. Scott had an away game and Anya still needed to be walked and fed. There was a boarding place that they had vetted, but there had been little discussion about using it. Kip had a long weekend anyway, Presidents' Day carving out time.  

Being alone in Sleepy Hollow was always a little uncomfortable. The house was made for noise, the silence settling poorly around the kitchen table. It was strange to spend the night without Scott beside him in bed, wandering the upper floors with all the bedroom doors solemnly closed. With only himself to worry about, Kip could walk Anya on the street at least. No one cared if a young man of no distinction walked a mutt at dawn and dusk. 

He wondered about the other sleeping houses. Did they hold secrets like theirs? Darker ones? Or did the people within them live without knowing what it was like to keep precious things locked up behind their ribs?

On the sixth day, flight information popped into the chat. As quickly as they had disappeared, the Russian Contingent was returning. 

Kip: I've got Scott's car. I'll pick you up. 

Sveta: You can drive? 

Kip: I have a license. 

Sveta: That is not the same thing. 

Kip: Your lack of faith in me is disappointing. 

Driving was not Kip's favorite thing, especially not in Scott's ridiculous SUV, but he did, in fact, know how to do it. That he had engineered his life so it rarely came up was besides the fact. Navigating the wilds of JFK was something Kip was not eager to repeat, but he managed it and pulled up at international arrivals. 

Anya grumbled a little, nose pressed to the window as if she knew who they were waiting for. Maybe she did. Or maybe she had picked up on Kip's anxiety and was trying to make a break for it. He wouldn't blame her. Scanning the crowd, Kip didn't spot any obvious reporters. He texted an all clear to Sveta, but they must've been tied up in customs. 

Waiting gnawed at Kip. He had no idea how to be there for someone who was grieving. Was Ilya even grieving? The little Kip knew of Ilya's father didn't spell something like love, only Ilya's brand of exhausted familial devotion. Still, a death was a death. Should Kip be soft with him? Normal? Maybe picking them up had been a stupid idea. Ilya would likely prefer Scott or Shane for this, but they were bound up in other places. Montreal played at home tonight and New York was on its way to New Mexico of all places. Why did Santa Fe even have a team? What kind of bullshit was that? 

Through the crowd, Kip spotted them. They were hard to miss, Ilya's bulk and height barely disguised by his winter coat with Sveta at his side, her hair a beacon as the flurry of snowflakes caught in her curls. Both of them were blank-faced, moving with their suitcases unerringly towards him. He popped the trunk, the rush of cold air from the back raising goosebumps all over him. 

There was the sound of bags being tossed in and Anya started to bark. 

"Anya!" Ilya's voice lifted. "I'm coming, I'm coming, do not jump out of the car." 

"She hasn't done that in weeks," Kip assured him. The back door opened, more cold air flooding in.  Anya went nuts, barking and whining, her whole body attempting to become one with Ilya's. 

The passenger door opened and Sveta alighted in the seat, exhaustion written in every feature. 

"Hey," Kip said quietly. "How was the flight?" 

"Survivable," she said and let her head fall backwards. "I want to go home. Please." 

"Seatbelts and we're gone," he assured her.  

Kip thought he was being very well behaved by waiting until he got on the highway to address Ilya, but it turned out he'd missed his window. When he glanced in the rearview mirror, it was to find Ilya's eyes closed and his mouth lax with sleep. Anya's head rested in his lap, his hand still curved around her neck.  

"Wow, I guess he didn't sleep on the flight, huh?" Kip asked. 

Silence. He glanced to his right to find Svetlana's head cushioned by her balled up coat and her nose whistling a little.  Had either of them slept a wink the last few days? They must be jetlagged to hell and back. 

Kip left his music off and concentrated on getting them all back to Sleepy Hollow in one piece despite the best efforts of other drivers. Neither of them stirred for the entire hour it took to get back. He almost felt bad as he pulled into the garage and had to wake them. Luckily, Anya was sick of being cooped up and started clamoring over Ilya to get out. His groan of annoyance stirred Sveta. 

The two of them zombie walked out of the car. Ilya went to go get their bags. 

"I think it can wait," Kip said quietly. "How about we eat whatever meal your stomachs think you're on or something." 

Kip heated up the spinach quiche he'd made the night before with some vague idea of this moment.  Considering where they were in the season, he made bacon along with it, protein to sustain Ilya. Maybe not the most advisable kind, but it didn't seem like a moment to play nutritionist. 

Sveta and Ilya didn't disappear upstairs. They waited at the table, neither of them talking much. Ilya's shoulders were rounded down like someone had laid a great weight on them while Sveta's head had fallen back, studying the ceiling vacantly. 

"Here," Kip said, setting down plates. Then he went and poured tea, black and with a spoonful of jam.  Sveta had taught him the way of it a few months ago and he'd started making to for himself that way sometimes, an indulgence in the cold months. 

Ilya wrapped his hand around the mug and summoned a smile for Kip. "Thank you." 

"Of course," Kip said, then after a moment's consideration, dropped his hand to the back of Ilya's neck to give it a gentle squeeze. It was a Scott move, but he figured he could borrow it just now. 

Ilya's smile stayed small, but real. Kip sat down beside Sveta and ate carefully, leaving room for either of them to start talking. He wasn't particularly surprised that no one did. They both ate with leaden necessity. Ilya finished everything, Sveta stopped halfway. Kip cleared the plates away before either of them could try to help. 

"I want to shower," Sveta said. "Then sleep. But not alone. Ilyusha?" 

"Yes, this," he said with a slow nod.  

Kip had assumed that meant they wanted to bundle up together in Sveta's room, so he didn't think it was out of order for him to be a little surprised when Ilya showed back up in the kitchen after his shower with a frown. The kitchen had been set to rights and Kip had been googling 'supporting a friend through loss of a shitty parent' so he almost dropped his phone in an attempt to hide what he was up to. 

"Come," Ilya said. "Unless you do not want to sleep." 

It was only seven o'clock. Kip didn't want to sleep. But he also didn't want to turn Ilya down. 

"Coming." 

They walked by Sveta's door and then Ilya's before Kip pieced it together. They wanted Scott's room. Sveta was already there, tiny on the enormous expanse of Scott's mattress. Her hair had been swept into a bonnet, her pajamas, such as they were, had been pulled on. Ilya climbed over her, then pulled her in close, the two of them locking together like puzzle pieces. 

Kip got in on the other side, turning off the lamp. He wasn't sure what they really wanted him there for, but he could fuck around on his phone just as easily here as in the kitchen. He stayed sitting up against the headboard. At some point, he'd have to sneak out to take his contacts out, but for now he stayed where he was. Sveta's nose whistle started up again after a few minutes. 

"Kip?" Ilya asked quietly. 

"What's up?" 

"Would you rub my back?" 

"Yeah, of course." 

He shifted onto his side. Ilya smelled fresh from the shower and his skin was still a little damp. Kip rubbed wide circles over the broad expanse of his shoulders. It was the most their naked skin had ever touched, yet it felt like he had done this a hundred times before.  At some point, when Ilya's breathing did go heavy again, Kip leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

Group Chat: Continental Congress (Kip's Phone)

Kip: They're both asleep, not much talking. Remind me never to do a world tour in less than a week. 

Jane: Is he okay? 

Kip: Not sure. I don't like when he's quiet. 

Scott: Me either. Sorry it's all on you, love, but I know they're in good hands. 

Kip: Not the first time I've been a substitute, won't be the last. 

Scott: You're not a substitute. 

Kip: Come on. He'd much rather have one of you here. 

Jane: You're one of his closest friends. He trusts you. He doesn't do that a lot. 

Kip: At ease, gentlemen. I wasn't fishing for a pep talk. 

Scott: Thank you for being there when we can't be, babe.

Kip: You're welcome. It's good. I'm good. 

He didn't take his trip to the bathroom until nearly ten, staying there in case he was needed. By then, Anya needed to go out again and he stood in the freezing air with a coat pulled over his boxers. His lungs hurt from the cold, but it was purifying too. 

Contacts removed, teeth brushed, he slipped back into bed with a sigh. Ilya stirred, turning onto his back like the diva octopus he usually was when they shared a bed. His hand landed on Kip's stomach and seemed content to stay there, fingers splayed wide. 

Kip fell asleep before he could decide if that annoyed him or not. 

He woke up overheated and slightly suffocated long before dawn. The octopus had migrated through the night, half of Ilya's not inconsiderable bulk draped over him. Kip couldn't make out Sveta, but there was a tiny additional weight around his ankle that he was reasonably sure was her foot. 

With a sigh he attempted to slither out from under Ilya, but one of his arms was pinned and a gentle nudge with the other wasn't doing it. How did Scott and Shane survive this? Did they enjoy it? Probably. 

Kip gave a slightly harder shove and Ilya grumbled, his eyes snapping open. Shit. 

"Sorry," Kip whispered. "but you're crushing me a little." 

Ilya shifted off him and Kip quickly rolled up onto his side.  He expected Ilya to drift right back off, but the man had gone to sleep at seven, so maybe it wasn't a surprise that those bright eyes stayed fixed on him. Kip was muzzy with sleep, but he didn't shy away from it. 

"My head is bad," Ilya muttered, the words so heavily accented that Kip took a minute to realize they were in English and another to parse them.

"Headache or heartache?" Kip asked.

"Mm, headache," Ilya decided.

"I'll get you some advil, hold on," Kip said.

It was because Ilya was in Scott's place in bed. It was because Ilya looked so tired in the dark. It was because Kip fucking wanted to. He kissed him like Ilya had kissed him months ago. A promise unanswered and unfulfilled with the way they kept barely missing each other.

"Sorry," Kip mumbled as he drew away.

"No," Ilya said and drew him back with inescapable strength. "No sorry."

Kip has seen Ilya kiss Scott, Shane and Sveta dozens of times. He knew to expect a lot of tongue and hunger as if the object of Ilya's desire must be consumed. It didn't feel like that to receive it. It felt oddly tender despite the ferocity as if Ilya was burrowing inside him. Kip put his hand to the back of Ilya's neck.

Suddenly, all Kip wanted was that weight over him again. The crush that had been obnoxious in sleep was alluring now. But Sveta was sleeping and it seemed unbearably rude to start something beside her. Worse still to take advantage of Ilya's potentially shitty mental state when they'd never done anything like that before. So Kip kissed him a last time then slid out of bed to get him two tablets from the Cosco-sized bottle of it that Scott always had on hand. It was a little disturbing how much anesthetization went into playing professional sports: painkillers, ice baths, heating pads, massages, and injections that kept men on their feet to smack the puck around another day.

Ilya swallowed the pills with a sip of water from Kip's ever present glass on the nightstand. The nightstand that was Kip's in theory, but remained uncolonized except for the water and his glasses. Even his books live in the attic office. The attic felt safer, cradling The Nest and his office. It was something outside all this.

"When I was not crushing you, you were okay with holding?" Ilya asked. His English was still choppy with fatigue. Had he sounded like that when Scott met him? 

"Yeah," Kip said and allowed Ilya to come in close again. "I was."

The arm over his waist was sleep heavy again in seconds. Kip followed after him, pulled under the lulling body heat.

Sveta woke him the next time, a sound jumped from her and then she was sitting up abruptly in bed, her face buried in her hands by the time Kip pried his eyes open. Ilya went tense and wakeful against him.

"Hey," Kip whispered. "Bad dream?"

She only shivered a little. Kip wiggled out from under Ilya and did an inelegant knee walk over him to get to her. Kip pulled her into a hug, chin on top of her head.

"I will kill him," Ilya said and then he was behind her, his heat banking against Kip's. At least Sveta would be warm if not comforted.

"You cannot kill things that live in my head," she said.

"I can try," Ilya said, deadly as poison.

They were speaking in English which meant Kip must be allowed to ask, "What did I miss here?"

"My brother is a piece of shit and calls her terrible things. She wouldn't let me- no. I know, it would have been bad," he said before Sveta could open her mouth to correct him. "I called Shane after. Left her alone with my family. I should not have done this."

"You should have," she corrected, lifting her face up at last. There weren't tears though there was a world of sorrow in her eyes. "I was there for you. Not the other way around."

"We were there together," Ilya said and then he did lapse briefly into Russian. Whatever he said made Sveta relax fractionally and she repeated it to him, some phrase shared between them. She leaned back against him without breaking Kip's hold on her.

"It was a very tense few days," Sveta said. "But they're over now. We're home."

"Yes," Ilya said, tightening his grip on her a little. "It is very early and I'm also very awake."

"Yeah, me too," Kip said.

Sveta leaned her head back and kissed Ilya's neck like she was tucking a secret there. He blinked and looked down at her, silent communication passing between them. Then two sets of eyes fell on Kip.

They looked disturbingly hungry.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Am I the zebra in a nature documentary? Because I think that means I should get a running start."

"Kip," Sveta said solemnly, "we all grieve in different ways. Don't be judgemental."

"Excuse me?" he asked, his voice rising. "Being devoured for sport is not a grieving process."

"You let Scott show you too many things," Ilya said. "We are thinking we want to fuck, so do you want to stay or should we go back to Sveta's room?"

"Oh," Kip said, relaxing. "Is that all? Jesus, you gave me a heart attack."

Sveta grinned at him. "You want to stay?"

"I mean yeah," Kip said. "What else is there to do before the birds wake up? There's a few lines in the sand for me, but I figure you know how to make sure Sveta is satisfied by now."

"I heard this is not a problem for you either," Ilya teased. "But yes, I can make her very happy."

"We can celebrate Ilya getting over his fear of threesomes," Sveta said with a smirk.

"I was not afraid!"

They bickered even as Ilya got his hand up under her tiny top and slid it over her head.

Kip's appreciation for the female form remained a purely aesthetic one, despite repeated experimentation. That said, Sveta was beautiful and Ilya was gorgeous with her. The contrast of their skin tones as his hands cupped her breasts was only enhanced by the pale pre-dawn light. They touched each other with perfect knowledge, her arms twining behind his head as she arched into his touch.

It was hypnotizing and Kip could have very happily watched all of it like an arthouse film that maybe gave him an erection. Instead, Ilya reached for him and drew him into kissing again as Sveta writhed a little between them.

"Honestly wasn't sure you were interested," Kip admitted. "Kind of thought we would've done this already if we were going to."

Ilya pulled back to study his face for a moment. Svetlana took the opportunity to wiggle away for a moment, shucking off the rest of her clothes.

"You were too much Scott's before," Ilya said after his attention snagged around Svetlana's thighs momentarily then came back to Kip's face. "But now we are all like this and I would like to suck your dick."

Oh yeah, Ilya really tiptoed around lockpicking. Fucking battering ram.

"I can also just watch," Kip offered, "Whatever works."

"Nooo," Sveta said, kneeling beside Kip tugging at the hem of his shirt. "We are boring together now. It will be more fun if you play too."

"Boring!" Ilya protested and grabbed her around the waist to her delighted shriek. "Terrible woman."

Kip had had threesomes before. They could be great, but they took some concentration and he often found them a little self-serious to the point of breaking into giggles that no one else appreciated. Ilya and Sveta started with the giggles. They wrestled and slapped at each other like they were swatting flies. Kip was quickly rolled into it, Sveta discovering his ticklish sides and nailing them accurately.

It would have been entirely innocent play if they weren't all naked.

"Ilyusha," Sveta groaned as he lifted her bodily into his lap. "Stop fucking around."

"You like when I fuck around," Ilya reminded her.

She poked him in the cheek. Ilya made a scandalized noise and Kip had to bury a laugh in his hands.

"Do you two ever get around to having sex or do you just make each other nuts?" Kip asked.

"Both," Sveta said. "Oh! I have a fantastic idea. Ilyusha, I can sit on your face and Kip can blow you. You will get a 69 that you are always whining about and I don't have to throw my back out for it."

"I do not whine about this," Ilya said quickly to Kip. "She is-"

"Oh my god, I want to blow you, it's fine," Kip said with a grin. "You can get me after."

There were condoms in the drawer (no sour apple ones, unfortunately, but Kip would bet Ilya would love those and made a mental note to stock them here). Ilya was flat on his back, his hands cupping Svetlana's ass before Kip even got the wrapper open. The sounds were kind of sexy, wet and lewd. There were worse background accompaniments.

It also meant that Kip got to approach Ilya's cock for the first time without witnesses which was nice. Scott had mentioned that Ilya was packing heat, but Kip had been with some sizeable guys and wasn't easily impressed. Ilya's cock was very nice though, almost sculptural. It wasn't the biggest Kip had taken on, but it was thick and had a mouthwatering perfect bend to it. This had been Shane's first dick? Some guys got all the luck.

Kip palmed the beast first, luxuriating in the hot brand of it against his palm. If Ilya made any noises they were lost under Svetlana's encouraging moans as she ground against his mouth. Kip took his time rolling on the condom and getting himself situated. He lingered on Ilya's thighs for an indulgent minute, pressing a few idle kisses against them. If he got the chance, he absolutely wanted to see Ilya and Shane fuck. It must be like elemental spirits crashing into each other.

Ilya and Scott… Kip wanted that too. He wanted to see what his boyfriend was like with the man he had loved before he even knew Kip. It would be something like Ilya and Svetlana, Kip would bet. Ilya made Scott playful.

As Kip finally took Ilya into his mouth, he realized that this was a circuit completing. The journey that had started years ago must have inevitably led here from that very first time Kip had picked up a Raiders travel mug from behind Scott's bleach and wondered 'Who else is he fucking?'.

Unbearable fondness for Ilya welled up in Kip. He wasn't sure one could feel love through a blowjob, but Kip tried his best to deliver it. Maybe he and Ilya weren't in love, but Kip adored him from his cynical outer shell to the soft sweet center that cracked to the surface to blindside you every time.

He felt Ilya's impending orgasm cresting as Sveta's moans rose up the scales, going breathy and staccato. Ilya's thigh tensed and his balls pulled in tight. Kip swallowed down around him encouragingly as Sveta gasped around a scream. When Kip glanced up, he found her still undulating a little against Ilya's tongue, tinier sounds punched out of her. Kip dove deep and strong legs closed around him as Ilya came in the condom, twitching in the cradle of Kip's tongue.

"I feel better," Sveta declared, only moving a few inches away so she was lightly perched on Ilya's chest.

"Mm, me too," Ilya said, his hands running up her legs. His mouth gleamed with fluid that he licked greedily off his chops. "You want more?"

"Not right now," she decided and gave his chest a light smack, before sliding off to curl at his side. "You have work to do and I want to watch."

"Oh, I'm work now?" Kip asked with mock annoyance.

"You take a lot of effort, sometimes," Ilya said, but he was already urging Kip up the bed with a heel to the calf.

Kissing Sveta off Ilya's lips was a unique experience, but not a terrible one. Being flipped onto his back as casually as a pancake was more familiar and always wanted. It was easy to forget how strong Scott was sometimes until he did things like that and they went right to Kip's head.

"Hi," Kip said and got his legs around Ilya's waist to hold him there while they kissed awhile longer, before Ilya dove down.

Sveta made an approving noise which drew Kip's attention to her. She still looked tired and a little sad.

"You wanna make out?" Kip offered.

"You want?" She checked, eyes going wide.

"Kissing is always good," he confirmed.

He pulled away gasping sooner than he'd meant to though. "Jesus Christ, are you trying to suck my soul out?"

Ilya gave him a heated look under his eyelashes and Kip felt it viscerally.

"He gives head like he doesn't want anyone else to have you for weeks after," Sveta agreed, laying her head on Kip's shoulder to watch. "The beard burn alone is third degree."

"I'm gonna die," Kip declared, shoving a hand into Ilya's curls to feel the insanely fast bob of his head against his palm.

Kip figured if he came embarrassingly fast then at least he hadn't been trying to satisfy anyone in the moment. The look of triumph on Ilya's face as he sat back on his heels was adorable anyway.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a grade A cocksucker," Kip told him fondly. "Everyone is very impressed."

"Don't speak for me," Sveta said, but she was grinning. "He never impresses me."

"Cruel woman," Ilya said and crawled over Kip, nuzzling in for more kissing. Insatiable. It was nice.

Anya scrambled at the door a minute later, informing them of their negligence to feed her even though it was at least an hour before her usual breakfast time. Or maybe she was pissed the door was closed. Fair, honestly. She was used to sleeping here when there was someone to occupy the space.

Once, Kip had found Scott laying on the floor of the living room with Anya asleep on his chest though she barely fit there, even curled up tight. Scott had his hand on her, maybe holding her steady. The picture sent to the group chat had gotten many emoji reactions. It was cute how Scott thought the dog was for Ilya when he'd quickly gotten so wrapped up on her.

Anya's subsequent invasion and illegal hopping on the bed when Svetlana opened the door brought about a more normal morning pattern. Kip made breakfast while Ilya took Anya for a walk and Sveta fell back asleep. They came together to eat, then scattered again. Kip had work to do before he went back to Princeton tomorrow. Ilya couldn't miss a morning in the gym. Sveta went into the city to meet a college friend for lunch.

Scott had texted to say he was on his way, but Kip lost track of time as he read through an article he was supposed to be reviewing. When he finally emerged and saw the slant of the late afternoon sun, he groaned and went downstairs to apologize for being so checked out.

Halfway down the stairs, he slowed. Scott was on the couch. So was Ilya. Actually, it was more like Ilya was on Scott. There was nothing sexual about it though. Ilya was always draping himself over Scott, using his body the same way he did cars in advertisements. This wasn't that either. Ilya sat on Scott's lap, his head on Scott's shoulder with his eyes closed. He was folded up like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. Scott's arms wrapped him. Neither of them were talking.

Scott met Kip's eyes and Kip grimaced. He gestured back up the stairs asking if he should leave. Scott shook his head, then inclined it to the empty cushion next to him. Kip came down slowly and alighted there.

"Is he asleep again?" Kip whispered incredulously when Ilya didn't stir.

"Yeah," Scott whispered back. "He was talking to Shane when I got back, but then Shane had to get ready for his game. So."

They both studied Ilya's face, not relaxed even at rest. What a fucking week he'd had. What a fucking lifetime.

"We messed around this morning," Kip told his boyfriend. "Maybe I should've put him off. Not really a great state of mind to do that kind of thing."

Scott didn't look surprised, so Ilya must've said something himself. He sighed, "I don't know, babe. Sometimes sex helps."

"Yeah, sometimes," Kip sighed. "It was good. Fun. I don't know what else to do for him."

"I'm sure you did enough."

Kip wasn't nearly as sure. He sat there in silence and tried to reckon with it all.

"Kip," Scott's whisper had thinned so it was barely there. A sketch of a word.

Kip turned to him and Scott regarded him as intently as he had the first time he'd told him he loved him. "Yeah, babe?"

"I want to come out. Publically."

It was so far afield from where Kip's head had been that it gave him mental whiplash.

"Now?" Kip asked frantically. Where was this coming from? Proximity to death?

"No. The summer, I think. After the season," Scott said. "But I can't just decide that on my own. I think we all need to talk about it."

"All of us?" Kip shook his head. "Babe, it's your decision."

"It was my decision," Scott said. "Before I pushed for all of this and now it's not. Because if I come out, it's Shane and Ilya's names dragged behind me. It's you too."

"I always knew that," Kip reminded him. "And they'll understand."

"It's not just understanding," Scott said. "If Ilya wants to go back to Russia, he can't be associated with me if I'm out. Shane wants to come out publically like he wants another hole in his head. They're tied to me now. I made sure of it which was…. I'm not sorry, but it has consequences."

"Shit," Kip breathed. "Yeah. Okay. So. We talk about it."

"I wanted to tell you first. It's the wrong time to spring it on them anyway, but you really need to think about it."

"What the fuck do you mean?" Anger was starting to kick up now. "You know this is what I've wanted."

Scott didn't look away, solemn in a way he hadn't been in a long time. "If I come out, your life won't be the same anymore. It won't belong only to you. Every hookup you have will become a potential source for a journalist. They'll say a lot of things about the fact that you fuck outside of our relationship. I don't care about that, but you might."

"I've been called a lot of names. I don't care," Kip said firmly. He reached out and cupped Scott's face between his hands. "Are you serious about this?"

"I am," Scott said thickly. "I've been thinking about it since Christmas. The Vaughns meeting you scared me so much, but then nothing fucking happened. It was fine and I have this whole other house where it's fine. Shane told his parents and his friends. I never thought he'd do that. He's so brave and it made me feel like such a coward. I'm sick of hiding. I want to take you on dates without a chaperone. I want people to know how proud I am to be with you. So. We'll talk. We'll figure it out. One way or another."

Kip really wasn't a weepy person, but for the second time that month, tears pricked at his eyes. He threw his arms around Scott's neck. Poor Scott, out of arms, only scrubbed his cheek against the top of Kip's head like a cat.

"Fuck," Ilya muttered. "So sorry, Scott. I blew your boyfriend so good that he cries to think he has to have sex with you now."

"Shut up, brat," Scott said, releasing Ilya all at once so he almost fell off the couch entirely. That freed him up to hug Kip back at least.

"I am never going back to Russia," Ilya said, flat on his back spread over Scott's legs, entirely unconcerned. "There is nothing that loves me there. I will have my green card soon. If you want to come out, I will be there."

They both looked down at him. Ilya gazed back at them with a smirk. "What? You think I can sleep through so much loud whispering?"

"What about Shane?" Scott asked.

Ilya looked away. "I don't know. Him, you will have to ask. He is right to be afraid. I am, maybe, a little afraid too."

"Great, we can all be scared together," Scott said, dropping his hand to Ilya's stomach. "Except for Kip."

Kip sniffled. "Yeah, don't worry. No fears here."

"Brave little toaster," Ilya said.

"How the fuck do you know that one?" Scott asked.

"Some things do not stay in America where they belong," Ilya said with a shrug. "It was terrible."

"What are you two talking about?" Kip asked.

"Oh, now we have a movie we can show him!" Ilya said, a light in his eyes that Kip wasn't sure he liked.

"Come on, he doesn't deserve that," Scott said. "That movie upset me so much as a kid. You can't tell me you enjoyed watching it."

"Maybe not," Ilya conceded. "I think Shane would cry. Selling a cottage would be hard for him to imagine."

"Yeah, that's definitely why," Scott said with an eyeroll. "Sorry, babe. We won't show you the upsetting 80s cartoon movie."

"I am so fine with that," Kip said, clinging to Scott. "I've cried enough for like three years this month."

"Why else were you crying?" Scott asked with a frown, pulling him in closer. "What happened?"

"It's private," Kip said. "I had a moment with Shane."

Ilya pushed up onto his elbows to survey him, but to Kip's surprise, didn't press on that. Instead he asked, "Can we have pancakes for dinner?"

"Yes," Scott said, then winced. "Unless you want something else, love?"

Kip shook his head, "Pancakes are good with me. I think we could all use them. Will Sveta be back for dinner?"

He tried to be normal for Ilya's sake because he was clearly not all the way back from Russia yet, fun morning shenanigans aside. Kip kept it together while they ate pancakes, Sveta returning halfway through the meal and joining the conversation on childhood favorite movies as if she'd been there the whole time.

Kip quietly excused himself after dinner and went to his office, but he didn't even pretend he was going to work. He sat behind his desk and sat in the dark, vaguely listening to the playlist Elena had sent him. The violin music was nice, the man's voice that went with it rich and wry. Probably gay considering his topic choices.

Scott came up the stairs at some point, but he didn't knock. He turned on a lamp, sat down, took out his phone, and waited. Of course he did because he was perfect, apparently. Kip watched him, his handsome boyfriend who wore sadness like an itchy sweater. Scott had had every reason in the world to turn into a hardened cynical asshole.

Like Kip.

It was easy to be brave when you thought the consequences were never coming. Easy to say what someone else should do with their life until they take you up on it. 

What the fuck did he do with all this now?

Put his money where his fucking mouth was. 

Kip pushed himself out of the chair and went to the shallow closet in the corner of the room. The framed sketch he'd bought on a whim two years ago at a student art fair leaned against the shelves. He pulled it out.

The ease of the linework and the wash of watercolor had caught his eye at the time. It caught two figures in motion, dancing or embracing. Their faces were indistinct, their bodies sexless. One was washed in blues and greens, the other in reds and yellows. The colors bled from their feet into the undulating wavy floor below them.

Kip had been gripped by it in the moment and still found himself moved now. He strode out of his office and plucked up the toolkit Scott had left out on the coffee counter from the last time he'd hung a photo. The new picture was an outtake from the Nike ad, Ilya with his arm around Shane, whispering something in his ear while Shane looked to Scott speculatively.

The toolbox rattled as Kip set off down the stairs and he was aware of Scott getting up to follow him. In Scott's bedroom- no. In their bedroom, Kip stood on their bed and made a mark with a pencil. He went through the steps of the ritual that his father had carefully taught him years ago. The ritual that Scott enacted in the Nest every few months now, his forehead furrowed in concentration that always made Kip's heart skip a beat or two.

Nail in his mouth, Kip stood back and evaluated the space. Watching him in silent bemusement, Scott waited patiently for explanation. A hammer, a nail, a hook. Some things were simple. With care, Kip hung the picture. He used Scott's level, watching the bubbles settle perfectly between the lines. Then he turned to Scott and held out his hands.

Scott, bless him, put his hands out to him and held on as Kip hopped off the bed.

"I love you," Kip said.

"I love you too," Scott said, giving his hands a squeeze.

"I have a confession," Kip said with a tight smile.

"Is that you're bi? Because I'm not really concerned about that."

"I am still very gay, thank you," his laugh came out all wrong, so he just plowed ahead. "I thought you would never come out."

Scott frowned. "I told you I would eventually. I know that was- you gave me time."

"I told myself that I wasn't doing anything else and I loved you, so I might as well enjoy it while it lasted," Kip said softly. "Because if I didn't think you'd ever do it then I never had to worry about this being forever. I could pretend that we were playing house."

The devastation on Scott's face tore at him. "So you were pretending?"

"No," Kip said. "I was fucking up. Because this is so so real to me. You are everything to me, okay? I'm terrified of that. I'm not brave, I'm just a fucking asshole."

"Hey," Scott said, already trying to comfort him even though Kip had wounded him. The man was ridiculously good. Someone had to make sure the world didn’t take advantage of him.  

"It's true," Kip said firmly. "I've been ready for this to be over since we started. There's nothing brave about that. It's fucked up and it was wrong. This house, this family you've made, it's the realest thing in my life and that scares me so much."

"It's scary sometimes," Scott said, his brow wrinkling. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"Scott," Kip said, holding tight to the hands Scott hadn't pulled away. "I want to marry you some day. I was never supposed to want that. I was going to have my cake and eat it too. Hot boyfriend, angst on the side, no need to worry about what it meant that I wanted to do this thing that ruined my dad's life. But I do want it. I want you to come out if you're ready and I want to get down on one knee and propose properly someday after that. Once I graduate, probably."

"Oh," Scott said. "I- what?"

"Yeah, I know," Kip said and his voice was a mess now. Three times in a month? Twice in one day? Get it together, Grady. "I love you so much, I want to get over my childhood trauma for you. You should be used to that by now. Seems like a thing you bring out in people."

The embrace wasn't surprising, but the intensity did squeeze the air out of Kip's lungs. He hugged Scott back and held on. That was going to be the rest of his life, apparently. Holding on to Scott Hunter and hoping that got them where they both needed to go.

"I'll say yes," Scott told him. "You know I'll say yes."

"Okay," Kip said. "You promise?"

"Yeah, babe, I promise."

"Cool," Kip said. He inhaled Scott's familiar scent, all the abrasiveness of strong soap and stronger deodorant. Right now, there was a hint of Ilya's cologne too, embedded in his sweatshirt.

"You stayed all this time thinking I'd never do it?" Scott asked quietly. "Really? Kip, why?"

"Stupid, mostly," Kip said into Scott's shoulder. "I didn't think I could love anyone else the way I love you. No one could ever make me feel as good as you make me feel. As safe. As wanted."

"That doesn't sound stupid to me," Scott said. "But you're really loveable. Someone else could give you what you wanted."

"Oh yeah?" Kip pulled back to give Scott an incredulous look. "You think there's some other gorgeous, kind-hearted, clever, elite athlete, who would buy me a house because I wouldn't let him pay off my student loans? Someone else who is going to make a family from scratch and doesn't care if I like to fuck around with them too?"

"Well, when you put it that way," Scott said with a half-smile. "I guess that limits the options."

"There is only one Scott Hunter," Kip said. He rested his hand against Scott's chest, right over that steady heart. "If he'll still have me even though I doubted him."

"I doubted me," Scott said, a little raw. "If I'd never met you, I think I would have just hidden away for the rest of my life. Told myself it was enough that Ilya was there until he got the courage to move to Canada with Shane."

"Bleak," Kip said. "And wrong."

"Yeah?" Scott asked bemused. "You think I'd have any luck finding a cute art history student, who would give me a thousand chances to fuck up and likes true crime flirtation? There's only one Kip Grady too."

"I think you'd have come out on your own," Kip said. "I was wrong. You were wrong. You're strong and you're brave. You would've gotten there in your own time too. Or Ilya would've kicked your ass out of the closet when he got bored of it."

"You think he will?"

Kip hesitated then shrugged. "You know what? Who the fuck knows. I'm a bad judge of character, apparently. Are we okay?"

"Yeah, babe," Scott said and leaned down to kiss him. "I think we've got stuff to talk about, but we're okay."

"Awesome. I mean it you know," Kip said between kisses. "I'm going to propose. I want to marry you. This is forever. No escape."

"Where else would I want to be?" Scott laughed and tumbled them to the bed. The tool box clattered.

It went right on clattering, a percussive beat to their fervent sealing of promises.

Jane: When are you going back to Boston?

Lily: Tomorrow morning. I want to do morning skate.

Jane: You could take more time.

Lily: I want to play in Friday's game. I need to.

Jane: I get that. How are you feeling?

Lily: Tired. Bad. I don't know.

Jane: Can I help?

Lily: You are already helping.

Jane: Would it help more if I said I just bought plane tickets fo Boston for Friday night? I can only stay for like sixteen hours.

Lily: You're coming?

Jane: Yes. I wish I could get there faster, but that's the only window. I'll let myself in during the game. I'll be there when you get home.

Lily: Thank you.

Jane: You never have to thank me for that. I want to be there. I miss you so much.

Jane: Did your phone die?

Lily: No. There is a very loud noise upstairs, very distracting. I went to make sure no one was dead. Instead lots of moaning. I will tell you about it on Friday. I miss you too.

Dad: I emailed it to you. You’re sure you don’t want me to just make it?

Shane: I don’t think TSA will let me through with a jar of sauce. I can make it. 

Dad: Add a little butter. He seems like he could use it. 

Shane: He already eats enough butter. 

Dad: You know how people say the special ingredient is love? 

Shane: Yes

Dad: Love is in the butter, son.  Take it from me.  

Chapter 7: Socks and Flights

Chapter Notes

The chapter count has been updated and likely (never 100% certain) finalized. The plan for the remaining POVs is Shane, Ilya, then ending with Scott. I only mention it because there were a lot of requests for Ilya's POV and I want to be clear it's coming, just not right away.

I'm not closing the book on this verse when this story ends to to be clear though I want it to end in a satisfying place. I will likely write some other one shots in it (far shorter, I think). Anyway, we still have a ways to go in this one!

March 2017- Svetlana

Lily: This is a sad day.

Jane: What happened?

Lily: I finished the last of the chicken you made.

Jane: Fuck you, I thought something was actually wrong.

Lily: It is! That is the last piece of you in my house.

Jane: You're so weird. And a liar.

Lily: What lies? I am so honest with you now that it is disgusting.

Jane: I know about the box.

Lily: What box?

Jane: You were teasing me about the handcuffs, so I went poking around your closet.

Lily: No.

Jane: His gold medal? Really?

Lily: He had it under his underwear. He did not even notice it missing for six months!

Jane: Did he ask for it back?

Lily: He let me keep it.

Jane: I have so many questions.

Lily: Yes, you are very curious.

Jane: The box though. With my undershirt in it.

Lily: Could be anyone's undershirt.

Jane: When? I don't even remember losing one.

Lily: It doesn't matter. What are you wearing?

Jane: Baby, please.

Lily: 2013

Jane Calling. Call lasted 47 minutes.

"Socks," Ilya said. He was laying on her bed next to her suitcase in his underwear and a hoodie so boringly plain, it must've started life as Shane's.

"I have three pairs," she said.

"You'll be gone a week. You'll only wear three pairs of socks?"

"It's L.A., I'll be in sandals most of the time if I bother getting dressed at all," she pointed out.

"She'll have the A.C. up high and your feet will get cold. I hope Rose likes frozen toes between her thighs."

Sveta narrowed her eyes at him and Ilya gave her an equally icy look back. She sighed and went back to her dresser to get a few more pairs of socks. He made a small noise of triumph and she tossed one of the balled up pairs at his face. It didn't make it and he batted it neatly into her open suitcase.

"I hope she doesn't mind spending some time outside. I need to remember what summer feels like," Sveta said idly, picking out a few more tank tops while she was there. "Is Nashville warm this time of year?"

"Who knows? All I see of it is hotel rooms and the rink."

"Oh yes, because you never sample nightlife."

"These days I stay in my room and behave," he said loftily.

"Please, just because you don't fuck around doesn't mean you can't go out for a drink."

Ilya went quiet and Sveta turned, dumping everything into her suitcase. "Are you serious?"

He shrugged. "I go out sometimes. I have to. But it's not as much fun these days. Maybe I'm getting old."

"Oh yes, the great age of twenty-five," she rolled her eyes. "Almost twenty-six. You might as well retire."

"Is that what you will do?"

Her birthday was in three days and she was looking forward to spending it with Rose. Sveta had never had any particular fondness for her birthday, but celebrating it with her beautiful lover made it more appealing.

"Yes, I will retire from being unemployed," she scoffed.

"You are Anya's assistant! Very important job."

At the sound of her name, Anya raised her head up from her doggie bed, but when she determined no further interaction was forthcoming, she rearranged herself and fell back asleep.

"I haven't hated it as much as I thought I would," Sveta said idly as she went back through her suitcase. Considering how often she packed for long international trips, it was hard to take six days away that seriously. If she needed to, she was sure she could use Rose's things anyway. "I thought I would go crazy with so much time to think."

"You were already crazy," Ilya said, predictable as a clock. "You don't have to go to school. You could do this for as long as you want. You know Scott won't care."

"I'd care," she said. "It's good for a break, not as a lifestyle."

"Student Sveta returns," he said with a half-smile. "I will buy you all your little sticky notes and pens."

It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been spread over her tiny dorm room bed as she attempted to study for a test before giving up and letting him lead her to a club, spreading money around to make sure they had a good time. They hadn't done that much. He was already too recognizable to hang around a college campus for long without being co-opted by bro-y assholes that wanted a piece of a pro-athlete.

Ilya had always been interested in her textbooks and notetaking, though he teased her about them. There had been traces of longing there that she had seen when they were younger too. A path not taken, maybe, or just his forever longing for something to change in general back then.

"Let me get in before you start buying things," she said. "I'll send you a list of my office supplies, if it gets you off so hard."

"I do masturbate to highlighters."

The joke died on his lips, his face smoothing into blankness. Sveta sighed and zipped her bag closed and set it on the floor. There was time before she had to go. She lay down beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

"Tell me what you want to tell me."

"Shane and I came up with a plan."

"For what?" she asked bemused. Why was that making him so somber?

"I'll be a free agent next year."

"Yes," she said. "A good time to stick Boston up for more money."

"What if I left Boston?"

Sveta frowned. "To go where? Why?"

"Ottawa."

The word landed in the tiny space between their bodies with a thud. Sveta's breath caught and blood rushed into her ears.

"The Centaurs?" she checked.

"Yes."

"Ilyusha, what the fuck?"

"Ottawa is only two hours from Montreal. I could see Shane more," Ilya said and it sounded very reasonable.

"They're awful."

"So was Boston when I got there and I fixed them up."

"Not the same," Sveta said. "You were at the start of your career and they were poised for a rebuild. They had a great GM, a solid coaching team. The Centaurs are a mess because their management isn't invested in them. You can't do it all on your own."

"Maybe I care more about being with Shane than I do about winning," he said.

Sveta couldn't lay down and hear that. All at once she was hot all over and a little sick. She sat up abruptly.

"You will move away from all of us, from your team, to be a little closer to him?" She demanded.

"I love him. I want to be close to him," Ilya said. He didn't move, but she could feel the tension beside her.

"You want to cut off pieces of yourself to prove a point," she snapped.

"Oh, so should I stay in Boston, hours from everyone and pretend it’s fine forever so I'll stay with your favorite team?"

"I don't give a fuck about the Raiders!" she snapped and now she was on her feet. How had she even gotten there. She stared down at his stupid face. "I care about you and how you make terrible decisions that will hurt you all the fucking time!"

"You think Shane is a bad decision?" he challenged, pushing up onto his elbows to glare at her.

"Of course I don't! Do you know how much work I did to make sure you two fucking idiots didn't run away from each other? You know I like Shane. I like you two together, but I fucking hate how he probably gave you this idea one time and you signed on the dotted line because why should you do something kind for yourself? No. Instead you will make sure that you suffer the most and you will stop calling, stop talking. You will let everything here wither and die because you prefer to fucking suffer then just talk to people and admit what you want!"

The words flooded out of her. They came from somewhere deep, ragged and raw. As soon as they were said, she wanted to take them back.

Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she had been mulling them over in darkness for a very long time. Every summer when he traveled back with her to Moscow and smiled like he was chewing glass about it. Every time he picked up his brother's phone calls in front of her then walked away to another room like he could hide the money bleeding out of him across the world.

"You don't get to run my life," he said. "You can't even run your own."

The sound Sveta made was something between a scream and a sob. It startled her almost as much as it did him.

"Fuck you," she spat. "You're happier here than anywhere is the fucking world. You take care of yourself here. But what the fuck do I care? Go to Ottawa and be miserable. Give up on Scott and Kip and...and me, I guess. Fuck us, right? You can have Shane five more days a year and that's a fair trade."

"Sveta," he said brokenly. "That's not-"

"It is, Ilyusha. It is. Maybe you can lie to them, but I'll always know."

She was overcome with the need to leave. Just looking at him right now made her sick to her stomach. She leaned over to grab her bag.

"I just want-"

"You don't know what you want," Sveta said heavily. "Maybe I don't either, but at least I don't pretend I do."

"Don't leave," he said. 

"I think I deserve to be the one that leaves for once, don't you?"

"I never left you," he said. "You know I never did."

"But you want to," she said coldly. "And you want me to sign off on it. That's why you told me first. Well, I won't. Not this time. There's no blessing coming from me. Do what you want."

She turned her back on him and stormed down the stairs.

No one else was home. Her way out the door was unimpeded. Upstairs, Anya was barking and she could hear the dog starting down the stairs after her. If Sveta turned around right now, she could make it right. She could fuss over Anya and eat back her words with apologies. Ilya would probably accept them after being a dick for a bit.

She wasn't sorry. She hurt.

The car didn't come for another ten minutes, but she was steaming enough with anger to barely notice the chill as she stood out front and watched for it. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she ignored it.

Fucking Ottawa. Sure. Why the fuck not? Why not Vancouver or Detroit or the fucking Moon?

She got in the car and closed her eyes, jaw clenched and watched out the window as Sleepy Hollow gave way to the Sprain and then eased back into the city. With ruthless efficiency, she got herself through security and to her gate. Unable to avoid it any longer, she checked her phone. No messages from Ilya, but that didn't surprise her. It had been a long time since they’d fought, but she remembered the way of it.

Instead, there was a text from Rose making sure her flight was on time. Sveta sent confirmation. There was a message from Scott hoping she had a good flight. He got a green heart emoji.

There was one more and she stared at it for a long second before tapping into the conversation.

Shane: She's on a coconut-lime kick. Hope you like everything to taste like sunscreen.

Friendly. Teasing.

Did he know yet? Would Ilya tell him? Would she at last be marked as the problem, the roadblock on their way to imagined happiness?

Maybe. Maybe not.

She wanted to leave the words unanswered. Her anger was mostly for Ilya, but she felt it bubbling over onto Shane too, which wasn't fair. Of course he wanted his boyfriend closer. Shane was the one overcoming the distance all the time now. He'd seen something and seized on it. It wasn't his fault that Ilya didn't have the self-preservation of a toddler.

Neatly peeled tangerine slices set into her palm had left an indelible mark on Sveta. It was a small thing. It wasn't a house or an expensive bag or a plane trip. But not every act of care needed to be a three-act play. Sometimes it was noticing something that needed doing and doing it without being asked.

Sveta: I like sunscreen. Thank you. I do not like your plan. We fought about it. In case you are wondering why there is a shitty mood waiting for you when you call next.

Having reached her limit of helpfulness, Sveta put her phone in airplane mode early and went in search of magazines. She needed to look at pretty pictures and smell terrible perfume samples for a while. That's what airports were good for.

The flight itself was lovely. Sveta had splurged on the tickets, tapping into the savings she'd barely had to touch thanks to Scott's generosity. First class was a good place to be sullen. She hunkered down and accepted the luxuries, sipping her way through a glass of champagne at 11am on Wednesday morning. Music was a solace and she listened to a dozen beautiful women play guitar, singing about lost loves in both of her languages.

By the time she landed, Sveta was still in knots, but she felt a little less like she might throw up. She turned her phone back on. Only a text from Rose confirming that a car was waiting for Sveta outside with the license plate number. Baggage in hand, Sveta located the black towncar from a sea of them. The driver got out and held the backdoor open for her, a hand out for her suitcase. As Sveta handed it over, she noticed another woman in the backseat. She was looking out the opposite window, a heavy curtain of blond hair obscuring her face.

Bemused, Sveta hesitated, but the driver was already opening the trunk to put her bag in. Without any other recourse, Sveta got in. The woman had on a flowy maxi dress that hid her shape. Her feet were mostly bare though, just in strappy sandals and as strange as it was, Sveta now knew this body well enough to recognize the slightly bent second toe and the favored pale pink polish.

Sveta pulled the door shut with a smile, sealing them in behind anonymous dark glass.

"You are a very good spy," she praised.

"Do you think?" Rose asked with a laugh, turning to face her.

The ice blond was all wrong on her, washing out her already pale skin and mismatched to her expertly waxed eyebrows. It took away some of Rose's supernatural beauty and revealed a little of the girl who had grown up in a busy household in the suburbs with too many brothers and too much talent to stay there.

"I do. You didn't have to come pick me up. I thought you were tying up loose ends today so we could have more time."

"I did," Rose said and opened her hands wide, "all tied. We have five days, just you and me, I promise."

Sveta beamed at her. She had no idea if it was all right to kiss in front of this driver, so she didn't lunge across the seats like a hungry wolf. Instead, she crept her hand across the leather to snag Rose's hand. Their fingers interlocked. Rose didn't tug her closer either, so that was an answer.

"It's not a long drive. I already ordered in lunch at home, I hope that's okay."

"Yes, that's fine. I'm never hungry when I first get off a plane."

"Me either. I figure we can eat and then lay around today. I have some plans for tomorrow, but nothing we can't change if you don't like them."

"Okay," Sveta said. She tried not to wince as it tripped off her lips. Most of her English was almost unaccented when she was concentrating. But she had picked up Ilya's affectation around one of his favorite words a long time ago.

How dare he haunt even her own lips when she was furious with him?

"I was thinking of taking you to this fantastic spa," Rose said, too giddy to pick up on anything, thankfully. "We can get all the most ridiculous things. Seaweed wraps and whatever color light is meant to be good for you these days, you know? They have these lovely pools that smell amazing too. Then I could take you out to dinner. We won't get papped, I know a fantastic place that prides itself on privacy."

"A date?" Sveta asked quietly. The driver had music on and didn't seem at all interested in them at least.

"Yes," Rose said. "Is that okay?"

"I would love that."

The giddiness of the offer washed out some of Sveta's remaining tension. She would be in the moment with Rose now and worry about other things later.

It helped that being with Rose always suffused Sveta with the promise of good sex and conversation. They entertained each other with ease, laughter filling the car until they got to a gate. Rose got out of the car to punch in a very long code and asked the driver to get their bags out of the trunk.

"I could have him drive us to the door," Rose said a little apologetically as Sveta took control of her suitcase again. "I forgot you'd have a bag, sorry. My usual guy has the day off or-"

"It's fine," Sveta said. "I've carried this bag across entire cities more than once. I can roll it up your driveway too."

"I'm spoiled," Rose groaned. "Ignore me."

"I can't ignore you in that wig," Sveta laughed. "It comes off when we get inside?"

"It can come off as soon as we're past the trees," Rose promised. "I like having Cindy around."

"And who," Sveta asked with delight, "is Cindy?"

"She's my second personal assistant," Rose said with wide innocent eyes. "She's from Colorado, oldest of two sisters. Blond hair, blue eyes, and very shy."

"And is Cindy single?" Sveta asked.

"She's straight," Rose said immediately. "And she has a fiance. Ronald."

"Oh no, not Ronald," Sveta grimaced. "Cindy is a sweet girl. She can do better than a McDonalds mascot."

"That's what I keep telling her, but she never listens."

The treeline was a carefully cultivated wilderness. As they walked past it and Rose dutifully removed Cindy, who proved not to even be pinned in place, the house appeared. It was large, but not in the obscene way that Sveta had been bracing herself for. It had an older look to it though obviously impeccably maintained. Maybe Shane or Kip could have named an era, but Sveta only found it not so modern as to be off-putting. Inside, the main floor proved to have a massive living room as if ready to entertain fifty people. The kitchen was similarly enormous and mostly visible through a partial wall.

Rose didn't even slow down, guiding Sveta to the staircase tucked away in the back. The second story was like a second house. There was a kitchen that was still far too big for one person, but at least on a human scale and a living room that looked like people actually spent time in it. Where the downstairs had been grays and whites, neutral to the point of blankness, the spaces upstairs were in soft pastels. It reminded Sveta of an upscale boutique hotel in Florida she'd once stayed in.

Yet Rose pulled her still deeper down the hallway past what seemed to be guest rooms and maybe an office. There was a double door at the end of the hall with a keypad.

"The housekeeper has the code to let in cleaners," Rose explained as she punched in the numbers. "But it only works on the days she's supposed to be here. I gave her this week off. Sometimes I have guests and I prefer if they didn’t ‘accidently’ wander into my bedroom."

Being famous seemed exhausting, but Sveta kept that to herself as she stepped into Rose's actual space at last. The bedroom was big, of course, and the door was open into what looked like an obscene walk-in closet that Sveta wanted to pillage immediately. There was another door on the other side, likely for the bathroom.

The bedroom itself was dominated by the kind of bed that little girls dreamed of. It was an enormous four poster with whimsical wooden carvings all over it. Gauzy dusty lavender fabric hung from the posters, making the entire picture romantic and soft. The duvet was a lush purple velvet and the sheets beneath a buttery cream that invited the hand. A mound of pillows was stacked at the top.

The floors were wood, but there were thickly piled area rugs everywhere. Sveta kicked off her shoes and peeled away her socks to sink her feet into one. Rose ducked into the closet and returned without the wig. Or her dress. She stood in a matched set of underwear, silky and in Sveta's favorite shade of green. She glowed in the light pouring through the skylight above them.

"Do you like it?" Rose asked.

"Yes," Sveta said, her eyes all for Rose. "I love it."

She crossed to Rose and slid a hand around the back of her neck, drawing her in for a kiss at last. The promise of lunch was quickly forgotten in favor of spreading Rose over the decadent duvet and peeling her out of her tiny things. Sveta stayed fully dressed for long luxurious minutes as she ate Rose out with a ravenous hunger that had gone unfed for weeks. Every moan reached into Sveta's chest and picked out a knot in the thorny bristle of them.

"I can't come again," Rose cried out as her thighs trembled around Sveta's ears.

"I think you can," Sveta said, pressing to the top of her pubic mound. "Do you want to find out?"

For a moment, Sveta wondered if she'd pushed her too far. Rose's face was contorted into something close to a grimace; and then it cleared and she sagged back onto the bed.

"Yes. Please."

Sveta slid two fingers into Rose and bent herself to her task again. It turned out that Rose could come again though it sounded like it bordered on pain as Sveta fingerfucked her through it without mercy. It felt good to bury some of the tension that way, to slough off the last of her anger through an act of brutal worship.

When she withdrew, Rose lifted one hand towards her. "Kiss me."

Sveta crawled over her and kissed her, letting Rose lick away the taste of herself off Sveta's lips.

"I whited out," Rose told her. Her eyes were wild and her skin so flushed she could've been running a marathon. "You're so good at that."

"Mm, I have proper motivation," Svata said with a smile.

But when Rose reached for her, Sveta shook her head. With a frown, Rose's hands fell away. "Why not?"

"I won't come," Sveta admitted reluctantly. "Not because of you. My head isn't in the right place. I don't want you to waste energy and blame yourself."

Rose considered that, then asked, "If you won't be frustrated about it, wouldn't it feel nice for me to touch you anyway?"

Sveta frowned, "Yes, but-"

"Okay," Rose cut her off. "Then take off your clothes and let me touch my girlfriend. I missed her and her cute little butterfly."

"You like the butterfly?" Sveta groaned. "It's terrible. The artist was drunk. I was drunk."

"I love your drunk butterfly," Rose said.

Wait.

"Girlfriend?" Sveta asked.

"Is that okay?" Rose paused, her hand locked around the hem of Sveta's t-shirt.

Sveta smiled up at her. "Yes. It's only a first. I've had some boyfriends. Never a girlfriend."

"Same," Rose said, relaxing and sliding her hand under Sveta's shirt instead of tugging it up. Her palm was warm and inviting as it cupped Sveta's ribs. "So can I get my girlfriend naked and show her how I missed her?"

What could Sveta say in the face of that? She helped Rose strip her and tried not to laugh as Rose planted kisses over the butterfly on her thigh. The plan had been to get a cover up eventually, something less basic and embarrassing. Sveta barely remembered getting the stupid thing, a whim of the tattoo artist boyfriend she'd had for five weeks in her freshman year of college. When Ilya had discovered it there, he hadn't said a word. He'd only traced his fingers over it with a perplexed expression. When she could offer no explanation, he'd nodded and let it go.

Sometimes she wished he had asked. She wasn't sure what she would've said, but if there had been any rhyme or reason to it, he was the only one she would have told at the time. Maybe it would've stuck with her better instead of winging away into the annals of other bad decisions.

Maybe she had gotten it for this moment. Some drunken part of her connected with the future and said 'one day the most beautiful woman in the world will need a spot on you to kiss that is hers alone'.

Ridiculous. Beautiful. Rose touched and kissed her all over, reclaiming her from the staleness of air travel and the bitterness of harsh words until Sveta was entirely there with her. She didn't try to make Sveta come, but she did make her feel good. Usually Rose put her hair back when they were naked together. Today with all the to-do with the wig, she seemed to have forgotten and the soft ends teased over Svetlana's skin like another hand.

Eventually, Rose snuggled into Sveta's side, giving her shoulder a few last tiny kisses. "Good?"

"Fantastic," Sveta assured her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Are you hungry now?"

"Yes, I think so."

Rose's relationship to food fascinated Sveta. Her weight had to be carefully maintained, which meant pre-portioned personal chef-created meals at home. Yet, she had an enormous sweet tooth and always had a little baggie of some kind of candy in her bag or pocket. She nibbled on it like a happy bird throughout the day.

They ate an inoffensive meal that had come out of fancy tupperware with their legs tangled together under the table in the upstairs kitchen. Rose hadn't bothered getting dressed beyond pulling on fresh panties so Sveta did the same. It felt free and a little naughty to sit nearly naked together like that. Their conversation was idle, recounting tiny stories from the week. They spoke often on the phone, texted even more, so there was little ground they hadn't already covered.

"So," Rose said as she rinsed off their plates before slotting them into the dishwasher like a sexy naked maid. "Do you want to tell me why you're in a weird headspace?"

"Ugh," Sveta said and rubbed at her eyes. "I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it. I had a fight with Ilyusha."

"I didn't think you guys did that," Rose said.

"We do. We have. It's been awhile," Sveta sighed. "When we were kids we fought all the time. Everything was a big drama, you know? Stealing attention from each other at the club, who had paid for drinks last, who smoked the last cigarette from the pack we were sharing. Nonsense things."

"This wasn't nonsense," Rose determined.

"It wasn't," Sveta said. "It was big life stuff. I said things I meant, but in a cruel way and he was cruel back."

"That must suck. I know you guys love each other a lot. Must take a lot for you to not pull your punches."

"Things are different now. It was easy to prioritize each other when there wasn't really anyone else," Sveta said. "Now there's so many people. There's you."

"You don't have to include me because I'm standing here," Rose said and she seemed in earnest.

"It's different with you," Sveta said. She studied Rose, a story in shades of red and pink in her pink and blue kitchen. A woman made of all the good soft things that Sveta liked and also a hardened core that allowed very little bullshit. "I think maybe we're something new to me."

"It's new to me too," Rose said with a small smile. "I like it."

"It's good," Sveta agreed. "So yes. You are included."

"Cool," Rose said. Then winced. "Ugh. Strike that from the record."

Sveta laughed and got to her feet, crossing to her. She pulled her into a kiss, then looked into her eyes and said very seriously, "No."

"Mean," Rose groaned.

"Very."

Rose let her change the subject. Or rather, Rose let Sveta stop talking again for a while. They landed back in the bed and took naps before venturing into Rose's backyard as the sun went down. They cooled their legs in the pool and shared a single enormous mixed cocktail that Rose had made with a lot of guesswork. It tasted like orange juice with a lethal edge.

Tipsy and giddy with it, they put on a movie that Rose had heard terrible things about and laughed their way through it. They fell asleep in the enormous wonderland of Rose's bed, Sveta's internal clock still a little confused, but willing to try.

She woke at 2 am.

Her feet were cold.

With a groan, she slid out from under the covers and knelt beside her bag to pull out an extra pair of socks. She held them tightly in her hand.

Ottawa. The citizenship clock restarted, the danger fresh and raw. Close to Shane. Far from the rest of them. Would he take Anya with him? He had to. She would make him. It would kill her, but she would. Scott would miss the dog. Kip would too. But Ilya needed her, especially if he was going to a new place.

The last time Ilya had ventured across the world, Sveta had already been here. Boston had been her city first, even if it was only by a year. She had made friends with other Russian kids their age and drew him into the circle, so he knew more than hockey people.

This would be without her. Truly really without her. She knew he didn't need her like that anymore. They were adults and he was arguably more mature than her in a number of ways. Parts of their lives had always been secret from each other, partially by accident and partially by design. The years that Sveta hadn't known about Scott and Shane or really any of Ilya's other lovers were more than she had known about them. Ilya had never met her work friends or any of her boyfriends, short-lived as they were.

She sat down beside her suitcase and pulled on her socks, then couldn't find the motivation to get up again. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. The churn of her anger had given way to sadness. Grief.

It was inevitable, probably. Friends weren't supposed to hold on this hard or for this long. Their lives should not be so entangled. It was natural. Good.

So why did it feel so brutally awful?

Eventually, she unfolded from the floor and got back into bed. Rose slept quietly and curled up on herself. When Sveta carefully molded herself around her, Rose sighed and unfurled a little against her. The body heat was soothing. Sveta inhaled the subtle perfume of Rose's hair and closed her eyes. Sleep returned.

The next day went exactly as Rose had outlined it. The spa was gorgeous and Sveta had no issue following Rose from room to room wrapped in thick bathrobes. They were massaged, oiled, red lit, hot stoned and dunked into three different pools of hot water and one freezing cold one. Iced tea with a dozen botanical flavors was poured endlessly into champagne glasses. At one point, they were left in a room with the largest charcuterie platter Sveta had ever seen and that served for their lunch.

When they were turned out glowing and fresh, they both shopped through Rose's closet. Sveta was a few inches taller, so they dismissed pants out of hand, but dresses could still work and Rose had plenty of those.

"I have to admit this was not a part of having a girlfriend I really thought about, but it's so great," Rose gushed, holding up a spangly navy blue number. "You would look amazing in this."

"Hand it over then," Sveta said and skinned out of her shorts and tank top to try it on.

"This is the best dressing room experience of my life," Rose decided.

Sveta laughed even as she took the dress and unzipped it. "Eyes up here, beautiful. Unless you want me to fuck you in that chair. I don't think it was made to hold two people's weight."

With a thoughtful noise, Rose's eyes slid to the chair as Sveta pulled on the dress. It did look stunning on her. It also looked stunning on the floor. The chair did not break, though it did make several ominous creaking noises as Rose arched up under Sveta's hands. They adjourned to bed after that. Sveta came around Rose's slender fingers and the fine point of her tongue, the calm that settled over her afterwards almost supernatural.

The glow of the spa and fantastic sex lingered on them as they walked into the kind of restaurant so expensive that no one dared talk above a low hum. Everything was served like art and half of it tasted like divine fruits. The rest of it was ordinary or even bad, but that was all to the good because they could laugh about and force each other to try things with ridiculous names.

It was, all told, one of the most perfect days of Sveta's life. They ended it in bed again, long slow kisses eventually folding into sleep. Sveta didn't wake in the middle of the night this time. She'd put her socks on before she fell asleep.

"Do you want to meet some of my friends?" Rose asked the next morning, very casually. So casually that Sveta was almost positive she'd wanted to ask and hadn't since Sveta arrived. Maybe even before.

"Yes," Sveta said.

"There's a pool party today at Joanie's house. Not a big one. We'll say you're my friend from out of town. Miles and Julian already know."

"You mentioned them," Sveta said, like Rose wasn't talking about her second most famous co-star and the indie movie darling of the last five years.

"I trust them. They both love gossip, but only to hear it. They don't spread it around. Everyone else I'm friendly with. They won't guess. I told them that I met you last year."

"How did we meet?" Sveta asked.

"Through Shane," Rose said with a shrug. "They all think it's funny that I dated an athlete for some reason. I guess it's kind of cliche, but they think I was very inventive going for hockey instead of football or baseball."

"Do any of them watch hockey?" Sveta asked without much hope.

"Not a one," Rose said with a half-smile. "Sorry. We'll have to talk about the million and one other things you're really smart about."

"Terrible," Sveta decreed. "But I will cope."

Technically, Sveta had brought her own bathing suit, but it was far more fun to let Rose get excited about finding one for her to wear. Bikinis of every kind emerged.

"Can this one even get wet?" Sveta asked, holding up what amounted to a bundle of beaded strings.

"Ugh, no, give it to me, I've got a bag for things to donate."

"That’s not a donation. It's a crime."

"Some people like secondhand crimes. Oh, how about this gold one?"

Sveta did not wear the gold one, but she did set it aside for a more private pool party later. Instead, she shimmied into an almost demure maroon tankini with interesting cut outs and slipped her own sundress over it. Rose owned a flock of sunhats and was the picture of summer relaxation as they got into the back of a car.

The party was like a hundred others Sveta had been to for her old job. Thirty or so people that mostly knew each other, trying hard to impress the handful of people they didn't know and might be important. Rose ignored most of that in favor of a small table of her friends. Miles and Julian were both lovely in different affected ways.

"I did like Shane," Miles said with a slight pout. "But you're more fun."

"Thank you," Sveta said with a half-smile. "I think you'd be surprised though. Shane can be very fun in the right situation. He's just not much of a party person."

"I can't believe I missed meeting him to be in Dallas of all places," Julian bemoaned. "That movie better win awards, I swear."

"Maybe he'll visit me some time," Rose said. "If you promise to behave, I'll introduce you."

"I'd love that," Julian said with apparent sincerity. "You know Hao will want to ask him ten thousand questions."

"Julian's boyfriend writes screenplays," Miles pronounced like it was a terrible disease. "He always wants to know about non-Hollywood people's lives."

"He directs a little too," Julian said mildly. "He does like to ask questions."

Rose leaned in to whisper to Sveta as the two men got up to refresh their drinks. "Hao's a huge director, actually. He passed Miles over for a part though, so there's tension. Don't mention anything about black holes."

"That's what the movie was about?"

"I have no idea. Hao makes horror films and they scare the shit out of me. I haven't even seen the ones Jules is in. Don't tell him," Rose said with a wrinkle in her nose. "I read the reviews later and say I did."

"Our secret," Sveta promised.

It was delightful to do this again. It had been some time since Sveta has schmoozed around a party with a trusted companion, trading whispers and secrets. No one was more than passingly curious about Sveta as soon as they were sure she wasn't in the industry and was firmly glued to Rose's side for the evening.

"You were really good at that," Rose said in the car on the way back.

They had slipped away while the party was still in full force, avoiding a sudden infusion of coke into the proceedings. Sveta didn't object to a bump once a year or so, but she got the immediate feeling that Rose was less libertine with it.

"I had a lot of practice," Sveta said.

"You said your dad took you to a lot of events. They couldn't have been like this though."

"More formal," Sveta agreed. "But the rules of the game are the same. Men in uniform and men in Bermuda shorts still want the same things."

"True," Rose said and took Sveta's hand in hers again. Sveta gave it a light squeeze, pleased to be so linked together. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer."

"Of course," Sveta said. Why had she said that? Too much sun, maybe.

"You talk about your father a lot, but never your mother."

Sveta went still. Inside and out. "That isn't a question."

"You know it is," Rose said patiently.

The driver, Rose's regular guy apparently, was staring straight out the glass. He didn't care, most likely.

"I'll tell you about her. Maybe back at your place though."

"Okay," Rose said.

She didn't say Sveta didn't have to again. Maybe she thought it was implied or maybe she really didn't want to give Sveta the out. Either way, they said nothing else. When they got home, Sveta changed into pajamas for the first time, instead of assuming a joyful nudity in bed. Rose matched her in boxers and a faded t-shirt that must predate her fame by several years.

This was a conversation Sveta would prefer to have in the dark. Would prefer to have not at all. It was one she had avoided almost entirely most of her life. Ilya knew, of course. They had met at fourteen after the worst of the damage had been done to both of them, but long before either of them understood what that meant. In that dusty fur-coat-lined closet, they had unfurled their pain for each other. Too young, too drunk, too stupid, too naked to know they were braiding themselves together with their broken hearts still bleeding.

Rose sat cross-legged on her bed. There was pain in Rose's life, no one was free of that. But she was a woman grown with two loving parents and her roughly affectionate brothers. Her life was richly appointed and she knew how to navigate it to get the best out of it. The bedside lamps and the moon itself gave the room a rosy glow. 

How did you explain agony to someone who rarely felt it? How did you say it so it didn’t sound so bad? The past was the past, a land of scar tissue, not of active wounds. 

Reluctantly, Sveta sat down across from her.

"It's not an interrogation," Rose said and reached out her hand. "You can sit next to me, Sveta."

Oh. That was nice. Sveta moved and they wound up against the headboard instead with her head resting on Rose's shoulder. Much better.

"It's not that dramatic," Sveta said. "I just don't like talking about it."

"I got that impression," Rose said. "From the whole everything about how you reacted tonight. Is she awful?"

"No," Sveta said. "She's…wonderful, actually."

"Wonderful," Rose repeated in disbelief.

"She is. She's so smart. Talented. Generous," Sveta said, eyes closing tight. "But she's not like…she is my mother, but she's not my mama. I don't have one of those."

"I don't think I understand, sweetheart," Rose said in a much gentler way than she usually bothered with for Sveta. It hurt, but it was nice too.

"My father liked this old-fashioned English phrase for it. He said I was a 'love child'," Sveta said. "I know he meant well, but it always made me suspicious of love."

"I don't think anyone would care anymore that your parents weren't married."

"Oh, but my mother is married," Sveta said grimly. "Just not to my father."

"That seems not ideal."

Rose's thumb rubbed gently over the point of Svetlana's shoulder. That was nice. Comforting. Sveta wasn't sure she could be comforted right now, but she appreciated the effort.

"It wasn't. They met when my father was still on the Raiders. He'd been married briefly in his early twenties to an American, but they'd divorced pretty quickly. I guess he was already thinking about what he'd do when he left hockey. He'd always been interested in politics and our family had some connections. Sometimes he'd get invited to the right kind of parties. That's where he met my mother."

"At a party?" Rose coaxed when Sveta came to a stop.

"Yes," she sighed and went on reluctantly. "She was the wife of Russia's diplomat to France. He'd met her there. My mother was born in England, but she got into the Sorbonne."

"Oh, so she's smart smart," Rose said. "Damn."

"Very. But also…" Sveta sighed. "Smart in head, not in the heart. She dropped out to marry her husband because she was so taken with him. I think he saw her more as easy money. Her parents were very wealthy. She’s never changed her tune though. Always says that she loves him."

"Do you believe her?" Rose asked.

"I don't know," Sveta admitted. She crept in closer so their legs pressed together. "I want to say no. She didn't love him enough not to cheat on him anyway."

"Was it a one-night stand?"

"That would be too simple," Sveta said with a hollow laugh. "She may love her husband, but as soon as she met my father they started having an affair. Neither of them like to talk about it, but it must've been months, I think. Either way, my mother thought she couldn't have children, but it must be her husband who couldn't. She found out too late to do anything about it."

"I thought that only happened in tv shows. You can just not know?" Rose asked, appalled. "Don't you get sick or something?"

"She was only ever a little sick, she said. Short enough to think it was a virus. There was no way I could have been her husband's. He had left her in D.C. alone for a few months while he went back to Russia. My father and her decided that she would fake a medical emergency with her mother before her husband got back, so she would have a reason to hide out in London. She wanted to put me up for adoption, but my father begged her to give me to him instead."

"You were wanted," Rose said quietly. Had she been worried about that? Was that something that mattered to Rose? Why?

"Wanted enough to keep," Sveta amended. "He hired a lot of help. My mother worked on his behalf, putting his name in the right ears when she could. They both say the affair ended before I was born, but they did a lot for each other long past that. He moved up the ranks, she stayed a diplomat's wife. I met her for the first time when I was ten."

"Ten!" Rose protested. "Why did it take so long?"

"They needed to know I was old enough to keep their secret," Sveta said flatly. "They were playing a very dangerous game. My father had a mysterious daughter and known ties to the wife of a very important man. Do you think there are many people who look like me back home?"

"I don't know," Rose admitted. 

“There aren’t. Some, but not enough that people wouldn’t ask questions.” 

"Where did he tell people you came from?"

"He told people my mother was an American woman who had inconveniently died. It was easier for people to accept that."

"So you thought your mother was dead until you were ten?" Rose’s voice cracked with incredulaity. 

Put that way it did sound bad. "Not really. Papa was careful about what he told me. I couldn't know the truth in case I told the wrong person, but he let me know in his way that she was still around."

"That must've been confusing as hell."

Sveta shrugged. "It was cleared up in the end. It was worse meeting her. She was a stranger. She asked me to call her Clarissa. My father left me at her townhouse in London for a week and we had to just get to know each other like that. It was awkward."

Under Sveta's head, Rose’s chest heaved with very deep breaths. "Okay. So you got to know her a little."

"Better over the years. I spent summers with her after that. We couldn't be seen out too much together, but she was clever about finding ways to keep me entertained."

"You baked," Rose guessed.

"A lot," Sveta said. "She taught me some French and sharpened up my English. I learned how to manage dinner parties and how to deal with my hair. It was more like…a very cool aunt, you know?"

"Sure," Rose said tightly. "Why didn't you go to college in England? Wouldn't that have brought you closer to her?"

"Who said I wanted to be closer?"

It came out bitter. Of course it did. Sveta was deeply bitter. She tried not to think about it much, but how could she not be?

"You never mention going to London. Do you not talk anymore?"

"We do," Sveta said. "I call sometimes. Sometimes she calls me. She came to Boston last year and we spent a few days together. It's not like you and your mother, Rose. I'm not missing her when we're apart."

"Baby, I think you are a little."

Rose sat up a little so she could see Rose's face. There wasn't anything unkind in her expression. Her brow was a little furrowed.

"I'm not a baby," Sveta said sullenly.

"Okay," Rose said. "Are pet names out entirely or can I try a few and see which ones you like?"

"You can try a few," Sveta conceded. "I don't use them much."

"That's okay," Rose said. "I chose my name, so it feels nice when people use it."

"You did?" Sveta asked, bemused.

"Yeah, there was already an Elizabeth Landry in SAG and I love flowers," Rose said like this was common knowledge. "My family all still call me Lizzie."

"Your name is Elizabeth?" Sveta asked, bewildered all at once.

"No, my name is Rose," she said simply. "But it used to be Elizabeth."

"Okay," Sveta said and gave up on trying to look like a person. She simply flopped back against Rose like a ragdoll. "This is a very weird night."

"I don't like your parents very much," Rose confessed, kissing Sveta's forehead as if in apology.

"You would like my papa if you met him. Everyone does," Sveta said quickly. The idea of Rose and her father meeting was stomach-churning, but the thought of Rose taking against him was worse. "He's a good man and he did his best with me."

"You're pretty great, so I guess I'll have to give him a little credit," Rose conceded.

"Can we stop talking about them now? Possibly forever?" Sveta asked and she knew she sounded too young and cranky with it, but she couldn't stop herself.

"For tonight definitely," Rose said. "I'm wiped out too."

Sleep took away some of the sharper edges of the night. They spent the last two days they had together with mostly only each other for company. Rose didn't pry anymore and didn't act any differently than before she told her. Sveta's phone stayed respectfully quiet. Either Scott and Kip hadn't been looped into the fight or they had collectively agreed to let her cool off while she was away.

It was strange to see the group chat and her private ones go so quiet. When had she started texting Kip so regularly? Who had put in the grocery shopping order this week? Was Anya missing her or was she content with the alternating attention of Scott and Ilya? Had the crocuses come up yet? Scott had said they had come up in March last year, startling him a little. He'd been certain they would die immediately in the cold until he'd done some frantic googling and realized they were right on time.

Shane had won his game in Pittsburgh. Ilya had won over Nashville. Scott had lost against Vancouver, but had gotten back on his winning streak right after.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked her.

They were eating lunch at another discreet place with the best chicken salad Sveta had ever eaten. It was their last few hours together and as much as they had both wanted to spend them in bed, their bodies had finally given out as had Rose's pre-stocked meals.

"I think," Sveta said with a disbelieving laugh, "that I'm a little homesick."

"For Russia?" Rose asked bemused.

"For Sleepy Hollow. Isn't that odd? It's only been six months."

"I don't think so," Rose said. She picked up a few cherry tomatoes out of her salad and put them on Sveta's plate. It was so casual. So obvious. Rose didn't like them and Sveta loved them. It was a slice of peeled tangerine in Sveta's outstretched palm. "Sometimes places can become home really quick. Or people."

"I like your house," Sveta said. "I like you."

Rose beamed at her as if she said something momentus instead of stupefyingly obvious. "I like you too. A lot."

"Come visit soon?" Sveta asked.

"As soon as I can," Rose promised.

Cindy rode with her back to the airport, their hands joined on the seat again. They kissed once quickly and carefully behind the shield of blond hair when the driver got out to get Sveta's bags.

The flight back was long with periods of turbulence she could have done without. There was no be-wigged girlfriend in the Uber that took her back to Westchester. It was a nice enough car, but it lost a lot of points for that.

Anya started barking before Sveta could get out her keys. The front door swept open as she wrangled them out, revealing Scott in his layabout clothes, hair mashed up to one side like maybe he'd been taking a nap on the couch. He reached out and plucked her suitcase out of her hand as Anya charged out to greet her. Sveta let her lick her face once then pressed her face into warm fur that smelled the way only a clean dog could smell.

Then she stepped inside the house and let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"How was your trip?" Scott asked mildly.

"I had a good time. A great time," she amended. "I haven't had a proper vacation like that in awhile."

"Was it relaxing?" he asked, heading towards the stairs as if he meant to drop her bag there. She trailed after him.

"Mostly. We talked a little too. You know. Relationship things."

"I know," he said with amusement. "Heavy stuff sometimes. Everything good though?"

"Yes, all good. I have a girlfriend."

"Congratulations," Scott said solemnly. He waited by her door and she opened it herself. He set her suitcase inside the door. "She's a good one, I think."

"I think so too," Sveta said, the tomatoes from the morning still vivid on the white plate of her mind.

"I'm going to put dinner together in a bit. Want to eat and watch the game? Kip'll be back soon."

"Yes," she said. "I'll take a shower first."

He started to turn to leave and she reached out, her hand alighting on his wrist. He stopped, waiting her out as she gathered herself.

"Is he still very angry with me?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Is Shane?"

Scott grimaced. "I'm not sure. You know Ilya. He didn't even tell me you guys argued. I found out from Kip because Shane mentioned it to him in passing. No one's talking about what it was even about."

She wasn't sure if that was better or worse. Had Ilya backed down when she pushed back or had he only been using her as a test run before he brought it to Scott? Or something else entirely? All the weight of it fell back around her, damp and heavy.

"I think I would like a hug," Sveta said quietly.

Scott didn't need any more than that to wrap her up against him. She hugged him back ferociously. He'd showered since practice, only the thick scent of heavy deodorant clinging to him. It was nice to linger there for a minute.

Maybe it was home.

"Get cleaned up then come keep me company while I cook?" Scott asked as he released her. "Missed you, roomie."

"I missed you too," she said which was ridiculous, but true and clearly made Scott happy, so why not say it?

They had an easy routine with dinner when Scott was home. Sveta set the table and poured their drinks. If Scott was being ambitious about the meal, she did the side dish, but usually it was simple enough that her main job was talking with him while he worked or picking music to listen to.

Tonight, they talked about the Admirals. He was overflowing with pride for his team right now, as he very well should be, and it was easy to meander through the strengths they were building and the weaknesses they were trying to iron out before the playoffs. The playoffs which they were definitely making unless something went hideously awry in the next handful of games.

Anya started barking as Scott declared the chicken done and the front door opened.

"Hello!" Kip called out. "Is Sveta back?"

"Hello!" she called back. "Do you want brown rice or extra carrots?"

"Carrots, please! I'll be right there, gotta hit the head first."

Two minutes later, Kip was receiving his welcome home kiss from Scott and giving her a quick hug before sitting down to devour his dinner.

"I missed lunch," he said a little apologetically. "It's really good, babe."

"Thanks," Scott said. "What happened to lunch with Dr. Horowitz?"

"Oh, we still met, but our order got mixed up or something and by the time the food got there I had to go," Kip said, stabbing his fork with a lot of enthusiasm into the carrots. "I meant to pick something up, but the later train was a local and I just could not with that today. Anyway! How was Cali, Sveta?"

"Sunny," she said. "Redheaded, pink-lipped and very sweet."

"Cute," Kip deemed.

"I have a girlfriend now," she said, this time as smugly as she wanted to. Kip whistled low and appreciative. "We had a very good time."

"Glad to hear it. You know I follow Julian Plauvich on Instagram. He posted some really nice pictures from that party. Was that okay or is he a monster?"

"It's fine. He let Rose approve them," Sveta said. "We don't look very couple-y in them, I think."

"The sunglasses were doing a lot of work," Kip agreed. "Still, you should save them. You both look really happy, it's sweet."

"I will, thanks."

There was a pause and Kip gave her a very mild look. "Everything good?"

"If he hasn't told you, I'm not going to either," she said, looking away. "It's not mine to talk about."

"Okay," Kip said. "It was worth a shot. Are we doing dessert?"

They both looked to Scott, who was still shoveling chicken into himself to feed the furnace that burned calories and churned out hockey with brisk efficiency. He paused at their dual regard and lifted his eyebrows.

"You think I had time to make dessert appear today?"

"Yes," Kip said.

Scott sighed. "Yeah, I got you those chocolate croissants you like that are the size of your head. They're in the bag by the sink."

"I love you," Kip said, leaping to his feet. He dashed a kiss across Scott's cheek.

They did split a croissant, licking rapidly melting chocolate off their fingers as Scott ate his fruit salad with grim determination. Without any discussion, they adjourned to the living room to put on the game. Their timing was good, the first puck dropping almost as soon as they were settled.

"Who are we rooting for tonight? I think we did the Raiders last time," Kip said, cuddling in under Scott's arm. Sveta sat nearby, already pulling a blanket down around her.

"We can split it. You know Sveta won't root for the Metros," Scott said.

"It's against my religion," she said.

"I'll root for Shane then," Kip decided. "You can be neutral, babe."

"Probably for the best. Looks like I might facing one of them down soon and I'm not sure which one I'd rather deal with at this point."

The first period went without either team scoring. Shane and Ilya were both playing well though and Sveta relaxed a little. Whatever their fight meant, it hadn't thrown Ilya off his stride. If anything, he was playing with a lightness she hadn't seen in some time. It was fun to watch him dash around, practically playing tag with Shane on the ice. They transcended the rest of the players, darting through them more like obstacles.

Until the middle of the second period.

"Oh ow!" Kip said as Shane took a hard hit and went down. "Jesus, that never gets easier to see."

Scott went very quiet, leaning forward a little. Two seconds went by. Three. Four.

"He's not moving," Sveta said under her breath.

"Get up," Scott said intensely. "C'mon Shane, show them a little life."

On the screen, Ilya looked equally concerned, hovering over Shane's body. He no longer looked capable and strong, but instead like a lost little boy.

Not even Rozanov wants to see someone take a hit like that.

"Shut up," Sveta and Scott said in unison.

The medics came out. A ref pushed Ilya away like he was an annoying insect instead of a desperately concerned boyfriend. Of course they did. For a moment, Sveta held on to the hope that the medics would check Shane over and get him to his feet. As soon as they signaled to someone waiting on the side though, she knew.

"He's unconscious."

"Concussion," Scott said. "At the very least. He went down hard."

"Shit," Kip said. "Oh god. Poor Shane."

"They'll take care of him," Scott said, probably attempting to soothe, but his tone was all wrong.

Little Shane on the TV was strapped to a board and carted off screen. Commercials came up.

"They're going to make Ilyusha keep playing," Sveta said.

"And he'll have no idea what's going on with Shane,” Kip said with dawning horror. 

"At least Hollanders’ parents know about him. He can text them and get information," Scott said, sitting back and shaking his head. "Fuck. What a nightmare. What the fuck can we do?"

"You two can't do shit," Sveta said, resolution already gathering in her. She got to her feet. "Book me a flight."

"You just got here," Kip protested.

"If Scott goes it will be a news story the size of Texas and you can't walk in with Ilya without a thousand questions," Sveta said. "I've done longer travel days. It's not even a long flight."

"Sveta, you really don't have to go running to him. Ilya will be fine. Shane will be…I don't know, but it's okay. He'll have his parents and Ilya," Scott said. Even his eyes were darting to the TV like they might come back and announce it had all been a mistake.

"You think we haven’t been there for each other when we were at each other's throats before?" Sveta demanded. "I don't care. Get me a flight or I'll book it myself."

"I'm on it," Scott said, already getting out his phone. "I'll ask around, figure out what hospital they might take him to and get you a hotel room nearby. Ilya will have to go on to the next game. Maybe the Hollanders will need a little help."

"Maybe," she said, already resolved to force them to let her if Shane showed any desire for her to stay.

Fuck, please let Shane be okay enough to tell her to stay or go.

"Do you have enough clean clothes to pack?" Kip asked, getting to his feet. "I'll help you."

The suitcase was right where Scott had left it. With Kip's help, they replaced dirty things with clean ones.

"Socks," she said.

"You already packed a few pairs."

"Not for me. Hospitals are cold," she said and ducked out into the hallway.

She had been in Ilya and Shane's room dozens of times, but never without either of them there. It felt abandoned in a way she didn't let herself think about as she darted into the closet. It would make sense to grab a pair of Shane's own socks. Instead, she took Ilya's. Thick black ones that he'd bought in Russia and wore on the worst winter days in Boston. There was nothing to mark them as his, but Shane only wore the standard white and gray ones. It would only be noticeable to his parents hopefully.

When Kip saw what she held, he took them from her and gave them a squeeze before tucking them in carefully to the suitcase.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I'm not the one in a hospital bed or trying to play hockey not sure if my boyfriend is alive or not," Sveta said. "I'm fine."

"You're going above and beyond. I hope he appreciates it."

Sveta zipped her suitcase closed and pressed her hands against it. "When I was fifteen, I was afraid of the man who lived in the apartment next to mine. He was a strange person and I'm not sure he ever meant me harm, but he would linger in the hallway when I got home from school and sometimes if I went out at night he would still be there, watching. My father said he was just strange and I should ignore him. But he wasn't the one with eyes all over his body, you know?"

"What a dick," Kip said, watching her closely.

"Ilyusha came home with me one afternoon. I don't remember why. Usually he had practice. He saw how scared I was. After that, he walked me home every afternoon even though it meant he had to run to catch a bus to make it to practice on time. If we were going out, he came to the door. He never let me walk by that man alone. It went on until we moved. Six months. We were children. It was so much work. Ilyusha did it anyway."

"He's a good man," Kip said.

"He can be," Sveta said. "I don't care if he's good to the world. He has always been good to me when it mattered. So even if I want to strangle him, I will be there."

"Okay then," Kip sighed. "Makes sense. You guys are really intense about each other in a way I keep forgetting about. It's scary and cute all at once."

"We are not cute," Sveta said because Ilya wasn't there to say it for himself. "But thank you. I will tell you as soon as I know anything."

"Please," Kip said with no little urgency. "Fuck that was scary. I really hope he's okay."

Whatever magic Scott had worked got her on a flight that left in an hour and a half. Scott drove her with icy concentration, the radio silent as he maneuvered through traffic.

"Thank you," she said as they slowed going into the departures lane. "I know I'm being a little crazy."

"Are you kidding? Thank fuck you were there or I would've done something stupid and gone myself," Scott said. He leaned over and kissed her temple once lightly. "Tell them both we're with them. Take this too."

He proffered up a wad of cash. She took it with bemusement. "Do you think I'm going shopping?"

"For anything you need while you're there," he said. "I don't want you thinking about meals or anything. Make it as simple as it can be."

"Scott, do I want to know why you carry this much cash around?"

"I don't. I have a stash in the house. I'll show it to you when you get home."

Home. It was home. Sleepy Hollow was home and she felt that all the more deeply leaving it behind again so quickly.

"I'll text when I land."

"You do that."

It was tight getting through security for an international flight with barely a half hour to spare, but somehow, she skimmed through and walked right onto the plane. No nice seat for a last-minute booking, but that was fine. As the plane taxied out, she sent a quick text.

Sveta: I'll be there in two hours. The Marriott. I'll send you my room number when I check in. Let me know when you know something.

She didn't expect a reply. If Ilya had managed to escape the locker room yet, it would be a miracle. Would anyone have told him anything? Surely the Hollanders needed time to get from Ottawa to Montreal. Or were they at the game already?

With no answers, Sveta tucked as much of herself as she could fit into her oversized sweatshirt and watched New York disappear out from under her. She barely moved for the entirety of the short flight. Customs seemed to exist tonight just to piss her off, but she wiggled through that too until she was last in a cab.

Ilya: Yuna and David are waiting for the doctors. He is getting x-rayed. I cannot go see him until tomorrow, too much press around the hospital.

Sveta: Come and stay with me.

Ilya: Tell me your room number when you get it.

At last, four and a half hours from the moment Shane had hit the ice, Sveta opened the door to Ilya's drawn gray face. She pulled him into the room, waiting for him to kick off his shoes, then crashed down on the bed with him, doing her best to wrap herself around him. He tucked his head under her chin and clung to her.

They breathed together, quiet in the dark.

Group Chat: The Legends of Sleepy Hollow (Sveta's Phone)

Sveta: Grade 2 concussion and a broken collarbone. He's sleeping now. Visitor hours in the morning. Yuna will make sure we get in without notice.

Scott: Fuck that's bad, but it could've been so much worse. Was he lucid when he was awake?

Sveta: He’s been asleep mostly as far as we know.

Kip: How's Ilya holding up?

Ilya: I am tired, but fine. I will be better once I see him.

Sveta: We got a few hours of sleep, but Yuna's call woke us up. For the best.

Scott: You should both try to get more rest. Tomorrow will be long.

Ilya: I cannot sleep. Would you?

Scott: We're both still awake over here too. Obviously.

Kip: Keep us updated. I'm going to make tea and pretend to be sleepy.

NYTY: She demanded a plane ticket as soon as he was off the ice. I thought you should know.

BH: I know her. I know what she did. She is a better person than me.

NYTY: You're her family, idiot. Wouldn't you do the same for her?

BH: Yes.

NYTY: Jane is going to be okay. She's tough as nails. You'll be okay too.

BH: I do not feel okay.

NYTY Calling. Call lasted 28 minutes.

Hospitals were such a liminal space. Sveta had visited them in four countries now and while there were thousands of little differences, the heart of them was the same. It was a place where too many people were holding their breath. Waiting for life. Waiting for death.

If one had to be in one though, a private room in a quiet hallways tucked away far from the rest of the urgency of the building was probably the best way. Ilya squared his shoulders as they got closer.

Yuna Hollander stood in front of room 431 with exhaustion lingering only around her eyes. The rest of her was at attention, monitoring the hallway. As soon as she spotted Ilya, she eased up a little. She was already opening the door as she greeted him.

"He's been asking for you," she said with fond annoyance. "Fair warning, he's high as a kite."

"He is not in pain?" Ilya asked.

"I'm not sure he knows he has a body right now," she assured him. "Oh! And you must be Svetlana."

"Yes, I'm sorry we're meeting like this," Sveta said, giving Ilya a moment to enter the room first. Was Shane in any shape for a kiss? Probably not. "I've heard a lot of nice things about you."

"That's good to hear," Yuna said, apparently just as adept at playing the game under any circumstances. "Shane said you're Ilya's friend from home?"

"We’ve known each other for a long time," Sveta said.

"You've been photographed with him a lot. You make a pretty pair," Yuna said, seemingly neutral. So that's where Shane got the flat-out death stare. Impressive.

"It's easier for both of us sometimes to travel together," Sveta said. "Today, for instance. He can stay. I will sit next to him. Nurses will draw their own conclusions about two Russians sitting together at Shane Hollander's bedside. Better, I think, than him stepping in there for five minutes to play good captain, then having to run off."

Yuna weighed that then gave one small nod. "I sent my husband to find us some coffee. I think I'll find him and convince him that breakfast would be better. It's going to be a long day. They want to keep him another night for observation, just in case."

"That's good to know," Sveta said. "Thank you for keeping Ilya informed."

"You don't have to thank me for that," Yuna said. Her neutrality fell away and she was a tired mother again. "Shane would've been upset if I didn't. I would've been upset with myself. We'll text Ilya when we're headed back."

"I'll tell him," Sveta said.

Shane's room smelled like hand sanitizer and roses. There were several bouquets of flowers on the window sill. Ilya was standing beside the bed, his elbow planted on the railing and one hand in Shane's. The man himself was smiling up at Ilya, squinting a bit trying to look at him.

"Sveta!" Shane cried exuberantly. "You're here too?"

"Yes, I'm here," she said with a small smile. "Do you want me to close the curtains?"

"Yes, please," Shane said, eyes wide. "You're so smart. My eyes hurt."

"Why were they open?" Ilya asked.

"I dunno," Shane said. "Heeey, I love you, baby."

"I love you too," Ilya said, eyes darting to Sveta as if daring her to say something as she drew the curtains. She rolled her eyes at him. Yes, they were gross. But they were certainly entitled right now.

"Better," Shane singsonged. "Thank you, Sveta."

"You're welcome, Shane," she said with a quiet laugh. "You are very cute right now."

"I know," Shane said. "Heeeey, you get to be Sveta and he is Ilyusha and I'm just Shane?"

"You are not Russian," Ilya reminded him.

"So?" Shane asked. "Why is that fair? I could've been Russian. But I was born in Canada, so I’m Canadian."

"That is how that works," Ilya said, reaching out to skim his thumb over the rise of Shane's cheek. "You are very stoned."

"I can't help being Canadian. Or gay. Sveta, I'm gay."

"I know Shane," she said, repressing a giddy laugh. "It's very hard to miss in our house."

"I'm so good at being gay," Shane said with a sad sigh. "And no one will let me."

"I let you," Ilya said affronted. "I let you be very gay at me. The gayest!"

"Not you, Ilyusha. You always let me. You too, Sveta. And Scott. Oooh, and Kip. They must be really worried. You told them I'm okay?"

"We told them you have a concussion and a broken collarbone," Sveta informed him. "That isn't the same as okay."

She located the chairs and dragged one over until it hit Ilya in the back of the knees, forcing him to sit as he grumbled at her. She took the one on the other side of the bed.

"Kip is worried that maybe you hit your head so hard you will forget a book you were reading," Ilya told him. He had Shane's hand in both of his. "I told him that I would ask if you remember."

"Nuh huh," Shane said. He was still smiling. "Nice try, Rozanov."

"I do not understand why it is a secret," Ilya grumbled.

"It's a nice kind of secret," Shane explained, very earnestly. "I like having nice secrets sometimes. It's fun."

Rose: How's he looking?

Sveta: He is so high that he should have a cruising altitude. He can follow a conversation though.

Rose: Adorable! Tell him I love him and to try to keep his brains on the inside from now on.

"Rose says she loves you," Sveta said dutifully. "Also stop leaking your brains out."

"Are my brains leaking out?" Shane asked with not nearly enough concern.

"No," Ilya said. "Rose Landry is a troll."

"She hasn't played a troll. She was a half-elf thing once and she had an allergic reaction to the latex, so now she has a rider that they have to use the non-latex stuff," Shane rattled off. "But she thinks it wasn't actually the latex now because she also switched moisturizers that week. So she has to avoid that makeup artist forever."

"I will be keeping that one in my back pocket," Sveta said. "Thank you, Shanya."

"Oh! I like that," Shane decided.

"It is very cute," Ilya said softly. He stared at her over Shane's bed. She met his eyes. There was a lot left to say, but they had never been in the habit of nice little 'sorrys' anyway. This would do. "My Shanya, yes?"

"Mhm."

A nurse came in and Ilya dropped Shane's hand before she could spot them.

"Uh oh, Mr. Rozanov. You didn't come here to smother Mr. Hollander with a pillow, did you?"

Sveta forced herself to take a deep breath, before saying with icy politeness. "We came to check on our friend."

"Of course," the nurse said, looking to Shane as if he had any answers.

"Hiiii," Shane greeted her with big doe eyes. "Are you here to take more of my blood? I don't think I have a lot left."

"No, Mr. Hollander," she said with a soft laugh. "Just checking your numbers. Your breakfast should be by soon. Eat slowly, let us know if you feel queasy, okay?"

"Okay," Shane said.

Except he said it exactly like Ilya. Not that the nurse noticed. Sveta bit the inside of her cheek. It was cute and heartbreaking.

Group Chat: Tri-State Connection (Sveta's Phone)

Sveta: He is the cutest high person to ever exist. I want to squish his cheeks.

Kip: Cute how? You have to give details if we can't be there.

Sveta: He's smiling so much. He keeps telling our friend how much he loves them. I think they are going to have an aneurysm. It's a good thing we're already in the hospital. He's trying to get me to teach him Russian endearments, but he can barely speak English so it's a very big failure.

Scott: How's he look?

Sveta: Like he lost a fight. Swollen, sling. What you’d expect.

When David and Yuna came back, they had coffee for Sveta and Ilya. Shane had drifted to sleep again, still holding Ilya's hand. He didn't let go to accept his coffee, taking it in his left hand.

"When do you have to fly out?" Yuna asked him.

"Soon," Ilya said, his eyes still on Shane. "A few hours. I want to stay."

"He's mostly going to be doing this, I think," David said. "You won't miss much."

"I will miss him," Ilya said insistently.

David and Yuna exchanged a look. Ilya missed it. Sveta saw it.

Maybe he would not be so alone in Ottawa. It didn't make her feel much better, but it was something.

"I can stay for a bit," Sveta said.

"What about your job?" Yuna asked.

"I'm unemployed at the moment. I'm waiting to hear back from a few graduate schools. I'm hoping to start this summer."

It was too much for the moment, but Sveta didn't want the Hollanders to think she was lazy or something. It mattered for reasons she couldn't articulate.

"She is staying with Hunter and helping him with things because he is very hopeless," Ilya said.

"That's not true. He offered to let me stay," Sveta explained. "I want to go to school in New York City. There are several good programs. Scott offered me a bedroom."

The cover story, worked out over drinks, finally came in handy. It seemed to land well enough with the Hollanders. More chairs were summoned and they asked Sveta questions about the differences between New York and Boston. Sometimes Ilya added a thought, but mostly he was watching Shane.

"Can I ask what his boyfriend is like?" David shifted a little in his seat, his eyes also flitting to his son. "Shane mentioned Hunter had one and I've heard the name Kit or something?"

"His name is Christopher, but he prefers Kip," she said. "He's getting his doctorate in art history from Princeton right now. He just started his dissertation. The whole house is full of his papers and he's not even there most of the time. We have to shovel them into his office every time he leaves."

"What does someone do with a doctorate in art history?" Yuna asked, bemused.

"He wants to be a museum educator," Ilya said. "He would be very good at it, but I think he will become a professor instead."

"You do?" Sveta asked, surprised.

"He likes the teaching part best, helping his students, and then writing his papers," Ilya said with a shrug. "I think he will stay in colleges."

"Scott Hunter and a professor of art history," Yuna said slowly. "Well. Why not? They're happy?"

"Very," Sveta said.

"Yes," Ilya agreed.

Happy except for one thing. The conversation Scott had wanted to have with Shane was postponed now. The weekend at the house before playoffs crashed to the ice with everything else last night. A conversation that was tied up in another conversation. Ilya would have to tell Scott about the Ottawa plan soon too. 

"Does his team know?" David asked.

"Some of them," Sveta said. "Three of his friends. They're very supportive."

Yuna's attention went to Shane even though he hadn't moved. The conversation was quiet and Shane was deep under.

"That's what Shane decided to do. Two friends. It doesn't seem like very much."

"It is enough for him," Ilya said firmly. "If it is enough for him then it must be enough for us."

"What about your team?" David asked. "Do any of them know?"

"Only Marley," Ilya said. "Connors maybe guessed. He is very stupid and also very clever sometimes."

"I like him," Sveta decreed.

"You like him because he thinks you are beautiful and gives you compliments," Ilya said.

"Yes," she said. "What's not to like about that? Also, he's a good cook. A rare quality in a hockey player."

Carefully, Sveta segued them into lighthearted Raider stories she had stored up from years of hanging around them. All parent-friendly and nothing revealing. It was enough to get them to the moment of parting. Ilya kissed Shane's hand. Shane slept on.

"I'll walk with you to the car," Sveta said. "Is it all right if I come back?"

"Of course," Yuna said and it seemed sincere enough. "We'll have to figure out something for lunch."

"I can get that," she said. "Here, take my number and text me what you want and I'll find something."

"You don't have to," David protested, but he was easily persuaded.

Which was how Sveta got Yuna Hollander's phone number. What an odd morning it had been. She and Ilya walked down to the parking lot. When he pulled out a cigarette, she only held her hand out for another. They walked away from the building before someone could take them to task, lingering on the far edges of the parking lot while Ilya waited for his car.

"If I send you texts, can you read them to him?" Ilya asked.

"Of course. Send filthy ones. That would be fun."

"He will blush himself to death. Do not do this. One near death this week is enough."

"He wasn't near death," Sveta said. "He's going to be fine."

"You did not see him like I did," Ilya said and took a drag. He blew smoke out in a harsh thin line. "It was horrible."

"I know, we watched. But we're here and he's all right, Ilyusha."

He shook his head a little. "I can't keep flying away from him."

"Okay," she said and sucked smoke into her lungs, expelling it upwards.

"Really okay?"

"No," she said. "I don't want your home to be so far from me. I don't want to say goodbye to anyone else. But I also want you to be happy. So. I will make it okay somehow."

Ilya's lips pressed together. "Going to him isn't me leaving you."

"Okay," she said.

"Sveta."

"You can't leave and tell me it's not leaving," she said. "Maybe Scott and Kip will smile and nod. I will not. I will let you go because you asked me, but you can't also ask me to be happy about it. You told me it was safe to build a home. I did. I love it. I'm home in Sleepy Hollow. You opened the door and now you're closing it with me on the other side."

"Shane is here," he said, his eyes seeking a window that was indistinguishable from a hundred others.

"I know. But maybe here isn't where he should stay."

She felt his attention rack over her, but she kept hers on her cigarette and the now unfamiliar burn in her lungs. It had been years since she smoked regularly. It was only for drunk nights now.

"Where else would he go?" Ilya demanded. "Why would he leave? You know he loves his team."

Sveta shrugged. "Bennett will retire next year. He's ready. One last season for the road. He's the highest paid goalie in the league."

"You think Shane would give up his team, his C, to what? Play second line center under Scott?"

"I think one of you should," she said. "For the other one, there's New Jersey. There's Brooklyn for fuck's sake, if one of you is set on playing for a shitty team. This isn't an unsolvable riddle. Three teams less than an hour from each other. You could share the same house every night if you aren't playing away games."

"Shane will never leave Montreal. He wants his jersey in the rafters."

Sveta gave up on the cigarette. She dropped it and ground it under her heel then felt a little guilty and picked up the butt. People cleaning up in hospitals had enough to do without worrying about her trash.

"Okay. Then go to Ottawa next year, Ilyusha. Today though, go home and play. I'll keep you updated. I'll read him your sexts. I have things here for today. Let's worry about tomorrow when it comes."

"Sveta," he breathed out.

"I don't want to fight anymore," she said. "Please."

"I don't either."

He hugged her and she hugged him back.

Group Chat: The Legends of Sleepy Hollow (Sveta's Phone)

Rose: Thanks for adding me!

Scott: No problem. It'll make it a lot easier for Sveta to keep us in the loop about Jane.

Rose: Code names! I forgot. What is everyone's?

Kip: You only need them for Jane and Lily. Our girls, you know?

Rose: Got it. How useful is that really at this point?

Kip: Questionable, but we do our best.

Sveta: Guess who is being a grumpy little asshole about not getting to leave at the exact promised hour?

Kip: Getting discharged always takes forever.

Sveta: Soon though. Jane's parents asked if I wanted to come by for dinner tonight, so I will have updates once she's settled.

Kip: What's the recovery plan?

Sveta: So far that she'll stay with her parents until she can drive herself around again safely. There's some debate about her mother missing a conference. Her father has to go back to work next week. I had a thought.

Scott: I like the thought.

Rose: Take her back with you?

Sveta: Not right away. I don't think she can fly and a long car ride would be awful right now. But yes. Her parents seem lovely, but also like a lot. I'll suggest a custody exchange for next week.

Ilya: Thank you.

Sveta: This is selfish. Several people will be very busy being good at their jobs. I will be home with only a sometimes Kip and Anya. Company would be nice.

Kip: Once May 15 passes, I'm all yours. It'd be great to see Jane in person.

Scott: Tell them if Jane needs any accommodations, I can do that.

Sveta: I will do what needs doing. For now, dinner with the very nice wholesome Canadian family. What should I bring?

Ilya: Vodka and a sense of humor.

Sveta: Look who is free at last!

[Photo: Shane sits in the backseat of a car with enormous sunglasses on. He's wearing a Metro's hoodie, sweatpants and sneakers. Peeking between the ends of the sweatpants and his shoes are black socks. He flips off the photographer with a half-smile.]

Chapter 8: Rise and Run

Chapter Notes

I am terribly behind on comments, my apologies! The end of summer caught up with me, but I should be back on my regular-ish schedule now.

April and Some of May 2017 - Shane

Hayden: Fuck. Are you seeing this?

J.J.: I wish I wasn't. At least the rookie is smart enough to show us.

Hayden: We have to tell Shane.

J.J.: He still can't look at screens. I don't want Yuna to read this to him.

Hayden: Shit. You're right. I was just over there yesterday and Jackie is ready to pop. I can't run down to Ottawa two days in a row.

J.J.: I'm not in town. Took the off day to see my nephews. Practice tomorrow, game after that.

Hayden: Maybe we sit on it for a few days. See if they keep it up. Tell the rook to keep quiet and watch. This sucks, but it's not much yet and when I saw Hollzy yesterday, he was still in the laying in the dark trying not to puke part of things.

J.J.: We wait until he feels better and we have more?

Hayden: I think so. I don't want to, but what else can we do?

"Hello?" Sveta called from the front door. She was peeking around it as if she was breaking in.

"Coast is clear!" Shane called back.

She came in, closing the door quietly. Every loud sound still made his head ring, so he appreciated the caution.

"I secured the goods." She presented him with a tote bag which he took with relief.

"Thank you. I know that had to be weird."

"Snooping around your apartment? It was fun."

"Find anything interesting?" Shane asked wryly. The only thing he wanted to hide from people was hardly a secret to Sveta.

"You have too many pillows on your bed," she said. "Where do you sleep? Do you knock them to the floor every night and put them back on the next day?"

"You have decorative pillows on your bed!"

"Two or three! A handful. A tasteful amount," she said with a smile. "You have an army. I was intimidated."

"My interior designer picked them out. They all go together. It's a thing."

"A Hollander thing. Your cleaning person has been and gone, everything looks fine. They threw away anything that might rot in the fridge."

"That's good," he said though he honestly hadn't spared a thought for dust and laundry. "The car was okay for you?"

"Yes, I like the sound system."

"It wasn't too boring?" he asked wryly.

"Do you want me to make fun of it?" she shot back. "I knew it wasn't a fancy sports car. That would be terrible for you right now anyway. How is your brain this afternoon?"

"Bit better than yesterday. You didn't miss much. Naps. Smoothies. My mother's demolition of Detroit's defense."

"They are falling apart," Sveta tsked. "Better enough that you might want to sit outside? It's very cloudy, not too much sun."

"Yeah, okay, let's try it."

Shane was immediately glad for the suggestion. Between his sunglasses and the cloud cover, it wasn't bright enough to bother him and it felt good to sit in the early spring warmth. It would probably be miserably cold again tonight, but it was nice for now. His parents' patio with its familiar iron lattice furniture was like the rest of their home right now: comfortable and a little claustrophobic.

When Sveta had floated taking him to Sleepy Hollow in a few days so Mom could still go to her conference, she seemed to have expected some resistance with the amount of arguments she leveled at him. He'd let her say her piece and then met her eyes and said, "Please, for the love of god, get me out of here."

He loved his parents and for the first few days, being nursed and babied a little in his childhood room had been exactly what he needed. Now, he needed to be able to take his own headache into his own hands and look at his phone screen for a minute without someone giving him a look or yelling at him about it across the house.

His parents had been less on board with the plan, but they were apparently very taken with the idea of Shane being folded so neatly under Scott Hunter's wing even though the man himself would have zero time to help Shane with anything as he buzzed through the playoffs. It helped that Sveta had turned herself into some kind of angelic presence since her arrival in Montreal. She was helpful, thoughtful, and happy to talk shit about any team Mom deemed bad, up-to and including the Raiders. Only Ilya himself was spared from their joint ire and Shane was starting to suspect that only held as long as he was in the room.

Which had given Shane some food for thought once he'd realized it.

"Hey," he said once they were firmly settled outside, "did you…should we talk about Ottawa?"

Sveta sighed. "I was wondering when we'd get to that."

"You don't like the plan."

"I don't," she said. She was bundled in one of Shane's hoodies, likely nabbed while she was at his apartment. "But I don't need to argue with you about it. I know why you want him closer. I know why you suggested it."

"I miss him," Shane said quietly. "All the time."

"I know," she said, "and he misses you terribly. So I'm a monster if I stand in the way."

"You're not a monster," Shane said, "I just wish I understood what bothered you about it."

"He didn't say?" she blinked then groaned. "Of course he didn't."

"He said we'd talk about it once I was feeling a little better, which I thought was fair at the time. I couldn't really hold two thoughts together when he told me the first time."

Sveta nodded and stared out over the small garden that Mom and Dad always started with the best of intentions in spring. Some years they tended it all the way through fall and sometimes it was a patch of weeds by July.

"I worry about him leaving behind support. Being on his own in a new place, again, but this time not even me around to make it easier. He will have you, but two hours is not next door," Sveta said. "That is the nice part. The not-so-nice part is that it feels like I'm being left, a little. I was always ready for that to happen, I thought. It would be natural. But now I've had this shared home and it hurts more than I thought."

She said it all with a cool detachment that made it easier for Shane to sit with. It was clear, at least.

"I-" Shane started and then she shook her head once.

"We cannot settle this, you and me. It's his choice. I don't want to argue, especially when you feel so terrible. Can we have a truce for now?"

"Were we at war?" Shane asked.

"No, maybe not," Sveta said with a wane smile. "Not on the same side of a fight though. You know?"

He did know now that she'd put it that way. His head did hurt, so did his collarbone now that he was off the heavier pain killers. Fighting with Sveta did not seem appetizing at the moment. He wasn't even sure what his argument would be. How could he say 'your pain has nothing on mine' and still sound reasonable? While Ilya wouldn't actually be alone in a new place with Shane's parents a ten-minute drive away, he could see how it would seem to her.

And maybe it sowed a small seed of doubt in him. Small. Something to turn over when he couldn't sleep.

"Okay," he conceded. "What do you want to talk about instead?"

"Who, not what," she said and a proper smile reformed. "Do you want to bother my girlfriend? She said she might have time today."

"Yeah," Shane said immediately. "Let's do that."

She set the phone between them, putting it on speaker as it rang. Rose's voice was bright and happy as she picked up.

"You're on speaker with Shane and me," Sveta said immediately.

"Oooh, sexy thressome! Hi, Shane!" Rose cried. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," he said. "But slightly less shittier shit."

"That sucks," she said. "Did I ever tell you I got a concussion once?"

"How?" he asked. "Walk into a boom mic?"

"You're so mean," Rose laughed delightedly. "I was a kid. We went sledding and ran into a tree."

"How?" Shane demanded.

"Talent!"

It was really nice to sit in the shade and chat with Rose as she waited to be called to set. When Shane got tired of talking, he sank back a little and listened to Sveta and Rose. They were very funny with each other, bantering about the on-screen kiss that Rose had to do twenty-five takes of the day before and whether or not that constituted making out. Apparently her co-star was a dead fish of a kisser and then they debated whether it was appropriate to give that feedback to him.

Shane half-listened and half-dozed. Eventually, Sveta poked him in the thigh. "Go sleep."

"Yeah, okay."

He retrieved the tote bag from the living room so his mother wouldn't find it and poke into it. The contents weren't private really, but at this rate, he'd be at Sleepy Hollow until he'd normally head up to the cottage. He wanted to have it with him, just in case the right moment arose. It wouldn't. He had no idea what the 'right moment' even was. It was one of those phrases people simply said and then never explained. Shane wasn't sure he'd ever met someone who had followed it up with 'and the right moment was [insert the correct moment here]'.

The nap helped. Not with finding the right moment, but making him a little less irrationally cranky with humanity in general. He managed to listen to Mom go over the promotional schedule one more time (virtually nonexistent since it was meant to be playoffs soon anyway and they both agreed that was sacred time). When Dad went in on the policy changes in his department again, Shane offered the same three things he usually trotted out for his father in such moments: 'That sucks', 'I can't believe they can do that' and the classic 'They should listen to you'.

All-in-all, Shane felt pretty good about his last two days with his parents. He was the best version of himself he could manage when he still occasionally got dizzy or gave himself jolts of pain when he forgot not to reach for things with his right arm.

"And you have a phone charger?" Mom asked, her arms folded tight over her chest.

"Yes," Shane said, patience fraying as he set his bag into the trunk. It was probably more than he should be lifting, but he needed to do something for himself before he bit someone. "Even if I forgot it, Scott has the same phone. It's fine."

"Sometimes they don't work right when you borrow someone's," Dad said. He was less outwardly fretful than Mom, but it was his version of fussing to offer advice. "Do you want to take an extra?"

"I've got it," Shane said. "Guys, I'm going to New York. They have phone chargers there, I promise."

"We just…" Mom trailed off. "It's going to take a little getting used to. Someone else taking care of you."

Oh. Shit. Shane hadn't really thought of it that way. Sure, he and Ilya were serious about each other and they did watch out for each other. But it wasn't like Ilya was replacing his parents in any meaningful way. Except…well. Yeah. If he was sick and Ilya was around, he would rather be with Ilya than his parents, which felt a little treasonous and ungrateful. Hell, apparently he preferred being with Sveta and eventually Kip, two people that this time last year, he knew a thimbleful about. Was he a bad son?

"You did the hard part," Sveta said. She had stolen another one of Shane's hoodies and she swam in it. It made her look small in a way Shane wasn't used to. She wasn't really a very big person, but her personality took up a lot of room. "We'll just keep him from getting so bored he tries to do things he can't yet."

"I wouldn't do that," Shane said. He didn't even sound convincing to himself.

"He's crafty," Dad warned. "Once, when he was five, we told him he had to stay under the covers while he was sick. Found him in the kitchen wrapped up like a burrito in a blanket, eating cereal out of the box."

"I was under the covers," Shane said, unable to stop himself. "The law was on my side."

"I love you, sweetheart," Mom said. "Take care of yourself. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom. I love you too," he said obediently.

To his surprise, Mom gave Sveta a quick hug too, which meant of course, Dad swept in and embraced her. Sveta seemed mildly stunned by it as well, but she recovered and got into the driver's seat.

They both waved a little at his parents until the house was out of sight. It was weird being the passenger in his own car, but Sveta looked confident behind the wheel. Sunglasses had materialized on her face, ones that were a little too big for her.

"Those are mine," Shane said indignantly.

"You are such an only child," she said. "Share."

"Hey- wait. Aren't you an only child?"

"Takes one to know one!" she cackled. "Okay, let's get serious. What are we listening to for six and a half hours?"

"Audiobook?" he suggested without much hope of agreement.

"Okay," she said, "what kind? Maybe a break from hockey. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I have talked so much hockey the last week that I need a little break."

"Blasphemy," he said flatly. "Get out of my car."

"While it's in motion? Cruel, but fair."

"Is other nonfiction okay?" He opened the app he used for flights sometimes, searching the list of things he'd wishlisted. "You probably don't want to listen to things on Russian history, right?"

"Too much like school," she agreed. "Don't quiz Ilyusha on that either. History was not his best subject."

"What was?" Shane asked idly as he scrolled through.

"Science, I think. He liked literature, but he didn't have enough time to keep up with all the reading."

Imagining a younger Ilya studying did something to Shane's stomach. Or maybe that was his head objecting to the occasionally less than smooth pavement.

"What about you?"

"Oh, I was very good at math," Sveta said, then winked at him, "and chemistry."

They wound up listening to a book about modern ocean treasure hunting which had the advantage of not only being interesting, but giving them plenty to talk about. Apparently Sveta would have gone all in on piracy if she'd been given the choice at the time, while Shane thought he'd probably stay with whatever navy he'd come in with. If they could walk into any museum in the world and steal anything without consequence as long as they never showed it to anyone, Sveta would go for 'one of those very large gemstones' because she could stow it away easily somewhere she could still look at regularly. Shane would grab a dinosaur bone just to have something that old in his possession. They both agreed to go to the Natural History Museum at some point during the coming weeks.

Shane fell asleep not long after they crossed the border. He only woke up as the car slowed pulling into the driveway. They had left right after breakfast this morning, so it was only just starting to get dark. Stepping into the house unnotched some tension in Shane's aching shoulder. Like every home, the house held its own amalgam of familiar smells, now underscored by the faint scent of a dog, and it sank pleasingly into Shane.

As if summoned by the thought, Anya came thudding down the stairs in the way that always made Shane worry she was going to go ass over teakettle down them. He had to squat very carefully, angled away from her so he could give her a proper greeting, but she seemed to notice something off immediately and blessedly didn't jump on him.

He and Sveta ate dinner haphazardly over the sink and then without much discussion went their separate ways for the evening. Ilya had a game, so Shane risked looking at his phone long enough to send a good luck text and a quick volley of emojis before Ilya had to get to work and Shane's eyes ached.

Even with the nap from earlier, he was tired enough to curl up in their bed and drift, the game on his phone so he could hear the commentary without looking at the screen. At this point, he barely needed the visual anyway, he could build the whole game in his head. It was only when the Raiders won that Shane fell asleep.

The next day was beautifully solitary. Sveta, despite her many sweet promises to his parents that he would have her company the whole time, winked at him, then went into the city to do some in-person interview thing for the program she was hoping to get into. Shane (yes, Kip, he was a team player at heart) was still someone who usually lived alone and counted on a certain amount of time to himself. It was nice to have it back for a few hours even if he was limited in his choice of activities.

Making lunch was interesting, for instance. He wound up eating Kip's cereal and sent an apologetic voice note about it which got him an immediate, but short reply. Kip didn't care about the cereal, but did care very much about being late to a seminar with a lead curator from The National Bardo Museum. Shane added it to his pen and paper list of things to look up online when he could manage it again. Or maybe he could ask Kip later. He liked how Kip explained things.

Anya was delighted by him being around and the two of them spent a pleasant hour in the backyard with the ball scooper Ilya had bought. Shane had scoffed at it when he first saw it, but now having something to help him huck the ball for her without straining his injury was really nice. He would not be sending Ilya a voice message about that.

No, he'd wait to tell him in person so he could see Ilya's absolute delight in being handed that kind of ammunition free of charge. Shane loved Ilya's shark smile right before he went in for the kill. Even if Shane was the victim. Maybe especially, if he was being really honest.

When Anya adjourned inside to drink water like she had been in the desert for three days, Shane migrated inside and did a very very abridged and gentle series of stretches so he didn't lose his mind not moving. Then it was his couch hours, diligently put in every day for the last nine days.

Sveta came back right when Shane was starting to think being alone might've been overrated. She had dinner with her.

"I found this vegan place when I was walking to the subway. It'll be cold by now, but we can reheat it, I think."

She had gotten a spicy carrot soup that Shane was immediately all in on and some meat substitute burgers buried in pickled cabbage that were pretty good too. They put on the Admirals game and he closed his eyes while she narrated all the things that commenters were missing, with her own critique liberally littered through it. The Admirals won and it wasn't even close. They were really on fire and it was hard not to feel a little proud even though Shane had less than nothing to do with Scott's success.

Sveta turned off the TV and the fuzzy silence that came only in the first few seconds of the absence of previous noise settled over them.

"Hey, Sveta?"

"Yes, Shane."

"I didn't say thank you. For everything the past few days. So. Thanks. Really."

"Shut up," she said, but she sounded very pleased by that. "Do you want to try whatever horror 'chia pudding' is?"

"Yeah, okay."

The next day, Sveta stayed in the house. They walked Anya together in a small park after most normal people had gone to work. It was a nice start to the day, but by the afternoon, a buzz was building under Shane's skin and he started eyeing the basement door with a longing that bordered on sexual.

"If you lift a weight, your mother will murder me," Sveta scolded. "And then your coach, probably. Come. I will give you something to do."

Shane trailed her into the kitchen. He watched as she pulled down flour and prepared himself for some complicated recipe that he'd probably ruin.

"The first thing is to wake up the yeast," she told him as she pulled her hair back into a firework of a ponytail.

"Yeast sleeps?"

"It does," she said and showed him a tiny packet. "You put it into warm water and give it a little sugar. The instant doesn't need it, but I like this better."

So Shane filled a cup with warm water and watched her sprinkle the packet of yellow dust into, then a little sugar. Measuring out the flour was easy and she appreciated the David Hollander touch of always leveling the cup out with a knife. A little salt, a little sugar, done and done. They took a short break, eating some watermelon from Scott's perpetually full cut up fruit bowl.

"Ah, our yeast is awake now. See?"

Shane glanced over at the small bowl to find the dust replaced with a froth.

"Huh," Shane said. "Is it alive?"

"Bread is alive," Sveta said sagely. "Now, we add flour slowly. You pour, I'll stir."

They got a good rhythm going and Shane was only half paying attention as Sveta proclaimed the dough 'shaggy'.

Flour was scattered over the countertop.

"We have cutting boards."

"No," she said. "You need room."

Then the bowl was upended, the shaggy dough meeting the cool quartz. Shane was reasonably sure the counter was clean, at least. Okay. Dough on the counter.

"This is the part for you. Get flour on your hand." She demonstrated dusting her own. "Now watch."

What followed was more like Sveta administering a beating to the dough than any kind of baking Shane was familiar with. She pounded and folded, stretching it out and then letting it collapse back into itself.

"Okay. Now you. Do not hurt yourself," she said firmly.

"Really? Because that was the plan."

"Fuck off. Go."

With his non-dominant hand it was a little awkward, but it was a good kind of challenge. After a few tentative folds and smack, he found the dough a little unpleasantly sticking, but the give was nice. He folded and smashed the heel of his hand into it over and over. As he worked, the stickiness started to fade and he liked it more as the dough smoothed out. He recentered himself so he could put in more force without jostling his collarbone.

He had no idea how long this was supposed to go on. Likely Sveta would tell him when to stop, so he lost himself in the movement of it. Occasionally, she would reach over and rotate the dough in some way that made sense only to her.

It must've been long minutes later when she said, "That's good. Here, pick it up and put it in this."

She held out a round pot and Shane scooped up the wobbling mass and dropped it in. As he watched, Sveta tucked the edges of the dough down until it was a smooth rounded mound. Then she tossed a dishtowel over the top and sprinkled it with water.

"Now we wait. And clean," she said.

"How long?"

"An hour for the first proof. At least. It needs to double in size."

"It grows?" Shane asked, horrified. "Why?"

"The yeast," she said with a laugh. "You'll see."

It did grow. It was slightly horrifying if you asked Shane, but he did enjoy punching it back down. When it finally went into the oven, the entire house quickly smelled like a bakery. When the loaf emerged golden and domed, Sveta barely waited before cutting off pieces that she slathered in butter.

Shane meant to only have half a slice. He was reaching for the knife for a second before he quite knew it had happened.

"I don't think I've ever had bread right out of the oven before," he admitted.

"Next time, we'll make black bread. Ilyusha likes it," she said, bracing the loaf for him so he could concentrate on cutting. "I tried to teach him how to make it, but all the things that make him a good cook make him a terrible baker."

"I don't have a ton of time for baking," Shane said, but he could already imagine it. A rainy day at the cottage and making something for Ilya that was hopefully untouched by bad memories. Warm bread they could eat together while they watched the rain ripping over the lake. "Maybe though. Thanks."

The days eased by like that. Shane healed slowly, checking in with the doctors that the team had put him in touch with in Manhattan. Sveta drifted in and out, lending a literal hand when he needed a second one and otherwise assuming he could manage himself unless told otherwise. His parents texted every other day to check in and he did call them at the end of the week like a dutiful son.

On Saturday morning, Scott came home. He arrived a little banged up from the long roadie, but grinning about it, as he should considering the absolute tear the Admirals had been on. Sveta had greeted him with a hug and Shane got to his feet, trying to figure out if a hug would even work right now.

"That was an insane run," Shane said, wavering with the space between them. "I couldn't watch most of it, but I listened. You're on fire."

"Thanks," Scott said. He crossed the distance between them. "Your bruising healed up pretty good. How's the head feeling?"

"Little better every day," Shane said without really hearing himself. It was good to stand in Scott's space again, especially when he was returning on a wave of triumph. Victory settled around him and made him stand up straighter. "Collarbone is a fucking awful break though. I thought toes were the worst."

"Yeah, I'm with you there. I cracked mine when I was sixteen. Right in the middle of the season too. Awful."

A hug was really out of the question right now. Sveta could manage to get her arm around Shane without jostling him, but Scott's hugs were enveloping avalanches. Yet, Shane wanted some signifier, some indicator that they were more than casual friends seeing each other after months apart. Hesitation was fucking boring, he decided.

The kiss brushed the center of Scott's cheek, right above the darkening line of his scruff that would soon turn into playoff beard. When Shane stepped back from it, Scott ducked his head like he was trying to hide his stupidly wide smile.

"I was thinking you might be sick of being housebound," Scott said after a slightly-too-long pause that Sveta filled with a repressed snort. "Me and the guys were going to get dinner at some vegetarian place tonight for Bennett's birthday. Sveta, you're invited too. Eric asked if you were coming especially."

"He did?" she asked, bemused.

"You made an impression at Thanksgiving, I think."

"He's a nice man," Sveta hedged.

"He's not looking to date. The ink isn't even dry on the divorce papers," Scott assured her.

"That doesn't usually stop guys," Shane pointed out. He had heard far too much in locker rooms over the years to be naive about that.

"True," Scott allowed, "but Bennett only says what he means and he was pretty clear on the no-dating thing. I said Sveta was a 'positive addition to any dinner'."

"That's sweet," Sveta said. "I'll go. Shane?"

"Yeah, if it's not weird for me to turn up there."

"Nah, it's just the poker guys. They all know you hang out here sometimes."

It wasn't weird. Carter greeted him like a long lost brother and Huff gave him a friendly careful shoulder pat. Someone, likely Carter, had found a tiny plastic crown and set it on Bennett's head where it stayed the whole night perched at an improbable angle. It complimented Bennett's solemn dignity in a way Shane knew Ilya would appreciate. Kip too.

Group Chat: Kitten & Lily (Shane's Phone)

Shane: [Photo of Eric Bennett sitting at a food-laden table. A gold plastic crown with colorful paste gems decorating it has been set on his head with no visible means of attachment. To his left half of Carter's face is visible caught mid-laugh. To his right, Scott was explaining something that required him stabbing his fork in the air] Long live the king.

Kitten: OMG it really suits him. King Goalie!

Lily: I leave you alone for two weeks and you are reinventing the monarchy? Fucking North Americans.

Kitten: Don't worry, you're still King Asshole in Shane's heart and my liver.

Shane: Why the liver?

Kitten: Funniest organ I could think of. Also what is this group chat name? We can do better.

Lily has changed the group chat name to King Asshole's Court

Kitten has changed the name the group chat name to Homoflexibles

Shane has changed the group chat name to Banned from Names

Kitten: Dark. I kind of like it.

Lily: Does it mean we do not have names? Or that we are not allowed to use them?

Shane: You both have lost naming privileges.

Kitten: Is this teacher roleplay? Hot.

Lily: Have you seen the glasses? Those are mine, Jane. Do not share your glasses.

Shane: My body, my choice.

Lily: You are killing me.

Kitten: I want to see the glasses. You've seen mine!

Shane has changed the group chat name to Preschool Playhouse

Kitten: 😂😂😂

"Tell Kip I left my brown belt at his place and I think it got kicked under the bed," Scott said. He was still mostly turned to Bennett, not looking at Shane really at all.

"How did you know I was texting him?"

"You were doing that under the breath laugh you do when you text our mutual friend, but you weren't also cursing, so I took a guess."

"It's both of them," Shane admitted. "You want our mutual friend to know where your belt is?"

That brought both of them into a quiet contemplative silence. Shane hadn't really meant it any particular way, but some very odd visions bubbled up in him.

"You know what? I'll call Kip later anyway," Scott decided.

"Yep. Great. Good."

"Hollander, tell this guy that Pike isn't trying to steal his style," Carter said, leaning in across the table, hooking his thumb in Huff's direction.

"Hayden's style hasn't changed since he was nineteen," Shane said with a shrug. "Polo shirt, khakis and loafers on his days off. He's bought basically the same walk off suit every time the one before it gets worn out."

"Not clothes," Huff said with a groan, "I can't explain, but I swear to god he's been skating more like me. I watched him sink a goal and it was exactly the way I'd do it."

"He switched up trainers last summer. I don't think it's about you."

"That kid is obsessed with me, I'm telling you," Huff grumbled.

"Oh. That," Shane considered, then shrugged, "little bit, yeah. You had that insane record breaking season when he was a rookie and it stuck with him."

"I told you!" Huff threw up his hands.

"Man, I don't know why it's a problem," Carter said, "He's a good player and he thinks you are too. So what?"

"So…so!" Huff said helplessly.

"He's having a great season, so I'm not going to say anything to him," Shane said. "And you better not either."

"Why would I?" Huff asked bemused. "How the hell would that conversation even go?"

"I don't know, but I'd love to hear it," Carter said. "Who's ready for cake?"

They didn't get back to the house until ten. It was the latest Shane had managed to stay awake in a while and it was nice to feel like he'd rejoined society. His head was starting to hurt though.

"You need pain meds?" Scott asked.

"Probably," Shane grumbled. "Regular ones though, I'm off the heavy stuff."

"He can't open the bottle without using his teeth, so maybe give him a hand," Sveta suggested as she let Anya lick her face.

"Teeth are a legitimate tool," Shane said.

"Respect the dental work," Scott scolded with a laugh. "Come on, I'll get you set up and then you can shut the door in my face if you want."

Shane didn't want, actually. He thought he would, but after Scott shook out some Tylenol for him, Shane asked about the game against Chicago and then they got into the weeds of it even as they stood in Shane and Ilya's en suite. It was nice. Familiar and comfortable in a way that would've shocked Shane a year ago.

The second time he cracked a yawn, Scott headed for the door. "You should get some sleep, sorry for keeping you up."

"No, it's good," Shane said. "Thanks."

Scott's stride hitched. Stopped. Turned. He gave Shane a tight smile, "Is it- can I kiss you good night or is that weird?"

The request fizzed in Shane's chest. Scott had fucked him twice, once in the filthiest way possible, Ilya's cock in Shane's mouth, but he was asking like a nervous teenager on a first date.

"Not weird," Shane decided.

Scott crossed to him and after a quick visual assessment, landed his hand on the side of Shane's neck away from the sling. His thumb made a soft pass over Shane's jawline before Scott leaned in for the kiss. It was a very 'good night' kind of kiss, no invasion or demand to it. Even after though, Scott's hand lingered, his touch soothing away a little of the ache Shane was carrying around right now.

"Good night, Shane."

"Good night, Scott," he echoed, eyes half-lidded.

It was a good night of rest after that. Of course, Shane texted Ilya before bed, but he kept it brief and woke up with his phone still in his hand. Ilya had apparently kept sending voice memos, amused that Shane had fallen asleep on him. It was really nice to wake up to his voice and Shane maybe listened to Ilya rant about Carmie's snoring two or three times before rolling out of bed.

He'd slept in enough to have missed the general breakfast hour, but someone (almost certainly Scott) had left a covered plate for him on the counter with eggs and some cut up fruit. The eggs were a little gross cold, but Shane ate them anyway, grateful for the thought.

When Scott came down from his post-workout shower, Shane had made it to the couch, flipping through one of the books he brought with him. Scott's hair had gotten a little longer and to Shane's surprise it was curling a little at the ends.

"Is your hair curly?"

"Sort of?" Scott reached up to touch it like he wasn't sure himself. "I don't know. It does what it does."

"Huh."

Scott stood on the steps for a second like the question had frozen him, before he finished his descent. He sat down, a cushion away from Shane on the couch.

"Hey, there's been something I want to talk to you about," he said.

Oh. Apparently they were doing this now. Shane tossed his book at the coffee table.

"You want to talk about coming out. Ilya told me to wait to let you do it. He said you were doing the thing where you mentally pace for a while."

"Fucking brat, ratting me out," Scott groaned, then shook his head. "No, it's good, I get it. I'm glad he's…communicating or whatever."

"Me too," Shane said. "He said he was worried you'd drop it on me and then want to talk about it without letting me think."

"I- would not have intended to do that?" Scott hazarded. "But yeah, maybe. I feel like I should apologize for something I didn't even do. Did Ilya reinvent thought-crime?"

"You want to come out," Shane said, not interested in taking conversation cul-de-sacs right now.

"I do," Scott confirmed. "But I know I fucked it by letting our images get all tangled together. You want your privacy, but if I come out and people know we're friends, you're going to get asked things. So, I figured there's a sliding scale of options."

The carefully crafted response Shane had been working on for this moment derailed. Obviously, Scott would come out if that's what he wanted and Shane would craft some neutral statement with his mother and then…and then deal. People would stay stupid shit about Scott and Shane would either have to stay silent or start throwing punches. He knew which one he'd prefer.

"Options?"

"Yes. I mean, there's obviously the big nuclear option where I do a huge press release and go on an interview circuit about it. Todd would probably hate it at first then love it because he can sell me to every rainbow capitalist on earth."

"What's a rainbow capitalist?"

"Honestly? Not sure. It's something Kip says about corporations at pride? Please don't make me ask him again because that'd be admitting I didn't fully get it the first time."

"I'll ask him," Shane said. "Ok, so option one: Nuclear blowout."

"Yeah. Option two is a quieter press release than a  strong 'no comment'. I feel pretty good about that one too. Less lucrative, but I'm not doing this for my bank account."

"You're doing it for Kip," Shane affirmed.

Scott paused, then he shook his head once. A precise denial. "At first, but now I'm doing it for me. It made sense for a long time to not let anyone know that part of me. Or I thought it did. Every time I tell someone though, it gets easier. I get easier. I can breathe a little deeper."

Had that happened for Shane? It was good not to censor himself around his parents, to use the words 'Ilya' and 'boyfriend'. It was fucking spectacular to not need to manufacture things for Hayden and J.J. anymore. He could just say 'Going to go see Lily' and Hayden smiled at him or 'Yeah, I've got a FaceTime tonight, no thanks' when J.J. wanted to go out. The pressure of the lie was mostly gone. He'd never said anything to anyone else one way or another about private life anyway. It was good to be honest with the people he cared about.

Was that what Scott meant or was it something more? Something existential that Shane wasn't grasping?"

"That's good," Shane said vaguely instead. "So option two is more like a regular bomb."

"Yeah, exactly. I figure it'll get a little traction in the hockey world, maybe, then fizzle out pretty quickly if I don't give them anything else interesting to gnaw on," Scott said with a faint smile. "Then there's option three."

"What's that?"

"No statement. I tell my team, the management etc, and Todd so he has a head's up. Then I live my life. Same as two, really, but I'm not giving the press anything. They might or might now notice. Depends on if anything else interesting is going on."

Shane nodded slowly. That was the approach he assumed he and Ilya would take years and years from now when the scrutiny had left them. Just start living their lives wherever they had wound up. A golden future as far over the horizon as sunrise on the shortest day of the year.

"Okay. So-"

"Option four is I don't," Scott said softly. "That's a rough one, but I didn't want to leave it out. It'd be dishonest to claim it wasn't on the table."

Shane stared down at his knees. Was option four on the table because of him? It had to be. Scott wanted it. Kip wanted it. Ilya was bizarrely fine with it, comfortable with the idea of Scott's visibility shining on him too. Or not comfortable, but at least not as afraid as Shane was. He couldn't understand it. Ilya had more to lose, not less. Then again, Ilya hadn't walked into his first locker room at twelve and gotten asked if he could help with a kid's math homework (and that had been the nicest kind of bullshit he'd gotten).

"I can't ask that," Shane said.

"You're not doing anything yet," Scott said with a shrug. "There's no timeline for this. I'm aiming for this summer, but there's no reason it can't be fall or winter. We can talk about it for as long as we need, before we're all on the same page."

"It's yours to decide."

"Yeah, maybe," Scott said with a small frown. "I don't know. Seems to me part of being in a relationship is making big decisions together."

"Are we going to talk about Ottawa too then?" Shane asked, a little more harshly than he meant to. "Isn't that what this is about?"

Beside him, Scott shifted a little, leaning back against the couch and letting his head drop against the backrest. The long line of his throat arrowed down to the v-neck of his t-shirt. A normal v-neck, not one of Ilya's, but still its own kind of invitation.

"I don't think I get a say in that."

"Come on. You just said-"

"It's between you and him and I promised Ilya I wouldn't meddle with that anymore," Scott cut him off, but not with any anger.

"You asked me once not to take him from you," Shane said. It was only after it came out that he thought it might be too much. Too ruthless.

"I did," Scott agreed.

To Shane's surprise, Scott reached out and cupped the back of Shane's head. It was gentle, soft. Fingers carding through the small hairs at the back of Shane's neck. He allowed it, relaxing a little into it despite himself.

"That's not why I suggested it," Shane muttered in lieu of an apology. "I like him with you in his life. It's better. I'm not-"

"I know," Scott said. "Shane, it's okay. You want him closer. I get that. I'm not worried about anyone taking anyone anymore."

"Why not?" Shane asked plaintively. Where could he find some of that surety?

"Because it implies people can be stolen. I don't think that's possible. No one can take Ilya anywhere he doesn't want to go, I think. Anyway, wherever you guys wind up, me and Kip will be around to bother you. This doesn't have to end at country borders as far as I'm concerned."

Shane closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, letting it out slowly. He sank into the palm of Scott's hand and let himself be entirely cradled there.

"I like option three," Shane said.

"Yeah? It's pretty good. We'll leave it there," Scott said and he didn't sound upset about it. "Like I said, no timeline, but three has the advantage of not needing one. It'll happen slow."

Happening slow was not generally Shane's favorite. The injury had forced time into a much different shape though. He may have fallen asleep beside Scott or maybe he was lingering in that half-awake state of healing that was hard to put a finger on. Either way, Scott stayed and when Shane came back to himself, they played cards and didn't talk about it at all.

For the last two weeks, some part of Shane had been preparing for a knockout brawl of a fight. From Sveta. From Scott. Instead, they had put things back into his hands and curled their own around his so nothing would slip away from him.

Shane had been lucky enough to grow up being loved. He knew that was lucky now, in a way that hurt. His parents had given up a lot for him, molded their lives around his potential and made sure he felt supported through it, even to the point of suffocation now and again. That shape of love Shane knew well.

He was getting to know the shape of Ilya's love too. The way it was devotion and a sharp tongue and passion all at once. It was distinct and singular, the kind of love that would carry Shane through the rest of his life if he had any say in it.

This too though, this hand on the back of his neck, the options, the long drive from Montreal to Sleepy Hollow so he could recover with friends and bread dough under his fingers, this was a form of love that Shane was still learning. He thought he might really like it, if he got a chance to get used to it. Right now, he certainly had the time.

Scott was in and out for the next week, home games and serious practice. Each time he arrived back, he had a kiss for Shane until it grew easy and expected. Neither of them attempted anything else, the careful warnings from Shane's medical team about 'only the lightest exercise' were enough of a warning. Instead, they played cards, every game they knew from a thousand plane rides. For Shane, the future ceased to exist for a little. The holding pattern of his healing took over. Then Scott was gone again, a shorter roadie that would end right before the playoffs began. The playoffs that the Admirals were definitely making. The Metros were already falling behind, sliding out of contention as if they'd been greased.

"You have to win for me," Shane told Scott as he packed his bag. "If Ilya ties with me in Cups, he's going to brag all summer."

"A terrible fate for both of us," Scott agreed with a laugh. He kissed Shane goodbye. It was a lot longer than that first goodnight kiss.

Almost as soon as Scott swept out, Kip swept in.

"Shane!" Kip bounced into the house, all manic end-of-semester energy. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said more earnestly than he had a week ago. "I don't want to brag, but I can look at my phone almost as much as I want now."

"Wow," Kip said with all the appropriate appreciation for that fact. "Cool. Wanna celebrate by making out?"

Kip might be Shane's favorite at the moment. If only because Ilya was trapped in a scheduling nightmare of games near and far that made getting to Sleepy Hollow implausible at best.

"I really would, but we have to do some weird angles."

"I love a weird angle," Kip assured him.

They figured themselves out in Shane and Ilya's bed. They stacked a horrendous amount of pillows against the headboard, so Shane could recline like some kind of Roman lord while Kip wedged in next to him, one leg thrown over both of Shane's. Kip's hands wandered though they stayed safely away from Shane's injured side, skating over Shane's stomach and hip. They exchanged long, thorough kisses, both of them mussed and flushed by the time Kip pulled away with a groan.

"Oh, this is so freshman year of college," he said, resting his forehead on Shane's good shoulder. "I was seeing this guy who was in a triple and I had the most clingy roommate of all time. We'd just make out and dry hump in empty classrooms."

Shane could all too easily imagine that. He rubbed his thumb over Kip's hip. "Is that a good memory or a bad memory?"

"The making out part was an excellent memory. You're a better kisser, but he was no slouch. Bad memory part is that he was a raging dickhead. Broke up with him in a Shake Shack and he scream-cried about it. Told me I was a malignant narcissist just like his father. I couldn't even walk by that place for two years afterwards, I was so embarrassed."

"We have led very different lives," Shane said, marvelling at the fact, not for the first time.

"I know, babe," Kip said. "I bet all your breakups were very polite."

"I mean yeah because I didn't really want to be dating them in the first place," Shane said. "I mean, they were all nice girls… nice girls and Kyle?"

"Kyle can be a nice girl," Kip laughed a little and not meanly as far as Shane could tell. "I get it. Are we calling Kyle a breakup now?"

"Maybe? I don't know," Shane said. "It didn't feel like one."

"Yeah, I think you're in the clear there. Which reminds me, how comfortable are you with hanging out at his place? You, me and Sveta are invited to PowerPoint Party on Thursday, but I wasn't sure you'd be into it. Sorry to spring it on you, I forgot about it in the whole 'grade a thousand essays by the end of the week' haze."

"What the fuck is a Powerpoint Party?"

"Oh my god, it's so fun and stupid. We all put together ridiculous presentations on something silly. A hot take or something. Then we get kind of drunk and present them. It was a cheap way to entertain ourselves right after college and we haven't done one in like two years?"

"What kind of hot takes?" Shane asked. He was trying to imagine teambonding over PowerPoint and was only imagining a lot of snickering over Instagram models.

"Our last collection was hilarious. Elena ranked the fuckability of the Loony Toons. I think Shawn's was a defense of the Sharknado movies. Kyle proposed cocktails that went well with horrifying life events. Maria only came to the last one, but she really got us up to date on K-Pop fandom dramas, which was cool."

"What did you do yours on?" Shane asked, trying to imagine that chaos.

"Why I should be allowed to take a bite out of an oil painting, just one time for science," Kip said. "Some of them look delicious!"

The laughter was involuntary and Shane knew it was too loud for the former quiet intimacy of the bed they'd been fostering. He couldn't help it. The reverence Kip had for art was usually so academic and sharp. The thought of him gnawing on the edges of one was hilarious.

"Did anyone agree with you?"

"Kyle said we could buy a cheap one from Goodwill, but we got voted down. Everyone was worried I'd die of toxins or something. Like I wasn't slinging the grossest smoothies in the borough. Now those could've killed someone."

"Scott loved them," Shane said, bemused. He knew that origin story very well.

"I love him so much. He never tasted a damn one of those. He was drinking it and disassociating by looking right in my eyes, thinking about how to trap me in his apartment forever like an evil wizard or something." And Kip did sound genuinely fond about them. The two of them were psychotic. It had really grown on Shane. "The ones I make at home are way better. Maybe those overrode his memory or something. You know that place closed like six weeks after I started at Princeton? I think Scott was the only person who cared. Even Maria found a new job in like twenty-four hours and forgot the name."

"I guess the disassociating worked," Shane said. "Here you are."

"Here I am," Kip agreed. "Can I tell you something kind of ridiculous?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to marry him."

It struck through Shane like lightning, the wheel of feelings was spinning wildly, the little plastic arrow almost snapping off. "Kip! What the fuck! That's not ridiculous. Did you propose? Why didn't you-"

"Woah! Woah! Some day! I'm going to marry him some day! I mean I told him I was going to propose, but right away," Kips said quickly, eyes wide. "It's a future plans thing, not an already thing."

"Oh," Shane subsided a little, "Still though. Holy shit. Marriage!"

"Marriage," Kip agreed, "I honestly didn't think you'd see it as a big deal."

And frankly, why did Shane think it was a big deal? Kip and Scott loved each other. Scott was going to come out to some degree. Eventually, of course they might consider getting married. It might not even change very much for their lives at this point, except maybe it would ease some of Kip's concerns about money and Scott could get on funding Kip's life in the way that he seemed to want to.

"You need a prenup," Shane said, then winced. "I mean- shit. Sorry. That sounds rude as fuck, but I mean for you. Otherwise, I think if anything ever happened, Scott would just hand everything over to you and I think you'd hate that?"

"Oh shit, you're right," Kip said with a wince. He was still pressed up against Shane's side, so he must not have ticked him off too badly. "Not looking forward to that conversation."

"Yeah, having a relationship is a lot more 'conversation I don't actually want to have' than I expected," Shane agreed.

"Magnified by like a thousand considering how many people we're negotiating with around here, huh?"

And…yeah. Okay. So. There is that. Shane still wasn't sure how to start plucking at the complicated tangle in his mind marked 'polycule?!?!'.

"Scott talked to me about coming out."

"I know," Kip said and gave Shane's thigh a pat. "Option three is fine with me."

"Really?" The wave of relief caught Shane by surprise. "I know you don't want to hide anymore and maybe that was too much like hiding."

"My litmus test for 'hiding' is 'do we need five hundred contingency plans to get a sandwich in public together?'," Kip said. "Scott is already great at big ridiculous gestures. I'm sure we've all got more of those to look forward to. The coming out is for the little things. Not shoving Sveta between us or panicking about almost holding his hand on the street, you know?"

If Shane held Ilya's hand in public, it wouldn't matter if he never put out a press release about it. It would be the only thing people said about him for the rest of his fucking life. Shane Hollander, Gay for Rozanov, Asian, and two-time Cup winner. The third appended back on only if he was lucky. All his other accolades would get washed out to shore in favor of being reminded that he got on his knees for another man.

But fuck. It'd be nice. It'd be really nice. For the brief moment they had it. Before it became the world's moment. Wouldn't it be nice to hold Ilya's hand or kiss him absently on the cheek or the thousand and one other things that Ilya could do with Sveta if he'd had a mind to. If they had decided on each other that way.

If Shane could've formed himself into someone that could be with Rose, he could have had that.

"Woah," Kip said softly, "Where did you go, babe?"

"Nowhere good," Shane admitted. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

With a gentleness Shane wasn't sure he deserved, Kip massaged his suddenly tense bicep.

"The PowerPoint thing," Shane said, grasping backwards for any topic that wasn't red hot with fear and pain, "can I go even if I don't make one?"

"For sure," Kip said quickly, apparently equally happy to get back to solid ground. "But if you want to do one, I can help you. Could be fun. Snuggle up with a laptop together tomorrow?"

"Yeah, okay."

Shane had mostly been saying it to keep things calm, but as it turned out, it was fun. Sveta joined them though she brought down her own computer and wouldn't show them her presentation. They made popcorn and Kip gamely tossed it into Shane's mouth which he caught most of. Shane had been a little concerned that he wouldn't have anything to talk about for any length of time that wasn't hockey, but Kip had only rolled his eyes and declared,

"You know a ton of shit, babe, come on. First off, you have a whole second fascinating career. None of us have modeled. Second, you're exotically Canadian. You could talk about maple syrup or pourtine or something."

"Why is that the only fucking thing anyone knows about Canadians here?" Shane muttered.

"So tell us something else," Kip said triumphantly.

A terrible idea occurred to Shane and unfortunately, Kip thought it was hysterical. They worked on Shane's presentation and then Kip made his own while Shane pretended he wasn't napping.

Actually heading out to go to Kyle's (and now Maria's, apparently) place was a little less peaceful. It was strange to go with Sveta and Kip to see Kip's friends without Ilya or Scott as a buffer. Carter wouldn't even be there, the travel day for the Admirals ensuring it. Ilya had played a fantastic game last night, but was also in the air tonight. Both teams were going to be in the playoffs, a mathematical certainty by now. Shane was only hoping for a good gap between so he and Ilya could have more than one night together before things got really busy.

The apartment was familiar to Shane generally. He'd been a little concerned about it, feeling too much like one of the hotel rooms he'd once shared with Ilya in the early years: a memory of sex faded into paint. Luckily with Maria's incorporation, the entire living room had been shifted around and a profusion of plants in the windows changed even the smell of the place entirely.

Kyle himself greeted Shane with the same unrestrained giddy friendliness without flirtation as Thanksgiving.

"You're here! Oh, look at you," Kyle tsked, laying a light hand on Shane's good arm. "How much longer do you have with the sling?"

"Hopefully I'm done with it tomorrow," Shane said, trying not to tense up.

There was nothing inherently threatening about Kyle. Sure, he liked to be a little bossy during sex, but it had been hard for Shane to take seriously considering he usually could bench press more than Kyle weighed soaking wet. Aside for a few interesting minutes with some rope, it had been hard for Shane to buy into their roles in the situation. So why was Shane more intimidated by him now when any implication of intimacy had been consigned to history?

"Where do you want this?" Kip asked Kyle with an edge that Shane had never heard him use before. He was holding their contribution to the night's feast: Sveta and Shane's latest bread loaf (black as promised and indecently good).

"Anywhere is good," Kyle said with a shrug. "Hi, Svetlana, it's nice to see you again."

"You too, thank you for inviting me," she said, eyes dancing between Kip and Kyle with a smile tugging at her lips. "Are we early?"

"Nope! Maria went to pick up a bottle of wine. She'll be back in two minutes. Shawn just go off at his stop, so that'll be five minutes and Elena's Uber got stuck in traffic, so she'll be here in ten. Honestly, this might be the closest we've ever gotten to starting on time."

"I have wine!" Maria burst through the door behind them. "Sveta!"

"Maria!" Sveta greeted her like they were old friends.

Maybe they were. It occurred to Shane that he had no idea what Svetlana had been doing the past few months in Sleepy Hollow when she wasn't working on her grad school apps or visiting Rose. He'd heard vaguely of her going into the city to see friends and had imagined her meeting people in clubs.

Before he could fully process that maybe he'd missed a few pages in their book, the door opened again and Shawn practically fell over Maria, juggling bags.

"I have presents! You know that guy I've been seeing? He manages one of those stupidly upscale grocery stores and he gets first pick of the sell-by date remainders! We're going to have a feast!"

"Is that safe to eat?" Kip asked and Shane could've kissed him for it because there was no way he was going to risk the question among near strangers.

"Kip, my love, my heart, my best friend!" Shawn screamed as if Kip had stabbed him. "He marked the good stuff by the wrong sell date because I let him do unspeakable things to me. My cranberry walnut chicken salad has been blessed by excellent sex and no expired mayo!"

And before the bickering from that could calm down, Elena arrived. She was still dressed for work, sharp suit only a little wrinkled from too much time in an Uber.

"Kyle, please tell me we have cocktails," she said instead of hello.

"In honor of our fair Elena's recent birthday, I will be making your favorite sangria," Kyle declared.

"Fuck. Yes," she groaned.

"And in honor of Shane's first evening with us, I also have a mocktail. Our Dark and Shaney is a ginger beer, lime juice, and pineapple juice."

"That sounds pretty good," Shane said.

"I thought you might like it," Kyle winked at him again then waltzed off as Shane was herded towards the couch by sheer traffic flow.

He wound up in the corner of the couch with Kip sitting on his right side. "You'll need a barricade in case they forget you're busted up."

"I take hits professionally," Shane reminded him bemused.

"Who's first?" Kip asked the room, his voice overriding several side conversations.

"We need to get the first round of drinks in us to get in the spirit," Maria laughed. "Calm your tits, Grady. Oooh, Shawn, what's the one with the pine nuts?"

"You want anything?" Kip asked Shane quietly.

"I can-" Shane started then stopped as he watched the group descend on the tiny plastic containers. It did look a little like an on-ice scrum. "You know what, make a plate, do your best."

He really did not want to explain to his orthopedist tomorrow that he'd re-injured himself hip checking a social work student off of the artichoke dip. The plate Kip delivered into his hand had a dozen enticing bites made up. When Shane glanced at Kip's plate, it was a much more chaotic splash of things piled up in the center.

The prickle of pleased heat in Shane's gut was not available for further examination as the first round of drinks appeared with Kyle grandstanding a little about their creation to generally friendly heckling.

"Okay, let's get the order up!" Maria declared.

The TV jumped to life and there was a slide already up with names listed. Shane was neatly slotted into the middle which he was happy to take. Normally, he was a 'go first and set the tone' sort of guy, but he had no idea what the tone was supposed to be here.

"How did we decide this?" Kip asked with a groan, his name stuck up first with some twinkly little star gifs around it.

"We had a really long philosophical discussion about it," Kyle said earnestly. "Maria and I debated long into the night."

"We used one of those spinny wheels on a website with a million ads," Maria translated. "Anyway, go ahead Kip. I've got you loaded up already."

She solemnly handed him the slim remote and he took it with gravity. All at once, Shane could see Professor Kip, the way that Ilya must've had in his mind's eye when he proclaimed that Kip would likely stay in academia. An authority fell over him, settling like a jersey in the shape of a starched button down. This was where Kip was a captain.

"Good evening," Kip said and clicked a button.

Their names disappeared and a simple white background with a typewriter-esque font appeared.

The Case of Undeath: Why We Should Try to Become Zombies in Case of Zombie Apocalypse

"Booo!" Shawn yelled. "Why does this always lead to you trying to eat something you shouldn't?"

"Shh, I want to hear this. I've always thought surviving would be easier as a zombie."

"Thank you, Elena," Kip said graciously and clicked to the first slide. A cartoon zombie wandered across the screen as the words 'Dead Girls Have More Fun' dissolved in, along with several graphs.

The tone, as it turned out, was raucous and clever. It reminded Shane of tape review during the Olympics. Yes, everyone had been focused, but they were also already the best of the best. It was almost easier to have fun despite the pressure cooker of the moment. If you added in years of comfortable friendship, it would be this. Kip took a bow to fervent applause then gave way to Maria.

She presented on something about music videos that Shane couldn't follow nearly as well, but he didn't have to. Kip was shoved up comfortably next to him and it wasn't even faking to laugh when Kip laughed because his delight was so evident. When Sveta took her place and with a totally straight face opened with a neon green slide that featured a MySpace-style pastiche of pictures of gummy candies, Shane started laughing before Kip.

Garbage Candy: A Ranking of the Worst Textures in Gummies

As far as Shane knew, Sveta had never cared about the texture of a gummy bear, but he knew Rose had very firm preferences. He sensed a ghost writer at hand. With Sveta's wryness punctuated with Rose's ribald humor, her slides got a lot of laughs and arguments.

Shane: You're wrong about gummy worms.

Rose: When was the last time you ate one? The Bush administration? Did she do well? She was nervous.

Shane: She did great! And fuck you, I hang out with Hayden's kids, I've had gummy worms.

Had Sveta actually been nervous? She had never once looked it. Then again, Shane wasn't sure she had ever looked nervous a day in her life. When she sat down at his other side, he whispered,

"That was really great."

"Thank you," she said and her hand fluttered over his knee, then landed giving it a quick squeeze before dancing away. "I hate public speaking."

"But you were a killer salesperson, I thought," Shane said.

"That's different," she whispered back. "It's something about a whole room staring at me."

Being stared at was in Shane's job description basically. He had been media trained before he could drive a car. The only thing nerve racking about tonight was the difference in topic and venue. Also, he'd rarely had to present anything that was his own idea which was…weird, now that he thought about it.

"You good?" Kip asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Shane said and got to his feet. Sveta slid him the clicker.

"Everyone shut up," Kyle said, swatting at Maria. "It's Shane's turn."

"Thanks," Shane laughed and took the spot beside the TV.

He liked the cover slide that he and Kip had come up with. The Canadian flag had grown a hand and was flipping off the U.S. flag. In all caps they had written:

Weak Peeps: Canadian Birds That Can Beat up American Birds

"Our birds can take your birds," Shane said flatly. He got a laugh and with a grin, he advanced the slides. "I've been told I could start and end right here."

A Canadian Goose glared down the barrel of the camera. Maria obligingly shrieked a little. Going through a few more ordinary birds, Shane found most of his jokes landing even as he started to riff a little, abandoning the rehearsed lines of the morning. When he hit the last slide, a loon call came out obligingly loud through Kyle's sound system.

"Fuck!" Shawn dove down, almost upending the rest of the crackers.

The loon picture was particularly intimidating and Shane stood by it serenely, explaining the loon's place in the ecosystem.

"It could easily take an eagle," he concluded. "Which does not actually make a cool hawk noise. It sounds like this."

The weak cry of the eagle played.

"Wait, really?" Maria asked with a laugh. "That's an eagle?"

"Yeah, they dub in hawk cries for them," Kip explained. "Like a body double, but for a bird."

"I've never felt less patriotic in my life," Kyle said. "And I've never been that into it to begin with."

"My job here is done," Shane said happily and handed the clicker off to Elena.

Hours later, Shane's phone rang. He was in bed with the lights out, half-asleep, but he answered anyway.

"You think you are very funny," Ilya said instead of hello.

"That would be because I am," Shane said, grinning into the dark. "Hey, at least it scared everyone and not just you."

"I will show you a Russian bird that will scare you so much you never sleep again," Ilya muttered.

"I think if you could, you would've done it already."

"I am saving it for a big moment," Ilya grumbled, then sighed. "It was good? You enjoyed it?"

"Yeah, a lot. I like Kip's friends. It's a little…I don't know. I don't always get what they're talking about and they assume I do, which is nice and also confusing. Maria has an interneship at an afterschool resource program and she said she'd send me some activities to think about for the camps."

"Yes? I like her. Very clever," Ilya said. "Tell me more."

"What about your game tomorrow?"

"I cannot sleep anyway," Ilya said. "I want to hear your voice."

How could Shane say no? No sane person could.

It meant he was a little groggy for his doctor's appointment in the morning, but Shane had pushed through harder things on even less sleep. He gave himself over to the herd of medical concern including his team from the Metros on video conference. These kinds of consults had happened around him for years. It was best to disassociate a little and let them talk in their own jargon until they came down to the actual recommendations. Sometimes, Shane thought of his body as a dense, complicated machine. It required many people to keep it running at peak condition and his stewardship of it was a critical piece of that.

When he was younger, he'd kept less careful track of the things they put into him. Now, he wrote down names of medications and dosages. He kept his own files. It wasn't a paranoid thing, but what any good owner of a complex mechanism would do. One must know who to call if a part breaks down or acts suboptimal. If some applied grease instead causes something to seize up, knowing the name of the grease would make the ensuing conversations go much faster.

Shane: Do you think of your body as a machine sometimes? Or am I being weird?

Scarlett: Not weird. Sometimes I do think of it like that. It's hard not to with the way other people talk about it.

Shane: Exactly! Lily says she doesn't do that.

Scarlett: Lily is full of shit. Maybe she uses a different metaphor, but we all have to do it sometimes in our job. You can't claim full ownership. Like how Kip can't fully own his intellectual property when he works for the university. He basically doesn't own his own brain entirely.

Shane: When you put it that way it sounds kind of fucked up.

Scarlett: It is kind of fucked up. But it's also really fun and pays us like we're gods, so how mad am I going to get about it? If I have to beep boop my way through some physicals, then so be it. How's the injury?

Shane: Cleared for light exercise and PT starts Monday.

Scarlett: Congrats! Head?

Shane: Almost back to normal. Good luck tonight! See you tomorrow?

Scarlett: Thanks! I should be home before lunch.

"How'd it go?" Kip called from the kitchen when Shane returned. Anya barked a welcome from upstairs, but didn't come down. She must be happily ensconced with Sveta. "Are you free from the tyranny of cloth?"

"Wouldn't that mean I was naked?" Shane asked, considering as he kicked off his shoes and got to use both hands to set them on the rack by the door.

"Okay, wise guy," Kip groaned. "Do you want some leftover chicken salad with that sass and hot ass?"

"Yes, thanks."

He reached the kitchen clearly sling-less and Kip put down a spoon to clap for him. "How does it feel?"

"Fucking amazing. I still have it if I'm getting achy or something."

"Want to show off and get down some plates?"

"I really do."

They ate lunch outside, the sun hitting the deck at the right angle to keep it comfortably warm. Kip kept stealing glances at Shane despite very ordinary conversation.

"Is there something on my face?" Shane asked.

"Oh, shit, no," Kip said with a wince. "It's just… I'm trying to decide if light exercise covers my favorite kind of exercise and how that would work if you're up for it."

It took Shane a second and then he tried very hard not to react like a cartoon character presented with a pie on an unguarded windowsill. It had been weeks without anyone, including himself, touching his dick and he had maybe gotten a little spoiled this year. Making out with Kip had been really nice and it was great that they could do that without fucking, but now that it was back on the table, Shane felt ravenous as a wolf.

"I am very up for it," Shane said. "Really really up for it."

"Amazing! Okay, so I had a thought about it, but if you don't like it, it won't hurt my feelings, okay?"

"Okay," Shane said. "I'm pretty vanilla I think. Besides, the bossing around stuff."

"Wow. You know between you and Extra Spicy Borsht, there must be the truth somewhere in the middle," Kip said dryly.

"Extra spicy borscht?"

"Ilya tried to tell me he was very kinky once. It didn't go well for him."

Shane blinked. "He thinks we're kinky?"

"I love that you immediately went back to the 'we' there," Kip said with a half-smile. "Look, we can debate what it means to be kinky if you want, but it will derail us from where I was going, which is more immediate orgasms. Want to pin that for later?"

"Yeah, yes. It's pinned," Shane said. "Immediate, please."

"How are you this hot AND cute. It should be illegal," Kip said with a quick head shake. "Okay, I was thinking if you're game that we could get you all comfortable on a big stack of pillows and then I can ride you. That has to be low intensity exercise. You'd barely have to move. I'll do the work."

The logistics were sound and would certainly work within his allowed movement range. Shane dropped his eyes to his lap, trying to figure out how he felt about it. He missed getting fucked. Ilya would be in Sleepy Hollow soon, though, and Shane wasn't sure he even wanted anyone else to fuck him before Ilya. Somehow, Ilya always knew how to get them both where they needed to go, no matter what was going on with their bodies.

Still, that left hands and mouths free to work. Kip had said he wouldn't mind if Shane said no. If Shane went to his knees, he could suck Kip off with minimal use of his bad shoulder. It'd be hot. Sex with Kip was hot.

But…

Well.

Shane didn't fantasize about topping Ilya. It hadn't even truly occurred to him as an option.

But Kip was different. Kip didn't have a commanding presence or a years-long pattern of holding Shane's pleasure and will cupped in his hands. Sex with Kip was consistently playful and done with a wink of 'can you believe we're allowed to do this?'.

Was it really topping if Shane was only laying there? Would he have to elaborately fantasize to come like he had when he'd been with women or would Kip hold his attention?

"I want to try," Shane decided. "But I might suck at it."

"You're going to suck at laying there looking like a whole meal while I use you like a dildo?" Kip asked lightly.

"I-fuck." Shane went hot all over. "Will you say shit like that while we do it?"

"Absolutely, babe. Maybe tell me your safe word though so I don't go too far by accident?"

"Offsides," Shane supplied.

"…of course it is," Kip said with a twitch of a smile. "Okay. Does right now work for you or did you have afternoon plans?"

If Shane had had plans, they were firmly forgotten. There was nothing written into his schedule anyway. All of his mother's busy concerns dropped away after he'd gotten injured. She had waved her hand and made sponsors disappear, video meetings with Farah and his financial manager had skipped along his calendar like stones, sinking into August around the camps.

"Now is good."

"Awesome. If you can clean up from lunch, I'll take twenty, then we can meet in my room. Okay?"

"Okay."

Twenty minutes was long enough for a little overthinking. Shane dedicated himself to getting the kitchen spotless, which sadly did not take very long. Then he got out his phone. He groaned and rested his head on one rigid side of it. Silence was an option. They had agreed to 'in the house' blank tickets, so it wasn't like Shane had to clear anything with Ilya. It was more that he wanted to share. Wanted the reassurance that he could do this. Was that childish? Uncomfortable? Stupid?

What would Ilya say if he found out Shane had wanted to reach out to him and hadn't? Would he be hurt?

Shane bit his lip, weighing need against want against…against what? Truly. Against what? What was the worst thing that happened? Standing in the kitchen of a house built to hold them safe and private was Shane really going to waste precious minutes of his life worrying about texting the man he texted twenty thousand times a day anyway?

Fuck. That.

Shane: Kitten asked me to top her and I said yes. Help.

Lily: They cleared you for exercise and the first thing you decide is to do a new thing in bed? I love you.

Shane: I love you too. Kitten is going to do all the work, so not really exercise. I guess I'll engage my core?