Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Scott Hunter & Carter Vaughn

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Carter Vaughn

Additional Tags:

Scott Hunter's sexcation, Summer Vacation, Travel, Spain, Casual Sex, Meet-Cute, Alcohol, Clubbing, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blow Jobs, Scott Hunter Loves Kip Grady, Kip Grady loves Scott Hunter, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Kip Grady, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch Scott Hunter (Game Changers), POV Scott Hunter (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-24 Updated: 2026-05-07 Words: 21,465 Chapters: 5/6

after the boys of summer have gone

Summary

“I went to Catholic school, you know,” Scott says, nodding at a painting of the Archangel Gabriel.

“Oh.” Kip sounds surprised that he’s sharing anything about himself unprompted and stands next to him to look at the painting together. “So you know all the saints and everything?”

“Saint Christopher,” Scott says quietly and he feels so brave and reckless when he brushes the back of his knuckles against Kip’s. He’s rewarded with a little smile. “Patron saint of travelers. You’ve been watching over this traveler anyway.”

-
Instead of the smoothie shop meet cute, Kip and Scott meet in Spain the following summer. (The working title for this until 5 minutes ago was “people we meet on sexcation”.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

If you haven't read Game Changer, it's book canon that Scott goes to "exotic" places like Italy for a couple weeks during summer and enjoys a casual hook-up or five. (The topic has been discussed in great detail on the Skip discord, and we've decided he's famous in Ibiza for his...skills, allegedly.)

Anyway, Kip deserves to go on a nice trip, too. So here we are.

Title from Boys of Summer by Don Henley.

August 2014

Whoever told Scott that summer in Spain comes with a dry, very tolerable kind of heat is a dirty, dirty liar. It’s 29 degrees Celsius but approximately 150% humidity, and with large parts of Europe still seeming unaware of the invention of air conditioning, he’s been having a very sweaty time ever since he got off the plane in Barcelona three days ago.

But then, having a sweaty time is kind of the point. He’s been to Mykonos and Ibiza, and this year it’s time to check Sitges off the list of top 5 gay holiday destinations that Google so helpfully provided in his incognito browser window.

If he’s being completely honest, he’s not impressed with himself for all this. Partying and hook-up culture is all well and good, and he can see why people enjoy it, but it’s not what he’d personally choose – if he had the choice.

However, given everything, his options feel extremely limited. Even this is a risk, of course. He may be far away from home and the MLH, but who’s to say some observant fan doesn’t find his way to the Mediterranean, phone camera at the ready, and takes home a really interesting story about someone who looked just like Scott Hunter, Captain of the New York Admirals…

Scott sighs. He can’t think like this. It’s all he allows himself, one or two weeks out of the year, and he’s learned to turn his brain off for it as much as he can. Things are what they are, and if this is all he can have, he’s damn well going to enjoy it.

And he has been. He’s enjoyed getting a blowjob in a bathroom from a man whose name he never even learned with beautiful black hair and eyes that Scott could only describe as soulful. Soulful Eyes rolled the condom down with his mouth and got to work, and afterwards, he winked at Scott, said something in Spanish that sounded vaguely dirty, and left. He’s also enjoyed dancing with a guy called Nate who looked like he got lost on the way to business school, and then fucking Nate bent over the edge of the sofa in his hotel room. And that time, Scott was the one to leave immediately after.

It’s been good, but it’s also starting to feel a little empty after several years. The adrenaline usually makes up for it, but Scott can feel himself slowly growing weary of it all. He wants to bring someone home (or at least to his temporary home at the AirBnB) and spend the night with him. He wants to have a conversation with someone. But at the same time – the more time he spends with a hook-up, the more dangerous. Conversation is a risk, unfortunately.

He doesn’t usually give his real name, if he gives one at all; doesn’t share anything about himself and makes up a fake job. Shaves his face bare before he even gets on the plane, dresses differently than he does at home. Anything to fly under the radar, be as unrecognizable and anonymous as possible. Minimize the risk. It works (so far), but it’s also grating on him.

Now, he’s sitting at the bar in one of the smaller places close to the beach, simply called Man Bar (because between Boys Bar and Bear Village – though he has no idea whether these names actually make any sort of statement about the patrons – this seemed like a happy medium).

While he’s following his usual tactic of waiting to be approached (because honestly, he has no idea how to start a conversation with a guy here or what his actual type even is) – someone practically falls right into his lap and spills his fruity drink all over Scott’s white t-shirt.

“Ohh my God.”

Someone who is…remarkably attractive. Whatever Scott’s type is, this guy definitely fits the bill. He has an adorable face, curly black hair, and the tight black t-shirt he’s wearing with his denim shorts shows off that he’s clearly built as hell, but he carries it in an incredibly casual way.

And he’s also currently still hanging half over Scott, having bumped into his knees on his way to the bar with a still half-full cocktail glass in his hand. Well, it was half full, before it was all over Scott’s shirt.

The man sways a little, clearly drunk, and looks at Scott with big brown eyes, apologetic and a little alarmed. He chooses to stabilize himself with a hand on Scott’s knee, which, frankly, makes Scott feel all sorts of things, and he reaches out almost automatically, his hand hovering near the guy’s hip to offer further support.

“I’m sorry.”

Scott, whose last two brain cells are currently preoccupied with admiring the arms on the man before him, because what the hell, make him say, “I’m Scott.”

The stranger laughs and doesn’t seem to notice the panic on Scott’s face after he’s just accidentally given his real name. So fucking stupid. This is why he usually minimizes the talking stage of the evening.

“’Hi sorry, I’m Scott’,” the man says and God – Scott forgets all about his name or anyone else’s, because this guy’s smile feels like the sun is rising just for him.

“Uh, sorry?” Scott asks and the man practically doubles over into his lap, laughing.

“Exactly! Like the dad jokes?”

Oh. Oh, okay. Scott accidentally made half a dad joke and now the most beautiful man in the world is laughing at him about it, what a phenomenal start to the night. What could be sexier than that?

“I’m Kip,” he introduces himself, popping the P, and then adds, “Christopher, actually, but don’t call me that.”

“Okay,” Scott agrees. Kip is still swaying a little bit, readily leaning into Scott’s hand that has now found a comfortable new home on his hipbone.

“Sorry about…that.” Kip points his chin towards Scott’s chest, covered in orange cocktail remnants. Then, as if he needs to investigate further, he very gently places his hand on Scott’s chest, right over the stain.

“It’s all right,” Scott says, suddenly a little breathless when Kip – who is touching him, very much touching him and looking at him and being absolutely gorgeous right here in Scott’s personal space – leans in a little bit.

“Scott,” he says, as if he’s about to tell him a secret. “I was – a little nervous. And I had too much to drink.”

“Yeah, I think you did a little bit.”

“But don’t let that dis- uhm. Distract you. Don’t let that distract you,” Kip finally finds his words and holds up a finger on his free hand, making sure he has Scott’s attention. “Distract you from the fact. That I really wanna kiss you.”

Oh God. Kip starts stroking his thumb back and forth where his hand is still pressed to Scott’s chest and Scott feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Is that why you came over here?”

“Yeah, you’re so hot,” Kip says, as if it’s all very obvious. “I was gonna…just gonna say hi. Not – that.” He gestures to Scott’s shirt.

“That’s really okay,” Scott replies. He needs a plan. He needs a plan fast because now that it’s been brought up, he also really wants to kiss Kip, and do several other things with him that he can’t even think about in public without embarrassing himself. But that might not be the best idea right now.

Kip squints at him a little bit, like he’s trying to get his eyes to focus properly. He looks so incredibly kissable. And so, so drunk.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Scott says and Kip nods. “I’ll order you a big glass of water, and we get some fresh air. And then, if you still wanna kiss me in…an hour, you can.”

“That’s – a lot of steps.”

“Yeah, does that sound okay?”

Kip frowns and seems to consider for a moment, and then smiles again, like he just had the best idea.

“One condition.”

“Yeah?”

“You have to…take your shirt off.”

Scott laughs and wants to kiss Kip even more. “Yeah, all right. It’s all dirty anyway.”

He doesn’t even feel too awkward, pulling his shirt over his head in the middle of a bar –they’re practically at the beach here, there are guys in various states of undress everywhere. He orders them two big glasses of ice water and Kip pulls up a stool to sit next to him at the counter, their thighs pressed together and Kip’s hand back on his knee, casual as anything.

“This was a great idea,” Kip declares after draining half of his water glass in one go. “Great idea. But –” He tries to give Scott a serious look, which just ends up being more adorable. “Before I go anywhere. With you. Outside with you. You know?”

“Yeah?”

“I have to ask. Are you – a murderer?”

“Uh, no?”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I took this quiz the other day and it said I’m actually too lazy to be a serial killer. Or even a spree killer. So. Just not in the cards for me.” Scott briefly considers drowning himself in his water glass for whatever word vomit he just inflicted on poor Kip. He’s ruining it. He’s running his stupid, nervous mouth and ruining it with a guy who was into him a minute ago.

Kip blinks at him, eyebrows drawn together, and then takes another big gulp of water.

“Okay, I think – I think that’s a little weird. But. If you were a murderer, you wouldn’t need to take the quiz. Right? Cause you’d already know.”

Drunk logic is completely saving Scott’s ass here.  

“That makes sense,” he agrees, relieved. “What about you, are you secretly a murderer?”

Kip laughs, like Scott has made a great joke. “I’m in grad school and I work. No time for murder.”

“That’s fair,” Scott says. “What are you in school for?”

Kip is drawing invisible little patterns on the wooden tabletop of the bar with his fingertips and then seems to decide it’s a lot more interesting to do the same thing with his other hand on Scott’s leg. Scott sits very still and lets him.

“Art history,” he replies slowly. “Throwing my life away.”

“Oh, I don’t – I don’t know about that.” It sounds like a nice thing to dedicate your time to, art. Scott can’t say he really knows anything about it, but it sounds sort of peaceful to him. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” Kip sighs and smiles, looking a little wistful and lost in thought, and Scott thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I like it a lot.”

“Then I think you’re right where you need to be.” He shrugs and drains the last of his own water. “Do you want to head out for a bit? Go to the beach?”

Kip nods, enthusiastic, and takes Scott’s hand to lead him outside. It’s – good? Good. Scott realizes he’s never held hands with a man, which feels a little ridiculous. Done almost everything else, at this point, but never something as simple as this.

And maybe – almost certainly – it’s just the alcohol, making Kip so tactile, and the casual touch means a lot more to Scott than it does to him. But he can’t stop smiling. It even distracts him from the nervous little flutter in his stomach when they step outside the safe confines of the bar. He’s put his hat and sunglasses on, shirt tucked into the back pocket of his board shorts. He looks like any other tourist. It’s fine. It’s fine. No one is looking at them. Even if his heart is pounding. It’s worth it. He can have this. He feels his palm start to sweat, pressed against Kip’s, but tells himself it’s just the heat.

They stop to pick up a couple of sandwiches and some more water from a café near the beach, and Kip is keeping up most of the conversation so that Scott doesn’t have to talk about himself too much, which is a relief.

He’s here with a group of students from his university (Columbia, which briefly makes air raid sirens go off in Scott’s brain because that’s way too close to home, he never ever hooks up with anyone from New York – until now, apparently) because one of his professors is originally from Spain and specializes in Catalan art. She’s here for a series of guest lectures at the University of Barcelona and convinced Columbia to fund a trip for a few of her students to come out for a week, visiting museums and listening to her lectures and looking at Barcelona’s architecture.

Knowing a famous spot of gay nightlife was so close by, Kip ventured out on his own tonight. He’s never been out of the country before, he tells Scott, and nothing scares him because I’m a New Yorker, come on, but this – this maybe scares him a little bit, being in a foreign country, away from his group, when he doesn’t speak the language and his phone has no internet because he didn’t know he had to set that up beforehand.

It progresses from drunk rambling to slightly more coherent storytelling, questions to Scott sprinkled in here and there that he tries his best to deflect, and he hangs on to Kip’s every word, soaking up the glorious normalcy of the life Kip leads. That little glimpse of the outside world, where everything doesn’t revolve around hockey. He forgets a world outside the rink exists, sometimes, but he does like to be reminded.

They’re sitting side by side on the sand together, and it makes Scott’s chest feel a little tight, how absurdly romantic this actually is. The setting sun, the soft breeze coming in from the sea, the distant sound of music from one of the restaurants nearby, occasional laughter and chatter from the people seated outside.

“So, I feel a lot more sober already,” Kip says after finishing his sandwich and water. He’s definitely still tipsy, but his eyes look much clearer at least. The way the light hits his face, bathing him in a warm, orange glow, has Scott feeling so weak that he already knows he’ll agree to anything Kip asks.

“Yeah?”

“And you said if I still wanted to kiss you…”

Kip’s eyes drop to his lips, then he looks back up and smiles at him. Does he know how absolutely devastating that smile is? He must. He must be using it as a weapon on purpose.

Scott’s stomach flutters, half excitement, half nerves. They’re very exposed out here. Walking hand in hand through busy streets, filled with other partygoers, is one thing. This is different.

“Unless you don’t…?” Kip’s face falls a little and Scott feels his breath catch in his throat. No. No. He’s not going to let this sweet, wonderful man doubt himself for even a second.

He leans in, one hand cupping Kip’s face and the other still holding his, fingers tangled together on the sand. One breath later, they’re kissing, right there in the middle of the beach, and it feels like the best thing Scott has ever done.

Kip is a great kisser. He’s gentle and playful with Scott, much like he is in conversation, teasing with a little bit of tongue and once, a hint of teeth. It feels like a small preview of all the things Scott could have later tonight, if he lets himself.

They kiss for a long time, finding their rhythm, slowly growing more heated. Tongues sliding together, hands wandering, and eyes meeting, full of promise.

“Do you wanna go dance?” Kip asks and Scott nods. He wants to do anything that Kip wants to do.

They go to a club called Las Vegas and drink virgin Mojitos and then one single tequila shot each, because a group of British tourists buys them a round. One of the younger guys is very obviously making eyes at Kip, but Scott gives him a stern look and then drapes his arm around Kip’s shoulders, and he backs off.

“Hot,” Kip says with a laugh and nudges his side. “Don’t worry, all yours.”

And it’s just a line, Scott knows it’s just a line, and they only just met, but he kisses Kip a little harder when they’re on the dance floor afterwards, pulls him in a little closer, and Kip responds in kind.

Dancing, much like Scott has already learned, mostly just means grinding together in a cramped, dark space, and having an excuse to put your hands in slightly inappropriate places in a semi-public setting. And making out, so much making out.

Kip isn’t shy at all, pressing close to Scott and letting him feel how hard he is, hands on his ass and his mouth all over Scott’s neck and shoulders when it isn’t glued to his lips.

They dance to Levels and Give Me Everything like the American tourists they are, and then the DJ plays a bunch of Spanish songs in a row that Scott doesn’t know. But there’s a good beat to them and he doesn’t have to do much anyway, mostly just follow Kip’s lead and let sure hands on his hips (and sometimes his ass) guide him to where he needs to go.

He vaguely recognizes Danza Kuduro when it comes on and so does Kip, singing along to the oioioi parts with his head thrown back and wiggling his shoulders in some exaggerated move that is probably meant to be funny, but Scott just finds sexy as hell.

The dance floor settles down a little bit when a remix of Talking Body starts playing and Scott admittedly gets a little lost staring at the colorful spotlights moving over Kip’s face. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun.

“Where are you staying?” Kip leans in to ask, the way he licks right beneath Scott’s ear driving him absolutely crazy. “I have a room in the city but it’s like, a dingy hostel and half an hour on the train first.”

“AirBnB. Five-minute walk.”

“Are you gonna take me home and fuck me?” Kip whispers, and Scott feels like he’s going to die.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

“Or, wait.” He pulls back to look at Scott. “What do you like?”

Scott just wants to say anything, anything with you. But actually –  

“Do you ever, uh, top?”

It never quite happened. There are certain assumptions people make about him based on his body type and demeanor, and they’re not completely wrong – Scott has fucked several men and greatly enjoyed himself each time. It just never worked out the other way around yet, and he’s a little wary of trying it out for the first time with someone he doesn’t know at all and, going by past statistics, likely standing up in some dirty bathroom stall somewhere.

And yes, technically he also doesn’t know Kip at all, but at the same time, Kip is somehow nothing like anyone else he’s hooked up with. There’s something about him that has Scott feeling like he can trust him with his body that way and relax enough that it’s actually going to be good.

“Yes,” Kip replies emphatically, face lighting up. “Yes, I do.”

“So. How about I take you home and you fuck me first?”

It comes out nothing like Kip’s sexy little line earlier and he’s also not actually sure either of them has a round two in them after their night out. But it feels right to say it, and he’s rewarded with another one of those brilliant smiles and Kip tugging on his hand again.

“Let’s go right now.”

They’re both covered in sweat and sand a little bit of glitter from the club by the time they get to Scott’s place, so they each take a quick, separate turn in the shower. Scott is a little disappointed at first about not having enough room for two in there, but then realizes he should probably clean up a little more thoroughly and – some things require privacy.

He’s not really sure about the etiquette here, but grabs a bottle of lube from his wash bag and prepares himself just in case. He thinks about Kip’s hands while he opens himself up, broad and strong and surprisingly soft when he held them earlier, and how his fingers would feel instead.

When he walks out, Kip is sitting on the bed with a towel around his hips, thumbing through one of the coffee table books from the apartment. He looks up when he notices Scott standing in front of him completely naked and makes a soft sound in his throat, eyes wide and dark.

“Whatcha reading?” Scott asks, his mouth twitching a little, and Kip laughs and puts the book aside.

“I really don’t know.”

He crosses the room until he’s standing right in front of Scott and drops his towel, pressing in close to kiss him. He smells like Scott’s shower gel and tastes like his mouthwash, the remnants of the night washed away and replaced with nothing but warm skin and a tingling sense of anticipation in the air.

Scott walks them back over to the bed and pushes Kip into the pillows, hands and mouth all over his chest and stomach, finding warm, soft skin over muscle, the small prickle of recently waxed hair against his lips, and the instantly addicting sound of Kip’s little moans in his ear.

Kip lets him have his fun for a while, giving as good as he gets, and then bites at his earlobe a little bit (weirdly hot) and says, “get up on your knees for me.”

“I…” Scott starts and then falters. Should he tell him? Is it embarrassing that he’s 32 years old and has never done this? Should he pretend? “I usually top,” he finally settles on. “So…”

“Yeah, I figured from the way you asked me that,” Kip says easily. “Always good to try something new, find out what you like.”

Huh. Is it really that simple? Kip distracts him with more kisses and rolls them over so that he’s hovering over Scott, smiling down at him.

“I’ve done, uh, toys. So, I know I like it. Just not…”

“Just not with a whole human attached to it, huh?”

“Yeah. And…” The moment feels a hair’s breadth from turning awkward at all times, but Kip makes it all so easy, nothing but open and curious with Scott. He’s never met anyone he finds so pleasant and comfortable to be around right off the bat. “I, uh. Got ready.”

“Aw, okay,” Kip says and kisses him again, rocking his hips forward so they’re pressed together, hot and hard. “I would have helped with that.”

He sits back and taps Scott’s side, reminding him he’s still meant to get up on his knees.

“You’re pretty tall, so this is easier. But we can try face to face later if you want.”

Kip runs his hands over Scott’s ass, squeezing flesh and muscle in his hands, and then gets himself ready; Scott listening to the crinkle of the condom wrapper and the squelchy sounds of the lube bottle with his head turned back over his shoulder and his eyes fixed on Kip’s beautiful hands.

“I’m just gonna….” Kip opens another condom and pulls it over two of his fingers, then squeezes some more lube onto it. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Scott tries to keep quiet when Kip carefully pushes his fingers into him, but it’s – it’s kind of a lot. Not physically, but he’s feeling more than expected about it, being this vulnerable with someone when he usually keeps such tight reigns on his control of the situation with other men. But hell, he should have known he’d keep breaking his own rules when he started things off by giving Kip his real name like an idiot.

Kip crooks his fingers just right and Scott shudders, squeezing around the intrusion. He pushes back against Kip’s touch and Kip makes an appreciative little noise. It feels so much better than Scott’s own fingers, never getting the angle quite right when he does this by himself, and he moans and drops his shoulders, forehead pressing into the pillows.

“Yeah, you like it,” Kip confirms, his voice low.

Scott feels him withdraw his fingers and, a second later, the blunt pressure of Kip’s cock sinking into him. It’s not a completely new sensation of course, he’s done this enough to be very familiar. Though never quite like this – with Kip’s warm body behind him, hips right up against Scott’s ass once he’s fully inside, their legs pressed together, Kip’s hands gentle but firm as they stroke down his back, Kip’s moans in his ear. No toy is ever going to be enough after this.

“Okay?” Kip asks and Scott nods, not trusting his mouth not to say anything way too intense if he opens it.

“Please,” he risks, and then immediately bites his lip when Kip starts thrusting into him, before anything else can slip out. Like now I know why I never wanted to do this with anyone else and I waited just for you and I came all the way out here to find you.

Kip seems satisfied with that anyway, hands now settled on Scott’s hips as he drives into him, head bowed to drop wet, hot kisses to his back and shoulders and murmur half-coherent words into Scott’s skin. Telling him how good it feels, how much he wants him.

“Can you come like this?” Kip asks, rough and breathless, and Scott really doesn’t know, it feels like maybe, like anything could happen right now because he didn’t know his body could feel like this at all. He wraps a hand around his cock just to be safe, and it’s almost too much at once. Jerking himself off, Kip fucking into him, and the weight of an entire night of what was basically foreplay behind it, driving them together.

It doesn’t take much at all and he’s feeling his body shake and seize and then release, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him as he shouts into the pillow. Kip follows only a moment later, panting and groaning as his thrusts slow and he drives himself deep a few more times before he stills completely and slumps against Scott’s back.

They breathe together for a minute, the room dark and silent around them and Scott’s entire body still feeling like he might be shaking apart any moment. Wondering how the hell he never knew he could feel like this.

Slowly, Kip pulls out and then stretches out on the bed next to Scott, letting himself be engulfed in what Scott knows must be an absolutely crushing embrace.

“That was…” He tries it out, seeing if he can trust his words again. Not really, he realizes. Because what he wants to say is, that felt a thousand times better than any kind of sex I’ve ever had with anyone, and now I don’t know if I can go back.

“It really was,” Kip agrees to whatever statement he heard in Scott’s unspoken words. He feels so warm in Scott’s arms and smells like body wash and fresh sweat and sex, and Scott has to kiss him again.

It’s sweet and lazy but full of tongue and Scott wishes he could taste more of Kip, could suck him off and swallow him down and put his tongue inside him…everything; he wants everything with him.

They kiss until they’re both so tired they’re mostly just pressing their faces together and breathing in each other’s air, starting to fall asleep.

“Do you, uhm…do you want me to leave?” Kip asks after a while, thumb stroking Scott’s cheek and lips ghosting over his jaw.

“What?” Scott asks slowly. And he – he understands the question, he really does. It’s how these things usually go. But nothing about this has been in any way usual, so… “No. No, no.”

Kip huffs out an amused little breath. “Okay. I’m happy to stay.”

“Stay,” is the last thing Scott remembers saying before he falls asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Aside from taking a fun trip down memory lane picking out early 2010s club music, I feel like I put more effort into travel planning for these two than I did for most of my own trips I’ve been on, so please have all the visuals if you're interested:

a video about gay culture in the city of Sitges, Spain (near Barcelona)
Man Bar
the beach they walk to
Las Vegas club
Scott’s AirBnB

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Scott wakes up the next morning with the sun on his face and Kip in his arms. He’s absolutely stunned for a second and only barely stops his body from jerking in surprise at the unfamiliar sensation of that warm, heavy weight draped across his chest.

Kip is breathing deeply, his cheek pressed to Scott’s chest and all his limbs starfished out across the bed. They must have kicked the sheets off in their sleep, and Scott is treated to a view of Kip’s entire naked backside, including the curve of his ass, which Scott personally thinks should itself be studied as a work of art.

Kip stirs with a little snuffle, arms wrapping around Scott before he seems to realize where he is and what he’s doing and blinks up at him instead.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” Scott has to admit he’s at a bit of a loss here. He’s never had anyone stay over before, even on vacation, and he’s definitely never woken up with anyone like this.

“Oh God,” Kip sighs and Scott is briefly alarmed, but then at least a little reassured when Kip presses his face into Scott’s chest and drops a kiss to it. “I’m so sorry for how drunk I was last night. That’s not – I usually know when to stop.”

“I thought it was cute,” Scott says, because he apparently has no filter or sense of self-preservation when faced with a beautiful man before his first cup of coffee in the morning.

“Embarrassing is what that was,” Kip insists, but turns a little pink. “But thank you for getting me to drink water and all that stuff. I’d be feeling a lot worse otherwise.” He squints at the clock on the nightstand.

“Do you need to be somewhere?” Scott asks and Kip nods, but rolls to the side and stretches out next to him with a content sigh like he has all the time in the world.

“Not for a while though, it’s early.”

“So you have time for breakfast?” Scott asks, as innocently as he possibly can, and Kip gives him a wicked grin.

“Oh yeah.”

---

When they’re sitting out on the little terrace with coffee and scrambled eggs afterwards, Kip tells Scott about his agenda for the day. He’s going to a museum in Barcelona with the other students and then listening to a guest lecture by a visiting professor from Switzerland at the university. Scott had briefly forgotten that it’s not really a vacation for Kip.

He also keeps getting distracted by the fact that Kip has had to borrow some of his clothes this morning and is now wearing a light blue t-shirt that fits a little more tightly across his chest and shoulders than it does on Scott. The shirt still smells faintly of Scott’s laundry detergent and the black basketball shorts Kip is wearing are too long on him, making him look short and compact and adorable in ways that Scott tries not to let himself think about too closely.

“Stop me any time this gets way too weird and you need to, like, get rid of me, but – do you maybe wanna come?”

“Uhm. I mean.” Scott forces himself to stop staring and looks at his coffee instead. He wants nothing more than to spend more time with Kip. Is that a good idea? Who knows. “Yeah? Would that be okay?”

“You really don’t have to, if you’re just saying that to be polite, but I just – uhm. I thought maybe it would be nice. If you want to.”

Kip definitely sounds a little less confident today than he was last night, and it feels like they’re carefully dancing around each other, trying to get a feel for what the boundaries are to their little summer fling that they’ve fallen into head over heels.

“I really want to,” Scott says. Oh, what is he getting himself into? There are going to be other people there, students from Columbia, more New Yorkers… “Are you sure it’s okay if you just…bring a friend?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. It’s just a museum. We met a whole bunch of other students at the hostel as well and some of them are probably gonna tag along. It’s completely fine.”

“I’m very…private, I guess,” Scott says carefully, trying to find a way to make Kip understand why this is a little difficult for him without sounding like a lunatic.

“Yeah, I got that feeling. You volunteered pretty much zero information yesterday.” Oh, so he noticed that.

“I don’t – I’m sorry about that, Kip. I’m just not used to – I’m not very public with this, with…men.”

Kip takes a deep breath and looks at Scott for a long moment. “Okay, fuck it, I’m gonna ask.” He squares his shoulders like he’s bracing himself for Scott’s answer. “Are you married back home? To a woman? Do you have a family?”

“What?” Scott can feel his eyes go wide. His brain shuffles the pieces around and…yeah. It makes sense, how Kip would come to that conclusion. “I’m not. I promise you I’m not married, no kids, nothing like that.”

“Okay,” Kip says, and then softly adds, “I believe you.” He takes Scott’s hand on the table and gives him a small smile.

“I’m just not…out? And I can’t –” Scott clears his throat and looks away. It’s a beautiful day outside, of course it is. It’s paradise here. So far from home. With Kip. And now reality is starting to creep in and he really doesn’t want it to. “I’d lose my job. Probably.”

“Oh.” Kip sounds a little taken aback. “I didn’t realize…”

“That still existed? Yeah.”

“Wait, you’re a trainer, right? Personal trainer?”

That’s Scott’s go-to lie and it’s really fucking stupid. Sean, personal trainer from Buffalo. It sounds fake to his own ears, but it’s not like most men he meets even think twice about anything he says. Scott certainly didn’t question it when about half the guys he met in Greece last year were all allegedly called John. And he knows nothing about anything except hockey and forcing his body into being the appropriate shape for hockey, so – trainer. He can sell it if he ever needs to, he can talk about squats and deadlifts and protein all day long.

And he kind of regrets lying to Kip, but what’s done is done. No matter how much he wants to just spill everything, he has to keep himself safe above all else. It’s a nice idea though, being able to actually talk to someone about this. Being able to talk to Kip about it, who seems so understanding and full of empathy, and would probably have some good advice for Scott, too.

“I work with professional athletes,” he says slowly. Which is true. “That whole world, it’s – different. If they knew…”

“That’s why you come all the way here?” Kip’s voice is gentle and his eyes searching, like he really wants to understand.

“Yeah. And that’s why I’m a little…paranoid, I guess.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I get that.” Kip rubs his thumb over Scott’s knuckles and squeezes his fingers. “But I don’t think you have to worry much about it here, right? Not like someone’s waiting to make it front page news or anything.”

Scott blows out a breath. If only.

---

He feels surprisingly at ease once they get into the city. Barcelona is so lively and vibrant, so full of people everywhere, that it feels easy to blend in and be just another guy. It’s different than being in New York and the anonymity makes him feel a little safer. That and the trusty cap and sunglasses combo that probably make him look a little ridiculous, but feel worlds better. Plus, he’s a tourist on his summer vacation, he’s allowed to look the part.

They go to the National Museum of Catalan Art, and he trails behind the group, half-listening to Kip’s professor talk about the paintings, but mostly just looking at Kip. Kip studies the art, Scott studies him. The focused look he gets in his eyes when he’s listening closely, the little tilt to his head when he considers one of the paintings or talks to the other students about it, the little smile he gives Scott whenever their eyes meet.

The group splits up after a while to explore on their own for a bit and Scott follows Kip into the gothic art section, sticking close but not too close. It’s a challenge. Every fiber of his body is telling him to touch.

Kip provides a little background on some of the art they see, and Scott finds that he enjoys looking at the paintings. Most of them have dark themes, depicting people suffering in heavy colors, lots of red. There’s a lot of religious imagery, saints and angels portrayed with large wings, and some even seem to have demons and monsters on them.

“I went to Catholic school, you know,” Scott says, nodding at a painting of the Archangel Gabriel. It’s almost cheery in comparison to the others, with weird amounts of pink that probably have some deeper reason to be there that Kip would be able to explain to him if he asked.

“Oh.” Kip sounds surprised that he’s sharing anything about himself unprompted and stands next to him to look at the painting together. “So you know all the saints and everything?”

“Saint Christopher,” Scott says quietly and he feels so brave and reckless when he brushes the back of his knuckles against Kip’s. He’s rewarded with a little smile. “Patron saint of travelers. You’ve been watching over this traveler anyway.”

Kip huffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m very saintly at all. If anything, you were watching out for me last night.”

“Well, maybe even saints deserve a day off sometimes, huh?”

They move on to the next piece and Scott looks at the strong colors, red and gold and blue.

“Is it weird that I kinda like this style?” he asks. “Like, is that a red flag to someone who knows art?”

Kip stands close to him again, shoulders almost touching. “What do you like about it?”

“It’s all really intense, and I like that it feels real, I guess? Almost like – you know how supposedly all the best albums are breakup albums?”

“Like misery and heartbreak help create authentic art, yeah,” Kip agrees. “What’s a breakup album you like?”

“Fleetwood Mac, Rumours,” Scott says immediately and Kip laughs.

“Oh come on, you’re not that old.”

“Don’t have to be old to recognize quality,” he replies. His mother used to play a lot of old records. He also still remembers all the words to more ABBA songs than he would publicly admit. “Joni Mitchell’s Blue album.”

“Oof. Okay, intense. Adele?” Kip tries.

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

“Right, so basically you like sad things and suffering.”

“I mean, not exclusively,” Scott says and then moves to stand behind Kip to make room for a group of visitors following a guided tour to pass. It gives him an excuse to step up close and he feels almost dizzy with exhilaration when he follows a whim and continues quietly, right by Kip’s ear, “I also like you.”

Kip sucks in an audible breath and leans back against him, still surrounded by a swarm of people, their private moment hidden in plain sight. He wraps his fingers around Scott’s briefly to give them a little squeeze and turns his head to the side. “I like you, too.”

They take a quick step apart a moment later when the group around them dissipates and they’re joined by two of Kip’s classmates instead, telling him something about which Metro line they should be taking to get from the museum to Barcelona University the quickest.

Scott stands back and watches them like he’s in a trance, still a little shaken. What is he even doing?

Kip hangs back for a bit while his friends head off and then turns to Scott. Even just looking at each other suddenly feels overwhelmingly intimate.

“So, uh, we need to get to that lecture we’re invited to,” he tells Scott. “It’s open to the public, but I don’t know how invested you are into learning more about the portrayal of weather in medieval landscape paintings, so…”

“Do you – uhm. If you don’t have plans after. Do you want to get dinner somewhere?” Scott asks and feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. What is he doing indeed?

“Yes. Yes, absolutely.” Kip smiles at him, so big that Scott feels like it must be illuminating the whole room.

They quickly exchange numbers so they can coordinate time and place, and then Kip is hurrying off after his classmates, leaving Scott in an absolute turmoil of emotion. He sits down on one of the benches and stares at the painting opposite without even really seeing anything. He attempts to sort through the mess in his head, trying to put it into any kind of order that makes sense.

Firstly, he likes Kip. Even though he’s only just met him, he likes Kip in a way that is so instinctive and deeply ingrained in his body and makes him feel so good around him that it almost seems like fate brought them together. Which is ridiculous, of course.

Secondly, he can’t have Kip. Not in any sustainable way. Here and now, maybe, but when they’re both back home in New York? It’s impossible.

And thirdly…is this what he’s been missing out on? Because if it is, if this is what being closeted and keeping secrets is costing him…he’s going to have to sit down and think damn hard about his priorities at some point, and he might not like the conclusion he’s going to get to.

Missing out on sex was one thing – not great, but more or less tolerable. And, maybe naively, he thought that was it, that was all he was abstaining from most of the year. That being out (the idea itself making his stomach clench) would just mean he’d be having casual sex and maybe a couple of dates at home rather than a thousand miles away from it. Maybe a crush, occasionally, like he remembers having when he was younger. And all of that seemed almost okay to sacrifice. But that was before he knew he could feel like this around someone. And if this is what it’s like within the first day of even knowing each other, then what could it become, a month or a year in? He hasn’t just been denying himself sex, he’s been denying himself a whole life.

---

Kip comes out to Sitges again that evening, equipped with a backpack and dressed in fresh clothes (a pastel peach t-shirt and artfully torn-up jeans), looking every bit like the student traveler he is when Scott meets him at the train station.

He greets Scott with a warm smile and they both fidget a little bit, unsure how to say hello each other until Kip decides to go for a little half-hug and leads Scott out of the station with a hand on his arm.

“How were the landscapes?” Scott asks and Kip groans, launching into a story about how they got lost on their way to the university as well as inside it, ended up offending several locals on the way in their panic and missing half of the lecture. It sounds just like one of the more chaotic road trips Scott has been on, but he can’t tell Kip anything about that without ruining his stupid cover story, so he just nods along and laughs in the right places.

They walk down to the beach and pick one of the restaurants mostly at random, finding seats on the busy outdoor terrace with a great ocean view. Their legs press together under the table by sheer necessity in the small space and Kip hooks his foot around Scott’s ankle while he looks at the menu. It makes Scott feel a little daring, and he takes Kip’s hand on top of the table, stroking his thumb over his knuckles.

They talk about what kinds of foods they like for a while, and at least this is one thing Scott can be honest about, making a guessing game out of the Spanish menu and what dishes might hide behind the unfamiliar words. He ends up ordering something he’s only about 80% sure is going to be fish, and Kip decides to play it safe and goes for a paella. They could have just asked, but where’s the fun in that?

Scott feels at ease, being around Kip again like this, his earlier little crisis almost forgotten. Or at least deeply locked up in a corner of his brain and the key thrown right into the Mediterranean Sea.

While they each have a glass of wine and wait for their dinner, Kip produces a paper bag out of his backpack and hands it over to Scott.

“Here are your clothes back, first of all – and thank you. I couldn’t wash them or anything, but I hope that’s okay.”

(Scott does not think about how they’re going to smell like Kip now. He really does not.)

“And also, since I ruined your t-shirt yesterday, I got you…well, you’ll see. It’s not – it’s just from the museum gift shop, nothing fancy. It’s probably dumb.”

“Hey, no,” Scott says, peering into the bag. “Not dumb at all, but you really didn’t have to.”

He lifts the shirt out of the bag where it’s lying neatly folded on top of his own clothes that Kip borrowed this morning. It’s a plain black t-shirt with the red and white wings from the Archangel Gabriel painting that they looked at printed onto the back. Scott clears his throat and swallows around the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat.

“I love it,” he says quietly, “thank you so much.”

Kip is trying to wave him off, looking a little flushed but also, Scott thinks, a little pleased.

“Something to remember me by after you go back home, maybe,” Kip replies just as softly and looks at Scott with those big, dark eyes that he’d promise anything to.

“I don’t wanna think about going home.”

“Okay.” Kip sounds like he knows exactly what Scott means.

They finish their dinner (the suspected fish does indeed turn out to be fish, and it’s pretty good) and head down to the beach, carrying their shoes in their hands and letting the water wash over their feet. Kip is once again great at keeping up a conversation and letting Scott get away with revealing very little about himself. It’s a mercy, and simultaneously, it feels like he’s keeping himself in a cage.

Kip holds Scott’s hand as they walk and tells him about his family, his older sister Megan who has her life together in a way that Kip envies and resents at the same time.

“She’s got, like, the job, the house, the husband, the adorable dog – honestly, that dog annoys me with how cute it is. It pisses me off. But at least the husband isn’t that cute. Well, you know, he’s all right. I’m just being unfair. I love her a lot.”

“I’m an only child,” Scott says, because that’s about the only thing he can contribute to the family conversation without completely ruining the mood. “But I also get dog envy a lot, if that helps.”

“I wouldn’t trust you if you didn’t,” Kip says easily and continues, “I guess I feel better now, with grad school on the way and sort of having a purpose again, if that makes sense? I was in a bad slump last winter. The plan wasn’t finishing undergrad and then just working at the Straw+Berry smoothie shop for the rest of my life.”

Something in Scott’s brain clicks and he feels like he just got the breath knocked out of him. It seems so unlikely, but he knows that smoothie shop. He remembers being out running last year, very much in his own slump, and randomly stopping in front of it to catch his breath. He wouldn’t usually be able to recall something like that, but he spent a minute wondering about whether it was pronounced Straw plus Berry or Straw and Berry, and only getting the straw pun about halfway into that, and then – he didn’t end up going in, because his agent called and chewed him out about losing his Underarmour deal if he didn’t start playing better soon.

“Are the smoothies good, at least?” Scott asks on autopilot, his brain a million miles away. He could have met Kip in New York. Almost a year ago, they could have met and he could have – he could have what? Asked him out? Taken him home? He can’t imagine being brave enough to do that in a million years.

God, maybe this is fate. Their second chance.

“They’re good,” Kip says with a laugh, “but they have deeply stupid names. And if I have to sell things with deeply stupid names to people, at least I want it to be some wacky abstract sculpture in a gallery, and not a seven-dollar smoothie.”

“That’s fair,” Scott replies and then thinks about how he can share something about himself without actually revealing anything. Story of his life. “Last winter was a good time for a slump though, I’m right with you.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

Scott spins a little tale, staying vague. Almost lost a big client because they weren’t happy with his performance. Lost his spark, didn’t feel the fun of the game anymore. Lots of pressure surrounding the Olympics.

“Wait, you work with Olympic athletes? I didn’t realize your clients were that level, wow. Okay. Anyone I’d know?”

“Uh, I can’t really –”

“NDAs, yeah, of course. I get it. That’s exciting though.”

“It is, it really is. And I love it, most of the time, but…I’m starting to wonder just how much it’s worth sacrificing for.”

“Sounds like it’s more than just some job to you, though. It’s not just your smoothie shop,” Kip says carefully and Scott shakes his head.

“No, it’s not just my smoothie shop. It’s, uh…it’s my Art History Department at Columbia, this job.”

Scott slows his steps to a stop and tugs Kip in by the hand until they’re standing face to face, the evening sun on its way down a warm glow behind Kip and the sound of the ocean in their ears. They couldn’t be farther away from home and maybe it should scare Scott a little, how good that actually feels. He leans in for a kiss and Kip meets him eagerly, so free in his affection like Scott could only ever dream of being, once this vacation is over and he has to return to real life.

They walk back to Scott’s apartment and start taking each other’s clothes off the moment they step through the door. It feels like there’s an edge of urgency to it this time, the way Kip wraps his body around Scott and clings to him, like he’s trying to tell him something with his lips and tongue and teeth that can’t quite be put into words yet.

This time, Scott fucks him.

He’d kind of tried to tell himself that maybe it was fluke last night. That maybe, it just felt downright life-altering because he actually really likes to bottom and never got to try it before. And that it wasn’t just because of Kip.

That lie doesn’t even hold up for a second once they’re back in bed together. Fucking Kip feels almost transformative to Scott; profound in a way that he didn’t think sex could be (well, until 24 hours ago, that is).

Kip constantly connects and communicates, smiles at him and holds eye contact, showing him what he likes and steering him with little touches. He’s open and sweet, whispering to Scott and kissing him, and then incredibly sexy when he gets lost in pleasure and lets his body demand more and more.

Scott gives him everything he has to give, driving into him hard when Kip asks for it, almost bent in half beneath him and making the most gorgeous little sounds. He comes with his face buried against Kip’s shoulder and Kip spills between them only a moment later, clutching Scott close.

They don’t talk much for a while afterwards, Scott being held against Kip’s chest this time, Kip’s fingers stroking his hair and softly rubbing his scalp. Scott can’t remember anyone ever doing that for him over the age of…well, twelve.

“We’re going back to New York tomorrow,” Kip says quietly. “Flight’s at eight PM.”

“I’m going back the day after.”

It feels like a physical ache in Scott’s chest, thinking about the deadline they’re on, and the room falls back into silence. He curls his body against Kip’s, trying to make himself small, like he might fold himself up until he disappears.

“Are you lonely, back home?” Kip asks after a while and Scott takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I think…I think I didn’t even know it, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Kip whispers. “I wish you didn’t have to be.”

Chapter End Notes

the museum they go to (MNAC)
the paintings they look at (honestly, I know just as much about art as Scott does here…I just kinda looked at the website): the “monster” and the one with Gabriel
the restaurant they go to for dinner
the shirt Kip buys Scott
and, if you’re not familiar with the albums mentioned because you’re not a thousand years old like Scott and me: Rumours by Fleetwood Mac and Blue by Joni Mitchell

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

They don’t get a lot of sleep, knowing it’s their last night together. Already. It feels cruel to Scott, that Kip is going to be taken away from him so soon, after he’s only just found him. They’ve spent almost every minute together, but it wasn’t enough.

Scott sleeps for a couple of hours and wakes up around midnight to Kip half-dozing, half drawing absent little patterns on his shoulder blades. With the greatest urgency gone, they take their time for the next round, lips soft on sleep-warmed skin, hands gentle and slow, learning the shape of every little part of each other. Kip is ticklish around his stomach and behind his knees, and Scott melts when kissed behind his ear. Scott’s hands are large enough to span the width of Kip’s chest, and his fingers the perfect length to make Kip moan and writhe when they’re inside him again. And there is joy, so much joy and laughter and sweetness, even after they’ve slept some more and worked up the necessary energy to completely take each other apart again. Scott feels high on it.

After an early alarm and a somewhat hurried breakfast, they head back into the city for the day. Kip has one more meeting with his professor and classmates to go to in the morning, and the rest of the day off to spend some more time around Barcelona and then get packed to go home.

The gloomy mood from the night before has lifted a little, and Scott is determined to make the most of the last day they have together. He’s clingy with Kip while he still can be, previously unaware that this was a personality trait he even had. But it feels as necessary as breathing, to keep touching Kip whenever he can. Scott feels insatiable for him. Legs pressed together while they’re sitting next to each other on the train, a hand on Kip’s knee hidden beneath his backpack in his lap, just to keep a connection any way they can.

He spends the morning in the city while Kip has his meeting and has been recommended to go see the Sagrada Familia cathedral. Which prompted him to tell Kip he isn’t actually that much of a Catholic, or ever has been, really. St. Thomas did a good job of instilling more Catholic guilt in him than anyone could ever need, but organized religion isn’t something he ever sought out after graduating. Apparently, some of the more progressive communities welcome gay people these days, but he has as much faith in the sincerity of that that as he does in the integrity behind the MLH-hosted Pride Nights. And he doesn’t need yet another place where he knows his real self isn’t welcome.

Kip had just laughed and shaken his head. Apparently he’s meant to be looking at the architecture and the nice windows, not having a spiritual experience. That sounds doable, at least.

The cathedral is downright monumental, and Scott kind of feels like he’s walked into a movie set for a period piece. Kip was also completely correct about the windows, bathing the interior in warm, colorful light. It’s cool and quiet inside, all soft steps and hushed voices, and he does a slow lap of the interior before sitting down on one of the benches to just watch the people for a while. Some taking pictures, some just taking in the atmosphere. Some pausing for a moment to pray. What would Scott pray for, he wonders, if he still did that at all?

On his way out, he makes a donation and lights two of the little candles for his parents, like he always used to do. The boy who did that every Sunday feels so far away now, almost like a stranger. 20 years later, and he’s been without his parents almost twice as long as he ever had them around. He wonders sometimes, what they would think, what they would say. Would he be able to go to them for advice? Or would he be hiding from them as well, afraid of their judgement the same way he fears everyone else’s?

It’s a futile train of thought, in the end, because it’s not like he’ll ever find out. He tries to leave it behind like he always does when he steps back out into the daylight, the heat and noise of the city rushing back at him and providing ample distraction.

He takes the Metro to meet Kip at Plaça de Catalunya, a large open square with statues and fountains in the middle of the city, lined by cafés and little market stands. Kip arrives looking a little windswept and pink-cheeked, his smile wide and gorgeous when he spots Scott waiting in the shade of a group of trees. They haven’t seen each other for maybe two or three hours, but it somehow feels a lot longer than that. He knocks their shoulders together and brushes his fingers against Scott’s, which does almost nothing to satisfy the beast of need that seems to have taken up permanent residence in Scott’s chest.

Kip takes some pictures as they walk around and then stops and makes a silly face for a selfie in front of one of the fountains.

“Can we get one together?” he asks. “Would that be okay?”

Scott has to swallow down his budding panic before it has a chance to properly materialize. Proof, his brain yells at him. Sold to TMZ. Page Six tomorrow. But also: if that happens, at least it’s over. He isn’t yet familiar with that last line of thought that pops into his head and it scares him a little bit. That a part of him…maybe wants that. To get it all over with, have it be decided for him, so the hiding and the lying ends by sheer force rather than any conscious decision on his part. It’s his greatest fear and his worst nightmare, but at the same time, wouldn’t it be freeing?

“I won’t send it to anyone,” Kip says, and Scott decides to throw caution in the wind for the hundredth time in the past 48 hours. He stands next to Kip, one arm around him and their heads tipped together, smiling. Scott takes the photo because he has longer arms, and Kip calls that an unfair evolutionary advantage to his selfie game. It’s a sweet picture and Scott thinks he both looks nothing like himself in it and also exactly like himself, for maybe the first time in his life.

“Thank you,” Kip says. “Now when I come back home, at least I’ll know you weren’t just some wild, pleasant dream I had.”

“Still not sure you aren’t a dream though,” Scott replies, much too honest, and Kip blushes and tells him he sounds like he probably has low blood sugar and they should go eat something.

“Hey, so. I got you something, too,” Scott says once they’re seated for a late lunch at one of the many outdoor cafés and takes a small black box out of his pocket to hand over to Kip.

“It’s, uh –” He gestures at the small golden coin necklace depicting St. Christopher that is revealed when Kip opens it. He feels a little awkward about it now, but he saw it at the gift shop in the cathedral and followed an impulse, like he’s done so many times over the past few days. It’s silly. It’s also probably too much.

Kip stares at the pendant with big eyes and then looks back at Scott. “Thank you. That’s – you really didn’t have to.”

“For your safe travels home?” Scott offers and Kip smiles.

“And to remind me not to drink too much, because there isn’t always a handsome stranger around on my journeys to save me from myself?” Kip laughs and shakes his head. “Thank you. Really. This is…this feels expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You’re worth your weight in gold, Scott thinks, because he is apparently the sappiest person on the planet. Also a new fact he’s learning about himself.

They walk around for a little longer, looking at little shops and taking photos, and finally head to Kip’s hostel so that he can get ready to go to the airport. Their time together is dwindling down to mere hours, and Scott can’t push that thought away from the forefront of his mind anymore.

He follows Kip to his tiny room with the good intention of at least letting him pack his stuff before distracting him, but Kip doesn’t seem interested in good intentions in the least.

As soon as he closes the door behind them, he crowds Scott back against it, lips hot and insistent on his mouth, his jaw, his neck. Something hot sparks inside Scott’s belly and he pushes Kip back and onto the bed. It croaks under the weight, clearly not built for two people, and Kip laughs.

“Don’t destroy the room please, I’m gonna have to explain those extra travel expenses.”

Slight hitch in their plans, but Scott can work with that. He hooks his arms under Kip’s knees, pulling and turning him until his legs are hanging off the side of the bed and Scott can kneel between them. He pushes Kip’s shirt up to get his mouth on those glorious abs one more time, smiling when a lick to his belly button makes Kip squirm.

He’s already hard when Scott opens the button and zipper on his pants and he mouths at his balls through the black cotton of his briefs, rubbing his face against his length.

“Fuck,” Kip breathes, hands finding Scott’s hair, “yes, please. God. I want your mouth.”

Scott comes prepared and quickly rolls the condom he had in his pocket down Kip’s cock, even though his mouth waters at the thought of sucking him bare. Doesn’t matter. The bitter taste of latex in his mouth is nothing but an afterthought when all his other senses are filled with Kip. Touch, smell, sound, all just Kip.

He doesn’t take him deep, just bobbing his head and sucking around the crown like he knows Kip likes. And what a privilege that is, Scott thinks, to have had the time to learn what gives Kip pleasure and then provide it for him. Kip arches his back and cries out when he comes, fingers flexing in Scott’s hair, thrusting into his mouth just a little bit when he forgets to be polite at the end.

Condom tossed into the trash can and Kip tucked back into his pants, Scott gingerly climbs onto the bed with him and hopes it will survive both of them for a brief cuddle at least. Kip makes a content little sound and kisses him, one hand slipping down to rub him through his pants.

“What do you want?” he asks, teeth scraping over the stubble on Scott’s jaw.

“Just – just...”

It’s maybe a little pathetic how worked up he is right now just from blowing Kip, but Scott doesn’t care. He holds Kip close and kisses him, Kip’s hand down his pants to jerk him off until he spills onto his stomach, barely a minute in. Kip smiles, sweet and amused, and nudges him with his foot.

“Yeah, I know, shut up,” Scott grumbles, but smiles back just as warmly.

It feels good but also a little hollow, like it wasn’t nearly enough. Time keeps running through their fingers like sand. Kip gives Scott a tissue to clean up and then settles against him, foreheads pressed together and their arms tight around each other.

“So…” Kip starts after a while, sounding more uncertain than Scott has ever heard him in the past two days. “I completely understand if you say no, but I was just thinking – I guess Buffalo is a long way, but maybe if you’re ever in the city for work or anything…”

Fuck. Fuck.

He’d already convinced himself he had to let Kip go. This wasn’t supposed to be an option; this isn’t an option in any conceivable way.

“I’m in the city for work a lot,” Scott says, before he can think better of it. His mouth feels dry suddenly, his chest tight. He needs to say something, to do something, even if he has no idea what could possibly be done about their situation.

Kip is so brave, asking for what he wants, and Scott feels like such a coward. He holds Kip close to his chest and feels himself starting to shake, tears stinging behind his eyes before he even knows what’s happening.

“Hey, hey,” Kip whispers, cupping Scott’s face in both hands. “It’s okay.” He kisses his cheeks and his forehead, offering comfort as easily as he always does. “Talk to me. Please.”

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” Scott says, his throat raw like sandpaper, and Kip just makes a soft sound but doesn’t pull away. “Nothing bad, I promise. I swear, Kip, nothing bad, just – this whole thing with my job, it’s kind of bigger than I made it out to be, I guess? And I – fuck. I always say I’m from Buffalo, which – I am from upstate, I’m from Rochester, but – God, it doesn’t matter. That’s not the part that matters.”

It’s not coming out right, nothing about this is right and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s even doing. He lied to Kip, and he’s lying to everyone else, and he just wants – just to be honest with someone, just one person, for once in his goddamn life. It’s so exhausting and he is so tired.

And he wants Kip. He wants Kip so badly that it feels like it’s tearing his insides apart. How is he supposed to resist, to do the right thing and say no?

“Scott, what’s going on?” Kip asks softly. “I figured there was something, but…”

“I would love to see you again back home,” he chokes out and clears his throat. Okay. Okay, he’s doing this. Fuck it all. “There’s nothing I want more, believe me. But I don’t know…I don’t know if it’s even possible, and if you’ll even want to, if –” He cuts himself off, sitting up in the bed and Kip following, leaning back against the headboard next to him and pulling Scott’s hands into his lap to hold them there. He squeezes Kip’s fingers hard, grounding himself in his touch.

“Before you decide anything, when you get home, google ‘Scott Hunter, New York’.”

“Why does that name sound kind of familiar?” Kip’s voice is faint and Scott smiles sadly. Yeah. “You’re scaring me a little.”

“You’re not scared of anything, remember?” Scott says, and screw it, he’s going to cry anyway, so he might as well stop fighting it. “Brave, fearless New Yorker.”

Kip laughs and it sounds kind of wet, like he’s holding back tears, too. God, what a mess. What did they get themselves into?

“I have WiFi here, I can just look it up now. You can just tell me.”

A part of Scott is too scared of Kip’s reaction and maybe too ashamed to admit to his lie. He wants to say goodbye to a version of Kip that still sees him, and not just Scott Hunter, star athlete. Maybe selfishly so. But it’s been so good, being seen, and Kip does. Even without knowing all the facts about Scott; most of that is just noise anyway. Kip sees what matters and Scott wants to hold on to that.

“It’s really nothing bad, I promise. Just have a look and then think about it. And if you still want to see me again, you have my number, I guess? But if you don’t, under the circumstances – because it’s fucking complicated, it really is, I – I’ll understand.”

Because he can’t just drag Kip into his mess. Or further into it anyway. Scott feels like he can’t think. He’s usually good with split-second decisions, on the ice anyway. But that clear-headed focus he gets is a million miles away right now, his head feeling like nothing but a big ball of cotton.

“I can’t imagine –” Kip sniffles and gives Scott a helpless look. “I can’t even imagine not wanting to see you again.”

Scott pulls him back into his arms and they hug and kiss and hide their tears against each other’s shoulders a little bit, until it really is time to go. Scott leaves first so that Kip can check out and meet his classmates to go to the airport together, and it feels like the worst thing he’s ever done, having to close the door on Kip, sitting on the bed looking a little confused and devastatingly beautiful as always, even with red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks. Having to close the door on this entire chapter of his life, maybe.

Everything feels muted and far away as Scott makes his way back to Sitges. He could have just called a taxi, but he takes the train like he did with Kip, watching the sea pass by outside the windows.

Maybe this was it. Maybe he had one chance – his second chance with Kip, technically – and he’s losing it. Should he have been honest from the start? Would it have changed anything? Should he have made promises he knows he can’t possibly keep once he’s back in New York? Or should he have just told Kip no, hurt them both once and have it be done with, rather than dragging it out and bringing all of his complications into Kip’s life? Would that have been selfish? Or is this selfish, putting the choice on Kip?

It makes him feel restless and awful, and he knows he needs to exhaust his body if he wants to have any hope of getting to sleep tonight. As soon as he’s back at the apartment, he changes into his running gear and heads out to follow the promenade along the beach. It’s still much too hot in the late afternoon and the humidity makes him sweat buckets. He feels gross all over after only two minutes, but the sensation of his feet pounding against the pavement is so familiar, so normal, that it makes him feel like he still has some sort of grip on reality. One foot in front of the other.

He could just go to a bar tonight, it occurs to him halfway through his run, like he usually would on his last night. One last hurrah and all, before it’s back to the usual dry spell for another year. The idea seems unappealing, almost laughable now, as if anyone could ever come close to what he just had with Kip. As if he could even want anyone else right now.

After he’s done with his run, he walks down to the beach, takes his shirt off, and lies in the sand, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the waves and the people around him. Kip’s flight must have taken off by now and he does the math in his head – by the time Kip gets home, Scott will be getting ready to leave for the airport himself. They could have easily been on the same flight back, another little almost to add to their collection.

He stays at the beach until it gets dark and then slowly walks back, exhaustion finally hitting, sand sticking to him everywhere that he knows he’ll still somehow find in his shoes several weeks from now. It’s usually an annoyance, but he’ll hold on to every little reminder of his trip this time.

The bed at the AirBnB still smells a little like Kip, and Scott soaks it all up, their past couple of days together like a movie when he closes his eyes to go to sleep. If I could, baby, I’d give you my world, the scratchy sound of an old record plays over and over in his head.

Chapter End Notes

Plaça de Catalunya

Sagrada Familia Cathedral

the necklace Scott buys for Kip might look something like this (they don’t actually have anything like this at the cathedral’s gift shop, or at least not at the online store, but we’re just gonna pretend they do for plot reasons)

and the song mentioned at the end is Go Your Own Way off the Rumours album Scott likes ;)

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

When Scott gets off the plane in New York, it’s not even noon, though already approaching evening in Spain, and he’s not looking forward to the jetlag. The flight was uneventful, but gave him way too much time to ruminate. He’s very aware of every angle of his messed-up life now, but not really closer to any solutions to making it less so. There’s a tentative resolution to at least try, but he feels trapped. One frighteningly likely outcome of it all is that everything that’s going to happen is just him being even more miserable than before, after he had a taste of how good life can be. Could be. If things were different. But how can he make them different?

As soon as Scott has a phone signal again, he gets notified about a voicemail from Kip. His heart immediately starts pounding in his chest, adrenaline flooding his system like he’s about to score the winning goal in a shootout. Jesus. He’s a mess.

He puts his headphones on and sits down on the benches in the empty waiting area before he presses play.

“Hey Scott.” Kip sounds a little nervous, his voice high and tense. “Uh, you’re probably on your flight right now. Could’ve thought of that – uh. Okay, I’m just gonna – okay.” Scott hears him take deep breath.

“First of all, I understand why you lied to me, or I guess lied by omission mostly? And I’m not – I’m not mad about that, it makes perfect sense. Uhm. Also. Also. I feel a little crazy right now. I know who you are – I mean, I didn’t recognize you or anything, obviously, but I’ve seen you on TV. There’s a poster of one of your Underarmour campaigns at my gym and it’s all a little unreal, right now? And I don’t – uhm. I really want to see you again, I do. I haven’t stopped thinking about you for second. But this is kind of a lot? And I don’t even know how…you were right, it’s really fucking complicated. And I guess what I’m saying is, give me a few days to wrap my head around it? Because I’m all over the place right now and I just kind of need to process. For a little bit. Uh…okay, have a safe flight, and I hope you’re doing okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”

It seems like the message is over, but then Kip quietly adds, “miss you” before he hangs up.

Scott listens to it again and ends up feeling as confused as Kip must be. What does this mean? Is it good, is it bad? Should he be doing something?

Thank you for your message, he texts Kip, take all the time you need. And because that sounds impersonal as fuck and vaguely like he’s telling his car mechanic he can wait for those back-ordered parts another few days, he follows it up with a heart emoji. Which he has never used before in his entire life and didn’t know would balloon itself up into a giant, pulsating monstrosity if sent on its own. Cool.

Wow okay, he texts next, because that’s a lot. It’s a lot. Kip doesn’t need to be visually assaulted by feelings like this on top of everything.

Haha yeah it does that, Kip writes back immediately. Thank you, and then, probably to make Scott feel better, an abnormally big animated heart emoji of his own.

Scott is fumbling it. He can feel it.

---

He stares at their message thread more times than he’d like to admit even to himself over the next few hours. The jetlag combined with one hell of a dopamine crash takes him out and he decides to give himself the day to sleep and mope and get his head back in the game before he properly starts his workout routine again.

“Don’t be pathetic,” Scott whispers to himself when he comes across his shirt and shorts that Kip wore a few days ago while unpacking his suitcase. It feels like he needs to somehow preserve this tiny part of him that he still has, because God knows if he’ll ever get more again. He makes himself throw them into the laundry basket anyway only because he’s seen on many a true crime documentary that this is how it starts. He doesn’t want to receive an unpleasant answer the next time he takes an are you obsessive enough to be serial killer quiz (one needs to double-check, occasionally).

New York feels gray and almost cold compared to Spain, even with the last of the summer heat and the same stifling humidity hanging over the city. He texts Carter to let him know that he’s back in town, and despite not being in the mood for company much, agrees when he offers to stop by with a six pack later that day.

Carter is just back from spending two weeks with Gloria in Los Angeles and tells Scott about all the exclusive restaurants they went to and the famous people he met. Scott, having just woken up from the least refreshing nap of his life, only recognizes about half the names and doesn’t necessarily share Carter’s enthusiasm for overpriced LA sushi, but it’s good to see him so happy and excited. Carter and Gloria started out as a fling, but their relationship seems to have really solidified this year.

“And then we went to Nobu with – you know that movie X-Squad? I swear half the cast was there, Rose Landry, Miles Allen, and I forgot his boyfriend’s name, he’s on that lawyer show on ABC? So crazy seeing everyone in person.”

“His boyfriend?” Scott echoes and immediately regrets it. Carter was being completely normal about it and now he has to make it a thing.

“Yeah, I think…Jonathan something? You’d know him if you saw him.”

Carter continues to be completely normal about it. Scott, on the other hand, continues to feel mildly nauseous, but his brain is suddenly putting a few pieces together. Carter steering the conversation in a different direction whenever someone asks about Scott’s dating life at some event. Carter somewhat awkwardly showing support to Shane Hollander’s gay figure skater friend at the Olympics. Carter casually mentioning someone’s boyfriend. It feels like he’s dropping hints trying to show Scott something.

Scott has never noticed that before, and he might be wrong now, but –

“Hey. Scotty. You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You…you know, don’t you?”

Carter’s face softens and he shrugs. “I don’t know anything, just had a feeling.”

“Fuck,” Scott says, covering his face with his hands. He presses the heels of his palms against his closed eyes until he sees stars. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. “Fuck. Does anyone else have a feeling?”

“Not that I know of,” Carter says evenly.

Scott exhales a ragged breath and drops his hands, staring at Carter like he’s never seen him before. “And you’re…”

“If you ask me if I’m cool with it, I’m gonna have to punch you in the face. You’re my best friend and I’m not an asshole.”

Carter puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a little shake. It feels surreal, the moment stretching around them in slow-motion, and Scott feels like he might actually throw up.

“I’ve never actually told anyone,” he croaks and Carter squeezes his shoulder.

“Yeah, no shit.”

Carter lets Scott catch his breath for approximately ten seconds before he seems to decide on another tactic to deal with the panic. Diversion.

“Anyway, big moment aside – can I finally set you up with someone? Like, what’s your type? I can get you a hundred numbers, I know all of gay Hollywood now. You’ll be drowning in ass, dude.”

It’s the last sentence that breaks Scott’s composure, and he starts laughing. A smidge hysterical, maybe, and then drying up, in danger of turning into tears. It must show, because Carter’s eyes go wide and concerned.

“Oh shit, wrong thing to say? Too much? What’s happening? We don’t like ass?”

Scott heaves out a dry sound, half-laugh, half-sob, and shakes his head. “No, that’s not it…”

And that’s how Carter ends up learning all about Kip.

He makes an appreciative noise when Scott shows him their photo together and says, “look at the guns on this guy, holy shit! And that face? No wonder you’re in love.”

“I’m not…I don’t know.” It sure feels like it, but that would be completely crazy. “I met him, what, three days ago?”

“Hey, I know a couple guys who got married based on less.” Carter may talk a big game sometimes, but he’s a romantic at heart, and it’s actually kind of sweet.

“Yeah, and then had four kids and their first divorce at 23. We know all the same guys, remember?”

“Well, you’re too old to get married young, and you’re not gonna knock him up, so. Wait – he’s not gonna knock you up? No, what – I don’t actually need to know that, forget I asked.”

It feels good, somehow, that Carter, with all his usual eagerness and enthusiasm, is a little bit lost in navigating this as well. Which manifests in very different ways than it does for Scott, but Scott has always loved him for his big heart as much as he does for his big mouth.

“I know how to use a condom, Vaughny, no one’s getting knocked up,” he says drily and Carter snorts. “Safety first.”

---

Somehow, despite it feeling like absolutely everything has changed, things go back to normal over the next couple of days. Scott runs and lifts and squats and sweats. Eats more chicken than he has any desire to, calls his agent back, answers all the emails he’s been ignoring for the past week and gets back in touch with the team as they all return to the city one by one.

It’s not that his life suddenly feels empty without Kip in it – he didn’t have enough time to get used to him being around for that. His schedule is full, his mind is full. Just like it always has been. The familiar pressure of the season isn’t quite starting to creep in yet, while everyone is mostly still regrouping and waiting for the training camps to start in September, but Scott can already taste it in the air anyway. It excites him; he wants this – to work hard and show up, to perform, to win.

It’s just that he wants other things now, too. And that playing hockey, and everything that entails, suddenly isn’t enough anymore to drown those things out completely.

He stares at their messages in bed at night, one and then two days old. It’s nothing. Two days is nothing. Kip needs time to think, and honestly, so does Scott. He’s had a wake-up call and he knows something has to change. The questions remains what he is going to do about it.

At one point, it occurs to him that he knows where Kip works and that he could just…go see him. Not even go in or anything, just kind of look from across the street –

Serial killer behavior, the rational part of Scott’s brain supplies, and he knows that’s absolutely correct.

He tries to focus instead on having some sort of plan in place for when – if…for when he does hear from Kip again. Because what he can offer him right now, like this – is nothing. Is a life of fear and secrecy and public scrutiny constantly hanging over them, of Scott’s job dictating their entire existence. He gets that Kip is a little wary of it all, he should be.

In a completely unforeseen move even to himself, Scott asks Carter for advice. You wanted someone to talk to, he tells himself, now talk. Carter is so excited to be enlisted for the mission that he gets out the whiteboard they sometimes map out their plays on and draws up an honest-to-God mind map on it. (It comes with the heading of Mission: DIA, which Carter explains means drowning in ass, because clearly that metaphor was so beautiful the first time that it needed to be reused and recycled. Scott decides to overlook it.)

They google gay athletes and find exactly two in the national leagues. Jason Collins, a basketball player with the Nets, and Michael Sam, a college football player who came out right before getting drafted and proceeded to kiss his boyfriend on television. Huh. Scott had kind of heard about them both at the time, but never followed the stories much, out of fear of what he’d find.

“I mean, they’re both playing,” Carter says. “Some backlash, some protests, but…you know.”

It sounds like he’s downplaying the reactions a little bit and Scott doesn’t ask. He’d rather not know, or he’ll lose his nerve completely.

“Both got a shoutout from Obama though, so that’s cool.”

At least there are other people in his situation. If anything, in a worse situation than Scott. He can’t even imagine being that brave right out of college, before even getting drafted. That guy could have ruined his entire career before it even started. Scott thinks about sending one of them an email but then decides against it. What would he even say?

Thankfully Carter always knows what to say and has befriended both of them over Instagram in about four seconds, received a recommendation for a trustworthy publicist and legal team, as well as suggestions for projects they can get involved in for the cause. Scott was kind of aware of You Can Play, an initiative against homophobia in hockey, but never considered doing a spot with them.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Carter says, and circles activism & community on the whiteboard. “Build some connections, be visibly supportive. Ease the world into it all but don’t make it a huge thing yet. And then eventually, if you get photographed with a guy once or twice, maybe…”

The thought alone makes Scott break out into a cold sweat, but Carter sounds so confident that it makes him feel like this might actually be feasible. It doesn’t have to be everything all at once.

“Okay,” he says, even though his hands are shaking. It all feels like a lot. “Okay, I’ll think about it. I’ll talk to that PR lady. I’ll talk to my manager about it.” He pulls a face. Todd is not going to like this. Activism doesn’t make you any money, and it certainly doesn’t win you any new endorsements to suddenly have an opinion. “We’ll see.”

It’s nowhere near being out, but at the same time, more than he’s ever even considered before, so that feels like a small win.

“Hell, we’ll all do the spot. Some of the assholes won’t, but you know Huff and Benny will be in at least. Probably Jalo.”

Scott nods. They can test the waters inviting them to participate and see what the reactions are. He doesn’t really know Jalo that well yet, but he could kind of imagine letting his other two friends in on the secret at least.

“All right, that’s activism checked off the list, and let’s also say PR stuff.” Carter adds two big check marks and then points to where he’s sloppily written in public. “I have ideas for this too.”

“I don’t even know for sure if Kip is going to want any of that…”

“Hey, he may be cute but he’s not the only man in New York City. You got momentum now and you need to use it. This is bigger than one guy.”

Scott feels queasy at the thought for a moment. Everything they’re talking about now, everything that seemed wildly impossible a week ago, has been turned on its head only because of Kip. But Carter is right – no matter how things turn out with Kip, he needs to do this for himself, one way or another.

“Okay, fine,” he sighs.

“Right, so, there are options. I’ve done this – kind of, at least. There’s a bunch of places that are really private where no one’s gonna bother you at all, car drops you off in the back, no paps, not a problem. I can make you a list or something.” That sounds both useful and a little exhausting, but Scott will take it.

“And when Gloria and I want to go somewhere more public but don’t want the heat, get a group together instead of one-on-one. There’s more people to draw attention, not every fan or reporter or whatever is gonna be on you personally,” Carter continues, and that makes sense, too. “And if you don’t want it to look like a date at all, well, no one’s gonna look twice at three or four guys grabbing a burger together.”

“So, what, you’re gonna chaperone my dates?” Scott asks and Carter grins.

“I prefer to think of myself as an exceptionally classy wingman. You’re probably lost without me anyway, so. Two birds, one stone.”

“Nothing classy about your dumb ass,” Scott says with a smile and Carter throws a marker at his head, missing when Scott ducks in time.

“Focus!”

---

On Friday morning, finally: a text from Kip. Hey so I think I’m done freaking out now, how are you?, he writes, and Scott can practically hear his voice in his head, see the cautious, self-deprecating little smile on his face. Can I call you?

Slightly overeager, Scott presses the call button immediately instead of replying. At least Kip seems to be much in the same boat and picks up on the first ring.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

No one says anything for a moment and Kip starts laughing. “God, this is weird. So. Scott Hunter, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t really know what to say to that. Sorry?

“I, uh…felt pretty stupid for a couple days there.”

“What? Why?”

“Scott, your teammates are dating, like, movie stars. And I’m no one, I have nothing like that to offer you, so I kind of…wasn’t sure what you even wanted with me. I was so embarrassed that I even asked you to see each other again in New York.”

“No, Kip. You got it all wrong. I’m so glad you asked me that.”

“Let me – okay. But then I thought about how you looked at me and what an amazing time we had and…I don’t know, I guess I’d rather make a fool of myself, or end up getting into something really fucking unbalanced and complicated and risk getting my heart broken – I’d rather do all that than be always left wondering what could have happened with that one guy I met on vacation one time and had this crazy instant connection with, who even lived in my city, but then I never saw him again…I guess I’d just rather crash and burn than wonder.”

It all comes out in one slightly frantic breath and Kip inhales deeply when he’s finished.

“That’s pretty dramatic,” Scott says with a smile and Kip huffs.

“I’m baring my soul to you, be nice.”

“I’m sorry. I’m – God. You have everything to offer me, just for the record. I’m the one that’s messed up, I’m the one whose life is – this. And so, if you’re willing to even see me again despite all of it, I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and I mean that.”

“You’re delusional,” Kip laughs. “I’m kind of into it though.”

“Oh and – actually, the guy dating the movie star? That’s my best friend.” Scott knows he sounds proud when he says it, and he is. “That’s my best friend Carter and I came out to him, like, two days ago and that – that never would have happened without you. And I told him all about you. Uh.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, so it was like, what – ‘while your glamorous girlfriend Gloria Grey is being beautiful and famous somewhere, let me interrupt to tell you about this broke art student I fucked in Spain?’ That’s crazy, Scott.” Kip still sounds a little…stressed? Disbelieving? But his voice softens when he continues, “But I’m really happy for you that you got to be honest with him. That’s a huge deal. How’d it go?”

“He had it half figured out anyway, but…it was good. It’s amazing to have someone on my side now, that I can talk to. You made me wanna be brave enough to do that, Kip.”

Scott knows Kip is smiling at that by the little sound he makes in his throat. He’d really like to see that smile in person again.

“I told my friend Elena about you, too. I mean, not about who you are, but – you know.”

“Oh, so was that like, ‘while we’re being all smart and educated and talking about the PhDs we’re getting, let me tell you about this dumb closet case athlete I fucked in Spain’?”

“Oh my God, I get your point,” Kip laughs. “You’re not a dumb athlete though.” He doesn’t protest the other part of Scott’s description, however. Rightfully so.

“You just haven’t known me long enough to notice. I successfully distracted you with my body.”

“I’m not going to argue with that, actually.”

“So…can I see you?”

“Yeah, of course. I really want that. I just don’t know exactly – uhm. What would that look like? Here in New York? I mean, we’re probably not going out to dinner or dancing or the beach…” Kip trails off, sounding unsure.

“Yeah, I can’t – I can’t give you that,” Scott replies quietly. “It wouldn’t be like it was in Barcelona. You could come over to my apartment and we’d – I mean, it’s not like we can’t be seen in public together or anything, just…”

“Just not on a date.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I figured. And, you know, I thought about it and I’m fine with that. I don’t need the PDA, I get being private, just acting like friends in public. I can do that, no problem. What I can’t do –” Kip pauses and sighs. “Look, I know coming out for me was a lot easier than it can ever be for you, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t, you know, hard. And I can’t, I won’t go back from that. If this turns into a game of playing straight and dressing as straight as I can and never going to gay bars anymore because we’re publicly linked and it’s not good for your image or something, I…I don’t know about that.”

Scott hears what he’s saying and it breaks his heart: Don’t put me in a cage. Don’t lock me up in the same cage you’ve put yourself in.

“No, no, Kip. I would never ask that,” he says quietly. “I know how fucking painful it is to lie all the time, I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It might not be avoidable though. I lied – well, I didn’t lie to Elena, but…”

“You can tell your friend,” Scott says, before he really knows what’s coming out of his mouth.

“Really?”

“I mean, maybe not your whole class at Columbia, but…if we’re –” He winces and cuts himself off, trying not to get ahead of himself. The whole conversation feels like they’re already together, and he wants that, wants it badly, but he also can’t smother Kip with all that immediately. Especially while he still doesn't have any real idea of what that would even look like. “If we end up seriously dating. And you wanted to tell two or three of your friends that you trust.”

“Okay. Yeah. That’s – that’s more than I thought you’d be okay with.”

“There’s a lot we’ll have to just figure out as we go along, and it’ll be messy, don’t get me wrong. But I’ve been reconsidering some things lately and…I really wanna try.”

“Me, too. I really wanna try this with you.”

Kip makes it sound so easy. And that’s the thing about being with him, Scott thinks, it is easy. It comes to Scott so naturally, so instinctively, that it feels absolutely effortless. He gets a break from everything else and gets to just do this, focus on Kip, let his world revolve around him for the moment.

But it’s deceptive, and a part of him knows that. It’s a fantasy just as much as his yearly vacation is a fantasy, a life you get to live for one or two weeks until you have to return to reality.

If he wants this thing with Kip to last, to have any substance, it will have to pass over from dreamland into daylight. Kip won’t be an escape from Scott’s life anymore, he’ll be part of it, with everything that entails. Consequences. For both of them.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks to the Skip discord for their help with some gay sports history! (because while knowing absolutely nothing about art, I also manage to know absolutely nothing about sports, surely that’s what we call well-rounded)
Jason Collins and Michael Sam are both real people and came out in 2013/2014, respectively. The original Scott Hunters of the NBA and NFL.

Also: *grabs these two people who each think they're not good enough for one another and shakes them*

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

With both Kip and Scott still enjoying the rare absence of a crammed school or practice schedule in late August, they make plans to spend the next weekend together. All Scott has to do is bow out of the poker night that Huff was somewhat half-heartedly trying to put together for Saturday and reschedule a meeting with Todd, and that’s a free weekend right there.

It also doesn’t give him a lot of time to overthink, which is probably good. Because there is a lot to think about suddenly, somehow even more than before he talked to Kip. Scott knows he isn’t the same person here that he was in Spain, and not just in the way everyone relaxes a little on vacation.  

He finishes his morning workout on Saturday and makes a quick grocery run so he can pretend to be a functional adult anywhere outside of his job and cook Kip some dinner later. The thought of that makes him strangely happy; he likes doing things for Kip.  

It’s been so humid all day that being outside felt like breathing in water, and by early afternoon, the pressure in the air manifests into a summer storm, complete with thunder and heavy rain, right when Kip is supposed to be on his way.

Scott debates offering to send a car to pick him up from his shift at the smoothie shop, but that somehow feels a little overbearing. While he still argues with himself whether maybe he should have at least offered to drive over himself, the doorbell goes and Scott’s stomach immediately flutters. Kip is about to be here, in his apartment. It feels unreal.

When he opens the door, he’s met with the sight of Kip shaking his wet hair out like a dog in the hallway and they both start laughing as soon as their eyes meet.

“It’s a little dramatic outside,” Kip says. He’s in nice, dark jeans and a blue t-shirt, drenched from head to toe, the little purple umbrella in his hand that’s happily dripping rainwater onto the floor clearly no match for the weather at all. He also seems completely unbothered by it all, smile as bright as ever and his eyes fixed on Scott’s face.  

“Oh my God, come in. Come here.” Scott opens the door wide for him and stands by feeling somewhat useless as Kip puts his backpack aside and then toes his soaked shoes off with an unpleasant squelching sound. “I thought about sending you a car, but it felt kinda stupid?”

“Next time, please don’t hesitate to be kinda stupid,” Kip replies easily and steps into Scott’s space as much as he can without getting him wet everywhere. The air between them feels like it's crackling with electricity, and it has nothing to do with the charge the weather brought it.

Kip brushes a soft, quick kiss to the corner of Scott’s mouth and pulls back to look up at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Scott replies, breath caught in his throat and his brain bluescreening a little bit. “You’re here.”

“Yeah. I’m here.” Kip laughs. “And I’m acting a thousand times more confident about that than I feel right now, just so you know.”

“Good. Good. That’s – I’m terrified. I’m happy, but terrified.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Kip says quietly and leans in to kiss him again. This, they know how to do after all.

Scott decides he really couldn’t care less about getting his clothes wet and pulls Kip in until they’re chest to chest, one hand up in Kip’s hair and the other on the small of his back. Kip smells like rain and fresh air, like the cool breeze that rolls in with a storm, promising relief from the stifling heat of the day, and he tastes faintly of mint. Maybe he’s been chewing gum on his way over, getting ready to be kissed. It makes Scott smile.

Kip shivers a little against him and Scott rubs his hands up and down his arms.

“I think for, uh, health reasons, you should take these wet clothes off as soon as possible. Get warmed up.”

“That sounds very responsible.”

Kip lets Scott lead him around the corner towards the bedroom. He cranes his head back as they walk to have a quick look around the living room area and makes a somewhat nervous little sound. “I mean, I figured you’d have a nice place, but…”

Scott doesn’t want him to think about that too hard for now. Doesn’t want that side of himself, the status, the money, the persona, in here with them right now. He just wants to be Scott and Kip for a little longer. He sits down on the bed, looking up at Kip and trailing his fingers down over his stomach until he reaches the button on his jeans. “Do you want the full tour now, or…?”

Kip takes a visible breath and turns dark eyes on Scott. “Or,” he says and pulls his shirt off over his head. The little gold pendant Scott bought him sits in the dip between his collarbones, like a little secret hidden under his clothes. “I pick or.”

It’s a good choice, in Scott’s completely biased opinion.

They’re both a little unsteady, undressing each other with the occasional disbelieving look and a wholly new sense of urgency building. Not because of their time running out like in Spain, but stemming from the need now to prove to each other that this is actually real, this is still them, things may have changed but this hasn’t.

“I feel like I know you, but I also don’t know you at all,” Kip says, his eyes searching Scott’s face. A moment of open vulnerability. “This you, here – I can’t believe you’re even into me.”

Scott he loves it and hates it at the same time – loves that Kip trusts him like this, talks to him like this, but hates that his carefree and easy confidence from a few days ago got shaken just because of who Scott is. He never wants Kip to doubt himself like that.

“I’m so into you. So into you. From the moment I saw you.”

“Show me,” Kip breathes. “Make me feel it.”

Make me believe it, he doesn’t say, but Scott knows that’s what he means. He groans into Kip’s mouth as they kiss, claiming it with his tongue, hands hot all over as they map what Scott already thinks of as his.

“Can I fuck you?” Is that what you need? To make you believe me?

“Please.”

He kneels between Kip’s spread legs as he opens him up, Kip’s arms around his shoulders keeping his close, heavy breaths and kisses all over Scott’s face like little pleas.

Scott realizes he’s never had sex in his own bed before and carefully decides to leave that thought unexamined for now.

“I got you,” he keeps whispering to Kip instead, watching the way the unguarded hunger in his eyes blows his pupils dark and wide, “I want you so much. Let me have you. Let me show you.”

Kip rolls over onto his stomach and Scott knows what he needs now as well. He covers him with his body, enveloping him, pinning him down on the bed with his weight, feeling almost unbearably possessive as he pushes inside him. Letting Kip feel it, too.

He can’t stop himself, now that the little box of feelings in the back of his brain that he's been trying to keep closed for the past couple of days has been opened again, that Kip has explicitly asked for it. Spelling out mine with every thrust, every touch of his hands, every breath panted into the nape of Kip’s neck, every kiss pressed to his skin.

It’s as intoxicating as it was the first time, and it doesn’t matter for a moment, who they are outside this bedroom. They can just get lost in it.

They lie together quietly for long moments afterwards, fingers and lips slowly trailing over warm skin. Kip runs his thumb over the lines of Scott’s face very gently, his brows and cheekbones and the little dip in his chin. Like he’s mapping him out and committing him to memory while they’re both relearning each other in this new space, this completely different life.

“Did I convince you?” Scott finally asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

“If I say no, are you gonna do that again?” Kip hedges; a quiet, mirthful challenge in his eyes. Oh, there he is. It makes a warm and pleasant feeling spread in Scott’s chest.

“I’ll do that again whenever you want. Maybe not within the next hour or so.”

“That’s fair,” Kip replies and stretches, the muscles in his arms and chest shifting under smooth skin. He presses a kiss to Scott’s cheek and rolls out of bed. “Bathroom through here?”

Scott nods and watches Kip cross the room, figuring he’s probably allowed to stare at his ass a little bit after what he’s just done to it.

“Holy shit,” Kip exclaims when he turns on the light in the bathroom. “That’s insane. Can I take, like, fifteen showers in there while I’m here? Jesus.” A few seconds later: “And there’s a bathtub, too?”

Scott follows Kip into the bathroom, slinging his arms around his chest from behind and hooking his chin over Kip’s shoulder. Kip leans into him with a little hum, head tilted back so he can have his cheek and jaw kissed.

“How about the rest of that tour now? Your shower might not be the only piece of furniture I’m sexually attracted to. Who knows what we’ll find?”

They get dressed in t-shirts and boxers and Scott shows Kip around the rest of the apartment. He likes seeing it through Kip’s eyes: Awe at the view, a little laugh at the artificial fireplace that artfully stretches along the wall and might in fact be a tiny but pretentious, an almost disappointed look at his sofa.

“A white couch? Do you ever sit on it or just admire it from afar?”

Scott huffs out a laugh and squeezes Kip’s waist, making him squirm. “I got that so I’d scare myself enough to actually eat at the table like a grown-up, and not in front of the TV.”

“That’s twisted,” Kip replies. “Running a psy op on yourself.”

He crouches down to look at Scott’s record collection, neatly aligned in a little shelving unit with the record player on top.

“Is it okay if I look at these?” he asks and Scott nods. He remembers he can now tell Kip things about himself that are actually real and carefully says, “these were all my mom’s.”

“Oh.” Kip’s voice is soft and his fingers gentle as he thumbs through them.

“The record player, too. Some of the very few things I still have from my family. It was all in storage for a long time, but I thought it’d be nice to display them. A lot of memories in there.”

“Yeah. I…I read about your parents, I’m really sorry,” Kip says slowly. Scott has heard that so many times, from so many different people. A side effect of having the worst part of your life be public knowledge. But he appreciates it, from Kip, because he knows it’s not just an empty courtesy.

“Thank you, and don’t – I’m not trying to tell you a sob story, just…”

“No, I know.” Kip rises to his feet and wraps his arms around Scott, stroking his fingers through his hair. “But I like when you tell me things about yourself. I need to remember I can actually ask now. And that you might answer.”

“I’ll answer,” Scott says quietly.

“Can I pick one to put on and you’ll tell me the story about it? About your mom?”

“Sure. I’ll go put dinner in the oven and you can pick the music.”

He leaves Kip to look through the records and gets everything ready for dinner, which really just consists of putting some salmon and the vegetables that he sliced earlier into a dish and setting the table. It’s a light meal on purpose, they have plans.

When he returns to Kip, he’s pulled out a Cranberries album and hands it to Scott. “I’ve never actually used a record player, I don’t wanna break it.”

“They’re actually pretty sturdy,” Scott says and pulls the record out of its sleeve, enjoying the little crackling sound the needle makes when he drops it and music starts playing.

Kip sits down on the sofa carefully, as if even his mere existence near it is going to stain the white fabric, and Scott joins him, practically throwing himself into Kip’s lap and making him laugh. They settle, Kip seated with his legs stretched out on the chaise and Scott curled into his side. 

“So, this one. It annoyed me, because I was deeply twelve at the time and thought it was really boring. And also pretty weird to name your band after a fruit, what is that? I just wanted to listen to Nirvana all the time, like my friends at school.”

“Ooh, were you a little rebellious?”

“Not at all. Just trying to fit in, I guess." And to this day, he's still trying. "I had this tape of Nevermind that was copied a million times and barely even sounded like anything anymore. But I played it on my Walkman all the time while my mom was obsessed with this one. So, whenever I listen to either one now, the other album sort of plays in my head, if that makes sense?” 

“Oh no,” Kip laughs.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve heard a mash-up of Dreams and Smells Like Teen Spirit, I can tell you that.”

They eat their dinner at the table (like grown-ups) and Scott is struck again by how happy that simple moment makes him. Having Kip here, fitting so easily into his space, looking like he belongs there already. Scott isn’t sure Kip feels that way, but he hopes he’s at ease here, at least. Comfortable.

The apartment feels alive with Kip in it in ways that it hasn’t before, even when Scott has his friends over. They mostly end up going to Huff’s or Eric’s place, actual houses rather than the fairly obvious bachelor pads both Carter and Scott live in, but sometimes, his big dining table is actually filled. It feels like it is now, anyway, with Kip animatedly in the middle of telling some story about one of his professors, then looking over at the record player when the last song ends.

“Can I change it? I’ll be careful.”

“You’ll be absolutely fine.” Scott smiles and watches Kip, with the outmost caution, select the next record and exchange them on the platter. Scott clears the table and joins Kip on the sofa again.

A Counting Crows album starts playing and Kip puts his head on his shoulder, waiting for Scott to tell the accompanying story. It’s one that was mostly played after Scott was already in bed, melancholic chords drifting to his room from downstairs while his mother, or sometimes both his parents, sat down with a glass of wine.

Maybe liking sad things is just in his genes, Scott thinks, a sense of wistfulness hardwired into his body.

Kip, sensing his rumination, climbs into Scott’s lap and kisses him. It’s slow and gentle, soft lips and tongue, until Scott slides his hands down Kip’s back, slipping inside his boxers to cup his ass with both hands and Kip groans, rolling his hips forward.

“Who says we can’t also make new memories?” Scott mutters and Kip smiles against his lips.

“You wanna show that pristine couch a good time?”

“I think you do,” Scott points out. Kip really has it out for the couch. “That’s good enough for me.”

Kip hurries to the bedroom to collect lube and a condom and they both laugh at the eagerness that fills the moment between them, but it feels almost precarious. Like they’re trying to cover up something deeper that can’t be said yet. They balance and rearrange themselves until Kip can sink down onto Scott and the feeling of him fills all his senses again. The world narrowed down to Kip.

It turns intense quickly. Their foreheads are pressed together, breath hot on each other’s face and Kip shaking in Scott’s arms as he takes him deep. Pushing up and then down again, strong thighs working where they’re bracketing Scott’s legs.

The music wraps around them, that inevitable sense of longing in it the same that Scott feels for Kip all the time now. He wants him so wildly and deeply like he’s never wanted anything. Even now, when he has him, has him as closely and intimately as possible, he’s somehow still longing. Almost as if he’s already lost him again, already grieving the passage of the moment they’re still living.

The lyrics warn them about love and consequences, and Scott is afraid that it’s all true: I’m not ready for this sort of thing.

Miraculously, the couch survives, stainless as ever.

They relocate back to the bedroom again and Scott feels a little worn out, raw and tender with all his emotions too close to the surface. If the way Kip pulls the blanket over both their heads and kisses him deeply in the warm, dark space it creates is any indication, he’s feeling much the same.

“Are you still terrified?” he asks quietly, and Scott nods.

“More than ever.”

“Because it’s real, right?”

“Yeah. Turns out I still really, really like you in New York.”

“I’m crazy about you in New York,” Kip whispers.

---

“Let’s go out for breakfast,” Scott suggests the next morning.

He woke up feeling positively invigorated. Kip in his arms, the first thing he saw his sweet, sleeping face and tousled hair. The sun already out and a deep, nourishing full eight hours behind him. Despite the heaviness of the evening before, he immediately felt enthusiastic about the day. Ready for the next step.

Now he just needs to take it before he loses momentum.

“You sure?” Kip asks around a yawn, adorably sleep-rumpled (and also still naked, which has the potential to give Scott very different ideas about how to use their Sunday morning – but he’s determined to stay focused on his mission).

It’s Kip who suggests wearing gym clothes, “just two pals on the way to their Sunday workout”, and Scott hates that it’s something Kip is already starting to think about, the optics of it all. But it’s also not a bad idea, so they both put on some of Scott’s never-ending supply of Underarmour (that Kip laughs at until Scott tells him about how he’s literally contractually barred from wearing any other brands, ever, and then he laughs ever harder), and they’re out the door.

It’s a nice day for a walk, the air clear and a little cooler after yesterday’s storm blew out the humidity, and they make their way through Scott’s neighborhood on foot, looking into the windows of some of the cafés that line the streets until Kip nods towards a little place with vaguely French vibes that roasts its own coffee, according to the sign.

Scott follows him inside, hat still on, though he does take off his sunglasses at least. It’s not overly busy for a Sunday and he manages to push away the cold feeling that tries to creep up the back of his neck while they order. It’s fine. They made it here without any incidents. And he’s done this with Carter or Eric a thousand times. They’re just eating breakfast and no one is going to assume anything.

They both get scrambled eggs and avocado on toast, laugh at themselves for maybe being a little bit of a cliché, and find a table in the corner. Scott sits with his back to the room, which feels less comfortable than having a good view of everything, but hides his face better.

Kip seems to see how tense Scott feels, but can’t offer the physical comfort that usually comes so easily to him. He tries nudging their feet together under the table, but that just makes Scott even jumpier.

“Sorry,” Scott mutters. “I’m freaking out over nothing.”

“I get it,” Kip replies just as quietly. “It’s probably gonna take some getting used to, doing this here.”

“It’s just that –”

Scott is interrupted by a tap to his shoulder from behind, and he only just catches the slightly alarmed look on Kip’s face before turning in his seat and putting his game face on. He knows how this goes. He just wishes people wouldn’t touch him so easily.

“Hey, don’t wanna interrupt, man.” But you already did. “But are you…?”

“Yeah,” Scott replies, and the guy’s face lights up. He looks to be in his early twenties at most, and Scott knows he doesn’t actually mean to be rude, he just hasn’t really thought things through.

“Shit, dude. That’s awesome, can I get a picture?”

Scott takes a photo with him, the smile on his face feeling plastered on and fake. It’s not that he doesn’t want to interact with fans – it’s good, most of the time. Rewarding. It would just be nice to be able to opt out of the whole thing every now and then and eat his breakfast in peace. Stop being Scott Hunter for an hour or two.

They talk a little bit about the upcoming season and another man comes over, alerted to Scott’s presence by the conversation. More photos. More hockey talk. Scott’s heart pounding in his chest and sweat collecting on his forehead beneath the careful public mask. No one’s looking at Kip. Yet.

And besides – plausible deniability, right? They’re just two guys, stopping for breakfast on their way to the gym. Just hanging out. Nobody will think anything of it. Nobody can tell just from looking at them that they woke up in Scott’s bed together this morning. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

“You okay?” Kip asks after the two fans leave, concerned eyes searching Scott’s face. He balls his hands into fists under the table. Get it together. For Kip.

“Fine,” Scott replies tersely, sounding sharper than intended. He takes a breath and consciously relaxes his shoulders. Taps his foot against Kip’s once, because he’s trying. He’s trying. “Just tell me…anything. Just talk to me about something. Please.”

Kip nods, eager to help, and launches into an explanation about one of the art prints on the wall that is apparently a famous painting. Scott does his best to listen, and finds that it does help him settle. The soft, melodic French music in the background, Kip’s steady voice over the bustling noises of the baristas working. The smell of fresh coffee. The chill of the AC against his skin. Bit by bit, his body calms down until he’s feeling well enough to finish his food and coffee.

Crisis averted, it seems.

That lasts until they’re headed for the door to leave and Scott sees a guy with a huge lens on his camera standing out on the street, peering inside.

“Fuck.” He turns around on the spot, almost running into Kip, who was right behind him. “We got company.”

And that – that’s just the last fucking straw. Fan interaction is one thing, but having them post his live location and tip off the paparazzi, that’s another. And now, with Kip here? Scott feels hot, white rage burn in his chest. Kip is still a little stunned and tries to look around him, catch a glimpse of the photographer like he can’t quite believe this is actually happening, and Scott steps in closer, shielding him with his body.

“Don’t,” he hisses, because this is how they’ll get them, get Kip, get his face.

He won’t let them. They won’t have it, this one precious thing in Scott’s life that just for him, and no one else. Least of all the Internet.

The thought makes him so angry that it even overshadows the panic that’s tried to take over his entire body the moment he saw the photographer outside. It’s still there, the constant, frantic hum of what if, but mostly, he just doesn’t want Kip to be exposed to this bullshit.

Kip looks shell-shocked at his harsh tone and ducks back further into the shop. Scott follows, stopping one of the baristas as she walks by.

“You got a back door?”

She looks towards the front of the store, spotting the photographer, and nods like it’s an everyday occurrence. Hell, it probably is. They’re in New York.

She takes them through the backroom, along storage units and large fridges, until they get to the staff entrance. Scott gratefully hands her a fifty-dollar tip that makes Kip’s eyes go wide, and leads him out onto the small side street with a hand low on his back. They’re alone here. Nothing but dumpsters and an overflowing ashtray on the floor. Smoke breaks.

Scott leans back against the wall, eyes closed, and exhales heavily. What a fucking morning.

He feels Kip stand next to him and do the same, shoulders brushing together. He wants nothing more than to wrap him right up in his arms but – not here.

“This never happens at the Straw+Berry,” Kip says, still sounding a little shaky with what must be the same rush of adrenaline Scott feels. But somehow Kip’s deadpan delivery makes Scott laugh despite everything.

“I need to call a car, we can’t walk back,” he sighs. “Where there’s one, there’s usually a lot more very soon.”

They wait for the car and ride back mostly in silence, fiercely holding hands on the seat between them.

For no particular reason that he could put his finger on, Scott feels like a failure. All the earlier enthusiasm gone, replaced with defeat.

When they get back to the apartment, Kip leads them right to the bedroom and pulls his shirt over his head, climbing back under the covers. It does seem to be the kind of day that can only be salvaged by going back to bed, so Scott does the same. They’re safe here.

“Sorry for snapping at you in there,” he says, holding Kip close, and Kip shakes his head and presses a kiss to the side of his face.

“You were just trying to protect me. Which – for the record, you don’t have to. But I appreciate it. I’m obviously not used to stuff like that.”

“Was it too much?” Scott asks quietly. “The whole…everything?”

“No,” Kip replies. No hesitation at all.

“It’s not like that every time I leave the house. But sometimes, you know… It gets worse during the season. If we – you’ll get dragged into it.”

“It doesn’t scare me. I mean, that wasn’t fun, don’t get me wrong. And it caught me off guard. But it’s a part of your life.”

Scott doesn’t know what prompts it, but it suddenly feels really important for Kip to know about all the difficult parts of his life. Not just the whole closet thing. There’s so much that makes him a terrible choice as a potential boyfriend, and Kip needs to know that, right?

“I also travel a lot. Like, a lot. I get too into my head during the season and I get stressed and then I don’t wanna talk to anyone. I’m a grouchy beast during playoffs; I’m horrible. And we may never – this might not ever –”

“Sweetheart.” Kip cuts off Scott’s panicked ramblings with a touch to his cheek and the softest little endearment, and it immediately stuns him into silence. Nothing has ever made him feel the way he does right now, being called that by Kip. Like he is something precious, something loved.

“Me?” Scott asks a little dumbly and Kip smiles at him.

“Yes, you.”

Scott has to kiss him for a bit before he can be allowed to talk again. Who knows what else might come out of Kip’s mouth right now, and what it’s going to do to Scott?

“I know it’s going to be difficult, I’m very aware of that,” Kip finally says. “And I can’t promise you that I’ll always be great about it. We’re gonna be frustrated with each other and annoyed and maybe angry sometimes. And maybe it’ll be too much at some point, for either one of us, I don’t know that. I can’t know that. But this…this wasn’t it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Scott replies. He’s still absolutely in awe, and it must show on his face, because Kip just laughs and kisses him again.

“You’re looking at me like I know what I’m doing. Please be aware I’m winging it here, like, completely.”

“Okay,” Scott repeats and Kip looks very amused by it all.

“Let’s see what the damage is, all right?” He puts his head on Scott’s chest and angles his phone so they can both see the screen, opening @scotthunterupdates on Twitter.

“Are you following my updates account?” Scott asks, somehow finding Kip looking him up on social media very endearing. He kind of thought Kip would maybe read his Wikipedia article and be done with it.

“I did my research and now you’ve taken over all my algorithms. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

It’s really nothing too concerning, Scott has to admit. There are the photos he took with the two guys inside the coffee shop, simply captioned Scott Hunter with fans this morning and one post from a sports gossip page that has a grainy, zoomed-in picture of his back (probably taken by the photographer outside) where he’s sitting at the table. Kip isn’t visible apart from his hair and the side of his ear. The accompanying article says nothing of substance – he was out for breakfast with an unknown friend and seems to be getting in shape for the new season.

It’s…nothing. Nothing happened. It was stressful and annoying and it scared him a little, but in the end, nothing happened. Out for breakfast with a friend.

Maybe they can do this.

Chapter End Notes

Music mentioned:

Everybody Else is Doing it So Why Can’t We by The Cranberries (between this and Fleetwood Mac, I clearly just want Scott to experience emotions to sad songs titled Dreams, I don’t even know) and August and Everything After (album title strangely appropriate for this fic, huh) by Counting Crows.

The song they have sex to is Anna Begins, which has made me unbearably sad for the past 20 years or so and gets stuck in my head for days every time I listen to it. And it is allegedly about the complications of a light relationship that started on vacation turning serious (I only lost my mind a tiny little bit when I found out about that while writing this chapter).

…and I’m pretty sure everyone on this planet has heard Nirvana’s Nevermind, actually, so no need to link that ;)