Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Kip Grady/Shane Hollander/Scott Hunter/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

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

Additional Tags:

Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gangbang, Come Eating, POV Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Bottom Shane Hollander, everyone else tops so really it's more running a train except there's also, Cock Warming, Light BDSM, Unprotected Sex, slightly more focus on the scott/ilya dynamic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but also a little bit of, Character Study, I think?

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-16 Words: 11,340 Chapters: 1/1

jumping someone else's train

Summary

"Typical dirty Americans," Rozanov said. He took the pitcher and started pouring water into the four glasses. "You wear your shoes indoors and then you want to fuck someone else's husband and then you expect him to sleep in the same filthy sheets."

Scott opened his mouth to retort back, but Rozanov, the gracious host, was handing him a cold glass of water. "Well, we will all get very dirty together tonight," he continued. "Shane, my sweetheart, you are outnumbered. Better hydrate."

Hollander drank obediently. Needing something to do with his hands, Scott sipped his water, too. Kip traced circles lightly along his back. The silence that felt so pleasant outside by the fire now settled heavily over them. Scott cleared his throat. "So," he said. "What are we doing?"

Rozanov looked at him like he was stupid. "Is it not obvious? We are going to run a train on my husband."

Notes

I'm blending show and book canon a little bit here, but mostly following show canon. I took the liberty of aging Scott up a little since he's obviously a bit older in the show. This doesn't affect the plot (there's no plot) but I think it does affect the dynamic.

The first half of the fic is build up. If you want to skip to the sex, ctrl+f "With the fire put out"

also I do have a work skin on to display the text messages, but I think I've set it up so you should be ok if you have the style settings off!

hope you enjoy!! xoxo

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

March 2022

He should be feeling better. The days were getting longer, finally, and although the streets of New York were still covered in icy gray sludge, the air was not so biting. Spring was on its way.

Which, Scott supposed, was the problem. The Admirals were not having a good season. Their playoff chances were not looking good, and they were running out of time to turn things around.

When the topic came up at the Grady family dinner table, Kip said Scott just needed to get out of his head about it. George said Scott had "the yips" and had he considered seeing a sports therapist? Scott thanked George and said he would look into it, in a bid to end the conversation topic as soon as possible. But Kip gave him that look that said they were going to talk about it later.

"Don't say it," said Scott, when they walked in the front door of their apartment.

Kip shed his coat and hung it up, innocent. "I didn't say anything."

Scott heaved a sigh and bent to unlace his boots. "Yeah, well, I know you're thinking it." When Kip gallantly did not respond, Scott continued. "You're thinking that your dad is right, and I should just talk to the team therapist."

"I definitely didn't say that," said Kip.

"I don't need a therapist to tell me I'm distracted," said Scott. And that's all it was, really. He was turning thirty-nine in July and nowhere near ready to face retirement. He might have a couple more seasons left in him, but his NHL career was coming to a close sooner than later. He was trying very hard not to freak out about this.

"Do you wanna know what I actually think?" Kip asked. "I don't think you're distracted at all, actually. Hockey is all you think about, lately. I think," he said, and took Scott's hands to pull him closer, "you need something to pull you out of your head."

"Oh? What did you have in mind?"

Good sex— and it was always good, with Kip— was not going to fix things. But, well. It never hurt.

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"What's going on with you, man?" asked Vaughn. "And tell me the truth. I've played with you long enough to know something is up. You're missing goals that you should be netting in your sleep."

"Not you, too. My father-in-law has been bugging me about this." Scott drew in a great breath and exhaled slowly, sinking a little lower in the booth. Going out for a drink with a friend always sounded like a good way to relax, but Vaughn knew him maybe a little too well.

Vaughn was waiting for an answer. He rubbed his hand across his brow. "I don't know," he said. "I'm distracted, I guess."

"Everything okay with you and Kip?"

Scott rubbed at the silicone ring he wore on his left hand. "Oh, yeah, we're good. Why do you ask?"

Vaughn shrugged. "You're playing like you used to when you and Kip were on the outs. Remember how hot and cold you were in the 2017 playoffs? And in 2014?"

"Huh. I'm surprised you remember that. Especially since you didn't even know about Kip until afterwards."

"I'm tellin' you," said Vaughn, tapping his temple. "Steel trap."

"No, we're good, really. I guess— well, I don't know what it is. I know I'm not on top of my game like I should be. I'm distracted. But I don't know why I'm distracted."

"You wanna know what I think?" Vaughn asked. Scott nodded. "Look, Scotty, you work harder at this than anyone I know. You're a good fucking player. And you play better when you get out of your head and let your body do the work."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, you're not distracted, you're trying too hard. Because you go into the game thinking you already lost. And when you know you have something good after the game, you play like you're going to win."

Who needs a sports therapist when you have a friend like Carter Vaughn?

"Y'know, Vaughny, Kip said the exact same thing."

"Hey, your husband is a smart man. Have you asked him what the fuck is going on with our defense? Because I have some theories, but I want his takes."

"Team cohesion fell apart in January and we just haven't gotten it back," said Scott. "Breezy's kid is going through a sleep regression which means he's not getting any fucking sleep, and Jalo's got drama with his girlfriend, and then the rookie is still scared of them both. It's a mess."

Vaughn nodded. "See, it's not just you."

"No, it's not," Scott agreed. "But I'm the captain, which means it's my job to fix."

"What's up with Jalo and his girl? He tell you about it?"

"Ha. No. You know how fucking cagey he is. Almost as bad as I was when I was closeted. No, his girlfriend is friends with Kip and Kyle, which means I get her side of everything. And it's some of the dumbest fucking relationship drama I've ever heard. Truly, it's middle school shit."

"Hey, not all of us invite the first person we meet to move in and then never look back," said Vaughn. Scott kicked his shin under the table and Vaughn kicked him right back. "Hey! Chill out, I know it wasn't that simple. But still, hardly anyone gets a hole in one like that. 'Cept maybe Hollander and Rozanov, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess they did," said Scott.

It had been almost a year since Hollander and Rozanov were outed by Hayden Pike's leaked FanMail video, and Scott still had a hard time wrapping his head around the whole thing. Not the fact of their relationship— honestly, Scott had suspected they'd been hooking up for years, and teaching at their camp last summer had given him more than an eyeful of their sickening affection for each other. But he's never been able to shake his first impressions of them, the ones he made when he was twenty-seven and they were rookies, just nineteen.

Straight-laced, sweet-faced Hollander, who could outskate anyone in the league, who had tripped over himself trying to talk to Scott. Really, Scott had his suspicions about Hollander's attraction to men even back then, but even if he was daring enough to hook up within the league, he was old enough to feel sleazy trying to pull a rookie. Even if that rookie was exquisitely handsome and totally starstruck and obviously desperate to please him. Especially then.

And then there was Rozanov, who let his youth and his accent and his show-off muscles lead people to presume he was brash and arrogant, the better to hide his dangerous cunning. Rozanov's womanizing reputation had always been enough to keep Scott from ever daring a second glance; even now, his alluring good looks were aposematic, a warning that even looking at him was a risk.

Last summer, he'd spent two whole weeks working with them every day. It was jarring to see them behave like grown-ups. It was jarring to see Hollander loosened up, not moving like a prey animal expecting to be caught at any turn. It was jarring to see Rozanov being sweet with the children and with his new husband. It was jarring to see two men openly express their attraction to each other right there on the ice, and it was jarring every time he remembered that it wasn't something dangerous. Then the two weeks were up and he went back to New York and it faded like a dream, and every time someone mentioned Hollander or Rozanov or their marriage, he still pictured two nineteen-year-old idiots getting married in their award-show tuxes.

"Oh, speaking of love and marriage and shit," Vaughn said, pulling out his phone. "The jeweler sent me a digital mockup of the ring." He turned the screen to show Scott.

Scott whistled through his teeth. "Gloria's a lucky girl. I'm excited for you, Vaughny."

"Thanks, man," said Vaughn, and smiled so big Scott thought his face might break.

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

"What we need," said Kip, "is something for you to look forward to after the season."

Scott's head was resting on Kip's chest, where he could hear his husband's heartbeat. It should be a very relaxing place to be. This was not a relaxing conversation.

He huffed derisively. "Like what, announcing my retirement?"

"You're young!" said Kip, and when Scott rolled his eyes, he added, "Alright, maybe not in hockey years. But you are way too young to start acting like a sad old man. We can still do fun, exciting things."

And, god, he really was getting old in hockey years. His body told him so every day. George Grady was right that Scott's wrist had been bothering him. Just like his son, George always seemed to notice the vulnerabilities Scott was trying to hide. Whatever, he did his PT, what else did they want from him?

Maybe he should take a page out of Benny's playbook and start doing yoga.

"Speaking of Eric," said Kip, and had Scott said that out loud? "Has he told you how he and Kyle are enjoying his retirement?" He sat up, forcing Scott to adjust his positioning; now they were eye to eye.

"Aren't they on a Disney cruise or something? Real exciting. I guess I have that to look forward to."

"Oh, no," Kip replied, his eyes lighting up mischievously. "Definitely not a Disney cruise. This is an adults-only cruise."

"Huh. Sounds relaxing."

"Scott." Now Kip was giving him that look that meant he was missing something obvious. "It's a swingers' cruise."

"Oh!"

"Yeah," said Kip, grinning. "Real exciting, for real."

Scott rolled his eyes again. "Eric Bennett is the poster child for midlife crises."

"Hey. Are you telling me you've never thought about it?" Kip's fingers trailed little circles along Scott's forearm.

For some reason, Scott's heart was pounding. "What, with Benny and Kyle? Fuck no."

Kip's eyes widened. "Oh, god, no. Definitely not. Ever. I mean, not that Eric and Kyle aren't hot, but— god. That would get way too messy. But, I mean, it wouldn't be messy like that with every couple."

That was true. There was too much history there, with Benny and Kyle. Benny'd been Scott's teammate for, like, fifteen years. He was pretty sure Kyle had been crushing on Kip for the first several years of their relationship. And now they were all business partners. Plus, if Kyle was involved, then Maria would hear about it, which meant Jalo would hear about it, which meant the whole team would hear about it. He and Kip really couldn't pick a bigger potential for mess.

But the alternative… "I don't wanna hook up with some random strangers we don't know. My Grindr days are over," said Scott, and that should've been the matter settled.

Kip burst out laughing. "Your Grindr days never started," he said. "You got by on telling hot smoothie baristas about the legal definitions of mass murderers until they took pity on you, against all better judgement."

"Alright," said Scott, laughing in spite of himself. "Well, all the more reason not to. I don't need some smoothie barista calling the cops. If I go down for murder, I'm taking you with me."

"Well, what if it was someone you know?" said Kip. His hand was trailing over Scott's arm again, light enough to give him goosebumps.

Scott closed his eyes. Kip's feather-light touches made him feel tingly and relaxed. "It can't be someone we know. Messy, remember?"

"So it can't be someone we know? And it can't be someone we don't know?" Kip said. Scott hummed in response. "Well," said Kip, his hand suddenly still. "Can't say I didn't try."

"Well, hang on," said Scott, opening his eyes. "I didn't say I'm not interested."

Kip was biting back a laugh as he started his feathery touches again. "So who would you swing with? If it can't be someone we know, and it can't be someone we don't know?"

"I don't know," said Scott, "but I'm starting to get the feeling that you have someone in mind."

He closed his eyes and let Kip's hand's wander gently over his body. Wrapped up in the bubble of this moment, it was hard to imagine that the conversation was at all serious. It was hard to imagine that there was anyone else in the world other than him and Kip.

"Well," said Kip, clearly playing as if he'd just thought of it that very moment. "If, and I know this is a big if, but if they were interested… what would you think of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?"

And that popped the bubble. Scott barked a laugh. "I'm not gonna fuck Rozanov. Try again."

Kip shrugged as if none of this mattered to him at all. "Well, there aren't a lot of people you know that wouldn't be messy. You know those two can keep a secret. And… you know Shane's always been into you."

"It's a moot point," said Scott. "They're so… young. And they wouldn't be interested, anyway. Those two are so obsessed with each other it's a wonder they can tear their tongues away from each other's assholes long enough to play hockey at all."

Kip laughed. "You're probably right, babe." His feather-touch trailed along Scott's chest. Kip really knew exactly how to relax him. "But if they were interested? You wouldn't be?"

"Sure," said Scott. "If you could convince Rozanov to let anyone besides him touch Hollander, why not?"

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

The next day, Kip asked Scott for Ilya Rozanov's phone number.

"Why would I have Ilya Rozanov's phone number?"

Kip looked genuinely confused. "Don't you work at his camp in the summers?"

"I have his work email," said Scott.

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

Subject: Summer Plans

So that was that. And Kip was right, infuriatingly enough. Knowing they had this coming over the summer loosened Scott up during his games, and he was scoring again.

Thinking about their plans for the summer made him feel nervous and excited in a way he hadn't in a long time. It had been almost a decade since either he or Kip had been with anyone else. He wasn't sure if it made things better or worse that Kip was clearly still texting Rozanov semi-regularly. Kip didn't make any attempt to hide this, but he also wouldn't tell Scott what they were talking about.

"We're comparing notes," said Kip.

"Comparing notes? Come on."

"A little mystery is sexy, babe," said Kip. "You trust me, don't you?"

So he left it all in Kip's hands, along with his credit card. Kip planned mysterious group sex activities. Kip booked the cabin and the flights. Kip bought them new luggage ("Babe, you've had that carry-on for like, half a million miles. It's time,") and hiking boots ("We should at least try to do something outside,") and, for some reason, house slippers. Apparently the Hollander-Rozanovs ran a strictly shoes-off household. Apparently that also extended to a cabin that Scott was renting for them all.

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

June 2022

Vaughn was right that Scott alone could not save the Admirals' performance. They didn't get a spot in the playoffs, but they might have a good pick in the draft. Scott felt excited about their prospects for the fall.

And maybe it was vain to say so, but their summer plans seemed to help Hollander and Rozanov, too: Rozanov led Ottawa to their first ever Cup.

Kip had gloated for a week straight after that. "We're gonna fuck Cup winners, babe!"

"You've fucked a Cup winner before," Scott grumbled.

"Yes, but you haven't."

And Scott couldn't even pretend to be jaded about it when he watched replays of Ottawa's win. Seeing Hollander and Rozanov's joyous tearful kiss on the ice made him melt a little bit. And, after, in front of the press, the way they were too happy to bother trying to keep their hands apart. He couldn't bring himself to find them even a little bit annoying.

When the questions ended, Rozanov pulled Hollander in for a deep kiss, right there in front of all the cameras. Scott didn't even try to tell himself it wasn't hot as hell.

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

July 2022

It occurred to Scott, after their flight (which Kip had booked) as he drove the rental car (which Kip had booked) to the cabin (which Kip had booked), that it had been a very long time since he'd had to plan his own travel. During the season, everything was planned for him. During the off-season— well, they hadn't done much traveling the past few years. It was good, being out, and not feeling like he had to leave home to be himself.

But this was nice, getting away. Benny had the right idea. When Scott retired, years from now, he'd have to find a way to convince Kip to take lots of time off. It was nice driving through beautiful woods with Kip in the passenger seat. It was nice stopping for a meal at a little small-town diner and not worrying whether his meal fit his prescribed macros. It was nice to be doing something new.

It was late afternoon when they approached the cabin, the shadows of the trees already getting long. Hollander and Rozanov had apparently gotten to the cabin early, to "prepare."

"What is that supposed to mean? 'Prepare'?"

"Would you relax? They don't mean anything by it. I think they just wanted to get groceries or something, and settle in. You know Shane's— well. Particular. And besides, you know you hate walking into a big empty house," said Kip. And Scott couldn't argue with that, so he just pulled Kip's fingers to his lips. Kip beamed.

"Kyle told me about this place," he said. "You're gonna love it. Pull off right here."

They drove up a long private driveway. When Kip told him he had booked a cabin, Scott had half expected Lincoln logs. But this looked very like a suburban house, complete with a garage and recycling cans out front, if you picked up the suburban house and plopped it in the middle of some very picturesque woods.

"They're around back," said Kip, who had been texting Rozanov updates since the plane landed.

Scott parked the car in front of the garage and followed Kip around to the back of the house. This side did not look like a suburban house. The balcony was two stories, looking out over a placid lake. On the ground level was a fire pit, unlit, circled by Adirondack chairs.

Rozanov and Hollander had moved two of the chairs closer together so that Rozanov could sit with his bare feet in Hollander's lap. Hollander was rubbing them absently. Rozanov reclined with his eyes closed, looking maybe asleep. It was the most peaceful Scott had ever seen either of them look.

"They're disgusting," he said quietly to Kip. "Let's just go before they see us."

"Hi, Shane!" Kip called.

And then Hollander was standing, and Rozanov was slipping on sandals, and they jogged over to greet them.

"Scott! Kip!" said Rozanov, sounding entirely too pleased, and then he was pulling Scott into a hug and kissing Kip on the cheek. So Rozanov was a hugger now. Apparently.

"Good to see you, too, Rozanov," said Scott tightly.

"You look great," Kip was saying, and his hand on Hollander's elbow. "Congratulations, by the way! We're so proud of—"

Scott coughed pointedly.

"—well, I'm so proud of you both. Winning the Cup as a married couple. That's huge."

"Thanks," said Hollander, and he kicked bashfully at the rocky ground. Twelve years into his career as the star of the MLH and the man still hadn't learned to take a compliment.

"Enjoy it, guys, seriously," said Scott. "We're gonna kick your asses next year."

Rozanov frowned dramatically. "Oh, Kip, have you forgotten to give him his memory pills? He thinks he still plays hockey."

"Good one," said Scott, dry. "Really original. I've never heard you tell that joke before."

"That's okay, Hunter, you'll forget it again in an hour and I can tell it to you again," said Rozanov. "Kip, I assume you drove here since Scott is too old to have his license. Should I unlock the garage? Then we can bring your bags inside."

With the car parked in the garage, Hollander dutifully retrieved Scott and Kip's carry-ons from the trunk. "We can get our own bags," said Scott, at the same time as Kip said, "Such a gentleman!"

They followed Hollander into the house, watching as he toed off his shoes, and waited for them to do the same. He sat their bags down upstairs in a bedroom with a nice large window looking over the lake.

"I know you'll probably want to get cleaned up, after being in the airport," he said. "But come down when you're ready. We picked up beer on our way in." And then he said to Kip, "We couldn't find the one you said you like, but we got a case of a local IPA that's supposed to have a similar flavor profile. And we got Bud Light," he added, nodding to Scott.

Scott waited for the door to click shut behind Shane, and then waited for his footsteps to reach the stairs. When he was out of earshot, Scott turned to Kip. "Okay, why are they acting like they're hosting us? They know I paid for all this, right?"

"They're being nice," said Kip. He unzipped his luggage and started rummaging through. "They're nervous, too, you know. They've never done this before. Well, Shane hasn't."

Scott hadn't considered it from that angle and felt a little embarrassed about it. "It's just— weird, I guess. I've never seen this side of them before."

"Well, babe, we're about to see a lot of them that we've never seen before," said Kip. He pulled out his toiletry bag and a change of clothes. "Now, are you going to shower with me, or not?"

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

When they were clean and dressed, Scott went to the kitchen. He checked the fridge and found, as promised, two kinds of beer, as well as a decent supply of groceries. Milk and eggs and meats and leafy greens and berries, and bananas and oranges on the counter. Hollander and Rozanov had really settled in. One of them found the blender and had it out on the counter; they had already set out protein powder and various supplements for the morning. Scott recognized psyllium husk and saw two kinds of magnesium. He picked up another bottle out of curiosity (Omega-3s), but the next thing he spotted was an orange prescription bottle with Rozanov's name on it, and he decided that looking any further would be snooping.

They cracked open their beers by the firepit outside. The sun was setting, and the evening air was cooling pleasantly. It felt a little silly sitting there in the jeans and flannel Kip had insisted on ("It's a cabin, babe. We can be hot lumberjacks,") when Hollander and Rozanov came down in gym clothes.

Rozanov had his legs in Hollander's lap again. Scott tried his absolute best not to find this annoying. Hollander kept fidgeting around; massaging his husband’s feet was not enough to redirect all his nervous energy. But then Kip pulled his own chair close enough to Scott's that he could lean on Scott's shoulder, which helped Scott tremendously.

"Thanks for making a grocery run," said Kip, raising his drink. "This was so thoughtful."

Hollander waved him off. "It's nothing, really. Do you like that? I know it's not your usual."

"It's great. I love trying local flavors. What are you drinking?"

Rozanov snorted. "I am drinking very good Russian vodka, which my husband insists on watering down."

"Vodka cran is like, a normal drink," said Hollander, shifting uncomfortably. "My husband won't drink anything that doesn't burn your tastebuds off."

They sat mostly in silence, watching the sun dip lower, turning the lake a vibrant glowing red.

Rozanov tipped back the last of his vodka. Scott watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the way the firelight bounced off his curls. When he wasn't dead set on being the most annoying person to ever live, Rozanov was mesmerizing.

Hollander looked up at Rozanov with wide brown eyes, and then over at Scott. Scott realized his own beer was nearly empty. Kip's fingers traced circles on his arm.

"So," said Rozanov. He swung his feet off Hollander's lap. "Did you look around the house? Probably we should do a house tour, yes?"

Hollander said, "It's a beautiful house. Good find, Kip."

"The bedroom next to yours opens onto the balcony," said Rozanov. He stood, and so did Hollander. "Have you seen the view from the balcony?"

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

With the fire put out, and the sun mostly set, there wasn't much to see from the balcony. But the darkness was remarkable in its own way. So different from the city.

The bedroom was spacious enough to have a couch and armchairs. The room was dim, lit only by a few warm lamps. On a low table sat a tray with a pitcher of ice water and four glasses. God, they really had prepared.

"So you got here first and claimed the master bedroom for yourselves," said Scott. He felt so pleasantly light that this didn't even bother him.

But Rozanov made a face. "Christ, no. Shane and I are across the hall. Do you expect to fuck Shane in the same bed he will sleep in? I suppose this is what we get for agreeing to lie down with Americans," he added to Hollander.

Scott could hear his heart beating in his ears. He realized this was the first time any of them had said, out loud, what they were all here to do.

Hollander shook his head sarcastically. "Typical," he said.

"Typical dirty Americans," Rozanov said. He took the pitcher and started pouring water into the four glasses. "You wear your shoes indoors and then you want to fuck someone else's husband and then you expect him to sleep in the same filthy sheets."

Scott opened his mouth to retort back, but Rozanov, the gracious host, was handing him a cold glass of water. "Well, we will all get very dirty together tonight," he continued. "Shane, my sweetheart, you are outnumbered. Better hydrate."

Hollander drank obediently. Needing something to do with his hands, Scott sipped his water, too. Kip traced circles lightly along his back. The silence that felt so pleasant outside by the fire now settled heavily over them. Scott cleared his throat. "So," he said. "What are we doing?"

Rozanov looked at him like he was stupid. "Is it not obvious? We are going to run a train on my husband."

Scott nearly choked on his water. He looked down at Kip, who grinned back fiendishly.

"Oh my fucking god, don't call it that," said Hollander.

"Sorry," said Rozanov, and Scott realized that his accent was different than he remembered. Not as strong. That sorry was distinctly Canadian. "Sorry. We are going to take turns fucking the sluttiest, neediest bottom in the world. Does anyone have a problem with this?"

Hollander flushed and glared at Rozanov, but his sweatpants were already tenting.

"You knew this was the plan?" Scott said as quietly as he could, and Kip nodded, still grinning.

"It doesn't have to be now," said Rozanov, although Hollander whined in protest. "If you're hungry, we could—"

"No," said Scott, far too quickly. "I'm good."

"We're good," Kip echoed.

Rozanov smiled like a cat who had cornered its prey. It was getting on his nerves. "Rozanov, don't give me that—"

"Oh my god," said Kip, scolding. "You are about to fuck his husband. Stop calling them by their hockey names."

"'Hockey names'?" said Hollander. Shane. He was chuckling. Less awkward now. That was good.

"Yes, Scott, call me Ilya. Pretend that you like me. Tonight, at least, we are friends."

"We are friends, Ilya," said Scott, and he had meant it to come out a little bitingly sarcastic, but Ilya looked genuinely pleased. Not smug. Not like he thought the idea of being friends with Scott was a joke. Who was this and what had he done with Ilya Rozanov?

"Of course," Ilya added slyly, "You can call Shane by his name, but I don't think he will return the favor. Tonight he will call you Mr. Hunter." Well, there he was.

"Shut the fuck up," said Shane, blushing hard, and they were all laughing, even him. "I'm not calling him— Scott, I'm not calling you that."

Scott couldn't resist. "Don't worry about it, kid, you call me whatever you want," he said, and Shane ducked his head, even more embarrassed.

He drank it in: Shane's sweet face, the way his skin glowed pink under his freckles, the way his hair fell around his cheekbones. The tiniest hint of smile lines by his eyes. His earnestness. There was no hiding, no playing coy, no media training, no pretense. All his real feelings were right there, just under the surface, ready for Scott to touch. At thirty-one, he still looked mostly the same as he did when he was a fresh-faced rookie, embarrassed to have Scott looking at him.

And Shane’s big brown eyes wouldn’t quite meet his. His gaze darted back and forth between Ilya, next to him, and— Scott’s mouth.

Shane made such an arresting vision that Scott barely noticed Ilya nodding to Kip. But then Kip stepped into Ilya’s space and put his hands on Ilya’s chest. Ilya cupped Kip's jaw and kissed him, open mouthed, letting Kip take it deeper. But he didn't. He pulled away from Ilya, and looked at Shane, at his quivering eyes.

"You look tense, Shane," said Kip, gentle, like Shane was an animal, easily spooked. "Can I help you relax? Can I rub your shoulders? Sit on the edge of the bed." And Shane did, because he was always obedient. Kip knelt on the bed behind Shane so he could grip Shane's shoulders, rubbing in circles with his thumbs. "How's that? Too hard?"

"Not at all," said Shane, his eyes closing. "This is good. Really good."

"It might feel better if you took your shirt off," said Kip, but Scott did not see what happened next, because Ilya's hand was on his wrist.

It surprised him, almost enough to pull away. But instead he acquiesced to Ilya’s touch and turned towards him. Ilya's jaw was tense, serious.

("They're nervous, too," Kip had said.)

His pale eyes met Scott's and he stepped closer. Scott let him. Ilya's grip loosened and moved up Scott's arm, letting his hand come to rest on Scott's shoulder.

In the warm, dim lamplight, Ilya's features looked golden. Mesmerizing, Scott thought again, and by instinct he allowed his hand to meet Ilya's waist. Ilya took Scott's other hand and placed it on his own chest. All hard muscle.

“It’s okay, Scott,” Ilya said, other hand coming up to the back of his skull, tangling in his hair. “Let’s not pretend we haven’t thought about this for a long time.”

And the real kicker, as Ilya pulled him in for a kiss, was that Scott didn’t think Ilya was making fun of him. Not even a little bit.

Ilya's mouth was warm and soft and— not Kip.

It had been, god, nine years since he'd kissed anyone other than Kip. And now here was Ilya fucking Rozanov, and Ilya's lips opened, inviting, and he wasn't Kip, and Scott should stop this but Ilya was pulling him closer, and Ilya was someone else's husband, and—

"They look good when they're not arguing, don't they?" said Kip lightly, and Shane hummed in agreement.

—and Scott gave in. He let himself touch. He let himself like it. How many years had he been telling himself that Rozanov's ego made him entirely unattractive?

But the Ilya feeling him up right now, the flesh-and-blood Ilya under Scott's hands, was so far removed from the Rozanov he held in his mind that they might as well be two different people. When he imagined having sex with Rozanov, he had thought of the Rozanov he knew on the ice. Rozanov was a menace and an incorrigible slut. Rozanov was an arrogant rookie skating circles around players ten years his senior. Rozanov was the kind of player to spot your weaknesses, to threaten you with that knowledge, and use that threat as a feint to pull one over on you from a completely different direction.

Scott assumed that Rozanov would have sex the same way he played hockey. But— this was Ilya. Ilya was a grown man and natural leader and a loving, attentive husband. Ilya was thoughtful and gracious and generous. Ilya wanted to play with Scott and he wanted to share his favorite toy, his most treasured possession.

Distantly, Shane was humming and sighing. Ilya pulled back just enough to let Scott catch a glimpse of Kip on the bed behind Shane, kissing his neck and nibbling his ear, both bare-chested. And then Ilya pulled Scott's hand down to feel his hard cock through his pants

"Fuck," he breathed. It was one thing to know and another thing to feel that Ilya wanted this too.

"Look at our husbands," said Ilya, voice low, conspiratorial. "I want to watch you touch him."

Scott sat on the edge of the bed, next to Shane and Kip, who pulled him in for a long kiss. Kip's mouth tasted lightly of sweat. "You know, Scott is very good at giving massages," said Kip, and moved so that Scott could get his hands on Shane's shoulders, putting his own hands on Scott.

It was the barest pretense, and not one Scott was interested in keeping up. He was touching Shane fucking Hollander. With his hands on Shane's muscular back, Scott could feel every breath he took. With his fingers drifting up to Shane's neck, he could feel Shane's heartbeat. He leaned forward, pressing his weight against Shane's back, letting his hands wander lower to Shane's chest.

"He loves when you grab his tits," said Ilya.

Shane whined when Scott pinched his nipple. "Ilya, please," he said, and then Ilya was standing between Shane's open legs, and Shane moaned as Ilya kissed him deeply.

"Stand up. In front of Scott, so he can undress you," said Ilya.

And how many times had Scott seen Shane half-dressed in a stupid commercial and forced himself not to imagine what it would be like to take him the rest of the way? Now Shane stood in front of him, chest already glistening with sweat, brown eyes already hazy just from being kissed and touched.

"Look at you," said Scott reverently, "and we haven't even touched your cock yet."

And then he hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistbands of Shane's sweats and boxers and pulled them both down in one motion. Shane sighed relief as his cock bounced free and hit his stomach, already leaking. He bent to pull his clothing the rest of the way off, and Ilya said, "You too, Scott," and Scott realized he'd been so focused on Shane that he hadn't noticed Ilya and Kip undressing.

"You have a beautiful cock," said Scott, because it was true, and because he was allowed to say it. Shane's cock bobbed insistently, drawing Scott's gaze, demanding attention. He wanted to stretch his jaw around it.

"Yes, he does," said Ilya. "Such a beautiful, perfect cock. Almost a waste that we do not let him fuck with it." He grinned and pinched Shane's side, making him squirm.

Scott looked up into Shane's eyes. "I want to taste you," he said. "So bad."

"Yes. Scott, please," said Shane, but they both looked to Ilya for permission.

Ilya mused for a moment. "Okay," he said. "But, Scott. Be very careful. My husband is what you Americans call 'hair-trigger' and I don't want him to even get close, not yet."

Careful was all Scott had been around Shane Hollander for the past fucking decade. He lapped gently at the salty head of Shane's cock, swirling his tongue around the tip, and then took him deeper, his lips around the shaft.

"He loves this," Kip was saying to Ilya, and something like pride flared in his chest. He swallowed Shane deeper, pressing his nose to the neatly trimmed hair and inhaling the deep male scent of him.

"Scott, I— you better stop," said Shane, all too soon. Ilya responded in Russian, something Scott couldn't understand, but he knew from the tone that it was praise.

Well, they had a whole week. Maybe one of these days he would be allowed to take Shane apart slowly, with his mouth.

"Lay down here," said Ilya, who was sitting up against the headboard. "Show Kip and Scott how good you have been for us all evening." He positioned Shane so that Shane was laying on his back against Ilya's chest, where Ilya could kiss his hair.

"Did you…?" asked Kip quietly, and Scott didn't know what that meant.

Then Shane spread his legs.

"All day, he has been waiting for this," said Ilya.

Shane brought his knees to his chest, revealing exactly what Kip had meant when he said they had "prepared."

"I had to suck him off, earlier, when I opened him up. He could not wait, and I want him to last for us now."

Nestled in his ass was a silicone plug. On its own, this would not be surprising. What surprised Scott was that it was heart shaped. And purple. And it was turned upside down but Scott could still read that it said "FUCK ME," like some kind of dirty Valentine.

"That was hours ago," Shane complained. "You could let Scott get me off right now and I'd still be able to come again before you're all finished."

"It was one hour ago. See, I told you, he is very needy," said Ilya. So that's what he and Shane had been doing while Scott and Kip showered. So that's why Shane couldn't get comfortable when they sat drinking around the fire.

"Okay, boys! Are you up for a challenge? Shane, moy lyubimyy, you do not come until I tell you. If you get close, you tell me. Us three—"

"Ugh. Yes, Captain," said Shane, rolling his eyes, and then whining when Ilya pinched him again without missing a beat.

"—You call me Captain like you think I don't know it makes you harder just to say it," he said, before turning his attention back to Scott and Kip. "Us three will fuck him, but be careful. You must stop when I tell you."

"Condoms?" asked Scott. Ilya looked at him, and then looked at Kip. Apparently this was something they had negotiated beforehand.

"You don't have to," said Shane, "just— pull out. You can come on me, fuck, wherever you want, just not inside."

If that was good enough for Kip, it was good enough for Scott.

Ilya said, "Kip. Mastermind. How do you want him?"

"Fuck," said Kip. "Let me see the arch I've heard so much about."

Shane's lips quirked up. "You've been bragging about me," he said, as he turned over onto his knees. Still between Ilya's legs, he pressed a kiss to Ilya's thigh as he raised his ass in the air. From this angle, his stupid conversation heart said "FUCK ME" the right way up.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Shane," said Kip. "I mean. God damn."

"My love," said Ilya softly, and guided the tip of his cock to Shane's lips. "Let us play a little game. Do you know," he continued, conversational, "when I sucked him earlier, he admitted many things."

Shane groaned around Ilya's cock. Ilya stroked his hands through Shane's hair, comforting.

"He told me how badly he wants this. For Mr. Hunter to fuck him. But— we have with us two Mr. Hunters."

Kip grinned. Sure, he hadn't legally changed his name, but Scott knew he loved being Kip Hunter all the same.

"So I think now Mr. Hunter fucks him, yes? But Shane cannot see behind him, because his mouth is full of my cock." To emphasize his point, Ilya gripped Shane's hair and pushed his head further down. "So he will not know which Hunter is fucking him."

Ilya locked eyes with Kip and nodded, twice. "Take out the toy and finger him, first. And be quiet or you give the game away."

Scott watched as Kip put his left hand on Shane's hip and Shane whined, leaning into the touch. The ring on his fourth finger glinted gold in the lamplight as his hand slid over the pale white lines that stretched over Shane's muscles. His other hand gently pulled out the toy, discarding it unceremoniously to the side.

Kip's first two fingers slipped in easily, and almost immediately, Shane asked for more.

"Another finger?" asked Ilya.

"No. I want his cock. I can take it."

So Kip pressed himself into Shane, slow at first, picking up speed as Shane asked for more more more. Ilya's hand in Shane's hair kept his head mostly still; he was warming Ilya's cock more than sucking it.

Scott stroked himself slowly, clinging to self-restraint. He wanted— needed— this to last. But the sight of Kip fucking into Shane— the way Shane arched up into Kip like he was born for this and this alone— the gleaming ring that marked Kip as his— Shane's moaning, muffled around Ilya's cock, as he rocked back on Kip's— It would be so, so easy to give himself just a little more, to push himself over the edge right now.

Kip bit his lip, his breathing going ragged, his eyes screwed shut. Ilya, understanding, put a finger to his lips as a reminder. Be quiet or you give the game away.

When it came to staying quiet, Kip had always had better self control than Scott. But a man can only take so much. Scott came up behind his husband and wrapped one arm around his waist, the other pressing over his mouth to smother a moan.

Kip sucked and nipped at the skin of his palm. Scott rolled his hips against Kip, giving himself only just enough friction.

Shane was shaking badly enough that Scott thought he might not be able to hold himself up. But then Shane tapped Ilya's thigh three times, very distinctly, and Ilya said, "Stop!"

Ilya pulled Shane off his cock. "That was very good, sweetheart," said Ilya softly, cradling Shane's face in his hands, and then murmured more praise in Russian. He made Shane sit back on his heels and drink more water.

When Shane had caught his breath a little, Ilya asked, "Do you know whose cock you had inside you?"

"That was Kip. Right?"

"How the fuck did you know that?" asked Scott.

"He's a savant. At hockey and at taking cock," said Kip. "Obviously."

"My two passions in life," Shane said, handing his glass back to Ilya. "Playing hockey and taking cock. But Kip, your hands just feel different, I don't know. And Scott has a silicone ring on. Kip has gold."

"You can feel that?" Scott rubbed his left hand over his right. He could barely feel his ring, much less guess at the material if he didn't already know.

"You're gonna lose your fucking mind, being inside him," said Kip. He stroked himself leisurely, evidently game to draw this out for himself as well. Scott felt like he was losing his mind already.

"Are you ready for more, Shane? No cockwarming this time. Let Scott hear you."

Shane nodded and repositioned himself while Scott lubed himself up. He pressed into Shane's wet heat, and Shane moaned low in his throat, and someone was talking, someone was cursing loudly, and Scott realized it was him.

"Fucking Christ, kid, you're tight. Wow, fuck. Fuck," he was saying, and he knew he was babbling, but he also couldn't stop himself. The words just spilled right out.

"Harder," said Shane, and, well, fuck. Scott snapped his hips harder, deeper, faster. Anything to keep Shane making those fucking noises.

Next to them, he was vaguely aware of Kip and Ilya laying together, could hear them kissing. But the edges of his vision blurred. He thought he might be dying.

"Make him beg more for it," said Ilya. "Fucking hard like that is a treat. Make him beg."

And Scott didn't even have to do anything, because Shane was so eager to please Ilya, always. "Fuck, please. Please, harder, Scott, please, I need it."

It wouldn't take long, he knew, which was good because he didn't know how long Shane could take it. He'd been worked up about this for so long, wondering what it would feel like to finally be inside Shane Hollander. All day. All spring. All of the past twelve years.

"Like that? You fucking like that?"

"Yes, fuck, don't stop, please. Please."

And Shane's face was pressed into the pillows, but Scott's mind was supplying him images of all the times he'd tried so hard not to notice Shane over the years. His beautiful eyes, so often shying away from Scott. Sweet and deferential. His stupidly perfect body. His twice-in-a-generation talent. The face that launched a thousand ad campaigns. Opening up for him. Needy and pliant.

"Call him 'Mr. Hunter,'" said Ilya, and Kip was laughing.

"Fuck off, Ilya, I'm not—"

"Say, 'Please, Mr. Hunter,' or I tell him to stop."

"Ah, fuck, no." Shane gave a sigh that was trying for exasperated but really came out pretty desperate. "Please, Mr. Hunter. Feels so good. Don't stop."

And hearing that from Shane Hollander had no right to hit the way it did, twisting low and hot in his stomach.

"Aw, look at him turning red," said Kip, teasing. "How long've you been thinking getting fucked by Mr. Hunter?" Scott looked over at him now. His gorgeous, witty, playful husband. His limbs were tangled up with Ilya's and they each had a hand on the other's cock.

"He's wanted this for years," said Ilya, practically crowing, so pleased to have found a new avenue to embarrass Shane.

"Shit," said Scott. "Fuck, I'm close. Can I—"

"Scott, if you come inside me, I'm gonna come," said Shane. His breathing was shallow, every muscle of his body tense as he fought his own orgasm.

"Stop. Scott! Stop. Don't let him," warned Ilya, voice urgent.

It took more willpower than Scott expected to still himself. Shane's hole felt impossibly tighter as he pulled out, like his body was trying to drag Scott back in. It felt like fighting gravity. But then Kip was kissing him and touching him and saying, "That was fucking hot as hell."

"Keep touching yourself, Scott," said Ilya, and he slapped Shane's flank, prompting him to roll onto his back. "I want to watch you come all over his stomach."

But Kip already had his warm, firm hand around Scott's lube-slick shaft. "Oh, Kip," he said, and Kip said, "Come for me, Scott," and that was it, his husband's touch pushing him over the edge, and he came so hard his ears rang.

His cum splattered over Shane's toned stomach and his darkly throbbing cock, dripping down onto his balls. Ilya had both Shane's wrists pinned above his head, kissing his neck and whispering praises.

Scott's ears were still ringing. Kip was handing him water, and then Ilya was saying, "Can you…?" and then Kip was trading places with Ilya, holding Shane's wrists down.

"You're doing so good," said Kip. "So beautiful. So good for us."

"He is a perfect slut," Ilya agreed, as he moved further down the bed. "My perfect slut, yes? Don't worry. I take care of you."

And then Ilya Rozanov was licking Scott's cum off of Shane Hollander's stomach.

Scott thought he might keel over. He didn't think he'd be able to come again, but his erection hadn't flagged, even after coming so hard he felt dizzy. And Ilya's tongue was dragging along Shane's stomach, dipping into his navel, lapping it up.

"Ilya, please, please," said Shane. "I need your mouth."

"Hold still," said Ilya, but Shane couldn't help it; his hips were bucking up, searching for friction. His dick bounced up and hit Ilya's jaw.

Ilya clicked his tongue, disapproving. "Just for that, I will not finish cleaning you up," he said, and sat up. A thick glob of Scott's cum had dripped its way down the shaft and it still clung there. Scott had the wild urge to lick it up himself. What the hell had these two done to him?

Ilya heaved a sigh, composing himself, and passed water to Shane. "Sit up. Drink," he said. "And when you have calmed down, we let Kip fuck you some more. We let him see your pretty face this time."

They paused for a moment to drink. Shane took deep, measured breaths, trying to bring himself down off of the cliff. Only Kip still touched himself slowly, keeping himself primed.

When Shane was ready again, Scott and Ilya laid on either side of him as Kip pushed Shane's knees to his chest. "God, that yoga does pay off," Kip said. "When we get back to New York, we are definitely joining one of Eric Bennett's yoga classes."

"Don't talk about fucking Benny right now," said Scott. "Focus on Shane."

"I'm not talking about fucking him, we're just gonna do yoga!" said Kip. "Hold his leg up for me." He positioned Scott's hand on the back of Shane's vast thigh, pushing it deeper towards his chest. Scott rubbed his thumb over the fine dark hair on the back of Shane's leg.

Ilya put his hand on Shane's other leg. He looked up at Scott, his eyes blown dark with lust. Scott he had hardly touched Ilya all night. It startled him to realized how badly he wanted that to change.

Kip was working two fingers in and out of Shane, who squirmed and whined. "Kip, please, just fuck me already, please!"

"Aw, you really are so pretty when you beg. Ilya told me you would be. He brags about you so much, you know." He dug his fingers in deeper, curling them at an angle that made Shane arch up off the bed.

Scott watched as Kip pulled his fingers out and positioned the head of his cock against Shane's hole, putting pressure but not quite pushing in. Shane tried to push himself onto Kip but Scott and Ilya held him firm.

"You want it?" said Kip. "You want my dick inside you?"

"Fucking give it to me," said Shane, twitching his hips, trying to get closer.

Ilya clicked his tongue again. "Ask nicely."

"Please. Please, Kip. I need it."

"That's much better," said Kip. He eased himself into Shane, throwing his head back in pleasure.

He was so beautiful like this. Flushed and glistening sweat. His eyes wide and dark. He looked down at Scott, pure love in his eyes. Scott started stroking himself again, unhurried.

He leaned in to kiss Shane's neck. "He fucks you so good, doesn't he?" he said, low, in Shane's ear. "Tell him."

"Fuck, fuck, Kip, right there," said Shane. "So good."

Kip moaned, low. Scott knew that moan, knew that look on his face, knew that he was getting close, and quickly.

"I want to see cum on his face," said Ilya. "Yes?"

"Shane," said Kip, "I want you— fuck. Wanna cum in your mouth. I want you to stick your tongue out for me."

"Yes," said Shane, breathless. He groaned as Kip pulled out of him and let his knees fall away from his chest.

On his knees, Kip straddled Shane's chest. Shane opened his mouth wide, his tongue out, greedy. He wrapped his hand around himself, slick with lube, and stroked himself over the edge. Shane caught as much as he could in his mouth, but there was so much cum that it landed on his chin and his chest, too.

"Don't swallow," said Ilya, and Shane's brow furrowed, his mouth full. "Give it to Scott."

"Oh, fuck, yes" said Kip, still shaking and panting from his orgasm.

Scott leaned over Shane to kiss him, mouth open. Shane's tongue slipped into his mouth, and with it, a mouthful of Kip's cum. Scott swallowed and sucked on Shane's tongue, eliciting more moaning from Shane.

Sucking his husband's cum off of Shane's tongue was working him up again, and fast. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this much heat building again so quickly.

Kip collapsed onto the bed next to him, on his other side. He threw one arm and leg over Scott, caressing him, and kissed his neck.

Scott turned to kiss his husband, relishing the familiarity of his lips, an anchor in this sea of newness.

"Now we watch," said Kip, his hand moving lower down Scott's stomach, lingering at the seam of his abdomen and his thigh. Scott's cock twitched in anticipation of Kip's touch.

When Scott turned back, Ilya had already positioned himself over Shane. He moaned with pleasure and relief as he sank into Shane's body. "Did you miss me, solnyshko?"

"So much," said Shane.

Ilya's body rolled, liquid against Shane, who wrapped his legs around Ilya's waist and his hands around the back of his neck, holding on. Ilya kept talking, his voice low, in Russian words that Scott still assumed must be praise. Shane responded vocally but beyond words.

Though he couldn't understand the words, it felt like eavesdropping. It was almost too intimate to look at; although he knew he'd been invited to share their bed, to share in Shane's body, it felt somehow violating to actually see this. He closed his eyes. The sound of their breathy moans and the slap of skin on skin was pornographic.

Kip tongued at his ear in that way that made Scott's spine shiver. His firm hand wrapped around Scott, stroking him in time with Ilya rutting into Shane. With his eyes closed, he could feel the motion next to him, feel the heat radiating from their bodies

"You've been so good, Shane. Waiting to come. Waiting for me."

"For you, Ilya, 'm good for you."

"I want you to come on my cock. Only mine," said Ilya.

"Oh my god, look at his face," said Kip. His hand pumped up and down Scott's cock, his thumb spreading wetness over the tip.

Scott couldn't help it. He had to see. He opened his eyes again. Ilya's face was screwed up in concentration, with the effort it took to control his movements.

"You, for you, only you," Shane babbled, until it was more sounds than words. And this must be what Kip meant, because Shane's expression was rapturous. Tears tracked down his cheeks. How long had he been crying? "Please, Ilya, please."

"Let them hear you say my name," said Ilya, and that was all it took.

"Oh, fuck. Ilya, Ilya, I'm coming, Ilya—"

Only a few thrusts more and then Ilya was collapsing over Shane's chest.

"That was one of the hottest things I've ever seen," said Kip. His hand moved faster, in just the way he knew Scott liked.

Then Ilya shifted his weight to Shane's other side, and reached over Shane's convulsing body.

And he put his hand on Scott's thigh.

And even though Scott saw Ilya's hand moving, his touch shocked Scott like electricity, sparking under his skin up the inside of his thigh and—

Ilya was saying, "Scott," in his low, accented voice, and—

Kip's hand flexed, his grip tighter tighter tighter, and the heat in his gut was too much, and his body was on fire, and Kip was saying, "Baby, come for me," and then he was, and it felt like the floor fell out from under him.

Scott spilled over Kip's hand, and Kip did not slow down, stroking his cock freshly slick with cum until Scott felt like he could cry from how much it felt.

The edges of reality eroded to fine, soft powder. He felt like ice that had been carved up by pairs of blades, like the snow spray kicked up behind them. He might have been dreaming. The heat of Kip's hand was gone. Something cold and wet was touching him.

"Oh, that was a good one," said Kip. He had a washcloth in his hand and he was wiping Scott down. "Sit up and drink some water."

Scott sat up, and the room tilted sideways. Slowly, with each sip of water, it righted itself.

"I'm going to the kitchen," said Kip, and kissed Scott goodbye.

"This is the most important part," said Ilya, reverent. "How you hold him, after. Tight."

And then his arms were full of a warm, sweaty body. Shane pressed his face into Scott's chest. Scott's limbs felt like they might not be attached to his body anymore, but he pulled Shane as tight as he could. Shane heaved a great sigh, relaxing into Scott's touch.

His breathing slowed. Ilya's weight climbed into the bed on Shane's other side and Shane turned to face him, inviting Scott to curl around him. Ilya pulled Scott's hand over and placed it on his own side. Under his palm, Scott felt the smooth, firm planes. Ilya rested his own arm gently over Scott's, fingers brushing over Scott's forearm. They were pulled so tightly together that Shane must have been a bit squished in the middle, but he seemed pleasantly relaxed.

"Y'know, 's too bad they've never put us on a team together," said Scott. He was so sleepy; his voice sounded distant to his own ears. "Hunter and Rozanov. I see why you're a good captain."

Ilya's hand gripped his arm tightly in answer.

He wasn't sure how long he dozed; it might have been only a blink. But then Shane was saying, "Oh my god, we are so sticky. I have to move."

At some point, Kip had come back up from the kitchen with oranges in hand. There was one on the nightstand next to a discarded peel, and Kip's fingers were fragrant with the sweet acidity. Scott took Kip's wrist in hand and guided his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking the tips.

Kip laughed. "Calm down, I'll feed you," he said. Scott sucked his finger a little harder. He thought he could swallow Kip whole.

"I'm running the bath for you," called Ilya from the doorway.

Scott's mouth watered as the scent of citrus filled the air. Kip was peeling the other orange. "Come here, while you wait for your bath. Have a bite," he said.

Shane let Kip feed him and Scott orange slices. When Ilya came back into the room, he kissed Kip first, and then Scott, before cradling Shane's head to kiss him deeply.

"Excellent work all around, boys," he said. "And Shane, moy lyubimyy. So good for me. For us. You made old man Hunter come twice, and he did not even take Viagra. That is an accomplishment, yes?"

He looked up from Shane to catch Scott's eye, and winked.

"Come now. Time to clean up."

"Fucking finally," said Shane, and followed Ilya out of the bedroom.

"There's another shower downstairs," said Kip, pulling him out of bed. "I don't know about you, but I want to get clean and get in bed as soon as possible."

･✻･ﾟ･✻･ﾟﾟ･✻･ﾟ

When Scott came down to start making coffee, he found a bleary-eyed Ilya in the kitchen, measuring loose leaf tea from a tin into a mesh infuser.

"You're up early," said Scott.

Ilya closed the tin and opened another, spooning leaves into a second infuser. "I could say the same."

The sky was only just beginning to lighten; it couldn't be later than six. He thought they might have fallen asleep around one.

"My body never adjusts to vacation time," said Scott, and yawned. "I can't sleep in, no matter how late I was up the night before."

Ilya nodded, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Still half-asleep in the pale morning light, he looked almost childish.

"Shane is like that," he said, "and I am a light sleeper. My husband is awake, I am awake." The electric kettle on the counter clicked, and Ilya poured hot water into two mugs. "Is Kip…?"

"Nah, Kip's a total night owl. He'll sleep 'til ten if I let him. Maybe later."

"Well. Let him. As you said, we're on vacation time."

Scott moved past Ilya to Keurig on the counter behind him. Next to it sat a box of K-cup pods with a label he recognized from the grounds on his counter at home. He picked it up, and turned it over.

"Kip told me that is what you drink," said Ilya. He did not say, "I hope it's okay," but Scott heard that, anyway.

"It's perfect. Thank you," said Scott. "Y'know, I didn't peg you for a tea drinker. I thought all you Boston boys drank shitty Dunkin coffee."

"I used to drink coffee. But these days, too much caffeine…" He blinked, clearly looking for a word. "It… plays bad with? My medication. Gives me jitters."

"It interacts with?"

"Yes, that." He sighed. "It is too early for English."

Scott huffed a laugh. "It's pretty early for conversation in any language."

"Yes, well. You are very old to be having these kinds of late nights. You must think of your health, Scott." He pulled the infusers out of the mugs, one of pale green tea, one deep and dark. "Do you want a smoothie if I make one?"

Ilya opened a red jar and scooped out a spoonful of strawberry jam into the mug of black tea.

"Sure. What the hell are you putting in your tea?" asked Scott.

"They do not have jam in New York?" Ilya asked lightly as he stirred. The tea turned reddish as the jam started to dissolve.

"Jam is for putting on toast. We don't drink it."

Ilya opened the fridge and pulled out milk and berries and kale, setting them on the counter next to the blender. "We do. In Russia. It is delicious, by the way."

"Right," said Scott, unconvinced. The Keurig was done. Scott opened the top and discarded the pod.

"Don't be small-minded, Captain America," he said, as he measured scoops of protein powder.

"'Captain America'?" How did Ilya even have the energy to be annoying this early in the morning?

"Xenophobic and old as balls," said Ilya, as he peeled a banana and broke it into pieces. "Pick a struggle."

"So it's too early to remember the word 'interacts' but you had 'xenophobic' right off the dome?"

The blender pulsed and whirred loudly.

"Sorry, I cannot not hear your American ignorance over the sound of the blender."

Scott laughed in spite of himself. "Wow, Kip is gonna be pissed when he finds out you took over smoothie-making duties."

"Will he really?" asked Ilya, conversational, as he poured the smoothie into three glasses.

"Dear god, no. He hates making smoothies."

Scott took a careful sip of his coffee to test the temperature, and then another. It didn't taste quite right, but it was passable. He'd made coffee in a lot of shitty hotel Keurigs over the years.

"I miss my French press," he said. "It's such a small thing, but that's one of the creature comforts I really miss when I'm on the road. You've got the right idea, bringing your fancy tea and infusers and stuff."

"We are on vacation," said Ilya. "I wanted things to be nice."

"You know, I should thank you," said Scott. "For planning all this, with Kip. It's… nice. It's good to get to know you outside of…" He waved his hand, unsure whether to say work or hockey or something else.

Ilya looked up at him, silent, like he was contemplating what to say next.

"It's good to call you a friend, Scott," said Ilya, finally. "I can't let just anybody fuck my husband."

"I could say the same," Scott said with a laugh. "I'm glad we're friends."

He looked again at Ilya's mug of dark red tea. "You make that every morning?"

"Usually Shane does. He gets out of bed first. But after last night, I want him to rest. Of course, I think he is already up doing hundred step skincare routine."

Scott nodded. "Maybe one of these days I'll give it a try. The jam, I mean."

Ilya smiled crookedly and held the mug out to Scott. "You could try now."

Gamely, Scott accepted the mug and took a tentative sip. It wasn't thick like he thought it would be; the jam dissolved completely into the hot tea. The flavor was sweet and balanced. "Well. Damn if that isn't delicious," he said, and handed the mug back to Ilya.

"You like it! See, this is much better than black coffee from pods. Or worse," he said, gesturing to Shane's mug, "green tea with nothing. So boring."

Scott shook his head. "Nothing is better than coffee. Ever." He took another deep sip from his own mug. "So what are your plans today?"

Ilya shrugged. "Breakfast, then laundry. After that, I guess depends on how Shane feels. Later I will make us lunch. Maybe we watch a movie. I think Shane will try to make you watch game tape at some point, even though this is vacation. But breakfast and laundry first."

"Yeah, I guess we made a mess upstairs, didn't we? But— worth it."

"Worth it," Ilya agreed.

"Why don't you let me handle the bedding? After coffee, I mean."

"Okay. Thank you, Scott. That is thoughtful." Ilya picked up Shane's mug in his other hand. "I should take this upstairs. Enjoy your terrible coffee."

"Do you need a hand? With the smoothies?"

"He can't have hot tea and cold smoothie at the same time," Ilya said, as if this was obvious. "I'll come back down for it in a bit."

Alone in the kitchen, Scott looked out the window. The sky was fully light now, and the world outside was exuberantly green. He'd be happy to go back to the city, when it was time, but it was good to have a change.

He realized, as he sipped his coffee, that he felt better than he had in a long time. Maybe this trip was a good idea after all. Kip would be awake in a few hours. When he woke, Scott would have to tell him he was right.

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