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This time when it happened, Ilya wasn’t on the ice. He was on the bench.
He’d just finished his shift, and was waiting the last few minutes until the second period ended. He was intently watching the ice, absolutely not looking at a particular player that happened to be his boyfriend. He would never gaze lovingly at his hot boyfriend across the ice. Ludicrous.
Regardless of what Ilya claimed, he caught the exact moment Shane was checked into the boards. The hit didn’t look malicious, but St-Simon had caught Shane unaware. He tripped forwards, slamming chest first into the boards.
Ilya flinched, rising slightly from the bench involuntarily, as if his body was demanding to go over there. Marleau, who sat next to him, hissed through his teeth.
“Ouch!” Marley exclaimed, wincing.
Ilya said nothing, holding his breath, willing Shane to get up. He didn’t think he could handle Shane being taken off the ice on a stretcher again.
After just a few seconds, he saw Shane stir, lifting himself to his knees. He looked winded but not on the brink of death, no visible blood anywhere. Ilya let out a breath, nodding and ‘mhm’ing mindlessly at Marley. He sat his ass firmly back on the bench. Hollander was fine.
Shane was completely fine.
—-
Shane was slightly not fine.
He’d gotten checked into the boards before, that was whatever. A normal part of the sport. What was not totally chill and whatever were his ribs, which felt pretty bad. And, honestly, didn’t look great either.
Montreal’s team medic, Vince, had pulled up Shane’s shirt, nodding sagely at the damage.
“Yep, that’s bruised.” Vince turned to Theriault, who narrowed his eyes at Shane’s chest.
He hummed, “Shane. You know we’re getting pummeled out there.”
Coach wasn’t wrong. The score was 5-2 to Boston, a big deal when they were this close to the playoffs. The air was electric tonight, the whole team wanted this win against their greatest rivals.
Theriault continued, “And we need you out there on the ice as our captain - even if it’s just for the last few minutes of the game.”
Vince took in a breath, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,“
”I’ve seen players get hit worse and go back on. Nothing’s broken, right? Just bruised?” Theriault interrupted. “Surely you can handle a bruise, Shane?”
”Yes, sir.” He nodded, ready to get back on the ice.
”Really, I cannot recommend this!” Vince said, a desperate glint to his eyes.
Theriault turned to him, eyebrow raised. “Just give him something for the pain, and he’s all good to head back on.”
The medic spluttered, and Theriault gave him a solid pat on the shoulder, apparently taking this as an agreement. “Good man. Hollander, you’re back on the ice halfway through third period. You’ve got 20 minutes.” He nodded, then left the room.
Vince sighed, rifling through his bag, coming up with a pill bottle. He read the side of the bottle and shook out a pill.
“This is fast acting oxycodone. Right now it’s the only thing I have that’s gonna let you play on the ice with fucking bruised ribs. You’re only getting the one dose now, after this you’re gonna take over the counter pain meds. Here.”
He passed over the pill and a water bottle. Shane knocked it back, very ready to not feel like his ribs were trying to kill him to death.
”It should take between 10 to 30 minutes to kick in. Hopefully for your sake, it’ll take less than 20. Side effects can include feeling calm, drowsiness, constipation, some muscle weakness, nausea or dizziness. If you feel any of those last few in the rink, get off the ice, and come get me. I don’t care what Theriault says.”
Shane nodded, mostly just ready to get back on the ice and, hopefully, crush Boston to tiny little pieces. Vince hummed, apparently satisfied, “You can stay here until it kicks in,” and turned away to fiddle with his laptop.
Shane sat back on the bed, wincing as the movement jostled his ribs. Ouch. He stared at the ceiling blankly. Shane didn’t know if Boston had scored since he’d been taken off the ice, but he wouldn’t be surprised. Boston was fine, but Ilya was a good hockey player. Shane wouldn’t be surprised if he’d managed a hat trick in the time Shane had been gone.
Ilya. He got to see Ilya later. Fuck yes.
”Hollander!” Theriault’s voice boomed, startling Shane out of his musings. “Let’s go!”
Oh shit. Shane stood, hand preemptively clutching at his ribs, but it was unnecessary. His ribs felt fine. Actually, on a whole, Shane felt pretty fucking good.
He rushed out of the room, skates clunking against the floor. He was ready to get back on the ice and decimate Boston.
—
Okay, so they might not have decimated Boston, but Shane had given it a good try.
As predicted, Boston had scored while he was gone, bringing the score to 6-2. And while Shane was a pretty good hockey player, something was off with the team. Montreal seemed to hate Boston more than normal. Shane heard a couple more chirps than usual, saw more sly, slightly illegal moves than usual, and Montreal got more penalties than usual. It was strange, but he didn’t dwell on it. He was too preoccupied by trying to score, and was busy thinking about how well his boyfriend would fuck him later.
Sadly, they didn’t crush Boston to tiny little pieces, as he’d wanted. They did score twice, finishing the game at 6-4. Ilya was sure to brag about that later, ugh.
Shane stepped off the ice, filing into the locker room with the rest of the team. Guys around him stripped quickly, making their way into the showers. Shane felt a bit like he was wading through molasses, movements slow and subdued. He stooped down to take his skates off, and suddenly felt like he was a shitty little boat in the middle of a choppy ocean, slowly but surely tipping over.
”Woah!”
Hands landed on his shoulder, pulling him back upright. Hayden stood in front of him, a concerned look on his face. Why was Hayden worried? Shane was totally fine.
”I’m totally fine,” he murmured. Hayden cocked a brow disbelievingly, and Shane waved him off. He leant back down slowly, pulling off his skates. He chucked them in his locker, before moving to take off his gear. Before he could, he heard a shocked inhale from next to him. Shane turned to Hayden, trying to raise an eyebrow like Hayden just had, but for some reason Shane didn’t seem to have very fine motor control of his facial muscles at the moment. Weird.
”What?” he questioned.
”Oh nothing. Just a bit concerned that my best friend’s been replaced by an alien.”
To say Shane was confused would be an understatement. “What?” he repeated, but significantly more baffled this time.
”You, Shane Hollander, just threw your skates into your locker. You threw them!”
”… Ooooookay?”
Hayden’s eyes widened, apparently baffled Shane saw nothing wrong with this. “Shane. In the years I have known you, I have never once seen you do anything but gently place your skates into your locker, in the exact right position. Never!”
Shane thought it through, and supposed it was a bit out of character. But honestly, he just didn’t really care right now. He had other shit going on - like seeing his boyfriend. He shrugged.
”Eh.”
Hayden’s baffled silence spoke words.
”Buddy, are you feeling okay? Wait- how bad are your ribs? What did they give you?”
Shane shrugged again.
—
Uh oh.
When Shane had gone down but gotten back up after just a few seconds, Hayden naively thought that he was probably fine then. He’d definitely thought that Shane was fine when he’d been put back in the game. But based on his current behaviour, Hayden might have to rethink that.
Shane had, throughout the interrogation, kept trying to take off his gear. It was only now that he finally managed to pull his shirt off, exposing the beginnings of what was to soon surely become a nasty bruise, red blooming across his left side. Hayden winced just looking at it, then remembered that Shane had gotten back on the ice and played multiple long shifts with this behemoth.
”Jesus, Shane!”
Shane looked down and shrugged once again - why does he keep doing that?
”I can’t see anything weird.”
“You can’t feel that?”
”Feel what?” Shane said, staring directly at the huge fucking bruise across his chest.
”What did they give you, horse tranquilisers?”
”Ock-see-co-done. I think.”
Hayden paused, trying to remember which one that was, until he had a bona fide lightbulb moment. Ah. Shane was high.
Hayden sat Shane down on a bench in the locker room (“Don’t move!”) and pulled out his phone. Hayden was kind of out of his depth here, he needed backup. So he called Jackie.
”Hey Jack.”
”Hey babe! Good game, how’s Shane doing?”
”Err, they put him on some strong stuff. It’s… remember when we visited him in the hospital that one time?”
”Oh god, he’s high again? Is he okay?”
”He’s alright, just some wicked bruised ribs- Shane?”
He turned back to where he’d left Shane about 20 seconds ago, only to see an empty bench. Uh oh. He scanned the locker room, hoping Shane would miraculously appear from thin air, or jump out from behind a locker. He did not.
”Um. Jackie, I might need to call you back?”
”What happened to Shane?”
”… I don’t know.”
——
Shane was sooooo sneaky.
Hayden was being weird. He accused Shane of being an alien, stared at his nipples and basically said they were weird, then called Jackie.
Was he telling Jackie about Shane’s alien nipples?
Regardless, Hayden told him to stay on the bench, but that was boring! Shane loved Jackie, but he wasn’t talking to Jackie. Hayden was. Booo. And he was all alone on a cold bench, so sad and lonely. Then he remembered.
His boyfriend was somewhere in the same building as him.
Shane was a man on a mission. He didn’t have to be a sad man on a bench, he could be in his boyfriend’s arms. He wanted to- no, he needed to kiss his boyfriend square on the mouth. Maybe the dick? Definitely his abs.
So, Shane snuck out of the room. His socked feet tiptoed against the tile as Hayden chattered on about something, making his way to his locker. He grabbed his phone, then bolted for the door. He ever so gently shut it behind him, and then proceeded to leisurely stroll down the hallway. Surely if he looked confident and suave, no one would question him.
He ducked into a random room a hallway away, pulling out his phone, ready to call Ilya. He stared down at his reflection in the black glass… How did he turn it on again?
Although it took a minute (maybe five), he eventually remembered how to unlock his phone, and navigated to his phone app. He painstakingly punched in Ilya’s number, and hit call. It rang a couple times before it was picked up.
“Moya lyubov? Are you alright?”
Wow, his boyfriend was so kind and thoughtful. Although, Shane wasn’t sure why everyone was asking that, he felt absolutely great! Well, he was also hungry. And thirsty. Shane would kill for a ginger ale or a kale smoothie or a tuna melt right now. Maybe he should go and find some food.
But he didn’t want to leave this room. He felt like he was now part of the room’s ecosystem, his DNA bleeding into the walls. Melded into the concrete floor, an immovable object. They might need to cut him out. How do they cut concrete? Oh my god, were they gonna cut his feet off? How would he play hockey without his feet?
”… Shane?”
Oh shit! Ilya! Ilya was here! Oh right, his mission. Okay, what should he say to Ilya?
“I’m coming to get you!” Shane said excitedly, wanting to share the wonderful news. He was gonna find him, and kiss him, and then they’d leave and go to the cottage and eat tuna melts together. And both their feet would be fully intact. An excellent plan.
Shane looked down, sad that Ilya hadn’t responded, only to see the phone open on his contacts page. Oops, his thumb had slipped, and he’d accidentally hung up. No matter. Soon, he’d be seeing Ilya in person.
He put his phone back in his pocket, and began his search.
—
Ilya wasn’t stressed. His boyfriend was a very capable hockey player, but he’d been checked hard into those boards. What if, when Shane walked off the ice, he stubbed his toe and fell over, then broke every bone in his body?
He might be a little bit stressed.
Last time he’d seen Shane be injured in front of him, Ilya had watched him be taken away in a stretcher. The whole hockey world had their eyes on them, and he couldn’t even hold his fucking hand while he was severely concussed. He didn’t hear anything about his condition for hours, silently pacing his hotel room floor. And when he finally did visit Shane, it was in secrecy, a sparse two minutes. An interaction ending with a joke about Ilya smothering Shane to death, and his own nonanswer about the fate of their future.
He knew that this was different. Shane got back up. He’d played the last half of the period, even if it was suspicious that he’d missed the first half. He held himself like normal, no hunching or favoring his right side. Shane was fine. And yet, Ilya couldn’t seem to fucking get a grip.
He gave his post game ‘Fuck yes, we crushed the Metro’s!’ speech. He stripped efficiently, checking and seeing no messages from Jane. He’d showered quickly, practically running out of the locker room before any of his teammates could intercept.
Where would Shane be right now? Obviously, his own locker room. Great. Ilya made to walk in the direction, then realised he was in Montreal, and did not know where the fuck the Metro’s locker room would be.
Ah, fuck it. If he walked long enough, he’d probably just find it. Maybe he should text Shane and ask where they could meet? Just so Ilya could check that he was alright before they reunited at Shane’s home.
As if he read Ilya’s mind, Ilya’s phone rang while he was walking down the hallway. He looked down, saw that Jane was calling him, and dove for the nearest room.
He slammed the door shut and hit the answer button, frantic to hear Shane’s voice. “Moya lyubov? Are you alright?”
He heard nothing but Shane’s breathing down the line. Seconds passed and he said nothing. Was Shane alright?
”… Shane?”
”… I’m coming to get you.”
Then Shane hung up.
What the fuck?
—
Oh fuck. Okay. This is fine.
Hayden’s lying completely, this is very not fine.
No! It will be fine! All he had to do was track Shane down before anyone noticed he was gone.
”Pike! Where’s Holly?”
Shit. Hayden turned to see the team emerge from the showers.
Everyone had been pissed about Shane getting injured. A lowly Boston player, injuring their beloved captain? Horrific. A crime that couldn’t go unpunished. Montreal had been aggressive, readily throwing high sticks and slashes, somehow subtle enough to go mostly unnoticed. Hayden may have subtly hooked St-Simon a couple times.
It made sense that, upon seeing that Shane didn’t shower with them, and wasn’t in the locker room, the team might want to know where he was.
”Oh! Coach wanted to talk to him,” he said, speaking directly out of his ass.
“So he’s still around? Score!” Miitka said. “We’re going out for drinks, I wanna see if we can finally get him to come with. Wanna come find him with us?”
Hayden laughed nervously, “Uh, sorry, I’ve got a… thing. With the wife. Can’t make it.”
Miitka shrugged, “Your loss. Cool, let’s go grab Holly.”
This was bad. Hayden didn’t know exactly what would happen if they found high Shane, and he was scared to find out. Not for what Shane would do at a bar while high, but what Shane would do to Hayden if he knew Hayden had let them convince him to go out to a bar, while high on opioids.
Well, he was also slightly scared for what Shane would do at a bar while high.
Hayden had no time to waste. He had to find Shane first.
—
Shane stumbled through the back hallways of the rink, dodging random men in suits who all gave him weird looks. Apparently his method of blending in via ‘look confident and suave’ wasn’t working too well. Since when was the centre this big? Why were there so many random concrete hallways and guys in suits?
He came to an intersection - should he turn left or right? Shane closed his eyes. Maybe he could just try to sense Ilya’s presence?
He turned right. Left. Right. Cut through a random room. Up a set of stairs. Left. Back down a different set of stairs.
Shane turned around a corner, and saw the most beautiful sight: Ilya Rosanov’s ass.
Ilya stood down the other end of the hallway, suit pants hugging his curvaceous ass, and jacket highlighting his godly biceps. He had out his phone, tapping the screen with a frantic demeanour. His hair was wet, shiny and curling up at the ends. Hot.
Shane was ecstatic. Ilya was here! But he couldn’t call him Ilya out loud, he didn’t want them to get caught.
“Rosanov.”
Ilya turned sharply, and Shane could see his face. His chiselled jaw, huge pecs, and stunning blue eyes.
Shane forgot all about trying not to get caught, too enthused by the sight of his boyfriend. He wanted to cuddle the fuck out of him. Shane wanted to squeeze Ilya so hard his lungs popped.
So Shane did, what he would say was, a very reasonable thing. He ran to his boyfriend.
—
Ilya wandered aimlessly through the back hallways of the rink, lost as fuck. There wasn’t even anyone around that he could ask for directions. What the hell was with this building’s layout?
He was on google, frantically attempting to find a diagram of the building’s floor plan that apparently didn’t exist, when he heard a deep ominous voice, bellowing from behind.
”Rosanov.”
Ilya turned, startled. At the other end of the hallway stood Shane. The light down his side of the hall was broken, occasionally flickering on to illuminate Shane’s tall frame, blocking the door frame he stood in. His hair was a mess, rucked up on one side and flat on the other. He still had on his socks, shin guards, and pants. He did not have shoes or a shirt on, exposing a large red mark stretching across his left torso. And also showing off the glitning sweat dripping down his pecs. And shoulders. Wow.
Shane had a glossy, dazed look in his eyes. Like a baby deer. Had he secretly hit his head? Shane was completely silent, just staring at Ilya. Something was wrong, very wrong.
In between one moment and the next, right when the lights flickered off and back on, with no warning, Shane pounced.
Ilya jumped back, “What the fuck-?”, but it was too late. It was here that a few things happened simultaneously.
Shane jump tackled him from metres away, careening into Ilya and sending them both straight to the floor. Ilya flailed violently, accidentally knocking Shane in the shoulder. Shane, who had propped himself up on his elbows and been leaning in to kiss Ilya, was knocked off trajectory and hit the ground.
It was at this moment that Hayden fucking Pike skidded around the corner.
—
Hayden wasn’t expecting to find a half naked Shane and Ilya Fucking Rosanov physically brawling on the floor in a random hallway, but he wasn’t exactly too surprised.
Hayden had scrambled down the halls, peaking into random rooms fruitlessly. And finally, after not actually that long searching (Shane was only about three hallways down from the Metros locker room), he heard a loud Russian yell. He’d then come across Shane. And also Ilya Rosanov. On the floor.
He was still shocked speechless. How the fuck had high Shane got himself into this situation? Was he about to kill Rosanov?
”Woah!” he yelled unconsciously, then froze when both heads turned to him.
”Hayden!” Shane exclaimed happily, unsuccessfully trying to clamber his way back to standing. Halfway through his attempt, he looked down, and seemingly remembered he was half on top of his arch rival (Sure, they had a charity together now or whatever. But they had still been arch rivals for a decade!).
But instead of doing the sensible thing, like punching Rosanov, or hitting Rosanov, or getting off of Rosanov, Shane did the unexpected. He laid back down directly on top of Rosanov, and tried to crush him to death.
”Shane! What the fuck are you-“
”Shane! Что за хрень!“
Shane ignored them, burrowing his face into Rosanov’s chest while squeezing his arms tight around him.
Hayden was slightly confused, because this seemed more like a hug than an assassination attempt. But that was crazy talk, right?… Right?
Finally, Shane lifted his head, smiling dopily at Hayden. “Hey Hayd! Sorry, just had to go find Ilya.”
Hayden frowned, “Yeah, I can see that. Why don’t we get up off the floor and get you home? This seems like a good time for you to go home now.”
Rosanov chimed in from under Shane, “Yes, that seems ideal.”
”No!” Shane shook his head, “Not until I can kiss my fucking boyfriend!”
…
What.
Whilst Hayden was processing that interesting statement, Shane had gone ahead and decided to break his brain more, by passionately kissing Ilya Rosanov directly on the lips.
And Rosanov? He melted into it, a possessive hand coming up to grip the back of Shane’s head.
Hayden thinks he might be dead.
—
Shane was personally having a fantastic time. He’d played hockey, he was kissing his boyfriend, his best friend was here, and he was about to go home and get railed. For some reason, Hayden didn’t seem to have Shane’s same level of enthusiasm, and was making a strange squeak-screech noise. Maybe he needed to get railed too?
Shane cut off Hayden’s loud screeching, “Hayden, do you need to get railed?”
The screeching got louder. Shane couldn’t tell if that meant yes or no.
Ilya finally pushed Shane off of his chest, and he landed on the floor with an oof, facing upwards. Woah.
“The sky is so preeeettyyyyy,” he muttered.
“Sweetheart, that is concrete ceiling.”
“Pretty,” he whispered.
Ilya decided Shane’d had enough floor time, and hauled him up and over his shoulder like a sack of very intoxicated potatoes. Shane leaned to the side, looking past Ilya’s torso at Hayden, who watched on silently. Maybe he was just so impressed by Ilya’s strength that he was stunned speechless. Shane sure was.
“Hello Pike.”
Hayden ignored Ilya completely, “Shane, you’re gay?”
“Duh.” He tried rolling his eyes, but ended up just rolling his head around. Eh, close enough.
“Wait. Rozanov, you’re gay?”
“No.”
“… I’ll be honest, that was more of a rhetorical question, wasn’t really expecting a no? You just had your tongue in Shane’s mouth and you’re not gay?”
“No. Bisexual.”
Hayden nodded sagely, looking alarmed for some reason. He took in a deep breath, steeling his shoulders, looking Shane in the eyes. It looked a bit silly upside down.
“Are you cheating on Lily?”
Shane burst into giggles, which didn’t seem to lighten Hayden’s mood. “No!”
“I literally saw you messaging her in the locker room an hour ago about meeting up.”
“Yeah!”
Although Shane felt he was making perfect sense, Hayden apparently didn’t share the sentiment. Ilya then stepped in.
“No cheating, Pike. Shane and Lily did meet.”
“Were you there as well? Oh my god, are you guys having a threesome?”
Ilya nodded seriously, “Da.”
Hayden’s face did something intriguing that Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on another human before. Despair? Intimidation? Fear? Shane wasn’t sure ‘finding out your best friend is gay and having a threesome with his decade long rival and a random woman’ is a common experience. Lucky for Hayden, Shane was only having a gay twosome with his decade long rival. No women involved.
Shane slapped Ilya’s shoulder, “No threesome! This is Lily!”, he exclaimed before smacking Ilya on the ass (which was directly in his line of vision, and glorious). Ilya jolted, grumbling under his breath, but was still clearly gleeful about being able to unsettle and confuse Hayden Pike.
Hayden deflated, “Oh thank God. I really thought I was gonna have to have a conversation about cheating with you-“, he cut himself off, apparently having a revelation. “Oh no. You. You and Rosanov? Shane? You guys have been in a relationship for…”, he paused, trying to remember how long he’d witnessed Shane messaging ‘Lily’. “A decade?”
The two exclaimed dramatically, “No! No, no, absolutely not!”, vehemently denying. It was a lot like when his parents found out, except this time Shane was high as fuck, and they were in a random hallway at work, and he was upside down, and really nothing was the same at all.
Hayden sighed, relieved to hear his best friend hadn’t been romantically entangled with his arch rival for a decade. Oops, time for Shane to rain on his parade.
”Not a relationship for a decade. Yuck. No, we were just fucking for a decade,” Shane declared. Ilya nodded amiably.
“And so you guys are just friends with benefits now?”
Ilya, with glee in his voice, said “Oh no. We are dating now. In love,” and pat Shane firmly on the ass, probably as payback for Shane’s loving butt slap.
Before Hayden could gather his wits and respond, the trio heard the raucous calls of a pack of hockey players.
“Shit!” Hayden exclaimed, “The team’s trying to find Shane. We gotta go.”
Ilya nodded, “Lead the way.”
The three, led by Hayden, made their way out a random back entrance to the parking lot. Ilya didn’t even try to let Shane down, despite his protests that he could toootally walk by himself. Apparently it wasn’t convincing enough, even though Shane was 60% sure he could walk on his own. Maybe 50%.
Ilya walked over to Shane’s car, crouching to drop him off Ilya’s shoulder and into the passenger seat. Ilya buckled him in, then turned to walk to the driver’s side.
”Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Hayden stood next to the car, arms crossed.
—
Ilya knew that this was not the way that Shane had wanted to tell his best friend about his boyfriend. He didn’t know how Shane would feel about this reveal when he wasn’t high out of his mind. Actually, Ilya did have an inkling: probably not great.
Ilya looked back at the man questioning him, eyebrow raised. He was eager to get Shane back home as fast as possible, but couldn’t help antagonizing a little bit, “Do you use that one on your kids, Pike?”
”Why yes I do, fuck you very much. Where are you taking him?””
”Home.”
”Alone? Do you even know where he lives?”
Ilya gave him another unimpressed look, “No, I am just taking him to random house. Yes, of course I know where he lives. Do you have his bag?”
Hayden nudged the second bag slung across his shoulder. “Well yeah, but I’m not giving it to you! What the hell, man!”
Shane had apparently been fumbling with the door, and managed to hit the button to roll down the window. He leaned his head out the side of the car, looking pleadingly at Pike with his big wet eyes. “Haydennnn! Come here,” he begged. Hayden glared at Ilya, but made his way over. Shane made grabby hands at the bag, which was eventually placed into his hands. Shane nodded, content, putting the bag at his feet. He leaned his head back against his seat, closing his eyes. Shane’s words slurred, drawn out and toneless, “Yesss. Good. Now we can go home and fuck.”
Hayden choked as Ilya got in the driver’s seat, side-eying Shane.
”I do not think we will be fucking tonight, Lyubimy.”
”What?!?” Shane cried, outraged.
“Durashka, you have bruised ribs.”
”And?”
Ilya just sighed, “We will talk about this later. Say bye to Pike.”
Shane turned, remembering Hayden was next to him. “Bye Hayden! See you later!” He waved excitedly.
“But-“ Hayden stammered, “What if you’re taking him to your secret murder dungeon? Shane, what if he murders you?!”
“There will be no murder, Pike. We will call you in morning when Shane feels better.”
”… Fine. But if you do anything to him, I will kill you. And you’re not calling, I’m coming over.”
Shane stuck his hand out the window, attempting to pat Hayden on the shoulder but instead ended up just tapping near his stomach. Ilya could see Shane’s energy flagging, hopefully he’d just pass out in the car and forget about the lack of sex they would be having.
“Hayd, everything’s fiiiiine. No murder. Talk tomorrow. I looove you.”
Hayden’s eyes softened, sighing, “Love you too, bud. See you tomorrow. 9AM, sharp!”
With that, Ilya pulled out of the spot, and began to drive home. The two sat in silence for a minute. Ilya wasn’t sure what Shane was thinking. Scared that they had revealed their relationship to someone else accidentally? Angry that Ilya hadn’t stopped Pike from finding out? About to confess that Ilya wasn’t good enough, and Shane was leaving him for another man?
”Are you sure we can’t fuck tonight?”
Ah. Ilya’s worries were unfounded. Shane was, as he regularly tended to be, a horny bastard. The two bickered the whole way back home (“My ribs are literally fiiine!” “You are high on drugs for ribs! For pain in ribs!” “No, I’m high on drugs for the ass-the-tick!” “What does that mean? Ass tick?!”), and Ilya knew that whatever happened in the morning, they’d make it through. Together.