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“I fucking hate Minnesota.” Troy Barrett huffed as he fell into his airplane seat, firmly planting himself against the window. The season had barely started, and he was already sick of travelling. Harris wasn’t travelling with the team this time, and he had started missing him the second he left their home.
“Minnesota isn’t all bad. It’s basically Canada,” Wyatt Hayes chirped as he took the seat next to him, and Troy scoffed.
“Whatever, Barrett. You’re just grumpy because Harris stayed home.” Zane Boodram pushed at Troy’s head as he took the seat behind him, and he scowled harder.
Troy was pulling out his headphones, ready to disengage from the world when the Centaurs captain arrived. Ilya Rozanov was tailed closely by Shane Hollander, who, from where Troy was slouched, seemed relatively agitated as he spoke in a hushed whisper. Ilya was nodding complacently, letting his husband take the window seat farther ahead of Troy’s seat.
Whatever. At least his husband is here.
Troy knew he was being silly. Harris doesn’t travel with the team all the time, and he sure wouldn’t have come with them to Minnesota, of all places. This early in the season, Harris was busy with scheduling meetings, season promotionals, marketing strategies, and probably more that Troy had no idea about.
He did feel a little miffed that Harris had simply sent him on his way that morning, and had merely rolled his eyes when Troy begged (he did not beg) him to come with.
Sure, Harris had smiled, and sure, Troy had ended up running late after he managed to steal one last tiny, horribly short makeout, but he was still upset.
The plane ride was short, but he knew he’d be fighting with Wyatt’s heavy head as soon as they made it into the air. The Centaurs goalie had that uncanny ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, and Troy had been jealous of it since the first time he had caught Wyatt catching a cat nap on the floor of a visiting locker room, an hour before a game.
Troy settled deeper into his seat, and closed his eyes as the plane engines rumbled.
He pictured Harris, snugly at home on their couch, a blanket on his lap and Chiron at his feet, and his heart hurt.
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“I told you we should have stopped back at the house before we left. Should I text my mom to go get her early? I should probably text my mom.”
Ilya twisted his head to give his husband a sideways look. Shane was staring ahead, eyebrows furrowed, and he was knotting his phone charger cord in his hands anxiously.
“Shane. The door is closed. I closed it before we left, and I locked it. Anya is not getting out before Yuna gets there.” Ilya grabbed at Shane’s knee as it bounced, gently pressing down.
Shane looked at him then, still frowning. “Okay, but you said that last time, and she made it halfway down the street before we caught up to her. My mom could never catch her.” Shane chewed on his lip, and Ilya smiled. Their dog had managed to escape once in all her years with them, and Shane would never live it down.
If Ilya had seen tears in Shane’s eyes as he carried her home, he’d never admit it to Shane.
“Anya is fine, lyubimyy. Check the cameras. She is there, and she’ll be there until Yuna comes.” Ilya had installed puppy cams in almost every room of their home months ago, and Shane was obsessed with them. He should have known it would be a problem from the first time they opened the app to see Anya curled up on the couch downstairs, and Shane had practically wailed with glee.
Shane’s excitement was contagious, though, and now Ilya checked the app almost as much as Shane.
Shane nodded slowly, and tapped the app icon on his phone.
This crisis was averted - for now.
Yuna was due to pick Anya up while they were in the air, as she always did when they were out of town for longer than a night. Their trip to Minnesota would bring them down to Chicago afterwards, and then home. Ilya liked travelling, and he liked the familiarity of their schedule, but he loved getting to play on the same team as Shane. It was better than he ever could have imagined.
The Centaurs had played an untouchable season last year, single only to Colorado, and they were out for blood this season. Ilya was in it, all the way, and Shane was by his side for everything.
Today, however, it felt like Shane wanted to go anywhere else.
He’d dragged his feet leaving, which is the opposite of Shane Always-On-Time Hollander’s normal.
He’d sprawled out on the floor, letting Anya crawl on him, even letting her lick his face, and Ilya had watched that happen with only a little bit of panic.
Ilya had tried to get him to talk about what was happening in his head when they got into the car, but Shane had shrugged him off, citing that he was ‘just tired’ today.
Ilya hadn’t pried farther, simply grabbing his husband’s hand across the center console, and they had driven there in almost silence.
Once the plane had made it into the air, Ilya felt a soft weight as Shane rested his head on his shoulder. He pressed a quiet kiss into his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of Shane's shampoo.
“Are you going to sleep? Or do you want to watch Traitors with me?” Ilya murmured, and Shane hummed.
“You can watch. I’ll catch up later.”
Ilya set his iPad on the tray table, and as he pulled up the downloads, nestled closer to Shane. He brought his arm around Shane’s shoulders, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
He made sure to turn on the subtitles.
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They’d absolutely crushed Minnesota.
The visiting locker room was full of noise as Troy walked into the room, Ilya hanging on his neck, and grinning widely. The team erupted into louder cheers as their captain and second highest scorer of the night entered, and Troy could see Wyatt whipping his sweater around his head as he whooped.
“That’s the way to start the fucking season, boys!” Bood roared, and Ilya released his grip on Troy to clap Boodram’s hands against his.
Troy made his way over to his station, the smile still heavy on his face. He picked up his phone to see texts from Harris, and he smiled wider as a picture loaded on his phone.
Harris had posed Chiron in front of the TV, his Centaurs bandana on full display as the winning score flashed across the screen.
Harris <3: I’m so proud of you guys!!!
Harris <3: Chiron says GO DAD!!!!!
Harris <3: I love you!!!!!!!!
Troy’s heart squeezed, and he lifted his phone to take a selfie to send in response. He was promptly photobombed by several other members of the team, and he knew as soon as he sent it that it would be featured on the Centaurs socials within the hour.
If he planned to send Harris other pictures later, well. He knew those would stay safely in his phone.
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Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane as they exited the arena, pressing his nose into Shane’s freshly washed hair.
“You were beautiful out there today, moy lyubimyy. Nobody has looked sexier.”
Shane snorted, twisting to look up at Ilya. “Whatever you say, capitaine.” Shane quipped, and Ilya smiled as they walked to the team bus.
There had been a bit of tension between them on the ice while Shane adjusted to his new role on the team, but it had quickly passed. Now, Shane will use Ilya’s title as only a term of endearment, spoken with a soft French inflection that always made Ilya’s heart skip.
The autumn evening was beautiful, and Ilya wanted to soak in as much as he could before going back to their hotel.
“Do you want to Uber back to the hotel? Weibe won’t care.” Ilya’s question hung in the air between them for a beat or two, and Shane paused, stepping out of Ilya’s grip.
“Why?”
Ilya shrugged, already missing Shane’s closeness. “It’s a nice night. I figured we could, I don’t know. Go somewhere?”
Shane cocked his head, and they stared at each other as voices began ringing out behind them.
Ilya didn’t know how to tell Shane that he wanted to make sure he was okay, or that this morning was weird, and he didn’t want the rest of this trip to feel weird too, or that he wanted to make sure Shane was having as much fun as he was.
All completely unprompted, but Ilya still felt like this morning’s strangeness from Shane was reason enough to want clarification on his okay-ness.
Shane was hesitating, and Ilya was seconds away from telling him to forget it, when Shane smiled at him, small and fond.
“Okay. Let’s go somewhere.”
Ilya grinned, and stepped forward to grab his husband’s face in his hands. Ignoring the groans from behind them, Ilya quickly pressed his lips to Shane’s. “I love you.” Ilya barely lifted his lips as he spoke, and Shane hummed against them. “I love you,” he mumbled back.
They ended up in a quiet park an hour later, lying on their backs next to each other as they stared up into the sky. Their pinkies were hooked to each other as they lay in silence, night birds chirping around them. “I like Minnesota. It reminds me of home.” Shane murmured, and Ilya hummed in agreement.
“Minnesota means ‘clear blue water’. It’s basically home.”
Shane sat up, staring in bewilderment down at Ilya, a bemused smile on his face. “How the hell do you know that?” he asked, nudging at Ilya’s shoulder, and Ilya shrugged, smirking.
“I Googled. I got curious. There are also, like, ten thousand lakes here. We could build another cottage on one of them.”
Shane laughed, the sound echoing over the park, and Ilya watched him in the growing moonlight. He hadn’t managed to ask Shane what had been eating at him earlier, but he felt like it was safe to assume it had passed.
Shane sat quietly for another moment, and then wrapped his hand around Ilya’s, twisting their fingers together.
“Hey. I’m sorry for this morning. I was in a weird mood, and I just…” Shane sighed, and Ilya stilled, listening. “I don’t know. Sometimes the end of summer still feels like a bigger loss than it is, now.”
Ilya understood that all too well. It still occasionally felt like their days of being thousands of miles apart were yesterday, and Ilya would feel pangs of sadness as the calendar got smaller. He squeezed Shane’s hand tightly, acknowledging him the best he could.
“We should go?”
“Yeah.”
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They had a day off in Minnesota the following day, and would be playing a late game in Chicago the day after.
Troy was lounging on one of the long couches in the hotel lobby as he and Wyatt waited for their post-game Doordash order, and Wyatt was scrolling through things to do in Saint Paul.
“There’s an arcade down the street! That could be fun.” Wyatt supplied, and Troy shook his head.
“Nah. I feel like I’ve gone to enough arcades to tide me over for life.”
Wyatt scoffed, and continued scrolling.
“We need something fun. Something that we wouldn’t do at home. That’s the only way you’re going to get me to leave.” Troy checked his phone for an ETA, and when he looked back up, Ilya and Shane were entering the lobby. Ilya’s arm was firmly wrapped around Shane’s shoulders, and they both looked at their teammates as they approached.
“Barrett! Who won tonight’s Doordash roulette?” Ilya’s voice rang through the quiet lobby, earning their group a glare from the receptionist.
Wyatt perked up, raising his hand. “Me! There’s a Persian restaurant I wanted to try last time, so I used my veto points.”
Ilya plopped himself down on a couch across from them, and pulled Shane with him. Troy was used to seeing them together by now, but it still made him laugh to see them interact.
Their relationship was… complicated, to say the least. If they weren’t constantly bickering, they were looking at each other like they’d start eating each other, and if they weren’t doing that, they were sitting in intense silence, communicating with barely an eyebrow raise or a glance.
Troy didn’t know how they managed it for so long, but for his own selfish sake, he’s glad they did.
Now, his captain was sitting on his own phone, scrolling through pages of food delivery, with minimal input from Shane in response.
“What’s a Renaissance Faire?” Wyatt’s voice popped from the other end of the couch, and the three men looked at him.
“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s like a festival or something.” Shane offered, and Troy turned to Google.
He read off the description.
“Okay. ‘A Renaissance fair is an outdoor, immersive, historical-fantasy festival, often set in a recreated 16th-century English village during Queen Elizabeth I's reign. These events feature costumed performers, sword fighting and jousting, themed food and drinks, and music, blending history with fantasy and comedy.’ Sounds like a real wild time, Hazy.” Troy looked back up at Wyatt, who was grinning widely.
Fuck, no.
“Jousting? Oh, come on, Barrett, that sounds so sick!” Wyatt was practically bouncing in his seat, and Ilya was leaning towards them, a grin growing on his own face.
“Themed food,” Ilya wagged his eyebrows as he nudged Shane, who groaned.
“Guys, I don’t think we have the time to do a whole trip. I mean, where would that even be? There’s no way there’s an entire festival in the city of Saint Paul,” Shane argued, but Wyatt was already on it.
“It’s a forty five minute drive. We can rent a car and be there and back by 6pm. We fly out at 12, so it’s plenty of time.”
Ilya slapped his hand on the couch, and pointed a finger at Wyatt. “Yes. We go to this festival, and we eat food, and we drink, and watch people fight with swords.” He straightened up, moving his finger to point at Troy. “I am captain. I am deciding that we are going on a trip tomorrow.” His grin was wicked, and Troy already knew there was no getting out of this horrible idea.
He scowled up at the ceiling.
“Fine. But I am not wearing a costume.”
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Wyatt whistled as they entered the large gravel parking lot. The words “Welcome to the Faire!” waved above their heads on brightly colored banners, and everywhere they looked were people in costume.
Ilya’s face broke into a grin.
“They are wearing armor. They have swords!”
His excitement was shared by mostly everyone - Shane sat in the driver's seat, grimacing at the dust roiling around the cars.
Troy had to admit that it was cool to see everyone in costume. There were so many intricate pieces, and as they pulled up next to a car full of people in corsets and flowy shirts, Troy could see a cooler full of seltzers and wine coolers in the trunk.
“Man, these people aren’t here to fuck around,” he gestured, and Wyatt followed his gaze. He hooted as he saw a man dressed as a goblin fire a shooter of tequila, and Troy grinned. “You think they’ll share?”
Ilya turned around to face them from the front seat, his face serious.
“Barrett. Hayes. We need costumes.”
Shane groaned loudly, and Troy could see him fighting the urge to slam his head into the steering wheel.
“I am not going to walk around in a skirt, Rozanov.” Troy warned, and Ilya scoffed.
“If you are not proud of your incredible hockey player body, that is not my problem.” He snarked as they exited the car, and the people next to them nodded and smiled in greeting.
“Welcome to the faire, weary travellers! May today bless you!” A girl wearing a long dress and a flower crown called from the car, and Troy waved in acknowledgment.
Wyatt, with his love of all nerdy shit, was clearly in his element. He was practically running to the entrance, Ilya close on his tails, with Shane and Troy trailing behind.
“I’m going to be coughing dirt for days after this,” Shane grumbled, kicking at the dusty gravel under his shoes, and Troy chuckled.
Shane Hollander was one of the neatest men he knew, so this had to be a nightmare for him. “Hey, at least the hotel has laundry.” He offered, and that seemed to pacify Shane slightly.
Ilya and Wyatt had purchased tickets by the time they caught up with them, and they wore matching grins. “The lady said we can buy costumes inside! We just give them back at the end of the day.” Wyatt handed Troy a ticket, and Troy shared a look with Shane. Ilya wrapped an arm around Shane’s shoulders, and squeezed tightly.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it when I dress up for you, moy rodnoy.” Ilya’s words were basically a purr, and Shane flushed. Troy pretended not to see it as they walked through the tall, looming castle walls, and into…
Holy shit.
It was like they stepped into another world. Everywhere Troy looked, it was people in period accurate costumes. There were nothing but historically accurate buildings as far as he could see, tents and brightly colored banners, stalls with people shouting their wares, and performers singing and dancing at every turn.
It was… incredible, he admitted.
He accepted a map from a smiling woman holding a basket full of flowers, and they walked through the faire, pointing out stalls and antics on their way.
Ilya and Wyatt made a beeline for the large stall labelled “Garments and Garb” with a shout as soon as they laid eyes on it.
A salesman dressed to the nines approached them, a smile on his face.
“Welcome, fine sers! Have we come to the faire looking to be robed, or are we simply perusing the wares?” he asked, dipping into a half bow as he spoke, and Troy smirked as Ilya and Wyatt followed suit. He hadn’t expected Ilya to get into it as much as Wyatt, but he was definitely enjoying this. Shane was simply watching, and Troy couldn't piece together what he was thinking from his expression.
“I would like your finest attire for my friends and I, good man!” Wyatt said with a flourish, and Ilya nodded in agreement, grinning.
Troy wasn’t sure if the man knew who they were, but it didn’t seem to matter either way, as he brought them back further into the stall full of garments made of fabrics that Troy couldn’t name and styles he’d never seen in his life.
Shane hung back next to him, muttering under his breath. “I am not putting on a costume. Who knows how often they wash those things?”
Troy could only assume it was often enough, with all the foot traffic the place seemed to get, but he shared Shane’s sentiments.
Dragging his hand over a rack full of loose, cottony shirts, he toyed with the idea of at least trying one on as Wyatt and Ilya disappeared into a curtained off section, their voices carrying over the din outside.
“You cannot choose anything blue, I have chosen blue.”
“There’s like, six kinds of blue, Roz.”
“Shut up, Wyatt. You look better in not blue. What do you think of these?”
Ilya suddenly appeared from one of the curtained dressing rooms, dressed only in a pair of brown trousers, and an almost knee high pair of piratey boots. A sword hung from his waist, gold hilted and far too fancy.
Shane made a strangled sound from where he stood next to Troy. Something clattered off of a hanger.
Troy grinned.
Harris was so going to regret missing out on this trip.
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Ilya was completely, entirely, honestly, having the time of his life.
He and Wyatt were clad head to toe in what could only be described as the loosest, most comfortable clothing Ilya had ever worn: loose shirts, trousers, and brightly coloured waistcoats, tall boots and swords dangling in what the salesman had called a ‘scabbard’, and Wyatt had tied a bright red bandana around his head.
Ilya had chosen to keep his waistcoat and shirt wide open, partially for the aesthetic of it all, but mostly to see Shane’s flustered face whenever he turned to face him.
Oh, how he was enjoying this.
Troy had changed his shirt to one that matched theirs, now wearing a dusty grey pirate shirt, and a matching bandana. It had been enough of a fight to get him there, so Ilya was counting this as a win.
Shane had unsurprisingly refused to change any of his clothing, but was very obviously enjoying the views as Ilya sauntered around the fair, following him with his eyes narrowed and his smile tight.
“Barrett! We need more mead. Come.” Ilya slung his arm around Troy’s shoulders, and his teammate grinned up at him. “Right you are, Cap.”
“Tally ho, gents!” Wyatt trotted up next to them, and he was holding a large wooden mug, full to the brim with what Ilya could only guess was beer. “Look what I got!”
Wyatt was nerdy on a good day, but here, he was truly the worst he’d ever been. As soon as he’d put on his costume pieces, he’d fallen into the worst attempt at a pirate accent Ilya had ever heard, and he’d thrown an eyepatch over one eye.
His incredible goalie balance only slightly hindered by all the drinks they’d had at this point, the eyepatch was now flipped up for safety reasons (and because Shane had demanded it, citing that he was “not responsible if their goalie broke an arm before a game”).
Ilya scoffed at Wyatt’s choice of drink, pulling Troy towards the mead booth.
“Beer is for regular days. Mead is for Renaissance Faires.” Ilya yelled over his shoulder, and threw a wink towards Shane.
There was music swirling all around them, voices raised in laughter and yelling across the length of the faire, and the soft thunk of metal hitting wood. Ilya had seen the knife throwing booth forever ago, and was keeping it in his sights as they obtained their newest cups of mead.
They’d been there long enough for Ilya to have built up a very pleasant buzz, but he wasn’t going to waste the day. There was still plenty of time for “debauchery”, which was turning into Ilya’s word of the day.
“Knives. We go now.” Ilya began dragging them towards the knife throwing booth, and Wyatt let out a howl.
“Fuck yes, Roz! That’s what I’m talking about!”
Troy burst into laughter, following close behind. “Do you think you should be anywhere near knives? Maybe we should ask Shane what he thinks,” Troy teased, taking a large gulp of his frothing drink, and Ilya glanced at Shane.
Shane was chewing on his lip again, looking around them with an odd expression. Ilya paused, letting the other two men move on.
“What do you think, moya lyubov? I will not throw knives if you do not want me to throw knives.”
Ilya really, really wanted to throw knives. But, he wanted his husband to let his hair down a little more than he wanted to throw knives.
Shane looked him up and down, and Ilya was pleased to note that Shane’s eyes lingered on his chest for a moment longer than necessary before he met Ilya’s gaze again. “I think that you really want to throw knives, and I’d be a bad husband if I didn’t let you.”
Ilya heard a ‘but’ there somewhere.
“But?”
Shane shrugged, a small smirk growing on his mouth.
“But I think you’re going to be disappointed when I land more of them than you.”
Ilya’s face burst into a grin, and he wrapped his arms around Shane, dragging him close enough to press his lips into the crater of Shane’s cheek. “I love you.” Ilya growled, and Shane snorted.
“Not for long.” Shane broke away, grinning just as widely, and set off down the hill towards where Wyatt and Troy were waiting in line. Ilya watched him take his headstart, and felt his entire chest burn.
Whether it was the alcohol, or the overwhelming amount of love he felt for Shane Hollander, he didn’t know.
“Excuse me? Are you Ilya Rozanov?”
He blinked himself out of his daze, and turned. A pair of children stood next to him, a boy and a girl, both dressed in full costume, eyes wide.
Caught.
Ilya smiled down at them. “Guilty.”
The kids looked at each other, and then back at Ilya, their smiles growing. “We were at the game last night! What are you doing here?” The girl asked, bouncing on her heels, and Ilya smiled wider.
“Enjoying this beautiful day at the faire, same as you,” he gestured widely, letting himself stand at his full height, and the boy laughed.
“I didn’t know hockey players went to Renn faires.”
Ilya nodded gravely. “Oh, we do. And this hockey player is about to go kick Shane Hollander’s butt at throwing knives.”
If Ilya wasn’t enough, the mention of his husband was enough to send the kids into a frenzy.
“Come. I’d like an audience for this one, in case he decides to be a sore loser.” He raised an eyebrow, and the kids glanced between each other before nodding excitedly.
“Our dad is going to freak out!” the boy chirped as they walked beside Ilya, and Ilya laughed out loud. “Be sure to tell him all about it, then.”
They followed him all the way down to the hill, where Shane and his teammates were waiting for him. There was a small crowd around with them, and Ilya knew that they’d been made. Shane was smiling for a picture with someone in line, and Troy and Wyatt were posed holding wooden swords. When Ilya approached, the two kids in tow, Shane smiled at him apologetically.
“We tried,” he shrugged as the man walked away, and Ilya shrugged back.
“Hey, we can’t be invisible all the time.” He sidled up next to Shane, throwing his arm over his shoulders, and sighed blissfully. “Besides, I made my own friends who are going to watch me wipe the floor with you at throwing knives. Right, friends?” He raised an eyebrow at the kids next to them, whose mouths were slightly open as they took in the men in front of them, and they both nodded solemnly.
Shane laughed, and shook his own head. “In your dreams.”
They made it to the front of the line, and the stall tender grinned as he recognized them, too. “Well, well! What foul wind brings thou to me, Rozanov and Hollander? Back to torment us in our own city yet again?”
Ilya’s grin was wicked, he was sure.
“We figured one night wasn’t enough. How much coin for your knives, ser?” Ilya had quickly picked up on the patterns on how these Renaissance people were speaking, and he especially revelled in how fun it was to see their reactions when he spoke back to them.
Wyatt and Troy were in the line next to them, and they waved, smiles big.
“Best out of four, Cap? Loser drinks.” Troy tossed a knife in the air, and caught it by its handle with relative ease.
Ilya smirked, picking up the knives placed in front of him.
“Loser drinks, and he buys. Do your worst, Barrett.”
Thunk.
Troy sunk the knife squarely into the wooden target painted ahead of him, but off center. He cursed, and Wyatt cackled.
Ilya smirked, twisting the knife in his fingers.
Thunk.
Ilya’s knife landed almost dead center, and the kids whooped, jumping next to him.
Clatter.
Troy cursed again as his knife rebounded off of the wood, much to the dismay of their small audience.
Thunk.
Ilya sunk it, yet again. He’d not dare to look at Shane, whose eyes he could feel burning a hole through his skin.
Clatter.
Troy missed, again. Wyatt was quickly dissolving into uncontrollable laughter, and Ilya is praying that someone is recording as he lined up his next knife, squinting at the target.
Clatter.
“Мать твою!” Ilya cursed loudly, and Troy snorted.
“Great shot, Cap,” he teased, closing one eye as he aimed.
Ilya rolled his eyes.
“You’re still beating him!” the little girl leaning against the stall post exclaimed, and Ilya smirked.
“Of course I am. I’m in charge,” he winked, and he heard the beautiful sound of a clattering knife, and loud groaning.
“Ah, Barrett! I’ll take that drink whenever.” Ilya tossed over his shoulder as he lined up his last knife, staring solidly at the center of the target.
He breathed out.
Thunk.
The children screamed, Ilya grinned, and Shane laughed as Troy swore again, Wyatt doubling with laughter next to him.
Ilya turned to face his husband then, schooling his face soberly as he half-bowed. “Your turn, my good ser.” Ilya thickened his accent as he spoke, and Shane shook his head, his smile growing.
“You’re going to wish you’d never suggested this, Rozanov.” Shane picked up the knives placed on the stall counter, and paused.
“On second thought, my friend, let’s double our odds.”
Shane gestured for a second set of knives, and Ilya raised his eyebrows as Troy and Wyatt came to stand next to him, beers in hand.
“Eight? We only did four. That’s not fair.” Ilya protested, but shut his mouth swiftly as Shane shot him a look.
“All is fair at the Renn Faire, Ilya. Give me room.”
Shane’s face was set with determination. He stared at the target with a look that Ilya knew all too well, and let loose his first knife. Then, the second.
Thunk.
Thunk.
“Beginner’s luck,” Troy crowed, and Shane smiled coolly.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Ilya could only stare. Troy and Wyatt were grinning next to him, barely containing their laughter as they watched Shane hit almost dead center with each throw.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Shane finally turned to face Ilya, a calm, gentle smile on his face.
“You’re going to owe me a lot more than a drink, dorogoy moy.”
Thunk.
The crowd around them roared, literally. Troy and Wyatt collapsed in on Shane, shaking him to and fro as they whooped, and the stall attendant grabbed Shane’s hand, lifting it high above his head. “Ladies and gentlemen of the faire, your winner!” he yelled, and Shane grinned, winking at Ilya.
Ilya was on fire.
“Our Hollzy’s not the highest scorer in the league for nothing!” Troy proclaimed, his phone already trained on Shane’s face, and spun around to capture Ilya in all his assumed disgrace.
Ilya felt anything but disgraced. His husband was the most incredible creature he’d ever seen, and he was seconds away from pouncing, when he was severely reminded of how in public they were by the significant number of phones recording the interaction.
So, he did the next best thing.
He dropped to one knee, bowing his head deeply.
“Congratulations on your win, my lord. You have beaten me, fair and square.” He tipped his head back up to look at Shane, who was grinning down at him.
Shane extended a hand, and helped him back to his feet. Ilya tugged Shane closer, not letting go of his hand as he pulled him to his chest.
“Upon our return to the castle, I will congratulate you properly,” he murmured into Shane’s ear, lips brushing at skin.
Shane gasped out a startled laugh, and nudged at Ilya, not unkindly.
“Whatever you say, loser.”
➴ ➶ ➴ ➶ ➴ ➶
Harris had indeed been inconsolable when Troy had told him their plans for the day.
Well. He hadn’t told him as much as he had simply sent him a no context picture of himself in the dressing room mirror. Harris had sent back a flurry of texts, and Troy had laughed as they rolled in.
Harris <3: ??
Harris <3: Where the fuck are you? I’m checking your location.
Harris <3: Holy shit. TROY???
Harris <3: Are you at a renaissance fair?????
Harris <3: Pictures. NOW.
Harris <3: Who is with you?? Are you ALL dressed up?? Jesus Christ I can’t believe I’m missing this.
Troy had kept him updated throughout the day, and as their group got progressively drunker, the pictures got less and less usable. He made sure to tell Harris that there were definitely other people posting pictures of them, and that they were all on their best behavior (mostly).
When he texted Harris the videos of Ilya and Shane throwing their knives, though, he thought Harris would have a conniption fit.
Harris <3: What the fuck were you thinking, giving Ilya knives?? What was SHANE thinking????
Harris <3: Oh good God. That is… intense.
Harris <3: Instagram is going to love this.
Harris <3: By the way? You are SO sexy. Don’t return the shirt. xoxoxoxo
They were lounging in the grass now, beside the field where the joust was set to begin at any minute. The sun was setting in the sky, and the air was cooling down, bringing short gusts of night air across the grass.
Ilya was strewn across Shane’s lap like a cat, eyes closed as his hair flopped in the occasional breeze.
Wyatt was finishing off his third turkey leg of the day, and was handing small pieces of it to Ilya as he worked his way down the bone.
An empty paper bag that had once held the most incredible candied pecans sat next to Troy’s leg, and Shane was fiddling with the cap on a water bottle with one hand, and was stroking Ilya’s head with the other.
“This has been a great fucking day.” Wyatt’s words broke their group silence, and the other men quietly expressed their agreement.
Troy was still slightly surprised that Shane agreed with them, even though his mood had definitely broken after kicking Ilya’s ass at the knife throwing stall. He’d even eaten a Scotch egg, much to Ilya’s delight, and Troy was glad to see Shane loosening up, even if it was just for an afternoon.
“After the joust, we’ve really got to leave. I told Coach we’d be back by seven.” Shane sounded almost mournful as he stared out over the field. Ilya groaned, flipping over to bury his face in Shane’s stomach.
Wyatt sighed. “I’d better go pick up all my shit, then. I told them I’d be back for it before they close.”
Wyatt had spent plenty of time shopping, finding a plethora of random trinkets and things to bring home with him, and Troy knew his wife was going to have a field day as soon as she unpacked his go bag.
How he and Ilya were going to get swords through security, Troy had no clue, but he stood to follow Wyatt, offering his help.
“We’ll wait here for you.” Shane didn’t look up as he spoke, his eyes on where Ilya still lay on his lap, and Troy smirked.
“Yeah, you’ve got the keys, Hollander.”
Shane merely nodded. Troy moved away, following Wyatt down the dirt path. He stopped a few yards away, and turned back around.
Ilya was staring up at Shane, a small, soft smile on his face. Shane had a hand on Ilya’s cheek, and the look they were sharing as they talked was so tender it made a pang of homesickness run through Troy’s chest.
Troy carefully lifted his phone, and opened his camera.
He wouldn’t send this one to Harris.
Troy would send it to Shane once they got back to the hotel. Shane was sure to show Ilya, who would then probably give Troy some faux-snarky comment about it later.
“Troy, c’mon, man!” Troy heard Wyatt call, and he quickly snapped the photo before jogging up the hill after Wyatt. He glanced at it, and smiled.
One last photo of a pretty perfect day.