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Golf was just another thing so many NHL players seemed to share. After the grind of an eighty-two game season—and the playoffs, if they were lucky enough to get there—the same men who spent eight months flying city to city and throwing their bodies around the ice suddenly found themselves somewhere warm, standing on a perfectly cut green with a beer in hand and absolutely nowhere they needed to be.
In a lot of ways, it felt like freedom. The relentless pace of the season softened into something quieter. The stakes were lower, the air was warmer, and the only real opponent most days was their own name on the scorecard. Early morning tee times gave their days a little structure, but the pressure was gone. There were no coaches, no systems, no video reviews waiting afterward. Just the hush of the course. The soft thwack of a well-struck ball. The slow rhythm of walking or carting from hole to hole, and the quiet, stubborn competition to beat themselves—tee time after tee time.
Shane loved golf, and not in the casual, sure-I’ll-come-if-everyone-else-is-going kind of way. Shane loved it the way hockey players tended to love the few things that existed outside of hockey—completely, stubbornly, and with a level of competitiveness that never found a way to stay at the arena.
Ilya did not…
The car hummed quietly along the narrow road toward the course, early summer sun already bright enough to make the lake beside them sparkle through the trees. Shane had one hand loose on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly against it as music played softly through the speakers. He was in a good mood. A great mood.
Beside him, Ilya sat slouched in the passenger seat like a man being transported against his will. He stared straight ahead with crossed arms and a face that told Shane it may be a long day.
Shane glanced over and bit back a smile.
“You look like I’m taking you to prison or something.”
“You are,” Ilya said flatly.
“You’re going to play golf... with me.”
“Yes,” Ilya replied, turning his head slowly to look at him. “Prison.”
Shane huffed out a laugh.
“I don’t understand how someone who chases a puck around for a living thinks golf is the stupid sport.”
“It is stupid,” Ilya said immediately. “You stand in grass and chase little white ball. For hours.”
“That is a very dramatic oversimplification.”
“Mmm, fancy words for your stupid, fancy sport.”
Shane shook his head, still smiling, and turned the car down the gravel road that led toward the course.
In the backseat, Ilya’s clubs rattled softly next to Shane’s. They were barely used. A few years earlier, some charity pro-am had sent a full set to Ilya after he’d made an appearance at an event—custom bag, shiny clubs, the whole expensive package. They had lived almost entirely untouched in a closet in Boston since then, until this summer when Shane had asked him to bring them to the cottage. Ilya had packed them with the rest of his things, even though he still thought the entire sport was ridiculous—because Shane loved it. That was the simple truth of it.
Shane loved the quiet of the course. The routine of it. The early mornings and the slow afternoons and the way the game forced him to slow down in a life that rarely allowed that. It reminded him of summers growing up, of long days outside with his dad, of something that existed long before the NHL and would exist long after it. Ilya understood that part. Which was why he was currently sitting in the passenger seat like a sulking teenager instead of back at the cottage drinking coffee on the dock.
“You know,” Shane said casually, eyes on the road, “most people would be excited to spend the day outside with their very handsome boyfriend.”
“I am spending day outside,” Ilya replied. “I just don’t understand why it must involve walking eighteen kilometers and hitting tiny ball with stick.”
“Club.”
“Stick.”
Shane snorted.
“You don’t even have to walk. We’re taking carts.”
“Ah,” Ilya said, completely unimpressed. “So now we chase tiny ball with stick… faster.”
Shane laughed, glancing over again.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yes.”
They drove another minute in comfortable quiet before Ilya spoke again, his voice slightly less dramatic this time. “I am only doing this because you like it.”
Shane’s mouth softened. “I know.”
Ilya shrugged one shoulder, still staring out the window. “Is important to you.”
Shane reached across the console and squeezed his knee briefly. “It is.”
Ilya sighed like the weight of the world had just been placed on his shoulders. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if I hate it, you owe me something.”
Shane grinned. “Oh yeah?”
Ilya turned his head slowly, a dangerous little smile forming. “Yes.”
Shane already knew he was about to regret asking. “What kind of something?”
Ilya tilted his sunglasses down just enough to look at him over the top. “Something that involves you naked.”
Shane barked out a laugh. “Well something tells me you’re going to hate it no matter what then.”
Ilya just waggled his eyebrows in agreement.
The course stretched out wide and green in front of them, the early summer air still cool enough to feel good on the skin. A few golfers moved around the putting green, quiet and unhurried. Somewhere nearby, a sprinkler ticked softly.
Shane shifted the car into park while Ilya let out a long, theatrical sigh.
“Last chance to turn around. We could still grab breakfast and spend all day in bed. Naked.” Ilya said.
Shane was about to answer when he spotted two familiar figures leaning casually against a golf cart near the first tee. He grinned and Ilya noticed the grin immediately.
“…What?” he asked slowly.
“Nothing.”
The second Ilya stepped out of the car, he saw them. JJ was easy to spot—sunglasses, backwards hat, leaning against the cart like he had been there waiting impatiently for hours already. Hayden stood beside him wrestling a glove on his hand.
JJ spotted them and waved as they approached. “Well, well, well.” Ilya stopped walking. He looked at Shane. Then back at JJ. Then back at Shane.
“You did not say they would be here.”
Shane shrugged, entirely unapologetic.
“Surprise.”
“Is this like one of those...what do you call?” he rubbed his chin theatrically, searching for the words. “Ah… make a wish? Sad Russian boy wants to golf with the Montreal Metros.”
“Oh my god. I just invited our friends.”
“Not ours… yours.”
“Well maybe try being a happy Russian boy and you’d make more of your own.” Shane shot back.
JJ pushed himself off the cart, laughing as they walked over. “Oh relax, Rozanov,” he said. “We’re going to have a fun day.”
“This is already worst day of my life,” Ilya muttered.
Hayden grinned. “Buddy, you haven’t even swung a club yet.”
Shane started unloading the bags from the back of the car while JJ grabbed one of the carts. They split up naturally—Shane and Ilya in one, JJ and Hayden in the other—and rolled back toward the first tee.
The course was quiet this early. Just birds in the trees and the distant thump of a driver somewhere across the fairway.
Hayden teed off first. He stretched a little, took a practice swing, then stepped up and cracked the ball clean down the middle of the fairway. It sailed out there nicely. He leaned back on the driver like he had just accomplished something impressive.
“Alright,” he said smugly. “That’s how you do it.”
JJ nodded approvingly. “Solid.”
Ilya stepped up next. He looked entirely unimpressed. “You all take this very seriously for game where you need special shoes to not slip on grass.”
“They’re for traction” Shane corrected automatically.
Ilya waved him off.
“What are you? Mountain climber? It’s grass…”
Hayden folded his arms. “Let’s see what you’ve got, tough guy.”
Ilya set the ball on the tee with the air of someone performing a mildly annoying chore. He took one practice swing. Then another. Then he stepped up and absolutely crushed the ball. The sound off the club was sharp and clean. Everyone watched as the ball launched high into the air and kept going. And going. And going. It landed well past Hayden’s. There was a long moment of silence. JJ slowly lifted his sunglasses. Hayden blinked. Shane burst out laughing.
Ilya looked down the fairway, then glanced back toward Hayden. “…Did mine go further?” he asked casually. “I did not notice.”
Hayden stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ilya rested the driver on his shoulder. “I never said I was bad golfer,” he said calmly. “I said golf is stupid.”
JJ started laughing. “Oh this is going to be fun.”
Shane shook his head, still smiling as he grabbed his own driver. It was one of the most irritating things about Ilya Rozanov. The man was just naturally good at things. Hockey, obviously. But also skiing, tennis, soccer, darts, pool, and apparently—despite openly mocking the sport for the last twenty minutes—golf. Some people had to practice things for years. Ilya just sort of… showed up—and ruined everyone’s day.
Shane stepped up to the tee next, still shaking his head as he set his ball down. “If I don’t outdrive you, I’m going to hear about it all day… no pressure.” he said over his shoulder.
Ilya leaned casually against the cart, arms folded again, completely unbothered.
“Yes.”
Shane swung and sent his own drive sailing down the fairway—solid, straight, just past is boyfriends.
“Nice,” Ilya said generously.
“Thank you, coach.”
JJ teed off last and the four of them piled back into the carts. Or rather—Shane and Ilya attempted to. Shane had barely gotten one foot inside when Ilya reached across the seat and shoved him sideways.
“Out.”
Shane blinked at him.
“…Excuse me?”
“You are passenger now.”
“But I was driving.”
“Not anymore.”
Ilya slid into the driver’s seat like he had owned the thing and grabbed the wheel. Shane stood there for a second before laughing and climbing into the passenger side.
“This is already a terrible idea.”
Behind them, JJ leaned across his cart to Hayden.
“Ten bucks says he drives it into a pond.”
“Twenty says he tries to jump a bunker.”
Ilya ignored them and hit the gas. The cart lurched forward immediately. “Jesus,” Shane said, grabbing the side bar.
“This thing is slow.” Ilya said, annoyed.
“It’s a golf cart.”
“They are not this slow in Russia,” Ilya said with deep offense.
“Heaven forbid with take it slow and just enjoy the day.”
“That is stupid.”
“It’s so people don’t get hurt, Ilya.”
Ilya steered toward the fairway and immediately aimed straight across a section of grass marked with a small sign.
CART PATH ONLY
The cart beeped angrily and slowed itself down. Ilya frowned. “What is this?”
“The course telling you not to drive there.”
“Why?”
“Because it ruins the grass.”
Ilya stared at the sign insulted.
“So I must stay on the little road like child?”
“Yes.”
“See…This is prison.”
Shane laughed.
Ilya grumbled something in Russian and jerked the wheel back onto the path. “No freedom,” he muttered. “No speed. No fun.”
They rolled up beside Ilya’s ball. He climbed out, grabbed a club, and lined up his shot with the same relaxed confidence he’d had on the tee.
Shane leaned against the cart watching him. The swing was smooth. Effortless, really. The ball flew straight toward the green.
Shane whistled softly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm.”
A few shots later they finished the hole. Ilya lined up his final putt, tapped it in and stepped back from the hole looking mildly annoyed.
“Bogey.”
Shane blinked.
“You’re mad about a bogey on your first hole?”
“Yes.”
“You literally said this sport was stupid all morning, and now it looks like you’re a 15 handicap.”
“It is,” Ilya said calmly. “And closer to a 12.”
They climbed back into the cart and Shane watched him for a moment as they started rolling toward the second hole.
“Do you actually know your handicap?…Have you golfed more than you let on?”
Ilya shrugged.
“You never asked.”
Shane raised an eyebrow.
“So you have.”
Ilya kept his eyes on the path.
“My father had friends… well no, not friends” he said casually. “He had rich men he wanted as friends. Golf is… how they show each other they have money.”
Shane didn’t say anything.
Ilya continued after a moment. “When I was kid he would bring me sometimes. Stand there and tell everyone how talented his son was.” He mimicked his father’s voice lightly. “‘Future rich hockey star.’”
Shane snorted. “Well he was right.”
“Mm.”
Ilya tapped the wheel with his fingers.
“I hated it. He only said those things to people that didn’t give a shit about me. Never to me.”
The words were simple and matter-of-fact. But Shane felt the difference immediately. He thought about his own childhood—long summer days, his dad handing him a club twice his size, laughing when he whiffed the ball entirely. No pressure— just quality time together.
He glanced at Ilya.
“You know,” Shane said lightly, “I’m not like him. We can just do this for fun. I’m not going to give you a performance review.”
Ilya huffed a laugh.
“Yes, well. I might give you one. That swing was pretty ugly.” He grinned.
They drove another few yards before Ilya added—
“I was good though.”
Shane smiled.
“Clearly.”
Ilya gave a small shrug.
“I am just good at beating you.”
Shane groaned.
“There it is.”
A few holes later, the novelty of the game had started to wear off. Not for Shane—Shane was happily lining up another approach shot with the quiet focus he always seemed to settle into on a golf course—but for Ilya, the rhythm of the game had started to drag.
Drive. Wait. Drive the cart slowly along the path like a responsible citizen. Hit ball again. Repeat.
He leaned back in the driver’s seat while Shane walked up ahead toward his ball, twirling a tee between his fingers.
“This is very slow sport,” he announced to no one in particular.
From the cart behind them, JJ snorted.
“It’s summer, Rozy. What are you in a rush for?”
“Yes. It’s summer. We are supposed to be at the cottage, having a drink, getting a tan, having amazing sex.”
Hayden groaned from the other cart.
“Can we not talk about your sex life on the fourth hole?”
Ilya didn’t even look at him.
“Some people have sex for fun, Hayden,” he said calmly. “Not only when it is time to make baby. You should try it sometime.”
“Fuck you, Rozanov.”
Then, just as Shane chipped his ball neatly onto the green, a small electric cart hummed its way up the path beside them. The beer cart. The woman driving it smiled brightly.
“Morning, guys. Anyone need anything?”
Ilya straightened immediately. “…What is this?”
JJ laughed.
“Oh man. You didn’t tell him about the beer cart? Do they not do this in Russia?”
The girl gestured to the cooler behind her.
“Drinks? Coffee? Beer, seltzers, sports drinks—”
“Yes,” Ilya said immediately.
Shane turned around from the green just in time to watch his boyfriend light up like a Christmas tree.
“Yes what?” Shane asked cautiously.
Ilya pointed at the cart.
“This is allowed?”
“It’s a golf course, not a church.”
Ilya leaned forward conspiratorially toward the cart girl.
“How many beers can I have?”
She laughed.
“As many as you want.”
“Good. We’ll take…” he glanced back at Shane briefly. “…four.”
“Four?” Shane said.
“Six,” Ilya corrected smoothly.
JJ was already cracking up.
“Atta boy.”
The girl handed over the drinks and Ilya passed a couple over to Shane before popping one open immediately.
Shane stared at him. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“It is summer, right Hayden?” Ilya replied, winking towards Hayden who was still wearing his annoyance on his face.
Hayden shook his head as he accepted a water. “I’m good.”
Ilya turned toward him, offended.
“You are not drinking? Did I hurt your feelings? I’m sure JJ would sleep with you…you can’t get him pregnant. Just for fun sex!”
Shane looked at him puzzled. “What the hell did I miss when I was taking my shot?”
Hayden lifted his hands defensively.
“Just your boyfriend being a complete fucking dick… and you can’t hurt my feelings,” he said looking at Ilya, “Jacky just gave me a one beer limit today.”
JJ burst out laughing.
“Oh my god.”
Ilya frowned. “One beer?”
“Yeah,” Hayden admitted. “Came home a little… wrecked last weekend. Apparently I was too hungover the next morning to help with the kids.”
“That sounds about right,” JJ said.
Ilya stared at Hayden with a sly grin on his face. “Ahh. This makes sense now. This is why you’re not getting laid.”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “Oh my god. I’m am getting fucking…”
“Hayden, ignore him.” Shane said, cutting him off.
“Good. I’m happy you aren’t drinking.”
Shane narrowed his eyes at him.
“…Why good?”
Ilya took another sip of his beer and leaned back comfortably in the seat.
“Because that means Hayden can drive us home.”
Shane blinked.
“But I drove us here.”
Ilya turned toward him slowly, that dangerous little grin creeping back across his face.
“Yes… and Hayden can drive us home” he said, cracking a beer and handing it to Shane.
“You’re not getting me drunk on a golf course.”
Ilya lifted his beer in a small toast. “I already started.”
JJ pointed at Shane, delighted. “He’s got you there.”
Shane groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “This is going to be a disaster.”
Ilya clapped him on the shoulder.
“No,” he said cheerfully.
“This is going to make the round much more interesting.”
A few holes later, the round had started to… evolve. The scorecards still existed, technically. Shane still kept one tucked into the little plastic holder on the dash of the cart, pencil clipped beside it like he was a serious golfer with a serious plan for the day. But the actual golf part of the afternoon had begun to fade behind something else entirely… Mostly beer, and the discovery that Ilya Rozanov—despite being naturally good at almost every sport on the planet—had never learned how to shotgun one.
JJ grabbed a fresh can on the eighth tee box and, after a moment of staring at it thoughtfully, punched a small hole near the bottom with a tee.
Ilya watched suspiciously. “…Why are you stabbing your beer?”
JJ grinned. “Because I’m about to drink it in three seconds.”
Ilya frowned. “That seems unnecessary.”
Hayden sighed from beside his ball. “Oh no.”
JJ tilted the can sideways and popped the tab. Beer disappeared immediately.
Ilya stared. “…Why?”
JJ wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Because it’s fun, Rozanov.”
“That did not look fun,” Ilya said flatly. “That looked...stupid.”
Shane grabbed another can from the cooler.
“Your turn.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No,” Ilya repeated. “This is stupid.”
“You literally just called golf stupid and now you’re beating all of us.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
Ilya gestured vaguely. “This is drinking. You are turning drinking into sport.”
JJ laughed. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”
Ilya shook his head, deeply unimpressed. “This is very North American problem. You cannot just enjoy drink like normal people.”
“Oh yeah?” Shane said.
“Yes.”
“You’re from Russia.”
“Yes.”
“The country famous for casually enjoying expensive vodka.”
“Exactly. Enjoying it. Not deep throating it for sport.”
JJ rolled his eyes and shoved a fresh can into Ilya’s hand. “Do it.”
Ilya looked down at it knowing that he couldn’t turn down a challenge from these ass holes. “This is ridiculous.”
“Punch the hole.”
“No.”
Shane leaned closer. “Coward.”
Ilya’s eyes narrowed. “…Give me the tee.”
Seconds later, beer sprayed everywhere. Ilya coughed violently, choking back the ice cold beer.
“Oh my god!” Shane doubled over. “You’re supposed to tilt it first!”
“This is stupid!” Ilya barked, wiping beer from his chin. “Why would anyone do this on purpose?!”
Hayden stood thirty yards away, lining up a careful shot while the three of them dissolved into chaos behind him. He exhaled slowly. Focused. Swung— “HEY HAYDEN,” JJ yelled suddenly. The ball sliced immediately into the rough. Hayden closed his eyes.
“Are you serious right now?” He said, raising his arms in the air in frustration.
From the cart, Shane was practically crying laughing. “That one’s on you, JJ. You got him right in the backswing.”
Ilya leaned out of the cart and shouted across the fairway.
“Maybe you should shotgun a beer first next time. Loosen up.”
Hayden turned slowly. “You three are the most annoying people I’ve ever met.”
JJ raised his beer, “Cheers, dick head.”
By the ninth hole, the dynamic had shifted entirely. Hayden was still trying to play actual golf. The other three had become a traveling circus.
JJ leaned out of the cart as Hayden’s ball rolled onto the front edge of the green.
“Wow,” he called out. “That one almost looked intentional.”
Hayden didn’t even turn around.
“Shut up, JJ.”
Ilya shaded his eyes, squinting down the fairway. “What was that? Six?”
“Five,” Hayden said.
Ilya looked back towards the tee box, pointing around the course, adding up shots in his head. “It is six. Did you forget the one you lost in bush?”
Shane clapped loudly from the cart.
“Nice shot, buddy! You’re on the green!”
Hayden spun around.
“See? Shane understands. This is supposed to be fun.”
Ilya leaned closer to Shane, lowering his voice like he was offering coaching advice.
“You are terrible at this.”
“At what?”
“Banter.”
Shane shrugged, still smiling a little tipsy.
“He’s my friend. I’m not going to be a dick to him.”
Ilya studied him for a moment. Something about the combination of the beers, the sunshine, and Shane’s genuinely sincere face made something warm twist in his chest.
“You should try being little meaner.”
Shane shook his head. “Nope.”
“Just little.”
“No.”
“It’s hot when you’re mean.”
Shane laughed.
“I’m not chirping my friends because it turns you on.”
Ilya tilted his head thoughtfully.
“…You could try.”
Shane just shook his head again, smiling helplessly. “I care about the guy. And I’ve got to make up for all the shitty things you’ve said to him today.”
Shane was simply too nice. It was annoyingly endearing— and somehow, incredibly hot.
The hum of an electric motor interrupted him. The beer cart. Again.
Ilya perked up immediately.
“Oh!”
The woman driving slowed beside them, clearly amused.
“Ready to restock, guys?”
Ilya was already standing. “Yes.”
Shane squinted up at the sun. “…How are we out of beer already?”
Ilya leaned against the cart like he had known her his entire life. “We are very thirsty.”
JJ nodded solemnly. “Extremely. A beer a hole kind of thirst.”
The girl laughed and opened the cooler again.
Ilya grabbed another round of cans and handed them out like a generous king.
“Have you had your rations, Pike?”
“I’ve had one.”
“Oh such a good obedient boy. We will get another six.” Ilya cracked another beer for himself and passed one to Shane, throwing the other four in the cart to be enjoyed later.
They took a couple of shots each, for good measure, and he tipped the cart girl with a fifty. She looked as if she wasn’t sure she could accept it. He followed it with a silent wink, allowing her permission to walk away without questioning it.
Shane stared at it. “…You’re trying to get me drunk.”
Ilya clinked his can gently against Shane’s.
“Yes.”
Shane groaned.
“This round is completely gone.”
JJ raised his drink. “To summer.”
Ilya leaned back into the driver’s seat with a satisfied grin. “Now,” he said, taking a swig from the fresh beer. “This is getting fun.”
A couple holes and a couple beers later, the round had further deteriorated. Hayden was still trying desperately to play actual golf. The other three didn’t give a single shit about chip shots and reading greens anymore.
Ilya was still driving the cart. Which Hayden had begun to find increasingly concerning.
“Okay,” Hayden said, hands on his hips as the cart rolled up beside his ball. “You probably shouldn’t be driving anymore.”
Ilya looked offended. “Why?”
“You’ve had like six beers in an hour and a half.”
“Five,” JJ corrected helpfully.
Ilya waved a dismissive hand. “This thing goes like two kilometers per hour.”
“It does not.”
“It does,” Ilya insisted, tapping the wheel. “Also it will not let me drive anywhere fun. I have tried.”
“That’s because it’s a golf course,” Hayden said. “Not a go-kart track.”
“Exactly.”
Ilya could see Hayden was not going to give it up.
“Hayden I am not your ninth kid… I do not need you to parent me. I promise, I am okay. I would not put Shane in danger.”
“I have four kids, ass hole… and they literally call you Uncle Ilya.”
“Aw yes. They love me. They are nothing like you… that’s why I like them.”
Shane laughed from the passenger seat, a little loose now, cheeks warm from the sun and the drinks. “You two are the worst. Just hug it out already. I can drive if it’s a big deal.”
Hayden pointed at him. “Shut up, Hollander. You’re drunk too.”
“Little bit,” Shane admitted cheerfully. Then he stepped up to his ball and took a swing. He immediately sent it screaming straight into the trees.
JJ leaned forward.
“…Well.”
Hayden nodded.
“That’s gone.”
Shane stared into the bush where it had disappeared.
“No, it’s fine,” he said with drunken confidence. “It’s in play.”
“Don’t waste your time,” Hayden said.
Shane was already grabbing another beer and climbing out of the cart.
“C’mon,” he said to Ilya. “We’ll find it.”
Ilya followed immediately, clearly thrilled by the change of scenery.
“Yes. Adventure time.”
They disappeared into the trees. Branches brushed against them as they pushed through the undergrowth, sunlight flickering through the leaves.
Somewhere behind them, JJ called out— “Take a drop!”
Shane ignored him. He stepped over a fallen branch and turned around. “You see it?”
Ilya was standing a little too close.
“No.”
“Maybe deeper in.”
“Maybe.”
They both took another step.
Then Shane laughed quietly, shaking his head.
“You know this is definitely lost, right?”
“Yes.”
“So we’re just pretending to look?”
“Yes.”
Shane smiled.
Ilya was standing right in front of him now, the shade of the trees cooling the heat of the sun. His sunglasses were pushed up on his head, his hair a little messy from the day. He looked unfairly good. Shane took a slow step forward. Ilya’s back bumped lightly against the trunk of a tree.
“Oh?” Ilya said softly.
Shane’s hands came up to his hips, fingers sliding around his waist as he leaned in.
“You’re hot and it’s distracting me from finding my ball,” Shane murmured.
“Mmm. Maybe I should have shot one into the bush sooner.”
Shane kissed him. Slow at first, then deeper.
Ilya made a quiet sound against his mouth as Shane’s hand slid up to his hips, pinning him harder against the tree. Their bodies pressed together, the rough bark of the tree against Ilya’s shoulders while Shane’s mouth moved against his, warm and a little clumsy from the booze. It was messy and hot and a little breathless. Shane’s fingers tightened in the back of Ilya’s shirt as he kissed him again, harder this time.
Ilya’s hands slid up into Shane’s hair. “Jesus,” he murmured against his mouth.
Shane kissed down along his jaw. Ilya’s head tipped back against the tree with a quiet exhale. Then he grabbed Shane’s shoulders.
“Okay—stop.”
Shane blinked at him.
“…Why?”
Ilya looked down briefly and then back up.
“Because if you keep doing that,” he said, voice lower now, “I am going to have problem.”
Shane grinned lazily.
“What kind of problem?”
“The kind Hayden and JJ do not need to see.”
Shane laughed softly.
“…Fair.”
Ilya straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair.
“Also,” he added, pushing Shane lightly away from him, “if beer cart girl shows up again I would like to look somewhat respectable...she is very pretty.” Ilya said teasing as he leaned in for another kiss.
Shane snorted.
“Fuck you.”
A minute later they stepped back out onto the edge of the fairway…Without a ball.
JJ looked at them immediately. “…Did you even look?”
Hayden crossed his arms. “You were in there for five minutes.”
Shane opened his mouth—But Ilya beat him to it. “We were looking,” he said smoothly.
JJ squinted. “For the ball?”
Ilya shrugged. “Hmmm. Something like that.”
Shane choked on a laugh beside him and grabbed another beer from the cooler like the answer had personally delighted him.
Hayden sighed heavily.
“This round is completely gone.”
“Relax,” JJ said, already setting up on the tee for the next hole. “It’s a beautiful day.”
It really was. Bright sun. Warm breeze rolling across the course. A sky so blue it looked painted. The kind of perfect summer afternoon that made it impossible to care too much about birdies or lost golf balls.
Shane climbed into the passenger seat beside Ilya and immediately leaned across the seat, draping an arm around his shoulders pulling him closer. It had become a pattern over the last few holes. Drunk Shane, it turned out, was extremely affectionate. He didn’t seem capable of sitting within three feet of Ilya without touching him somehow. It was an arm over his shoulders. A hand resting warm and lazy on his thigh while they drove the cart, migrating mighty close to other parts of Ilya as the cart bounced. Sometimes his fingers hooked casually into the back of Ilya’s belt loop when they walked side by side down the fairway, like he needed the contact to keep his balance.
Ilya had said nothing, but he had noticed— and he was enjoying it immensely.
“Ready?” Ilya asked as they rolled up to the next tee.
Shane hummed happily beside him.
“Born ready.”
JJ stepped up first. He took a practice swing. Then another. Then, for absolutely no reason, he switched the club into his left hand.
Hayden looked over slowly. “…What are you doing.”
JJ grinned. “Switch hitter, baby.”
“You’re right handed.”
“Not today.”
He swung. The ball dribbled about fifteen feet. There was a beat of silence.
Shane clapped enthusiastically from the cart “That was amazing.”
“Shut up.”
Ilya climbed out next and casually took the club left-handed as well.
Hayden groaned. “Oh my god. I have a family to get back to. Can we just fucking get this round over with.”
“Just because Jacky won’t let you have fun doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to, Hayden.” Shane slurred from his cart.
“Wow… you too? Really Shane? I’ll be sure to tell Jacky that you think she’s a real wet blanket.”
Ilya watched poor drunk Shane’s face sink, not understanding the sarcasm in Hayden’s tone. “Please don’t…I… I…” Shane began to beg.
Ilya stepped back from his ball and ran over to give him a kiss. “He wouldn’t dare tell her, my love… or she might not let him come out to play with you anymore.” He winked at Hayden, who grinned back understanding what was happening.
Ilya ran back and swung the club, from the wrong side. The ball launched clean and high, sailing straight down the fairway.
JJ stared. “That’s bullshit.”
Ilya shrugged. “Natural talent.”
Hayden rubbed his face with both hands.
“Your boyfriend is unbearable, you know that?”
Shane just smiled, ”nah, he’s incredible.”
“I miss when you were on my side.”
“I am!”
Shane climbed out of the cart and hugged Hayden, still smiling. Then he stepped up to the tee. He planted his feet. Took a practice swing. Then he addressed the ball and immediately wobbled sideways like the ground had shifted under him.
JJ grabbed his elbow before he tipped completely out of the tee box.
“Whoa there.”
Shane blinked slowly.
“…Okay.”
Hayden pointed at him.
“You’re done.”
“I’m not done.”
“You almost fell over.”
“I slipped.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Yeah.” He said with the cutest smile, “I am.”
Ilya leaned against the cart watching him with quiet amusement. “What happened to those mountain climbing shoes? Where was the traction there?” He walked up to Shane and wrapped his arm around his waist. “You should skip this one.”
Shane considered it. Then shrugged easily, “yeah okay.”
He abandoned the tee box entirely and wandered back toward the cart, clearly unbothered by the decision. The second he sat down beside Ilya again, his hand landed back on him automatically. Like a magnet. This time it settled warm against the side of Ilya’s waist, fingers curling lazily into the fabric of his shirt while they waited for JJ to finish hacking his way down the fairway. Shane’s thumb traced an absent little pattern along his side. Then his hand slid lower to rest against Ilya’s hip. Then back up again. Ilya glanced down at it.
“You are very handsy today.”
Shane smiled lazily at him.
“You’re very hot today.”
“I am hot every day.”
“Yeah,” Shane said easily. “But today I’m drunk enough to appreciate it properly.”
Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh. He leaned over and placed his hand gently on Shane’s cheek, tracing his freckles with his thumb before he leaned in for a quick kiss. “I think we need to golf more often. I didn’t know it made you so horny.”
Shane closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Ilya’s. “Hmmm. Maybe we need to lose another ball this hole.”
Shane’s hand drifted casually across Ilya’s stomach this time, fingers pressing lightly there as if testing the shape of him through the thin fabric of his shirt—Hayden noticed.
He paused mid-step and looked toward the cart. Then toward JJ.
“…Are they doing that again?”
JJ glanced over.
Shane was leaning close to Ilya, saying something quietly into his ear that made Ilya smirk. Shane’s hand still hadn’t moved.
JJ shrugged. “They’re in love.”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “They’re drunk and insufferable.”
Ilya caught the look and leaned back comfortably in the driver’s seat.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Of what?”
Ilya gestured lazily toward Shane, whose arm was now slung around him again like he lived there.
“This.”
Hayden stared at them.
“Absolutely not.”
JJ nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know man. The commitment to public affection is impressive for two closeted hockey players.”
Shane kissed the side of Ilya’s jaw without even thinking about it.
Hayden groaned. “Oh my god.”
Ilya just smiled to himself. He had to admit—Drunk Shane might be his new favorite version of Shane.
By the time they reached the sixteenth tee, the three men were noticeably inebriated, as they continued to annoy the shit out of their babysitter, Hayden.
Hayden was still keeping score out of pure stubbornness, while Shane had officially retired from hitting anything after nearly falling out of the cart twice in one hole and was now happily riding along, offering enthusiastic encouragement for shots he wasn’t entirely tracking. And Ilya had decided he needed a new form of entertainment.
As Hayden lined up his drive on sixteen, Ilya climbed out of his own cart.
Hayden glanced over, suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
Ilya walked directly toward Hayden’s cart.
“I am bored.”
“Go be bored in your own cart.”
“No.”
Before Hayden could protest, Ilya climbed straight into the passenger seat, kicking JJ out to chauffeur his drunk boyfriend around in the other cart.
Hayden stared at him. “…Why?”
“Because now I can talk to you better... friend.”
“I don’t want you to talk to me better... and I’m not your friend.”
JJ barked out a laugh from the other cart. “Oh this is perfect.”
Hayden sighed the deep sigh of a man who had accepted that the rest of this round would bring him no peace.
“You’re doing this to annoy me.”
“Yes.”
Hayden stepped back up to the tee anyway. He took a breath and settled into his stance. He swung and striped the ball straight down the fairway. At least he could still hit the ball, unlike the other three wrecks in his presence.
Ilya nodded approvingly from the cart.
“That was actually very good.”
Hayden glanced back at him.
“…Thank you.”
“But your backswing still looks weird.”
“There it is.”
They climbed back into the cart and rolled toward the fairway. For a moment, it was quiet. Then Hayden glanced sideways at him.
“You know you’re an ass hole, right?”
“Yes.”
“But…”
Hayden shrugged a little.
“You’re kind of funny.”
Ilya tilted his head.
“Wow. Are you feeling okay? Are you sure you aren’t drunk?”
Hayden looked out across the course where Shane and JJ were following behind them. Shane was laughing about something JJ had said, head tipped back in the sun. Hayden watched him for a second. Then shook his head slightly. “I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”
Ilya followed his gaze. Shane was still smiling like an idiot. He felt something warm settle in his chest. “Me neither,” Ilya said quietly.
Hayden glanced back at him. “You’re good for him.”
Ilya smirked faintly. “I know.”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late.”
They finished the hole with Hayden playing actual golf and Ilya offering completely unnecessary commentary from the passenger seat. By the seventeenth tee, Hayden was already exhausted.
“I’m never golfing with you again,” he announced.
Ilya leaned back comfortably in the cart. “That is rude.”
“It’s self-preservation.”
“You’re welcome for the entertainment.”
Hayden shook his head.
“You’ve spent four hours chirping me, flirting with my best friend, and drinking half the beer on the course.”
“And?”
“And I regret coming today.”
Ilya watched Shane climb out of the other cart, still smiling, still relaxed in a way Hayden clearly hadn’t seen in a while.
His expression softened slightly. “I would golf with you all summer,” he said casually, “if it made him this happy.”
Hayden blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. He glanced toward Shane again. Then back at Ilya.
“…Don’t get sentimental on me now.”
Ilya smirked.
“Too late.”
Hayden snorted.
“You’re still a pain in the ass.”
“Yes.”
They rolled toward the eighteenth tee with the sun beating down on them, out of energy, jokes, and beer. They decided to skip the last hole, having no fucks left to give.
“Thank god,” he muttered. “I was done with you ten holes ago.”
JJ pulled up beside them. “Well,” he said. “That was… something.”
Shane clapped like someone had just finished a Broadway performance. “Great round, boys.”
“You didn’t play the last four holes,” Hayden said.
“I visualized them.”
Hayden rolled his eyes, realizing that Shane probably wasn’t even lying about that.
They drove the carts back toward the parking lot, the late afternoon sun dipping lower over the course. When they pulled up beside the cars, everyone climbed out slowly.
Shane leaned heavily against the side of the vehicle, sunglasses sliding halfway down his nose, face flushed and sunburned. JJ began unloading bags from the carts. Hayden stretched his shoulders. And Ilya—very deliberately—pulled his clubs off the cart and set them beside the open trunk of Hayden’s car then he stepped back.
Hayden stared at them. Then at him.
“…Put them in the trunk.”
Ilya shrugged casually. “You are already loading everything.”
“That does not make me your fucking caddy.”
“But you are very good at it.”
Hayden narrowed his eyes. “You are unbelievable.”
Ilya gave him a pleasant smile.
Hayden stood there for another second. Then, muttering something deeply unfriendly under his breath, he grabbed Ilya’s bag and tossed it in with the others.
“Oh my god, Pike. You actually did it.” JJ said laughing. “First your wife tells you you can’t have fun, and now your loading this guys clubs. How much more whipped can you get?”
Hayden slammed the trunk shut.
“I hate all of you.”
JJ wiped his eyes. “Alright, I need to piss and maybe eat something that isn’t beer.”
“Same,” Hayden said immediately.
“We’ll return the carts and hit the clubhouse. Five minutes.” Shane lifted a lazy hand in acknowledgement from where he was leaning against the car.
“Copy that.”
JJ and Hayden climbed back into the carts and drove off toward the clubhouse, leaving Shane and Ilya alone beside the parking lot.
Shane rubbed his eyes. “Man,” he murmured. “I am drunk.”
“I can tell.” Ilya said.
Shane tipped his head back against the car and closed his eyes. “Worth it.”
Ilya leaned against the trunk beside him, scanning the edge of the lot. Then he nodded toward a cluster of bushes near the edge of the gravel. “…Hey.”
Shane opened one eye.
“What?”
“I think I see a ball over there.”
Shane squinted in the direction he was pointing.
“In the parking lot?”
“Mm.”
“That makes no sense,” Shane said slowly. “There’s no way someone could lose a ball this far from the hole.”
Ilya turned his head and looked at him. Just… stared. The look on his face was unmistakable.
Shane blinked once. Then twice. Then the realization landed.
“…Oh.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
Shane straightened immediately. “Oh…”
They both looked toward the clubhouse. Still no sign of Hayden or JJ. Then they looked back at each other and without another word—both of them bolted toward the bushes like two drunk teenagers.
Branches scratched softly against their legs as they pushed into the little strip of trees along the edge of the lot. Shane was laughing under his breath when Ilya grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him back against the trunk of a tree. The bark hit his shoulders with a soft thud.
“Jesus, Ilya” Shane started.
But Ilya was already kissing him, and it was hungry. His hands slid up Shane’s sides and under his shirt, fingers splaying warm against his ribs as he pulled him closer. Shane made a surprised sound before his hands came up instinctively, grabbing at Ilya’s waist. They crashed into each other again, mouths messy and hot and a little breathless. Ilya’s hand slid up the back of Shane’s neck, fingers tangling into his hair where sweat had gathered throughout the day, as he tilted his head back just enough to deepen the kiss. Shane groaned quietly against his mouth.
“Oh God,” he murmured.
Ilya kissed down the side of his jaw, teeth grazing the skin just below his ear.
Shane’s hands slid under the hem of Ilya’s shirt this time, fingers dragging across warm skin.
“You’re aggressive,” he breathed.
“You started it.”
Shane laughed softly as Ilya pressed him harder against the tree, one hand gripping his hip like he was trying to pull him even closer.
“I really fucking love golfing with you,” Ilya muttered against his mouth.
Shane grinned lazily.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Ilya kissed him again, slower now, dragging it out like he had nowhere else in the world to be. “Next time,” he murmured, brushing his nose against Shane’s, “I want to make out with you on every hole.”
Shane laughed quietly.
“Eighteen holes?”
“Yes.”
“Ambitious.”
“I am very competitive.”
Shane kissed him again. “Best round of golf I’ve ever played.”
Then suddenly—voices from the direction of the clubhouse.
“…You see them?”
“Yep.” Shane’s eyes widened.
Ilya looked over his shoulder. Hayden and JJ were walking back across the lot.
“Shit,” Shane whispered.
They both scrambled apart instantly. Leaves crunched as they stumbled out of the bushes trying to look like two men who had absolutely not been aggressively making out in a parking lot.
They reached the car just as Hayden and JJ came into view. JJ slowed. Looked at them. Then at the bushes. Then back at them.
“…Did you find the ball?”
Shane grabbed the car door. “Couple of them, actually,” winking at him. Gosh, Ilya loved cheeky, drunk Shane.
Ilya shrugged smoothly. “Very wide and long fairway, you know..”
JJ barked out a laugh. “Oh my god.”
Hayden shook his head slowly. “You are unbelievable.”
By the time they pulled out of the lot, Shane had already sunk down into the backseat. Five minutes into the drive his head tipped sideways onto Ilya’s shoulder, completely asleep— well, passed out.
Ilya glanced over briefly. Shane was sunburned. His hair messy from the day. Still faintly smiling. Drunk.
JJ looked back from the front seat and snorted. “He’s dead.”
“Yep,” Hayden said.
Ilya adjusted slightly so Shane’s head rested more comfortably against him. His hand came up automatically to rest lightly on Shane’s knee.
“Nah. He’s just happy.” Ilya said, as he pulled up the course website on his phone and booked a tee time for the following weekend— only this time, for two.