Chapter Text
“So who made the first move?” Harris asks.
Ilya and Shane are hanging out in his office, Ilya having followed Troy in and Shane having followed his husband. The foursome has been chatting about nothing for a few minutes and the sudden question catches everyone off guard for a second. Ilya recovers first and answers, “Me, of course.”
Shane scoffs. “In what world?”
Ilya stares at his husband. “In this one? Remember, I booked the commercial, then in the shower-”
“Nope,” Troy interjects. “Absolutely not.”
Harris pokes him. “You are no fun!”
“We’re at work!” his boyfriend reminds him.
“Barely! I want to hear the story!”
Shane shakes his head. “That’s not the way it started though. I approached him first.”
“To yell at me for smoking,” Ilya adds.
“No one yelled. I was being helpful. Anyway, you barely wanted to talk to me.”
“You were very annoying,” Ilya teases. “Cute, but annoying. That was the first time we met but not how we got together.”
Shane shrugs. “That’s how it started though.”
“When was that?” Harris asks. Troy has his head in his hands, fearing the direction this conversation is headed.
“World Juniors,” both husbands answer. They smile at each other. “Long time ago,” Shane adds. “And then we didn’t see each other for… a while, I guess. Then the draft and then that stupid commercial.”
“Stupid!” Ilya exclaims. “You are not telling this story correctly, sweetheart.”
“Okay, asshole, what’s the 'correct' version?”
“I can’t believe you started this shit,” Troy mutters to his boyfriend, who shushes him.
“After the draft–he was very angry that I was first, could barely smile–” Shane smacks his husband’s arm at this. “After the draft, I couldn’t sleep so I went down to the hotel gym. And there was Hollander, still angry about being picked second–” another smack– “working out his frustration on one of the bikes. We raced.”
“On stationary bikes?” Harris asks, frowning.
“They can literally make anything a competition,” Troy reminds him.
Shane is smiling lovingly at Ilya now, remembering the night in the gym. “I wasn’t angry.”
Ilya grins back. “Just horny then?”
Troy groans; Harris laughs.
“Shut up,” Shane mutters, blushing. “You were the one who kept touching my hand.”
Ilya shrugs. “Had to test the waters a little. See what you would do.”
“So you hooked up in a hotel gym in the middle of the night?” Harris tries to clarify.
Shane’s blush spreads. “No! Of course not. That was later.”
“This is like the longest answer to who made the first move,” Troy points out.
Ilya laughs at him. “Please, like you didn’t waste weeks lusting after Harris with heart eyes before you managed to do anything about it.”
“Fuck off!” Troy throws his empty coffee cup in Ilya’s direction.
Harris is grinning now. “Weeks, eh? I didn’t realize you were pining for so long, Barrett.”
“Yeah, well. Weeks isn’t years.”
“Worth the wait, though,” Shane whispers to his husband. Ilya squeezes his knee.
"I still feel like I don't have an answer!" Harris complains. "You met, a few times, and then... what?"
“Enough story time for today, boys," Ilya responds. "We will see you tomorrow. I have to take my beautiful husband home and remind him about some things.”
“Gross,” Troy mutters.
Ilya stands, reaching for Shane’s hand. They make their way to the parking lot.
“Hey,” Shane says, stopping Ilya against their car. “If I hadn’t introduced myself at Juniors–”
“We still would have ended up here, moy lyubov.”
“How do you know?”
Ilya smiles and pulls his husband closer. “I knew who you were: the only one who could keep up with me. I knew it would always be you and me, battling on the ice, fighting for first. I would always win, of course–”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Make me.”
They grin at each other for a second before Shane leans in to kiss his husband. “Take me home and I will.”