Work Text:
September 2021
The barbecue at Bood’s was loud. Music blasting through speakers, someone shouting about spicy chicken breasts, Young arguing with a folding chair, Wyatt singing serenade to Lisa. Just normal everyday team Centaurs gathering. Shane felt at home in a way he still didn’t fully understand. He had only just started getting to know all these people, and they were already so close to him.
By the time the sun dipped lower and the third round of drinks kicked in, the noise should have gotten worse. Instead, it thinned. Not all at once, just gradually. Conversations were dropped off mid sentence. Someone turned the music down without being asked. Even Dykstra stopped yelling. All because Troy and Shane had started talking.
“…no, because if you’re thinking long term, you don’t want to retrofit load bearing changes after the fact,” Shane was saying, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, beer forgotten in his hand. “You plan for expansion at the design stage. Otherwise you’re just paying double later.”
Troy nodded, serious. He was currently looking for a house and was also considering building one. “Yeah, but zoning around Ottawa outskirts is different than Montreal. Setbacks alone-”
“-are a pain in the ass, yeah,” Shane cut in, like he’d been waiting for that. “But that’s why you overbuy land if you can. Gives you flexibility. And privacy.”
That word landed, and for a split second, Shane’s eyes flicked toward Ilya. Ilya, sprawled across a deck chair like a lizard in the sun, lifted his beer in silent acknowledgment. Harris, sitting next to him, felt something warm twist in his chest.
“Privacy is non negotiable,” Troy said, quieter now. “Especially for us.” He winked at Harris.
Shane nodded firmly. There was a mutual understanding, no explanation needed.
Somewhere behind them, someone tried to restart a conversation. “Hey, did you guys see-”, and then just stopped again because Troy kept going.
“I was thinking custom build,” he said. “Modular base, but fully customized interior. My dad’s company did some structural work on prefab systems back in Vancouver, but they always cut corners. I don’t want that.”
Shane’s mouth twitched in approval. “Prefab’s fine if you control the spec,” he said. “But yeah, most companies cheap out on insulation and load distribution. You’ll feel it in five years.”
“Or sooner,” Troy said. “Especially with Ontario winters.”
“Exactly.” Shane shifted, more animated now. “You want high grade insulation, triple pane windows minimum. Don’t let anyone talk you down to double. And radiant floor heating, game changer.”
“Hydronic or electric?”
“Hyrdonic,” Shane said immediately. “Higher upfront cost, but way more efficient long term.”
Troy nodded, already thinking ahead. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
Silence fell again but it was not awkward, it felt focused. As if everyone had collectively decided this was now the most important conversation happening. Harris realized he was leaning forward, completely locked in, and he had no idea when that had happened. Beside him, Ilya let out a soft, amused huff. “They are going to build entire house before burgers are ready,” he murmured, accent thicker with fondness.
Harris glanced at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I am always enjoying when my husband is smartest man in room.”
Harris snorted. “Your husband?”
Ilya tilted his head, lazy and smug. “Yes. And also when your boyfriend is smartest man in room.”
Harris looked back at Troy, who was now gesturing with both hands, explaining something about foundation grading and water runoff like he’d been doing this his whole life. Which, in a way, he’d had with father focused only on hockey and construction business. Troy couldn’t drive a nail into a wall, but he could theoretically build a shopping mall. Harris, a handy farmer boy at heart, found it so amusing.
“…if the slope’s wrong, you’ll get pooling,” Troy was saying. “And then you’re dealing with drainage issues every spring.”
Shane pointed at him. “Yes. Exactly. French drains, proper grading, and don’t trust contractors who say ‘it’ll settle.’ It won’t settle the way you want.”
There was a quiet chorus of agreement from somewhere... teammates. Even LaPointe nodded like he fully understood what a French drain was.
Harris exhaled slowly. “Jesus,” he muttered. “He’s so-”
“Hot?” Ilya offered, entirely unhelpful.
Harris didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”
Ilya grinned, sharp and delighted. “Shane also hot like this. When he talks about building things. Misters Real Estate, both of them.”
Across the deck, Shane was now sketching something with his finger on the wooden table, Troy leaning in close, their heads nearly touching as they worked through some structural detail. Neither of them noticed the audience. They were in it, completely.
“…and if you’re thinking future resale,” Shane was saying, “you keep the layout flexible. Don’t over specialize rooms.”
“I’m not building it to sell,” Troy said.
Shane paused, looked at him. Then nodded again, slower this time showing respect. “Good,” he said. “Then build it exactly how you want.”
Troy’s expression softened, just a little. “Yeah.”
Harris swallowed. Because that “you” wasn’t just Troy. It was them, their house and their future.
“Okay,” Dykstra said loudly, breaking the spell. “I don’t know what a hydronic is, but I’m turned on.” Laughter cracked through the group, the tension snapping like a rubber band. Shane leaned back, finally picking up his beer again. Troy did the same, both of them blinking like they’d just remembered where they were.
“You guys done building Canada’s finest house?” Wyatt called.
“They’re just getting started,” Ilya said, raising his voice just enough. “But we are all already very impressed. Yes?” Shane shot him a look both fond and exasperated. Troy just smiled a little shy.
Harris didn’t even try to hide his infatuation when he leaned over and bumped his shoulder against Troy’s. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re kind of amazing.”
Troy glanced at him, soft and warm. “Yeah?” Harris just kissed him on the cheek. He couldn't wait until they finally moved into a house together, whether it was old or built especially for them. The most important thing was that they could live in it together and that there would be a garden for Chiron.
From the other side, Ilya stage-whispered to Shane, “We should go home.”
Shane didn’t even look at him. “We just got here.”
“Does not matter. All this real estate talk made me horny.”