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When Quinn brought up having a bonfire, Kirill didn’t have to think twice about agreeing. Bonfires always reminded him of good times back in Russia, hanging out with friends and warming up by the fire for hours.
Here, at Quinn’s lake house, Kirill could let himself chill out like that again. Not completely chill, Quinn didn’t want his brothers knowing about them yet, so a lot of his time was spent trying to sneak kisses, but generally, he got to chill.
He spent a lot of time out on the pier and boat with Quinn, went fishing and swam, it was good. Comfortable.
Kirill spent most of his time clinging to Quinn’s side but he’d never complain about that. It was all he really wanted and now he could have it to some extent.
Right now, he was watching Quinn, Luke, and Jack struggle to start a fire. Luke was stood off to the side, hands on his hips, telling Quinn and Jack (who weren’t listening at all) what to do. Quinn was trying, very awkwardly, to create a little tee pee with the wood and Jack was… lighting scrap pieces of paper on fire with the lighter while waiting for Quinn.
Kirill just observed, it was fun to watch the way they interacted with each other. They didn’t really remind him of himself and his brother, they were, honestly, kind of like sisters. More verbal fights than physical, they gossiped, they stole each other's clothes and got upset about it, not anything like what he was used to.
It was kind of weird but they were interesting to watch nonetheless. Especially now, as Jack tilts the flame closer and closer to an unsuspecting Quinn’s hair.
At the last minute, he tugs the flame away and drops it down into the pit to add to his collection of ashed papers.
“Yo, Luke, go grab some twigs or something. The paper’s not gonna be enough.” Quinn jerks his head back towards the brush. Luke just rolls his eyes before walking away.
Quinn then, finally, gets his logs to stand and starts balling up pieces of Jack’s paper to shove underneath. Jack, meanwhile, starts balling up pieces of paper to throw at Quinn.
“Why are you five?”
“Why are you a loser?”
Rolling his eyes, Quinn turns to look at Kirill who is grinning, happy to be just a viewer outside of their dynamic. A little smile cracks on Quinn’s face in return and he shakes his head and turns back to the fire.
Luke returns with the twigs and drops them into the pit without a second thought, almost knocking the logs right back down. Quinn taps Luke in the stomach and Luke swats him away, spinning just out of reach of the hit, before walking away to fall into one of the lawn chairs.
Quinn pieces through what Luke had brought over and spaces them out before telling Jack he can, finally, light it.
The flame starts slow, and for a second Kirill thinks they fucked it up entirely, but then one of the logs catches and Quinn falls down into the seat next to him, seemingly happy with his handiwork.
He slips something out of his pocket, a vape… maybe? Or maybe it was a pen, Kirill knew Quinn liked a nice high, he talked about it quite a bit back in Minnesota. How he thought Kirill might like it, but Kirill had never actually been around Quinn while he was high.
Kirill turns to watch Quinn bring the pen up to his lips and take a hit, a simple inhale and then exhale, smoke trailing up around his face and a small smile coming to his mouth when he catches Kirill looking at him.
“You wanna try?” He asks, holding it out to him. It’s almost enticing.
“Is vape, or?” Kirill doesn't lift his hand up to reach for it just yet.
Quinn shakes his head, hair swaying with him. Kirill missed when it was longer but Quinn had been complaining for months about needing a cut. “It’s a dab pen.” He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t have to, just if you want.”
It’s tempting, but Kirill has never been high before and he doesn’t really want right now to be his first time so he shakes his head and lets Quinn take another hit instead. He watches him breathe it in and out easily, opening his mouth to blow an O Kirill’s way. Kirill feels like he’s less than 29, giggling and shaking his head when Quinn blows out the rest of the smoke in one big cloud.
He gets to watch Quinn relax pretty quick too, practically melting into his chair. Kirill wonders if that’s just the pot or if it’s on top of the being in Michigan. Quinn is overall more at peace here. Kirill loves it.
“Yo, Q, lemme get a hit.” Jack says, jutting his chin towards the pen.
Quinn tosses it over, straight across the fire, and Jack catches it like this is something they do often. Maybe it is. Kirill kind of hopes it is. He could take a few more nights hanging out by the fire, even though they haven’t even been out that long yet. This is just nice.
They sit there for a little while, passing it between them (Luke doesn’t seem interested either) and letting the fire crackle in the center.
At some point, Quinn picks his chair up and moves it closer to Kirill’s, close enough that their arm rests are touching. It’s not entirely unusual or suspicious, and Quinn starts talking about the food options to roast over the fire to make it seem like that was the whole reason he came closer but Kirill knows by the press of their forearms together on the arm rest and the way Quinn is leaning in, that that wasn’t really the point.
Which is interesting. Quinn isn’t really an initiator of anything. Honestly, Kirill can’t remember the last time Quinn was the one touching him casually. Kisses and beyond were fair game but casual skinship? That was basically ‘Kirill Only’ territory.
But here Quinn was, leaning over to press even their shoulders together, connected all the way down the length of their arms.
“Are you cold?” Kirill asks, leaning a little closer, trying to figure out why in the world Quinn is now pressing his shoe against Kirill’s. It’s like he’s trying to touch everywhere he can feasibly make contact.
Quinn catches the pen Jack is tossing across the fire, “What?” He asks, bringing the pen up to his mouth but not yet taking a hit. It presses against his bottom lip and tugs it down just a little. Kirill forces himself to look at Quinn’s eyes.
“You are so,” He gestures towards the way Quinn is leaning completely into Kirill. “Do you want sweatshirt or something? I could give you mine or go up and grab you one?”
A little smile makes its way onto Quinn’s face, “Nah, I’m alright.” He presses a little firmer against Kirill and knocks the backs of their hands together. “I might take you up on that later though.” He says, finally taking a hit from the pen that’s been resting against his lips since Jack threw it over. It’s taunting, Kirill has never wished to be an inanimate object more.
Tearing his eyes away, Kirill watches Jack and Luke roast hot dogs over the fire, topping them with what he would consider way too many condiments.
He’s not interested in the hot dogs but he is intrigued by a s’more. He’d heard about them before but he didn’t think they were actually commonplace. The lake house is stocked with s’mores shit to last for weeks.
When he stands up to try and put one together, Quinn actually whines at the loss of contact. Kirill turns to face him. “Do you want to come with me?” He asks, eyebrow raised at Quinn who is giving him the most sincere puppy eyes he has ever seen.
Quinn is nodding and standing before the full sentence is even out of Kirill’s mouth, following Kirill to the little picnic table they have set up with snacks.
He grabs a sleeve of graham crackers, a Hershey’s bar, and a bag of marshmallows. He hands the bag to Quinn, knowing he’ll take it without a second thought. “Are you okay?” He can’t help but ask. Quinn being clingy is almost weird.
Tilting his head, Quinn stares at him a little blankly. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re just- really close.” Kirill shrugs, not sure how else to phrase it. Quinn takes a step back, making Kirill realize just how close he was standing then too. Kirill steps forward again so they’re back in each other’s space, “Not bad thing, just not… normal.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s like- a thing I do, I think.” Quinn says, running a hand through his hair like he’s unsure. Kirill wants to replace it with his own hand but he knows what it’d look like. “They always make fun of me because I get touchy, or whatever, when I smoke. If it makes you uncomfortable I can stop.” He says, looking away from Kirill and towards the fire.
Right away, Kirill shakes his head. “No, I like it. Just want to make sure everything is okay.” Kirill says, glad his hands are full so he can’t reach out to touch Quinn at all. He wants to press their lips together, to tell Quinn not to worry about it through touch alone.
They walk back to the fire, shoulders bumping the entire time. Kirill shoves down a little smile and lets himself fall into his chair, still pressed close to Quinn.
He steals a skewer from Jack and then shoves a marshmallow onto the end. He sticks it right into the fire, letting it light up before lifting the flame towards himself to blow out.
“Are you serious?” Quinn asks, looking at the blackened marshmallow on the end of the stick. “That’s gross.”
“What do you mean? Will be good this way. Little bit crunchy but inside will be melty. So good.” Kirill reasons, laying out graham crackers and chocolate for himself, smushing it all together into a sandwich.
Quinn shakes his head, watching marshmallow spill out the sides of Kirill’s s’more and get all over his fingers. “Gimme the thing,” He says, pointing towards the skewer.
Kirill passes it over easily, watching Quinn pierce a marshmallow of his own and place it just above the flame, spinning it around like he’s actually roasting something.
“How long do you spin for?” Kirill asks, leaning, somehow, even closer to Quinn.
Quinn leans right back into him. “Until it’s golden. The inside will be all gooey like you like but it won’t taste charred.”
Rolling his eyes, Kirill continues to watch Quinn roast. After a minute or so, he asks Kirill to get together the graham crackers and chocolate so he can put the s’more together right away. Kirill does so, watching as Quinn then carefully squishes the marshmallow between the two pieces of graham cracker.
He hands it to Kirill. “Bon Appetite,” He grins, proud of his handiwork.
“For me? I thought you were making for you.” Kirill says, taking the s’more from Quinn’s hands.
Quinn just shrugs “I’ll make mine now. Wanted you to get the first one so you can taste a s’more that’s actually good.”
“Quinn’s are the best.” Jack chimes in, Luke nodding next to him. “I dunno how he does it.”
Kirill shrugs and takes a bite. Immediately it’s better than the one he made. It doesn’t taste like ashes, first of all, and the inside is somehow gooier than the one Kirill literally lit on fire. That bit doesn’t really comprehend to Kirill but it is just better.
Quinn chances a glance at him, careful to make sure his marshmallow doesn’t dip too far into the fire. “You like it?”
“Little bit better.” He shrugs.
Quinn snorts back at him. “You know it’s way better.”
Kirill laughs a little too. “Okay, yes, is much better. You make good s’more.” He leans closer to Quinn and talks a little quieter. “Good to know you can make something.”
Right away, he knows Quinn wants to shove him, but his hands are occupied by the s’more so he can’t. “You know I’m a good cook.”
“I know you can cook.” Kirill says back, a little cheeky.
And Quinn isn’t a bad cook. He can make… some things. Like eggs, Kirill likes when Quinn makes them breakfast on days they don’t go to the cantina in Grand Casino. Quinn’s pretty good at making pasta dishes too. But Kirill would never touch meat he cooked. One chicken that was a little bit too pink in the middle was more than enough for him to call it. Pleasing his boyfriend by eating raw chicken is not exactly something Kirill is willing to do, even for Quinn.
“I am not that bad!” Quinn says back, a little indignant.
Kirill just shrugs. “You make good s’more. That is good talent.”
Even though he can’t see Quinn’s face he knows he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m good at other things.” It sounds more like he’s reassuring himself than Kirill and it makes Kirill feel bad, like maybe he took the joke a little too far. He knows Quinn lets things get under his skin pretty easily.
So, he leans close again, and rests his hand at Quinn’s back. He lets his fingers drift up under the hem of Quinn’s t-shirt. “I know you are.” He says it cheerful and innocent but he knows Quinn is catching the subtext from the way he’s swiping his thumb against the flesh just above the hem of Quinn’s shorts.
Quinn shutters next to him. It always makes Kirill feel good when he has that effect. Unfortunately, here, he can’t do what he wants to do next. Instead, he has to retract his hand and lean back so that they’re just brushing forearms.
He watches Quinn continue to spin the marshmallow, slender fingers in constant motion. Kirill wants to hold one of them in his own and bend Quinn’s fingers manually just to watch the tendons work. He misses having those small hands wrapped around his-
Kirill snaps his eyes away from Quinn’s hands to the tree line. He can’t do that right now. To distract himself, he starts putting together chocolate and graham crackers for Quinn.
When Quinn leans back and everything is ready for him, he says a sweet thank you and looks at Kirill like he wants to lean in but can’t. Kirill smiles a little sadly and nods, letting Quinn get back to putting his s’more together.
They sit around the fire a while longer, Kirill mostly in silence, listening to the brothers swap stories. He hears a few really good stories about Quinn when they were kids, more from Jack than Luke, and he gets to see Quinn flustered as he tries fruitlessly to shut them up.
Quinn and Jack get higher and higher, Quinn pressing himself closer to Kirill with every hit. It’s cute. Kirill knows he’s doing a bad job of hiding how cute he finds it because Luke is rolling his eyes every time Kirill catches him looking at them.
Eventually, Luke grabs Jack’s sleeve and stands. “Hey, it’s getting late, I think we’re gonna head to bed.” He says, offering Kirill a pity smile as Quinn wraps his hand around Kirill’s wrist.
“What? I wanna hang out a little longer, you go, I’m staying.” Jack says back, staying planted on his chair.
Luke doesn’t budge though. “No, I think it’s time to head up. Don’t we have an early tee time tomorrow?”
“Is noon early?” Jack asks.
This time, Luke sends Kirill a look that’s almost apologetic. “If you come up, I’ll make you some nachos.”
“Ooh, wait, that sounds really good.” Jack says, finally standing. Kirill is going to need to remember to thank him tomorrow.
He watches them head up to the house, and he can feel Quinn’s breath hit his neck in soft exhales. He turns back to look at Quinn whose face is suddenly very close.
“Have I told you lately how pretty you are?” He asks, very serious.
Kirill giggles and leans back. “No, you haven’t.” He answers honestly.
“No? Why not?”
Shrugging, Kirill reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind Quinn’s ear. “I don’t know. Have I told you lately how pretty you are?”
Quinn ducks his head, a small “Yeah.” falling from his lips.
Kirill hums. A soft, “Good.” falls from his lips.
“I need to tell you more often.” Quinn says, lifting his head back up. He reaches a hand out to hold Kirill’s face gently, thumb swiping over his cheek. “You are so, so pretty, Kirya.” He sounds so sincere, Kirill can feel his face heat up. Quinn is never so openly… anything. “Your eyes are so pretty and I love when you blush like this. So cute.” Quinn giggles.
Kirill is so tempted to hide his face like Quinn always does. He won’t let himself though, too interested in what else Quinn has to say, instead letting a smile creep onto his face. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm. I love your teeth too.” Quinn cringes for a second. “I know that sounds weird, but they’re so nice.” He brings his thumb around Kirill’s face to poke at his canine. Kirill just lets him, lets Quinn stick his thumb into his mouth and run it along his teeth like it’s normal. “I like when you bite me. And when I can see it left over the next day. Or when we kiss and I can feel the gap.” He rests the pad of his thumb over the missing tooth on Kirill’s bottom row.
Kirill wants to lean forward and kiss him now to shut him up, but he’s got Quinn’s thumb in his mouth and he doesn’t know which one he wants more so he chooses to just stay put.
Quinn draws his thumb out from Kirill’s mouth just a little, tugging his lower lip down. “I love this scar too,” He says, bringing his thumb up from the bottom to lightly brush over the little scar he has next to his cupid’s bow. He got it the same time he lost his tooth, a puck to the mouth in Minnesota. Kirill presses a kiss to the pad of Quinn’s thumb just to hear him giggle.
“You’re so good.” Quinn says, like it’s simple. He’s talking like he has all the answers and everything he says is true. It makes Kirill believe he is good. If Quinn says it’s so, it must be.
Kirill smiles again, a little softer this time. “You are too.”
Quinn grins back, something shy and sweet, and he sweeps his thumb across the apple of Kirill’s cheek. “Thank you.” He says, real quiet and soft. Kirill can barely hear it over the crackle of the fire, now slowly dying.
“For what?”
Quinn’s smile turns a little sad and Kirill almost regrets asking. “For thinking I’m good.”
Kirill wishes he were holding Quinn’s face in his hand instead. He leans into Quinn’s touch anyway, and rests a hand on Quinn’s thigh. “You are good Quinny. So good. The best.”
He feels Quinn swipe at his cheek again, touch a little lighter this time. Like Quinn is holding him like something to be revered. Quinn nods and swallows a little harshly. “Okay,” He says, looking away from Kirill’s face and patting him on the cheek before dropping his hand to squeeze the one Kirill still has resting on his thigh. “You wanna head up?”
Kirill turns his hand around to entwine his fingers with Quinn’s. “Not yet.” Quinn turns back to look at him. “Is nice out here.” He leans over to kiss Quinn’s cheek, sweet and gentle. “Maybe you can make me another s’more.”
Quinn giggles and Kirill feels like he’s achieved something. The sad look is gone from Quinn’s eyes. “I knew you liked them.” He says, letting go of Kirill’s hand to reach into the bag for another marshmallow.
Humming, Kirill lets his now free hand run through the hair at the back of Quinn’s head. “Not as much as I like you.”