Archive of Our Own

“Ilya, I don’t think you need to ‘pre-game’ before a wine tasting,” Shane said dubiously, watching him chug a glass of merlot. 

He finished, slamming the glass down on the marble countertops, making Shane cringe. “You stretch before a game, do you not?”

“That’s not–”

“I am being very supportive husband, taking your mom out to her pretentious little wine tasting when her best friend cruelly abandons her. Stop criticizing my methods.”

They had arrived at Niagara-on-the-Lake three days ago, sharing an upscale Airbnb and an increasing collection of wine with his parents. Yuna’s roommate from college had been planning to join her for the day but had cancelled at the last minute. Arguably Yuna and Ilya did not need any further bonding time. Left to their own devices, each of them would egg on the other until they came back from an afternoon of antiquing with a brass telescope and a painting Shane was certain was haunted. Nevertheless, neither Shane nor David were interested in sampling any more icewine.

Yuna waltzed out from the living room, eyeing the bottle on the counter. “Oh, is that the 2020 we bought yesterday? Pour me a little, that was good.”

Shane looked at David desperately, who shrugged. Fine. Let him handle the inevitable possessed antiques then. At least there wasn’t a carnival nearby, Ilya loved to throw his money at stupid games and the lake probably didn’t need more than one five foot inflatable alligator. 

Yuna had just finished her glass of wine when the Uber arrived, linking arms with Ilya as they headed out. Ilya turned and winked at Shane as he moved to close the front door.

“Wait,” Shane called after him. Ilya raised his eyebrows at him, waiting. “Don’t come back with anything living.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Obviously not, Shane. The nearest llama sanctuary is hours away.” 

The fact that Ilya knew the closest place to procure a llama was actually more concerning but he had already shut the door. 

“You’ll notice the minerality in this vintage,” the vineyard worker said haughtily from behind the counter, sticking her nose in the glass and inhaling deeply.

Ilya nodded knowingly, turning to Yuna when she had moved to pour samples for the couple next to him. “Does that mean, like, dirt?” he whispered.

Yuna wrinkled her nose. “I think it’s what they say when they can’t think of something else.” She took a sip. “It’s certainly not fruity.”

“Can’t relate.” Ilya downed the rest of his glass, frowning as Yuna spit daintily into the bucket. “Just drink it. We’re getting a ride back. Relax."

“I suppose you’re right. We’re on vacation.” She smiled conspiratorially and clinked glasses with Ilya.

The vineyard worker drifted back over, gesturing to their glasses. “What did you think?”

Ilya tapped the glass with his fingernail, making it ring melodically. “Yes, I definitely got that wet stone note.” He sniffed the empty glass, waving it in the air. “Hints of… um, grapes. What’s next?”

Ilya caught Yuna’s wrist on the way out of the vineyard, gesturing at the small wooden sign across the street.

“Wait, that place says they offer free tastings. We should go. To develop our palates.”

Yuna glanced at her watch. “Well, the boys are making dinner and that’s not for hours. I guess we should make the most out of our time in town.”

Ilya clapped a hand on her shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Oh look, there’s another vineyard next door to that one. And more after that! We should compare the samples. For cultural purposes.”

Ilya and Yuna returned home three hours later than Shane anticipated, giggling as they stumbled through the door. Shane caught his mom’s arm as she wobbled while taking off her shoes.

“Have fun?” he said dryly.

Yuna beamed at him, face flushed. “Yes, we did.”

“How many vineyards did you go to? I thought it was just one.”

“Five,” Yuna said at the same time Ilya said “Six.”

“You did a vineyard bar crawl?”

“They were all right next to each other, Shane. It was the most economical choice,” Ilya reasoned, swaying.

For the sake of his sanity, Shane moved on. “Come to the living room, we’re making dinner now.”

Ilya peeled off in the opposite direction but his mom followed him so that was progress at least. She laid down on the couch and flung an arm over her eyes. David’s head popped up from the kitchen.

“You okay, honey?”

“They sold local honey at the last vineyard,” she said dreamily. “I bought a piece of honeycomb.” 

Shane made eye contact with his dad and mouthed drunk. Ilya materialized in the kitchen with a bottle of wine, struggling with a corkscrew and mangling the cork before filling two glasses nearly to the brim. He set one down on the coffee table in front of Yuna, gingerly placing it on a coaster.

Ilya slid a hand around Shane’s waist and held the glass of wine up to Shane’s lips. He pushed it away. Ilya shrugged and took a sip himself.

“What’s for dinner?”

David stirred a pot on the stove. “Pasta, salad. Sauce is almost done, then we can toss the salad and get to eating.”

Ilya waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Shane shook his head. “Spoilsport,” Ilya muttered into his glass.

Shane wiggled out of Ilya’s grasp and grabbed two bowls from the kitchen counter, setting them down on the coffee table. “Snacks,” he said, gesturing to the dishes.

Ilya peered at them warily. “For appetizer we have… punishment?”

Shane huffed. “Marcona almonds and crudités.”

Ilya poked at a sad strip of celery. “These are meant to be a vehicle for dip, Shane. Preferably one that has one million calories.”

Shane crossed his arms over his chest. “You like vegetables, Ilya.”

“Yes,” Ilya said patiently, “when something is done to them. We don’t have to suffer through a plain raw turnip.”

“It’s a radish,” Shane mumbled. 

“Get the honeycomb!” Yuna said brightly, sitting up with newfound energy.

“Ooh yes, bee candy,” Ilya said, scuttling towards the bags they had left at the entrance. He gasped as he looked inside. “Yuna! The jam! The cheese!”

“The jam!” Yuna clapped her hands in delight. “Make a… a…. snack plank.”

Shane blinked at her. “Do you mean a charcuterie board?”

“She said what she said, Hollander,” Ilya said from the kitchen. How did he move so fast?

To his dismay, his mom picked up the full glass of wine in front of her, the wine swirling dangerously close to the edge. Ilya put the charcuterie board on the coffee table, pushing Shane’s crudités until the plate hung halfway off the table. Shane nudged it back on.

“Geez, how much food did you guys get?” The charcuterie board was packed full of food and he was sure none of them were things they already had at home. Was that caviar? 

“The last place had a little farm!” Yuna said with glassy eyes, popping a large piece of brie in her mouth.

“Yes! With baby cows. None of them were for sale,” Ilya said mournfully. He slid in next to Shane on the couch, sliding a hand partially up the back of his shirt. He was particularly handsy when drinking.

“Thank god.” Shane should really keep better tabs on their joint savings account. Maybe review local livestock laws. Ilya was scratching at his lower back and Shane leaned over to kiss him despite himself. He tasted like red wine and, apparently, several vineyard gift shops. 

“Everybody ready?” David called from the kitchen, dusting off his hands.

Yuna stood up, teetering, and walked to the kitchen, reaching for the large bowl of salad. David pulled the bowl slowly away from her.

“Maybe Shane should help.”

Yuna sighed dramatically, reaching past him. “Says the man who regularly walks into the furniture that has been in the same place for fifteen years.”

Ilya giggled. “The fighting with furniture is genetic? Wow.”

“That was like one time, Ilya.”

Ilya drifted his hand higher up Shane’s spine. “I will give you $500 right now if you show me you don’t have a bruise on your hip at the exact height of our dining room table.”

The latest bruise was fading and basically didn’t even count. “I’m not taking off my pants, sorry.”

Ilya leaned in close to his ear. “Later you will.”

Shane scooted away a few inches. “Oh my god, you’re supposed to whisper when you get that close.”

The edge of Ilya’s mouth turned down. “I did.”

“You did not. C’mon, let’s go sit down.”

Ilya trotted after Shane, sitting next to him at the dinner table and resting his hand on his thigh automatically. Shane reached for Ilya’s goblet of wine, drinking some himself in hopes of slowing Ilya down.

The salad made it successfully to the table despite Yuna’s compromised gross motor skills and David sat the bowl of pasta in front of Ilya. 

“Mmm, carbs,” Ilya said under his breath, keeping a hand on Shane’s thigh and attempting to serve himself one handedly. Half of the sauce-covered noodles slid onto the tablecloth. ”Oopsies.”

Shane rubbed his temples. “Ilya…”

Ilya cocked his head at Shane. “Ah, so rude of me. Sorry.” He dipped the serving utensil back in the noodles, lifting a forkful of pasta towards Shane’s dish, who hurriedly pushed his plate under Ilya’s hand, the noodles plopping neatly on his plate. Ilya looked absurdly pleased with himself. 

Yuna stood up abruptly. “We should make garlic bread.”

Ilya groaned in delight at the thought while David stared at her in disbelief.

“Now?”

“Yes David, now,” she said firmly, already halfway to the kitchen. “Live a little. I won’t tell your cardiologist about the butter.”

Ilya reached for the salad bowl and Shane gently pushed his hand away, serving him salad himself. The tablecloth could only handle so much abuse.

Ilya looked at him fondly. “I love you. Even though you hate llamas.”

“Ilya, I don’t hate llamas, I just don’t think we can—“

“Where’d the parsley go?” Yuna yelled from the fridge, pawing through a produce drawer.

“We don’t have any,” David called back.

Yuna clicked her tongue. “We do. You just have man-eyes.” She opened the second produce drawer and held up a bag triumphantly.

Shane kept an eye on Ilya as he ate, waiting to intervene if he reached for the pasta again. Ilya stared into space thoughtfully, chewing.

“What?” Shane asked.

“Do you think ducks have best friends?” Ilya said in a hushed voice, eyes shining with tears. 

Yuna abandoned whatever was happening with the garlic bread situation to hug Ilya’s neck. “Of course they do!” she said, voice trembling. Shane didn’t really know how to respond to this so he awkwardly patted Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya swallowed. “Right. Of course they do,” he said confidently. He turned towards Shane. “Ducks are smaller than llamas,” he said hopefully.

“Um. Maybe we talk about chickens for the cottage sometime?” He didn’t really know how that would work when they were only there a few weeks out of the year but a chicken coop wasn’t that crazy and it seemed to satisfy Ilya, who returned to his food. 

Yuna also sat back down at the table after loading her hastily made garlic bread into the oven, humming to herself as she served herself. She concentrated intently on scooping the salad up with tongs, dropping her portion back in the serving bowl as her head popped up.

“Oh! We should put on music.” She stabbed at her phone with unfocused eyes and picked an ABBA album to play at maximum volume.

David furrowed his brow. “Maybe something more relaxing for dinner?”

Yuna attempted dishing up salad again, waving a dismissive hand. “Smooth jazz is not allowed on vacation, David.”

Ilya snorted, connecting Yuna’s phone to the Airbnb’s Bluetooth speaker, causing ABBA to shake the walls. 

“Oh shit.” He squinted at the speaker controls, poking at the buttons. “Hold on. The words are so small.”

“The minus sign usually lowers the volume,” Shane volunteered loudly. 

“No rush,” Yuna said over the music, leaning back in her chair. “This is the correct volume for ABBA.”

Ilya managed to adjust the volume to something that was less likely to permanently damage their hearing and eased back into his chair next to Shane, pressing a kiss to his hair on the way. 

Shane nudged him with an elbow. “Eat.” Carbs could absorb alcohol or something, right? “The ducks will be fine,” he added quickly because Ilya already looked misty-eyed. 

Yuna’s fork clattered onto her plate as she dropped it. “Oh fuck,” she covered her mouth, abashed. “I mean, oh fudge. The garlic bread.” She rushed to the kitchen, cracking open the oven. “It’s fine!” she sang. She set the cookie sheet on the countertop and attempted to transfer a loaf to a plate. “Fuck,” she hissed, drawing back her hand. “I mean fudge. No, I mean fuck, that hurt.”

“I’m, um, going to help your mother,” David said, excusing himself and shooing his wife away from the sizzling cookie sheets. Yuna slumped onto David as he moved the garlic bread with tongs to the serving platter.

“I’m sorry I said your pasta was bland,” she murmured into his shoulder.

David furrowed his brow. “You didn’t.”

Yuna straightened. “Oh. Nevermind.” She patted his arm and took the garlic bread from him, serving Ilya half the baguette.

“What should we have for dessert?” Ilya said around a mouthful of garlic bread.

Yuna lit up. “We should do s’mores around the firepit!” 

David and Shane shared another meaningful glance. 

“Maybe not something that involves fire,” Shane said carefully.

Yuna looked pleadingly at David. “David. Sweetheart. Love of my life.” She put a hand on his arm. “You can build such a good fire because you’re so strong.” She smiled at him winningly. 

“Let’s just do the pie I bought in town,” David suggested, looking overwhelmed.

Yuna looked decently content with the compromise but Shane vowed to keep tabs on the firepit the remainder of the evening. Had there been a fire extinguisher somewhere?

Ilya had worked his way through an alarming amount of garlic bread and drifted a hand towards Shane’s inner thigh. Shane swatted it away and Ilya pouted, sticking out his bottom lip. 

“Ugh. Have more wine, Hollander.” He nudged his wine glass closer to Shane.

“Ilya, you could give me all the wine in the world and it wouldn’t matter, not in front of my parents.” His parents were blissfully preoccupied, Yuna eating her garlic bread like it was corn on the cob under David’s close scrutiny.

“I wouldn’t do anything,” Ilya grumbled, dragging his chair closer so he could massage Shane’s neck. “I was just… checking.”

“Alright, well, nothing has changed. Are you all done? Can you help me take stuff back to the kitchen?”

“Yes, master,” Ilya said solemnly, stacking his plate on top of Shane’s. David looked like he was considering doing the same with Yuna’s but she stared daggers at him when his hand approached the remains of her garlic bread. He retreated and grabbed the salad bowl instead.

Ilya dutifully rinsed off the dishes and passed them to Shane to load in the dishwasher because obviously Shane knew how to load it correctly. With that out of the way, Shane pulled the pie from the fridge, still in its brown cardboard. Ilya peered over his shoulder.

“What kind is it?”

“Peach, I think.”

Ilya made a garbled drooling noise. Shane nodded towards the freezer.

“Do you want the vanilla ice cream with it?”

Ilya looked at him incredulously. “No Shane, I would like to voluntarily experience less joy.” He opened the freezer, fishing a pint of ice cream out. “Of course I do. I’ll grab spooms.”

“You just said spooms.”

Ilya scoffed. “I did not. You misheard me.” He quietly repeated spoons to himself while going through the utensil drawer.

Shane dropped the pie off at the table, slicing Ilya an extra-large piece so that he could pretend not to want dessert and then steal half of Ilya’s. Being married was the best. 

His mom looked like she was starting to drag a little bit but she perked up at the sight of the pie. 

“Perfect. Pie is just the right appetizer for s’mores.”

David passed her a spoon. “No s’mores tonight, honey.”

“You need to take one of my special gummies,” she grumbled. Shane choked on a sip of Ilya’s wine.

“See?” Ilya said, scooping a leaning tower of ice cream onto his pie. “I told you everybody takes them. I’m stopping on the drive back.” He paused, ice cream dripping off his spoon in lazy droplets. “Maybe there’s a dispensary by the llama sanctuary,” he said thoughtfully. 

Shane chose to ignore that. With any luck Ilya would forget about it by tomorrow. He reached his spoon into Ilya’s bowl for another bite of stolen pie and Ilya pretended not to notice. They ate in comfortable silence, Ilya only coming up for air when the spoon scraped an empty bowl.

Shane yawned. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water. Have you had any recently?”

“There is water in wine, no? Seems redundant."

So two glasses, Shane noted mentally on his way to the kitchen cabinet. By the time he had filled his water glasses, Ilya and Yuna had moved back to the living room, perched on opposite ends of the couch. 

Ilya patted the cushion next to him. “Shaaaaane,” he whined. 

Shane handed him a glass of water, setting the other down on the end table. “Scoot.”

“No,” Ilya said happily, pulling Shane into him. He was drinking the water, at least. Ilya had seemingly entered the stage of drunk where he teased Shane (moderately) less and primarily clung to him like an orphaned koala. This part wasn’t so bad. He just would have to feed him snacks later. 

Our Last Summer started playing over the speaker, resurrecting Yuna from the couch. 

“David!” she called. “Come dance with me!”

David didn’t have much of a choice as she marched towards him and dragged him to the living room. He slipped a hand around her waist anyway, his other hand lacing into hers. He smiled at her affectionately and dipped her, her head landing upside down near Ilya and Shane on the couch.

“Up, boys! It’s required, I’m afraid.”

Ilya hopped up from the couch, pulling Shane to his feet and pulling him chest-to-chest. Shane looped his hands around Ilya’s neck.

“I can’t dance,” he complained. It always made him feel self-conscious. His body knew how to move on the ice, not like this.

“Perfect,” Ilya said, wrapping his hands around his waist and swaying with Shane. “I can’t either after five vineyards. Six?”

Besides them, David spun Yuna and she giggled while spinning back into him, where he dipped her dramatically again, her head nearly touching the floor.

“I love your family,” Ilya said, grinning.

“It’s your family,” Shane pointed out, letting Ilya guide him around the room.

Ilya dipped Shane down slightly, mostly as an excuse to get him into a more convenient position for kissing. 

“Yes,” Ilya said between kisses. “I guess it is.”