Archive of Our Own

August 2017

“What the fuck is this?” Shane asks Hayden as he thrusts out his phone, the email loaded with a subject reading: Congratulations, Mr. January 2018! 

“Oh, shit,” Hayden practically blanches where he’s sat at the communal table, going through paperwork. “Um. Surprise?”

“Hayden,” Shane’s gritting his teeth so hard they might crack. “Why the fuck have I apparently managed to win some competition to be in a sexy Firefighter calendar - one that I didn’t even enter?”

“Oh, shit. He got it?” Comeau laughs as he enters the breakroom. “Fuck, we didn’t think you would.”

“Shane, please, calm down,” Hayden’s hand grabs his forearm and tugs him forcibly onto the bench next to him. “Let me explain.”

Hayden shoots a dark look at Comeau until he leaves, and Hayden breaks into a stilted explanation that the annual Ottawa firefighter charity calendar has set up a competition this year, to find the sexiest firefighter from each station who’ll be in it.

The team who’d seen the notification email had agreed almost unanimously that the sexiest firefighter at their station is Shane, so had surreptitiously pulled together all the material from stuff they already had - headshots and news article pictures and training videos - and submitted it, not really thinking much would come off it, given there’s forty-five stations in the province.

There’s been a public vote across the last few weeks, and Shane must have been voted one of the top 10. All of the profits go to the Ottawa Firefighter Charities, so it’s for a good cause, Hayden adds when he can see Shane is far from convinced.

“And no-one thought to ask me if this was something I’d be interested in?” Shane asks, more pissed off at this point than truly angry, almost resigned to his fate. He knows the team think he’s boring, that he’s a stickler for the rules and procedure and protocol but this is an important, high-risk job and Shane’s not going to risk anyone’s safety and fuck what any of them think.

“Fuck you all,” he sighs heavily when Hayden just shrugs helplessly at him. 

“You can always turn it down,” Hayden offers, though he knows that’s exactly the type of challenge that will have Shane going along with it out of sheer fucking stubbornness.

“No, fuck you,” Shane instantly replies, proving Hayden’s thought process true. That and the fact that Comeau had thought he wouldn’t win? Shane’s gonna show him and anyone else in his clique who thought the same.

Three weeks later Shane’s pulling into the car park designated for Fire Station #21. It’s where they’ll be shooting for the calendar today, as the closest to the centre and one of the larger stations with space for what they’ll apparently need, and other stations close enough that they can cope with having part of the station closed off for the shoot.

Shane groans lowly and presses his forehead briefly into his steering wheel. He’d had a lot of time to debate doing this the last three weeks, had almost pulled out a couple of days after the email but his best friend Rose had convinced him he might even have fun, “and it’s for a good cause, Shane.” 

He sighs, but climbs out the car and grabs his gear off the backseat. It’s a short walk across the car park to the station, the layout not far off Shane’s own, and he lets himself in through the open side door as both the garage doors are closed.

“Hey, Hollander,” Scott Hunter greets him where he’s lounging against the wall, watching as a variety of people not in uniform and gear not native to fire stations scurry around.

“Hunter,” Shane returns, steps closer to his colleague and takes a spot against the wall so they can watch everyone else. “You doing this too?”

“Yeah,” Scott grins ruefully at him. “Bribed into it, really.”

Shane huffs a quiet laugh. “Anyone else here yet?”

“Ah, Price from station 35 and a couple of the women. Samantha, from station 9, and Alexandra from 78. Alex has a kitten with her? Not quite sure what’s going on there, but.”

As they speak, two people Shane vaguely recognises from various meet ups walk through the entrance together, Leah (station 62) and her husband Max (station 26). Shane lifts a hand in greeting and they walk over with smiles. Greetings echo around the group, and they’re quickly joined by one of the staffers, looking harried with a clipboard as she checks them off the list.

“Okay, thanks guys. We’re waiting for three more; Rozanov from station 81, Barrett from station 17, and Jennifer from 57. Once they’re here we’ll get started with an intro to the day and what we’re expecting and planning for you all.”

They nod and agree, and are shown to a locker room where they can dump their gear, as well as a breakroom where tea and coffee is laid out for them.

Ryan, Samantha and Alexandra (call-me-Alex) join them, followed by Jennifer shortly after. Just Barrett and Rozanov to go, and Shane doesn’t think he’s met either, though he’s heard of Rozanov, had heard the rumours of how he’d smashed through most of his classes with ease after relocating from Russia, and is also in line for a Medal of Bravery for a rough car rescue he’d done a couple of months ago.

There’s a soft hubbub outside the room as the final two men join them, Barrett tall and stunning with longer hair than is usual, but tied back in a loose bun. Rozanov catches Shane’s eye more, though. He’s in a tight black t-shirt and their black work trousers, framing broad shoulders tapering into a waist so narrow that Shane thinks his fingertips might touch if he wrapped his hands around it. Golden blond curls shine prettily even under the harsh industrial lighting, but not as brightly as his grin and Shane swallows hard and forces himself to focus back on whatever Max had been saying.

“Hello, fellow sexy people!” Rozanov interrupts them all anyway, sounding excitable as he bounds into the room. He gets a few grins, a couple of fondly exasperated sighs, but before introductions can happen the harried staff member from earlier is following them into the room and outlining the plans for the day, pointing to a few pieces of paper around the room that show the schedule.

She explains that Jennifer has to leave before lunch due to other commitments, so they’ll be doing the group shoots and her solo shoot earlier on, as well as Alex’s solo shoot in the morning so that she can take her kitten back home too.

It’s a well-controlled whirlwind from there as they’re shuffled through to the large room off the edge of the apparatus bay, which has been cleared of typical gear and set up with various tables and mirrors and has five members of staff who introduce themselves as the ‘makeup and hair crew’ who are on hand to help ‘make them even prettier’.

Rozanov’s loud as he jokes that he’s “not needed here, then, will go get more coffee”. Shane shakes his head, but the other firefighter isn’t wrong - he’s fucking stunning, and Shane can see why he was voted as hottest from his station, he can’t imagine many people hotter.

The room, now full of all 10 firefighters, appears to have an above-average ratio of unfairly attractive people, who only get slightly more attractive as blemishes are softened and features highlighted by the makeup and hair crew. Shane for his part isn’t a huge fan of the powder they dust on his cheeks, and he’s asked to take care when changing his t-shirt so as not to get any on the fabrics.

Once the makeup crew is done with them they’re shown into the spare dorms and asked to change into their tan uniform trousers but no t-shirts. The dorms are tight, only really space for two bunks and a chair, so there’s two of them to each room, divided by gender but for Leah & Max who are happy to share as a married couple.

Shane tries to ignore the rapid acceleration of his pulse as Rozanov follows him into the dorm they’re pointed at, almost overly aware of the proximity of the fellow firefighter.

“Is nice to meet you,” Rozanov says brightly, as Shane spots his bag on the chair, what must be Rozanov’s on the foot of the bed.

“And you,” Shane nods as cordially as he can, ignores that in the confined space he gets the faintest whiff of an attractive warm, woodsy kind of aftershave, underneath what Shane thinks might be tobacco. 

They don’t have long, so Shane changes into his uniform trousers, is careful in taking his t-shirt off as the makeup crew had asked, and sits on the chair to shove his boots on.

Rozanov says little as they change mercifully quickly and Shane follows him back out to the breakroom, stuffing his thumbs in his pockets so he doesn’t give in to the temptation of pressing his hand into the broad back leading the way.

Fuck, but Rozanov is hot. They’re all hot, Shane reminds himself as the others appear, a row of ten athletic specimens lining up as they take in the breakroom modified into a photo set, the table layout adjusted in front of the cabinets, a Christmas tree pulled out of somewhere and twinkling festively in the corner.

They’re all directed into the space, and the next ninety minutes starts off weird and a little awkward as none of them bar Jennifer or Rozanov apparently know how to pose or act, and the photographer is having to remind the rest of them to ‘relax, please, don’t look like someone’s holding you at gunpoint’.

The tension cracks as Rozanov makes a joke, the ten of them easing into each other’s company as they share the weird experience of the entire thing.

They’re moved around here and there, asked to sit or stand or wrap an arm around their neighbour’s shoulders. Shane still feels a little awkward, but he thinks he’s in good company as the conversation continues to flow and they all get to know each other a little better.

Eventually the photographers signal that they’re happy with the photos they’ve taken, and announce they’ll be splitting up next, with Jennifer on the driveway and Alex in the outdoor break area with her kitten. That seems kinda dangerous to Shane, but he’s never owned a cat and Alex looks coolly confident so who is Shane to know better?

He grabs a coffee and they’ve been told they’re free to wander and observe so long as they don’t interrupt the shoot. He watches Jennifer for a bit, since he’s also been given the driveway as his location for later.

The poses are a little cheesy, and Shane’s just glad they’re using the rear driveway away from the roads, so there are few people passing by to watch. There’s a couple of staff members at the edges of the driveway anyway, gently moving on the one or two people who do pause to take a look and encouraging them to pre-order the calendar if they’re interested.

Once he works out that he’ll basically just either be holding equipment or pretending to work with the truck lingering around starts to feel a bit voyeuristic, so he heads back inside and makes himself another coffee. The breakroom has been tidied away already, noises from the bay suggesting set up going on in there, and he joins Leah, Max and Ryan as they perch at one of the smaller tables. Everyone else is either observing or elsewhere, but conversation between the four of them is easy until they’re called into Apparatus Bay 1 for their second group shot.

Shane’s pleased to see a few rainbow and other LGBT+ flags subtly decorating the truck in a nod to the Pride Month photo for June. He’s out to his station, though he doesn’t advertise elsewhere, and although they’ve not been super supportive he can’t say they’ve treated him any worse than they had before.

This second shot feels a little less awkward, all of them falling into the hang of it as the photographers direct them to “move a little more to the left, that’s it”, or “can you just flex a little more for me, please? Yes, perfect.”

Shane ends up standing next to Rozanov, tucked under his arm in a half-embrace that’s way too comfortable for Shane’s peace of mind. Shane’s arm wraps around his narrow waist, his other arm around Alex’s as she stands on his other side for the final few minutes, and eventually they’re released to lunch.

Most of them bar Rozanov and Max pull on t-shirts before making their way to the breakroom where there’s a spread laid out. Shane gathers a few bits on his plate and takes a seat next to Hunter, Rozanov and Barrett sitting opposite them, Leah and Max sandwiching in at the end of the long bench opposite Price.

“Nice to have the Pride references in the photo, eh?” Leah offers and gets a round of agreement from everyone in earshot.

“Some good representation in general, too, across this group I think,” Hunter agrees, and Shane wonders what he knows of the others. Max is well-known, of course, as one of the few out trans firefighters in the city, and Shane’s heard one or two of his speeches and been moved each time. Hunter’s the president of the LGBTQ+ Firefighters Association for their region, and it’s widely known he’s gay.

“How is your sugar baby?” Ilya asks Hunter with a sharp, teasing grin, and Shane isn’t the only one to almost choke on their lunch.

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Hunter rolls his eyes, but his own grin is soft on his face. “Kip is good, thank you. Ready to start his Masters in a couple weeks.”

Rozanov’s grin widens as he grills Hunter a little about what his boyfriend is studying (art history), and when they’d next be going for drinks (never, if Rozanov insists on continuing to call Kip a ‘sugar baby’).

Leah asks them where they go drinking and the conversation dissolves into a chat about the best gay bars in the city, the Kingfisher apparently Hunter’s regular watering hole, thanks to his fellow station-mate Bennett, whose boyfriend works there. Rozanov turns up regularly like a bad smell, Hunter teases lowly, to which Rozanov mockingly cries that he’s 'being biphobic, fuck you old man’.

Shane forcibly tucks the new information that Rozanov also likes men deep under his ribs, where despite attempting to ignore it is consistently reminded of its presence like an itch he can’t quite scratch.

Barrett confesses that he’s been to the Kingfisher too with his boyfriend, and Ryan tells them that his partner tends to play some of the smaller venues and he follows him around instead. Sam mentions she and her wife often head for the Kingfisher for their pub quizzes, and Rozanov announces with glee that he wants to join them next time to her laughter and easy acceptance.

“Fuck, so it’s just Shane and I that are straight, then?” Leah asks, glancing up and down the table. “Feeling pretty outnumbered here, guys.”

“Oh, I’m not straight,” he corrects her with flushed cheeks, feeling the weight of all eyes landing on him. “I’m gay.”

“Fuck,” she blinks at him in surprise before she laughs softly. “Just me, then.”

“What about Jen, or Alex?” Barrett offers. The two women had left after their second group shot, Alex to return her kitten home and Jen off to whatever engagement she’d had that clashed with the afternoon. 

“Jen’s ace,” Leah tells him, and Shane makes a mental note to google that later. “Alex maybe, I don’t know her very well.”

Shane’s eyes drift and he catches Rozanov’s gaze, and feels heat rise up in his cheeks at the way the other man is looking at him, hazel eyes dark and interested.

He drops his eyes, notes the gold cross hanging off a chain around Rozanov’s neck. He’d spotted it before, but hadn’t had the chance to see more than the glint of gold, and he forces himself to look away again, can still feel the heat of Rozanov’s eyes on him.

The group conversation drifts on, gossip starting to circulate as it always does whenever they have the chance to meet colleagues from other stations. Shane listens in, but has little to offer himself so just lets the conversation carry on around him.

Eventually Max and Price are called away for their individual shoots. Sam follows Ryan, as she’ll be in the fitness room after him so is curious about the setup, and Leah follows her husband so she “can offer moral support - and maybe do a bit of ogling”.

Shane stays for a bit, still picking at his salad, and Rozanov, Barrett and Hunter linger at the table with him. Hunter starts a conversation about the hockey season coming up, some of the news of trades and draft picks over the summer and before he knows it all four of them are in heated debate about the various team’s chances for the upcoming year.

Shane insists Montreal are doing well, they’re a good legacy team building their performance around a young, strong centre and he’s convinced they’ve got a real chance this season. Hunter argues that New York are doing just as well, though Rozanov scoffs at that and tells him he only believes it “because most of the players are old veterans, and you have to support your fellow elders”. 

Shane can’t stop a snicker at that, Scott’s not even that much older than them, maybe only a couple of years or so, but the sheer affront on his face is too funny. Rozanov beams at him as if pleased by Shane’s reaction, and starts making his case for either a Boston win or an Ottawa one.

Barrett agrees with the Ottawa prediction, they’ve had a good right-winger from a trade with Toronto which should give them the added depth they need to go further, he argues, and Shane can’t argue on principle but does anyway for the fun of it.

The three guys are pretty funny, and Shane feels at ease with them in a way he doesn’t always feel with his own team, even Hayden. Maybe it’s the knowledge that they’re all queer, too, that’s a little comforting, as well as the ease in which they seem to be willing to acknowledge it out loud.

Price drops back in to say goodbye as Sam takes his place in the fitness room for her shoot, and agrees to try and make it to the Kingfisher sometime with his boyfriend.

“Fabian is very pretty,” Rozanov confides in them, even as Hunter gets up and heads for the gear room for his own solo shoot. “Saw him sing, once, was beautiful. If he performs we should definitely all go see him.”

Max and Leah reappear, and Shane gets up, having sat now for far too long. He loops around the building once, does a few stretches and push ups to keep his blood flowing. He’s not used to sitting around in a fire station with little to do - there’s always something, from equipment maintenance to inventory to meal prepping to paperwork - and he’s a little antsy to get his shoot over and done with, looming just an hour away.

He passes the gear room on his way back in, spots Rozanov and Barrett inside the door heckling Hunter so hovers in the doorway just out of curiosity.

The gear room has a few Canadian flags dotted around, as Hunter’s only wearing tight red underwear and posing as if pulling his trousers on or off.

“So, you get July for Canada Day,” Rozanov’s chirping with a grin, "Because you were born in 1867, yes?”

“Fuck off Rozanov,” Hunter grates out between gritted teeth, even as the other staff in the room can’t help but grin.

“Ah, sorry,” Rozanov replies, entirely unsorry, “You are older than that, no? Is why you have been chosen for calendar, so those who prefer older men can still have something to look at?”

“So you agree I’m hot?” Hunter shoots back, and Ilya cackles.

Shane stifles his own smile, but the room’s feeling a little crowded with so many observers so he slips back down the corridor, makes a detour to the dorm to check his phone.

He’s got a couple of texts from Hayden checking in and replies quickly saying it’s going fine, is putting his phone away when a shadow appears in the doorway.

“You okay?” Rozanov asks him, one hip against the door frame, almost boxing Shane in.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You look… stressed.”

“It’s just the waiting around,” Shane offers, and gets a half-disbelieving eyebrow back. “Fine. This kind of thing isn’t usually something I’d do,” he admits, waving a hand towards the door as if to encompass… everything.

“So you are... being brave? Trying something new, to sign up for competition and this?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly sign myself up,” Shane admits, and when Ilya frowns darkly at him explains how his station had signed him up without his knowledge. Ilya’s frown only deepens, though, as he mentions that he’d half carried on with it all out of spite.

“They do not sound like a good team,” Ilya practically growls the words, and Shane’s a little surprised by the vehemence in his tone, that it sounds like Ilya’s defending him more than anything.

“They have my back at work,” Shane shrugs, “I don’t need them to be close friends or anything otherwise.”

“Still,” Rozanov mutters something lowly in Russian, before shaking his head like a dog and meeting Shane’s eyes again. “Okay. So, we show them, yes? Make this most successful calendar in history?”

Shane gets stuck on the ‘we’ for a second, as the implications sink in.

“Come,” Ilya says imperiously, and Shane’s helpless but to follow as he strides into the breakroom, running a hand through his hair as all those back and shoulder muscles ripple.

Shane watches as he catches one of the staff who are in the little room they’ve coopted as the office, and starts talking rapidfire about Instagram and posts and things that Shane admittedly tries not to use or think about.

Ilya must get the agreement he wants, though, and the staff member is beaming at Ilya as he catches Shane’s wrist and tugs him down to the breakroom.

“Troy!” Ilya grins at Barrett, who’s tapping at his phone as he leans against the kitchen counter. “Your Harris has many instagram followers, yes? He will promote calendar, if you ask?”

“I’m pretty sure he was already planning on it,” Barrett replies, looking a little confused.

“Good! Make sure you post too, on instagram or twitter or whatever you use. Shane’s station did not think he would win competition, so now we are making this calendar the most popular of all time.”

“All time might be stretching it,” Shane protests weakly, but shrugs in confirmation at Barrett’s questioning look. “And don’t feel obliged, Barrett.”

“Call me Troy,” Troy tells him gently. “And no obligation here. Roz, do you know if we’d get any of today’s pictures as promo shoots, or do we have to take our own?”

“Ah, good question. Let me ask.”

Shane’s wrist suddenly feels freezing as Ilya’s hand drops away and the man disappears back towards the office.

“You signed up to prove to them you’d win, then?” Troy asks him, blue eyes intense.

Shane sighs, and recounts the story of how he didn’t actually sign up himself. Troy’s brow furrows just as Rozanov’s has, displeasure clear.

“They always that shit?” he asks him, but they’re both distracted as Ilya comes back in and informs them they’ll get promo shots that will be made intentionally blurry, but if they want to start posting behind-the-scenes photos now, so long as they do it in neutral spaces like the breakroom then the calendar team is happy.

“Come here,” Rozanov tells Shane, pulling out his phone from his pocket and handing it to Troy. “Take your t-shirt off.”

“What the fuck?”

“We will take photo now,” Rozanov insists, as Troy rolls his eyes but lifts the phone in readiness.

Shane hesitates, but peels his t-shirt off at Rozanov’s insistent expression and lets Rozanov arrange him so they’re stood next to each other, Rozanov’s arm over Shane’s shoulders.

Troy takes a few photos and hands the phone back to Rozanov, who shows Shane.

They’re both looking serious, but rather than awkward it’s… kinda hot. Rozanov’s eyes are piercing where he stares down the lens, the sharpness of his cheekbones emphasised, matched somehow by Shane’s stoic expression and dark eyes lending a bit of gravitas, even as he flushes to think it even in the safety of his own head.

“Yes, very hot,” Ilya nods in satisfaction and opens Instagram, uploading the photo with a caption. “You have instagram?” he asks Shane, almost off-handedly.

“Oh, yeah. I don’t use it much, though.”

“Give me handle, I will tag you anyway.”

Shane tells him, and watches as Ilya adds a couple of hashtags and posts the picture, grinning brightly at Shane when done.

“Shane?” one of the staff calls out to him, “Are you ready for your shoot?”

Shane apologises and follows them out to the driveway, having lost track of time.

His solo shoot is a little awkward again to start, he feels like he loses all control of how to move or act or smile. He didn’t think he would be, but he’s almost grateful when Rozanov turns up, not to heckle or anything but to watch silently from the sidelines.

The weight of his eyes on Shane makes Shane want to do better, forces some of the awkwardness away under the drive and competitiveness that swells in him. He’s maybe halfway through, is asked to brace a sledgehammer across his back, wrists across the wood either side of his shoulders, when Rozanov falls directly in his line of sight and Shane loses his breath.

Hazel eyes are dark, and that’s clearly lust writ large across those sharp cheekbones, the plush upper lip. Shane can’t look away, feels his own desire rise to reflect it, pulls the stiff bar of wood harder into his shoulders and tenses to redirect blood that threatens to pool south as Rozanov- Ilya - holds him captive.

“That’s perfect, Shane,” the photographer praises him, and someone passes between Ilya and Shane and breaks the spell. “I honestly think we’re almost done. Just a few more, okay?”

Shane nods, places the hammer carefully back in its rightful place in the equipment rack and tells himself he’s not disappointed when he turns back to see Ilya’s disappeared.

He finishes his shoot not long later, and heads around the edge of the building where he can hear something of a commotion, including a dog barking.

He almost trips over his feet as he finds Ilya in the outdoor break area grinning, sat on the grass with a dog panting in his face, two paws on his chest. He’s murmuring something soothing and inviting in Russian, capable hands stroking neatly through the dog’s fur and Shane feels an irrational surge of jealousy.

Before he can say anything the photographer is rounding the corner, and immediately dropping to their knees with their camera to take photos.

“Roz dotes on Anya,” Troy murmurs as he comes to stand next to Shane, shaking his head fondly. “He asked for May specifically so he could use the excuse of ‘National Dog Rescue Day’ being on the 20th to bring her and have her in the shoot with him.”

Shane hums in acknowledgement, brain cataloguing every ripple of Ilya’s biceps as he stands, lifting his dog into his arms. 

“He’s a good dog owner,” Troy continues, “Cares a lot, you know? Puts her in the fanciest dog kennels he can afford when he’s got a long shift - calls it the ‘doggy hotel’. He’s a good guy, overall.”

Shane blinks at the earnestness in which Troy tells him this, glances over to see earnest blue eyes glancing between them.

“He’s a little lonely, though, I think,” Troy confides quietly, “He doesn’t miss Russia, necessarily, but I think it’s been a bit of an adjustment for him and although we’re good friends, shit, sorry-” he gets cut off as one of the staff come up, remind him they’re waiting for him in the gear room. He apologises and jogs away into the station, leaving Shane a little bewildered, but the words quickly fade to the back of his thoughts, drowned out by the way Ilya clutches Anya in one arm, laughing brightly as she licks his face, pure joy emanating from both of them.

Their eyes meet from across the grass and this time rather than going heated it turns soft, something warm and unbearably fond arcing across the distance between them.

He’s done for today, knows he could just go home now and no-one would mind but he waits. He does leave Ilya and Anya and the photography crew so he can pull on a hoody and change into his sweats, takes his bag and carries it out to his car.

“Sh- Hollander,” Ilya calls after him, and Shane turns to see him jogging across the carpark, alone.

“Where’s Anya?”

“What? Anya? She is with the crew,” Ilya frowns at him, confusion evident. “I would not leave her somewhere unsafe.”

“I know that,” Shane reassures him gently. “Shall we go get her?”

“You are not leaving?”

“I was just putting my stuff in my car,” Shane replies. “I wasn’t planning on leaving yet.”

“Oh. I see.” Ilya flushes, looking the closest to embarrassed he has yet. “I, ah.”

“You should go inside, it’s getting cold,” Shane says, glad for his hoody as the September afternoon bleeds into evening and the temperatures start to drop pretty rapidly.

“You do not like the view?” Ilya pouts teasingly, and Shane’s brain short-circuits briefly as he gestures in invitation at his torso, trousers almost dangerously low on the v-lines of his hips.

“I like the view,” he promises, lets some of the want enter his voice and delights in the way Ilya reacts, the way he stands stock-still as Shane takes a step forward into his space. “I’d like it better if you weren’t obviously freezing,” Shane adds with a grin, boldly pressing a finger to one nipple, standing up hard in the cold and Ilya groans satisfactorily low at the pressure. He captures Shane hands, presses flat to his chest.

“Well, we can fix that. And then, if you are free, we could go for drink? Or dinner?”

“That sounds like a plan,” Shane agrees. Ilya smiles brightly, pulls Shane’s fingers up to press a quick kiss to his knuckles, and then leads Shane by the hand back into the firestation. 

October 2017