I wrote this right after the finale and then didn't look at it for a while and then got distracted by AU prompts and I realized I should probably post it. You can read all about Buck and Theo needing a chopper rescue on AO3 here, and here's a preview:
Buck gingerly gets his phone from his pocket and sighs when he sees that it's smashed.
“Buck?” Theo calls tentatively, sounding terrified, and Buck wishes he could hug him and reassure him that everything's going to be fine.
Except Buck slipped on loose terrain and ended up in a fucking ravine in the Angeles Forest. He'd been trying to rescue Theo’s water bottle from rolling away when he'd knocked it off a rock, and he'd slipped. His side is killing him, his ankle is definitely sprained, and he's scraped up.
“I'm okay, kid!” he calls back. “Do not get too close to the edge or go anywhere, okay? I need you to make a big promise to me. This is really important.”
He looks up and sees Theo peeking over the edge, his face red and teary.
“Hey, I'm okay,” Buck says, trying for a grin. “I'm just not going to be able to climb out of here by myself. And I need you to stay right there so one of us can be safe.”
“O-okay,” Theo replies before a big hiccup of a sob.
Buck presses his forehead to the rocky face of the ravine and tries to keep himself from crying, too. He's stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, and they haven't seen anyone all day. It'll take some from the parks department seeing his car in the lot after sunset before anyone gets called, and then it can take hours for search and rescue to figure out where they are. And Theo will be stuck in the cold and the dark, and it's Buck’s fault.
He feels his watch buzz and lifts his head sharply.
It's cracked but telling him it's detected a fall and asking if he wants to call emergency services.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, swiping across to call.
“9-1-1, what's your emergency?” an operator asks a moment later, and Buck pumps his fist triumphantly.
“H-hi, my name is Evan Buckley. My son and I are hiking in the Angeles Forest, I-I don't know our exact location, but I slipped and went into a ravine. My ankle is sprained, and there's no good holds to climb out. My son isn't hurt, but he's above me on the trail and alone with minimal supplies, and he's four,” he says in a rush just in case the call drops. “I'm going to need a helicopter, there's no road access, and they won't be able to land. I'm going to ask my son to take the emergency blanket from my first aid kid out to catch the sun. He's wearing a blue shirt.”
“Alright, Evan, we're going to get you some help. You might need to sit tight for a bit while we dispatch a helicopter to your location. Do you have water?”
Buck looks at the bottle next to his foot and the dinosaur on the side of it. “Uh, yeah. A little. My son has some, too.”
“And you said your ankle is sprained. Did you hit your head or your back at all as you fell?”
“Uh, n-no, I just banged up my abdomen and knees and hands. I have a first aid kit. Just a second.” He lowers his wrist and looks up. “Hey, Theo? Can you go into my backpack and get the first aid kit out?”
Theo disappears from sight for a moment before holding it over the ravine. “Do you want it?”
“Not yet. Can you put it on the ground and open it up? There's a square inside that's as big as a sandwich. I need you open that and take the big thing inside that looks like foil and open it up. Do not let go of that.” He waits for a moment and digs his fingers into the rock. “You got it?”
“It's hard to open!” Theo yells, then a few grunts of frustration. “Oh wait, there's a button.”
Buck smiles and sniffs back a rush of tears. “You got it, buddy, you're doing so good. Is it unfolded?”
There's a lot of rustling and then Theo is poking his head over. “I got it!”
He feels a swell of pride. “Awesome. Can you close the first aid kit and drop it on me? And then don't look over the edge anymore, I don't want you to slip. But you can talk to me, and I'll talk to you. I'm on the phone with 9-1-1, and they're going to send someone to help get me out of here, so we'll get to go home soon.”
“Is Aunt Maddie on the phone?” Theo asks.
“No, Aunt Maddie isn't on the phone.” Buck sighs and lifts his wrist again. “Are you, uh, in main dispatch? My sister's Maddie Han, she’s one of the managers.”
“I'm in a satellite center, but I can see if I can patch through,” the operator says. “You're doing great, Evan.”
Buck laughs and looks up just as Theo dangles the first aid kit over the edge. “Thanks. I'm a firefighter.”
“Yeah? What station?”
“The 118.” He catches the first aid kit and carefully moves so he's sitting instead of kneeling. There's a slope next to him deeper into the ravine, and he's not willing to risk going down that, too.
“I've heard stories about you guys.”
Buck laughs. “Yeah, they're all probably true. What's your name?”
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Ottawa wins the Cup, wins it in LA, and due to the proximity to stardom and the several actual celebrities who make a point to come out and celebrate with the Centaurs, there are approximately seven hundred angles of the festivities on every social media by the following morning.
One of these is your classic TMZ highly invasive round-the-corner spy shot of Shane and Ilya--like, waiting for an Uber, is what it looks like, and the bass from inside the club is pounding and you can barely hear what they're saying except that the guy standing next to them is also TMZ and he's got a directional mic sticking out of his pocket pointed at them and when he gets into position you can hear Shane Hollander, like, fucking giggle.
"I'm sorry," Shane says, and his arms are around Ilya's neck. "I got--I'm a little drunk."
"It's okay," Ilya says, and he brushes a hand through Shane's hair. "Did you have fun?"
"Ye-s-s-s," Shane says, nodding his head decisively. "We won the Cu-p."
"Yes we did. I am proud of you."
"I'm proud of you!" Shane cups a hand around the back of Ilya's neck and giggles again into his shoulder. "Why aren't you drunk? I drank the same things as you--"
"I'm drunk," Ilya chuckles. "But I have twenty pounds on you and I am Russian, so."
"That's not a thing. That's not really a thing." Shane sighs and goes a bit boneless against Ilya's body and says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, uh--"
"Shh. You said you had fun, and this is all that matters. My beautiful winner." He kisses the side of Shane's face, loudly and repeatedly.
Shane makes a sound that Twitter, TikTok and Instagram comment sections will all agree is a purr.
There are also, by the following morning, about a hundred discrete comments on various platforms that all say some version of Oh I just know he talks him through it.
thinking about shane who in his late 30’s discovers that he might be autistic and kind of freaks out about it because he’s already the gay hockey player and the asian hockey player he doesn’t also want to be the autistic hockey player with all the negative stereotypes it comes with but he finally confides in ilya one day and says i think i might have autism and ilya gives him a soft look and says yes i think maybe you do and at first shane gets a little angry at ilya because why does it seem like you knew? how did you know? why didn’t you tell me? and ilya says because i think you deserve to figure out how you feel without me plantning ideas in your head and no matter what you would still be my shane, trying to be all sweet about it and shane gives him a careful look and asks is that why you haven’t turned on the overheard light in 2 years and ilya sighs and nods
it wasn't my intention to post the whole thing on here, but looks like i'm doing that again. i think there will be one more part after this.
parts one & two.
Tommy dropped his bank card. ”What're we gonna do on our second date, primal play?”
”That sounds fun.”
”You know what it is?”
”That's the one where you chase each other through the woods, right?” Buck asked. The bartender eyed both of them, but took Tommy's card. ”Or is that a different one? I get the animal ones mixed up.”
Tommy put his massive, and surprisingly warm, hand on Buck's shoulder. ”I need you to stop talking for a minute.”
Buck pouted a little, but bit his tongue until Tommy got his receipt. Tommy stood up and Buck's eyes went wide, as he leaned in.
”How about we go somewhere where other people can't hear us?”
Tommy was so funny. ”Are we doing the kidnapping thing?”
”Evan,” Tommy said. ”I don't know, but what I do know, is that I don't want to get arrested, and things are getting a little indecent here.”
”I can stop?”
”Please, don't.” Tommy stepped behind him and bodily pulled Buck out of his seat, steering him toward the door.
”Sounds like we're doing the kidnapping thing,” Buck threw over his shoulder and did his best not to let his knees buckle, when Tommy's hands travelled from his shoulders, down his back, and settled on his hips.
Once outside, Tommy didn't stop leading him by the hips. ”Where are we going?”
Tommy didn't reply. Instead, he led them around the corner and spun Buck around. His hand came up to grab the back of Buck's head, so it didn't hit the bricks behind him. Oh. Oh, Tommy was kissing him. Buck closed his eyes and moaned softly.
Tommy broke the kiss, even though Buck tried to chase him. ”Don't ever stop talking,” Tommy breathed and leaned back in. His whole body surged forward, pressing Buck into the wall.
Buck was going to come in his pants. He wrapped his arms around Tommy's neck, pulling himself up on his tiptoes, and Tommy held him. Oh, fuck, Tommy could carry him. Tommy was huge and a firefighter and he could definitely carry him.
”Are you gonna have your way with me?”
Tommy turned his head and laughed. ”I'm sorry, I didn't drive. I'd have to plan it.” He sounded genuinely sorry.
”Wait, you'd actually do it?”
”I would do an– I would, yes.”
”Tommy,” Buck cupped his face and pulled him back in. ”We need to get an Uber,” he said in between kisses. ”I need to get my hand down your pants.”
Tommy put a hand on the middle of Buck's chest, pinning him, so he could step away. He dragged a hand across his mouth and got out his phone. ”Where to?”
Buck pointed, ”I live ten, fifteen minutes up the road.” Tommy handed over his phone, so Buck could put his address in.
Their eyes met over the phone. They smiled, then grinned, until they laughed. Tommy dragged his hands through his hair, his cheeks charmingly pink.
”You said second date, earlier. That makes this is our first.”
”You told your mom you'd call her back. Might as well get a few of them out of the way, so you don't have to lie as much.”
”Oh, so we're working on the cover story?”
”Is it a cover story, if we've actually been on a date?”
Buck was about to lay one on him for being so smart, when their driver pulled up and leaned on the horn.
Buck caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview and plastered himself to the door, so he wouldn't do unspeakable things to Tommy, and earn him a bad rating. He thought he was doing OK, until Tommy's hand clamped down on his knee. ”Sorry,” he muttered and stopped bouncing it.
The walk from the curb to his front door was agony. There was barely a foot between them, but Buck couldn't get himself to close the distance, in the brightly lit hallway, lest one of his neighbours walked in on them.
His keys were already jingling in his hands, when he said, ”This is me.” Tommy just smiled at him.
Inside, Buck closed and locked the door, before nearly walking face first into Tommy's chest.
”Listen, it's OK if we got ahead of ourselves. I don't mind slowing down,” Tommy said, ”or heading out.”
Buck didn't have the patience to get them somewhere comfortable. He pushed Tommy backwards, until they collided with the kitchen island. This time, he got to be the one to initiate. Tommy was such a good kisser.
”I need to get my hands on you,” Buck said, mostly to himself. He pulled on Tommy's belt, getting it undone, and pulling the fly apart, and sticking his hand down the front of Tommy's jeans. ”Oh, fuck.” That was a dick. Tommy definitely had a dick. He didn't manage to catch the waistband of Tommy's underwear, so that was still between them, but he could feel Tommy through them. The shape and the weight of him.
He needed to pace himself, he was getting too worked up. Buck tipped forward, resting his head in the crook of Tommy's neck. He was almost panting.
”You OK?”
”Yeah,” Buck nodded. ”Got too excited, but I'm OK.”
Tommy chuckled and rested his hands on Buck's hips. They felt like oven mitts, but Tommy's bare hands were just that big. His fingers were teasing at the hem of Buck's shirt.
It would've been easier, less restricting, if he got his hands on Tommy's skin, but it was hot having to do it through his underwear. He never imagined having a dick in his hand would feel this good – someone else's dick.
”I like this so much,” he muttered, and pressed his mouth to Tommy's neck.
”Me, too,” Tommy said. His hand wasn't down Buck's pants, so they probably weren't talking about the same thing.
”What's your favourite thing?”
”My what?”
”Sex with men. What's your favourite thing to do?”
Tommy's hands went up under Buck's shirt. His nails were short, but long enough to scritch a little. Buck's whole body shivered at the sensation. ”Depends on the guy,” Tommy said.
”Cop out,” Buck teased.
”Not everyone likes getting eaten out. If they don't like it, it's not fun.”
”Eat– We need to do that,” Buck said. ”Right now.” He took a step back, and did everything he could not to whine, when he pulled his hand out of Tommy's pants. God, he looked good standing there, with his pants undone and Buck's spit all over his neck. ”You need to send me so many nudes. You need to be the background on my phone.”
Tommy laughed and hiked his pants up, where they were sagging around his hips. ”Before or after the rim job?”
Buck grabbed his hands. ”My bed is upstairs.”
They tumbled up the stairs, where Buck was confronted with his unmade bed . He should've done a bit of tidying. But the kitchen sink was full of dishes and Tommy hadn't said a thing – probably hadn't noticed.
Buck kicked off his shoes and got rid of his shirt, before crawling onto the bed. He pushed the duvet aside, so it didn't bunch under them. ”Come on,” he made grabby hands at Tommy.
Tommy shook his head, grinning, and got off his shoes and his overshirt. How he looked broader in a tanktop, Buck had no idea. Tommy climbed on. Buck held his breath, as Tommy's weight came down on him in increments. Legs first, then hips, chest. Tommy's body covered every bit of his. Buck moaned at the feeling of Tommy's thigh between his legs. If Buck's thigh felt half as good as this, Buck didn't know how Tommy managed to stay quiet.
They kissed until neither one of them could breathe. Buck thought they broke apart to catch their breath, when he was flipped over onto his stomach. Tommy laughed at his yelp.
There was nothing to hold on to, so Buck's hands clenched uselessly in the air, when Tommy's face met the middle of his back. He was lying there, panting, as Tommy's mouth kissed a line down his spine.
”Get your belt,” Tommy said into his lower back.
Buck only lifted his hips as much as he needed to, to get his hands under himself. The belt was barely undone, before Tommy yanked his jeans down, without waiting for the button or the zipper. His own question from earlier played in his head,
Are you gonna have your way with me?
Tommy's mouth continued its path down. Buck tried to part his legs, but his jeans were keeping them together. Tommy had seemingly given up around his knees. He felt Tommy's nose between his asscheeks and breathing became very difficult.
He may have shrieked a little, at first contact, but in Buck's defense, it had been a while and he'd kind of forgotten what it felt like. Tommy laughed against his asshole, which Buck did not know would feel like that. He didn't hate it.
Buck lost all sense of time. He was pretty sure he was drooling. He had been eaten out before, but not with this level of enthusiasm. He was wet from his taint to his tailbone, not counting the mess he was making himelf.
”Tommy. Tommy. I'm gonna come.”
”Then come.”
Buck craned his neck and looked over his shoulder. ”You sure?”
”Well, Thirty-Two, if you can't go again, I'll find your prostate. You don't need to get hard for that.”
”Oh, my god,” Buck whimpered into the sheets.
Tommy sat up and yanked Buck's jeans the rest of the way off, but it was hardly a reprieve, his tongue was back in no time.
Even after they come out, Shane is a private person. So is Ilya. And, look, Shane is very happy that the centaurs are so accepting. He really, really has to remind himself how relieved and happy he is about it. He also remembers that this is how locker rooms are. As captain of the metros, the amount of times he had to tell off a player for showing pictures of their girlfriend's breasts or ass to other players was uncomfortably high.
So he really should have expected the question, "so who is, you know, the man?"
"Excuse me?"
"Dude, you can't ask that," a very progressive Young advised. "You gotta ask who's the top. Not the man."
Shane exhaled slowly. He loves his team he loves his team he loves his team.
"That is private," Shane said firmly. "And inappropriate in the workplace."
He was, of course, largely ignored. And while neither him nor Ilya really enjoyed their team, their friends, the internet, and homophobic players guessing their bedroom arraignments, Shane was surprised that nearly everyone got it wrong.
The general consensus what that Shane was the man. His going out outfit was usually jeans and a t-shirt, Ilya's was tight leather pants and a leopard print with four buttons undone. When they drank, Shane got a beer and Ilya either got shots or the sweetest cocktail they had. Ilya was more flamboyant, Shane was more reserved. Ilya liked to bake, Shane liked to grill.
And yes, Shane was aware why all these seemingly innocuous personality traits accumulated to make Shane the man and Ilya the girl. Still, it didn't stop it being generally annoying, offensive, and uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Shane liked finding the silver lining in that this was something just for them to know.
Ilya finds it more amusing then Shane. And, like most things, tries to use it to his advantage.
"Shaaaane, carry my bag," Ilya held out his hockey bag.
"No."
"I can't believe you treat your girlfriend like this."
~*~
"Is it a happy bouquet or an 'i'm sorry' one?" Holmsberg asked as he and the rookies peered over Young's phone. "Get the all roses one."
"That's the most expensive one!"
"Dude."
"Shane," Ilya whined, calling their attention to him. "Why don't you ever buy me flowers?"
"That's messed up, dude," LaPointe shook his head.
"I'll buy you roses, Roz." Wyatt grinned.
"You will not," Shane grumbled.
~*~
"Ah," Ilya winced as he lowered himself on the bench.
"You okay?" Shane asked him. He had taken a hard check into the boards early in the game and, despite reassuring Shane he was fine, he knew his hip was killing him.
"Fine," Ilya said predictability. "Just sore. Will be fine in a minute."
"Hey," Zane nudged Shane's shoulder. "Go easy on him on game days, okay? We need him."
"Go easy?" Shane's eyebrows drew together. "What do you - Oh! No, that isn't - he - I didn't -"
"It's fine, man. Whatever you two-"
"No!" Shane interrupted. "He's still sore off of Richard's check - Not - Ilya, stop laughing!"
~*~
"Doesn't it bother you?" Shane asks Ilya one day.
"What?"
"That everyone assumes you're, you know," Shane gestured, a cute little blush on his cheeks. "The girl."
"There is no girl," Ilya raises his eyebrows and palms Shane through his pants. "I would know."
"Asshole," Shane scoffs. "You know what I mean."
"I know," Ilya smiled. "But no. It does not bother me."
"Why not?"
"Because it's hot," Ilya lifted his hands, over Shane's chest and up to his face. "That people can't even imagine you like this."
Ilya dips to kiss his neck and Shane's eyes flutter shut.
"Makes no sense," Ilya continued, hands roaming down to Shane's ass. "To me, I know this immediately."
"F-fuck off, you did not."
"Oh, I did," Ilya gripped his chin, forcing Shane to look at him. "I see you... those beautiful freckles and I know how desperate you are for it. So obvious. Thought everyone was looking at this boy thinking how good he would look getting fucked. How well he would take it."
"Ilya..."
"Shh," Ilya patted his face. "But I think is better this way. That only I get to even imagine you like this. Only I get to have it."
"Only you," Shane agreed readily, hands flying to the zipper on Ilya's jeans.
"Only for me," Ilya agreed, letting Shane take down his pants and boxers. He pressed down on Shane's shoulders, the slightest pressure getting him to sink down, eyes already heavy. Ilya ran his hand through Shane's soft hair, watching the gold of his wedding ring catch the room's low light. "Only for me. Forever."
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Tommy parts his thighs—just enough for Buck to slide his cock between them—and puts his hand over Buck's. "I was going to ask if you need lube, but you're wet enough already, aren't you, honey?"
i was thinking about nurse shane and security ilya doing what they can to have their schedules align to the same nights so they have a fairly decent routine together (as much as you can in a hospital)
then shane is asked/assigned to cover a day shift nurses maternity leave so their schedules are completely off. at work during opposite times, sleeping during opportune quality time at home, no overlapping breaks aside from catching each other shift changes.
they both do a lot of little things for each other during that time to make up for it like shane packing ilya lunches with cute notes and ilya leaving flowers or small surprises for shane to find when he gets home. they do of course get their off days when they do manage to overlap, but the sleep adjustments still make it difficult to fully enjoy it.
both are just desperately looking forward to being back on the same wake windows and working schedules, already planning on using vacation time in between to realign shane’s sleep schedule and just spend time together.
Hiii sugarloaf 🦦
Yum I love this so much much baby ! In my reality (which I think is different from the US and maybe UK and idk about Canada lol) Shane is on a rotating roster, so he’s on a mix of 12hr days and nights through the month. Ilya would be a more set roster in my mind- so like he does a week of days then a week of nights alternating.
So let’s say it’s like ten or so months into being together, and they have found a way to make their rosters work most months with Shane’s always changing schedule and Ilya’s set one- some are a bit more spotty than others but they are seeing each other at least two or three times a week, outside of work at minimum. And it’s not always easy- sometimes it’s an hour and compromising naps and getting up early or staying up late, or swapping shifts but they make it work pretty well.
And really Shane’s place has kinda become their place now- (it’s not official, the living together in all ways but the actual asking of it and transfer of leases) - it’s closer to the hospital and Ilya has a roommate and Shane had shyly said one afternoon when Ilya had spoken about going home when Shane went to work that he liked knowing Ilya was there to come home to. He liked the idea of Ilya sleeping in his bed, even if Shane couldn’t be in it with him. And really- it gives them more time, coming home to the same place. (They haven’t laid it out together, in conversation, but Shane thinks Ilya must feel it too, the warmth of someone to come home to, of building something together, of not feeling so alone, of having a piece of life, something real and human and soft to come home to after long shifts in hospital walls and hospital chaos)
But then Shane is moved to a night shift roster for a month to cover a co worker who is off on workers compensation with an injury. Of course in divine timing Ilya is on three weeks of day shifts because they are installing new duress alarms and safety threat code responses across the building and they need extra support in hours for testing them.
It’s the first time they are stuck in complete opposite rosters, so they sit down and compare the days. At Shane’s instruction- he literally says they need to ‘have a meeting’ about it and then Ilya is too busy kissing Shane stupid over that, then fucking Shane stupid over that, for them to have a meeting about it until later that evening.
The meeting is very Formal, Shane in Ilya’s lap on the couch with his laptop open, calendar app pulled up that’s synced up to the app on his phone. Ilya is like valiantly trying not to get hard over Shane having a whole calendar set titled
Ilya 🧸💗 nestled there on the side between:
🏥 Work 🦋 Social life ✅ Reminders 🏋🏻 Gym 📌 Appointments 👟 Runs
The emojis alone (and the fact ilya got 2!) made it hard for Ilya to focus on the screen and not biting at Shane’s neck and ears and getting his hand down his sweats as they settled onto the couch. Shane had slapped Ilya’s hand away when he tried. Shane pulls up his roster online and Ilya logs into his on his phone, and Shane ads in his shifts first, then Ilya’s to his calendar. It leaves them with 3 days they are both off shift across the whole month, one of which will be taken by going to see Shane’s parents, time that Ilya values, having a family again, but it leaves them with less time alone than they barely have already.
They are quiet as they look at the screen, and Shane tips his head back with a long breath, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder and their chests shift together, the tap drips in the sink. Ilya’s hand pushes away Shane’s hoodie to put his hand flat over the soft skin of Shane’s stomach. Shane sits up after another breath, and starts highlighting the shifts they cross over, the time they could find at the hospital, crossing over as they arrive for and leave from shift.
Fondness washes over Ilya then, so immense that he rubs the curve of Shane’s waist, tucks his nose and lips to the back of Shane’s neck and watches over his shoulder as his boyfriend carefully finds every pocket of time they can have. Ilya pushes his nose into the short hairs st Shane’s neck, takes a long breath in, seaweed shampoo, soap and warmth.
His Shane.
He tucks his smile behind Shane’s ear as Shane mutters about him being distracting. Ilya slips his fingertips down into the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants, hand resting still. He doesn’t move, still until Shane fusses his hips slightly and Ilya smirks. “No distractions” he replies and Shane huffs, Ilya slips his fingertips a centimetre down. It becomes a game and soon the meeting is very much over and the laptop is on the floor and Ilya is forcing Shane’s hip still with one hand as he works his cock with the other.
Ilya makes a screenshot of the calendar his screensaver on the first of the month, (he’s really to blame that the sight of it makes him half hard, thinking of shane all squirmy and flushed and cute in his lap as he tries hard to stay still for Ilya as Ilya works him over in a slow and tight grip).
The night before their rosters seperate them, they spend it mostly in bed, a long sleep in together, lazy cosy morning sex- then gym and a long hot shower and getting off together again like that, kissing under the hot water all hands and mouths. Then it’s back to bed with promises from Ilya he will help Shane meal prep later “later sweetheart I promise but we won’t get to fall asleep together so many nights, I’ll forget the shape of you, the feel of you, you’ll be a distant memory while I hold Benjamin close and cry-“ and a slap of shanes hand to the side of his head which had turned into grappling which had turned into play fighting which had turned into more sex.
The start first week isn’t so bad, just like a misaligned run of shifts in any other month, which happens often. But then it stretches into six days without seeing each other, opposite routines of sleeping and waking and they both start to feel lonely. Feel the space between them, the coming home to an empty bed. The catching texts and calls in the hours they are both awake.
Finally on the sixth day, they overlap Ilya is coming to the end his day shift and shane is coming in for his night. Shane is so excited at the thought of being able to actually see Ilya, he finds himself parked in the carpark a full hour before shift starts. Usually the absolute earliest he’d get there is thirty minutes before. He texts Ilya a ljttle “👋🏼.”Who texts back “😚😚😚😚 already????” Which makes Shane flush, happy to know Ilya is as eager as he is at the prospect of seeing each other.
“P3 level 1” Shane replies, because he usually parks in the further carpark P6 because it’s cheaper, but P3 is just on the edge of the back exit of the main building, and Shane just figures it might be easier to see ilya for longer this way.
It takes Ilya four minutes to be opening Shane’s passenger side door, a few droplets of misty rain in his curls.
He smells like the hospital, but still a bit like his cologne and his cheeks are pink and just curls are messy and he’s smirking and saying “come here often?” But Shane is across the dash before Ilya’s favourite line is fully out.
His hand cups Ilya’s cheek and he’s pressing their lips together, firm but civil, closed lipped, a soft lock of mouths. Ilya hums against his mouth, a pleased sound and leans into the kiss just as Shane pulls back a breath, noses still pressed together.
“Hi, sorry” Shane mumbles, and his eyes are staring at Ilya’s mouth, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I just missed you” he confesses and Ilya hums, his hand cups the back of Shane’s neck and he kisses soft pretty pecks all over his pouty mouth.
“No sorry. Is cute” Ilya mutters, one hand finding Shane’s to fiddle with, pulling it into his lap, tracing the back of his hand with his thumb.
“I missed you too” Ilya adds, kisses to the left of Shane’s nose, his Cupids bow, his chin.
“Really?” Shane asks, voice low and Ilya laughs, nuzzles his face into Shane’s cheek.
“Yes, really can you believe it?” Ilya whispers and his hand catches Shane’s cheek, thumb gripping his cheek gently, making his lips pout just so.
“Missed you” Ilya exhales again, and leans forward to kiss Shane’s pout once, twice, a third time before they fall into a warm kiss, too much for the carpark at work Ilya realises when he feels a soft whimper from Shane into his mouth. Ilya pulls back and Shane huffs and Ilya nods, moves his hand to the back of Shane’s neck. His hand scuffed gently, squeezing the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at his hairline.
They breathe in silence for a while, like that, soft and slow, Ilya rubbing at the back of Shane’s warm neck and Shane’s hand tangled with his fidgeting against his thigh.
Shane turns his head in, knocks his nose against Ilya’s cheek and is pulling back with a slow breath in. His eyes are lidded low, warm and Ilya wants to drag him into the back seat, lay him back and kiss and bite at his hips until Shane is fussing and pulling at his hair and asking for his mouth-
Ilya swallows and rubs his thumb across Shane’s bottom lip, knocks their noses together and pulls back enough to catch Shane’s eyes. His lashes are dark, long and Ilya maps the pretty pattern of his freckles.
“Missed you a lot I think” Shane says with a small huffing laugh and Ilya nods, thumbs his thumb under Shane’s ears.
“Mm. Is hard to” Ilya shrugs. “Show you how much, here” he smirks and Shane rolls his eyes and flicks at Ilya’s shoulder, pulls back and flops against the seat.
“Perv” Shane grumbles and Ilya wiggles his eyebrows and says “well you know how I like you in your scrubs” and then Shane is calling him gross and an asshole and shoving his hand in his face and Ilya is nipping at his fingers.
They settle then, hands tangled and they talk soft and low, catch up and check in and get almost fifteen minutes before Ilya’s radio crackles to life. His supervisors voice cuts through, low, and Shane can’t hear it but Ilya can- clicks in to, answers quickly into it.
“You have to go?” Shane asks and his stomach curls, bites at his bottom lip and hates the cold anxiety that washes up through his ribs.
“Mm. Probably” he shrugs
“Come with me? I’ll walk you to your ward and then maybe you can come for one round with me before you start?” Ilya suggests and Shane is nodding nodding, eager for more time.
The month continues like that, stolen moments in cars or break rooms, in hallways.
They hold hands behind the old outpatients building, steal a small cuddle and then go for a short walk to get coffee when Ilya is coming on shift in the morning and Shane’s shift has just ended.
Ilya drops off coffees, snickers, a huge box of doughnuts for all of Shane’s ward. Once, Ilya’s hoodie tucked into Shane’s locker- with a sticky note “for your 4am freeze” with a silly drawn face and heart. Shane pulls it on before midnight, once his patients are settled and presses his face into the fabric to breathe in Ilya as he documents.
It’s phone calls on breaks, endless stream of texts, photos of them in empty beds, at work, at the gym alone. Dirty texts, needing texts, complaints about how much they want.
Of course Shane is leaving stacked up meal prep in the fridge. Notes for his Ilya “have a good shift baby” “no cigarettes on break :( even if I’m not there to smell it” “handsome boy I miss you” and “enjoy your food. Love you” sometimes badly drawn pictures of stick figures drawing hands, hearts.
Shane comes home one morning to a huge bundle of flowers, hot decaf coffee from his favourite cafe and a pastry on the bench after a terrifying mess of a shift the night before.
Shane makes the bed before he goes to shift, fresh pressed sheets, electric blanket tucked in the bottom of the bed, for Ilya’s eternally cold toes and feet since Shane isn’t there to warm them.
Of course the 3 actual days they have off together are desperate and hot and needy, but also full of so much fucking sleep. They fuck like desperate animals, grasping hands and hungry mouths and pass out, sleep heavy curled up like puppies and wake up and eat and makeout and sleep more and fuck more and watch tv and sleep again. Shane gets the desperate release, as does Ilya of being each others, being owned. The feeling of Ilya owning his pleasure, of being taken care of, of letting go- getting to let go and have Ilya hold him in his palms, know what he needs. Shane cries from the relief of floating out of his head finally, toes curling against Ilya’s calves, clinging Ilya to him desperately, arms tight around him. Ilya isn’t much better, teary as he holds Shane close to him, cooes to him and covers him in kisses, smooths his hands over Shane’s body and feels the trust and love and safety of their connection. Feels the dizzy heat of Shane’s devotion to him, Shane giving away his body to him, of letting Ilya guide him into what he needs.
Ilya had fucking missed the pleasure of Shane desperate to please him, Shane under his command, Shane’s eyes dark and soft and hanging on every word. Beautiful Shane, his, his his.
The manipulate their rosters once they are back to normal, find a stretch of five days and drives hours away to a small Airbnb by the beach and it’s just them and wine and car games and wrestling and fucking and eating food and getting high together, one night, a rare indulgence of slow and steady star gazing together.
bug what's nurse shane up to rn.....i gotta know......
Shane’s said four words since he woke up fifteen minutes ago. He’s sat at the counter, stool pulled up to it, hunched tiredly over a bowl of cereal. He’s in his scrub pants and no shirt, as usual for pre shift dinner to avoid any spills or smells on his top.
Ilya is leant in the doorway of Shane’s kitchen. He’d finished his short shift at three in the afternoon, been at Shane’s place by half past.
He’d let himself in quietly, (using the key Shane had given him two months ago now to come go and he pleased) very careful as he moved around the home, to stay quiet and not wake Shane from his pre night shift sleep as he changed into the sweats he bought with him.
Shane would be up at four thirty to stretch, shower, do his skincare change and then out in the kitchen by five. Ilya had folded and stacks Shane’s clothes from the dyer, and filled Shane’s waterbottle while he waited for his boy to wake up.
They’d have and hour and half before Shane would have to leave before shift, it wasn’t much, but Ilya hadn’t seen Shane outside of in passing at work in a few days and he’d missed him. The chance to kiss and cuddle and sit with his boy was worth it. Ilya was curled up on the couch when the door to Shane’s bedroom clicked open, and his Shane had shuffled out, in his scrub pants and socks, rubbing at his right eye with his fist.
Ilya had gotten so absorbed in real housewives that he’d not even realised the time, and his eyes darted to his phone. His stomach flipped a little at the 5:21 on the screen. Ilya’s eyes darted back to Shane, who had come to a stop at the end of the couch. He’d leant down and pressed his lips on Ilya’s head, mumbled “hi baby” and sniffled before shuffling onward to the kitchen before Ilya could reply.
Ilya watched the slump of his retreating boyfriends back. This was bad, late out of bed and no kiss on the lips. Ilya had managed to sit still for all of five minutes before he was climbing off the couch and following after Shane. He wanted to give him space, to wake up, to settle, to seek out Ilya when he was ready for him. But Ilya had missed him, and a Shane out of pattern was unpredictable.
It bought them to now, Ilya leant in the door with Shane bringing spoonfuls of cereal to his mouth, the soft clink of his spoon and the distant noise of the tv the only sound in the room.
“Sleep okay?” Ilya asked softly, and then went about making Shane’s pre shift coffee- half to do something with his hands and half because Shane was already late to get up, late to have his coffee in hand warm and fresh ti help wake him up.
“Mmhm” Shane hummed, nodded, muffled a yawn into his hand.
“Work ok?” Shane asked then, voice low and scratchy with sleep. Ilya turned to look at him as the coffee machine spluttered and spilled smooth coffee into Shane’s mug. Shane had a pillow crease down his cheek, his eyes were hazy with the edges of sleep, chest flushed with sleep warmth. Ilya wanted to bundled him up whole, maybe bite him a little. Maybe kiss and suck at the warm skin of his neck while he got him all cosy in his lap and touched him until that bunch of his shoulders dropped and the loosened into something softer, warmer, loose limbed.
Shane looked at him with expectant brows and Ilya bit down a smile as he turned the espresso shot into an iced long black. Of course Shane would check on him with the few words he managed to get out, those somehow worked past the tangle in his brain.
“Was good, not too busy” Ilya shrugged and crossed the kitchen to place the coffee in front of Shane, looked down at the grumbly shape of his boyfriend, he could feel his stewing radiating off him. Ilya placed a gentle hand on the back of Shane’s neck, rubbed the pads of his fingers up against Shane’s hairline. He dipped his head to kiss the top of Shane’s head.
“Thank you” Shane mumbles and its wobbly, and ha lingers, pets at Shane’s neck but Shane doesn’t lean back into him, doesn’t chat to him about last nights shift in slow hazy words, doesn’t catch Ilya’s hand to hold while he eats. Ilya hums, and pulls back.
Sometimes his Shane is quiet and sometimes his Shane needs space; especially on his last shift on a block of nights. Ilya is familiar with the way they untangle you, leave you spacey and backwards. Like you’re jet lagged or a toddler or a tiny bit drunk and hungover at the same time.
Ilya strolls out of the kitchen and goes to mute the tv, incase the sound is too much, and then goes to his bag for the three item he’d thrown in there for Shane this morning. He wordlessly makes his way back to the kitchen where Shane is rinsing his bowl, his backpack sitting unzipped on the bench, now containing his lunch bag.
Ilya places the small box of peppermint tea inside the bag (Shane said it helped with the bloating and nausea he sometimes got on nights and shane had texted Ilya with many sad faces that he was out of it last night) and well Ilya had stock for Shane at his place so it just made sense to bring some.
He lays the jumper he has in his arms over the top of the bag. It was Ilya’s, a sweatshirt he’d had for years, worn in thin and comfortable, soft in that way that only came with time. Shane’s favoured jumper to take of Ilya’s when they were at his place. Shane could decide if he wanted it for work- but at least the offer was there.
Ilya takes himself back to the couch, sits down and clicks the volume up to a soft murmur. Tells himself that he’s doing well not to hover, even though he kind of needs a smile and a kiss from Shane before he leaves to feel confident that is boy is alright. But then again, maybe he’s simply too tired for that- or overstimulated by Ilya’s presence. And yes Ilya’s missed his boy, but even if his time with Shane, being in Shane’s orbit consisted of only this, that was okay- they knew, time together between shifts like this, in overlap, they were just whatever they could find energy to be together.
Two weeks ago Ilya had come home with such a migraine post work that date night with Shane had been a cool shower and then laying in the dark of Ilya’s room in silence with the fan on, not touching because Ilya’s skin felt throbby.
A week before that, both post a 12hr day they had drunk wine directly from one shared bottle, and ate Thai food on the floor in front of the tv as they ranted about their equally fucking cursed days. It would change, what they needed but, what they needed would always be from each other, to exist together.
Ilya is halfway through a text to Sveta, when he suddenly blinks and oh, that’s a lap full of Shane. He’s warm and heavy and no longer shirtless, in his scrub top and Ilya’s jumper and he’s shoving his face into Ilya’s neck, tucking his arms in between their chests and his thigh pressing to either side of Ilya.
Ilya lets out a soft breathless laugh, knocked out of him the the weight of Shane, but then, then he feels the ripple of Shane’s shoulders, hears his big drawing breath in the way it’s coming faster than usual. Oh. Oh Shane.
“Hey, hey” Ilya is cooing, his hand is soothing over the back of Shane’s silky soft hair, other arm wrapping tightly around his waist, pressing Shane into his chest.
“Hey” ilya coos, low, draws out the vowel and tucks his face down against the side of Shane’s face. Ilya focuses his breathing, makes it slow and gives Shane a moment before he rushes in with questions, gives him space for words.
“I just-“ Shane’s voice wobbles where it’s tucked into the space between Ilya’s jaw and collarbones.
“I just want to go to bed with you” Shane gets out, voice small, and there’s a tiny sniffle and then he’s perfectly quiet. It makes Ilya’s stomach ache. Ilya can imagine Shane’s stubborn wet lash line, the way he’s refusing to let tears fall. His stubborn, exhausted sweetheart.
“It’s fine I’m ok.” Shane’s voice is flat
“I don’t know maybe I could be tired, but last night wasn’t so busy, nothing bad, just. I’d just really like to go to bed with you right now and fall asleep together” Shane explains and Ilya nods, nods, begins to gently sway them side to side.
Ilya wants to tell Shane to call in sick, to just put himself first please and let his body get some rest. It gets like this for Shane, handling the long hours- juggling it with workouts and seeing friends and dinners with his parents and helping his dad fix the deck and doing it all, till the exhaustion finds him suddenly and he just, gets heavy, slow- and frustrated with himself for feeling effects of the full life he has, the standards he holds himself too. Ilya has to remind him, at times the large stretches of sleep that Shane has surrendered for years. How it might be okay to be exhausted.
But Ilya knows Shane, his Shane, and knows that telling him to stop is futile, trying to persuade him that he could call in, come to bed with Ilya, the unit would be okay, wouldn’t fly with Shane, especially not so close to shift. Ilya knows how important work was to Shane, and that Shane is important to that place. That he cared, it mattered to him, showing up and being present, helping. Being reliable. Most of the time Ilya could just make himself a soft place for Shane to land, to come apart, to need, even if for a short while, to try and fill the exhausted spaces of him, hold him up.
“It’s been a little while huh?” Ilya agrees, (it had been four days, and even one felt too long to Ilya so he was helpless to do anything but agree) and starts his kisses, from the top of Shane’s ear all along his hairline, nose brushing in his hair with the pecks.
“Stupid hospital” Ilya adds, and it gets a small scoff laugh from Shane who nods. “Stupid hospital” he mumbles because it’s easier, to blame the building than all the other parts of it.
“I miss you” Shane adds, and Ilya nods, cups Shane’s face in his palms and eases him back from his neck, keeps him close and looks down at him, drops his neck to drop little kisses over Shane’s brow, the high of his cheeks. Ilya’s hand slides to the back of Shane’s neck and starts rhythmic squeezes.
“And I woke up. I don’t know angry? Or just-“ Shane waves a hand. “Frustrated. I kept waking up through the day and I was I thought it was- I kept rolling over or reaching out expecting to find you in bed but then I’d remember and” Shane shrugs and blinks his eyes half open, eyes heavy and brow frowny as he looks up at Ilya.
“Then it took me ages to wake up cause I was groggy and then I didn’t even say hi to you properly when you came here from work and pushed back going to the gym just to see me before shift and it’s just because I was feeling sorry for myse-“
“I miss you too” Ilya interrupts, leaning in to knock noses with Shane, lingering in his space. His pinkies tuck down past the neck of Shane’s shirt, fidget against the skin.
“Benjamin does not cuddle like you” Ilya teases and he sees a tiny smile flicker at the corner of Shane’s lips at the mention of Benjamin.
Benjamin was a giant stuffed bear Shane had won Ilya on their fifth date at an old refurbished arcade in the city. The thing was stupidly large but Shane’s heart had felt stupidly large at the time; he’d wanted to show off, to win the dumb biggest prize for the cute boy he was on a date with.
The game had aptly been called “Benjamin’s Hammer” with a scarily drawn off brand imitation of the marvel character of Thor that was distinctly off putting, not to mention the strangely out of place name. They could have at least tried to go with a name similar to Thor.
Ilya had whispered to Shane that Benjamin seemed more like a man you’d find in a cross fit gym than a super hero and Shane had agreed. The weird characters six fingers did confirm Shane’s suspicions it has been made by AI. His cape was too short and eyes weirdly formed, a smile that was sinister. Of course they had to play it; they decided.
The ‘game’ had consisted of using the large wooden hammer to swing and hit the target as hard as you could. The harder the hit, the higher the score, the bigger the prize.
Ilya’s smile had been blinding when Shane’s swing had pushed the red light just shy of the top of the large screen that displayed the force of the swing. It had somehow grown even more when Shane had selected the too big bear and passed it into Ilya’s arms with a shy smile. Ilya had thanked him with a kiss to the cheek, a sigh of “my hero, my Benjamin” Shane had replied “ew” at being compared to knock off Thor and dug his fingers into Ilya’s side but his flush had gone down his neck.
Ilya lugged the large brown bear around on his back the rest of the night, proudly declaring his name to be Benjamin of course. The large soft floppy dark coloured bear had taken residence in Ilya’s flat since then, usually sat in the armchair in his room or at the end of his bed (in his bed when he was missing the warm figure of Shane beside him most).
“I think you love him more than me” Shane grumbles and Ilya nods, unable to help but tease, and presses a feather light kiss to Shane’s nose, then his top lip. “Very much so” he whispers and wraps his whole hand over the back of Shane’s tense neck, massaged with his full hand working, firm presser and watches Shane’s eyes flutter.
Shane whines and huffs and oh his poor tired boy. Ilya kisses his top lip again, then his bottom lips pulls back just enough for Shane to tilt his chin up to chase his mouth and then kisses him properly, slow and soft, a hungry lick of his tongue that Shane returns, tightens his arms around Ilya’s shoulders. He tastes like coffee and the sweet residue of cereal. Ilya kisses Shane until he feels his neck and head slacken in Ilya’s grip, feels the weight of his head back into his palm.
Ilya hums against Shane’s mouth and pulls back, bites down his smile when Shane’s head lulls closer to him as if hypnotised.
“Shane” Ilya whispers and Shane blinks his eyes open, small frown working its way back between his brows.
“What” he asks, and Ilya kisses the crease of his brow.
“I do not love Benjamin more than you, he is just an affair, for when my lover is busy being be very important at his job” Ilya whispers and he feels a small laugh draw from Shane.
“Besides he does not wear glasses so” Ilya shrugs, sucks his teeth. “Is no contest” he concludes and Shane whines, that annoyed sound when Ilya carries on. Ilya loves it.
“Okay okay” Ilya concedes and then twists and lays back on the couch, shane curled on top of him.
His eyes flicker to Shane’s Apple Watch, 5:52pm
Shane nuzzles his face into Ilya’s throat and Ilya’s hand is steady massaging over Shane’s neck, pressing out along the lines of his shoulder with steady pressure of his fingers.
They don’t have enough time for Ilya to bring Shane back to himself the way he wants to, the way they both know works best, doesn’t have time to let his Shane get the full sleep he needs, doesn’t have the ability to give Shane what he wants, a night together just them, falling asleep at the same time. So he problem solves.
“Here is plan” Ilya says and he feels Shane hum, nod slightly Ilya distantly thinks of those videos of owners saying dogs favourite words in front of them, how they perk up and their ears twitch. Ilya values his safely so he doesn’t voice this thought.
“I will drive you to work, we will leave at 6:45 yes because you will not need extra time for parking so extra time for us. Then you will work and it will be okay, and you can keep my jumper so you are warm and is like I am not far. I will go to gym very nice and early and then come and pick you up, we will come home, have gross smoothie you like and eggs on toast that I like and then we will shower, and then I will fuck you to sleep yes?” Ilya keeps his voice low and calm, washing it over Shane like the ocean pushing in, the movements of his hands on Shane’s neck and back rhythmic, his breathing steady.
“We will sleep, together, in bed, us- and then when we wake up we can go for a walk or to sauna or to the couch to watch a movie or we stay in bed and I fuck you some more” Ilya shrugs listing Shane’s prefers post last night shift activity. “You will pick from these options- what you want and I will make happen” Ilya kisses the shell of Shane’s ear, slides his hand down to press and rub at his lower back.
“You do the next twelve hours and then I’ve got you for the next whole day okay? You just let me have you” Ilya mumbles the instruction, hand slides to Shane’s hip and holds, rubs his thumb.
“Yes?” Ilya prompts and Shane nods, nods, his hands are fisted into Ilya’s shirt, breathing steady and even.
“Yeah. Please” Shane replied and illya kisses kisses kisses the crown of his head.
“Okay” Ilya confirms and feels Shane snuggle down into him, loose like some of the strings pulling him have slackened.
“Okay” Shane echoes, the slightest lilt to his voice that makes it fall like Ilya says the word. It makes Ilya kiss his head, makes something warm like pride pulse in his chest.
“Good boy” Ilya whispers, a secret for just them and his hand slides up to Shane’s ear, rubs over the shape of it, his earlobe.
Shane shivers against him, yawns so wide it makes his jaw click.
Ilya checks the time again, eyes on Shane’s watch. 6:04pm
“I’ll get you up when we need to go okay?” Ilya mumbles, waits till he feels Shane nod. He wishes he could put Shane on his knees for the next half an hour or so, take his brain out of where it was rattling, but he knows there is no chance Shane would be in the right headspace to work after that. But this, this was good too. A moment of rest, a moment together.
“I’m right here, just rest now” Ilya whispers and pushes his hand up under Shane’s scrubs and his jumper, palm flat against warm skin, rubbing wide steady circles.
Ilya tilts his face down, nose to the top of Shane’s head and closes his eyes, not worried about falling asleep, not when he had the job of looking after his Shane, looking over him while he got to rest with Ilya. A moment of something warm and true and real to take into his shift with him, something Shane could keep tucked against his chest when it got to the seven hour of decision making, being in control, in charge, calculating and compassionate and alert and open and ready.
When it got too much. Like a worry stone Shane could rub his thumb over and over and over and over, smooth from use, this memory of being soft and warm and held. Safe.
Ilya’s chest tingled with the delight of helping Shane carrying the weight of it all- the everything- and he let the steady sound of Shane’s breathing clear his mind as he focused on the weight and warmth and smell of his boy, his favourite person in the world, right there safe against his chest.
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Bucktommy agegap AU with 22 year old probie Buck who’s just a sweet bumbling puppy with more bravado than sense but he tries So Hard and the 118 can’t help but love him. He’s kinda obtuse and evasive about his personal life, he flirts shamelessly with anyone and everyone but he never ever follows through ? And when they ask about his plans for the weekend he just sort of shrugs and grins all cheeky.
This one time he gets picked up from shift and this GORGEOUS classic car (leather seats, gleaming, the whole shebang) pulls up, he just waves and hops in but nobody can see the driver through the tinted windows ?? VERY MYSTERIOUS.
Then one night the whole group is out drinking and Buck gets sloppy, sleepy, cuddly drunk. Papa bear/designated driver Bobby offers to drive everyone home so they pile together into his truck. Buck is half passed out on Chim’s shoulder as he gives directions. They’re all expecting something kinda shabby, a share house with like six other dudes in a meh neighbourhood. But Buck directs them somewhere NICE. Manicured lawns and big houses. “Buck, are you sure this is the right place ???” And Buck’s just nodding and humming, “mmm-hmm.” As the houses they pass get bigger and more elaborate.
The one they finally pull into is beautiful, not ostentatious but clearly expensive and well maintained, that classic car in the drive. The front door is illuminated and as they pull up it opens. This guy steps out - older, built af, reading glasses perched on a very handsome face. He’s in sleepwear and house slippers and he’s got a slightly worried expression on his face.
“Evan?”
For a second the very drunk Hen and Chim are like ‘who the fuck is Evan??’ but then Buck is literally crawling over them to get out of the car and directly into the man’s arms. He’s murmuring a happy, “tommytommytommy” as Tommy easily scoops him right up, big hands on his thighs as he wraps his gangly limbs around his body and tucks his face into Tommy’s neck.
There’s absolute dead silence for a minute as everyone processes this situation.
Finally Bobby clears his throat and says, “Uh, I assume this one belongs to you?”
For his part, Tommy just nods, presses a kiss into Buck’s (floppy, unruly) curls and turns a wry smile on the group. “Thanks for getting him home, I really appreciate it.”
Chim unfreezes long enough to give a strangled, ‘no problem?’ as they all watch Buck burrow even further into Tommy’s arms, giving a happy little wiggle and sigh of contentment when Tommy wraps him up even tighter.
They’re all still staring as this burly, gorgeous older guy continues holding Buck (who’s gangly and about half the size of 30yr old Buck but definitely still a grown man) like it’s nothing. Tommy rubs a huge hand down Buck’s spine and murmurs, “Baby, where is your jacket? Cmon, let’s get you inside.”
And he gives the group another nod before turning to go into the beautiful house, Buck still clinging to him contentedly.
As they turn away, Chim SWEARS he hears a sleepy Buck replying, “Okay, Daddy.”
shane hollander voice: i mean obviously i have to be Good. and it's totally no problem to walk through the desert for a hundred miles repenting, i'm great at that. my body isn't even a soft animal and it doesn't love or want anything and never will.
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a little while after they move in together officially, ilya finds a beat-up spiral-bound notebooks in one of the boxes that still hasn’t been unpacked in the guest room. he flicks through it, expecting old plays that shane wrote down years ago, but finding only names on names on names. all players, organised by season, starting in the 2017/18 season. that’s almost five years of hockey. the notebook is almost full.
and on and on and on. and for a second ilya thinks holy shit, is this a list of shane’s freaky hockey sex dreams? so he all but runs downstairs, holds it out to shane and wiggles his eyebrows and says i found your sex diary, hollander, very scandalous. and shane looks so confused, because the only sex dreams he’s had for the past ten years have been about ilya (and once, embarrassingly, stephen colbert)
so he looks at the notebook and looks kind of embarrassed and says “oh. no, ilya, that’s not a freaky sex book. don’t be such a pervert.”
which, honestly, ilya is kind of relieved— he doesn’t want to think about shane having sex dreams about troy barrett. but shane still looks kind of uncomfortable, so ilya keeps prodding. and shane sighs heavily, like he really doesn’t want to say, like he’s ashamed, and says
“i just. i don’t know, i guess i knew we’d come out one day. or i hoped we would. so i wanted to write down whenever someone said something, like, homophobic to me. or racist, too, i guess. so when we came out, if these guys started being like wow fuckin’ a, boys, we love you guys, like. y’know. i’d have a record. that i’m not crazy.”
ilya frowns, and puts both of his hands palm-down on the counter; his legs suddenly feel very weak.
“not crazy?”
shane shrugs. “i mean, i’m not— chirping is one thing, y’know? i only wrote them down if it was really bad. like, slurs, and stuff. i don’t know. it’s stupid. i stopped after we got engaged, i just… it didn’t seem important anymore.”
and ilya isn’t sure what to say, standing like an idiot, eyes fixed on this unassuming, beat-up notebook that holds a record of all the times someone tried to make his husband feel small because it was the only way they could even think of getting a one-up on him in the rink. and that he’d written them down not as a way to try and get some small justice for himself, but, what? as a record. a list of names of people they couldn’t trust if they ever offered their public congratulations.
shane goes back to what he was doing— making dinner, chopping kale beside the sink and having a one-sided conversation with anya about how she needs to stop begging, because it’s just leaves, and he knows she won’t eat leaves. and ilya just has to sit there, thinking about all the players who had said similar things to him, thinking about the tweets and the instagram comments and podcasters, thinking about the mental weight shane had been carrying for the both of them for so long.
Luca hadn’t been sure he would go through with the plan. He’d talked himself into it and out of it about fifty times.
But he's made it this far. He's sitting with Shane Hollander, just the two of them. Now all he needs to do it open his mouth and—
“Look,” Shane is saying, “if you wanted to talk through coming out, I th—”
“I can’t figure out anal sex,” Luca blurts.
here’s the link again!
skills clinic, aka the inaugural (?!?!?!?!) ilya/shane/luca fic on ao3, brought to you by thetimesinbetween 🥰 i'm doing my part 🫡
Ilya’s hand slides from Luca’s shoulder up to the back of his neck. He squeezes gently. When Luca looks at him, he says, “Come kiss, hmm?”
Luca feels his face flushing.
“Yes?” Ilya says. He leans in and pecks Luca’s lips, just half a second longer than he had in the doorway thirty minutes ago.
Luca gets fucking goosebumps all down his back, and his mind goes briefly, totally blank. What the fuck.
“Uh-huh,” he manages.
Ilya kisses him one more time, slowly, sliding his tongue into Luca’s mouth. Then, still looking at Luca, he says, “Shane, come here. He is a good kisser, you will enjoy it.”
“You’re fine with that?” Luca says. “You’re—I mean, I’m going to think about this every time we’re in the showers together, Shane. That doesn’t bother you?”
Shane squares up, takes Luca by both shoulders, and says, “No.” He kisses Luca once, deeply, and returns to his own showerhead. Luca sways after him, looking dazed. “I did invite you here so my husband could fuck your ass," Shane points out. "You’re allowed to think he’s hot, Luca.”
Shane considers this the final word on the topic, but Ilya is still watching Luca closely. “I think there is more,” he says.
And, well. Ilya is usually right about these sorts of things.
*
All the tension that had eased out of Luca when Shane had kissed him comes rushing right back in. Ilya watches it happen, frowning.
Tricky. Luca is tricky. This isn’t going anywhere until he stops freaking out, but Luca isn’t Shane—Ilya can’t just shove him onto his knees to get him to calm down. Instead, he relaxes his weight onto one hip and continues washing his chest. “There is something you want me to do to you. In the showers,” he observes.
“Uh,” Luca says.
“You think about it almost every day,” Ilya adds, careful to keep his tone casual.
Luca opens his mouth, closes it again.
Ilya fusses with the bottles in their little caddy for a minute to give him time, but nothing.
He glances over to find that Luca is turning a shade of red Ilya has never seen him turn. “Look at you,” he murmurs. He steps forward, just within arm’s reach, and brushes his fingers against the edge of Luca’s blush, now spreading from his chest down his stomach. “You want it so badly.”
🌠✨🔥 chapter 4 is up 🔥✨🌠
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