I was born pretty. I've been pretty. I stay pretty

but it does make me laugh to imagine that like. he still likes the comfort and routine of A Warm Beverage In The Morning, especially to have to take with him to the rink since he'll be out in the cold. so he will have hot broth in his travel mug and just sip it like a coffee.

which is all well and good until ilya (who was taking care of anya) didn't actually see that shane didn't put coffee in his mug the way he did ilya's one of their first mornings in the season, so he doesn't want to bother getting up for his in the locker room, grabs shane's instead (because also to Lovingly Annoy), only to take a sip and fucking GAG because he was expecting unsweetened coffee not whatever the FUCK he just got pranked with.

"shane!! what the fuck is in here!"

"bone broth???"

"WHY ARE YOU DRINKING SOUP, SHANE?"

"who told you to drink *my* drink??"

"THIS IS NOT A DRINK, HOLLANDER. YOU ARE DRINKING *SOUP*!"

"it's not soup! it's broth!"

"is a TRICK!! why is this in a coffee cup, shane???"

*eyeroll* "just because it's CALLED a coffee mug doesn't mean-"

meanwhile the other players are just ??? you guys okay??? not knowing yet that they WILL manage to find a way to fuck about this later, don't worry.

it also means that the cutesy matching really nice travel mugs they get from rose as a playful christmas gift means ilya is now CONSTANTLY watching which one is his each morning.

he will NOT get surprise souped again.

He still somehow gets mysteriously prank-souped again.

And eventually Ilya notices (He clocked Shane as soon as he came in the room, of course, but he likes to make him wait) and he raises an eyebrow and says, "What?" into the rim of his coffee mug as he takes a sip.

Shane is sweaty and/or wet and one of those things is sliding from his hairline down his jaw. His face is red, not just from exertion or sun, and he eventually unclenches his jaw to say, "Hey."

"Hi." Ilya raises his eyebrow again.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating breakfast," Ilya says, gesturing.

Shane's eyes track up an down. "Over the, um, sink?"

Ilya turns and props his hip against the counter. Shane's eyes retreat immediately to the haven of his iliac crest and stay there. And Ilya smirks.

"Yes," Ilya drawls. "Less to clean up this way."

Shane's eyelids flutter rapidly. "Are you. Um. Still hungry?"

Ilya tilts his head, pretends to consider it, nods.

"For what?"

Ilya reaches out a hand and smacks the counter, one-two-three, a wordless command. Shane hustles over and lifts himself onto it, exactly where Ilya's hand had hit.

Oh I'm suuuuure. Shane with his broken clavicle and Ilya with his bruised ribs were absolutely just having the weirdest phone sex that you can possibly imagine. Shane is propped up on seven different pillows because it jostles his collarbone too much if he doesn't stabilize himself on Mount Fluffmore before he starts jerking it--with his NON DOMINANT HAND to be clear. Half of Ilya's hisses are from arousal and half are from pain. They are equally hot. At one point Shane's shoulder slips and he grunts, "Oh fuck," and Ilya's arm (Hand and dick out of frame because Shane once again asked to see his face. But he can hear everything he needs. Fwip fwip fwip) speeds up and he goes, "Oh God. Are you coming? Did you come?" and Shane is like, "No I moved my shoulder wrong fuck" and he's readjusting the pillows (it's a process) and Ilya is still, now just watching, remarkably patient, and Shane says, "You can, uh, keep going," and Ilya says, "No, I can wait," and then Shane settles and Ilya tilts his head and asks Shane to lift up his shirt and show him his tits because he misses them and Shane still has some bruising and honestly it's kind of gnarly but Ilya turns his camera and shows Shane the bloom of bruises up the side of his body and Shane hisses and says, "Fuck that's hot," and Ilya says, "Show me yours," and so Shane's good arm is occupied with holding up his shirt for a little while as Ilya jerks off to his bruise and his armpit hair and then Ilya says, "Touch yourself touch yourself let me see you come," and then Shane does and the pillows slip again while he's coming and the sound of his groan tips Ilya into the kind of full-body-crunch orgasm that jostles every single one of his bruised ribs and they're both saying owww and coming and saying oh fuck ow and coming.

And Shane, who's still catching his breath, says, "Wow, so this is what we could have had if we'd been hooking up during playoffs all these years," because that's the one thing they've always avoided through mutual unspoken agreement. He says this meaning it to be sarcastic but, in the dark of his bedroom with the sound of the lake out the window and Ilya's breath over the speaker, it comes out far too earnest.

And Ilya's, "Mm, yes," is sweet and low and Shane presses a hand to his bruises and imagines it's Ilya's and he can see Ilya's hand moving up and down the bruising on his side and wonders if he's imagining those touches to be from Shane.

"ah, so you are arsonist," ilya says, swinging away from the dancing flames to grin at shane, who, predictably, scowls at him. "should i be worried? imagine the headlines! boston star center dies in mystery fire. would be scandalous."

shane's elbow finds ilya's ribs. they're sharp, sharper than they have any right to be, and he wonders how it's taken him 10 years to notice.

"fuck off, city boy." shane tries to keep his scowl in place. he tries, but it transforms to a crinkly eyed smile that catches ilya in the stomach.

but it's easy to fall into familiar habits. they tussle, breathless and buoyant, until shane pulls ilya to his chest and they settle. the fire licks into the darkness. it twists and undulates, and ilya loses himself in the white heat of its center.

"i never went camping," he says eventually as the cherry red glow of the logs shift to ash. "i wanted to but -" he makes a broad sweeping gesture with one hand "-my parents."

as if that explains anything at all.

he slides further down shane's chest and the steady ba thump ba thump of his heartbeat echoes in ilya's every pulse point. if it was possible to tether himself to it, he would.

shane is silent for a long moment, the sweep of his thumb along the bare strip of skin at ilya's waist sending goosebumps up his spine, but then:

"we can go." and he says it easily. he says it like the foundation of this thing they're building isn't fragile. "i know a place. it's - uh - i think you'd like it."

ilya swallows past a lump in his throat and hums. he swings his legs up onto the loveseat to settle his head fully in shane's lap.

The message: Swing by the tower, got some new upgrades you should see

Tony: "What trouble have you caused?"

Peter: "It's 6am. I just woke up and made breakfast"

Tony: "You smell like smoke."

Peter: "On that note, I know how you like to watch the morning news, but l'd recommend against it just for today."