take Ilya's dick out of your mouth before you talk

shane: hey :) play better next time best buddy :)

"Scarily obsessed with Shane Hollander?" Cliff chimes in " Yeah, we're all a little worried he moved to Canada to stalk the man."

Everyone at the table gives a half hearted laugh at the "joke".

Ilya comes back, not even smelling like cigarettes smoke and the first thing he says is "Did you see the deke Hollander pulled against the Admirals goalie tonight." and no they had not seen it because they had all, Ilya included, been playing hockey at the time. Which means that from their perspective he had just been outside looking at Hollanders highlights for 30 minutes and suddenly everyone at the table is just a little less convinced. Like Cliff was just joking.

Probably.

Rozanov was almost definitely not stalking Shane Hollander.

Ilya left with Harris and Troy to get fitted for his best man suit for the upcoming Drover-Barrett wedding hours ago. He'd sent a very sexy selfie from the changing room, linen suit pants hanging loose on his waist, white dress shirt draped over his shoulders and unbuttoned down the chest, stupid lopsided grin with laugh lines and crinkles around his eyes (fuuuuuck, why are Ilya's crows feet doing it for him lately? Definitely not going to unpack that one).

Shane: Fuck. Come home.

Ilya: See something you like? I think it comes in your size

Shane: As long as it comes in me

Ilya: 👀

Shane: Come. Home. Now.

Ilya: Fuck. I promised Troy and Harris I would grab a beer when we're done. I'll let you know when I'm on my way home.

But hours later and still no text from Ilya. Shane doesn't want to be clingy. He knows the Centaurs see him and Ilya as a two-headed, codependent entity (which, honestly, fits in with the whole Centaur thing, wait no, Shane, don't lose the plot here). But he's starting to worry. Every now and then, Ilya will enjoy a beer since starting his SSRI, but never more than one, and he's always been completely fine. But still, Shane's brain is picturing awful scenarios, and he's practically thrumming with anxiety.

So Shane's anxiety wins and he dials Ilya. It rings a few times, and his heart fills with relief at the static crackle and rush of air filling the speaker. "Hello, Lyubimyy," Ilya purrs.

"Fuck, Roz, where the hell are you?"

"In the car, driving home from the bar. I'll be home in about 20 minutes. Just have to make a quick stop on the way."

Shane lets go of a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Okay. But if you're not home by 8, I'll suck my own dick."

There's a muffled gasp, but it doesn't sound like Ilya. He hears a tinny voice in the background. "Can he really do that?" it asks incredulously. Troy. Motherfucker.

He hears Ilya scoffs. "No. Wait. Can you really do that?'

"I bet its the yoga," another voice says. Harris. Fuck.

Shane blinks. His voice goes dangerously quiet. "Ilya," he starts. "Am I on speakerphone?"

"What?" Ilya squawks indignantly. "You are always so worried about me driving and talking, so I use the bluetooth."

"Ohhhhh well in that case," Shane says in a fake cheerful voice. "But you might have mentioned it before I STARTED DESCRIBING SEX ACTS IN FRONT OF OUR FRIENDS!" Shane yells.

"Shane," Ilya whines.

"Don't you 'Shane' me."

Ilya sputters. "I like to be hands free!"

Harris snickers in the background. "Apparently Shane likes to be hands free, too."

"Dude," Troy says. "You think he, like, can bend in half?"

Ilya growls. "Stop picturing it, Barrett!" he yells, presumably into the backseat. "Your fiance is literally next to you."

"Oh it's cool, Harris says Shane is my hallpass. Or, you know, Hollpass."

Ilya sighs. "Shane, we will fight about this later. I need to go kill Troy." And the call disconnects.