AO3 writer - Stevieschrodinger

“I mean...you don’t think he’d be insulted?” Steve asks. “He spends so much effort trying to...hide. You know, this thing.”

“Nothing obvious about the hoodie though, not by looking.”

Steve hums, “yeah but...maybe we should ask him. And...do we need a reason? Maybe as a birthday gift or something?”

Billy hums, Steve does have a point, “maybe. He’ll say it’s too expensive for us to just be buying him things. Do we even know when his birthday is?”

“No,” Steve answers, “hasn’t said yet. We should ask.” The buzzer rings out through the apartment, “okay, lets go. He’s going to explode if we keep him waiting.”

Billy follows along, slipping his shoes on next to Steve, “he’s just excited.”

Steve chuckles, “no babe, this is not a normal level of excitement.” Both of their phones ping; it’s got to be Eddie in the group chat. Steve reads it to Billy while Billy locks the door, “come on. If we’re late they won’t let us in. Four exclamation marks.”

“Should we explain to him that that’s not how it works?”

“You can try.”

Eddie is a ball of fizzing energy in the back of the truck. He has his hair pinned up, like he does when he goes to work, and Billy notices he’s painted his nails black. Maybe he wants to look nice for the animals, Billy vaguely speculates.

“I am very excited for the maned wolves.”

“I don’t even know what they are,” Steve answers as Billy pulls onto the highway.

“They are like...really big foxes, and they have really long legs and look like they're wearing long black socks.”

That does sound kind of cool, Billy thinks, watching the maps app on his phone.

“What time does it say we will get there,” Eddie actually leans forward between the seats as far as his seat belt will allow, trying to see.

“Ten minutes before they even open,” Steve answers, Billy looking across to catch Steve with a sappy grin on his face.

“Okay. Okay that’s good. They have a bat cave. Fruit bats, they’re super cute, I’m excited for the bat cave, you get to go in and they fly around you.”

“As long as they don’t shit on me,” Billy answers, switching lanes.

Steve bites his lips together, trying not to laugh, but Eddie leans forward, dead serious, “it’s okay, I have wipes in my rucksack. We can clean it off.”

Steve’s shoulders are actually shaking a little now, with the effort of not laughing, “oh. That’s good,” he chokes out, voice breaking. “Hopefully you don’t get shit on though.”

“You can feed some of the animals,” Eddie carries on, oblivious, “but that’s like an extra thing you have to book.”

“Maybe we can do that for your birthday,” Billy suggests, “when is it?” Billy takes the clear opportunity without hesitation.

“Oh. Ages, January twenty sixth. That would be cool though,” but there’s something in Eddie’s tone. Something quiet. A little sad, maybe.

Billy isn’t surprised when Steve turns in the seat to look back at Eddie, “you okay?”

Eddie’s tone changes so fast Billy knows Eddie is pushing straight through whatever the hell that was, “yeah. Yeah, really excited for the zoo.”

“I never would have guessed,” Billy replies, pulling off at the exit.

“He got sad about his birthday. Why do you think he got sad about his birthday?” Steve whisper hisses as they eat. Eddie’s in the bathroom. They’re having lunch. So far, they’re about half way through Eddie’s carefully curated route through the zoo. Billy’s seen all sorts of shit he’s never seen in person before, but honestly, most of it was pretty cool. He’s glad they came, and he’s kind of wondering why he and Steve have never done anything like this before. Eddie has been enthusiastic about every single animal they’ve come across, and, at the bare minimum, he’s known exactly what every single one is. He usually has a fact. Or several.

Billy can tell straight away when there’s an animal Eddie’s particularly fond of, not just because the phone immediately comes out to take photos, but because Eddie gets a bit bouncier. When they got to the alligator and crocodile house, Billy immediately had to intervene. You get to walk along a bridge over the animals, and there was no fucking way Billy was letting Eddie take pictures; they’d never see his phone again if he lost it over the edge into fucking literal crocodile infested waters.

Billy took the photos and then sent them to Eddie. The way Eddie had smiled at him had been...shy but also...happy. Warm. Full of something delicate that could, definitely, Billy strongly suspects, turn into love one day down the path. Maybe he's hoping for that, too.

Billy isn’t like Steve, but, after spending half the morning being tugged along by a very happy Eddie...Billy can see why Steve falls so fast and so hard.

Eddie ordered mac and cheese at the restaurant, which he absolutely demolished. He must burn a lot of calories, the way he seems to fidget so much. It’s probably what keeps him so delicate, especially considering how determined he seems to be to live on carbohydrates and cheese.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Billy answers, tucking into the second half of his sandwich, “maybe he just doesn’t like his birthday.”

“Well he’s going to like his birthday when we take him to feed some fucking lemurs, or whatever.”

“Yeap,” Billy agrees, chewing stoically. Steve’s probably right. Steve can probably fix whatever Eddie’s birthday related sadness was, simply by sheer force of will. If anyone can do it, it’s probably Steve.

“Are you guys busy next weekend?” Eddie asks as he sits back in his seat.

“Don’t think so,” Steve answers, pulling out his phone. Billy knows without looking that Steve will have already saved Eddie’s birthday in their calendar.

“I thought maybe I could organize something for us, if you want?”

“You...want to take us on a date?” Steve clarifies.

“Uh hu,” Eddie nods, nose wrinkling, biting his bottom lip.

Billy swallows and then speaks, “sounds great.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “that would be really nice. Can we know what it is or do you want to surprise us?”

“I want to surprise you. But, I, uh, wouldn’t like that, so I can tell you if you want. It isn’t anything that exciting, not like the zoo, just…fun.”

“Then we will wait and see,” Steve says decisively. The smile Steve gives Billy when Eddie isn’t looking is so happy. They both are, just so happy, wandering around the zoo together. Billy prays this works out; Eddie’s good for them, for both of them, Billy can feel it in his bones. Steve has so much love to give, it’s just good for him to have another person around.

And Billy, Billy doesn’t know if it’s to do with his own history or whatever it is that makes him who he is but...he’s happy to have someone else to support. Somewhere to direct his energy. He needs Steve, and now Eddie, to be safe and well and happy. It’s easy to watch them, Eddie balling up his napkin, eager to get a move on, Steve straightening his rucksack straps for him.

Eddie pecking a careless, happy kiss on both their cheeks before they leave, practically vibrating with the need to get on with their day.

When they get out of the restaurant, Eddie yips loudly, clearly startled, almost dragging Billy in front of him as a shield, “what’s wrong?” Billy asks reflexively, looking around for whatever the threat is.

“Fucking peacock,” Eddie replies.

And there is a peacock on the grass, just, minding it’s own business, kind of.

“Should that be loose?” Steve asks, watching the bird peck at the ground.

“It’s probably fine I just,” Eddie gets them walking, clinging to Billy’s hand to keep Billy between Eddie and the peacock, “I just don’t like them.” He looks back over his shoulder, presumably to make sure they aren’t being followed.

“You’re frightened of peacocks?” Steve asks, a clear smile in his voice.

“I’m not scared,” Eddie protests, very clearly scared, “I just, I don’t like it when they,” and he lifts his hands to imitate a peacock lifting it’s tail, “they shake the tail, it’s like a death rattle, it’s loud. I don’t like it.”

Billy’s sure there’s a story there, probably involving a much younger, much smaller Eddie being startled by a peacock, but he doesn’t ask, instead he says, “don’t worry, we will protect you.”

They have to be quiet, inside the giraffe house. All the other giraffes are outside, but inside, there’s two. A mother and her little baby. Well, not little, fucking thing is a week old and still taller than Billy. But everyone wants to see the baby, so it’s pretty crowded as people peer through the glass.

Eddie very definitely wants to see this. He’s also, very clearly, fighting off the discomfort of being crowded by strangers. Billy shifts, moving to press himself against Eddie’s back, shielding him, “this okay?” He whispers against Eddie’s hair.

Eddie nods, “yes, thank you.”

So Billy pulls Steve closer too, Steve getting the message fast and crowding up against Eddie’s side, effectively boxing Eddie against the glass as they all watch the gangly, baby giraffe bumble around it’s enclosure. Eddie sniffles. “You okay?” Steve asks quietly.

Eddie nods again, voice wobbling and wet, “he’s just so beautiful.”

The gift store at the end is exactly what you’d expect. Eddie has probably touched every stuffed toy in the place, but he’s insisted he doesn’t want anything. He’s standing looking at a cheap, badly printed off the rack tee shirt when Billy catches up to him, “do you want it?” Billy asks, looking at the shirt Eddie is holding. Printed on the front of the shirt in glittery font is, Shoot for the moon! Even if you miss you might hit a star!

“No,” Eddie scoffs. “I just...I mean. You’d die. If you were expecting to go to the moon, and you missed, the next nearest star is Proxima Centauri, and that’s four light years away. You wouldn’t have enough supplies to get there. You’d die. If you actually hit a star, you’d die. I just...don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand or...you don’t understand and you want me to explain it?”

Eddie looks up at him, wide eyed, like Billy is going to reveal the secrets of the universe, “what does it mean?” he whispers, awed.

“Well I’d interpret as, you know, try. Try new things, because even if they don’t work out, you might still discover something else good instead. I think.”

“Why doesn’t it just say that then?” He’s clearly genuinely baffled and, possibly, a tiny bit distressed by the shirt. It's interesting to see the taking things literally thing make an appearance.

“I don’t think it would sell as well,” Billy hazards a guess.

Eddie just humphs, clearly offended by the whole thing.

Eddie’s in front for the trip home, and Steve leans forward through the seats. Eddie is slumped down in a sleepy way. Kind of like a toddler who has had a full day of excitement, “I was thinking, would you mind if I invited Robin over for dinner with us later?”

Eddie yawns, “oh, like you want me to get out of your hair or..?”

“No no, I just thought she could join us, I haven’t seen her all week.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Eddie replies, easy going, “the more the merrier, right?”

Billy just concentrates on the road. This is stage two for Steve, and he’s bringing it up in front of Eddie, right when Billy can’t argue it. He supposes it’s been over two weeks now, and it’s a pretty normal amount of time to introduce friends.

And if it was just that, Billy wouldn’t have a problem with it. But this isn’t that, not for Steve, and Steve knows it. Robin is Steve’s family, his chosen family, anyway. His sister from another mister, or whatever that ridiculous thing they say is. The thing is, to Steve, this is the equivalent of bringing Eddie home to meet the parents.

Billy catches Steve’s eye in the rear-view, ‘is this a good idea?’ and ‘I know you think you’re getting away with something by asking him now’. Springing it when Billy can’t protest without looking like a total dickhead. But this is serious. And Steve has a tendency to move fast. Too fast.

Eddie would be moved in already, if it was left to Steve. And Billy’s on that road, he thinks, or at least he could be. Steve is just clearly several hundred miles further down that road than Billy is.

But, by the sound of it, this is happening now, and there’s nothing Billy can do about it except pray they get along. He cannot deal with another Shane and Robin situation, it was stressful, and uncomfortable. And Robin has no filter, so she did not give a shit, and did not even attempt to be remotely diplomatic when she was bad mouthing their boyfriend to them.

Listening to Steve try and defend him was even worse.

It was a stress on their friendship, on their relationship, one Billy most certainly will not be repeating. If this doesn’t go well, he’s going to have to put his foot down. Eddie is fine. He’s kind and nice and very easy to...care about. He’s not classically what you would think of as attractive, but that doesn’t stop him being incredibly pretty. Well, Billy thinks he is, mediocre tattoos and all. So if Robin decides she doesn’t like him, she’s going to have to work something out fast, because like hell is Billy going to stand by and let her be shitty to Eddie.

Not that he thinks she would, there’s no reason too. Eddie is just...kind of wonderful.

Billy will not hear a bad word about Eddie. With Shane, he kind of got it. He put up with it reluctantly simply because a lot of Robin was saying was, kind of, true. Even if she was blowing it all desperately out of proportion most of the time.

It hurt. Hurt Steve especially, but they are better off without Shane in their lives. Just like Billy is starting to think they’re way, way better with Eddie around.

“Yoooooooooo you fucking nerds!” Robin shouts through the apartment, and Billy can hear her kicking off her boots and abandoning them in the hall.

Steve stands up. So does Eddie. Billy figures he’s a little nervous. Steve goes over to give Robin a hug, and then when he pulls back, Robin and Eddie are left, staring at each other across the lounge. They both make a noise.

Eddie points, looking amazed, “pretty book store lesbian!”

Robin squeaks, pointing straight back at Eddie, “cool hair sci-fi guy!”

“I’m robin!”

“I’m Eddie!”

And then they’re talking over each other, “it’s so cool to officially meet you-”

“I didn’t realize it was you-”

And they’ve migrated together and they’re hugging? which is odd enough considering it’s Eddie but then they both laugh, “what are the odds-

“Small world right-”

Billy really kind of wants to ask how Eddie knows Robin is a lesbian without also knowing what her fucking name is.

“Oh my god, you went to go see Project Hail Mary with them, I knew they were going with you, and you had told me you were going, and I just didn’t put it together, how was it..?”

“Amaze amaze amaze!” And there are some really enthusiastic jazz hands from both of them.

“Good good good!”

“Oh, it was, really, good, I mean it wasn’t exact to the book but I get why they changed what they did and oh my god Rocky was just so fucking cute and perfect-”

Robin makes a noise that would probably make dogs bark and confuse the local bat population, “did you see the new episode of Bob-”

“Oh my god the award heist, yes it was so good-”

They’re both still standing in the lounge together. Just kind of off to one side of the couch, both their hands flapping with excitement at odd moments.

Robin is bouncing periodically on the balls of her feet, and Eddie is swaying side to side with nothing short of gusto.

“You painted your nails! They look so good! How was the zoo!?”

“The baby giraffe! Here I took pictures!”

And now their crowded around Eddie’s phone, and Robin keeps saying awwww.

“Did you get Silksong?” Eddie asks out of fucking no where.

Robin nods, enthusiastically, her hands are moving around a lot but so are Eddie’s, “yes, really enjoying it so far, the music isn’t as good as Hollow Knight, and super sad there’s no Cornifer-”

“No! Cornifer is the best-”

And then they simultaneously hold their hands up, and start humming the exact same tune, like they’re sleeper agents and someone just activated them.

Billy looks at Steve. Steve looks back at Billy and shrugs, then whispers, “I have no idea.” Louder he says, “so you two know each other?”

“Oh yeah,” Robin answers, “Eddie comes in the book store, wait, you work at Rival Records, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god, trade you staff discounts-”

“Oh one hundred percent yes!”

“Guys,” Billy tries, “we should order food.”

They manage, but it’s like trying to wrangle small children. There is a period of time where Billy is pretty certain Robin and Eddie are speaking only in movie quotes. They flit from subject to subject so fast Billy can’t follow it.

They progress from topic to topic in a way that seems totally and absolutely random to Billy, and yet, they seem to understand and follow each other’s thought processes just fine. Billy’s known Robin a long fucking time thanks to Steve, and he’s read a fair amount of stuff about Autism over the last week or so, and Robin just does not fit the brief the way Eddie does.

And yet, while they eat, Eddie manages to fumble his phone so badly he basically throws it, Robin drops her knife and a bunch of food on the floor, and they, between them, seem to work together to knock over a cup of juice. Luckily it was nearly empty, but, the point stands.

They seem to have managed to go from passing acquaintances to be able to extremely overshare in a matter of half an hour. Billy doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie this overtly energetic; it’s like he’s mirroring Robin’s energy. He even picks up a couple of turns of phrase from her very quickly, like a mimic, he’s slipped right into Robin’s patterns.

When Billy’s phone pings with an email, without missing a beat, both Robin and Eddie, in sync, mimic the sound, and the carry on talking like nothing happened.

And apparently, they can talk about anything.

“I love car washes!” All the tunrny spiny things!

“Nope nope nope, it’s loud and,” Eddie waves his hands in front of his face, “by the time you get used to the movements, it’s over, and then it’s bright.”

“You can use the spray things?” She mimes scrubbing with a brush.

“It’s okay, I can do it, I just have to, you know, I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer.”

Robin nods very solemnly, “Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

“Gas smells awful.”

“What, like diesel? No it doesn’t, it smells amazing.”

The whole evening passes in a blur.

Billy had worried that wasn’t going to go well. Now, as he lies in bed, listening as Steve and Eddie both snore quietly, he’s deeply concerned that it actually went too well.

Billy can’t remember the last time he played a board game. He genuinely tries. Considering who his parents are as people, and the age gap between himself and Max...he’s fairly sure that, actually, he’s never played a board game.

There are a lot of board games apparently. This part looks like a store. And it’s like a library of carefully shelved board games. But Eddie has apparently booked them a table, and when they go out back, there’s a whole other library of board games, and what looks to be about twenty tables in various configurations. The board games out here are all divided by length of game, which is displayed at the top of each book case.

Eddie sits them at a table for four; only two of the other tables are occupied, “it’s much busier in the evenings, that’s why I like it now.”

And Eddie goes and gets a board game, “this is basically impossible to buy unless you want to pay a ridiculous amount at full price,” Eddie tells them both, unboxing something called Baren Park, “it’s German but we don’t need the instructions.”

And Eddie distributes bits of card and explains the rules and it becomes pretty clear pretty fast, that the main point of the game is planning ahead so all your pieces fit together the most efficient way possible.

Billy, upon arrival, had expected to be bored out of his mind. He really isn’t, and neither is Steve, Billy can tell. Steve is usually a little ambivalent about these things. Steve had pretty solidly convinced himself in his youth that if it was in any way academic, he wasn’t going to be good at it. Billy had seen it in his face, when Eddie had talked about planning and points and tessellating pieces to make them fit. But half way through the first round it really clicked with Steve, and Billy could see how engrossed he was, setting his Tetris style pieces out in the order he wanted to play them, really thinking ahead to make space for the high scoring, awkwardly shaped pieces.

They played two rounds.

Next it was Castle Combo, “lets just play a round of this, it’s way easier to learn on the fly.”

And they did, Eddie was right. The first round was a bit of a wash since they were picking it up, but the second go, everyone was on even footing. There was no real sense of competitiveness until the scoring at the end, which Billy quite enjoyed, and the low energy meant they had time to talk and think and strategize out loud. It was...fun.

In between turns Steve had spent a couple minutes on his phone, and Billy knows damn well that he was ordering Baren Park.

Before Billy knew what was happening, they had been there for three hours.

“I’m getting hungry, should we call it?” And Steve and Billy both stood back while Eddie paid, apparently it’s a couple of dollars per person per hour, so it’s a pretty cheap date. Billy is aware that Steve is standing next to Eddie, absolutely squirming with the need to pay for this, but he manages to hold on.

Billy pats him, giving him a sympathetic nod. He understands Steve’s pain.

“Ill get us lunch!” Steve volunteers the second they hit fresh air and Eddie, actually agrees. He also knows a place that ends up producing one of the best meatball subs Billy has ever eaten. Eddie inhales his vegetarian lasagna. They end up getting dessert, and the single, huge, profiterole Billy is served is a thing of beauty.

“You ready for a little more?” Eddie asks when they’re done eating.

“I don’t know how you’re going to top the board game place,” Steve answers.

Eddie looks calculating, “for you, maybe not,” because Steve had, really, genuinely enjoyed the board games, “but for Billy, this might be the highlight.”

“Huh, well I’m intrigued,” Billy admits. And he actually, genuinely is. Eddie has probably put some thought into this yes, but more importantly he’s trying to share a part of himself with Billy and Steve. He’s showing Billy and Steve things he really enjoys, things that are important to him.

It’s nice. It’s different. Just like the zoo, it’s not the kind of thing Billy or Steve would have thought to do. And now they’ve tried it, they’ve really enjoyed it. They had kind of got stuck in a rut. Going to the gym together and then choosing a nice place to eat at the weekend had counted as weekly date night for a long time now.

Eddie’s shaking that up a little for them.

It’s nice.

The next place they go is kind of run down looking. The windows are covered in sun faded posters on the inside, and the chair is popped open with a metal folding chair that you have to skirt around to get in.

“Hey Eddie,” someone calls from behind the counter. He looks vaguely familiar, and although Billy can’t exactly place the guy, he strongly suspects that he may be friend from bar on the very first night they met.

“I’ve set you a table, they’re all primed.”

Eddie does a little bow to his friend, “thank you, I really appreciate you doing the prep.”

“Meh, doesn’t count as work if it’s fun.”

“This is Gareth, you guys met before,” Eddie confirms Billy’s suspicions, “this is Steve and Billy.”

“Hi,” Gareth leans against the counter, giving them a little salute.

“Come on,” and they follow Eddie through to the back. There are four tables, three empty, one covered with a many times paint smeared table cloth. There’s wipes and water and lots of little paint brushes in the middle of the table, “here,” Eddie offers Steve a little man on a stick. A little soldier it looks like, in big armor with even bigger shoulders.

The one Billy is handed looks kind of the same, but different. “So we can use any of these paints, and there’s some paper here for mixing colors on if you want to,” Eddie talks for another minute, explaining stuff, but then, “the best way to learn is just to have a go.”

Billy is fucking delighted at the array of colors. And, on inspection, even though all the brushes are worn, they look good. Some of the tips are so fine, Billy can definitely work with this. He’s already spotted the shade of green he wants to paint his little dude in.

Steve and Eddie talk a little more, Eddie talking Steve through some stuff. Eddie laughs when Steve smudges paint untidily on his little man, and then Eddie’s laughing when Steve retaliates by dabbing his brush right on the back of Eddie’s hand.

It’s nice. Sitting, painting. The smell of the paint is different, not familiar to the shop, but still...sort of the same. Enough that Billy kind of gets into the zone.

“I think I’m going to name my dude...Fred.” Steve leans over to look, huffing, “of course you’re fucking amazing at this, show me.”

Billy holds out the little stick that his man is attached too. Showing Steve and Eddie, who make appropriately impressed noises. Sticking the model to the top of the stick is a great idea, it gives so much more control while painting.

“Do you like it?” Eddie asks from the other side of the table.

“Yeah,” Billy finds himself answering honestly, “yeah I really do, this is like work but...fun. And good practice, probably.”

“Good,” Eddie grins back, “here,” Eddie holds up his own model for inspection. Steve’s looks like it’s had some sort of accident, but Eddie has clearly had a lot of practice.

“And you claim to be clumsy,” Billy chastises him gently, “this is good but...why have we got soldiers and you’ve got this cool...creature thing.”

Eddie grins, “it’s an owl bear. I’m running a new Dungeons and Dragons campaign soon, and this is going to be the NPC I’m playing. He’s a druid.”

Billy huffs a laugh, “I think I understood most of the words but not all of the context, maybe.”

“Eddie,” Gareth comes in, “we’ve got kids in soon.”

“Okay, thanks man, we will get cleared up. Can we leave these to dry?”

“Sure thing, I’ll label them and have them behind the counter,” Gareth carefully collects their miniatures, “this one is really good,” he inspects Billy’s, “you done this before?”

“Nope,” Billy isn’t going to shy away from the compliments, he knows he’s good at what he does.

“Huh. Well it’s good, and this one is very enthusiastic,” he also compliments Steve’s, which Steve accepts graciously.

There's a lot of stuff in the store. There are a lot of different figures and a lot of different paints. There’s special glue and brushes and even fake clumps of bush and grass and a sand that you can use to decorate the bases the little miniatures sit on. There are tables with ready built displays that look like battlefields and all sorts of books and odd shaped dice and just…stuff that Billy doesn’t have a clue about.

“Well, it was nice to meet you guys again. I’m glad Eddie’s axe murdering concerns were unfounded.”

“Gareth,” Eddie warns.

“What, it’s true?” But Gareth makes a point of talking to Steve and Billy, “once your guys are dry I’ll send them with Eddie. Did you enjoy it?”

Steve, ever polite, says, “yeah it was fun but...I’m not very good. I’m not sure it’s for me.”

“I liked it,” Billy finds himself saying. Mostly because it’s true, “I would definitely do it again. The details are good practice.”

“Billy paints cars,” Eddie volunteers, sounding ridiculously proud. Like he’s bragging about Billy. Billy’s pretty sure no ones ever done that before, other than Steve. It makes him feel warm inside.

“Did you really enjoy it?” Eddie asks once they’re back at the apartment, “like, really really?”

“Yes!” Steve answers for probably the third time since they left the shop, “I never knew board games could be my thing. Now I know different. Maybe we could get a couple to play here?”

Eddie makes a noise, excitement, “we should get Rummikub! It’s my favorite. It works the best with four people though, maybe we could play with Robin?”

Including Robin in their plans is Steve’s kryptonite, and Billy looks over in time to catch the inevitable level ten sappy smile that Steve gives Eddie, “that would be fun.”

Billy watches as Steve pulls Eddie close. Watches as they kiss, slow and sweet, “I had a lot of fun today baby, thank you.”

Eddie blushes, it’s almost instant, his head dipping to shy away, his skin turning pink. It’s just so...pretty. He's been so relaxed today, clearly happy in environments he's familiar with. Even the eye contact has been better today.

Billy can’t resist the pull of the two of them, pressing himself against Eddie’s back, one hand finding Eddie’s hip, the other tangling with Steve’s fingers. Eddie's curls are soft when Billy kisses the back of Eddie’s head.

Eddie adjusts naturally, tilting so Billy can nuzzle his hair out of the way, kissing at the skin of Eddie’s neck. Billy presses his half hard dick against Eddie’s ass, “you want to go to bed?”

Eddie nods, Billy feels the movement, “yes,” and then there’s just the soft sounds of Steve and Eddie kissing, Steve’s hand in Billy’s, the press of Billy’s cock against Eddie’s ass.

“What do you want this time, sweetheart? Anything you want to try?” Billy speaks against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie hums, and when Billy pulls back, Eddie is hiding his face, tucked up against Steve’s neck. It means Billy can lean in and kiss Steve. Steve’s smiling, his cheeks a little pink. Eyes hooded with arousal.

“Come on baby,” Steve whispers, “are there things you want to try?”

Eddie nods, painfully fucking shy, his fingers twisting and untwisting rhythmically in the front of Steve’s shirt.

“There are...things,” Eddie finally admits. Like it’s been dragged out of him.

“Oh, do tell,” Steve answers, raising his eye brows at Billy.

“I want,” Eddie turns a little more, burying himself even further against Steve, “I want to watch,” he breathes out, so quiet and fast the words run together.

Billy hums, grinding his cock against Eddie’s ass a little, “you want to watch me and Steve fuck?” Eddie nods, almost frantically, “you want to get yourself off while you watch?”

Eddie squeaks out a noise. It sounds almost pained, and Billy does not laugh.

“I’m up for putting on a show, I...don’t think we’ve ever done that before,” Billy shrugs, shaking his head, he doesn’t think they have either, “could be fun and,” Steve leans in a little, whispering right next to Eddie, “Billy will make sure you can see everything, yeah?” Eddie wriggles a little, at first, he’s pressing forward, against Steve, but then he presses back, rubbing his ass against Billy’s erection. Billy gets him by the hips, both hands, holding him steady while he crowds Eddie even closer to Steve. “Billy will make sure you get to see everything when I come on his cock,” Eddie shifts, whimpers, “and then he’ll flip me over, make sure you get to watch his come leaking out of my ass.”

Eddie makes another noise, giving another deliberate couple of thrusts against Steve. Billy’s pretty certain at this point that they could just talk Eddie off if they kept going like this.

“Tell us another,” Billy asks, “come on sweetheart, what else?”

Eddie sighs, his whole body moving a little with it, Billy shifting with him to make sure his hard cock stays pressed right up into the crease of Eddie’s ass.

They have to wait it out a minute, wait for Eddie to gather up his courage, “I want to try it,” Eddie finally admits.

Steve frowns, but Billy thinks he gets it, “you want to try one of us in you sweetheart? One of us fucking you?”

It’s hot, Eddie wriggling between them, but able to simply watch Steve’s face and his reaction to the conversation. Steve’s turned on. Really fucking turned on by this. Steve voice is rough and soft, “we can definitely try that soon baby. But if you’ve never done that...maybe we could try fingers first. See how you like it. Build up to it a little.” Eddie nods, more calmly now. “You want to try that now?” Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head. Then he nods. Then he shakes again and shrugs his shoulders.

Billy can’t help his chuckle, “okay, maybe another time, maybe soon.”

Eddie nods, still determined to be buried as Close to Steve as possible.

Billy bites his lip, not sure if he’s pushing. Eddie is just so shy about this stuff, and Billy doesn’t want to go too far but...Steve nods. Billy agrees, “Eddie, sweetheart, I think you’ve got one more thing to tell us.”

Eddie really wriggles this time, the moan that escapes him is long, warbling and desperately pitched. He humps against Steve, the movement rubbing his ass very thoroughly against Billy’s cock too. He thinks he's starting to leak, the head starting to feel tacky and clingy to the material of his underwear.

Steve’s face is really starting to flush now too, Eddie’s humping is probably doing something for Steve. Maybe he’s lined up right against Eddie’s hip; Billy’s pretty sure Steve has his thigh cocked forward for Eddie to use. Billy certainly would have if their places were switched.

“One more baby,” Steve whispers. Eddie tilts his head, this one is so quiet even Billy doesn’t quite catch it, so Steve repeats it, “you want to try sucking us off baby?”

Eddie nods, muscles taught and frantic the way he’s wriggling between them now.

“You want to try now?” Billy clarifies.

The cameras flash, and reporters ask all the usual questions about diet and training regimes and choreography and music. Not exactly like Hockey. There would be more reporters for one; team sports definitely get a lot more traction.

Shane’s saying something about support networks and all the long days he puts in, “my Mom obviously, she’s my rock. She does so much for me, keeping me organized and on track. My, uhm, my coach. His support is just, you know. There’s no value I could put on that.”

But Shane’s looking at him. Ilya nods.

“And my uhm, my partner,” there’s a little flurry then, “he’s, you know, he really understands the training and that, so he’s super supportive too. He doesn’t even like figure skating,” Shane laughs, “but he keeps watching.”

It’s hard to hear from here. All the questions being called, but Shane speaks again into the lull, “oh he’s a hockey guy, like completely. Which is great, it means he’s got a lot to talk about with my Mom.” Another flurry of noise, and Shane’s eyes keep flicking to him, and there’s curiosity there, a question. Ilya skirts the edge of the room, getting closer, scooching unnoticed past the rows of chairs. “I mean, it’s up to him, if one day he wants to go public. I’m sure he can handle like, any attention…”

Shane trails off, and Ilya realizes that, suddenly, he’s practically at the end of the long table. Shane stands up. It feels kind of dreamlike, with the cameras flashing and the noise of people calling questions, but all it takes is for Shane to tilt his head in invitation, and there’s nothing more in the world Ilya wants than to be holding Shane’s hand.

So he does. Ilya is very aware that a lot of the reporters know exactly who he is, and he can hear his name being shouted a lot.

He’s vaguely aware that the room just got much louder, but Ilya ignores it completely, he sighs as Shane pulls him into a hug, “this is stupid thing we do. Now there will be a million questions for you. I wanted to go home, not listen to you answer questions about how you managed to be boyfriend of the great Ilya Rozanov.”

Shane lets them both in, putting their bags up in the bedroom, vaguely listening as Ilya mumbles something about Shane having a real estate fetish. “Do you want lunch?” Shane calls, not realizing Ilya is not too far behind him.

“I am hungry. But not for food.”

And Shane can’t help his laughter as Ilya tackles him to the bed. They kiss, Ilya rolling easily so that Shane is on top, already working a hand into Shane’s shorts.

But something still pulls Shane up a little, a little left over uncertainty. A little...echo of the pain he had, when Ilya was dishonest about his feelings. Or at least, too reserved to share them. How Ilya didn’t say anything, even as Shane was breaking up with him.

Ilya senses it, his movements slowing, he waits, watching Shane.

“Look, while we’re here could we just...be honest about how we feel? Could we...really just be...open about things. Make it...real.”

“I will try, Shane Hollander,” it’s not a yes, but it’s a close as Shane thinks he’s going to get from Ilya. Grumpy Russian. “But I would say anything to get you to put your hand on my dick, so.”

Shane snorts a surprised laugh, he can’t help it. Between Shane’s injury and them both...feeling out their new relationship, they haven’t had sex. Shane will be the first to admit he’d been nervous about it. There was a voice in the back of his head, that kept telling him that Ilya might let him down again. That Ilya wasn’t actually going to come to the cottage. He doesn't know if it was a fully conscious decision on his part, to put it off until now but...he needed to know. He needed to know that Ilya wasn't going to back out again; that he wasn't going to hurt again.

It still felt like a real risk, that Ilya wasn’t going to be willing to meet Shane’s parents, just like last time he backed out. But he’s here, he’s here now at the cottage, and he’s planning to stay two full weeks with Shane. Two weeks of, mostly, just them. Two weeks to properly be together.

Two weeks of Shane letting himself trust Ilya enough to be in love with him.

“Ilya,” Shane says, a little bit of warning in his tone.

“Shane,” Ilya replies, same tone.

“Oh my god why are you like this,” but Ilya’s hand is creeping into his shorts again, rough knuckles pressing against Shane’s soft and tender skin, and Shane starts to forget any reason he may have been annoyed with Ilya.

Ilya kisses him. Open mouthed, tongue invading, licking right into Shane’s mouth, making him moan and grip at Ilya’s shoulders. He’s very aware of Ilya blindly fumbling to strip his shorts off, but he just doesn’t care.

“You have lube. Condoms?” Ilya basically speaks into Shane’s mouth, he’s so unwilling to pull away.

“Drawer,” Shane answers, hand slapping the comforter in the vague direction of his bed side cabinet.

Shane had already been here for a couple of days before he went to collect Ilya, stocking the fridge, airing the place out. Taking a little time just for himself and making it ready and perfect so Ilya didn’t have any reason not to fall in love with Shane’s favorite place in the world.

Ilya makes a grab for it, rummaging around in the drawer without moving close enough to look, presumably so he can keep the flat of his hand on Shane’s bare hip. Shane kicks his shorts and underwear off the rest of the way, cock half hard and already resting against his stomach.

Ilya is back a moment later, movements desperate, tugging at the bottom of Shane’s shirt even as he flicks the cap off the lube with his other hand. Shane could say to slow down, he could remind Ilya that have two weeks to do this together, as many times as he wants.

He doesn’t. The same desperation crawls up his spine. The same need to come back together again. Consummate seems to serious a word for it, but that’s how it feels. A burning need festering in Shane’s guts. They need this. They need to be together like this.

Ilya nuzzles his way into Shane’s neck, open mouthed sucking kisses, Shane with his head thrown back, letting Ilya push his legs apart, spreading himself further, Ilya’s wet fingers immediately butting up against the furled muscle of Shane’s hole. Ilya’s mumbling something in Russian now, the pads of two fingers rubbing wet circles against Shane’s hole for a few impatient seconds before they’re pressing in.

Shane hisses; there’s the burn of the stretch, but the moment Ilya stills Shane is whining and rocking his hips down and trying desperately to get Ilya inside him. The two fingers are pulled back out abruptly, Ilya pulling back briefly to cover his fingers again, wet and messy, clumsy with desperation before those fingers are pressed inside again, so sloppy with lube it drips from Shane’s hole and down onto the bed.

They kiss breathlessly, Shane desperately tugging at Ilya’s clothes, “I’m ready, please Ilya, come on,” and Ilya pulls back only long enough to tug the last of his own clothes free and toss them off the side of the bed.

The afternoon sun sparkles off the lake, reflecting sparkling waves over the ceiling, shining off Ilya’s hair and shoulders as he shifts, climbing over Shane’s leg, kneeling between Shane’s thighs. Shane has a moment to look up, to appreciate Ilya’s broad shoulders and thick middle, the shadow of his abs and his hard cock jutting upwards, flushed, so hard the foreskin has rolled back. He manhandles Shane, hooks his elbows under Shane’s knees easily, lifting Shane and puling him closer, his whole weight briefly resting on his shoulders. Ilya makes quick work of ripping the condom open and rolling it on; slicking himself liberally with lube.

Shane can look down the length of his own body, his cock fully hard now, resting against his stomach, his balls already drawn up beneath that, and then the head of Ilya’s thick cock shiny wet and butting up against Shane’s hole. Shane bares down, letting out a long breath as Ilya breaches him, stretches him with the spongy head of his cock. Ilya pauses, but only for a second, eyes flicking to Shane’s face for a second, and whatever he finds there must tell him Shane is fine, because he continues. He doesn’t stop, sinking inexorably into Shane’s body, Shane panting and whining as Ilya’s cock splits him open. It spears him, invading Shane’s body and landing deep in his guts. The shiny condom covered skin of Ilya’s cock slowly being swallowed by the tight, dragging muscle of Shane’s hole.

He does not stop until He’s flush with Shane’s body. Ilya’s broad hands hold Shane by the hips, steadying him, shifting on his knees to get the best position before he pulls out again, almost all the way, sliding right back in on a brutal thrust. Shane throws his head back, crying out, hands snagging and scratching desperately at the comforter, breaths coming in whining desperate pants as Ilya thrusts home again, skin slapping as he fills Shane’s smaller body.

God it’s in Shane’s guts. In his lungs. The punishing pace knocking the air out of Shane’s lungs on a cry every time Ilya’s hips hit his ass.

When Shane manages to blink his eyes open, Ilya has his teeth bared, he’s frowning with effort or concentration or both, it’s animalistic, desperate, brutal, the way Ilya fucks him. Fucks Shane like he’s a toy, like he’s a thing to move up and down on Ilya’s cock, to hold still and pin down and use and fuck.

Shane’s cock bounces with every thrust, wet strings of precome dripping onto his skin, the trail broken by Ilya’s rhythmic shifting of him before a fresh drip gathers at the slit and drools from Shane’s cock.

Ilya is relentless, it’s impossible for Ilya’s ridiculously thick cock to miss Shane’s prostate at this angle, Shane’s cock fully leaking now, the dripping precome gathering enough to slide and drip down Shane’s stomach.

She can hardly watch, his own cock red and bouncing, slapping wetly against his own skin, Ilya’s cock pistoning out of him, sliding in and out of Shane’s hole, his balls pulled so tight just above it’s nearly painful. The shift of Ilya’s muscles in the light, his hair damp now, skin starting to flush with exertion and sweat.

The lightning strikes of pleasure inside Shane all start to roll into one another as he climbs higher and higher, his legs starting to quiver where they hang uselessly around Ilya's hips, the muscles of his stomach tightening.

“I can feel you clenching on me, ledyanaya ptitsa, you will come on my cock,” Ilya’s voice is sex rough and low, voice uneven and breathless from exertion, his fingers feel bruising on Shane’s hips. Shane feels like a doll. Like a toy that’s been lifted so effortlessly and played with, “come on my cock.”

Shane’s close, he’s so close, the consuming pleasure, the feeling of his hole clawing at Ilya’s cock, tightening, trying to keep him inside, Shane comes, muscles screaming, his whole body clenching tight, come spattering his stomach, his chest, spurt after spurt fucked out of him by Ilya’s cock, forced out of him as his body burns, until his legs are quivering and his eyes are wet with over stimulation.

Ilya groans as he comes, Shane can feel the heat of it even though the barrier of the condom. He grinds into Shane, as deep as he possibly can, before finally letting Shane’s legs fall.

They lie together after, a little tacky and sweaty, but still sated, their fingers idly tangling and untangling together, “I am sorry, Shane.”

Shane shifts, head at an awkward angle, so he can look up at Ilya.

Ilya draws up their clasped hands so he can kiss Shane’s knuckles, “I am sorry that I...did not love you as you should have been, and I caused us both pain. I have caused this...worry, in you.”

Shane humphs, still a little breathless, skin starting to prickle with chill as the sweat dries, “okay, don’t do it again.”

“I will try,” it seems to be the best he’s going to get from Ilya, “of course, if your mother skins me alive…”

“They...don’t know you’re here,” Shane admits, quietly. “They, uhm, they think we haven’t spoken since the hospital. I mean, nothing, nothing bad I just...I just wanted to make sure, you know? Before you met them properly. I just...wanted some time. Just us. Just to make sure you actually...want this. Shit I’m fucking this up. Not that you do have to meet them, if you don’t want too, I mean, I’m not forcing-”

“Shane.” Ilya kisses his hand again, “I will face the wrath of Yuna Hollander. I deserve it. I will worship you for giving me this chance, when you did not have to. You forgive me, when I was stupid and small and scared-”

“Ilya. Stop.”

“You wanted me to tell the truth?”

“I mean- yeah, but, not- don’t be mean about yourself,” Shane rolls so he can hold Ilya, mess with his hair and stroke his face and just generally be loving. “I meant like, tell the truth about how much you love me, not...stuff that’s done is done, now, okay?”

“Okay.”

And Shane can tell, anyway, just from how Ilya looks at him.

No one has ever looked at Shane the way Ilya Rozanov does.

Shane can tell Ilya’s nervous. He’s being stoic about it. Very staring off into the distance grumpy Russian about it. But Shane can sense it. The nerves.

He reaches for Ilya’s thigh, other hand on the wheel, “it’s going to be fine.”

“Yes, eventually, probably.”

“No, Ilya, it’ll be fine now, tonight. She’s- I mean okay, she was kind of surprised when I told her you were here.” And that is an understatement, Yuna’s outraged, ‘he what?’ is still ringing very clearly in Shane’s head. Shane hadn’t expected his mother to take it completely smoothly, for obvious reasons. But still, this is going to be fine.

“This is why we have the board of meat and cheese? You cannot murder someone trying to hand you cheese?”

“Ilya, it’s called a charcuterie board, and I said we would bring the starter and the wine, so we have.”

“I think if she drinks enough, her aim will be poor and-”

“Oh my god,” Shane laughs, he can’t help it. Under the stoic Russian veneer, he can tell Ilya maybe more than just a little nervous. He may actually be terrified. “She’s going to give you the look. She has this I disapprove of this look, but otherwise she’s actually too polite to say anything, you know, mean.”

“Ah yes,” Ilya nods, “good Canadian manners.”

“Something like that, but I have told her that I love you, and you’re not going anywhere. So.”

“I am very sorry,” Ilya blurts out the moment the door opens. Shane watches, mildly horrified but deeply entertained as Ilya thrusts the charcuterie board at his startled mother.

She looks at Shane. Shane raises both eyebrows at her, very meaningfully.

“Uh. Yes. Thank you, mister Rozanov-”

“Ilya, please,” they shuffle in together through the front door, Shane still carefully holding a bottle of wine in each hand, he toes off his shoes and Ilya does the same, “you have a beautiful home,” Ilya is already saying as he follows Yuna into the lounge.

Even through his clothes Shane can see the tension across Ilya’s shoulders, and it’s all he can do not to laugh. He looks lost a lost duckling, hovering near the couch. Over six feet of solid Russian muscle, looking lost in Shane’s parents living room.

He tries not to laugh. Ilya is braving this for Shane when he doesn’t have to.

Shane follows his mother, dropping the wine off on the dining room table and hugging his dad before heading back to Ilya and showing mercy, grabbing his hand, “come on.”

They all sit together at the dining room table, and Ilya looks like he might actually be going in front of the firing squad. Underneath the table, Shane rests his socked foot on top of Ilya’s. Yuna distributes tiny plates, and David has just come in from checking the grill. They’re having chicken and vegetable skewers, apparently. Probably served with two different forms of potato if David has been in charge of dinner.

“So,” Yuna starts, having pulled apart the delicate salami rose Shane spent whole minutes constructing, “what are your intentions with my son.”

David very pointedly busies himself choosing the most perfect olive on the board. Shane groans.

Ilya, to his credit, actually doesn’t look as terrified as he did earlier, but Shane still huffs, “Jesus mom, leave him alone.”

“No, is okay,” Shane squeezes Ilya’s hand under the table, “uhm. I will love him for as long as he will let me. That’s all.”

“And before, when you messed him around-”

“Oh my god mom-” Shane would actually like the earth to open up and swallow him.

“I was being an idiot. I am very lucky he has forgiven me. Shane has a very big heart.”

Yuna opens her mouth, “and we are done!" Shane declares loudly. "No more or we’re leaving. Dad, hows’ work?”

“Oh,” David looks equally caught out, he probably hasn’t been asked about work for about ten years considering his job literally hasn’t changed for that whole time, “well it’s...pretty much the same as it’s always been.”

“Dad works for the treasury,” Shane tells Ilya, “and he likes doing jigsaw puzzles.”

Ilya actually perks up, “I used to like puzzles when I was young, but I guess I haven’t...thought about it, for a long time.”

“Oh, well, I’ve got two thousand piece one on the go, you want to see?”

And David and Ilya are both getting up again, dad explaining that he will have to go and check on dinner again in a minute, and Ilya offering to come out and help with the grill.

Their conversation fades, leaving Shane to be glared at by his mother, “mom, I love him, that’s kind of the end of it.”

“I don’t have to like it-”

“No but you do have to accept it,” Shane puts his foot down. He’s not doing this. “Ilya fucked up, and he admitted that, and now it’s done, okay?”

She purses her lips, and Shane knows she probably hasn’t had the best first impression of Ilya, “I will give him a chance. Since you like him so much.”

“It’s all I ask,” Shane grins, “do you think they’re alright?”

“Your dad can make friends with literally anyone.”

And it’s true, Ilya comes back, laden down with foil wrapped potatoes and a platter of skewers. He already looks more relaxed.

Diner is much more relaxed after that. Especially once Yuna is on her second glass of wine. They talk about a lot of things, but unintentionally Shane’s parents seem to keep poking sore spots. They ask Ilya if he goes home to Russia very often, which on the face of it, is an innocent question, but Ilya replies with, “I did, for Olympics, but I will probably never go back now.”

“Oh, not to see family?”

Shane doesn’t flinch, but it’s close, “ah, no. I have none,” Ilya replies. And okay, it’s not a nice topic for Ilya, but he has just very clearly won himself a huge sympathy vote if the look on Yuna’s face is anything to go by.

“And you’re still working as a hockey coach? You’re enjoying that?” David tries.

“Ah, well,” and Ilya rubs the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable, “injury stopped me from playing so,” he shrugs, “it is what I have now.”

“Right,” David answers quietly, “another drink?”

“Ah. No. I try to never have more than one, you know. Just with food is sometimes okay to have one.” And he probably didn’t even mean anything by that one, but Shane can see very clearly in his mother’s lack of expression that she has gleaned that there is a reason Ilya answered that way.

Shane can’t help it, he reaches for Ilya’s hand under the table, giving it a squeeze, “you will have to tell me recipe for chicken, is very delicious,” Ilya changes the subject, but doesn’t let go of Shane’s hand, choosing to have them both eat awkwardly with just their forks instead.

“I live,” Ilya says as he climbs into the passenger seat, “I survived. I complimented many things, that probably helped. I do not have good Canadian manners, just mediocre Russian ones.”

Shane lets out the breath he was holding all through dinner, “I’m sorry they asked all those questions, but I actually think that went really well, considering.”

“Yes,” Ilya nods, “I just said. I am not dead, so it went very well. Great success. Ilya Rozanov lives to see another day. But the back yard is very nice, there would have been worse places to be buried.”

They are good; Eddie understands that he needs to see people, at least sometimes. Most of Eddie’s friends, especially Gareth, maintain that they feel better after seeing friends, that social interaction fills up the batteries. Eddie feels the opposite; social interaction, no matter how positive, slowly drains him.

Or quickly drains him, if it’s loud and bright and just too much.

Except for Billy and Steve apparently. Lying on their couch doing nothing but watching a film, is as good as being completely alone. Eddie isn’t expected to do anything, he’s not expected to hold the mask up or perform. He still does, obviously, some of the time...but not all of the time.

And it’s nice; Eddie loves it. He loves that he has people he doesn’t need to be on around.

Eddie kind of feels like, at birth, someone handed him a bag of meat and said here, look after this. Eddie knows his brain is different to most other peoples, that the wet lump of salt and fat and chemicals that sits in his head doesn’t process things the way everyone else’s seems to. It took until adulthood for Eddie to work out how to, mostly, look after the bag of meat.

The brain is a weird thing, and sometimes the fucking thing gets all wound up or sad over nothing. So Eddie kind of, through trial and error, worked out things to try to make it better.

Pour liquid into the bag of meat. Feed the bag of meat. Keep it clean. Sometimes it needs fresh air and sunshine. Let it interact with other people occasionally. Orgasms can help straighten up the brain chemistry for a bit. Do not, under any circumstances, fuck with the bag of meats sleeping pattern. Go to work, contribute to society, or whatever. Identify things the lump of salty chemical meat enjoys, like reading or watching movies or listening to music. Create things, sometimes. It’s like a check list of things Eddie knows he should be doing. Internalized rules to care for the bag of meat that Eddie’s wearing.

The thing is he doesn’t really like it, and given the choice, he probably wouldn’t have signed up for any of this.

But Eddie didn’t get a choice in the matter, and now he’s here. But Steve and Billy seem to make all of that just a bit better, just by being in Eddie’s life, so Eddie decided to give Billy and Steve their own color in the calendar. Lilac. And after work today, he’s heading straight over there. He has a change of clothes in his backpack that he’s checked four times before going to work.

Because he has a date. Dinner and a movie. They’re going to see Project Hail Mary, which is the film of, possibly, one of Eddie’s most favorite books ever. So needless to say, Eddie is basically vibrating with excitement.

Or at least he was, until he gets to work, and sees the state of the place. Work only has one set of lights, and they’re overhead and they’re bright. Eddie doesn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, he just has to tolerate it. Most of the time he’s fine with it.

Not when it’s revealing the devastation of half the stock moved to the other side of the store.

Eddie checks the back room; there’s floor stock in there too, to make room for the new shelving, and there’s also been a delivery that no one has bothered to do anything about.

The rage is unreasonable. Eddie knows the rage he feels is ignorable. He knows he has to ignore it, because nothing good comes of acting when he’s angry. It’s a hard learned lesson, but one that Eddie learned in his teens.

But it doesn’t stop him feeling the anger. It’s so simple; it’s not difficult to put records alphabetically, and it would not have been hard to keep the stock in order rather than just shoving it everywhere. And it wouldn’t be difficult to unpack a delivery and store them in some semblance of order. But no one has even tried.

They haven’t even moved the boxes, they simply look abandoned in the middle of the room.

He knows he’s tidy about these things. He knows he likes to have the place organized, and he knows a lot of the staff spend their shifts drinking take out coffee and propping up the counter. He knows this because he watches them do it, usually while dusting or sweeping or putting the floor stock back into the correct order.

He knows he’s not one of them. He knows the other staff see each other sometimes socially, but Eddie’s never been invited and he never wants to be. They’re nice enough to his face, but he strongly suspects that that’s because he does all the work and they do nothing.

Eddie’s fine with it, while he’s busy no ones’ going to speak to him. While he’s single handedly doing everything that needs doing, whoever else he’s on shift with can serve the customers. They can field the questions. They can deal with the general public. Eddie would rather not engage with the general public, given the choice.

Eddie takes a deep breath. The way Eddie sees it is very simple; why people won’t just do things the way he would makes him so angry he actually develops a bit of indigestion. It’s just so frustrating. He knows his rage is disproportionate; he’s at work. He’s getting paid no matter what he does, and realistically, none of this is actually his problem, he just works here.

Eddie checks the time; it’s a mistake that he instantly regrets, he’s only been here five minutes, and he’s not getting out of here until four thirty. There are a lot of hours between now and then.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and channels his extreme irritation into rearranging the stock into something manageable. Why are other people such morons?

The removal of the old shelves and addition of the new ones means that dust, presumably from the turn of century, has made a bid for freedom. It’s everywhere, and frustratingly sticks to the bristles of the broom rather than playing ball. But, still. By the end of the day Eddie has filled the new shelves, moved floor stock from the back room back out onto the floor, set everything in order, and stacked the new delivery deliberately and tidily and most importantly, not like an absolute moron.

He’s itchy. Both from dust and dried sweat. Today was miserable, but at least no one spoke to him for more than a minute at a time for the whole day. The store being out of sorts has left Eddie feeling out of sorts, and he knows it. But he heads to Steve and Billy’s place, head down, determined. It’ll probably be alright once he gets there, and he keeps telling himself that, on repeat, even if he kind of feels like he wants to peel his own skin off.

Steve lets Eddie in with a big, clear smile on his face. That ones easy; Steve’s happy. Eddie likes to think that it’s because he’s here but he doesn’t know that.

“Hey,” Steve says, and he’s leaning real close and starts to say something else, but Eddie instinctively jerks back so hard his shoulder hits the door.

Steve freezes. Eddie freezes.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks quietly.

And Eddie knows how he’s feeling, obviously, the bubbling sensation is right there. But he can do this, probably. “Yeah,” Eddie answers, just as quiet, “I’m okay.”

“I don’t believe you,” Steve says plainly. And, to be fair, Eddie isn’t giving any indication that he is in fact, fine.

“Uhm. I didn’t have a good day at work,” Eddie admits, because it’s true and it’s the best explanation he has right now for the jitters that are coating his skin. He feels like he’s completely pasted in dust. He feels like his whole routine has been shifted. The world feels disjointed and his brain is fizzing.

“Oh. Okay. Can I hug you?”

“No thank you,” Eddie says almost reflexively, because he really doesn’t want anyone touching him right now. It would just...rub in the dirty itchy feeling.

Steve says, “oh. Okay.” And Steve doesn’t really look much of anything now, not like when he was smiling just a minute ago, so Eddie doesn’t know how exactly Steve is feeling. But. Eddie knows how people feel when you won’t hug them, he’s been told often enough. It’s just a hug, it doesn’t hurt you, stop being silly. So Eddie knows how people feel when you won’t hug them. It hurts their feelings. They get offended. Eddie’s never been quite brave enough to point out that he has feelings too. But. He knows he’s in the minority. He’s the one who is weird and wrong. He’s the one who has to spend all day playing a game he never got the rule book for. He’s the one who has to live in a world that too bright and too noisy and never makes any fucking sense.

Eddie thinks about it, weighing it up. Because, no, no he doesn’t want that right now, but he knows that Steve does. Steve wants to hug Eddie, otherwise, why would he have asked? And Eddie does not want to be that asshole who upsets other people with his own problems. He doesn’t want to be difficult, especially not with Steve. But he also wants to tell the truth, like Billy said to.

This time, Eddie weighs up the pros and cons, and Steve being happy is worth more than Eddie’s discomfort, “okay, sorry, yeah. We can hug.”

Steve looks at Eddie, and they’re still standing in the hallway, and Steve takes a step away and says, “you don’t want to though, do you? Not really?”

“No but...it’s making you sad right? That I said no? You want to hug me?”

Steve goes through a couple of faces, neither of which Eddie understands, “no Eddie… it’s not. It’s not that you won’t hug me that’s making me sad, it’s that you had a bad day, and I want to offer you comfort, and I don’t know how to do that if I can’t touch you.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, because that makes complete sense. Like it’s blinding really, how obvious that is once Steve spells it out.

Billy pads in from the lounge, probably come to see why they’re both just standing in the hall, Eddie still backed up against the door, “what’s up?”

Eddie manages to say, “uhm,” again, because the feeling in his skin is kind of making his brain buzz and having to think isn’t helping. He’s kind of used himself up today at work, and there isn’t really anything left right now. Bilbo Baggins said it best, Eddie feels like butter scraped over too much bread.

“Eddie had a bad day at work, and I don’t think he wants to be touched, but I wanted to hug him because I want him to feel better. I know a hug will actually make him feel worse so I won’t do that,” Steve speaks very clearly, watching Eddie.

Billy looks back and forth between them for a second before taking the final step toward Steve. And then he pulls Steve back against him, wrapping Steve in a big hug, arms thrown across Steve’s chest and he clearly holds him tight. Steve grips Billy’s forearms, “okay, Steve’s getting a hug, I mean it’s from me but he’s just going to have to make do. Eddie, what do you need?”

And what does Eddie need? It takes him a second, because it feels like there's a lot going on right now when, actually, nothing at all is happening. “Shower? And just...a bit of time.”

“Okay,” Billy nods, “that’s super easy, go shower, use the en suite and the bedroom, you know where everything is, towels on the rail are okay to use, we will leave you to it, okay?”

Eddie nods, scuttling past the two of them and into the bedroom, praying that he hasn’t hurt Steve’s feelings and that they don’t think he’s fucking weird now.

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed staring into space for a bit.

He’s wrapped in a soft towel, clutched right up under his arm pits, and he has his hair wrapped up in a second towel. They’re so much nicer than the towels at home, all fluffy and warm. He’s vaguely aware of himself slowly drying. He doesn’t do anything. He just sits. There’s the low noise of the television in the lounge drifting to him through open doorways. He thinks he can hear Billy and Steve talking, but that probably isn’t right. Their voices are probably too quiet to hear from all this way.

He has the Adventure Time blanket in his hands, it was folded up at the bottom of the bed, and he lets the soft edge run between two fingers, again and again and again.

Eddie stares into space, and he is calm, and still, and very very clean. He was so full earlier, so full of everything, and now that’s all drained away and he feels empty. Calm. Like he could sit and stare at nothing for the rest of the day.

The water was so hot he’s a little pink, and now he slowly cools as he dries, and it’s such a familiar and expected routine that it almost doesn’t matter it’s happening in someone else's bedroom.

He’s glad of what he’s packed. He has his jeans and a long sleeved and a tee, for going out. But he also has his sweats to wear when he’s here. Eventually, once he’s spent so long working his damp toes into the plush rug that it’s actually dry toes now, he gets himself dressed.

The prickling, heightened sensation is not gone. But it is distant now, like it’s behind glass. It could come back at any moment, if anything sufficiently disturbed the barrier, but as long as Eddie’s careful, he should be fine.

When he goes into the lounge, carrying the blanket with him, Billy and Steve are snuggled on the couch, leaving him the armchair free. Eddie’s very glad of that; and that the armchair is big and wide enough that he can sit criss cross apple sauce on the seat, blanket pooled in his lap.

“How are you feeling?” Billy asks.

“Better, thanks,” Eddie answers honestly.

“We have a new rule, for this. When this happens, if you tell us you don’t want to be touched, we’re not going to touch you unless you touch us first, okay?”

Something inside Eddie unclenches. That sounds like a fantastic way to deal with this, so he nods.

“And we’re not mad, or upset,” Steve adds, “we understand that this is just something that happens sometimes, and it’s fine, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie answers, and the thing that made his body tight has now made his muscles feel overused and he’s not going to cry about it, but he kind of thinks he could.

“Do you still want to go out?” Billy asks.

“Yes,” Eddie answers instantly, because he’s been waiting to go and see this movie for fucking ever and he’s not backing out now.

“To the movie and to eat? We don’t have to do both?” Steve checks.

Eddie is not giving up the movie, they can pry it from his cold dead fucking hands. But the eating out too sounds a lot; coming right home after sounds way better, “could we get take out after?”

“Fuck yeah,” Billy sighs, “sounds great.”

Without anyone even talking about it, Eddie sits in the back of the truck. Billy and Steve talk, not expecting anything of Eddie. He sits quiet, letting the quiet rumble of the truck wash over him. He watches out of the window, imagining a dragon is following along side, jumping from roof top to roof top, or flying and then running and then flying again.

Eddie doesn’t have to speak again, in fact, until they’re buying tickets and choosing seats, “at the end please,” and no one questions it. Eddie gets an aisle seat, Steve next to him, and Billy on the other side of Steve.

They settle in for the movie, each of them had a drink, and Steve got a bucket of sweet popcorn that all three of them dip into.

Eddie is gripped from the very first moment. He knows he’s probably making the occasional little noise when he gets particularly excited. Especially when there’s a detail from the book that Eddie is thrilled to see. The story absolutely flies by, and in the dark, with nothing else to worry about, Eddie relaxes the rest of the way.

When Rocky gets hurt, it’s the chip that breaks the dam, and Eddie starts crying. He can’t help it. Rocky is so cute. Eddie always thought he was cute in the book, but on screen it’s almost unbearable how adorable he is. Eddie wants to crush him.

He doesn’t stop crying for the rest of the film.

By the time the lights come up, Eddie is a wet mess, but he instantly wants Steve’s hand, making a grab for it as soon as Steve is standing. Steve holds his hand all of the way out of the theater.

Billy trails along behind, “pretty sure I’d die for that talking rock,” he says.

In accordance with the rule, when the dishes from take out are finally in the dishwasher, Eddie decides to be brave and kiss Steve first. Steve grins into it, encouraging Eddie forward with tug on his shirt. Eddie goes, pressing Steve against the counter.

They kiss, and it tastes lake sauce from the take away, and Steve doesn’t treat Eddie any different. He holds Eddie firmly; his tongue invades Eddie’s mouth and Eddie licks straight back into Steve’s.

He’s not being treated like he’s made of glass, or like he fucked up. He just needed something and Steve and Billy let him have it.

Eddie hears Billy close the dishwasher and set it going, it’s still early, half eight, but still Billy says, “bed then?”

Eddie’s horny. But he’s also incredibly tired and washed out feeling. He’s not even that bothered about the sex, particularly, right now, he just wants the end result. He wants to come, and he’s not at all worried about how that happens, just that it does.

And then, preferably, fall asleep. Today feels like it’s been two days long, at least.

“Only if Eddie wants that,” Steve answers, kissing Eddie’s cheek before pulling back to talk again, “today was a lot, and we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Eddie looks between the two of them, Steve right in front of them, Billy propping up the counter, “don’t over think it,” Billy tells him.

Eddie bites his lip for a second, “I’m really horny but also really tired and I just want to come and then sleep.”

“Okay,” Billy continues like Eddie didn’t just admit something super embarrassing, like his cheeks aren’t so pink Eddie can feel the heat in them, “Steve?”

Steve shrugs, “I kinda’ wanted to get fucked but I’m not married to the idea,” that makes it easier, that Steve can speak about it plainly too. That Steve can just say what he wants, and it’s fine. That means it must be okay for Eddie to say things, too, right? “Are you going to sleep here with us baby?”

And Steve’s tone changes so dramatically, between answering Billy and asking Eddie, it becomes so soft when he talks to Eddie, it almost gives Eddie whiplash. Eddie nods. Steve’s smile is megawatt in response.

“Eddie could get a blow job from you while I fuck you,” Billy shrugs. He’s just so nonchalant about everything.

“Plan,” Steve says, and Eddie nods, because he’s hardly going to say no.

There’s music playing from Steve’s phone, some random Coldplay album that Eddie isn’t a fan of exactly but isn’t terribly offended by either.

Eddie is laid out on the bed, propped up a little against the cushions, Steve kneeling between his spread legs. Billy has finished getting undressed and then retrieved the lube, Eddie watching him as he climbs up behind Steve.

The bedding is soft underneath Eddie, not bothering him at all.

“Here,” Steve says, guiding Eddie’s hand into his hair, “I like a little tugging, but don’t push my head down, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie nods, watching. Steve leans down; everyone's naked, so Eddie is almost all the way hard. Eddie doesn’t know where to look; he watches Steve flatten his tongue and then lick a stripe up his cock, groaning at the feel and the visual, but then Billy clicks open the lube and Eddie watches him for a second as he squeezes some out onto his fingers.

Steve’s warm breath fans over the trail of spit on his cock, so he is distracted back to that again. Steve’s hands are big and warm on his thighs, the hand full of hair that Eddie has is thick and soft. Eddie tugs, ever so gently, scratching his fingers against Steve’s scalp before gripping the hair again. Steve presses up into Eddie’s hand, clearly enjoying it.

Steve takes the head of Eddie’s cock into his mouth, his moan loud enough that Eddie can feel it. Eyes flicking away again for a moment, Eddie figures from Billy’s movements that he has at least one finger in Steve.

Steve’s lips are pink and tight and look beautiful but so fucking hot pursed around the head of Eddie’s cock. Steve’s throat moves as he swallows, and Eddie feels it when, inside Steve’s mouth, Steve’s tongue lathes over the head of his cock. It punches the air out of Eddie, his fist tightening in Steve’s hair but still careful not to push down. Eddie squirms a little instead, his ass muscles tightening and shifting a little.

“Okay babe?” Billy asks, and Steve hums an affirmative sound. He doesn’t open his eyes, his lashes laying pretty over his flush cheeks, still just playing with the head of Eddie’s cock, sucking and licking, and Eddie could come, eventually, he thinks, just from this.

The music fades completely into the background, just enough to stave off the silence, just enough to fill the spaces between the sounds the three of them are making. Steve shifts his hips, Eddie watching as his spine curves, Steve moaning again, Eddie assuming Billy’s fingers are feeling good for him.

Steve sinks down slowly, taking more of Eddie’s cock, breathing heavily through his nose, fingertips digging a little into Eddie’s thighs. There’s no movement; just wet heat enveloping Eddie’s cock and holding there, the tight ring of Steve’s lips settling around Eddie’s flesh. Steve’s tongue wriggles back and forth against the underside, and Eddie groans then, wriggling his toes a little to stop himself from thrusting up or pushing down.

“Ready babe?”

Steve pulls off painfully slowly, Eddie’s tummy goes tight and air huffing out of his lungs as he watches his cock slip slowly free, wet with spit, flush at the swollen tip, and achingly hard.

“Yeah, please,” Steve says, and the lube clicks again, the wet sloppy sound of Billy lubing up his cock follows right after.

Steve doesn’t immediately dip right down again, he stays propped up on all fours, hovering over Eddie and leaning forward for a kiss first. Eddie is very happy to oblige, his hand still buried deep in Steve’s hair, they kiss. Steve licking deep into Eddie’s mouth, groaning and huffing and making filthy noises right against Eddie’s lips as Billy sinks into Steve’s body.

Billy huffs a quiet noise in the background.

Steve lets himself sink slowly down again, rubbing his lips over Eddie’s skin as he goes, kissing the base of Eddie’s throat, sucking a little at the skin across Eddie’s chest, stopping to lick at his nipple. Eddie’s vaguely aware that his mouth is hanging open, that his cock is dripping and his breath is coming a little fast and in soft huffs.

“You want me to stop, you tap me, or just pull me off, okay?” Steve speaks, not quite pressing his lips against Eddie’s skin, but close enough that Eddie feels the shadow of it. Steve has a tiny bit of stubble that’s scratching Eddie at odd times.

Eddie nods, the has to really think about it to summon a soft, “yeah.” He doesn’t want to talk, not really. Today has been a lot, talking is hard right now, but not as hard as it is usually when they’re having sex. His words haven’t abandoned him completely. He feels emptied out by today, especially the crying he did, his eyes still kind of tired and gritty from it.

“Show me taps baby,” Steve says next, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate, just uses his free hand to tap a couple of times on Steve’s shoulder. “Good boy,” Steve tells him, and it makes Eddie squirm even more. Steve huffs a quiet laugh, “you’re so...sweet, baby. So good.”

“Told you he liked it,” Billy says, “you ready?” And Eddie becomes vaguely aware that Billy must have just been holding still, cock held deep in Steve’s body this whole time, while Steve and Eddie were chatting. Billy’s hands rub soothing circles across Steve’s skin.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, and lets himself slide all the way back down, sinking his mouth straight onto Eddie’s cock.

A satisfied groan escapes Eddies throat, watching as Steve’s throat works as he swallows. Billy starts moving, fucking Steve hard enough that Steve’s mouth pops open and he cries out, the noise muffled by Eddie’s cock held in his mouth. He moans. He moves, sucking at half of Eddies cock, body being shifted by Billy’s movements.

Steve moans again, loud and demonstrative and the tight heat locked on Eddie’s dick feels like it’s vibrating with it. Eddie’s balls feel tight, he wants to thrust but puts everything he has into resisting the urge, twisting his fingers in Steve's hair instead.

“Shit babe,” Billy says, drawing Eddie’s attention away from where it’s been fixed, stating at Steve’s mouth tight around Eddie, and Eddie watches, the way Billy rolls his hips. The slow flush that spreads down Billy’s chest. The way his hands roam across Steve’s skin, then grip at his hips.

It’s just the hottest thing Eddie’s every seen, every time.

Steve isn’t moving so much, just a little as Billy rocks both their bodies, but his tongue is working frantically against the underside of Eddie’s dick, and he keeps hollowing his cheeks and sucking.

Eddie’s getting close already, can feel his guts tightening, the way he’s so fucking desperate to thrust up. He feels like he needs to warn Steve, but he can’t tap him because he doesn’t want Steve to stop. The orgasm is close, tantalizing how Eddie sits on the edge of it, how its building and building and Eddie manages to gasp out, “Steve,” as a half hearted warning before he’s coming into the hot space of Steve’s mouth.

Eddie’s eyes squeeze tight shut, and he has to stop himself from fisting Steve’s hair so tight it would hurt. Steve swallows everything, blinking up at Eddie once the waves of orgasm finally start to recede. He still holds Eddie’s cock in his mouth for another minute, his body really being rocked now by Billy’s thrusting, and then he slowly pulls off with a sucking pop, making Eddie hiss.

Steve licks at his lips, his head cushioned on Eddie’s thigh now, and he turns a little, the barest scrape of stubble and Steve is lathing an open mouthed, licking kiss against the skin he can reach.

“Come here,” Billy’s moving, the regular sound of their fucking stopping, and then Eddie just about has the presence of mind to pull his leg out of the way as Billy rolls Steve over onto his back. Eddie’s legs are heavy and tingling, he’s still twitching occasionally with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his hot skin feeling like it’s cooling fast.

He watches, fascinated and yet sleepy at the same time, head feeling as though it’s filled with cotton, as Billy hooks his elbows under Steve’s knees, pulling them up and bending Steve, easily manhandling Steve and giving Eddie the perfect view of Billy’s bare, shiny cock sinking straight into Steve in one long thrust.

Eddie makes a quiet noise at the sight of it. Steve’s hole stretched around the hard length of Billy’s cock, everything wet and shiny, Billy thrusting hard already. Steve's back arches, his hands scrabbling at the covers as he cries out loudly.

“Fuck,” Steve is chanting breathlessly, “fuck, yes yes yes, fuck me, Jesus yes, please Billy-”

He loves it, sometimes his head tilted back with his eyes scrunched shut, sometimes his eyes open wide and head tilted forward, wet eyes focused only on Billy as Billy fucking rails him.

Steve loves it. It’s clear. Steve’s face slack and flush with pleasure. It makes Eddie want that. Makes him wonder what it feels like, what it would feel like to him.

Would it feel as good as that? Having someone's cock sinking into him just like that?

He doesn’t know, but the more he sees it, the more he wants to try it.

The head of Steve’s cock bounces against his own stomach, a thick strand of precome left behind before it stretches and snaps, only to be replaced by another fat drip, “please Billy, Jesus, please, I’m so fucking close-”

Eddie’s on his knees and right next to them before he knows he’s moving, he’s on his hands and knees, drawn to the two of them, not giving it any thought as he’s reaching for Steve's cock where it’s twitching desperately in empty air, he pauses just a second, just long enough for Steve to say, “yes Eddie, yesyesyes-” Eddie’s moving before he finishes speaking, taking the base of Steve’s cock in his hand he leans over.

He’s never done this before, but he wants it so bad, his mouth watering even as his actions are kind of dream like, Eddie working on mindless impulse. He’s not thinking anything, except that he wants to touch Steve, to make him come. Make him feel good.

It’s awkward, Billy has Steve bent practically in half and clearly has no intention of stopping pi stoning into Steve’s body, the wet slapping noise is loud this close to them. Eddie has to press his shoulder to Steve’s thigh to get close enough to take Steve’s dripping cock into his mouth.

It tastes vaguely organic, not great but easily ignorable, musty and salty and like warmth and skin. He doesn’t do anything, the fierceness of Billy’s thrusting shifting Steve’s cock in Eddie’s mouth.

He probably manages to take the top third, his hand wrapped clumsily around the rest, he manages to suck and work his tongue a little against the hot intrusion in his mouth.

Steve’s crying out, one hand finding it’s way into Eddie’s hair, Steve almost instantly saying, “I’m going to come, Eddie shit, Eddie baby you’re gonna make me come-”

And then he is, his cock going just that tiny bit harder, the final flush as it twitches and Eddie’s mouth floods with Steve’s hot come. Eddie does his best to catch it all, hold it all, vaguely aware of Billy moaning, “Jesus fucking Christ that’s hot.”

Eddie carefully pulls back, he wants to just swallow it, but he can’t bring himself to, it’s thick and alien in his mouth and his body rejects the idea. Steve collapses back onto the mattress, the last spurt of come being fucked out of him by Billy, Billy with his head thrown back, “Steve baby you're so fucking tight when you come,” and Eddie’s pretty sure Billy comes then, huffing a noise and grinding as deep as he can into Steve, tiny jack rabbiting thrusts that slowly taper off into nothing.

Billy collapses over Steve, both of them huffing hard breaths, sweaty and flush, Steve arms coming up around Billy’s back, holding each other loosely, Billy’s cock still in Steve by the way they're pressed together.

Eddie slips off the bed, heading to the bathroom. He spits what’s in his mouth into the sink.

The music is still playing, the sound of it trickles in as Eddie rinses his mouth out, drinking a little chilled water straight from the tap. His toothbrush and toothpaste are there on the side from where Eddie unpacked his bag earlier, so he figures he might as well do that too. His legs are still shaking a little still, his knees weak.

Billy comes in while Eddie is systematically working through the familiar steps of brushing his teeth, “okay?” Billy asks him, wetting a cloth and getting a towel.

Eddie nods.

“Good.”

Steve’s in bed by the time Eddie goes back in, and he finds his boxers without incident and slips into bed on the other side of Steve. He feels like a zombie, moving completely on autopilot. But also...he’s okay. He’s pretty sure he’s okay.

Billy isn’t there, but he comes back a second later with cups of water for everyone.

Eddie gets the green cup again.

Eddie feels kind of shivery, but he doesn’t wear anything else, it's not that he's cold, exactly, just completely worn out. He doesn’t want anything else between him and the softness of the bed. He lies flat, face down, letting himself wriggle into the soft sheet for long seconds, only vaguely aware that Steve and Billy are talking. The room dims, but doesn’t go dark.

The music stops.

“Eddie?” Eddie turns to look, Steve's hand hovering, “okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks out, with only a bit of difficulty, and Steve’s warm hand gently lands on Eddie’s shoulder, rubbing a circle.

“You going to sleep baby?” Eddie nods, “okay, put your rain thing on.”

Eddie does, turning away again. His muscles feel like wet rope, and reaching for his phone and getting the app up, squinting at the screen, feels like a huge effort, but he does it.

Billy has a book, the lamp light low, Steve snuggled to his side, under Billy’s arm. They look so soft, so warm and comfortable and just...good together. Eddie’s chest aches a little. He’s sleepy, he knows. Weak and tired and feeling closer to Billy and Steve than he ever has to anyone else, probably because of the touching. Because of the sex. Things he’s never had with anyone else before. That’s what Eddie attributes it to anyway, the feeling he has, when he looks at them both.

Eddie doesn’t let himself overthink it, just wriggles closer, arm pressing against Steve’s side, Steve’s hand coming up reflexively, he simply rests his hand on Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes slide closed, too tired to examine any of it.

“Okay?” Steve asks again, giving a little squeeze of Eddie's shoulder, just as quiet. Just checking. Just being so kind to Eddie.

“Yeah,” Eddie manages to summon up, “good.”

“Good,” and Eddie can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, although he does not know when he learned to identify that, “I’m glad you’re here.”

The funeral. He doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to feel about that. He keeps trying to figure it out, but he keeps coming up empty. Like he has no strong feelings either way that his dad just upped and died. He has stronger feelings about his lack of feelings.

Does it make him some kind of sociopath that he just doesn’t seem to care? Maybe he needs therapy.

He has one feeling though; one definite one. The second his key slides into the lock, all he feels is relief. It’s all over now, and Steve doesn’t have to have any feelings about any of it now if he doesn’t want to. Billy will be here. And he can have a hot shower, a couple of fingers of whiskey, and a really, really good nights sleep.

He leaves his bag in the hall, he can deal with it tomorrow, the apartment is dark, but there’s a little light coming through the cracked bedroom door, so Steve heads straight there. He hears a noise as he’s pushing the door open the rest of the way. It sounds like static at first, but then it could either be the sound of rain falling or the sound of someone deep frying chicken, Steve can’t quite decide.

He doesn’t know what to do with the scene that greets him, because Eddie is here. Not only is Eddie here, but he’s asleep. In bed.

Billy has his lamp on low, reading the same book he’s been slogging his way through for months. Billy isn’t a reader, but when he does read, it’s only ever about cars. He reads about history, about construction, hell, he reads parts of old manuals sometimes. But it’s always about cars.

Eddie, on the other hand, is curled up on the other side of the bed, facing away, a tuft of dark hair sticking out from under the comforter. He’s curled up, not tight, but definitely not sprawling. There’s a brightly colored blanket at the bottom of the bed, just on Eddie’s side, only pulled up as far as Eddie’s feet; from here it looks like it’s covered in a riot of strange comic book characters.

On the bedside table next to Eddie, there’s a green cup that Steve doesn't recognize and Eddie’s phone.

The whole thing is so domestic Steve’s chest nearly caves in on itself.

Billy marks his place in his book, sliding it onto the shelf in his bed side table.

“He’s here,” Steve whispers, vaguely awed. He knows it’s all still so new, this thing between them, but he just never knew if they were going get past this aversion Eddie seemed to have.

“He had a hot chocolate, read for half an hour, then out like a light at half nine,” Billy answers, just as quiet.

“What the hell happened to the bed?” Steve whispers again, as Billy slips out, taking Steve’s hand, “and what is that noise?” But Steve allows himself to be led to the en suite, Billy pulling the door closed before he answers.

“Rain. It’s a white noise thing, apparently it plays for two hours but he was out in like, fifteen minutes flat. He didn’t like how the bedding felt. It was like sandpaper to him.”

Steve feels himself becoming a little affronted, “the thread count-”

“Steve-” Billy is actually laughing in his face. Quietly though, so they don’t wake Eddie.

“They’re Egyptian cotton-” he finds himself whisper hissing.

But he’s laughing too. And the new bedding isn’t awful. It’s completely inoffensive black and white. Steve can definitely live with it if it means Eddie will sleep next to them.

“Shower?” Billy asks.

“Only if you get in with me.”

“Sure. I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as too many showers.”

“Uh hu,” Steve raises his eyebrows, “and what did you two get up to today then.”

Billy grins, “get in and I’ll show you.”

Steve strips slowly; Billy strips fast since he was only wearing sleep pants. Steve watches as Billy sticks a hand under the water before stepping in. Steve follows, right into Billy’s arms. Steve’s tired, and the heat is soothing, and he’s really not sure he has the energy for anything, not even lazy hand jobs. He just wants this; the comfort of Billy pressed against him, the comfort of coming home.

“Robin okay?”

Steve yawns, “yeah, all good. It was good to see her parents, they still love me.”

“We can go back, whenever you want, visit.”

Steve hums, “there’s nothing there for us now.”

“No,” Billy agrees, setting soft kisses across Steve’s hair line.

They stand in the quiet for a minute, neither one of them moving to do anything, and Steve’s fine with it. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have it in him right now, “I want a drink.”

Billy makes an approving noise, “come on then, get washed up.”

Billy carries the hair dryer through to the kitchen, and they both take turns with it, Billy complaining that the heat of the dryer is no good for his hair and he’s going to be all frizzy, stealing sips of Steve’s whiskey so Steve ends up pouring himself another. They share that too.

“How was it?”

“Shit. I don’t know. Not bad. It was like...nothing.”

Billy hums, “when my dad dies we can go back after the funeral. Piss on his grave.”

“We’d have to take Max,” Steve replies seriously, “she wouldn’t want to be left out of that. Tell me about your day instead.”

Billy makes an excited noise, “here, look,” he pulls his phone out, and Steve is looking at something very white inside a very white box and he can’t quite work it out, even when Billy zooms in, “it’s the little Camaro Eddie got, I primed it.”

Once Billy tells him what it is, Steve can see it, “oh yeah.”

“He got startled, the car was loud. He was fine at the diner, didn’t matter that he hadn’t seen a menu, since all diner menus are similar he has safe food he looks out for. He doesn’t like being touched, at all, but apparently we are now exempt from that rule most of the time.”

Steve hums, sipping his whiskey and leaning against the counter, and then he sighs, scrubbing his face, “Jesus Christ why didn’t he tell us that?”

“He wanted to have sex.”

“So he wasn’t okay with it, to start with...and ah fuck, he was definitely a virgin then.”

“Probably definitely yes, but he’s cagey about the touch thing so I didn’t push.”

“That means actually definitely yes. Jesus, no wonder he ran away.”

“Yup, no fall out today though.”

“What did you do?”

Billy grins wolfishly, “you want me to kiss and tell Harrington?”

“Absolutely yes, come here,” and Steve pulls Billy close for whiskey flavored kisses.

“Just jerked us both off in the shower. Quizzed him a bit during, I think we need to have some back ground noise next time we fuck, he was better in the shower because of the noise. And he mentioned temperature, being too hot or too cold, but he was on his way to non verbal by that point so,” Billy shrugs, “not sure.”

“You grilled the poor man while getting him off?”

“Yup.”

“Devious.”

“Yup.”

“So do you think it’s just...getting better? He’s okay with us touching him now? The bedding is better, we put on some music or something?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Steve hums. It’s a lot to absorb. Eddie obviously has sensory stuff going on, “why wouldn’t he say, about the bed? How did you get that out of him?”

“It just sort of happened, and he thinks his...differences are a burden. Steve you just have to be really straight when you talk to him. Very literal, don’t try and drop hints or leave anything open to interpretation. Just say what you mean. I’ve been reading about Autism. I’ll send you some links.”

“Okay, sure, that would be good,” Steve sighs. He wants Eddie in his life, he likes Eddie. A lot. It’s not every guy who would turn up to make you home made soup when you’re sick, or would think of you and find you a toy version of your car, like he has for Billy. Eddie is just so thoughtful, and Steve can’t see a downside to his being around.

“Of course this means the more comfortable he gets, the more he trusts us not to judge...the more weird he’s going to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ten mini marshmallows on the hot chocolate. It had to be ten, exactly. He supervised.”

Steve laughs, he can’t help it, “why ten?”

“More than ten and the whole thing is too sticky, less than ten and they’re too far apart from each other.”

“Huh. Maybe he just knows what he likes.”

“And he’s clumsy as fuck. I didn’t believe him when he told me, but when we were making hot chocolate he went to put his phone on the counter and missed by like six inches. Just straight up let it go. And he didn’t even try to catch it, just watched it happen, he just sort of sighed before he picked it up. I had to get a plastic cup out of the picnic set because he was so stressed about having a glass next to the bed, he was convinced he’d smash it. Apparently he had plastic plates growing up, because he smashed so many by accident when he was a teenager.”

Steve laughs, imagining teenage Eddie just, on the rampage. He’s gangly now, it must have been so much worse when he was still growing, “ohhh, that’s where that green cup came from. We should get nice plastic ones then, if that’s what he likes.”

Billy nods, “Eddie proof the apartment.”

Steve woke once in the night. He didn’t know what woke him, but he was relaxed and comfortable and feeling just right. He was snuggled up to Billy’s back, one arm thrown over Billy’s middle, the other sprawled out under Billy’s pillows. But behind him, was Eddie. Eddie with his back pressed against Steve’s back. Eddie with his toes tucked right up against the back of Steve’s knees.

Steve lies still for a little while, listening to the soft snores of two people, and he lets himself drift off to sleep.

Steve wakes slowly. Yesterday was a long day, and since today is Sunday, Steve fully intends to take doing fuck all very seriously. He takes a minute to feel about, he hadn’t really investigated last night when he got into bed, but the fluffy sheet underneath him is very soft, and the covers are soft too. Steve and Billy’s pillows are like the comforter cover, but Eddie’s pillows are fluffy to match the sheet. It’s nothing like Steve’s thick cotton bed covers. He stretches, yawning, nudging Billy, “you sleeping?”

“Not really,” Billy yawns too, “just snoozing, kind of.”

It takes Steve a second to realize, but the other side of the bed is empty, “Eddie’s not here,” he says.

Billy sits up a little, looking around like Steve might be wrong and he’s just somehow not seen another full grown man in bed with them, “maybe he got up?”

Steve and Billy both get up, and Steve checks his phone; it’s only half eight in the morning. Still early. Billy trails him into the lounge, and there’s Eddie. He’s on the couch, some cartoon playing with the TV down so low Steve can barely hear it. He’s curled up under the bright fleecy Blanket, it’s that same confusion of cartoon characters Steve doesn’t recognize.

Eddie’s reading a battered looking book, Steve sees the cover as he comes closer, Asimov. The Gods Themselves.

Steve almost feels like he’s fizzing inside, “morning.”

“Hey,” Eddie answers, “I hope you don’t mind,” he gestures to the TV, “I logged into my Disney, couldn’t wait in bed any more.”

“No that’s fine, of course it is, we want you to feel at home here,” Steve sits with Eddie on the couch, leaning in for a morning kiss. The blanket Eddie is curled up under is really soft under Steve’s hands, “you been up long?”

Eddie shrugs, “about half five? But I fell asleep pretty early.”

Steve hums, letting himself fuss a little, he pushes Eddie’s curls behind his ear. They feel soft, and when Steve leans in for another kiss, he can smell Billy’s hair stuff clearly.

“Coffee?” Billy calls from the kitchen, and Steve can hear the coffee maker coming to life.

“Yes please!” They both call back.

“You hungry?” Steve asks.

“I could eat,” Eddie nods.

Steve stands, almost unbearably thrilled that Eddie finally stayed the night, “I’m going to make some not wet eggs.”

Yesterday had been an incredibly lazy Sunday. They'd spent the day flicking between TV shows. Eddie had introduced them to something called ‘Bob’s Burgers’ which was apparently his comfort show and he’d seen it enough times that he could often recite lines along with the characters. When it was Billy’s turn to choose they ended up watching the first ‘Predator’ movie, which Eddie was glued to, and he’d ended up snuggled right into Steve’s chest again.

When Eddie spent the second half of the movie chewing gently on Steve’s thumb, it just kind of became a thing that Eddie did sometimes. It should have been Steve’s turn to choose after that, but Billy and Eddie insisted on listening to something from Billy’s record collection, Led Zep, Four Symbols, so they stayed where they were and just listened.

Eddie had his book, Billy and Steve had their phones.

Billy was pinging messages to Steve; articles on Autism.

Steve did some reading, while they were lying there listening to Robert Plant waffle on. Quite a lot of things about Eddie started making a considerable amount of sense.

It was a good day. The kind of day that heals you. Steve spent the day curled up either with Eddie or Billy, like they were trading off so Steve wasn't ever alone. There were lazy kisses whenever he wanted them, and the take out they had for lunch was pretty good.

Steve was so sad to see Eddie go, but he understood. Both he and Billy had to be up early this morning, start the working week and all that stuff.

They’re seeing him tomorrow though, for dinner and a movie. And maybe Eddie will even stay the night again, if he’s willing to get up when Billy and Steve do on Wednesday morning.

Is it too early to say Eddie can stay here alone? Is it too early to give Eddie a key? Steve probably would, but he knows for a fact Billy would veto that, so he doesn’t bring it up. Billy’s right; it’s way too soon.

But right now, it’s Monday night, and Billy got home late since he had work to catch up on, and neither of them could be bothered to cook. Steve had thrown Wayne’s casserole in the oven ready for when Billy walked through the door.

Steve watches as Billy cautiously uses his fork to lift the edge of the pastry, “I’m not sure about this.”

Steve leans down, sniffing, “I mean it smells pretty good.”

“Yeah, well, it looks like dog food.”

And Steve can’t argue. The homogeneous mass of something under the pastry does look mildly questionable, “I didn’t think casserole had pastry on top?”

“No, pretty sure that makes it a pie,” Steve watches Billy as he prods at his food, “and I don’t think casseroles are fifty percent mash potato either.”

Steve pulls a suspicious lump out of his own dinner, “is this corned beef?”

“Eddie did say corned beef was one of the safe meats,” Billy reminds him before taking a deep breath, “ah fuck it,” and Billy shoves a huge forkful of food into his mouth.

Steve isn’t as brave, he waits, and watches. Billy’s eyes are screwed shut, but he slowly opens them, “how is it?”

“Holy shit,” Billy responds, looking at his dinner, “thank you Uncle Wayne,” Billy goes back for a second forkful, “this might be the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Steve looks down at his own dinner, “are you sure?”

Billy is eating enthusiastically now, and he answers with his mouthful, “try it, you won’t regret it. Or, actually, don’t, more for me if you leave it.”

So Steve does. And holy shit, Billy is dead on. Uncle Wayne’s casserole is amazing.

And now they’re here. Luckily the whole place closes in like, twenty minutes. Wayne loves a DVD for some reason, and he has very strong feelings about any kind of streaming service. Eddie dreads the day that their DVD player stops working and he has to try and buy one off...where? eBay? He’s pretty sure they don’t even make them any more but he’s not certain.

Wayne very regularly points out that Eddie’s exactly the same with his records, so Eddie supposes he can’t argue the point, despite the fact that you can definitely still buy new record players and vinyl is still, like, actively in production. Eddie does already have two records under his arm though, plus he’s very fond of a second hand book, so it’s not like he’s not getting anything out of being here.

“Uh hu. Spent long enough shining your boots. So, tell me about him. I suppose this was going to happen eventually,” Wayne sighs, which is borderline dramatic for Wayne.

“Jesus Wayne, I’m not going off to war,” Eddie flicks through the deep box of musty smelling records. Next to him, Wayne is digging through a box of what Eddie would charitably refer to as junk.

“Uh hu. So long as he’s good to you.”

“They are good to me, actually. Very. So far. They’re taking me to the zoo tomorrow.”

“Oh. That's nice, you love the zoo. We haven’t done that since you were a kid. Is that a newfangled they? One of those non gender,” Wayne gestures vaguely, “specified neutral things?”

“Wayne,” Eddie loves his uncle, and he never knows if he should be charmed by the way his uncle tries, but he is, regardless, “no, but I appreciate you’re doing your best.”

“Come on Eddie, you know me. I don’t have to understand the ins and outs of all of it, new terms and such, just so long as all you kids are happy in yourselves.”

“I know,” it’s sweet really, how easy going Wayne is when it comes to this kind of thing, how basically every single person on the planet is a ‘kid’ to Wayne regardless of age. He’s probably one of the most accepting people Eddie’s ever met. He’s a very live and let live kind of guy, which is why Eddie’s...pretty sure this will be fine. But still, he’s been antsy about telling Wayne since he’s...pretty sure this isn’t a long term thing. Steve and Billy made it reasonably clear that this is just a thing they do sometimes. Eddie just won’t go into details about that part.

“No Wayne, they’re a they because there’s two of them.”

Wayne frowns, “what like you’re seeing two different guys? Because Eddie there isn’t a lot I disapprove of with that kind of thing but-”

“No! No, Jesus Christ. No I mean...they’re together. Already. They live together. They are taking me to the zoo.”

“Oh,” Wayne moves along to the next stall, apparently digesting that. The place is slowly starting to pack up around them, so Eddie figures his two records and his book is good enough and stops looking, just following Wayne along, “so nothing this whole time and then two straight out the gate-”

“Wayne.”

He’s rummaging again, and there’s little die cast cars in the shoe box Wayne is digging though; it catches Eddie’s attention immediately, but he stops to answer Billy before he starts looking. Some guy from Steve’s work has been stealing shit apparently.

“So you’re courting both of them? At the same time? You’re all boyfriends?”

“Pretty sure not, exactly that, just, you know,” Eddie shrugs, “they are, and I’m...someone to hang out with I guess. I don’t know what it is yet,” And Eddie joins Wayne in his rummaging. He can feel Wayne looking at him.

“Well, maybe you should ask them if that's what you want. And so long as you’re all being safe.”

“Jesus Wayne,” Eddie grumbles, and he can feel the way Wayne is looking at him. He also senses the moment Wayne decides not to say anything else and goes back to looking. Which Eddie is glad of; he doesn’t know what to do about the first thing Wayne said, and he’s not touching the second thing. “Here, look at this,” Eddie pulls a familiar looking car out of the box, “do you think these are the same?”

Eddie pulls his phone out, making the picture of the blue car from Billy’s display picture bigger.

Wayne makes an assessing noise, “not exactly, but not a huge amount of details on these cheaper toys, definitely both Chevy Camaro’s though. Both definitely late seventies.”

It’s dinged up, and it’s a different color; the car in Eddie’s hand is yellow with black detailing, but he only pays three dollars for it, so he doesn’t care.

“Why you so interested all of a sudden. Who’s car is that in the picture?”

“It’s...it’s Billy’s display picture on WhatsApp. I don’t know if it’s his car or one he’s renovated, he does body work mainly I think? Steve has a classic BMW, and they have a truck too. Never seen the Camaro, so I don’t know.”

“Huh, well, always handy to know someone in that line of work. And what does this Steve do then?” Wayne asks as they make their way between the mostly shut down stalls, heading for the exit. Hopefully that means food soon, finally.

“Office work,” Eddie shrugs, not wanting to repeat too much of what Billy and Steve have said over dinner, “he says it’s boring, but the nine to five suits him,” Eddie shamelessly pulls out his phone again, he’s already gone over the menu for the zoo, his insides practically vibrating with excitement.

He trails after Wayne, his records and book tucked firmly under his arm, checking the weather for tomorrow for about the twentieth time; still not raining.

Another message pops up while Eddie’s walking; Steve can’t go.

Eddie frowns, fuck that, and he quickly replies because a whole chunk of the reason he was excited was because he wanted to spend a whole day with Billy and Steve. Hopefully getting to know them better too, even if this is only temporary, Eddie wants to make the most out of being dated. He’s never had this before.

Even if he is also as nervous as he is excited; he knows he can be weird. It’s probably only a matter of time before he does or says something that pisses off Billy or Steve. Or both of them. Or he’s just too odd to bother with.

He knows all this. He wants to go on the date anyway. Sue him, he wants to walk around a damn zoo and hold someone’s hand like he’s in a shitty rom com. Everyone else gets to do shit like this at some point in their life, it’s probably Eddie’s like, human right, or something, to have his turn for a while.

The phone buzzes again in Eddie’s hand as they're dropping their treasures off at Wayne’s truck, and Eddie stops in his tracks, “oh shit.”

“What son?”

I’m fine baby, my dad died and I only just found out so I’ve got to go back for the funeral. It’s not a big deal, we weren't close. That’s really sweet of you, we can definitely go another day. Billy stayed home, maybe you could still spend the day with him so he’s not alone? “Uhm. Steve’s dad died, he has to go home. The funerals tomorrow.”

“Oh hell,” Wayne comes around the truck, lifting his cap and rubbing his forehead, “does the kid need anything?”

“I uhm,” Eddie can’t think of a single thing they could do to help, since it sounds like Steve’s already leaving, and realistically Billy would have it covered if there was anything, “I don’t think so, just that he’s asking if I’ll spend tomorrow with Billy so he’s not alone. He says they weren't close. Wayne, what the hell do you say to someone who’s dad just died?”

“You say sorry for your loss and that your thoughts are with them, or something along those lines anyhow.”

“Okay, okay yeah,” Eddie types, oh no! I’m so sorry Steve! I hope it all goes okay and then sure, if Billy wants to?

“So you going to spend tomorrow with Billy?”

“Yeah, if that’s what he wants.”

“Then that’s what you can do to help. Come on kid, lets get you fed. We can pick up the ingredients for those macadamia cookies you’re so good at on the way home. You can bake a batch to take over for your boys. Maybe I’ll make a casserole for them.”

“Okay. Okay yeah, thanks Wayne.”

“Well you’ll leave a few cookies for me, a’course.”

“Sure thing.”

Eddie has to juggle a foil covered casserole dish and a Tupperware of cookies through the outside door of the apartment building, but he manages. He has his rucksack over his shoulder since he doesn’t know what they will be doing today, so he figured he should come prepared. Just his new pre loved book and a change of clothes, sweats and fluffy socks and stuff in case they’re going to spend the day inside. His phone charger and the toy car.

“Hey,” Billy smiles when he lets Eddie in, but Eddie can tell Billy looks tired. Probably worried about Steve, maybe he didn’t sleep well, “what’s all this?”

“I made macadamia cookies, and Wayne made you guys a casserole, for like, when Steve gets back, so you don’t have to worry about cooking.”

Billy takes everything while Eddie negotiates taking off his boots and jacket and putting them away in the hall cupboard, “that’s...incredibly kind of him. You’ll have to thank him.”

“I already did, but I will again,” Eddie says as he follows Billy through the apartment, watching as Billy puts the casserole in the fridge, “and, here, I went out with Wayne yesterday and he likes, you know, markets and stuff,” Eddie puts the toy on the counter and Billy picks it up, “I was pretty sure it was the right one.”

Billy laughs a the sight of it, bringing it up close to examine it, “this is so cool. Thank you...I mean it’s tiny but I bet I could spray this. I actually didn’t know what we were going to do today but...do you want to come and see the shop? We could go for a ride in the real thing.”

“Yeah,” a little excitement bubbles up in Eddie, “sounds good.”

“Cool...back out then I guess. I’ll take you to lunch, I know a place.”

The Camaro lives in a part of the garage that Billy owns. He explains it all to Eddie, how he works alone most of the time, but very occasionally outsources if he needs an extra pair of hands or if there’s work he can’t do himself.

Otherwise the garage is Billy’s little kingdom, and that’s exactly how he likes it.

It smells like every other garage Eddie’s ever been into, along with the chemical tang of paint fumes. Even with the breeze and the big sliding door wide open, the smell lingers. Eddie wonders around for a minute; Billy is perched on a stool applying tape to the windows of the model car before carefully cutting off the excess with a craft knife. He does it so fast, even though it must be really fiddly, his experience with this kind of thing real clear in his confident movements.

“Here, do you want to have a go?” Billy holds the paint spray bottle thing up to show Eddie.

“No,” Eddie laughs, vaguely panicked at the thought, “not unless you want to redecorate, I’m really clumsy.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Eddie wonders over, watching as Billy puts together a little arrangement, standing the model car inside a box before taking all of thirty seconds to spray it white with the hand held paint gun thing. That would be really efficient for priming Warhammer miniatures, and Eddie wonders vaguely if Billy would spray some for him.

“Oh yeah, I drop my phone like, at least once a day. I’ve got like, a bomb proof screen protector, and I still have to replace that once a month.”

Billy huffs a laugh, “noted. No letting you use your phone when we’re next to water. Okay, that’s it primed.”

Eddie looks into the box; the car is white all over now, and so is pretty much all of the inside of the box, since the gun thing is clearly meant for actual sized cars, “cool, now what?”

“Now nothing, it’s got to dry, I’ll come back to it on Monday. Ready to head out for that drive?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, but Billy’s checking his phone again. Frowning. “Nothing from Steve?”

“Not for an hour or so, and well, he’ll probably be on his way there now.”

“You okay?” Eddie checks. Not that there’s anything he can do about it anyway, but he moves closer to Billy, and then lets himself be pulled in by his belt loops.

“Yeah,” Billy shrugs, “both our dads are assholes. It’s just something Steve has to do,” he shrugs again, like it’s nothing even though it clearly isn’t. But then he’s leaning in for a kiss, and that effectively ends the conversation.

It’s soft, and slow, and Eddie’s arms hang limp over Billy’s shoulders as their tongues touch tentatively and Billy sucks on Eddie’s bottom lip.

Eddie wonders, vaguely, if they’re about to do something in the garage, and he’s not going to lie, he’s a little excited at the idea, but Billy pulls away slowly, leaving Eddie with pecking kisses, “come on, lets go for that drive, I promised you lunch.” And yeah, Billy’s probably worried about Steve, and thinking about that sort of thing while Billy’s long term partner is literally at a family funeral is probably, like, disrespectful or something.

Eddie tags along, climbing into the Camaro. Billy gets the door for him which...it’s just super romantic and makes Eddie’s insides melt a little. When that car starts, Eddie, reflexively, gets his hands half way to covering his ears he’s so surprised, but the noise dies back down to a manageable rumble fast. Billy has a smile on his face though, “sorry Eddie! I should have warned you!”

“It’s okay, it just done me a startle.”

Billy pulls the car forward far enough, laughing to himself, Eddie hears him muttering, 'done me a startle' and chuckling as Billy gets out of the car to lock up behind them, Steve’s BMW left parked in front of the garage.

They don’t talk much, not on the drive. Billy takes them for lunch by the scenic route, Eddie figures, and there’s a bit of the drive where the road snakes though the cover of pretty trees and, yeah, Eddie really enjoys himself. He also likes watching Billy’s strong hands on the wheel, a thick vein standing out on the back of Billy’s left hand. And yeah, Billy definitely catches him staring, Eddie going shy but enjoying the way Billy grins at him.

Billy gets the door, and as they find themselves a booth, Billy says, “shit, sorry, I didn’t think about the menu thing.”

“Oh, no don’t worry,” Eddie rushes to reassure him, because this sort of thing is fine, “these places basically all have the same menu, pretty much, so there’s like four things I know to look for.”

“Oh?” Billy asks, he seems interested, “it’s like you have your own rules for everything. So what are the four things?”

“Waffles, pancakes, veggie burgers and mac and cheese,” Eddie reels of his list easily, “they’re all pretty much universally safe.”

“Huh,” Billy nods, “well, what you think you’re going for then?”

“Veggie burger, it has avocado on it. Sweet potato fries, and an Oreo milkshake.”

“Well I have to say that is one efficient system you have there,” the waitress arrives, asking if they want drinks, but since Eddie just told him, Eddie sits quiet while Billy puts their whole order in. Billy himself going for hash browns, bacon and eggs. “Breakfast is good at any time of day.”

Eddie can’t help but agree, and then he checks the time himself, Steve’s probably still in the funeral, especially if they’re doing the thing where they all go to the graveyard after to actually bury the guy. When Eddie looks up, Billy’s doing the same, “he’s fine, right?” Eddie wants to reassure Billy, but he doesn’t know either of them well enough yet to feel like he can be making assertions.

It feels simultaneously like he’s known Billy and Steve for a really long time, and yet at that exact same moment, is acutely aware that he’s known them for less than a fortnight.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure he’s fine I just...it’s just the not knowing, you know? And some of Steve’s family are,” Billy stops, taking a breath, “I was trying to think of a more polite way to say it, but they’re just horrible bastards. And once it’s all done, Robin’s with him, so he’s not driving back home alone. She comes from the same town me and Steve grew up in.”

That must be Steve’s best friend, “oh, oh that’s good. I feel like being alone after that for a drive probably wouldn’t be very nice. I’m glad she’s there.”

“Yeah,” Billy sighs, “me too. He tried to say no, he’s so stubborn about taking help with some stuff.”

Eddie listens, excited for any crumbs of information about Steve and Billy’s history. Billy tells him a story about Steve trying to put together furniture alone because it just doesn’t occur to him to ask for help sometimes. It was back when they first moved, and had their first apartment. Billy described the place as a bit of a shithole, but he said that with such affection in his voice Eddie immediately understands what he means. It might have been shit compared to what they have now, but it was theirs.

Their first ever set of bedroom furniture was the cheapest desperation buy from IKEA, after thrifting basically everything else, Steve apparently drew the line at second hand beds. The places where he slept and stored his boxers had to, apparently, be new. And he was not budging. Billy already had part time work at a garage, and Steve was waiting to start work. They’d both landed on their feet, finding work pretty fast, but Steve’s new job had HR and onboarding and a process that took a few weeks, so while Billy was straight in doing grunt work at a garage to keep their heads above water, Steve was left to his own devices.

One of the things he got up to was putting together a piece of furniture that clearly showed two people on the instructions. It didn’t go well, but the story makes Billy laugh and Eddie grin, picturing the chaos.

“You like avocados then? That’s a deciding factor on an order?”

Eddie nods, digging into his burger which is, actually genuinely really good, “yeah, only when eating out though, they never work if you try and buy them.”

Billy snorts a laugh, “no, why?”

“Uh hu,” Eddie makes a negative noise, “either they’re rock solid and just...never go ripe? Or they go ripe and then like, start to rot in the half an hour you’ve left them alone. It’s just not worth the emotional investment.”

“Emotional investment. Avocados. Got it.”

“You think I’m silly,” Eddie accuses, but it’s light hearted, Billy’s had a smile on his face through most of their conversation.

“Who me? Never,” he replies, dripping with enough sarcasm to make Eddie snort a laugh.

They talk about all sorts of things. Billy has a fiercely independent half sister who loves Steve in an almost worshipful way, but loves Billy as if she’s merely tolerating him. Eddie tells Billy about his uncle Wayne, and how, because his parents were never great, Eddie finally landed in Wayne’s care when he was twelve. He skims over the details; it was a shitty time and he doesn’t see the point in going over it now. He focuses on the good parts; that Wayne has been the best parent anyone could ask for.

“So,” as they walk back to the car, “zoo next weekend?”

“Oh my word yes,” Eddie can’t help how much his voice rises, “as long as everything's okay and you both want to go?”

“Hell yeah we want to go...I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you feel about aquariums?”

Eddie doesn’t know what his face does, but Billy laughs, “I’ve never been, that would be amazing. Me and Wayne usually just, you know, check out pet stores and stuff sometimes. Some of them have really cool fish.”

The ride back is shorter, and Eddie was kind of glad of it since he’s so full of burger and milkshake. They swap cars smoothly, Billy putting the Camaro away and locking everything up before they head back to the apartment.

“Thank you, I really enjoyed myself.”

“Thanks for coming. You need to head home or you coming in?”

“Oh. I mean I don’t have any plans for today at all, so, whatever you like,” Eddie is very conscious he doesn’t want to outstay his welcome, but he’d be very happy to spend the rest of the day with Billy.

“Come on then, I want a coffee, a cookie, a shower, and my comfy pants. In that order.”

“Actually sounds amazing,” and it does, so Eddie happily follows Billy into the apartment.

Billy’s kisses taste mostly of coffee, but there’s a lingering sweetness of Eddie’s macadamia cookie there too. Eddie’s impressed with himself; the batch came out really good.

Billy’s phone rings mid kiss, and Eddie pulls back. Instinctively he tries to back away, letting Billy have privacy, but Billy holds Eddie by a belt loop and keeps him close, both of them leaning against the kitchen counter, their half drunk coffees still cooling next to them.

Billy puts his phone on speaker, holding it between them, “you’re on speaker, Eddie’s here.”

“Oh. Good, I’m glad, thanks Eddie, for keeping him company.”

“It’s uhm, no problem, really,” and Eddie hopes they know that he really means it, because it isn’t a problem, like, at all. Eddie would choose to be here, regardless as to what was going on.

“How was it?” Billy asks.

Steve sounds okay to Eddie, just maybe tired and maybe more subdued than he’s used to, “it was...what it was, I guess. No ones really speaking to me much which...that works for me. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to stay, but Robin’s parents are insisting on feeding me before we leave, so.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a second. Just. Quiet. Just Billy and Steve knowing that the other one is still there for a minute, even if they’re separated by distance, “I’ll wait up for you.”

“I know, but you really don’t have to,” Steve sighs, “I slept like shit last night.”

“Me too,” Billy replies quietly, and now Eddie does feel like he’s intruding at least a little, “I took Eddie out in the Camaro. We got lunch. He got me a little model Camaro.”

“That’s sweet, you have a good time baby?”

And Eddie knows instinctively that the baby is meant for him, something about Steve's tone just changes when he’s talking to Eddie, “yeah. I like the car, I mean. I don’t know anything about cars but it’s...beautiful. And loud,” Billy and Steve both chuckle, “and lunch was great, and Billy’s spraying the little car so it’s the right color.”

Steve huffs a tiny laugh, “of course he is. I’d better go, make an appearance, get the last of this out of the way.”

“Okay, love,” Billy says. It’s so soft, so tender. He misses Steve, Eddie can feel it.

“Love you. And bye baby.”

Eddie says bye over Billy saying love you. The line quiets and Billy puts his phone away, instantly pulling Eddie in for a hug.

He wonders vaguely if one day someone will say say I love you to him like that. His chest burns a little with want, but he ignores it.

“You want to come and shower?”

And Eddie is not a fucking idiot, and he’s never going to pass up a chance to see Billy naked, despite the circumstances, “yeah.”

Billy’s kind of touchy, and Eddie doesn’t know if it’s just Billy being Billy or if it’s a…comfort thing maybe, but either way Eddie isn’t going to stop it from happening. So far, Eddie’s only been in the other bathroom, the one he thinks of as the guest bathroom, out in the hall. The en suite is as ridiculously nice as the rest of the apartment. It’s a walk in shower, a fixed glass panel keeping the shower spray in. The actual shower tray at the bottom is way bigger than any bath Eddie’s ever been in, so there’s more than enough room for them both to move around under the water.

Water that is falling from a long, rectangular shaped shower head that could, probably, shower four people at once if those four people were happy to stand real fucking close to each other. The counters are black and white marble, and basically everything else is white and shiny chrome. Stylish, just like everywhere else.

The mirror has a light behind it, which Eddie tries not to be surprised by because he feels like he’s old enough that he shouldn’t be amazed by bathroom features but. Still. This is rich fancy people shit right here.

And this is...absolutely not a sex thing. It cannot be a sex thing, Eddie doesn’t think. They just got off the phone with Billy’s funeral attending boyfriend, and this is one of those social things that Eddie doesn’t instinctively get, but has kind of worked out by context.

People being sad, and worried, does not equal sex. He thinks. Probably.

Unfortunately, no one has informed Eddie’s penis. Which at the sight of naked, under dripping water Billy, had definitely started to form it’s own opinions. After Billy had come at him with a soapy wash cloth, those opinions had been very much solidified.

Ha.

And Eddie’s worried about Steve, of course he is, even if can’t extrapolate what Steve’s going though, he figures dead dad plus funeral is probably bad, even if they weren't close or whatever. Eddie doesn’t know how he will feel when his own dad dies.

Vaguely indifferent, is his first guess. He’d probably be more worried about how Wayne would be after losing his brother.

So Eddie goes with the flow, and he lets Billy wash him over, and he tries not to make a noise out loud when Billy washes his dick, but Billy has a shit eating grin on his face, and Billy’s own dick is at half mast, so at least Eddie isn’t completely alone.

“We probably shouldn’t,” Billy says, even as he pumps Eddie’s dick once more with his soapy wash cloth covered hand, but he pulls away.

“Because Steve’s not here?” Eddie guesses. He doesn’t actually know how this works, if they have rules between them or whatever. Maybe they’re only allowed to have sex with Eddie when they’re both here.

“What? No?” Billy’s pulling something else off the rack now. Pulling Eddie close again with a hand on his hip, he dollops some onto Eddie’s head. It smells incredible and not like a single shampoo Eddie’s ever smelled before. It smells deeply herbal, nothing fruity about it. Nothing like the two in one Eddie uses.

“Oh I just...assumed,” Eddie holds still, letting Billy work the suds thoroughly into his curls, before he rinses him. Then Billy puts another dollop of something else in his hands, and works that into Eddie’s hair too. “I figured you guys might have...I don’t know, rules about this stuff.”

“No. No nothing like that, now keep you head out of the water a second, let that sit.”

Eddie does as he’s told, leaning back far enough to keep his head out from under the flow of water. He watches as Billy washes himself down, and then he washes and conditions his own hair. Billy pulls Eddie back once he’s done, and Eddie watches Billy’s face as Billy rinses him. He’s doing a strange scrunching motion with Eddie’s curls, lifting them and squeezing, working the conditioner out. It’s easier to look at Billy’s face when Billy isn’t looking back at him. His eyes are pretty, Eddie thinks, watching as Billy frowns and clearly concentrates on whatever it is he’s doing to Eddie’s hair.

“It’s more that I’m worried you’ll be...overwhelmed again. After.”

It’s probably childish to stand and stare at his own feet, but that’s exactly what Eddie does, hiding away. “Oh. Yeah, sorry.” Billy’s right. Eddie probably doesn’t have the best track record for that. The first time he actually ran away, and realistically, the second time was not much better.

Which leads to the inevitable thought, are they ever going to want to do it again? which is a fair question, probably. And if they don’t, or decide they don’t want to, then what the hell is Eddie even doing here? Yeah okay, any kind of relationship isn’t just sex, Eddie gets that, there’s lots of other moving parts to a relationship that are equally as important, other forms of intimacy and just...caring about each other. Being good friends. All of that stuff. But Steve and Billy already have all of that.

They literally brought Eddie home that first day to have sex with him.

“Come on, don’t do that,” Billy presses the bottom of Eddie’s chin, bringing his head up. The water is still amazingly hot, a luxury Eddie’s never once experienced in his life. At the trailer, showers are five minutes long otherwise you learn the hard, cold, way.

“Do what?”

Billy is forcing Eddie to look at him now, one hand cupping his face, the other sliding up over Eddie’s wet skin to press loosely over his throat, “the sad puppy thing,” their bodies are pressed together, and Eddie’s dick had started to get the message, but a soaking wet golden Adonis pressing against Eddie’s front is only going to end one way, and he’s definitely getting hard again.

Especially with how Billy is touching him. Soft yet...held. Gentle but so strong, too.

“I don’t have a sad puppy thing,” Eddie replies. It’s hard to avoid Billy’s eyes at point blank range.

“Oh you definitely do, and your eyes are so big and brown and sad and...you might actually be worse than Steve, and I’ve never been able to say no to him either.” Billy kisses him, just a quick peck, and it mostly just puts a little warm shower water into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie is painfully aware of where Billy is pressed against him, they slide together a little with the hot water sluicing down both their bodies, Eddie’s cock fully hard again now, and he has to resist the urge to shift his hips, “I’m not trying to guilt you into anything,” and Eddie isn’t. He really isn’t, especially not sex. He definitely does not have sad puppy eyes, and even if he did, he wouldn’t use them for that.

“I know sweetheart. I know. But I want to, too.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, but I need you to tell me the second anything feels too much. Or off, or whatever.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, very aware that that they both have water dripping down their faces and Eddie looks like a drowned rat when his hair is wet, but, well, first of all he’s horny. Second of all he wants to comfort Billy. He has no idea if touching dicks counts as comfort for other people, but feeling good can’t be bad, right?

“I can...definitely try to do that,” which is the most honest Eddie can be, especially since the first two times it was almost like a switch being flipped, and he can't really give a warning if it's already happening before he knows it himself, “this is already better though,” he says, honestly. Mostly because they’re not in the fucking itchy bed.

Billy hums, leaning in for a brief kiss before he reaches down between them. He arranges their cocks almost casually, before reaching over and using his free hand to squirt something clear between them, right onto their dicks and into his cupped hand, before he goes back to holding them both. Billy moves his hand, up and down them both, carefully slicking their cocks with the warm gel.

“Why is this better?” Billy asks, kissing Eddie’s cheek. Eddie's hands are still resting on Billy’s back, clutching, really, but Billy doesn’t seem to mind.

“Uhm,” it’s hard to think now, with Billy’s hand moving so languidly. His grip is tight, but his movement is almost painfully slow, “there’s noise. The shower,” it’s the first thing that comes to mind. The second they stop, the silence is kind of like a slap, and all Eddie can do is focus on the sound of other people breathing, the sound of that tugs at him, after all the unexpected touching and discomfort and then the high of coming. It’s like their breathing is a focus for his whole body, like Eddie is a satellite dish and their breathing would drag him under if he let it, since there’s literally no other sound in the room.

“Is that better? Something else to focus on?”

Eddie’s hips are starting to move a little on their own, pressing into Billy’s touch. Greedy for more, “yeah,” Eddie wishes Billy was not choosing this exact moment to have this conversation.

“So what if we played music, that would work?”

“Maybe,” Eddie manages, but he’s leaning back a little now, transfixed by the sight of their cocks pressed together, the heads exposed, skin shifting back up as the pressure of Billy’s hand moves it, the hood partially covering the spongy glans briefly before being pulled back down. Eddie’s hand’s shift on their own, moving to Billy’s shoulders, then up to either side of his neck, then sliding water slick to his biceps.

“You can touch me sweetheart, wherever you want, it's nice.”

Eddie swallows thickly, but lets his hands shift forward, splaying his fingers across Billy pectoral muscles, his thumbs pressing against Billy’s dusky nipples, and Billy groans, pressing a little into Eddie’s touch.

“What else is different?”

Eddie looks up. Billy’s flesh feels like it’s burning under his hands and his cock is a vice grip of pleasure and he has no fucking clue what Billy just asked him, “huh?”

“What else is different, about being in the shower?”

For one hysterical moment Eddie wants to say, ‘it’s fucking wet’ but he resists. Barely. That is kind of it, but not really, and Eddie has to huff out a breath and try and drag all of scattered parts together just to try and form a coherent sentence. He thinks about how cold he gets, in the ambient air of the apartment, and about how fucking unbearably hot it is when someone's touching him, after. “The waters warm. Not hot. Not cold.”

Billy hums, “okay sweetheart,” and he leans forward again, and Eddie’s being kissed, and he hopes that’s the end of the conversation. Eddie’s fingers pluck at Billy’s nipples, and Billy groans again, straight into Eddie’s lips.

Eddie’s breath is coming in huffs already, ass and thigh muscles going tight as he pushes more insistently into Billy’s hand, desperate to rut against Billy’s cock.

“You still okay?” Billy asks, lips pressed against Eddie’s cheek.

All Eddie can do is whine, and when he tugs at Billy’s nipples, Billy moans and swears and his hand finally, finally starts to jack them faster, harder. Eddie’s balls are tight and the orgasm is simmering at the base of his cock. His fingertips are working mindlessly now, working the hard points of Billy’s nipples, tugging occasionally, Eddie’s eyes tight closed even though he doesn’t know when he closed them.

“Come on sweetheart, you going to come for me,” Billy’s voice rumbles practically in Eddie’s ear, and Eddie nods, because he is, he’s close, the hot length of Billy’s cock pressing against the full length of Eddie’s, “good boy. So good for me,” and Eddie’s cock is pulsing so hard it feels like he’s going to fall apart from it, his stomach so tight with every hot spurt, his legs shaking with the bliss of his release.

He’s panting now, just leaning his head against Billy’s shoulder, Billy using a bare hand in the water to wipe away the come and whatever it was he’s used to slick their cocks, “okay?”

Eddie takes a deep breath, forcing himself back up to the surface. That what it feels like. It’s easier to stay under, it’s like he forcibly has to drag himself back out. But the regular sound of the shower water is nice, and he’s still just warm, just right. Billy isn’t really holding him, just a hand on his hip to steady him.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, he’s looking straight down both of their bodies, Billy’s golden muscles and his neat dark blond pubes above the flex of his thigh muscles, his cock is soft; he must have come too.

Billy squeezes, the hand that’s resting on Eddie’s hip, “okay?”

Eddie sighs, managing a thumbs up. He turns his face, just a little, setting a kiss to Billy’s skin, letting his eyes slide closed.

“Okay, tap me if this is too much,” and Billy’s arms come up properly, holding Eddie close, their now relaxed bodies pressed together, shoulder to knee. Eddie lets himself rest there, Billy’s got him.

Eddie is, possibly, the most relaxed he’s ever been. He’s wearing his fluffy socks and sweat pants, and he’s sitting on the floor in front of Billy and Steve’s couch. Billy has put on a documentary for him, while he continues to do something to Eddie’s hair. It’s part of the process, apparently, which Eddie isn’t questioning because Billy seems really invested in Eddie’s hair. He’s definitely putting something in Eddie’s hair, but it smells really good, and when Eddie reaches up to touch, his drying hair just feels soft and not like it’s full of anything that would make it crunchy or sticky.

And, something Eddie would never have thought was possible a fortnight ago, he’s enjoying having Billy touch his hair. Billy touching him, it’s soothing. Billy’s movements are measured and predictable and it’s not at all a surprise when he moves onto the next section of Eddies hair. Eddie’s learning all sorts of hair words. Between the warmth of Billy’s legs caging Eddie in, the soothing voice over of the documentary, and the soft, careful movement of his hair, Eddie’s being lulled into being as relaxed as a wet noodle.

Not to mention the luxuriously long hot shower and the orgasm, those are probably helping. An orgasm that Eddie did not freak out after, so, he figures he’s getting better at this whole thing.

“It looks good, but you need a trim,” Billy finally declares, pulling Eddie back up to the surface.

Eddie pulls a face even though billy cant see, “gross.”

“What?”

“Hairdressers.”

Billy snorts a laugh, “you don’t like hairdressers?”

“Nope. They talk, a lot, about pointless shit, and you have to think up answers. Why do they like talking about going on holiday and like, the weather? It’s the same weather I have, we can just look outside, why is it up for discussion? And they make you sit and stare at yourself in a mirror the whole time, and it’s always so fucking bright in there. Like I understand they need to see what they’re doing, but it feels excessive. And they have like, really sharp scissors like, right next to your head. You could lose and ear. And they,” Eddie can barely suppress the shudder of horror, “they touch you.”

They do put a cape thing over you though, which, Eddie can barely tolerate having the tight part around his neck, but at least it means that, as long as he doesn’t move too much, no one can see what he’s doing with his hands. If he has to sit there making fists and then stretching his fingers out to get through the whole ordeal, then fine. But it doesn’t mean he’s going to go unless he absolutely has to.

It’s a little while, before Billy answers. He’s clearly finished; he’s stopped doing stuff with Eddie’s hair. It’s fine, on the TV a cordyceps mushroom grows out of an ants head. “You don’t like being touched?”

Eddie watches, engrossed, as the sped up footage shows the mushroom exploding and raining spores everywhere, “nah, not really. Well, not ever, really. Makes my skin crawl.”

“Eddie.”

There’s something in Billy’s tone. Something he can’t read, but it actually sounds stern, which Eddie is not used to hearing from Billy, so he turns, “Yeah?”

“Do you think, that at some point, it might have been a good idea to tell me, or Steve, that you don’t like people touching you?”

“Well...no. It doesn’t exactly count when its you guys.”

Billy huffs, watching him, “okay, okay, come up on the couch, I think I need you to explain a few things to me.”

Eddie movies, climbing up onto the couch next to Billy, “so...have you always been okay with us touching you?”

Eddie looks down, fiddling pointlessly with the edge of the couch cushion, “I mean-” and Eddie doesn’t like to lie, is the thing, and it doesn’t feel relevant any more anyway, that maybe the first couple of times were hard, “I wanted to have sex,” he shrugs, “so someone was going to have to touch me. And I’m getting used to you guys now, so most of the time I really like it when you touch me.”

“Most of the time?” Billy pushes.

“Yeah, pretty much a lot of the time.”

He huffs, “okay, but if there is ever any time you don’t want either of us touching you, you’ve got to tell us, don’t think that you have to just tolerate it so you don’t piss us off. That would...well, it’d upset me Eddie, if I found out we were doing something you didn’t like, and you felt you had to put up with it.”

Eddie nods, because all of that sounds pretty sensible, “it’s fine, I’ll just tell you if it happens. Promise.”

“Good, that- good, yeah...oh...that’s why you won’t spend the night?”

“Oh, pffft, nah, not because of that,” but Eddie is already cursing his big fucking mouth, because he’s just fully admitted it. He’s just basically come out and said that he’s not spending the night for a reason. A different reason to the first terrible thing he’s just admitted to.

“Okay, can you share with the class please?”

Eddie risks looking up, and Billy doesn’t look any kind of way, just a bit frowny maybe, but Eddie’s sure he’s not mad.

“I uhm...I don’t like your bed. Like, the sheets feel...greasy? And the comforter is like, really thick and scratchy. It’s horrible. And I have a white noise thing, I like to have on when I go to sleep, it sounds like the rain and I have a hard time sleeping without it. But, I mean, all of this is my problem you know, it’s, fine-”

“Would you like to spend the night? Ignore the bedding for a second, if that wasn’t a thing, would you actually want to…”

Eddie, again, debates not being fully honest, but quickly decides that it isn’t going to get him anywhere. He’s never really understood the point of lying to spare someone's feelings, the truth is the truth no matter how you feel about it. Most of the time it doesn’t make sense to Eddie that people even have feelings about stuff that’s just true? What’s the point? It’s not going to change anything.

But it’s different, with Billy and Steve, Eddie cares what they think, like, really really cares. And he doesn’t want to upset them or be difficult and...Eddie knows, probably, that you shouldn’t try to change yourself for other people’s convenience, probably but...this is the first time Eddie has really, really wished that he was different. That this whole thing was just...easy. Like it seems to be for everyone else. But still, he finally comes out with it, “oh. Yeah. Probably.”

“Huh,” is all Billy says, checking the time on his phone, “you know what, get dressed, we’re going out.”

“Okay,” Billy pushes the cart, standing in the bedding section of Pottery Barn. Eddie doesn’t move. He’s trailed after Billy so far but now he can’t bring himself to move. This is ridiculous. He can’t ever remember even being in a Pottery Barn, like, ever. Eddie likes Target and that’s kind of it.

And Billy’s watching him, but Eddie has no idea how to say ‘no’ right now.

Billy sighs, leaving the cart, he comes a little closer, “okay, we’re going to try something. I want you to articulate exactly what you’re thinking right now. Exactly. Go. No over thinking it, no worrying, no wrong answers. I want you to trust me. Just, go.”

Eddie nods, takes a deep breath, tries not to let himself think too much, and follows the instructions, “the lights in here are bright, walking past the diffuser things wasn’t very nice. I’m worried that you’re spending money on stuff that I want, which is ridiculous, I should just be able to suck it up. I know if I’m too awkward or too much of a burden you won’t want to see me any more.” Eddie lets out a long, slow breath.

“Okay. Okay, that was really good, you did so good. Such a good boy for me,” and Eddie nearly fucking melts but also nearly explodes at that. Whatever his face is doing, Billy definitely catches it. “Okay, I can’t do anything about the lights, but in future, bring some shades in case we go out somewhere like this. The smells were...a lot, I get that, so we just won’t go back that way. What I spend my money on is up to me, not you, I’m an adult making a choice, and if I ever feel inconvenienced by you, I will tell you, very clearly, what I don’t like and we can fix it. I want to spend this money on you, because I want to make our home...work for you, so you’re comfortable there. The end. I want to do this.”

Eddie gets as far as opening his mouth, but Billy cuts him off, “don’t you dare say ‘but’, you have one job here; go and choose us some new covers. Okay?”

Okay. Eddie tries to think and draws a blank; except for uncle Wayne, he doesn’t think anyone has ever spoken to him like that before. He likes it. “Okay. I can do that.”

And before Eddie knows it, Billy is holding him firmly by the chin and leaving a lingering kiss on his mouth, “such a good boy.”

Eddie’s body, briefly, wriggles out of his control, he can’t help the huffed breath that comes out of him, or the whine of “oh my god.”

“No, just Billy. Go.” And Billy physically turns him and sends him on the way with a tap on the ass.

Billy follows with the cart, watching Eddie. Eddie has a process; he has to touch everything. everything.

Most things feel, objectively, awful. Some of it is so bad Edie has to scrub his hand against his pants to get rid of the feeling. He finds super soft and fluffy teddy bear material sheets, looking back at Billy as he holds them. They come wrapped around cardboard and held together with thick ribbon, a label on the front. He offers it to Billy, who nods toward the cart.

Eddie drops it in; they only come in gray at super king size, so Eddie will kind of try and stick to a color scheme at least. Most of the bed at the moment is all white, and Eddie suspects that’s probably what Steve likes, so he can at least try and keep it monochrome. He finds matching pillow cases and holds them up. Billy touches them, “absolutely fucking not for me and Steve, but you can. Put them in, we will get you your own pillows.”

Eddie nods, dropping it in.

It takes him a little while, touching his way along the comforter covers, before he finds one that feels soft enough. Thick brushed cotton; it feels like a well worn flannel shirt. Billy touches the example piece that’s hanging loose, before he nods in agreement, and it goes into the cart. It’s grey white and black check, and Billy takes them back along the aisle and picks up two more pillow cases, just in plain grey, so that everything will match, since there’s only two pillow cases with the comforter set and Billy and Steve have two pillows each.

Billy watches as Eddie spends ages smushing pillows, no sign at all that he’s annoyed or bored or anything like that, he just waits until until Eddie puts in a package of two that he wants.

Eddie, very deliberately, does not look at the price of a single thing. He’s pretty sure he might spontaneously have a hernia or something if he does.

Billy nods with clear approval. They’re kind of done, so they head out, leaving the aisle at the other end to avoid the smelly section again. Eddie rounds the corner and cannot stop the audible gasp that comes out of him. He’s burying his hands in the blanket before he can think it through.

Billy comes up behind him, “the hell is that?”

“Oh it, it’s a TV show,” Eddie retracts his hands from the fleece of the Adventure Time blanket.

“One you like?”

Eddie nods, “yeah, it’s really cool,” and he looks at the repeating tangle of characters, “this ones my favorite,” it’s easy to pick out the gray and black vampire with a bright red guitar, “this is Marceline, she’s a vampire, she’s really cool.”

“Huh,” Billy says nodding, “well, put it in and lets go.”

“Oh, oh no you don’t need to do that. I mean, it-”

“Nope. This is your reward for being so good. Put it in the cart, Eddie-”

“Well I can pay for it-” Eddie tries again, hopelessly, even though he really doesn’t want to pay for it because it’s actually really expensive for what it is.

“No. Nope,” Billy reaches past Eddie, grabbing the blanket and dropping it in before he starts to walk away, “I’ve always wanted an Adventure Time blanket. I’ve wanted one for years, actually, had a burning urge. And it’s mine, and it’ll stay at the apartment forever, and I’ll let you use it. Okay?”

Eddie sighs, watching Billy walk away. He has to jog a little to keep up and...he’s grinning. Can’t keep the smile off his face. Or the giggle he makes when they’ve been through the check out and Billy bags everything except the blanket; he hands it straight to Eddie, and Eddie can’t help but clutch the heavy fleece to his chest.

Outside the store, once everything is loaded into Steve’s car, Eddie can’t help himself, he throws himself at Billy, giving him the biggest hug he can.

The buzzer is ringing out through the apartment in what feels like a random pattern, but then Billy figures out it’s the Darth Vader tune from Star Wars.

Steve’s singing dun dun dun, dun dun duuun, dun dun duuun dramatically from the couch. Billy sighs. He’s surrounded by fucking nerds.

He gets the buzzer, letting Robin in, and then just leaves the door on the latch. She doesn’t count as company, she lived here for two months when she first moved here. Probably two of the worst months of Billy’s life, really, because not being able to walk around your own fucking house naked is miserable. Steve suddenly being all shhhh she’s going to hear us every time they fucked was miserable.

But still, she needed a place to stay once she’d finished whatever college art thing she was doing, and Steve obviously immediately offered because he, apparently, likes Robin.

Because they’re platonic soul mates, or something equally insufferable. Now she’s moved out and settled in to her own place, Billy just occasionally gets dragged to improv nights and shudder amateur dramatics performances. It’s better than her living here, Billy guesses, and sometimes the performances are so bad it wraps right back round into entertaining. But. Still. Having to pay fifteen dollars a ticket to be tortured for two hours is pretty painful.

“But Billy!” Steve always protests when Billy complains, “we’re supporting the local arts! And it’s Robin, and she really enjoys it. We show up for our friends, right?”

Billy holds back on pointing out that actually, she’s Steve’s friend, Billy just tolerates her.

The local community arts center place where they put on their performances has a bar, at least, and Billy always heads in with a beer in each hand, just to soften the blow.

“What’s up loooooooooseeeeeerrrrrs,” she shouts through the apartment the second she gets through the door. Billy can hear her kicking her sneakers off haphazardly and then just dropping her bag and jacket on the floor. Why they’re best friends, Billy has no idea, because Steve is an absolute neat freak when it comes to the apartment, but he guesses opposites attract.

Her untidy nature did piss Steve off sometimes while she was crashing here, Billy could absolutely see it all over Steve’s face every time he tripped over a shoe, or found laundry on the couch, or dishes in the sink. Billy never dared say a word about it, but he enjoyed Steve’s silent irritation immensely.

It felt like victory.

Billy makes sure he’s on the couch with Steve when she slides into the lounge, socks on the hardwood, Robin always has the arm chair. And she always sits on it sideways, throwing her legs over the arm. “You guys feeling better now? I’m not going to catch anything grim, right?”

Billy groans, “who let you in?”

“Steve did, because he loves me, unlike you,” she snaps back immediately, completely oblivious to the fact that it was, in fact, Billy who let her in.

“Nah, we’re all good now,” Steve answers like that exchange didn’t even happen. Steve deals with their bickering by ignoring it. “Even went to work today.”

“And how was that?”

“Yeah it was shit. You’d think I was gone for four months, I had like, forty thousand emails and six meetings worth of minutes to go over.”

“Gross. What’s happening with Broccoli and The Hobbit?”

“Oh, they are one hundred percent fucking, Lana told me yesterday she clocked them looking at each other, then Broccoli got up and left, and then like, a minute later Hobbit got up and went too. The least subtle thing ever.”

Billy tries to follow Steve’s work drama, but he just doesn’t get it the way Robin does, “which one is Lana again?” Robin asks.

“Fish At Desk,” Steve answers, without missing a beat.

Billy knows who all these people are, because he occasionally gets to be Steve’s plus one at work social stuff, but Robin, having never met any of them, and relies completely on the random identifiers Steve’s given them, since Robin is really bad at remembering names.

Broccoli is a staunch vegan who has a tattoo of a head of broccoli on her wrist. The Hobbit is pretty self explanatory, and honestly, mad respect for the guy if he’s boning Broccoli, she’s pretty hot.

“What about The Rat?”

“He’s been put on leave.”

Billy’s never met The Rat, but he looks up from his phone long enough to watch Steve and Robin exchange one of those, all knowing, soul mate communication looks they give each other.

“Uh hu,” Robin eventually says.

“I know right,” Steve answers.

Billy does not know, he knows what they’re talking about, kind of, since The Rat was Accused, but he has no idea what conclusions they’re telepathically drawing.

“Oh, Pink Hair was down today, turns out she’s split up with her boyfriend and she’s swearing off men for a bit, I’m going to give her your number next week.”

Robin gasps dramatically, “Steven, do not.”

“No I’m gonna’, you’ll really like her, I have a good feeling.”

Billy stops listening. He sends Eddie a gif of a little girl, face down on the floor, clearly absolutely done with whatever is going on in her life. A minute of doom scrolling later, Eddie responds with a gif of a puppy and a kitten snuggling up together, what’s up?

Billy hears Steve’s phone ping wherever it is, enjoying the fact that, later, he’s going to see this, Steve’s BFF is here. They like to gossip. And they’re kind of bitchy.

Eddie sends a gif of a dude grabbing a bucket of popcorn and settling in, anything good?

Billy replies with a gif of a grumpy looking dog shaking it’s head. No. Some guy they call The Rat has been stealing office supplies. Billy thinks about that, and then adds, allegedly.

Hilarious. Imagine risking your job for paper-clips and a stapler.

Billy leaves it for a minute, tuning back in long enough to hear that Buffalo Bill actually dared send Steve an email that started further to my last email, which, going by Steve and Robin’s reactions, must be some sort of criminal offense.

He dips out again, still good for tomorrow?

Eddie sends a gif of a very enthusiastic kitten wearing sunglasses saying hell yeeaaahhhh.

Billy googles the zoo website, finding the link for the facilities, the on site restaurant, and then the menu. He screen caps it and sends it to Eddie.

Thank you, Eddie replies, with a glittery heart. Thank you thank you thank you. I’m so fucking excited, I haven't been to the zoo in years.

Billy smiles, he can’t help it, Eddie’s really sweet about some stuff. They were going to keep it secret and surprise Eddie with it when they got there. But, very quickly, and pretty much simultaneously decided that surprising Eddie with anything, even something he’d probably definitely like, might not be the way to go.

Eddie sends Billy a screen cap from the zoo website; it’s a map of the zoo. I think I have a route planned so we don’t miss anything. I’ve been checking the animals they have, and there’s koalas! I don’t actually like koalas, but I’ve never seen one in person before, so that’s cool.

Billy blinks down at the screen, then he finds a gif of a cute looking koala and sends it, what the fuck is wrong with koalas?

Chlamydia, Eddie replies without missing a beat which, just, what? Little four thumbed, smooth brained rapists.

Billy has, like, so many questions, but he’s not really sure he actually wants answers to any of them. Although he is probably going to stand a little further back from the koalas tomorrow.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve nudges Billy with a toe to the hip.

“What? Oh, Eddie. About tomorrow,” Billy realizes they’re both looking at him. He winds back the last minute; it’s been quiet. He strongly suspects this might not be Steve’s first attempt to get his attention.

“I fucking knew it, he had a stupid grin on his face,” Robin points at Billy, all accusation, “Steven, who is Eddie, why have I not been informed. Tell me everything.”

Billy snorts, “you do not want to know everything.”

Robin clicks at him, “you are absolutely right, Steven, edit out the gross bits.”

“Well. We only met last week. At a bar,”

“Cute cute,” Robin nods like one of those toys, “continue.”

“He’s really sweet and funny and just...nice you know. Kind. He came over when me and Billy were really sick and made us soup. From scratch, family recipe.”

She gasps dramatically, “no! That’s like, so sweet. And kind of romantic. You were his damsels in distress. I approve of him already. Shane never would have done anything like that. Asshole.”

Robin is physically incapable of mentioning Shane without immediately following it with asshole, like Shane’s full legal name is Shane Asshole. Billy doesn’t disagree, but he’s not going to tell Robin she’s right about something.

“Yeah, well, Eddie did, we’re taking him on a date to the zoo tomorrow- oh shit,” Steve turns to Billy, “are we getting lunch there-?”

“Already sent him the menu,” Billy answers, still trying to decide if he’s going to google the words koala and chlamydia at the same time and decides he’s just not strong enough to face those kinds of facts.

Robin has an eyebrow raised, “he gets stressed about choices and like, unfamiliar places. We’re working out how to deal,” Steve shrugs.

“Oh okay man fair, I mean who doesn’t like to have a check of the menu before committing. What else?”

“He’s really shy at first, but once he starts talking he’s like...a little mine full of facts. Space and animals mostly. He knew like, the names of these things NASA has to move the rockets, Billy what was it?”

“Crawlers, Hans and Franz. Knew the capacity weight and horsepower and all sorts of stuff off by heart, but he’s like that with a lot of stuff.”

“Uh hu,” Robin looks thoughtful, “anything else? Do I get to meet him?”

“No I don’t think so, he’s just...nice. I like him. And yeah, eventually when it’s a bit more, you know, not completely new.”

“So…nothing else weird about him?”

Steve looks, briefly, uncomfortable. Which is odd, because he tells Robin basically everything, and they have absolutely zero shame about pretty much everything. Except for where Steve is directly sticking his penis, that’s the one thing they don’t talk about in any kind of detail. Billy gets it though. He doesn’t want to make Eddie sound weird either. Even if he kind of is, about some stuff.

“He’s a picky eater,” Steve finally says, shrugging, “he doesn’t like some textures. He’s a really nice guy though I swear.” Billy wants to put a hand on Steve, because he’s said Eddie’s nice quite a few times now. He doesn’t need to convince Robin, even though Billy can see why Steve would want to.

If this goes anywhere, it’s going to be real important to Steve that Eddie and Robin get along.

Robin had almost instinctively hated Shane right from the start, and she’d never been quiet about it, selfish brat had come up repeatedly until Steve just started keeping them apart.

Steve always defended him though. Shane wasn’t that bad, he just wasn’t right for them. Obviously Robin would take the slightest thing and blow it dramatically out of proportion, but, sometimes, secretly, Billy agreed. But Steve holds on tight, when he thinks he has feelings for someone, even if they are a massive asshole.

Case in point, Billy himself. Because in high school, Billy was a massive fucking asshole. Steve was there for him though, and after. And now Billy is far away from forced proximity from his asshole father, he’s definitely grown out of it some. Steve was a huge part of that.

“Uh hu. Let’s review.” Robin ticks things off on her fingers, “likes to know the plan in advance, hence the menu. Has textural difficulties with food. Has special interests and can recite facts about them. Let me guess, isn’t great at eye contact? Sensory issues? Bright lights or loud noises?”

Billy’s interested now, because how did she know that?

“I mean...yeah?”

“Steve,” Robin sits up, voice gentle, “he’s autistic A F.”

“Oh,” Steve looks at Billy for a second, but Billy doesn’t know either, so he just shrugs, “you think?”

“Steve, I literally work in a book store that has a section for maps. We have a transport section with a shelf for just trains. I am sure. Plus we have a sensory friendly quiet hour on Wednesday evenings, we turn off the main lights and keep the music quiet and chill and shit.”

“I...did not know that.”

Robin shrugs, “no reason you would. There’s a kid that comes in sometimes, Henry, he has to wear a special soft helmet thing because he hits himself if he gets really stressed,” she demonstrates briefly, gently touching a closed fist to the top of her own head, “but oh Jesus that kid knows about dinosaurs. Like ask him literally anything and he knows it, like a walking encyclopedia of dinosaurs. He’s amazing, I love talking to him. And his mom is really great, she’s explained some stuff to me.”

Billy has already googled Autism.

Within about thirty seconds, the conversation they had had with Eddie this afternoon makes sense. Once Eddie had confirmed he had tomorrow free, Steve had told him about the zoo date. Once Eddie had calmed down, because he’d just been so fucking excited about going to the zoo, Steve had asked what felt like a simple question, what time can you get here in the morning?

Eddie had replied, what time does the zoo open? and how long does it take to get there?

Which initially, had read as enthusiasm to get there for right as it opened.

It wasn’t that though. It was like, to Eddie, there was a time. So that was the time you got there.

Eddie had then relayed the whole plan back to them again, including what time he was going to leave his place to then get to Billy and Steve’s. There was not an ounce of chill with Eddie’s planning.

Also, it says it right there in what Billy’s reading, sensitivity to noise and textures. It mentions light, but Billy hasn’t seen any evidence of that yet. Repetitive behaviors and familiar routines, Billy instantly remembers Eddie telling them what films they had to watch because they were sick, I don’t make the rules.

Huh.

This is all looking remarkably familiar.

Intense, specialized interests is very Eddie. But he doesn’t seem to take things literally, or at least, not so far as Billy’s noticed. At least not the examples Billy’s seeing here anyway, Eddie definitely knows that it’s raining cats and dogs does not mean that there are actually animals falling from the sky.

Stimming, Billy reads, and instantly thinks about Eddie’s twitching nose, about the way he moves his hands when he’s stressed. He reads a little further, involves repetitive, rhythmic interactions with items to provide sensory input, manage emotions, or increase focus-. Steve’s hand, last night. It all makes so much sense.

Billy is telling Steve, “we should read more about this-” when Steve’s phone starts ringing, he’s left it on the kitchen counter, and gets up to get it.

“That better not be work,” Billy calls after him, “don’t answer it if it is.”

“No it’s...it’s Nancy, hello? Nancy?” And Steve walks off, heading out of the lounge and down the hall into their room, “yeah, I’m okay, how are you doing?”

“What the fuck? Like Nancy Nancy? From high school?”

“Wheeler,” Billy replies, frowning back at Robin, “I mean I don’t think we know any other Nancy’s.”

“I didn’t even know Steve and her spoke any more. I mean, I knew they made up after the cheating with Jonathan saga, but obviously I still have to hate her on principle.”

Billy shrugs, “yeah, no idea why she’d be calling,” Billy stares after Steve again, but he can’t hear anything. He can’t think of a single reason why Nancy Wheeler would be calling Steve. As Steve’s high school ex girlfriend, Billy feels duty bound to dislike her, even if it’s just a little. Steve and Billy didn’t get together until after high school. Well, not officially. There may have been a couple of on the down low hook ups during senior year before they both figured out that the other one was worth the risk.

They had one bad break up in college that lasted all of a week before they realized they had to sort their shit out, but otherwise, they’ve been solid this whole time. Going home together after college was an experience; they went home long enough to tell their parents that they were in a relationship, get the anticipated poor reaction, and then grab their shit.

Heading off with both their cars stuffed to the brim was a terrifying but liberating experience. It strengthened them both, Billy thinks. Two kids, facing it and figuring it all out together. Their first apartment was an absolute shit hole, but they made it work.

Steve clearly wanted some privacy; he went into the other room. It’s been just long enough that Billy’s getting restless, and he’s starting to think fuck it, I’m checking on him, when Steve comes back.

He looks white as a sheet, and Billy can tell pretty much instantly that something pretty bad has happened.

“Uhm. Nancy, her mom heard that. She was just calling to say sorry my dad’s dead.”

“Oh,” Robin says, “you...you okay?”

Billy gets up, going to Steve and hugging him. Steve leans into it, resting his head on Billy’s shoulder, “I called the Wicked Witch.”

Wife number two, Steve’s step mom who he’s probably spent about ten hours total with.

“What did she say?” Billy asks, rubbing comforting circles on Steve’s back.

“Funeral is tomorrow, at twelve. She didn’t let me know because she assumed I wouldn’t care.”

“They’re having it on a Saturday?” Billy can hear Robin’s crinkled up nose expression.

“Yeah, probably to give people time to travel in. And so. So more people can go, probably. It’ll look good if it’s busy. I need to. Uhm. I’m going to pack some stuff a minute,” Steve says as he pulls away.

“What?” Robin asks, voice probably gone up four octaves.

“You’re not actually going to go-?” Billy asks, and then finds himself sort of flinching at his own tone. Steve’s dad was an emotionally abusive, manipulative, homophobic, racist, misogynistic asshole. But, he was still Steve’s dad.

“Yeah,” Billy follows Steve into the bedroom, watching as Steve pulls his suit out of the wardrobe. It’s still neatly hanging in the dry cleaners bag from the last time Steve wore it.

“I...okay,” Billy tries to pull his shit together, Robin is standing in the doorway, watching them, “okay, I’ll come with you-”

“No. No I-” Steve turns to Billy. Billy knows Steve, knows Steve better than Steve probably knows himself, and he knows what's about to come out of Steve’s mouth is going to be some bull shit about protecting Billy. He looks okay at least, Billy’s sure the initial shock is already passed, and he’s not crying or anything. He just looks...kind of determined. “If you come with me, it’ll be worse. I’m not- I’m not hiding who I am. I love you, you know that, but it’ll...just be worse if you’re there. I swear it’s not about you, it’s just...I won’t have to worry about you, if I just go myself.”

“Steve, I’m a big boy, I can look after myself-”

“I definitely know that, but every time they’re shitty, I’m going to feel bad about you having to take that-”

“I don’t care-”

“I know, I know okay,” Steve drops his half packed bag on the bed, coming over to hold Billy by the shoulders, “just. Let me do this. I don’t want to worry about anyone else, I want to go, deal with it, come back, and have it be done, okay?”

“I’ll come, if you want,” Robin offers from the doorway, “your family were always alright with me.”

And that is true. There was a time when they assumed Steve and Robin were dating, and they could not have been more wrong.

“Thanks Birdie, but no, it’s fine honestly. Just...just let me do it, I- I think I need to see this happen. Know that it’s...I can’t really explain.”

“It’s okay to want closure Steve,” Robin says, “he was an asshole to you your entire life, it’s okay to want to let it go.”

“I’m going to worry about you,” Billy leans forward a little, and they meet in the middle, their foreheads resting gently together.

“I know, but, I’ll go now, funeral is afternoon tomorrow, I’ll go to the service, make the absolute most of the buffet, and be home by bed time, promise.”

“You message me,” Billy tells him sternly. Steve’s an adult, he can make his own choices, and Billy trusts him to communicate what he needs. Billy will respect it, but that doesn’t mean he has to agree with it or even like it. “Promise me, when you get there, that you’re okay, call me whenever.”

“I will, promise,” and Steve kisses him softly before pulling away to go into the bathroom and grab a few toiletries. He’s already done packing; it’s only one night.

“Where are going to stay?”

“I don’t know, I’ll...I’ll find somewhere.”

“No, no, I’ll call my parents, give me one second-”

“Birdie-”

“No, no,” she already has her phone out, “actually, how about this, I go with you-”

“Robin-”

“Not to go to the funeral thing, I can visit with my parents, you know they’ll let you stay over Steve, no question, they love you. That way you’re not alone for the journey?”

“I don’t want to impose, and we won’t be back until late tomorrow night-” Steve argues weakly, but Robin is walking away, phone already to her ear, completely ignoring Steve.

“I would really like it if you took her up on this,” Billy gravitates back to Steve, hugging him again, he can’t seem to stop hugging him, “I will worry a lot less if she goes with you. I don’t want you making the drive back alone after that if we can avoid it.”

“I think. I think I’ll be okay. We’ve never been close I mean- you know how I feel about him I just. It’s weird, you know, he’s my dad, even if I haven’t necessarily seen him as that for a really long time,” Steve deflates a little in Billy’s arms, “okay. See what her parents say.” There’s another minute of quiet, Steve snuggling his face into Billy’s neck before he speaks again, “do you need me to take you to go and get your car before we go?”

They have two spaces here at the apartment, one for Steve’s beemer, one for their shared truck. Billy’s 1979 Camaro lives exclusively inside, a part of the garage that Billy owns converted for the soul purpose of storing his baby in perfect conditions, “nah, I’ll just use yours if I need to go anywhere, you guys should take the truck. Safer for a long journey.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my car-”

“Steve. Take the truck.”

Steve doesn’t argue it any further.

They stand there in the quiet for a couple of minutes, Billy swaying Steve back and forth in his arms, until Robin comes back, “they said yes, obviously, so can we swing by mine on the way, five minutes so I can grab some stuff?”

“Yeah, yeah of course, we should go.”

Billy hovers, watching them both slide on shoes and coats, Steve with his bag over one shoulder and the suit bag flung over the other, the hanger held in two fingers, “Robin, thank you for this, I really appreciate it.”

She snorts, “don’t start being nice to me now, you might strain something,” but she says it with a grin on her face. It annoys Billy that he can’t help himself when he smiles back.

“Alright you two, stop flirting,” on cue, Robin and Billy both start making disgusted gagging noises. Steve grabs a quick kiss from Billy, and then they’re out the door. Billy stands in the doorway, listening for a minute as they clatter down the stairs, Robin singing loudly about how she’s road tripping with my bestie.

She’s going to be working overtime keeping Steve out of his own head, and Billy couldn’t choose anyone better for the job.

The apartment is suddenly very empty, and very quiet, and Billy realizes that if he lets himself, he’s going to sit and stew over something he has no control over. He decides to go to the gym, and then he can grab take out on his way home from the Turkish place Steve isn’t as keen on as Billy is.

Plan in motion, he grabs his bag, moving through the apartment and shutting off lights and stuff, when his phone pings a message. It’s the group chat, Eddie, I’m really sorry but I can’t go tomorrow, Billy will still take you to the zoo though followed by a long line of animal emoji’s that immediately tells Billy that Robin is typing on Steve’s behalf.

Two messages come back immediately from Eddie, why, are you okay? and then I don’t want to go if it’s not all of us, can we go another time instead?

That’s...alright, Billy admits it, Eddie might be the sweetest person who ever lived. Billy knows how excited Eddie was to go to the zoo, but he still doesn’t want to go unless it’s all three of them.

The bubble pops up, Robin typing, I’m fine baby, my dad died and I only just found out so I’ve got to go back for the funeral. It’s not a big deal, we weren't close. That’s really sweet of you, we can definitely go another day. Billy stayed home, maybe you could still spend the day with him so he’s not alone?

And Billy could go to work and use the day to catch up on some work he fell behind on, when he lost those days this week being off sick.

But.

He knows damn well he's going to spend the entire day stressed about Steve, so spending the day hanging out with Eddie sounds better. He'd probably be in his head about it, and end up making a stupid, and expensive, mistake. He can just make some work days a little longer next week, and it should balance out. Eddie answers, oh no! I’m so sorry Steve! I hope it all goes okay and then sure, if Billy wants to?

Billy types, sounds good to me and he heads out, locking the door on the empty apartment.

Shane goes to the bathroom. He does not come back. Ilya gets impatient after about five minutes, but makes himself wait. It is irrational to follow so quickly. Ilya tells himself that, several times, making do with the scent and warmth of Shane left lingering on the cushions. At fifteen minutes he decides that he’s been more than patient, and gets up to follow.

Shane is not in the guest bathroom, so Ilya assumes he is in the en suite; he is not there either. Their bed, however, has been dismantled and is clearly devoid of covers and sheets. Ilya finds Shane in the downstairs utility. It is where Shane stores his hockey paraphernalia. Where he keeps his kit bag and all the parts of a Hockey uniform that are not managed by the teams equipment people.

It is also where the washers and dryers are, and that is what Shane is doing, washing all of their bedding, using the special laundry detergent Ilya ordered. The completely scent free, scent neutralizing stuff that Shane likes for his heats; because the nest should smell of them and absolutely nothing else.

There is another mound of bedding, shaken out into baskets; changes of sheets and protectors and back up covers should they need to change anything during Shane’s heat.

He’s getting ready.

“Are you okay, moy lyubimyy?”

“Yeah. I think so. Just wanted to get some stuff done, I’ve spent enough time lazing about.”

Ilya hugs Shane from behind, kisses his shoulder over the soft material of his shirt, scents gently at the skin of Shane’s neck. He watches Shane set the dials, press start on the machine. “You were not lazing about,” Ilya huffs, “you are recovering.”

“Yeah well, the whole place could do with cleaning,” ah Ilya thinks, here we go.

“I will help solnyshko-”

“You won’t do it how I like it.”

“I will allow myself to be managed. Come, nothing too strenuous for you.”

Shane grumbles, but he follows. Ilya senses the need in the sudden shift in Shane’s mood. His heat is soon. Most Omega, as far as Ilya understand it, actually spend most of the imminent run up to their heat eating sleeping and...actually nesting.

Shane’s version of nesting is a tactical assault on any dust, dirt, or debris that might be offensively existing in his space. As far as Ilya can tell, the mess can be absolutely real, maybe a possibility or simply...potentially dirty. It doesn’t matter.

Shane’s going to clean it.

Ilya can admit that Shane is doing a lot better, particularly over the last forty eight hours, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is bruised, his ribs will still be cracked, and he most certainly shouldn’t be over exerting himself. So while Shane wipes and dusts and sprays, Ilya deals with vacuuming, moving anything heavy, and stretching to reach the high places.

Shane folds blankets; Ilya climbs on a kitchen chair to have the reach to wipe over the light shades.

Shane changes over the laundry; Ilya insists on carrying the weight of the baskets back to their room.

“I’m not an invalid,” Shane grumbles and grouses, “I’m a two hundred pound Hockey player.”

Ilya hums in agreement, “my sweet little two hundred pound Hockey player. Very cute. Time to stop for a break, I need some lunch.”

“Finish this first,” Shane points, “you missed a spot,” and then he crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the offensive area, as if the dirt will realize what it’s done and remove itself out of sheer embarrassment.

Ilya has no idea what he’s missed, he genuinely cannot see it, but he buffs the glass that Shane was pointing at anyway. And keeps buffing, until he has his Omega’s approval.

It looks exactly the same to Ilya.

It is a game of patience, then. Waiting.

They both know that it is coming, and Ilya fusses with what’s in the fridge, mentally planning. He moves things, just a little, and uses his side of the bed as cover. Shane does not need to know that the little trash can and a package of wipes and absorbent pads have moved to within grasping distance.

Shane does actually reconstruct their nest; he frowns at pillows so severely Ilya is amazed they don’t catch fire. He doesn’t interfere, but when it is finally done, they both shower with the scent free soap, and then once dry, lay in the nest together.

It will very thoroughly scent of them by the time Shane is in his heat. Which is soon now, if the restlessness is anything to go by.

They go for another walk, both of them acutely aware that they will be back to being trapped inside for a few days shortly.

By the evening, Shane is beyond restless and uncomfortable and overly warm, “should I message Yuna?” Ilya asks, gently.

“For what?”

“To say that maybe she cannot visit for a few days, and that we may not answer. You do not want to worry them, I do not want them appearing here.”

“No. No, I’ll do it,” but Ilya knows it takes a long time, Shane pacing with his phone in his hands, trying to find the right words. Apparently Shane has his own version of Mom frown.

Ilya can imagine that it’s not overly pleasant for Shane to have to tell his parents, don’t come over, spending a couple of days getting railed.

Ilya would happily inform Yuna Hollander of what is about to occur, but he senses he would be in trouble with his Omega, so he does not suggest it.

Despite how close to the surface Shane’s heat had become, he sleeps well. He sleeps more than well, he sleeps like the dead, he sleeps later than Ilya has ever known him sleep. They have been living in a world without rules for nearly two weeks now. Shane usually has an alarm for everything, he has structure, meal times, meal plans, work out plans, all the plans. Right now though...right now Shane doesn’t even have an alarm to wake him up in the morning. Not that he ever needs it, if Shane sets an alarm, some part of his brain usually wakes him up twenty minutes before it rings, purely on instinct.

But now, right now, they have nothing. So when Ilya wakes to find Shane, safe in their nest, covers kicked off and tangled around his legs, snoring heavily, he does nothing. He lets Shane sleep, and he lies there, and he stares at his beautiful mate.

It is not long before Shane, even in sleep, whimpers, and frowns. Skin flush and scent finally fully blooming.

And Ilya knows it is no longer soon, it is now.

Shane is curled into a ball of misery. He is sweaty with pain, and Ilya can track the waves of cramps, not just by Shane’s scent, but by Shane’s knuckles. They turn white when he is clenching the blankets particularly hard. He is laid out on the absorbent padding; has another one scrunched and held viciously tight between his legs.

He doesn’t move though, doesn’t twist into it or rut against it or try and seek any kind of relief. Especially not from Ilya. Who is right here and could make this stop anytime Shane asked him too. This has been going on for hours now, for far, far too long.

“Shane-” Ilya starts, ready to try again, he climbs into the nest, kneeling next to Shane, behind him, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Shane’s bare and tacky arm. The blinds are at half mast, letting in some of the natural light, but not so much as to hurt Shane’s sensitive eyes. “Solnyshko, let me help. The pain will stop if we-”

Shane just grunts, pulls his arm away from Ilya’s touch, “not yet. It’s not bad yet.”

Even if Ilya couldn’t scent a single thing, he would see what a catastrophic lie that is. He kneels, helpless, in their nest, and watches as Shane suffers needlessly.

Absolutely needlessly. He rejects his Alpha. Rejects his mate. It would be easy to take that personally, his Alpha restless with hurt and confusion. But his Alpha is a simple beast who does not understand. It presses against Ilya’s insides, insistent they slake Shane’s pain. That they help, act, and not just sit here.

But it doesn’t understand the penance Shane is paying, the one he has imposed upon himself. Maybe Ilya didn’t fully, until now, watching Shane shiver and burn and suffer. He did not wait this long, last time. Shane had allowed Ilya to take him much earlier in his heat, last time. Ilya was probably knotting Shane through the haze of his pre heat too.

Not this time, and, it isn’t until forty minutes later, after another rejection from Shane, that Ilya finally begins to realize what’s happening. It’s with a kind of slow dawning horror that Ilya puts it together.

Shane is using his heat to hurt himself. He is torturing his Omega. He is...punishing himself. Punishing his Omega. Ilya doesn’t know how Shane sees it, what exactly it is he’s trying to achieve with his suffering.

“No.”

“What?” Shane asks, sluggishly.

“I said no,” Ilya wraps a hand around Shane’s thigh, conscious of his still tender middle, he pulls, using the pivot of Shane’s hips to roll him carefully onto his back.

Shane makes a discontented noise, but doesn’t exactly fight it. Ilya hovers over him, careful not to press anywhere that might hurt, his weight on his knees and one hand as he uses the other to cup Shane’s cheek, to turn his head to face Ilya, “no. I understand you are recovering. I have played it your way every single step of this. I have tolerated sitting silent in appointments as you try to insist on harming yourself, I have played nice with family even though your mother bared her fangs at me at the hospital. I am separated from my mate to make sandwiches and do dishes. I have allowed Hayden Pike,” Ilya spits the name derisively, “into our den for my mates happiness. I have- I heard plans for my own wedding for the first time with my mates parents sitting on his couch. Through all I tell my Alpha shush. I tell him we love our mate and we will tolerate this. We go where my mate pleases. My mate nods and I obey. No. I am done. Not this. I will not let you hurt yourself any more.”

Shane’s mouth turns down in displeasure, eyebrows drawn together with annoyance, but between one blink and the next, his eyes shine golden.

“Oh,” Ilya breathes out on a quiet whisper, “there you are solnyshko. Hello, my beautiful Omega,” Shane whines, soft and needy in answer. His eyes seem to glow, beautiful molten gold surrounded by glittering freckles.

And then the frown is back, and Shane shifts, whimpering in distress, clearly upset, between one blink and another, his eyes are dark again. His Omega runs and hides back inside, “Ilya,” Shane’s voice is ragged, pained, desperate as he looks down between them, to where the bundle of absorbent padding is still held punishingly tight between his legs.

There is nothing to do but wait, Shane closes his eyes, turns his head, tries to hide. Scents embarrassed and miserable. But also, the scent of Shane’s wetting hits Ilya’s nose full force. It is an invitation from Shane’s body. From his Omega. The scent full of information; the Omega is fertile, the Omega is ready. It is Shane’s body screaming for a pup, telling the Alpha now.

Shane whimpers, cheeks flush and eyes scrunched closed as if in pain. Ilya moves to take the wet padding away, “no,” Shane immediately bites out the word, “don’t touch it. It’s dirty, I’ll do it.”

“It is not dirty,” Ilya tells him, equally snippish, Ilya is done with Shane speaking about his Omega like this, “it is normal, and it is healthy, give it to me.”

Shane relinquishes the absorbent pad reluctantly, it is heavy with the wet, stained yellow with urine, but Ilya rolls it up and gets it into the trash can next to the bed, tying off the neck of the bag even though Ilya would prefer to leave the scent of Shane’s hormones in the room.

Ilya’s cock weeps precome, he is throbbingly hard. Ilya pulls out another of the plastic backed pads, setting it within arms reach of Shane, ready for next time. He pulls out a package of the scentless wipes, and Shane stares at the ceiling while he bares the indignity of Ilya wiping off his cock.

Shane is equally hard, and he hisses as Ilya carefully cleans him.

“Now, I will stop your pain, yes? No arguments.”

Shane nods, he’s blinking away tears again, but he nods.

“Good, tell me if your ribs hurt. Your bruises.” Shane huffs, looking away. Petulant. “Nyet, look at me,” Shane does, but it’s reluctant, “I will not take away one pain and cause another,” Ilya’s scent is full of care and concern, and, yes, arousal. “I will not be treated like this because I’m trying to care for you. I will not...take attitude from you simply because I do not want my mate to be in pain.”

“Sorry,” Shane swallows thickly, “sorry, you’re right, I’m being an asshole and you’re only trying to help.”

“Yes, this is true, but I forgive, okay? Now, let me in here, carefully.” Ilya lifts one of Shane’s legs cautiously, shuffling forward. Shane’s body has already wetted to indicate readiness, and Ilya can see for himself that Shane is very wet with slick. The pucker of his muscle is soft, the absorbent padding below Shane’s ass is dark and puddled with slick, it glistens where it drips between his cheeks. “Okay, I will check first. You want condoms?”

Shane’s eyes turn gold in a flood, and he growls. That is new. This is already the most Ilya has ever seen of Shane’s Omega at one time, and he has never known it to growl.

It startles Ilya, if he has to be truthful, but he thinks he covers it well, “okay, no condoms today, solnyshko,” Ilya carefully reaches between them, easily sinking two fingers into Shane’ sloppy hole, Shane takes the third just as easily on the second pass. His heat doing it’s work, Ilya could have taken Shane right away with no concern as to hurting him.

Ilya presses into Shane’s waiting body, the thick head first, Shane’s slick heady on the air, making the slide easy. Shane accepts Ilya into his body smoothly, easily, and they both pause, groaning when Ilya is fully seated. Not only is Shane’s heat scent heavy in the air, ramping Ilya’s arousal, but because of Shane’s injury, it has bean many many days since they have had sex at all.

Ilya holds back, forces himself to calm, to be still and breathe. Everything is screaming at him to mount his Omega, to take, even Shane’s own body has indicated that that is what it wants, what it needs. But Ilya refuses to hurt his mate.

When he is ready to move, he keeps his thrusts long and slow, pulling almost fully out before rolling into Shane’s body, determined not to jostle his ribs. Ilya is careful to keep his weight off Shane, but still hovers close enough to kiss his mate.

Kissing Shane is one of life’s great joys as far as Ilya is concerned, and there has been far too little of it of late. Shane huffs a sweet noise, letting Ilya in easily, tilting his head back, letting Ilya lick deep inside. Shane’s hands come up, resting on Ilya’s shoulders, kneading at his flesh as the air between them warms.

Ilya is not going to last. He has gone weeks with the occasional opportunity to jerk off in the shower; Shane is probably in even a worse state, Ilya has been there to care for him this whole time, and as far as Ilya is aware, Shane has not come since before he hit the ice.

But still, finally being inside the tight, soaked heat of his omega, the scent of Shane hot in the air, Ilya will not let himself go before Shane. He grits his teeth, fangs distended now, the slight metallic taste of his own blood on his lip before Shane’s tongue wicks it away.

Shane’s huffing into Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya knows the signs, Shane is close. His head tilts back, eyes closed, frowning like if he concentrates hard enough he will summon an orgasm, “tell me I am not hurting you,” Ilya begs, voice rough and desperate.

“No. No it feels good. It’s so good I- I – knot me, please please please I’m so close.”

Not a touch to Shane’s straining cock, and the moment Ilya’s knot slips past Shane’s rim, he comes. He comes explosively come splattering Shane’s stomach and chest, enough to drip. His hole floods, Ilya’s knot squelches as he shifts his hips, grinding in aborted circles, working his knot inside Shane’s body as Shane groans and moans and rides out his orgasm, whole body twitching with the pulsing, his hole clenching rhythmically on Ilya’s knot, milking him.

Filling Shane up. Painting his insides with hot ropes of come.

Shane’s heat slowly fades, while he is locked together with Ilya. Ilya keeps his weight off Shane as best he can, tied together as they are by Ilya’s knot, Shane’s body clutching tightly, keeping Ilya’s spend deep inside. Ilya lets himself touch, brushing tenderly across Shane’s freckles. But Shane hides his eyes, keeping them closed, the fan of dark lashes resting across his cheeks.

Ilya is the only person Shane can always look at, in this moment of vulnerability, their bodies tied together, that Shane hides from him hurts.

For everyone else, there are times he can, and times he can’t. His family? Usually, but not when stressed. His friends? Most of the time, but not when stressed or tired, or anything else is going on. Loud noises and bright lights and unexpected movements all interfere.

People outside Shane’s circle? Strangers? Almost never.

But Ilya, Shane finding his eyes, always is a gift.

Shane is not looking at him now, Shane has blinked open his dark eyes, and is staring listlessly at the ceiling above Ilya’s head.

“Solnyshko,” Ilya shifts his weight, switching hands, pulling gently at Shane’s chin, “look at me.”

Shane lets his head be moved, but his eyes slide closed again, hiding from Ilya still, “I don’t want this.”

“I know.”

Shane shakes his head, tears forming at the corners of his eyelids, breaking free and running down, into his hair, “you don’t. You just don’t,” Shane’s voice is rough, but empty. He sounds so, so tired of it all, the betrayal of his own body.

Ilya swallows thickly, lets his thumb smear Shane’s tears over his beautiful freckles, “all I can do is love you.”

Shane’s hand comes up, gripping Ilya’s wrist, holding his hand in place; Ilya cups his hand around Shane’s cheek instead, and he leans into it, rests there, for a moment, before his dark eyes finally open again, “please don’t ever stop.”

“I will never, ever stop loving you,” at the sight of Ilya, Shane’s eyes glow golden.

Ilya goes for food. Snacking meat that Shane will eat, lean chicken and clean proteins that he is obsessed with. Fruit and carrot sticks, a dab of hummus. He grabs himself a pack of chips from his snack cupboard, and half a bar of chocolate that he puts on the tray. Water and electrolyte drinks.

Last, he balances the box of pills on the edge, the contraceptives. Carefully, with his laden tray, he heads back to the bedroom.

They eat together, backs resting against the headboard, Ilya demolishing the whole share bag, Shane picking listlessly at his lunch.

He eats with Ilya’s encouragement.

Ilya clears everything away, leaving the box and the water on Shane’s bedside table. They’re still there, untouched, when Ilya climbs back into the nest. He touches Shane, gently; not too warm, but they knotted not that long ago. Still, Shane sits with the sheet pooled around his hips, resting on top of one of the absorbent pads, letting the slick and come slowly leak back out. After they had parted, Shane had submitted to Ilya’s careful ministrations with the wipes. He watched, eyes golden, as Ilya worshiped him another way; carefully applying protective cream to between his cheeks and between his upper thighs.

Shane is staring at the box.

“What if I don’t take them.”

Ilya doesn’t falter, even though he feels his heart flutter at Shane’s words. He keeps his movements gentle as he traces his fingers over his mates skin, dipping a kiss to the freckled skin of Shane’s shoulder, “is what you want?”

Shane shakes his head, no, but it’s slow, a barely there movement, “I want to play hockey. I want to be on the ice, with you.”

“Is true I will win the cup every year if you are not there to keep me in check.”

“Can’t have that,” Shane turns then, a little into Ilya’s touch, nuzzling close, Ilya allows Shane to kiss across his cheek, his nose. “I love you. I’m sorry I’m so...I get angry at the circumstances, and I take it out on you. It’s wrong of me.”

“Ah, Shane Hollander admits he is wrong, someone, call the news paper reporter-”

Shane snorts a surprised laugh, “fuck off, I’m trying to apologize” he sighs, laughter training away. “I’m not ready for a pup.”

“Then you must take them, solnyshko.”

Shane sits, staring at the box, eyes fixed but not really seeing Ilya doesn’t think. Shane’s rubbing absently at his own chest, two knuckles between his pectorals. Occasionally his hand wanders, and, briefly, he cups his own flesh, self comforting before his fingers return to the divot between muscle. The bruising is still present, but so much better now than it was, just a shadow on Shane's middle, “I’m not sure I can do it on my own.”

“You need my help, solnyshko?”

Shane sighs a huge, tremulous breath, “I don’t want to take them...but I want to play Hockey more. It’s...not the right time, not yet but I...inside, I feel like it’s wrong to take them. My heat is…” Shane shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, “I need you to help me.”

Not your heat, Ilya thinks, it is your Omega that is protesting, but he keeps the thought to himself.

Ilya gets up; he retrieves a fruit yogurt from the fridge, and a spoon. Once back in the bedroom, he perches on Shane’s side of the nest, open yogurt and spoon on the bedside table. Ilya opens the pills, a strip of ten, exactly as the doctor had said, letting one fall from the plastic and foil into the yogurt.

Shane stares out at the water, unseeing. Deliberately not watching what Ilya is doing.

He opens his mouth when Ilya offers the spoon, and silent tears escape his lashes and sparkle on his cheeks.

The very nature of his Omega being in heat means that Ilya’s Alpha is probably more alert now than at any other time. So when he shifts in the night, reaching for the warmth of his mate and finding empty sheets, Ilya is not alarmed.

If something were truly amiss, Ilya would have woken. He would have known. The sheets are not cold at all, Shane has not been gone long. Ilya waits, at first assuming Shane is in the bathroom. He realizes quickly that it’s probably not the case, the door to the en suite is cracked, but there no light spilling from inside, no noises of Shane moving around.

Ilya gets up, padding his way out of their bedroom, letting his feet carry him down the few stairs into the living area.

He can hear Shane then, in the otherwise completely still quiet of the night, there are soft sounds coming from the kitchen. Ilya heads that way. There is light; the dimmest ones that shine from under the cupboards, lighting the tiles and work surfaces. Still Shane stands at the island, his back to the light.

Ilya watches.

Ilya sees something that he never, ever in his entire life thought he would. If Ilya had to bet money on what he would find in this kitchen, he would have absolutely and catastrophically lost that bet. It’s so alien, what he sees, that he has no idea what to do with it.

Shane’s eyes are gold. Something that Ilya sees only in brief flashes usually. Shane’s Omega is so locked down, so hidden away, that outside his heats, Ilya almost never sees it. Shane’s Omega is repressed, it’s beaten down and hidden and never allowed to show itself as overtly as this. Shane has spent his entire life convincing his Omega that it is bad and wrong. Ilya has seen Shane’s omega shining from his eyes more today than he has in all the years he has known Shane combined.

When the doctor had said the heat would be incredibly intense, Ilya had imagined painful cramps. He’d imagined more regular mating, more neediness. More wettings. He imagined having to tie his mate to his knot more often to keep his mate sated. He thought this heat would be physically hard on both of them.

He thought intense meant just...the same but more.

He sees it now, that although he was along the right lines, this is what the doctor meant.

Shane’s eyes are still golden in the dim light, it’s been minutes, and still, they glow.

This is not Shane standing in front of Ilya right now. Not entirely. This is Ilya’s Omega, free in a way it’s probably never been before.

The doctor explicitly told them that this heat would break through, no matter the amount of suppressants. Shane’s Omega would find freedom, or he would die. There were only ever two options.

And Shane’s Omega, given it’s freedom, is choosing to stand naked in the kitchen; something Shane would never do, it’s unhygienic. And he is eating. The door of Ilya’s not so secret snack cupboard stands open, and in front of him Shane has a package of chocolate chip cookies, torn open, the foil lying on the counter, practically ripped in half and discarded thoughtlessly.

He also has a package of six chocolate puddings open; he’s using the cookies as edible spoons.

Or possibly like chips and dips...just with cookies and puddings instead. It’s genius, as far as Ilya is concerned, but Shane will be horrified.

A brief moment of freedom, and Shane’s Omega has gone straight for the thing that Shane denies himself the most.

Ilya shifts on his bare feet, allowing himself to make a noise so as to not startle Shane. Golden eyes turn to him, watching him, but Shane continues to chew. He takes another cookie from the destroyed packaging, dipping it in the chocolate pudding and then licking it, before dipping it again. This time he eats half the pudding covered cookie in one mouthful.

Ilya moves closer, slowly, cautiously, but Shane just continues eating, golden eyes watching Ilya curiously.

Ilya finally comes to a stop, perhaps a foot away from Shane. There is a quiet rumble of warning from his Omega, but still no words. Shane pushes his bounty along the counter a little, away from Ilya, the message clear. The Omega is not willing to share with his Alpha.

Ilya holds his hands up, palms open, “I will not take from you, my Omega.”

Shane chirrups, quietly. A sound of acceptance.

He still hasn’t stopped eating. It’s measured, careful but determined. Shane’s body isn’t used to it; he will probably feel sick soon.

“You are very beautiful,” Ilya says. Can’t keep it in really. He’s sure his eyes are red; they must be, his Alpha responding to Shane’s Omega. Shane’s eyes flick to his again, after retrieving another cookie, “you might be the most perfect Omega in the world.”

Shane’s head tilts. Curious. Listening.

His entire life, all Shane’s Omega has ever known is Shane pushing it down, hiding it. Every part of Shane’s life tells him that being an Omega is bad, and wrong.

In front of Ilya now is Shane’s Omega. His Omega.

Ilya has an opportunity he will not squander, he may never have it again.

“You are quick, and clever. You read the ice better than any Alpha,” Shane’s hand slows, the cookie hovering in the air; Shane rumbles out a quiet, approving sound.

“You are kind, and perfect, and you are so good for the people you care about,” Shane chirrups, a curious noise, head tilting the other way as he takes a small bite of cookie, attention completely focused on Ilya now. “I love you. I love you so much, I could talk for one hundred years and never be able to explain how much I love you. I want you there, for the rest of my life, I want to be wherever you are.”

Shane puts down the pudding smeared half cookie he was holding. He starts to purr. Eyes huge and golden in the dim kitchen light. Ilya can see it when Shane’s head tilts a little, his neck stretching forward, he’s scenting the air. Scenting Ilya. Shane’s mouth parts, just a little, as he pants, dragging air over his tongue. His fangs are dainty compared to Ilya’s Alpha ones, but they’re definitely out now.

Ilya’s sure he’s never seen Shane’s fangs. He would absolutely remember this.

“You are such a good Omega. Absolutely perfect for me. You build the best nests. You are so good for you Alpha,” Ilya takes a deep breath, considering the scent of Shane in the air, of his heat and slick, and Ilya decides he will not shy away from what he wants to say, “one day, when you are ready, you will carry my pup. You are perfect for it, you will be big with our pup, you will keep our pup nice and safe inside you, and our pup will be strong because of you, perfect Omega.”

Ilya knows the Omega part of Shane probably doesn’t understand why they can’t have a pup now. It is simple, like Ilya’s Alpha, it has immediate needs and impulses and doesn’t care for the complications of real life.

Shane whines, high and thready.

“I know, my Omega, we will not make you wait forever.”

Shane makes a soft noise, a chuffing huff. And then he shifts his weight onto one leg, turning out the other and lifting so that only his toes are on the chill of the kitchen floor. Shane stares at him with golden eyes, and it takes just a moment for Ilya to realize what’s going to happen, just a split second before it actually does.

Shane wets right there. Pisses right there on the kitchen floor, letting out a high keening cry, begging his Alpha, calling for Ilya. It is too much to resist, Ilya growls, and Shane is turning, pushing the cookies and puddings out of the way, something clattering off the counter and hitting the floor.

It takes less than a second, Shane is still wetting when Ilya presses him against the counter, the urine trailing off as it drips against the cupboard door.

Ilya is inside him before he can think it through, Shane crying out, making Ilya still, briefly, Shane’s bruises and ribs must be pressing against the counter, “sorry, moya lubov’, hush, I am sorry.”

One of Ilya’s hands is in Shane’s hair, the other pinning his hip, both of them standing barefoot in the wet as Ilya fucks into Shane’s sloppy, slick wet hole, “You are perfect, and beautiful. You are my soul, my everything. I think about you, every moment we are apart, I adore you. I love you. I cannot be without you. Wonderful, perfect Omega you are.”

Ilya’s hips slap against Shane’s ass, Shane going up on his toes to tilt his hips into Ilya, letting him fuck harder, deeper, “You drive me insane, you know this. Everything about you, your strong legs, your arms, your back, your freckles. Your pretty eyes and clever mouth and big Hockey brain.”

Ilya’s pretty sure he’s devolved into speaking nonsense. He’s not even entirely sure it's all in English. He has two thoughts, two thoughts only, that his Omega must know how perfect he is, and driving into the same Omega’s tight heat.

The scent of Shane’s pheromones surrounds them. It is heady, overwhelming, and Ilya can taste it in the air. Fill me, it says, I am ready and I am fertile and I need you to complete me. It cries out to Ilya’s Alpha.

Ilya can only answer.

“It is you, Shane Hollander, it is only ever you for me. It has been you since the first moment I saw you, you were so pretty, I could not scent you, Shane hides you away, but my Alpha knew. Do you hear me Omega, your Alpha knew it was you.”

Shane’s body grips at him. Ilya does not want to leave more bruises on his injured mate, but he knows the grip he has on Shane’s hip is inexorable. Warm liquid seeps between Ilya’s toes, and Shane’s slick is dripping so much it is coating Ilya’s thighs as well as Shane’s, coating sticky and slick all around his cock.

“You drive me fucking insane Omega, I cannot wait to see you big and round with pup,” Shane whines loud and long and beautiful at the thought. His hair is soft and silky in Ilya’s grip, and Ilya tugs, arching Shane’s neck, “that is where my bite will go. When we are ready to tell the whole fucking world who you belong to.”

Shane pants, breathing rough, mouth open and fangs on show, eyes still wide and golden. Not hiding. Not afraid. Not pushed down or wrong or bad.

“Come for me, beautiful perfect little omega, come for you Alpha, let me fill you up-” a gush of hot slick coats Ilya’s cock, splashing and squelching out, forced out by Ilya’s rabid thrusting.

Shane fucking howls a wild, deep animal sound as his come splashes and splatters, adding to the mess on the floor.

Ilya’s knot catches, Shane’s body vice tight on him, milking him again and again and again, dragging out Ilya’s orgasm and pulling his spend from him, coating Shane’s insides and filling him deeply.

Shane begins shivering almost immediately, his legs shaking, Ilya stands him gently, taking Shane’s weight with utmost care, holding them both together, shielding Shane and keeping him warm with Ilya’s own body heat.

“Okay, moya lyubov’?”

Shane’s voice is broken, wet sounding, raspy and tired, but he manages, “yes. Yes, I'm okay now.”

Ilya rumbles, “good.”

It is not perfect, but the world rarely is.

Shane is better. He is not at completely at ease with his Omega, but it is better. He is less strict. He has been nesting, on the couch and on their bed, even though there is no purpose for it. He is allowing himself small comforts that he would have shied away from before this heat.

Sometimes, in the safe darkness, when they are completely alone, Shane relaxes enough for his eyes to shine gold.

He is not punishing himself for something he cannot control.

Maybe he sees now that his poor Omega is not the enemy he has been guarding against all these years.

Ilya shouldn’t be here. It’s risky, anyone who sees him will almost certainly realize who he is.

He has his hood up, David and Yuna are waiting in the car; they’re coming in ten minutes after him. If Ilya is spotted he can explain it away, it would be worse for him to be spotted with Shane Hollander's parents. Being at a Hockey rink to watch a game he could talk his way out of; he is a Hockey player, he could say he’s studying the enemy. Even if he should be in Boston right now, not in Canada.

But being seen with Shane’s parents? He has no idea how any of them would be able to explain that.

He scanned his ticket at the gate, head down, and did not go to his assigned seat. He’s up high, chose the emptiest part of the stands.

He’s standing, waiting.

He has to see this for himself; watch for ten minutes, and then go.

The teams filter onto the ice in ones and twos, spreading out, skating to warm up, dropping to the ice to stretch, quick sprints to get a feel for it all, skating in wide arcs and circles to settle themselves.

Ilya spots him immediately, he would know Shane anywhere, doesn’t need to see his name or number, doesn’t matter that he’s hidden under his helmet. Just the way he stands, the way he walks, the way he moves, the way he skates.

Ilya would sense Shane in the pitch black, even with no eyes or scent or sound, Ilya would feel him by instinct.

The moment Shane’s blade touches the ice, Ilya knows he’s fine. He moves with the confidence of someone coming home. The Shane Hollander, gliding onto the ice.

Ilya’s seen it hundreds of times; he will see it hundreds more. It will never fail to move something inside him.

One day, he will glide onto the ice himself, and he will look into the crowd, and he will find his mate, watching him. Publicly known, married, even. Shane will sit in the family section, and Ilya will blow him a kiss, and people will see. Maybe Yuna and David will come to watch him. Maybe, Shane will sit in the stands, and maybe he will have their pup on his lap.

It’s not entirely Steve’s fault, it’s someone in the offices’ fault. Probably someone with little kids. They brought in this terrible, potentially fatal illness and it spread through the petri dish that is the office floor within a day. Steve can’t argue though, he did bring it home.

He sits.

It’s a gargantuan feat of effort. Unfortunately the remaining liquid in his head tries to slide right out of his face, and all of his joints feel like they’re staging a coup. “Oh, this is just awful.”

There’s a brief moment of unsteadiness when he stands, but he makes it to the bathroom fine, “yeah,” he tries to call, but his voice immediately and painfully breaks so he goes back to Billy before he speaks again. Billy looks kind of pale, “we have like eight left.”

Billy blinks up at him, “why are my knees sweaty?” he asks, clearly pained.

Steve can relate. “I’ll go and get us some water.”

It’s late morning when they finally migrate to the couch, Steve pulls the whole comforter off the bed, piling it up over his shoulders to carry it through to the lounge. Billy’s watching a basket ball game, and with a bit of squinting past the headache Steve figures it’s Toronto against Cleveland. He gives up fast, it’s just not worth having his eyes open.

Occasionally Billy makes them both drink water, and somehow it tastes like tepid sadness, with a chaser of dusty pain.

He’s shivering with cold but also uncomfortably sweaty. Billy seems to be doing marginally better, and lifts an arm to let Steve snuggle up next to him under the comforter, a roll of toilet paper balanced precariously on Billy’s leg, snotty tissues strewn about them.

“Should I die, tell my wife and child I love them,” Steve manages, vaguely.

“Will do. I’ll message Eddie. Cancel.” Billy makes a horrific throat clearing noise that sounds thick and green.

Steve makes another pained noise. They bought pre made broth and nice noodles and all sorts of stuff to go in the ramen, the eggs are marinating in the fridge, “I was looking forward to tonight.”

“I know,” Steve’s phone pings somewhere, Billy must be messaging in the group chat, “but we can do it in a couple of days instead.”

Billy’s hand lands in Steve’s hair, gently combing. It’s a bit gross because Steve can feel where his hair is flat with sweat, and Billy’s hand there is almost uncomfortably warm, but he can’t seem to make himself say no to the comfort. “No sex, right?”

Billy makes a noise that Steve figures should be agreeable but just sounds like someone trying to pull a boot out of mud, “no sex. We’re two for two on post sex panic, I don’t want a hat-trick thanks.”

Steve’s brain is filled with snot covered cotton wool, but he still can’t help but stew on it a little. They’ve talked a bit, in the group chat, mostly just confirming plans and Billy and Eddie sending gifs. Eddie still didn’t stay the night last time. Sure he stayed long enough to calm down, and he had a big drink of water and was clearly feeling, if not all the way better, then at the very least not actively panicking when he left.

They’d offered again, for him to stay, but Eddie had said I should get home and neither Steve nor Billy had pushed it. They can’t, not yet, they just haven’t known Eddie long enough to know where those kind of boundaries sit. Push too hard and they might never see him again.

He’d been subdued, and Billy and Steve had done the heavy lifting to carry the conversation. They’d tried to get Eddie talking about his interests again; Eddie had responded enough to be polite, but Steve could just tell that Eddie was editing himself.

“We need to teach him taps, for when he goes non verbal.”

Billy hums, “why do you think he does that? You think he’s gone under? Or just plain overstimulated?”

“Absolutely no idea,” Steve admits sadly, “but we need to figure out what's happening, maybe it’s just...too much too fast. We need to try and have a conversation with him before the sex this time. Like, more of one, at least.”

It’s not too long before both of their phone’s ping. “He’s asking if we need anything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s so sweet of him,” and Steve might be full of snot, but he’s full of other bubbling emotions too, “I don’t want to inconvenience him.”

“He’s offering, and we did just take the last of the Tylenol. He’s at work, he said he can swing by on his way home?”

“Okay, yeah, if he doesn’t mind,” Steve tries to blink up at Billy, but the sunlight coming in is too bright and he quickly aborts. Something happens on the TV, the crowd getting all excitable for a minute.

It’s a few more minutes before Billy speaks, “he wants to know if we have stuff to drink. And if we have the good tissues that don’t make your nose sore.”

“Like the kind with the lotion?” Steve asks, yawning mid sentence, getting sleepy again now.

“I guess so?”

“That would be nice too, if he doesn’t mind.”

“I’ll tell him, you go to sleep.”

When Steve wakes up again, it’s because Billy is shifting out from under him. The sun has moved, so he figures he must have slept for a couple of hours at least. He feels a little better, but he’s vaguely aware that the bottom half of his face feels crusty with dried drool and snot, and his joints are still aching.

The thought of standing in the shower sounds in turns kind of blissful and also like an impossibly, unattainable feat of effort.

Steve hoists himself the rest of the way up, listening as Billy buzzes Eddie into the apartment building, and then waits and gets the door. He can hear him thanking Eddie, but then Eddie saying, “nope, back it up, I’m coming in. Back, you foul plague beast.”

Billy shuffles back to the couch, and Steve can hear the rustle of bags and the sound of Eddie taking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket. Billy gets settled again, and then a minute later there’s Tylenol, a box of tissues with the lotion in, two chilled Gatorade's; fruit punch flavor, and a bag of Luden’s wild cherry throat drops.

He’s actually thought of everything.

“I’d really like to, you know,” Eddie says from several feet away, “kiss you, or whatever, but I don’t want whatever this is,” he gestures vaguely. Eddie’s wearing a Rival Records branded tee shirt, over the top of a dark long sleeved tee. He has his hair up, and it’s the first time Steve's seen it like that, all of his curls pinned up in some sort of clip at the back of his head, some stray ones hanging loose. It makes him look even more slender, his neck pale and lovely, and his eyes looking even bigger in his face now it’s not surrounded by his halo of hair.

“It’s for the best,” Billy answers, very solemn.

“Sacrifices must be made,” Steve agrees, grabbing the pills and the Gatorade. It’s like heaven, cold and refreshing and almost instantly makes him feel a little better, his throat soothed.

“Okay, you guys stay there, I’ll go and make you some food.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to-” Steve starts.

“I want to,” Eddie cuts him off, heading to the kitchen. Steve sits sideways, so he can watch over the back of the couch as Eddie unpacks bags on the counter. Steve watches as Eddie unpacks a rotisserie chicken, finds a knife, and starts to break the thing apart. Billy gives him a cherry throat soother from the package.

“Oh,” Steve tells Billy, “we’re having chicken.”

Billy makes a wet noise, trying to breathe through his nose, “doesn’t matter, I’m not going to be able to taste it.”

“Do you need any help?” Steve calls.

“I need to not catch the plague, please stay in your pit.”

“Okay,” Billy calls back.

The basketball game rolls to a close, Steve didn’t even catch who won, he’s bleary eyed and headachy, tracking Eddie’s movement in the kitchen instead, “games over,” Billy calls out, “Eddie, you want to pick what we watch since you’re the one working hard?”

“You’re sick,” he says from his place behind the kitchen counter, “you should be watching either The Princess Bride or Monty Python and the Holy Grail, I don’t make the rules.”

“Well, okay then,” and it isn’t long before Steve hears the familiar sounds of The Princess Bride starting up. Steve hasn’t seen this in years, but he still knows it instantly. It’s also been years since he had throat candy like this, and he feels very much cared for.

Steve’s been watching, all he’s been doing is watching Eddie; he’s pretty sure they’re getting soup. He watched as Eddie boiled the remains of the chicken along with some off cuts of veg to make a stock. He watched as Eddie meticulously chopped the meat and veg, apparently discarding any bit of the chicken he doesn’t like the look of.

He even produces a loaf and cuts thick slices of bread for them. Steve watches as Eddie goes through the cupboards, figuring out where everything is, but he doesn’t say anything else, just lets Eddie get on with it.

He also watches as Eddie cuts himself a slice of bread and uses it to make a half a chicken sandwich. So he really does eat meat; he was just really particular about which bits of the chicken went into his little sandwich.

It’s probably over an hour later that Steve and Billy are presented with steaming bowls of chicken noodle, Wesley having just had a run in with a rat of unusual size on the TV. Well, not chicken noodle, chicken and stars.

“It has to be stars,” Eddie explains seriously, “uncle Wayne always says they’ll make you feel better, it’s his recipe.”

Steve’s so grateful, so overwhelmed with Eddie’s kindness that he actually, in his moment of weakness, nearly cries.

“Okay, so, there’s plenty more on the stove, it’ll need to be put away in the fridge later. There’s more Gatorade there too, different flavors. Make sure you message me if you need anything.”

From what Steve can tell, the soup tastes incredible. It’s warming and comforting and has a slight pepperiness are already helping clear out his nose, “thank you Eddie.”

“No worries,” Eddie dismisses him, “I’ll see you guys soon, okay?”

They both agree, and Steve listens as Eddie gathers his things and then leaves.

“No ones ever done anything like that for us before,” Steve says, feeling weak and shaky and just...vulnerable. He’d never really thought abut it before; they have friends, they have people they can rely on and Robin would have absolutely been here in a heartbeat if Steve said he needed her but. There was something about this, just Eddie selflessly doing something thoughtful, something that took effort, to look after them. And they didn’t need this, they would have been fine without it of course but, still. Eddie hadn’t made a big deal out of it, he’d just shown up to make sure they were comfortable. And literally make them a from scratch family recipe.

“I know,” Billy answers, just as quiet.

“We need to figure out how to marry him. Like, both of us.”

“Might be illegal.”

“Don’t care.”

It’s two days later when Billy and Steve are deemed plague free, well, at least not infectious, and Eddie finally comes over to make Ramen with them. They’re still not one hundred percent, but honestly, Steve spent Tuesday and the first half of yesterday feeling so shit, the second he started to feel even a little better, he felt like he could run a marathon. Or climb Everest.

He couldn’t, his chest got tight stripping their snotty bedding and putting everything on to wash, but still, the improvement felt massive. Billy and Steve still took today off together, giving the apartment a slow clean through – it’s amazing how dirty everything gets when you ignore shit for forty eight hours – and then spent the rest of the day recuperating. Tomorrow though, Friday, it’s back to work for both of them, no doubt they have a lot to catch up on.

They’re cheating dinner in a big way, ready made broth, the packet kind of noodles that can go straight in. But still, Eddie is happy to stand and make ribbons out of carrots. Billy decided that cut up hot dogs weren’t going to be enough for him, so he and Steve both have marinated chicken thigh in the oven, so they can leave Eddie the lions share of the hot dogs.

Eddie had seen a thing where you cut them in half, then cut long ways lots of times to make little octopus out of the hot dogs. This had led to Steve wondering aloud if it was Octopi or Octopuses.

Obviously, Eddie knew, and immediately informed them that Octopi is used a lot, because that’s what it would be if it had a Latin root, but since it’s actually Greek, it should be Octopodes. Most people use Octopuses though, and that’s pretty much accepted.

Trust Eddie to know all that.

Eddie claps at the sight of all the things they have. He absolutely does not want any wasabi, but apparently he’s a big fan of pickled ginger. The eggs turn out pretty good too; they have been sitting in their soy and mirin and garlic concoction in the fridge for four days now, since they had to cancel Tuesday, but still, Eddie has two in his bowl of noodles, along with the floating hot dog Octopodes,carrots and a healthy heaping of snap peas, so Steve calls it a win.

They talk about work, and all the shit they probably have to catch up on. It’s a stark difference, Steve talking about his dealings with finance and his brief run in with the I.T department. He tries not to talk about work so much, he knows it sucks the soul out of people who listen. Eddie seems to listen though. And asks questions. “You don’t have to, I know it’s boring.”

Eddie shrugs, “yeah, but it’s what you do, you should talk about it if you want to.”

“Eddie, I literally watch people’s eyes glaze over the second I start explaining what I do.”

“So come up with something better. Maybe you...design cookies. Or you’re...an underwater welder,” he shrugs again, wrangling a hot dog octopus, “doesn’t matter if it’s someone you’re never going to see again, he gasps, “you work at the zoo, and you break up fights between the penguins.”

“Is that even a thing?” Billy asks.

“No idea,” Eddie shrugs, “they all seem to get on okay most of the time when you watch them on the TV. Different kinds of penguins can breed together, I saw a documentary where a Rockhopper crossed with a Macaroni, and they called it a Rockaroni.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “if literally anyone else told me that, I’d think they were making it up.”

“Maybe we should go to the zoo sometime,” Billy suggests, “see if they have any work going for you Stevie.”

Eddie actually sat up a little straighter at Billy’s suggestion, but then went back to his food once he realized he was joking. Steve decides there and then that, sometime soon, they’re taking Eddie to the zoo on a date. Maybe this weekend, if it works out.

He’s been better at eye contact, all the way through dinner, which is nice.

After, they sit on the couch together, Eddie choosing a movie; a Marvel super hero thing that none of them have seen yet, Billy grumbling that he can’t keep up with all this super hero stuff, but still he hits play good naturedly. Steve gets up while the opening credits play, wanting something else, “anyone want an apple?”

Billy says yes, but Eddie looks at him, nose twitching, before he settles on ‘no’. Steve comes back with a whole apple for Billy, but his own is cored and cut into thin slices on the plate. Eddie is curled up at one end of the couch, and Billy has the arm chair, leg thrown carelessly over the side as he plays on his phone and munches his apple and half watches the movie.

Eddie looks over when Steve sits, the apple slices catching his attention for a second.

Steve, carefully, lifts one and offers it. Eddie doesn’t take it with his fingers, he leans close, Steve assuming Eddie’s just going to take it with his teeth. He doesn’t do that either, he sniffs it. His nose twitches, then he frowns, shakes his head, and sits back again.

Eddie is watching the film; Billy is watching them both from behind his phone. Steve thinks about it. He makes eye contact with Billy for a brief second, before he gets up and goes back to the kitchen, adds a spoonful of peanut butter to his plate, and then heads back to the couch.

It’s a quick shift in behavior; it’s like Eddie’s a timid animal and Steve has just cracked the code. Or, at least, this one thing. He dips a slice in peanut butter, and this time, Eddie takes it with no hesitation, Straight from Steve’s fingers.

Billy’s looking at them again, and he looks pleased, and he shrugs, wearing a ‘huh’ kind of expression. Steve shrugs back, and over the next quarter hour, Steve and Eddie eat the whole apple. And then he goes and gets another apple, exactly the same, since they only had half each.

They shift during the movie, Steve finding himself slipping lower on the couch as some super hero he’d never heard of before today fights aliens on their TV. It’s okay, if you like flashy colors, big explosions, and not having to think very much.

Eddie shifts too, their shins pressing together, legs half tangling on the cushions. Eddie looks over, and Steve lifts an arm in invitation. The couch is easily deep enough for them to both lay on their side watching the TV.

Eddie hesitates, nose twitching as Steve waits, arm hovering.

It goes on long enough that Steve starts to lower his arm. Eddie moves. Like losing the opportunity panics him into making a choice, he crawls close. Steve lets himself slide lower, and they end up on their sides, Eddie’s back pressed to Steve’s chest, Steve’s back cradled by the back of the couch, exactly like Steve wanted.

He looks over the arm of the couch at Billy, who raises an eyebrow and half shrugs.

Steve has his arm flung over Eddie’s Middle, but the other is curled up under the cushion they’re both using. Eddie has his arms folded across his chest, and Steve can’t see his expression, obviously, but he can feel that Eddie’s basically vibrating with how tense he is. Eddie’s stiff as a board for about ten minutes, and then, slowly, tentatively, he starts to relax.

Steve feels it as Eddie’s body goes slack, how he starts to relax and lean back, letting himself tip a bit so they’re fully snuggled together, Steve taking a little of Eddie’s weight. Eddie’s shorter than Steve, and his curls aren’t getting in the way of the TV. It means Eddie’s ass is settled against the cradle of Steve’s hips, their knees bracketed together.

Steve wonders, vaguely, if they could ever build up to Eddie getting fucked by one of them, and then very quickly decides he probably shouldn’t be thinking that for lots of different reasons.

He can smell Eddie’s shampoo, it’s kind of coconutty.

Steve does his best to settle, watch the film, and enjoy the feeling of just holding Eddie, the feeling of having his arm draped over Eddie’s slim middle.

He wonders if Eddie will stay the night tonight, if they ask, since there’s no sex tonight. Steve had spent a painful twenty minutes trying to compose a message explaining that they were both feeling washed out from being sick, so no sex after their date tonight. He had no idea how Eddie would take it.

Normal people who are dating, probably wouldn’t, or at least shouldn’t care. Steve’s consciously aware of that; if Eddie turned out to be the kind of guy who didn’t want to see them if sex wasn’t on the table, then that probably means he’s not the kind of guy they want in their lives.

But he also felt like he should warn Eddie, since their first two encounters ended in sex, he felt vaguely that saying something in advance was the right thing to do. Steve was confident Eddie would still want to see them; he’d come over to make them dinner when they were sick after all, and Eddie didn’t get anything at all out of that.

Steve’s thought’s chasing their own tail like this was one hundred percent a layover from Shane, and Steve knows that. Shane would get huffy if, for whatever reason, there was no sex. Well, huffy if there was no sex when Shane wanted it. Huffy Shane created an atmosphere that made Steve uncomfortable and downright pissed Billy off. It was okay though, it didn’t happen often, and, realistically, everyone does stuff that pisses their partners off sometimes.

Eventually, Billy had simply said, “he likes clear boundaries. He’s going to appreciate us setting expectations, stop working yourself up,” and then Steve’s phone had pinged in his hand. Billy had taken it completely out of Steve’s hands, no sex tonight, we’re both feeling a bit tired from the plague, see you later?

And Steve had felt, not fearful, exactly, of Eddie’s reaction, but kind of nervous about it. Also relieved that Billy had simply put a stop to Steve’s doom spiral. But within seconds the bubbles had appeared, and Eddie was typing, and then super looking forward to dinner and seeing you guys, but only if you really feel up to it?

Billy had sent a gif of a dog nodding. Eddie had responded with a gif of a little kid eating from a bowl of noodles that was twice the size of himself, and that was that.

And now he’s here, with Eddie resting back against him, apparently relaxed and watching the film.

Until he takes Steve’s hand.

Steve isn’t sure at first, if Eddie even realizes he’s doing it. He’s linked their fingers together, lifting Steve’s hand. Steve’s pretty sure Eddie is still watching the movie. Eddie has Steve’s hand in both of his now, held between them, digging his thumbs into Steve’s palm, pressing upward until he meets Steve’s fingers. The touch turns soft then, a slow swoop down to the bottom of Steve’s palm, and then the process starts again. Really firm pressure, almost bordering on pain in places. And Eddie does it again, and again. Like a really, really firm hand massage.

Steve keeps his hand limp, his elbow resting on Eddie still, letting him do whatever he wants.

Eddie holds Steve by the wrist. And Steve has to bite his lip to stop himself making any noise; Eddie growls. Very quietly, a funny little grrrr noise that Steve certainly wouldn’t have heard if they weren't lying so close. And then Eddie shakes Steve’s hand. He’s holding Steve’s wrist, trapped between both hands, and Steve stays limp, his hand flapping as Eddie shakes it back and forth.

He growls again, and does it again, like he’s trying to strangle Steve’s hand. Like he’s having a little fight with it.

Steve wonders, vaguely, if Eddie has forgotten that it’s actually a whole other person’s hand that he’s even holding.

Steve looks at Billy, and Billy is watching all of this with clear interest, the film forgotten, his phone forgotten, eyebrows in his hair as Eddie flops Steve’s hand around like he’s doing battle with a tiny creature.

That stops fairly quickly, and Eddie just...flops Steve’s hand on his face. Billy’s frowning now. Frowning and trying to hold back a smile. He’s failing. He’s definitely smiling. Steve tries to watch the movie. Completely fails. Watches Billy instead, since Billy can see what Eddie’s doing and Steve can’t.

They stay like that for another minute, Steve’s hand flopped completely over Eddie’s face, his palm across Eddie’s chin and mouth, Eddie’s breath warm and damp on his palm, his fingers splayed over Eddie’s eyes.

Steve can only feel it when Eddie shifts his hand again, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that he is the center of both Billy and Steve’s complete attention. One at a time, Eddie sniffs at the tips of Steve’s fingers. The he presses on the back of Steve’s hand, and Steve lets it flop forward. Like it’s dead, like it’s a completely detached part of Steve.

Steve has absolutely no idea what’s going on. What Eddie might be thinking, or why he’s doing it. It’s cute, and Steve is enamored of it, but he doesn’t understand it at all. All he can think really is that it’s like a little kid playing with a toy.

Or like Eddie just needs something to fidget with, and right now, that thing is Steve.

Steve really has to fight not to react when Eddie’s tongue touches the tip of his middle finger. And then he bites Steve’s nail.

He puts the tip of Steve's finger in his mouth and bites the nail a little, exactly as if someone was biting their own nails. He doesn’t actually bite through, doesn’t bite anything off, just gnaws gently, almost absently, before moving on to Steve's pointer finger. This gets another sniff before Eddie bites that one, too.

Eddie pulls back, then licks the tip of Steve’s finger. Steve looks to Billy again, and watches as Billy tries to subtly shift in the chair. Oh, Steve can’t see, but that means Billy’s either hard or getting hard, watching them.

Steve wasn’t; he was more bemused by the whole thing than aroused, but when Eddie sucks on the pad of a finger, Steve realizes very suddenly that he could be. He has Eddie’s ass pressing right against his lap, right against his soft cock. Steve feels warm, suddenly, watching Billy watching Eddie. Feeling the warmth of Eddie’s mouth on his finger.

Eddie’s biting now, has Steve’s middle finger in his mouth to the first knuckle, and his teeth are, very very gently, chewing and biting at Steve's finger. It’s so soft, hardly any pressure, but Billy shifts again, and Steve is very aware now of the heat pooling between his own legs.

Eddie, as far as Steve can tell, is still watching the movie. He still has Steve’s wrist held in both of his hands.

Eddie presses Steve’s hand forward, pushing that one finger in the space between his teeth and the soft, wet, flesh of the inside of his cheek. It’s all Steve can do not to react, he has to fight the urge to stiffen his finger and press in harder. He manages, stays exactly where Eddie puts him. Eddie pulls Steve’s finger out a little, letting it rub between his teeth and cheek, before pushing it back in, lower, resting it in the space between his gum and cheek.

He seems to get bored of that pretty quickly. Steve feels what Eddie is doing, the cool air hitting his wet finger as Eddie pulls it free, the rest of Steve’s fingers having been curled limply against Eddie’s cheek and chin.

Billy’s eyes are dark; Steve can see it clearly from here. Billy shifts again, letting his legs fall apart as he sinks lower in the armchair. Billy’s hard, Steve knows he is, and Steve really isn't far behind now, can feel the familiar tightening as his cock hardens against Eddie’s ass.

Eddie continues to be oblivious. The film continues playing.

Eddie puts Steve’s finger in his mouth again, lets it rest on his tongue.

And then he sucks.

Steve bites his lip, watches as Billy tilts his head, hands gripping the arms of his seat now.

One finger, apparently, isn’t enough, and Eddie adds Steve’s pointer finger too. They rest on the slick softness of Eddie’s tongue, Eddie’s teeth working gently at the thickest part of Steve’s fingers before he seems to settle, completely settle, occasionally sucking away the spit that must be pooling in his mouth.

Steve’s other fingers are gently curled against Eddie’s chin, the pointer and middle held carefully in his mouth. Every now and then, Eddie shifts them, chewing on Steve’s fingers gently for a minute before going back to lying still and simply sucking. Sometimes his tongue moves, pressing up and separating Steve’s fingers, pressing right into the webbing between the two fingers, before pulling back and settling again. Eddie’s mouth is warm and wet, his lips tight on Steve’s flesh, his tongue occasionally undulating and working against Steve’s fingers. Steve can’t really help but imagine it’s his cock.

He keeps watching Billy, can’t really look away from the flushed, hungry look on Billy’s face. Either he’s given up trying to hide it, or he just can’t any more.

Steve is all the way hard now, but he doesn’t move. He wants to to grind against Eddie’s ass, he really does, but they already said no sex, and Steve isn’t going to cross a boundary he’s set with Eddie without a serious talk about it first.

At least Billy is clearly suffering just as much as Steve is.

Eddie, on the other hand, seems completely relaxed. Possibly the most relaxed Steve has seen so far. Steve, genuinely does not know if Eddie even realizes what he’s doing. He couldn’t give an answer if asked. He also does not want to draw attention to whatever might be happening here, he is about ninety percent certain Eddie would stop if they talked about it.

This could just be Eddie being...Eddie. Steve’s like, fairly certain this isn’t a sex thing. It was like Eddie was bored. Or, if not bored, looking for something else to do with his hands while he watched the movie.

The movie that looks like it’s winding down, and before long, the credits are rolling.

Eddie pulls Steve’s hand out of his mouth like it’s nothing, sitting up and stretching and yawning, arms lifting above his head. Steve reflexively looks down, expecting a strip of skin to be revealed as the tee shirt lifts; that doesn’t happen, obviously, because this is Eddie and there’s something else under his shirt, tucked snugly into his pants, “that was really good, maybe we could watch the next one next time?” Eddie asks like its nothing. Like Steve and Billy aren’t both painfully hard and fighting for their fucking lives. Eddie talks about the super hero's powers for a minute or two, and Steve is so bewildered he actually has no idea what Eddie's really talking about.

Probably because he didn't see most of the movie they just watched.

Billy has to clear his throat twice before he manages to say, “sure thing sweetheart, whatever you like.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, shifting right in front of Steve where Steve is still lying down and Eddie is now sitting.

Steve can’t see Eddie’s face, so he has no idea what the oh means until Billy speaks again, “that okay? Calling you sweetheart and stuff?”

Eddie nods, hair bouncing, “yeah. Yeah, I uhm. I kind of like it, actually. Just ah, bathroom,” and Eddie flees the living room.

Steve covers his face with his hands for a second. He’s so hard. That went on for so long. Why are super hero movies so long. Steve rubs the pads of his fingers against his thumb; they’ve actually gone a little pruney from being wet for so long. Steve forces himself to sit up, immediately looking at Billy who mouths, what the fuck? at him.

Steve just shrugs, but he also eyes the bulge at the front of Billy’s pants, eyebrow raised in question.

It’s Billy’s turn to shrug, face fully communicating what? Can you blame me?

They sit up straight when Eddie comes back, he has his phone out, “it’s like, after eight, so I’m going to head off. You guys are both going to work tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, we’ve really got to go back in. I'll uhm, see you out, yeah, if you’re ready to go,” Steve says, and they both stand, following Eddie to the door and watching as he slips on his boots, “you can stay the night though, if you want to?”

“Nah, thank you though, you both have to be out in the morning, I’d just get in the way, I don’t start until eleven. I’ll see you at the weekend, right?” Eddie checks, pulling his jacket out.

“Yeah, we’ll message, figure out what to do.”

“Sounds good,” and Eddie waits, right there in the doorway.

It’s almost awkward for a split second, and then Steve realizes what Eddie’s waiting for. It doesn’t help that his cock is still at least half hard, and feels heavy and sensitive after he’d been fully tortured for what felt like at least an hour. Most of Steve’s blood is definitely not in his brain.

But Eddie tilts his head, and that has Steve moving forward first. Eddie keeps his hand on the door, letting Steve cup his face, tangle his fingers in Eddie’s hair, bring him forward into a soft kiss. Their tongues touch, briefly, softly, and Steve lets himself suck on Eddie’s bottom lip as he pulls away. Eddie’s eyes are closed when Steve pulls back, a soft smile on his face, “been waiting for that all week,” Eddie tells him.

It’s so soft, so sweet, and Eddie’s right. Steve didn’t realize, but he’d been waiting for it too. Billy steps in, and Steve watches as he takes his turn, cupping Eddie’s cheek much the way Steve had, but kissing more firmly, chasing Eddie’s tongue, biting at Eddie in a way that makes him pull back on a giggle. “Ill see you soon, okay?”

Steve and Billy both make affirmative noises, and Billy closes the door once Eddie’s gone.

There’s no sound then, but for the TV, quiet in the lounge, playing something on a loop, probably the add for the next movie or something.

“What do you think that was-?” but Steve doesn’t get any further, Billy pressing him harshly against the door, and kissing him.

It’s desperate, and urgent, and Billy bullies his way into Steve's mouth. Steve melts on instinct, letting Billy and the wall take his weight, moaning as Billy mouth shifts to Steve’s neck, and his hand moves to the front of Steve’s pants, pulling them down enough that his hard again cock springs free. The air hits it; the head wet and tacky for being hard for so long. A moment later Billy has his own cock out, pressing them together. He brings his hand up, “spit,” he tells Steve, and Steve doesn’t hesitate.

Billy takes them both in hand, jacking them together harshly, “god, Billy,” Steve moans, hips pressing forward, chasing the pleasure of Billy’s hand, rutting up against the hot bar of Billy’s cock.

Billy’s mouth works at Steve’s neck, sometimes a sucking kiss, sometimes a drag of tongue or teeth, Steve lets his head fall back against the wall, his eyes sliding closed as he rides it out. Billy’s hand is making sloppy noises between them now, movement slick with precome and spit.

“I’m gonna’ come Billy,” Steve breathes out, stomach tightening and hips chasing Billy’s touch. His hand has stopped moving now, it’s just the two of them sloppily thrusting aborted little movements into the tunnel of Billy’s hand, both of them chasing release now.

Billy goes first, grunting harshly into the skin of Steve's neck, huffing as his hips start grinding against Steve rather than thrusting, hot cum spurting and then dribbling, spreading over Billy’s hand and both their cocks, making everything wetter as Steve comes, adding to the sticky mess.

“Yep,” Billy finally speaks when his breathing settles back down, both of them just standing there, weak kneed in the hallway, “needed that.”

Steve hums in agreement, hand reaching up to sink into Billy’s curls, pulling him up for a soft kiss, “shower with me? I have sticky pubes.”

Billy snorts a laugh, “if I ever say no to that, there’s something really wrong with me.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “come on, you lecherous old man.”

“Your lecherous old man.”

Very, very briefly he flashes on a fantasy where Billy and Steve fuck and Eddie can just...watch. And jerk off. Honestly sounds amazing; they even have that chair over there in the corner, ready to go.

Part of his brain tries to point out that they have a job to do – they should be looking at paint chips, but Eddie reminds himself viciously that that’s really unhelpful right this second and the mental to do list of perceived responsibilities can shut the fuck up.

Eddie watches them kissing, naked now, their erections pressing together between them, rubbing and sliding and occasionally disappearing depending on how harshly they are pressing together.

Their hands move a lot, stoking and rubbing and groping, pulling each other close as they kiss, deep and slow. Billy works a flat palm between them, and they both lean back a little. Eddie watches as Billy grips them both together, and Eddie is certain he can feel wetness spreading from the head of his cock just watching them. They kiss again, Billy’s hand moving painfully slowly. Their skin growing flush as they invade each other, mouths wide and tongues sliding over each other.

They slow, after what could be thirty seconds or thirty years, and Billy simply goes from landing kisses on Steve’s mouth to kissing over Steve’s cheek and neck when Steve turns to look at Eddie, “you’re still dressed.”

Eddie looks down at himself, like he’s expecting to magically not be. But he is, he’s still dressed, “we’ve got to do something about that then,” Billy says, turning away from Steve and taking a step to the bed, cock bobbing in front of him as he moves, “okay?” he confirms, reaching for the waistband of Eddie’s jeans. Eddie can only nod, his words have, briefly, abandoned him.

Billy crawls up the bed a little, leaning over to undo Eddie’s pants, Eddie lifts his hips for a moment, letting Billy pull everything off together. He has a Winnie The Pooh moment, just in his shirt and cable knit, hard cock leaving a smear of precome on the bottom of the material before he manages to get his shit together for long enough to pull them both off. The neck is loose enough that he doesn't need to bother with buttons.

“Right, come on,” Billy slaps Steve on the ass, and Steve climbs onto the bed, he flops over with his face in the pillows. Billy’s rummaging around in the bedside table, and he comes up with lube and a condom, “you’re not going to tell me you have a latex allergy or anything are you?”

“Uhm, no, not that I know of,” Eddie answers, staring at the length of Steve’s back and the curve of his ass, “just mangoes.”

Billy snorts a laugh, “we ain’t fucking one of those.”

Steve turns his head to look, “really, mangoes?”

“Well, yeah, I can eat them fine, but if I touch the inside of one I’ll get a rash,” Eddie shrugs, watching as Billy settles himself between Steve’s legs, “I just eat it with a fork or whatever.”

“People we are getting off subject, Eddie come here,” Eddie does. He slithers across the bed and lays next to Billy, all three of them on their front, Billy and Eddie only separated by Steve’s leg, “you comfortable baby?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, voice a little muffled by the pillows.

“Eddie?” Billy checks him too.

And like Eddie is going to say anything that could possibly interrupt what’s about to happen, even if his back is fucking prickling with the cold and the stiff covers feel like fucking sand paper, “yeah, good.”

Eddie watches Billy flick off the cap of the lube, abandoning it on the covers, he deposits a few pumps of the clear jelly like stuff on his finger. Eddie can smell it; he’s probably all of half a foot away, but it still smells cloying and unexpectedly sweet.

Eddie snuggles closer to Steve’s leg, half way on top of it really, his arms curled up under his chest, his shoulder brushing against Billy. Steve lifts his other leg, knee bent, spreading himself out. It looks awkward, Billy lying on his front too, but he uses one hand to push Steve’s ass cheeks apart, revealing the tight furl of his asshole. When Steve clenches and relaxes, Eddie can see it clearly.

Eddie’s cock throbs, he’s suddenly hyper aware of it again, and he’d really like to touch it; he’s vaguely aware that it would be game over in about three seconds if he did.

“Start slow,” Billy tells him, “let the lube warm up a second, then, just one finger, like this.”

Eddie watches, his eyes quickly feeling dry since he’s pretty sure he’s not blinking, as Billy uses that one wet finger to spread lube across Steve’s hole. It makes it shiny wet, makes it slick and frictionless as Billy slides that one finger all around. Just rubbing. Just pressing a little.

Eddie sort of knows what it feels like; he has washed his own asshole after all. He doesn’t think it necessarily warrants the pleasured little huffing noise Steve makes. Unless it feels really different when someone else does it.

Steve makes that noise again; Eddie humps the covers precisely one time. Pleasure tightens in his guts and he must...he must make a noise because his eyes pop open - he hadn't realized that he'd closed them - and Billy is frozen, turned to look at him. “Okay?”

Eddie swallows thickly, can feel something roaring a little in his ears, “yeah,” his voice is a croak.

“You want to get off watching, that’s cool,” Steve whines a little, Billy pulls that finger off Steve's ass to smack his ass cheek. It wobbles in a way that is extremely fascinating to Eddie, “but I think Steve wants your dick in him.”

Eddie could, probably, come now and then be ready to go again in like ten minutes, but he doesn’t know what the etiquette is here or what to do for the best or what will make everyone else happy so he just nods, okay, and then shifts a little so he’s not pressing quite so hard against the covers.

“Okay, so, one finger is good,” and Billy slips that in with like, no resistance at all it looks like, the wrinkled muscle of Steve’s asshole is clinging to it where it sits inside of him, the lube shiny, Billy’s finger right in to the webbing of his hand.

Steve exhales, “I can take two,” his voice is muffled by the pillows.

“He probably can, but he’s always saying shit like that and he has no patience, so we ignore it, and we stay with one finger for a minute, okay? It’s better to just take it slow and make sure no ones going to get hurt. There’s never any point being uncomfortable, you can always just say, you know, and things can slow down for a second.”

Eddie nods. He feels vaguely like he should be taking notes, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to look away from Billy’s finger sedately fucking Steve’s hole.

“If we go any slower I might die.”

Billy slaps Steve’s ass again, Steve groans, shifting a little, and Eddie can see the way he clenches on Billy’s finger, “he’s very dramatic.” Eddie drags his eyes away for a moment, and Billy’s smiling at him, “I like to drag it out, makes him a little wild for it.”

Steve lifts his head, just to let it fall back onto the pillows for a moment, “are you okay?” Eddie asks.

“I’m fine,” Steve grumbles into the covers.

“Ignore him. He loves being ignored. Us talking about him like he’s not here gets him all worked up.”

Eddie watches as Billy pulls that one finger free, he has to let go of Steve’s cheek to pump more lube on his fingers, but he goes back with two, and Steve’s body seems to swallow those two just as easily. “I thought you said he likes being the center of the universe, or something,” Eddie replies absently. He feels like his dick is throbbing and he’s never been so fascinated with anything in his life as he is right now. Billy’s fingers slip back and forth, in and out, and sometimes they stay right in but Eddie can tell Billy’s still moving them by the way his hand shifts. And the quiet noises Steve occasionally makes.

“I did say that,” Billy admits, thoughtful, “but both of those things are true. Gets off on being the center of the universe, gets off on being ignored…”

“I contain multitudes,” Steve grumbles.

“I think he just likes getting off,” Billy ignores Steve, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, that, briefly, startles a laugh out of Eddie. He bites it back, but Billy’s already snorting a laugh too, “it’s okay, sex should be funny some times. What’s the point if you’re not having fun, right?”

Eddie swallows thickly, nodding in agreement. He can’t keep his eyes on Billy’s face, he tries to, when Billy's speaking to him, but the way the muscle of Steve’s hole clings to Billy’s fingers when he pulls them out makes Eddie’s whole body flush with heat. The urge to lean forward, to lick the shiny pink flesh, right around Billy’s fingers is powerful, but Eddie ignores it.

A third finger follows after a while, Billy somehow determining that it's time, Eddie really can’t tell how. Experience or possibly vibes, he guesses. But he can feel Steve shifting more often, getting restless. Occasionally Billy does something to startle a sharp breath out of Steve, or get him to make a noise. Eddie assumes he’s doing something to Steve’s prostate when that happens.

“Okay, come on you, on your back,” it takes a long few seconds to sink in, that Billy’s talking to him, that Billy wants him to move. Billy’s fingers are shining with lube, and when he pulls out three fingers, Steve hole briefly gapes a little and Eddie can clearly see the soft shiny pink of inside. Eddie’s whole body feels like it’s prickling. Like he’s here and not here at the same time. Like all he can do is move where he’s told and watch, fascinated, as Billy opens a condom, and then expertly rolls it onto Eddie's dick for him.

The contact forces a shocked noise out of Eddie, but otherwise he lays still, letting Billy’s experienced hand work the sheath onto Eddie’s painfully hard cock. Lube follows, his cock doused liberally in the stuff, and Billy spreads it around with careful touches, like he knows about the orgasm that’s already pulling Eddie’s balls tight.

Billy shuffles back, sitting on Eddie’s thighs. His strong legs are spread, his cock, hard and ready juts up towards his tummy, surrounded by the neat patch of blonde curls. Billy isn’t even looking at him, he’s looking at Steve, and Eddie can feel the bed moving as Steve shifts nearby. But Billy is beautiful, and Eddie takes his chance to stare while Billy’s not looking. Eddie traces his broad shoulders, the strength of his chest and those dusky nipples. Follows the line of his throat and chin, his nose. Pretty eyes and tumbling blonde curls.

The weight of him pinning Eddie’s legs, and how fucking awful the sheets are make a brief, fluttering appearance against Eddie’s skin before Billy is helping Steve clamber over Eddie, they stop briefly, to kiss, and then Steve is settling over Eddie and obscuring Billy, “hi,” he says, smiling.

He leans down to kiss Eddie too. Eddie can feel the smile on Steve’s lips as they kiss, and for a moment, it is an all consuming marvel that Eddie would like to spend the rest of his life experiencing, before it’s tugged away.

“Okay, Eddie, you still good for this?” Billy asks.

Eddie nods.

Steve shakes his head, “words baby, can you?”

It takes a couple of tries, and Eddie has to swallow a couple of times, but he finally manages a, “yeah,” even though he feels, vaguely, like he might be dying.

“Okay, I’m going to touch you,” that’s Billy, from behind Steve, and Eddie watches as one of Billy’s big strong hands settles on Steve’s hip, and the other, Eddie can see through Steve’s thighs, gets Eddie’s cock by the base and angles it for Steve.

Eddie’s going to come. He knows he is. He’s going to last about ten seconds, but he just cannot bring himself to stop this. They’re both so fucking hot Eddie doesn’t really know where to look, until the universe narrows again to the warm kiss of Steve’s ass against the head of Eddie’s cock. He’s vaguely aware that he’s probably breathing like a woman in a class practicing to give birth, like you see on the TV.

Eddie’s hands are on Steve’s thighs, gripping hard enough that there’s white indents around his fingertips; he’s not sure when that happened, but the sturdy feeling of softness over the hard muscle of Steve’s thigh gives Eddie something else to focus on. Steve’s body is a hot vice, enveloping Eddie’s cock, sliding right down, no resistance at all. Steve’s eyes are closed and his mouth is hanging open and his cheeks are pink and flush and lovely.

It’s almost enough for Eddie to try and ignore what’s happening between his legs, even though he can’t stop his eyes darting there periodically, watching as Steve slides down, his balls tight to his body meaning Eddie can see the place where Eddie’s cock splits him open. Steve's own cock hangs heavy, flush and wet over that, the muscles of his stomach twitching and jumping.

Steve sighs; it filters in through all the other things Eddie is feeling, and it sounds content. The bed dips as Billy shifts, knee shuffling a little closer; he hooks his head over Steve’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest as they both look down at Eddie. Steve wraps his arms around Billy's around his own chest, and they link hands, Eddie watches them twisting their fingers together, “okay down there?” Billy asks him.

And the thing is, Eddie tries to answer. He really fucking tries. It’s right there, the words, all he has to say is yes. But he can’t. It’s too much, just that one thing is one thing too many, with all the other things, and the more he tries to answer, the worse it gets. First, he’s more aware of the crushing silence; probably because he’s supposed to be the one filling it. It’s not silent though; there’s the three of them breathing, quiet and repetitive and grating badly on Eddie’s nerves if he thinks about it for more than a second. When he shifts, the sheets feel like sandpaper.

“Okay?” Steve asks again, frowning now. Which means Eddie’s fucking it up and it’s probably going to go wrong, but all Eddie can do is nod enthusiastically and, very stupidly, offer a thumbs up.

“Do you need to stop?” Steve asks, quiet now.

Eddie shakes his head so fast he could probably hurt himself, and he tries not to think of the sweaty heat of both Steve and Billy pinning him to the bed. He pleads, staring at both of them, hoping they understand through sheer force of will.

“Okay,” Steve says, “but the second you want to stop-”

Eddie nods, again, probably with too much enthusiasm. He doesn’t know why his words are gone, but he is aware that it’s not just the he can’t, for some reason, he also doesn’t really want to.

“Come on,” Billy has Steve by the hips now, and to Eddie...it looks like he’s guiding Steve. Moving him.

Before Eddie knows it, Billy is saying, “good,” and kissing the side of Steve’s neck. Steve tilts his head, giving Billy access to trail sucking and licking kisses across Steve's skin. He’s sitting right in Eddie’s lap, his ass pressed flush to Eddie’s skin again.

Eddie is inside Steve. Which is just. The most incredible thing ever, really. Until Steve moves, more this time. Then that's the most incredible thing ever.

It doesn’t last long; he knew it wouldn’t. The orgasm was already there, bubbling away, waiting for it’s chance. Steve’s watching him through hooded eyes, his body shifting and lifting and then lowering down again, soft enough not to make a noise. Billy keeps his hands firm on Steve's hips, and his mouth on Steve’s shoulder, licking and sucking and kissing while Eddie watches, for the briefest moment. And then his eyes are drawn back, inexorably, to Steve’s slow slide back down Eddie’s cock. It’s so slow, so careful. They’re both being so gentle, but still, Eddie’s breath comes out on a whine and his hips buck up a little, chasing Steve’s body.

He’s coming. Filling the condom. His whole body taught enough that it feels like everything is cramping, his cock swelling inside Steve’s hole as it pulses and pulses until Eddie falls back, spent and sweaty, Steve still sitting in Eddie’s lap, his cock still held hot and warm inside.

“I’m going to pull off now,” Eddie nods, his grip weak where his hands vaguely stay on Steve’s thighs. Billy is holding Eddie’s cock again, he feels it, holding the base. Holding the condom, as Steve gently lifts himself. Billy tugs the condom off swiftly, holding Eddie’s cock, pulling the condom and the come filled end off expertly, leaving Eddie’s cock sticky but clean.

It disappears, Billy must do something with it, and about a second later, Steve is leaning forward, hands braced with side of Eddie as he comes in for a kiss. Eddie hears the lube pump, and then Steve is making a noise right against Eddie’s mouth. A moan, as he’s pressed forward a little.

Billy.

Billy is inside Steve now. Steve’s tongue touches Eddie’s, Eddie’s hands sliding across Steve’s ribs on instinct as Steve rocks forward. The smack of skin on skin reverberates around the room again and again and again. Steve rocks, he huffs moans right into Eddie’s mouth, and when Steve pulls away, resting his head on Eddie’s chest, he can see Billy.

Billy’s flushed now, sweaty, moving harshly enough that his hips smack smack smack against Steve’s ass. Steve moans and cries and whines and it looks all consuming. Steve manages to lift his head, he tries for kisses but all Eddie can do is hold him as he breathes against Eddie’s lips, Steve's face slack with pleasure. Billy’s is scrunched up in concentration, when Eddie can see him, he can see he’s looking down, he’s watching the place where is dick is in Steve.

Eddie’s hands move on their own, across Steve’s ribs, nearly to his hips and then down, one smoothing Steve’s belly. Steve’s cock is rocking too, a little pitter patter of pre come is raining down on Eddie’s skin with the movement of Steve’s body, from the bouncing of Steve’s cock.

Eddie reaches; Steve’s cock brushes Eddie’s fingertips as it swings, and Steve moans again, forehead resting against Eddie’s shoulder now, “Eddie, please, fuck yes,” so Eddie keeps going, just gentle touches.

It’s unintentional, but Eddie’s sure they feel teasing. Eddie just isn’t brave enough to grab yet, isn’t confident enough to be firm, so he explores softly. His fingers follow the hair down from Steve's belly button, father light fingertip touches trace around the base of Steve’s cock. He finds himself reaching lower, tentatively skating his fingers over the wrinkled, tight skin of Steve’s balls, “oh fuck, Billy, Billy, Eddie, I’m gonna’ come.”

Eddie’s hand flattens, dragging his palm and fingertips up the length of Steve’s cock, it rutting against the flat of Eddie’s hand briefly as Billy rocks them both, the sound of skin slapping skin and their breathing so much harsher now, Steve’s forehead sweaty against Eddie’s skin.

Steve comes, making ah ah ah ah noises in time with Billy’s thrusting, the messy wet drag and his cock spurts all over Eddie’s hand and his chest and his stomach and somehow it feels like the searing hot pulsing of it splashes everywhere.

Steve goes limp. He’s breath is fast and harsh and loud on Eddie’s skin, and behind him, Billy’s picked up the pace. He’s red with the exertion, muscles tense, he stops all at once, eyes sliding closed, moth falling open, and he’s grinding, little movements that make Steve moan right into Eddie’s skin.

It stops then. Silence, all at once. Steve’s kind of heavy, and he’s hot, where he's still kneeling over Eddie. It isn’t that long though, before Billy is rubbing loving touches across Steve’s ass and hips and the small of his back. Tenderly soothing Steve when Steve makes a disgruntled little noise as Billy pulls out. The second Billy lets go, Steve curls his hips under, and he nuzzles for a second against Eddie. Eddie wants to touch, but his hand is soaked in come and he's suddenly, viscerally aware that something just dripped onto his thigh.

Dripped out of Steve.

Holy shit, that’s like, unreasonably hot. It has Eddie blinking at the ceiling and wondering what could possibly top that. Like every experience with Billy and Steve is just the new hottest thing to ever happen to Eddie. When does that run out? Will it ever? Is there an infinite amount of new hotter experiences?

And now he’s lying here, Steve’s breathing has calmed down, but he’s still really warm, and that claustrophobic feeling is prickling at the edges of Eddie’s awareness. He tries to tell himself it’s just nerves, now that there's nothing going on to distract him from them. When Billy comes back, warm wash cloth in hand, wiping up Steve’s ass first, Eddie tells himself it’s just because of what happened last time. He's just feeling this because he's expecting it, and now his brain is playing tricks on him.

Just because it happened last time, does not mean that it’ll happen this time.

But Billy nudges Steve, and Steve rolls onto his side, still snuggled up to Eddie...he’s not sure. It’s so quiet now, and Eddie feels sticky and shriveled and kind of like he’s been touched by about a hundred people, not just two.

It’s so fucking hot suddenly, but he nods when Billy asks, “okay?” and wipes at Eddie’s stomach and thighs. Billy turns, he takes the towels, and Eddie has the edge of the bed free now Billy isn't standing there, so he takes his chance and he moves and stands up.

Steve makes an unhappy noise, “Eddie?”

“Uhm.” Eddie replies. It’s all he has. He’s naked, and even the air feels bad, so he digs out his boxers, worn and soft, and slips those on. The feeling is coming back, but he doesn’t know what to do with it, or where to go. Steve's standing next to him now, Eddie didn’t even hear him move. Eddie has his shirt in his hands, and Steve is looking at him, big eyes, kind of...something. Disappointed, Eddie guesses.

Eddie should be able to lie in the fucking bed and accept the fucking cuddle. His post orgasm kind of haze is fast slipping away, and his legs feel jittery and restless. He doesn’t know what to do with everything that just happened.

Steve reaches out, taking the shirt, and Eddie stays still wondering if Steve’s taking it away but...no. He lets Steve help him get the shirt on. It’s long enough and big enough that Eddie feels slightly better, the shirt covering his boxers, his back doesn’t feel exposed any more. Eddie has to unbutton another button though, to keep the collar away from his neck; he wishes it was the cable knit instead but doesn't know how to ask for that. Doesn't know how to explain why he wants that instead. Steve’s hands hover nearby, but it’s like he knows not to touch Eddie right now.

“Can you tell us how you’re feeling?” Billy asks. He’s sitting on the end of the bed, the covers pulled over his lap. Eddie wasn’t really aware of Billy moving, either.

It takes a couple of tries, and Eddie’s whole body is buzzing, like it’s ready to run, there’s a restlessness under his skin, “overwhelmed. Just got. Got a bit much.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly, “what can we do to help with that?”

He’s so kind. They both are, they’re just being so kind and Eddie wants to cry. He screws his eyes shut instead, curls his toes in the thick pile of the rug and makes fists with both hands, opening and closing, opening and closing them. He knows they can see. He knows it looks weird, but he has to do it. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Billy tries, equally as quiet, equally as gentle. And Eddie isn’t some delicate thing, he doesn’t need this. It’s not right that he has it. He should just be able to be fucking normal. Why can’t he just do that? Everyone else does it and they all seem fine. “What do you usually do, when you’re like this?”

And what does Eddie normally do? It’s a reasonable fucking question isn’t it? What does he do? But he can’t summon the answer to that because Eddie isn’t sure himself, “I should go.”

“Will you feel better if you did? Because I’m worried and I’m...really reluctant to- I mean, we can’t keep you here but we care about you and we’d like to help.”

Steve’s voice is calm, and kind, and him being basically a foot away from Eddie right now is making his nerves tingle, because Steve could touch him at any moment and Eddie really does not want that, and he’s almost fearful of it happening without his control. Not that he thinks Steve would hurt him, not for even a second does Eddie think that, but his insides are crawling and not a lot of his instincts make sense, “can you sit down? With Billy?”

“Sure,” Steve says easily, and he goes, and not being crowded makes Eddie feel instantly better. There’s a pretty long clean line in front of him, all the way to the dresser, and when he turns, it’s easily twelve big paces back to the door. Eddie turns at the doorway, walking back again to the dresser.

The sleeves of the shirt aren’t long enough to flap, and Eddie hates the sight of his bare hands just flapping around like he’s insane, so he keeps squeezing into fists, and then stretching his fingers as far as he can.

The rug is thick and fluffy, but the carpet it more normal, just regular carpet, and the transition between the two is incredible on Eddie’s bare feet. The anticipation of the change is all consuming.

“Eddie? Can you...talk to us?”

“I...not. I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t have to be about this. It can be about anything. Something...you know. Interesting, maybe,” Steve tries.

The answer is easy. Eddie’s brain presents it like it was waiting for the chance, because a lot of things bother Eddie fairly regularly, and he hasn’t had the chance to make his argument for this yet, “a lot of people think Bagger two nine three is the largest vehicle ever built, but it isn’t. You can’t call something that when it can’t move on it’s own.”

“What is...Bagger?” Billy asks, and Eddie can hear the confusion in his voice.

“Oh, it’s a mining thing. An excavator. It’s three hundred and fifteen feet tall, and weighs over fourteen thousand tonnes, but, it’s powered externally by a trailing electricity cable, it can’t move on it’s own, so it’s not a vehicle, right?”

“I...yeah, actually, I agree,” Steve says.

“So it doesn’t have an engine?” Billy asks.

“Nope, it doesn’t have it’s own engine or internal fuel supply.”

Billy makes a dismissive noise as Eddie turns at the door, “no way you can call the a vehicle then, I’d say that a pretty defining feature.”

“Thank you!” Eddie’s vaguely aware that he waves his arms, and makes him self stop and go back to the fist then stretch maneuver. Having one foot on the carpet and one foot on the rug is interesting, “so, the NASA crawlers, they’re really cool, they’re called Hans and Franz, or C T One and C T Two, but Two has been upgraded and it can carry over eight thousand tonnes. But, you know, at one mile an hour. But five and a half thousand horsepower.”

Billy’s eyebrows are in his hair, he looks so surprised, “holy shit.”

Steve turns to look at him, “is that a lot?”

“Yeah like, a modern Mustang, like, four hundred? Five if they’re pushing. There’s really specialized like, racers that can go into the thousands. And...monster trucks, probably, I don’t know. But, yeah that’s a lot. There’s definitely stuff out there that has it beat, but when you get really high it’s hard to monitor like, engine stresses and stuff like that so,” Billy shrugs.

“It’s less effective at higher speeds too,” Eddie adds, and Steve and Billy both turn back to him. He’s not sure when he stopped walking, but Billy and Steve are sitting next to each other at the end of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, the covers over both their laps. And they’re just sitting there, watching him. Eddie’s started though, so he’s got to finish, “because air resistance increases exponentially with speed, the faster you go, you’re going to gain less of an increase of speed from each subsequent increase in horsepower, so, diminishing returns. If that makes sense. So because the crawlers go so slowly, they’re making the most of all of that horsepower.”

They’re both nodding, “what are they for?” Steve asks.

“Oh, they move the rockets, like, from where they’re built to the launch site.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look interested, he’s frowning, “it never once occurred to me that they’d have to actually get the rockets to that spot. I’ve never even thought about that before.”

Eddie shrugs, and he can feel himself grinning, “it’s really cool, right?” Steve and Billy make vaguely affirmative noises, and the next thing occurs to Eddie, “I’m so thirsty.”

“Now that, we can fix, come on,” and Eddie waits a second while Steve heads to the drawers, pulling out two pairs of sweatpants and throwing a pair at Billy. Oh yeah, Eddie remembers, they’re naked. Because we had sex.

“Sorry,” Eddie says before he can think it through, he has manners, and he’s self-aware enough to like, know. “Sorry, I know I’m...you know. That’s a lot. I feel way better, I should get out of your way-”

“You can if you want to,” Steve says, “but we’d like it if you’d stay.”

“You’re just being nice,” Eddie wants to shove his whole hand in his mouth, the filter is just off gone and disappeared off into the void somewhere.

“How about this,” Billy tells him, adjusting the sweatpants, “I’ll always tell you exactly what I’m thinking. I’m not going to lie about it. And if, for any reason, I ever want you to leave, I’m going to tell you, and tell you why. Right now, I want you to stay. If you want to.”

“Okay,” Eddie’s embarrassed, and he feels awful, and honestly he just sort of wants to sit somewhere safe and familiar, like home or his van. Somewhere with music and back ground noise and normal smells and where everything he touches is familiar and safe. He knows he’s better, feels calmer, but whatever just happened has left him feeling washed out, his insides still roughed up from it, like an animal with it’s fur brushed all in the wrong direction.

He needs to do whatever the human equivalent of licking himself all over is.

But he’s not a cat, he’s a person, and sometimes you have to deal with shit to get what you want, and right now, he wants to be the kind of person who can just...hang out. He desperately want to go to them, to both of them, but he doesn’t know how.

“Yeah. Yeah okay.”

Steve is close then, “can I hug you?”

He’s glad Steve is asking, but hates the pressure of it. What kind of a weirdo monster says no to a hug? Eddie doesn’t want to say no, he wants to make Steve smile, even if he’s...not sure about how it’ll feel when Steve touches him.

“Yeah. Yeah but...hard. Firm is better than...you know,” Eddie hopes he does. Loose, barely there touches hurt worse than a slap sometimes.

Steve hugs him, engulfs him, really, and it’s so hard, Steve’s arms are like steel bands that hold Eddie together. They don’t move, which helps, they’re sure and certain and Steve smells like the shampoo he uses and Eddie’s skin doesn’t crawl even a little bit.

“Svet,” Ilya rubs at his forehead, can feel the headache forming behind his eyes, “I can’t be that for him. Hockey is different. The team would see me differently. I just...I can’t take risks like that. It would...it will be better for him if we are apart.”

“You, Ilya Rozanov, are possibly the biggest idiot I have ever known-”

“I am a trap for him Sveta! He is out, he lives his life free, I am not and I cannot be. Hockey is not like that Svet, and you know it. He is...better off now. He will find someone...young and open and he will live his life.”

“Oh my god Ilya, you are not a hockey player, you are not-” she makes an incoherent noise of frustration, “if your team treats you differently because of where you stick your dick, then maybe they should look for a new coach.”

“No...no Sveta. It is not just the team, it is the league, it is everything-”

“So retire! You are rich and very old-”

“Thanks-” Ilya sighs, it isn’t that she does not understand. She is refusing to understand.

“Things are different now Ilya. Maybe not so much here, but you’re not here. You’re not in Russia Ilya, things are different there.”

Ilya just sighs, he doesn’t know what to say. How to argue it. He doesn’t know any more, if he’s right, if the way he’s been living is even worth it any more. If he should hide. If he should...he could retire, Svetlana has a point. He could just call it at the end of this season.

Or he could let Shane go. He could keep coaching Hockey and Shane could be free to be happy. Someone younger than Ilya, someone who doesn’t carry the weight he feels on his shoulders. Someone who could just...be with him. Someone who isn’t as selfish as Ilya.

Ilya has tried to do this dance, has tried to fuck Shane and hold Shane and keep Shane just outside of his ribs, because that final inch would be fatal for them both.

It hurts to think about. It makes Ilya’s chest tight in a way he doesn’t think he’s felt before. Not since he was sitting in the hospital room, looking at X rays of his knee, listening to some doctor explain the medical reasons for how he’s never going to play hockey again.

Heartbreak, Ilya’s pretty sure.

He doesn’t hear anything from Shane for nearly two days, and that's as big of an indicator as any that Ilya’s really hurt him by saying no, by lying to him. By claiming they are not serious in order to keep this false barrier between Ilya and Shane. He swings back and forth. He tells himself that Shane said the cottage is private; he could have just gone. All he’s doing is hurting himself and Shane.

And then he tells himself; Shane is young and beautiful and deserves to be free. He needs to leave his ledyanaya ptitsa be free.

There is no way Shane’s parents would approve of a miserable, broken Hockey player anyway. What good is a Hockey player who cannot play Hockey.

There is an American saying about it, those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. It is shit, but it is true.

He’s mid practice when his phone rings. The sound of the team on the ice is loud, and Ilya walks away from the rink to answer.

When Shane calls, Ilya answers. Of course he answers. Shane is already speaking as Ilya gets the phone to his ear. Ilya makes it a dozen steps into the stands, finding a seat, watching his team run drills.

“I’ve been thinking, and...we should talk.” Ilya can hear the wobble in Shane’s voice. He already sounds upset.

“You want to...meet?” Ilya offers, already ninety nine percent sure where this is going. Honestly, it’s for the best. Shane needs to move on, needs to do better than Ilya. Ilya who is probably going to keep him trapped in secret for the rest of their lives. Or for as long as Shane would tolerate it.

“No, no. This is fine, I don’t...no point in dragging it out, right?” Ilya doesn’t answer. What can he possibly say? He’s certain now, where this is going. He listens as Shane lets out a long, shuddering breath. Feels kind of frozen in place, like if he moves, Shane will startle. “Anyway, I think it’s kind of clear now,” Shane drags in a long, pained breath, “that we...want different things here. And I can’t be with someone who doesn’t feel about me, how I feel about them,” Shane’s voice breaks. He clears his throat. “So, yeah. Thank you for your time.”

Ilya catches a quiet sob before the line goes dead.

Only Shane Hollander would say ‘thank you for your time’ when breaking up with you.

Ilya sits, tapping the corner of his phone against his forehead, and tries to convince himself that this is for the best. He’s the coach of a successful hockey team, he can’t come out. They’re in the running; they aren’t far away from actually bringing the cup home this year. Ilya cannot risk creating back lash for the team now. Shane deserves happiness, and he won’t get that with Ilya, not really.

It is better that Shane never knows just how desperately Ilya cares for him.

This is for the best, no matter how much it hurts.

Ilya takes a deep breath before heading back toward the rink, shoving his phone in his pocket. He takes over the drills, and if the team are all fucking glaring daggers at him by the end of practice, Ilya pretends not to notice.

“The fuck was that about Rozanov?”

Ilya sighs, but doesn’t stop walking. He heads into his office, not quite letting the door slam shut. Scott Hunter pushes it open anyway, following him in. Ilya sits behind his desk, Scott looks pissed. His hair is still wet from the shower; he must have come straight here.

“You actually trying to kill us?”

“You’re getting old Hunter,” Ilya waves dismissively, “you all need to work harder-”

“Uh hu, old but not fucking injured Rozanov – and you need to not take your personal shit out on my team otherwise that’s what’s going to happen-”

“Your team?” Ilya finds himself standing back up again.

“Yeah. I’m captain. My team! So it’s my job to protect them from you when you’re clearly bringing personal shit onto the ice-”

Anger is a hot emotion. It takes a lot to maintain it, and Ilya just doesn’t have the kind of fire in him right now. He just doesn’t have the energy. He sits back down. Hunter’s right.

“-Look, whatever it is, you just made the whole team feel like shit. They don’t need to be battered like that the day before a game okay-”

“You’re right.”

“I-” Hunter stumbles for a second. He seems taken aback, briefly, “Yeah. Yeah I’m right,” and with nothing else to do, he sits down. “So, uhm…” he looks like he’d rather peel his skin off than say what he says next, but Hunter’s a good guy, so he says it, “you want to talk about it?”

Does he? Ilya doesn’t know. Does he want to talk to another hockey player about it? He’s pretty sure Hunter won’t tell anyone, he’s been a good Hockey player and an even better captain for a long time. He's been a good team with Ilya, they’ve led the team to a lot of victories over the last few years.

Ilya suddenly needs that. Needs some understanding, if even if it’s...even if he’s not ready to be out. Even if he’s not ready for anything, really. It is easy for Sveta to make things sound so simple when they are not. She sees things, so black and white, when they are not. It is easy for her to say ‘so come out. So retire. So so so-’ like what she is suggesting isn’t catastrophic.

“I just...broke up.”

“Ah,” understanding dawns over Scott’s face, “I didn’t know you were even...seeing someone. I mean, you never talk about this stuff.”

“Neither do you” Ilya points out easily. He realizes for the first time that it’s true. Scott is as private as Ilya, not like the other guys who talk about their girls and wives and kids. Huh.

And Scott’s looking at him, like, really looking at him. Ilya stares back and it feels like...mutual understanding suddenly. Or, just a feeling that it could be. Maybe.

“If you...ever need to...talk. It won’t leave the room I swear I mean. Maybe, even if it’s not...necessarily a woman that’s giving you trouble…”

Ilya huffs. Looking away, “like...car trouble, you mean?”

Scott shrugs, “maybe, if you want to call it that. Did you just break up with your car Rozanov?”

It’s...a chance. They could laugh now, could leave it at that and never talk about it and Ilya could just, never bring it up again. He knows instinctively that Scott never would again. This is...maybe it. Maybe have someone near by, he can actually talk about this with.

“I like women,” Ilya shrugs, “but I’m fond of cars too.”

Scott snorts a laugh, finally relaxing all the way into his chair. He crosses his legs, “so he dump you, or you dump him?”

He doesn’t have to do this. He could still back out, plausible deniability. His father’s voice haunts him. A thousand times the slurs have been thrown around in changing rooms. But then...the sound of Shane’s wet voice on the phone. The way it wobbled, his sadness.

His smile when they'd been together. His laughter, when Ilya had spun him on the ice that night.

Ilya is an idiot. Hockey doesn’t even fucking matter in the face of having Shane in his life.

“He...he dumped me. But, he was right to. I...am not open. I could not make him live hidden with me.”

“Yeah,” Scott looks down at his own clasped hands, he looks briefly pained, “man I feel you, really you have no idea how much I feel that.”

“I’m sorry.”

Scott shrugs, “it’s just how the world is right? It just...is what it is. It shouldn’t be...but,” he shrugs again. Ilya makes a faint sound of agreement, even as he’s thinking that it most certainly should not be that way.

“Maybe it’ll change soon?”

Scott looks up, frowning, an expression Ilya can’t read, “maybe. But only if someone changes it.”

They talk a little longer, vague plans for the training schedule right up to the cup game next week, plans for matches that have been talked about months in advance. A plan in place since the draw at the start of the season. It’s a comfortable conversation, a well trodden familiar route, it’s exactly what the head coach should be talking about with his team captain, but, as he leaves, Scott stills in the doorway for a second.

“Maybe...look, if you ever want to get a drink, talk about it,” he shrugs, “might do us both some good.” He leaves, offer hanging in the air. Ilya having found an unexpected ally right under his nose.

It feels...good. It feels better. Something he didn’t realize he’d been holding onto for decades unclenches a little.

The days that follow are good and, also, awful. Ilya misses Shane acutely. His phone is silent. He has one of those stupid bottled pre biotic protein things of Shane’s in the fridge. It’s gross, but Ilya can’t bring himself to throw it away, even though he has to look at it every time he opens the door.

His life feels, suddenly, empty. It’s not empty, it’s exactly the same as it was before he had Shane, but somehow he’d changed everything. In such a short time he’d made himself completely essential to Ilya’s welfare. Ilya can’t even remember how he used to fill the time before Shane.

He’s still thinking about him now; the team are on the ice, literally playing a cup final, and still he can’t help but think about Shane. He stands on the edge of the rink, leaning against the barrier. His job is done; there’s less than five minutes left on the clock, and the team is three goals up.

All he has to do now is wait, knowing that they’ve won already. Just have to wait it out, wait for the clock to tick down. Wait for the ending buzzer. Wait for Scott Hunter to congratulate his team and lift the cup.

There’s an energy in the stadium. Everyone waiting for the end of match. Every holding in their yells and celebrations now, waiting for it to be final.

It’s loud, when it happens. Thousands of people celebrating the teams win. No doubt thousands upon thousands everywhere watching this on the television. People at home, people in bars. Just people, living their lives.

Ilya takes a deep breath. Watches the teams skate past each other, hand shakes and hugs and high fives and good sportsmanship. It’s a good feeling, standing here and watching his team invite their families onto the ice. Watching his team celebrate. Ilya is content here, watching, leaning against the barrier, on the ice now, but still lingering at the edge. Occasionally a player skates by, helmets and gloves and sticks long discarded, hair sweaty and faces flush with joy. He gets a high fives and hugs from the passing players, before they all get distracted by the red carpet being rolled out, the presence of the press.

The trophy on it’s stand.

He wonders vaguely if Shane is watching. Maybe he’s watching with his Mom. Maybe he’s happy. Or maybe he isn’t watching, and he’s forgotten about Ilya altogether.

Probably for the best.

Ilya watches. Then he realizes he’s being watched right back. Scott Hunter is standing on the ice, away from everyone else. He’s staring at Ilya, and the moment Ilya finally notices and meets Scott’s stare...Scott frowns. And then he nods.

Ilya nods back.

Scott’s attention shifts then, and he’s beckoning someone down from the stands. The hairs on Ilya’s arms stand up, and he’s suddenly anxious. Anxious on behalf of Scott. Anxious of what he’s doing, even though, instinctively, Ilya knows.

He knows what's about to happen, can feel it in his bones. Ilya walks and slides, following the curve of the rink boundary, to keep Scott in view.

A man tentatively walks onto the ice, Scott pulling him a little way away from the barrier.

Scott holds that man's cheek in his hand, and he kisses him.

It’s a relief. An indescribable weight being shifted, cracking and moving. Scott did something brave. He did something that lifted Ilya’s heart right out of his chest. And nothing bad happened. The sky didn’t fall in, Scott and his man were not struck by lightning.

The crowd are cheering even, Ilya looks around. The people look so happy, they’re screaming support for Scott. Ilya watches as a few of the team skate over, shaking hands with Scott and his man, smacking Scott on the back in support.

Scott Hunter just turned the world upside down like it was nothing.

The outpouring of support since Hunter, oh so publicly came out, has been overwhelming for him, the team, the league. Hell, the whole damn sport.

There’s been some negativity obviously, loud, stupid individuals spewing hate, but they have been shut down and cancelled out by the outpouring of love. Scott was braver than Ilya, he deserves to be happy forever with Kip.

Ilya met Kip, briefly, while it was all happening. He looked so happy. So overwhelmed. But more than anything he couldn’t take his eyes off Scott. The devotion there was almost painful to look at.

So this is all he deserves really.

He was not brave enough to be like Hunter, so now he must wear his punishment. He had Shane, and he lost him, and now he’s just sitting on the couch, watching figure skaters he doesn’t even know the names of, waiting, waiting, just to have a glimpse of Shane. Just a few minutes of watching him dance across the ice. Hopefully, he’s going to watch Shane win whatever this competition is. Some sort of figure skating grand prix. Ilya hopes he does; Shane deserves to win. He deserves all good things, always.

His breath catches when Shane appears on the screen. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie over his outfit, something jet black and absolutely skin tight from what Ilya can see of his legs.

He’s in the holding area bit next to the rink, waiting for his turn to glide out onto the ice. He’s talking to someone, his coach. Hopping a little from foot to foot, warming up. Or keeping warm.

There’s a brief close up, Shane’s name and stats scrolling across the bottom of the screen. He looks drawn; tired. Ilya notices immediately. His eyes look too dark, like he hasn’t been sleeping. Ilya only has to look for a second longer; watching as Shane stands in the gate, unzipping the hoodie and sliding it off. A familiar hoodie. Ilya recognizes it because it’s his.

And Shane’s wearing it, in public. On national fucking television. No one else could possibly know, obviously, but Ilya does. His throat goes tight at the sight of it. Maybe Shane assumes Ilya isn’t watching, that Ilya will never know. Shane probably assumes that Ilya doesn’t care.

The outfit that’s revealed is jet black, not just the legs. It covers Shane from throat to wrists, right down to his matching black skates. The dark material is only broken by a touch of something sparkly around the throat and wrists. Every part of his lithe frame is on display, his dark hair slicked back out of his face. The effect is harsh. Not like the soft smiling Shane Ilya is used to.

Shane is always so conscious of his diet, literally every mouthful carefully monitored on his macro whatever it is he counts. He’s lost weight, Ilya can see it immediately, worry spiking.

He leans forward, literally on the edge of his seat as Shane takes his place in the middle of the ice, taking a breath, eyes closed. A breath that shifts him, his whole body, fills him up as he centers himself, balances precariously on the points of his skates. Ilya wants to reach out to him, hold him. Tell him how beautiful and wonderful and perfect he is.

The music starts, and Shane’s eyes open, full of fire. Full of something that wasn’t there ten seconds ago.

Anger, Ilya thinks.

Shane usually skates with such joy, such gentle love for what he’s dong, genuine care for the beauty of movement. Shane skates because he enjoys it so much. This isn't that. This is sharp, erratic, too fast, and the commentators notice almost immediately that something is off, Shane's movements far too choppy.

Ilya’s heart feels like it’s in his throat, and like a premonition, he knows it’s going to happen a split second before it does.

Shane hits the ice hard.

Ilya had his coat on and his feet forced into his shoes before he could really think it through. He still hasn’t really thought it through. He knew, he was pretty sure, which hospital Shane would get taken too. It’s just the kind of thing you know through years of Hockey player injuries at different rinks. Shane’s skating at home, this competition is in Ottawa. He knows where Shane is, he’s sure.

He stands in reception; he’d practically thrown himself down the stairs from his apartment, knowing even that would save him a few valuable seconds on taking the elevator. His knee is still screaming at him. He’s going to have to ice it later.

“Look, I’m sorry man, but if you’re not next of kin then I can’t let you in. You need to talk to his family.” Ilya can’t remember hospitals having security like this, but. He guesses it’s a bit different. When it was someone on the team, they were all recognizable, they could just walk in and out when they were visiting their fellow players. Since he’s been coach, he'd just flash his I.D. if he ever needs to visit one of his players.

Ilya is about half an inch away from just picking this dude up and...just moving him out of the way. But he doesn’t want to be that guy, and the people behind the desk are already eying him. He doesn’t want to start trouble, even though he is very close to completely losing his shit. Shane could be...really hurt. He knows what it feels like to hit the ice wearing the full body kit of a Hockey player. Shane hit the ice, basically from height, wearing nothing but velvet and a few sequins. The thought makes him feel a little sick.

He feels out of options. Except for one. He’s desperate enough to take that one option.

“Tell Yuna Hollander that Ilya Rozanov is here to see her.”

The security guard sighs, shaking his head, “fine man,” and he walks away, presumably to make a call. Ilya needs to know that Shane is okay, but he may have just gone about it in the absolute fucking worst way possible.

He may have just betrayed Shane’s trust. Shane is out, he knows that. Shane is brave enough to live openly, and it never even seems to bother him. Like it’s just...okay for him. Ilya feels like he’s cracking open. He was wrong. He was so wrong. Scott has shown him that. So has Shane.

And Ilya, if he gets the chance, fully intends to do something about it.

The tiny Asian woman looks...terrifying.

It doesn’t help that she looks worn thin, it just makes her look an inch closer to committing murder. Illya, suddenly understands what Shane means about auras, because this tiny woman's aura is exuding the fact that she is completely done with Ilya’s shit and she hasn’t opened her mouth yet.

She looks like she’s been crying. She is definitely already having a rough enough day without Ilya doing this. He is possibly the shittest human being that has ever existed.

“Ilya Rosanov?”

Ilya clears his throat, “da.”

“And why does a hockey coach want to talk to me?” She wraps her cardigan around herself, Ilya vaguely aware of the people moving around them in the busy hospital reception. Ilya knows then, that this may be some sort of betrayal; Shane has very clearly never mentioned Ilya to his mother.

“I...want to see Shane.”

She stares at him skeptically, but she doesn’t exactly seem surprised by this, “and why, exactly, do you want to see my son?”

It isn’t often in his adult life Ilya’s felt like this. This kind of discomfort. His father could make him feel like this, just with a look, when he was a teenager. “I...need to know he is okay.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really answer my question. Why do you, specifically, need to know my son is okay?”

“I,” Ilya swears under his breath, but in Russian, and he is pretty sure that the tiny scary lady doesn’t understand him, “I care about Shane.”

“Uh hu,” she’s still looking at Ilya like she might gut him, “well, as soon as he heard me say your name, he was asking for you.”

Ilya’s heart feels like it unclenches, just a little bit. A tiny wave of relief that has him letting out a long slow breath, Shane is awake, that has to be a good thing.

“Yeah, my son is high as a kite on pain meds right now, and you know what he said? That the big grumpy Russian man is probably worried. About him.”

Ilya can only nod, “he is right.”

“Uh hu. I knew something was going on with him, and it’s you isn’t it? He hasn’t been sleeping, he hasn’t been eating, he’s been pushing himself way too hard, and now this,” she gestures angrily back toward the hospital corridor, presumably where, somewhere, Shane is. “I need you to know, if this was up to me, I’d be telling you to go fuck yourself,” and that is fair, and Ilya braces for it, because if this woman tells him to go, he will listen, “but my son is actually crying up there because he wants to see you so bad. So you’re going to go up there, and you’re going to tell him whatever he needs to hear to calm him down, because he is injured and then you’re going to leave, understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

From what Ilya had seen, Shane hadn’t cracked his head on the ice. That was the thing that had frightened him most, that it might have happened even if Ilya didn’t see it. Helmets should be a part of the sparkly pajama uniform. He didn’t exactly hang around for the action replays. But he sees it for himself now, Shane awake, blinking at him with red ringed eyes. “Ilyyyyyyyya,” he says happily, dragging out Ilya’s name. He sounds drunk, Ilya hopes it’s painkillers and not fall out from some sort of concussion or head injury.

“Hey,” Ilya makes his way to the bottom of the bed, very aware that Shane’s dad is right there, and he has no doubt that Shane's Mom is behind him, trying to murder him with a glare right now. He can feel the weight of her presence behind him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Shane shrugs, then hisses with pain, “broken collarbone. Just banged up a tiny bit.”

Behind Ilya, Yuna scoffs. Ilya lets himself touch, just Shane's ankle through the covers, it’s easy enough to lean down and grip at it gently. “I am...relieved.”

“It’s okay,” Shane wriggles in the bed, clearly uncomfortable despite the meds, “and...you don’t have to...you know. It was nice you came to check on me.” Shane is resting back into the cushions. He seems clear headed enough, despite his words being slow and syrupy. He’s clearly able to think about what he’s saying, even if it is a little slower.

“I...actually wanted to...talk.”

Shane immediately perks up, seeming hopeful, and Ilya widens his eyes fractionally, tilting his head at Shane’s dad. Hopefully Shane gets it, even though he’s clearly a little wobbly from the drugs.

He does get it, eventually, after blinking absently for a long few seconds, “Uhm...could we have a minute?”

Shane’s dad gets up to leave immediately, no issue, but his Mom makes a lethal huffing noise before saying, “a minute, Shane, one minute. And we will be right outside.”

The door clicks shut, and Shane looks sad again, like he’s remembered all over again what Ilya did. What Ilya needs to fix.

“It’s really okay, you don’t need to be here,” he hisses in pain, shifting again, “actually pretty sure all the drugs are wearing off. I’ll be...fine. Thank you for coming.”

Ilya ignores all of that, moving up the bed. He can’t help but reach for Shane’s freckles, rubbing a thumb across Shane’s cheek, “your Mom, she said you’re not eating. Not sleeping. Not happy.”

“I,” Shane shrugs, then he aborts the movement and his whole face crinkles in pain for a minute. Ilya wants to tell him to stop fucking moving because that’s like, the fourth time Shane’s hurt himself in under a minute, Ilya moves, he can’t stop himself from moving, and he takes Shane’s hand. He wants to hold him still. He wants to make him heal. Make all of this better. “I…” But he looks lost. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I will come to the cottage.”

It doesn’t get an immediate smile, no kind of immediate reaction really, just some wide blinks and a lot of uncertainty, “because I got hurt?”

“No. Yes. But no. Because I think…” Ilya takes a deep breath, “because I realized I made a stupid mistake. Because when I saw you fall it felt like it was my heart that got smashed against the ice. I’m sorry you had to get hurt for me to see it.”

A smile then. Soft. Shane turns his hand, lets their fingers link together.

“But you have to promise to take care of yourself,” when Ilya reaches out to cup Shane’s face again, he leans into it, so trusting. So full of love.

“I will.”

Ilya rumbles comfort and Shane trills back, quiet, throaty little noises of contentment, the afternoon unspooling, unhurried and syrupy.

“Thank you, again. I know today was a lot.”

Ilya hums, no right answer there, no point in Ilya passing his opinions on it all now, “is fine. They love you, very much. I like David.”

Shane cracks an eye, looking up at Ilya, his freckles look like they sparkle in the shifting light, “not mom?”

Ilya blows a raspberry, “needs work.”

“Did she apologize, at least?”

“Yes…” Ilya answers, slowly, “but like someone had a knife to her back.”

Shane sighs, “It’s not you it’s just...how she is. She hates being wrong. It’ll be fine. I told her…” Shane blinks both eyes open properly, gripping at Ilya’s forearm, “I told her I know I went about it the wrong way, but I don’t regret it. I told her I chose you, and I’m always going to choose you. She understands, she just...needs to process.”

“Tidy all of it away into neat little boxes she can label,” Ilya reaches, taps Shane’s forehead once, gently, before leaning down to set a kiss there.

“She’ll be better now, she has...purpose.”

Ilya rumbles, huffs, “do I want to know?”

Shane shrugs, taking Ilya’s hand back, rubbing slow circles with his thumb, “she’s drafting statements. In case it comes out. She wanted to contact a lawyer about, about discrimination, in the league, basically. I said no. She said she would research which one would be the best one to contact just in case. She can do that, I wasn’t going to be able to get her to back off any further.”

“She has to protect you, is not a bad thing.”

“Both of us. You’re an Alpha, they can’t touch you for that, but...if it ever comes out, all of it you’re going to be complicit.”

“And I will be very complicit with my Omega every chance I get for the rest of our lives,” Ilya leans down, rumbling a purr against Shane’s skin, nuzzling right into his neck, his scent stronger there.

Shane sighs, “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

Ilya kisses softly, then suckles gently, right at Shane’s gland, making him huff and then groan as Ilya lathes once with his tongue, his mouth and nose full of Shane, he pulls back, “means sexy things?”

Shane snorts, “no, that’s explicit. Complicit means...you could get blamed too, you’re guilty too, by association. For hiding my secret.”

Ilya shrugs, “what will they do? Fine me? I have money. Ban me? I am best player in the league; fans will be angry. Oh no, I have to retire from hockey and lie in bed every day with my sexy mate,” Ilya kisses Shane’s shoulder, his bicep, his chest, “how terrible for me.”

But Shane’s eyes are open again, and he’s looking.

He’s seeing Ilya, in a way that only Shane ever does, “I worry about you.”

“Don’t,” Ilya answers easily, “I am fine.”

Shane shakes his head, “you’re not. You pretend you are, you make jokes. You keep the surface...blank. Like you’re fine, like there’s nothing to worry about. But I know you, I know you have...depths. That you don’t show. I worry about them, I worry that you’re pretending to not worry. You just lost a pup, just as much as I did.”

“Depths,” Ilya repeats, not a little mystified.

“Did you talk to Galina?”

Ilya looks away, and huffs. He does not want to lie to Shane, but he does not want to tell him the truth either.

Shane’s head thumps back onto the pillow, “I fucking knew it.”

“I will speak to her. After. You were injured, you are my priority-”

“Ilya, no,” Shane turns a little, slides his hands up Ilya’s ribs, gripping him tightly, “no, we have to look after you too, I-”

“We are, we are solnyshko, this,” Ilya leans down, nuzzles into Shane’s cheek briefly, “this is looking after me. This is...looking after you, making you my priority, knowing I am doing everything I can for you it...it cools me. Calms me. There is word, like comfort, like...settle. It settles my Alpha.”

“Soothes you?”

“Yes, this is...it soothes me. Inside. To do this. I need this.”

“And you have it, doesn’t mean we can’t do other things to look after you. Can you make an appointment?”

Ilya huffs again, but doesn’t like the worry tainting Shane’s scent. Ilya should be nothing but a source of comfort. “I will.”

“Like, soon? Email her this evening or something? Call in the morning?”

Ilya rolls his eyes, immediately caught, “yes, okay, I will do this. But for you.”

“For us,” Shane reaches up, gently touching Ilya’s curls. It immediately summons a rumble from Ilya’s chest as he presses more firmly into Shane’s hand.

It is cold by the water. It is still early enough that mist lingers, curling around the trees and the posts of the jetty, hiding in shadows. The low morning sun has burnt it away from everywhere else.

The steam of Ilya’s coffee curls up into the air, filling his nose, and he wraps his blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

He comes here, sometimes, for the quiet. The gentle movement of the water, the splintery feel of rough wood under his hands and bare feet. The occasional call of one of those stupid birds.

It is peace, to sit here, a found home, gifted to him by his mate. His Shane.

He cannot speak out loud. It feels a little weird to think about doing it, even, so he doesn’t. He sits, and he lets the thought wash over him and pass through him and out across the water, and he likes to think they find their home, out there somewhere. A search for self comfort maybe, a foolish thought, possibly.

But Ilya does it anyway, and maybe Galina is right sometimes, about processing and letting feelings take up space, sometimes, so they don’t creep out unexpectedly and assault you in a moment of weakness instead.

Ilya sits here, and his thoughts automatically turn to his mother. It’s instinct now, his senses feel the cold and the splintery wood and the scent of coffee and just the natural smell of a lake surrounded by living things. It is habit forming; he senses these things and he thinks of his mother. Well trodden routes through memories of when he was young.

And then more, into impossible thoughts, into wishes. What she would be like now; what she would think of the man Ilya has become. Instinctively, he knows they would still love each other, that they would still be close, and she would still be proud. There is no world in which those things would ever stop being true, even though it is impossible to marry those thoughts to the truth; someone who loves you does not leave you.

It was too complicated for a child to understand, but he does now. She was ill, she did not have the support or the help she needed, and it was not her fault.

She didn’t choose to leave him, she felt she had no other option.

Still, Ilya knows she would have doted on Shane. How could she not have loved him?

He wonders vaguely, if a small collection of cells, barely weeks old, would have been enough to have a soul. The thought that follows is unbidden, but still inevitable; he wonders if his mother and the pup could be together, somewhere. Wherever they are now. He swallows thickly, eyes suddenly brimming with tears that don’t quite fall just yet.

Ilya breathes deep of the chill of the lake, puts down his now empty mug on the splintery wood, and buries his face in the blanket that scents of home.

“The bed was cold,” Shane says, sleep rumpled and full of grumbled accusation. They do keep their bedroom cool; between Ilya running Alpha warm and all the very nice bedding and nesting blankets and comforters his Shane prefers, it’s very easy to overheat once they are snuggled up together.

He’s standing on the bottom step, bare toes curling over the edge, just come down from the bedroom, blinking and squinting gummy eyes at Ilya. Ilya closes the sliding door carefully, carrying his mug and blanket inside from the cold, “sorry, sonny zaychik,” sleepy bunny.

Shane’s hair is sleep mussed, his tee shirt likewise rumpled and his shorts hanging low, “coffee?” Ilya offers for the first time in a week. He’s been making tea automatically, gentler on Shane’s stomach, but Shane scratches sleepily at his head and doesn’t wince at the movement. He hasn’t had any pain relief since last night, but pads across to Ilya without any real sign that anything is wrong. If you didn’t know, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell Shane has two cracked ribs and his stomach is still a mess of slowly healing lurid purples and greens and yellows.

“Yeah,” he says finally, reaching Ilya and tipping against his front, “okay.”

Ilya puts his arms around Shane automatically, “I’m cold.”

“I don’t care,” Shane’s arms loop lazily around Ilya’s middle, and they stand, just for a minute, swaying gently in the morning quiet. They break apart, Shane heading to the couch and Ilya back to the coffee machine.

Ilya has an itchy sense of needing to do something. Needing to provide. Clearly something in him is encouraged by Shane’s obvious improvements, he wants to cook something more substantial for breakfast than they have been having so far this week. Shane has mostly been having plain oatmeal or smoothies for breakfast.

“You want pancakes or waffles?” Ilya asks, delivering Shane’s coffee. Shane seems to grasp Ilya’s mood immediately, mouth pursed in thought rather than automatic rejection.

“Waffles, but, just one I think. Fruit and yogurt?”

Ilya is, quietly, delighted, he loves the waffle maker. It is one thing to be said about the States and Canada, Ilya thinks, their food is exciting. Possibly because in Russia food is designed primarily to keep you alive, and, if you’re lucky, to comfort you through a life that for many doesn’t offer much in the way of other comforts.

Or, maybe, because he associates so much of it with family dinners. His mother forcing him and his brother into itchy, starchy, respectable clothes so that their father will at least deem them presentable as he scowled the length of the table at them. Children will be seen and not heard, women and omega are to be demure and polite and obedient.

Canadian food is, sometimes, just for fun. Ilya could put sprinkles on Shane’s breakfast, but he manages to control himself. Something about the rattle of the shaker in his hand is off putting, the brightly colored, tiny balls, all sliding all over one another. It makes him think of baking and then birthday cakes and then, unbidden, the kind of fun you have with pups.

He puts it away, appreciates the magic of flipping over the waffle iron instead, and concentrates on cutting strawberries into quarters.

Shane has a restlessness about him that Ilya instantly matches. Or maybe, Ilya has a restlessness that Shane is matching. They’ve been inside for a week solid, and now that the mist has burned away, it’s a nice day outside. Ilya’s muscles are twitchy with energy.

Whatever has been keeping him quiet for the past week has abandoned him all at once. It feels like a storm brewing, but inside his chest. He has had Shane to focus on, Shane’s injuries and sadness keeping him quiet and subdued and watchful.

He’s had one setting for the past seven days; gentle. He’s been soft and caring and quiet and slow, all because his mate needed nothing else anywhere near him. Now his leg is bouncing and Shane is walking a small loop back and forth in front of the floor to ceiling windows, like a tiger in the zoo.

He’d had painkillers after breakfast, but decided for himself he didn’t need all of them, only taking the anti inflammatory ones. His antibiotics were finished yesterday.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Ilya suggests.

Shane agrees so fast Ilya knows he’d been waiting for Ilya to suggest it. Maybe a part of his brain still lingering over the injury needed someone else to tell him that it’s okay.

“Let’s get dressed.”

They are, at best, half way dressed. The clothes they’re wearing a mixture of things they would sleep in and things they would laze about the house in, an addition of warm hoodies for both of them.

Ilya has Shane’s fingers threaded through his, hanging gently between them. They’re sedate as they walk the path they would normally run. Usually full of competition, always both of them pushing harder, both of them, always trying to win. Not today. Today they walk, and the air is fresh and full of the scent of wildly living green things. The breeze is fresh enough to stop any humidity settling for long, and Shane occasionally takes a breath so big it must hurt at least a little, but Ilya understands the appeal of it, the need for it, after a week cooped up inside.

“We should get a dog.”

“I will add it to the plan,” Shane says, no protest at all.

Ilya hums, “when, in the plan?”

“Probably after the wedding but before the kids. I don’t want to deal with a puppy and a baby at the same time. I want a well behaved dog and a baby at the same time.”

Ilya hums an agreeable noise, “good logic, but, I have seen videos of dogs at weddings who bring the rings. Would be very cute.”

“No, that’s Hayden’s job. He’s my best man.”

“But dog would probably do a better job? And be cuter?”

Shane huffs, very quietly, from his nose. Ilya knows he’s suppressing a laugh, “no.”

The path winds through the trees, sometimes in sight of the water, and sometimes not. It’s warm in the sun, cooler in the shade, and the sounds of leaves and grass rustling and little insects making noises surrounds them. They don’t have to walk far until they meet the place where the path splits; the beginning of the loop they would run if they were doing a full five kilometers. It’s far too far for Shane to walk today, “until the gate?” Ilya suggests.

Shane nods, and keeps walking. There are many familiar landmarks along the route, identifiers they use to mark the passage of distance. It is easy to say they are going to the permanently open gate they both know, or the fallen tree, or the post that does not have any discernible purpose and is inexplicably still holding on to some very weather-worn and faded yellow paint.

Occasionally, Shane stops. Looks at the flashes of water through the trees, tilts his head back in a particularly warm patch of sun.

“Dad said,” he starts while they walk. He stalls for a long moment, “Dad said, that he was sorry. He said that he can’t imagine what I’m going through. I didn’t know how to tell him that...I’m not even sure what I’m going through. Sometimes I feel like it happened to someone else. Or, or that it was so new it doesn’t make any sense for me to feel anything at all. I don’t...I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it,” Shane doesn’t look at him, just keeps scanning the trees, and walking, “we will have pups, probably, one day. But me knowing that shouldn’t...it shouldn’t replace this pup, even though this pup was just...I didn’t know it was there.”

“Shane, come here,” he allows himself to be tugged to a stop, to be gently turned. To stand against Ilya, head nestled against Ilya’s shoulder, face pressed against his neck. “I think it is okay, to feel however you need to feel. I don’t think feeling is something you control.”

“I think,” Shane’s voice is low, rough with emotion, “I keep thinking, that I should have known. How could I have not known that there was a whole other life inside me? Surely I should have just known, right? How do you miss something like that? I’m an Omega, we’re supposed to just...just be able to- be good parents, without trying or- or-”

Ilya shushes him, “Shane, Shane stop,” rubbing at Shane’s back carefully, long slow strokes, “slow, solnyshko, slow.” Ilya keeps his hand moving, long deliberate strokes, long minutes dragging on in the sunshine, Ilya pouring out comfort in his scent while Shane’s hiccoughing breaths slowly, slowly, turn even and settled again.

“I should have known, what is the point of me even being a fucking Omega if there is literally nothing good about it-”

It’s not frustration with Shane that Ilya feels, it’s not disappointment, or irritation with his mate, but he still feels these things acutely with the situation he has found them both in. It’s an undefinable shared heartbreak. But also...pain of his own. To hear his mate speak this way about himself. Ilya wants to shake him, force him face first into Ilya’s own feelings, show him what Ilya thinks of as the truth.

That Shane is an Omega. A beautiful one. One that allowed Ilya to sink his teeth into his flesh and never let go. He would drown Shane in his feeling if he could, make him look, make him see himself through Ilya’s eyes and maybe then he wouldn’t feel this way about himself.

He hates the league sometimes, hates Hockey and it’s stupid rules. Hates that the sport that Shane loves so much has told him again and again and again that thing thing that Shane is is wrong and not allowed.

“Should I have known? Would your scent have changed? Did I miss this also-”

“No, no of course not.”

“Then why would you have known? Shane, you could not have known, it was a rare thing, the doctor said, no one would have expected it. You cannot take the responsibility of this, or the burden.”

“Dad said the same thing.”

“Because I am right. David agrees.”

“He said it first, that means you agree with him.”

“I would have said it first. With opportunity. Did you...did you ask him when he knew?”

“What?”

“Did you ask David, if he magically knew that he was with pup. With you.”

“Oh,” Shane pulls back, frowning, thinking, “no. I didn’t.”

“What do you think he would say?”

Shane bites his lip, but he’s looking at Ilya, clearly already knowing where Ilya is going with this, he plays stoically into the inevitability, “probably something gross like mom making him pee on a test, or something. Knowing mom she probably made him do it the exact right number of days past his heat.”

“Yes,” Ilya leans forward, a soft kiss to Shane’s forehead, “probably. Do you think that is how they found out? Not magical knowing?”

Shane huffs again, pulling Ilya’s hand so they can start walking again, “you can’t Shane Hollander logic your way out of this,” he throws Ilya’s words back at him.

“I can, I have lots of experience at Shane Hollander logic.”

Shane snorts, but his hand grips Ilya’s firmly as they stroll.

Ilya is not particularly impressed when the cottage comes back into view. They’ve been out for probably an hour at most, but it was slow going with many stops, so they have probably covered less than a mile in all that time. Ilya is still restless. Either Shane is the same or he is sensing it in Ilya, because he diverts them both to the gym.

“You should probably not even be in this room,” Ilya tells him, a little reproachful and a lot concerned.

“You,” Shane flaps a hand, “go for a run and lift some weights. I’m going to lie on a yoga mat, let my back have a break for a bit, and then I might do a tiny bit of stretching.”

“Shane.”

“Tiny bit. And you will be here. And if it hurts I won’t do it. Ilya, my back, my hips, my calves, I swear, I’m not going to hurt myself.”

“I know,” Ilya rests his forehead against Shane’s for a moment, noses touching, “I worry.”

“I know. But I worry if I sit still any longer every muscle in my body will seize up. My hips feel tight already, I’m fine, promise.”

“Okay.”

But Ilya does not get that far. The doorbell has many little plug in things through the cottage, so they can hear it all the way out here in the gym, Shane pulls a face, “who is that?”

“I don’t know,” and Shane follows along as Ilya makes his way to the door; the delivery is already there on the porch, tucked close to the side of the cottage, discreet boxes and packaging with no branding, the unmarked delivery van already disappearing down the drive.

“Oh,” Shane says, clearly recognizing it for what it is. “I didn’t realize you had done the order.”

“Yes, the day we got back,” Ilya begins moving the boxes inside, stacking them inside the door before closing it up again.

Shane watches quietly as he then moves them all into a spare bedroom to be unpacked later, “I will put it all away. You want to come back to the gym with me?”

“Okay,” Shane says, quietly following, but his gaze lingers on the closed bedroom door, and he seems so much more subdued than before.

They showered together, after Ilya had made himself sweaty lifting weights and running until his calves burned. It had been slow, and gentle, and Shane had pretended to tolerate Ilya washing every inch of him. Huffing with annoyance and then immediately chirruping softly with pleasure. Looking grumpy but leaning right into Ilya’s touch anyway.

Ilya running his hands carefully, reverently, over Shane, checking that nothing had been made any worse again by their walking and Shane lying out on a yoga mat and, mostly, staring at the ceiling. Like he would be able to tell, somehow, as though simple touch could communicate through Shane’s skin and into Ilya’s hands.

The bruises have definitely changed, shrinking some, but mostly paling around the edges and swirling now with green and yellow. It looks like a splash of the northern lights across Shane’s middle, radiating out from the point of the hit.

And now they stand together in the spare room, hair a touch damp and dressed in comfortable clothes, Shane insisting that he wouldn’t be able to settle until the delivery was tidied away.

“Where do you want it to be?”

Shane knows what he means, staring down at the boxes. He’s thinking. His eyes look wet and he scrubs at them, clearly frustrated. Shane doesn’t answer.

“Do not over think it,” Ilya tells him, softly, watching for Shane’s reaction.

“I want it in our room, but, but I feel like I shouldn’t. Want that.”

Ilya nods, “do you need more time to think about it?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know; I want the boxes unpacked, it’s really annoying me knowing that they’re here.”

“Okay, so I unpack them, and then I can move it all when we need it.”

“No. That’s making work for you.”

“I do not mind-”

“I do.”

Ilya huffs, and stands, and waits. He watches his mate fight a battle with himself. What he wants pitching a war with what he thinks he should want. Ilya knows that when Shane was doing this alone, his heats were always in this guest room. He would sequester himself away into a self imposed prison, away from the comforts of his own nest. Into a place that only faintly carried his scent.

So he could separate himself from it, after. So he could go back into his own nest, fresh, clean, and safely compartmentalized. Like a reward for survival.

The first heat Ilya had Shared with Shane, he had been vaguely, and quietly, horrified by the austerity of it all. His Alpha had been deeply unsettled by the inherent wrongness of it, but hadn’t argued, because if this is how his Omega chose to have his heats, then so be it. The nest had been so meager it was almost like a punishment Shane was meting out upon his own biology, as if he had put his body in time out for bad behavior.

Shane treats his heats like something dirty, a horrible secret that needs to be relegated to a completely different part of the house. It had been Shane’s first time with an Alpha present, and the wetting, the first time it had happened, had upset him so much he had sobbed.

Ilya had offered to go away, without an Alpha there to trigger the response, it wouldn’t happen again. Shane had sobbed harder, panicking as he clung to Ilya fiercely. Like a snotty, angry koala. Ilya hadn’t brought it up again since then.

This will be their second heat together, and with the doctors words about Shane’s comfort ringing in his ears, Ilya waits. He has had most of a year to think about how to...gently maneuver Shane into, at least, spending his heat into a more comfortable place. Apparently Ilya now has the weapon of medically sound advice to wield.

“What do you think?” Shane finally asks. As if he is asking for permission. For instruction.

“I think you should have your heat in our nest,” he allows himself to inspect the tasteful but soulless space that is the guest room they’re standing in, knowing what must be showing on his face, “I think you need to be comfortable.”

“I’m worried I’ll-” He stops, examining the floor, rubbing his hands together, then crossing his arms, “what if I get the bed wet?”

Ilya shrugs, “is what the pads are for, no?”

“Yeah but, what if I...I don’t know. In here is better. It doesn’t matter if I make a mess in here.”

Ilya imagines Shane, younger, in his earliest heats, scared and going it alone and then, after, closing this door as if he can shut away his memories inside. Erase the heat. Tuck it away into invisibility, just like his own Omega.

Telling Shane they could replace all of their bedding, the mattress, even the fucking carpet after his heat if need be is probably the wrong thing to say. Shane is so fearful of it all.

“If you are really that worried about mess we can spend your entire heat in the tub,” Shane wrinkles his nose in answer, “in our room, solnyshko, where you will be most comfortable. The doctor said it was important.”

Shane, finally, and reluctantly nods.

Ilya starts moving boxes before he changes his mind.

Hospitals the world over all seem to smell of hospital.

It had been a small battle to come to this appointment just the two of them. Shane had insisted they were fine; Shane’s mother had insisted it was absolutely no trouble at all for her to come with them.

Ilya wanted to take the phone out of Shane’s hand, but he did not. Instead he whispered just tell her wrong date for appointment and Shane had tried to swat his face.

But, still, Ilya knows it is because she is worried about her son, and that Yuna Hollander is very, very much a familial Alpha. It will take time for her to let go of these things. She will get used to it, she has no choice.

So now Ilya drives, and he listens to Shane’s side of the conversation as he reports back to his parents. He tells them the doctor said both scans look good. He tells them the bruising is much better, his ribs are improved. He tells them his recovery is more than on track; all is well.

He does not tell them that the lining of his womb is visibly thickening on the scan, and his heat is very imminent.

The back door opens and Ilya’s case lands on the back seat before he climbs in, “very sensible car, Shane Hollander.”

“What’s wrong with my car?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Ilya answers, deadpan, “I said. Very sensible.”

“It’s good in the snow!” Shane protests, laughing.

“Yes. Also good for taking old ladies to bingo, no?”

“You’re such a dick,” Shane mutters under his breath. Ilya laughs.

“So, yeah,” Shane says awkwardly, “make yourself at home.”

“This is...a very nice apartment,” Ilya says, making his way through the lounge and open plan kitchen, leaving his suitcase propped up against the island.

“I uhm, hired a designer.”

“Ah, is there more to the tour?” Ilya raises an eyebrow at Shane, waiting expectantly.

Shane just huffs and heads for the bedroom, knowing exactly what Ilya wants.

“Oh,” Ilya says behind him, “your designer very much likes small cushions? One hundred tiny pillows is the right amount-”

Shane turns, shoving Ilya’s shoulder, “shut up.”

“No,” and Ilya leans down, easily lifting Shane by the thighs, carrying him to the bed. Shane falls against him, their mouths finding each other naturally as Ilya walks, before he ditches Shane onto the bed.

Ilya moves to crawl after.

“No!” Shane stops him, Ilya freezing, one knee hovering on the edge of the bed.

“What?”

“Get undressed, I don’t want outside clothes on the bed.”

“You have outside clothes on the bed,” Ilya replies, a little indignant.

“I haven’t just gotten off a plane and walked through an airport.”

“Oh. I did not realize I was filthy. You want to put a towel down? Or we could just fuck on the floor-” But Ilya is up and stripping his clothes off, and Shane laughs when he manages to bounce a decorative pillow off Ilya’s head.

He gives Shane his best grumpy Russian face, glaring with his pants half off, but Shane is laughing and Ilya doesn’t feel grumpy.

He wonders when that happened; when it became so easy to read Ilya so clearly, even though they haven’t known each other that long. He knows the look on his face is fond, so he breaks the spell, “a towel is actually a good idea,” and Shane rolls off the bed, grabbing a bath towel to spread over the covers.

He wants a shower and a nap after this, not changing the bed and doing laundry. Ilya has one eyebrow raised at the sight of the towel, but Shane can tell that he’s trying not to laugh. Shane strips, feeling Ilya’s eyes on him, “where is your medal?”

“What?”

“I assumed it would be under your shirt, where is it?”

Shane laughs, he can’t help it, it’s just so ridiculous, so Ilya, “you think I have been walking around just casually wearing Olympic gold under my clothes?”

Ilya shrugs, “I probably would. For a few weeks, at least. You should get it. Where is it?”

“You want me to wear it? Now?”

“I want to suck cock of Gold medal winner Shane Hollander, yes. Go and get it.”

Shane can feel himself blushing, but after about four fifths of a second of indecision, he caves and goes and gets the medal.

It’s absolutely ridiculous, both of them standing, half hard and buck naked, while Ilya reverently opens the plush velvet case, pulling out the medal. He drops the case on the bed, carefully pulling the ribbon over Shane’s head and settling it around his neck, the cold metal sitting against Shane’s skin and causing him to shiver.

“Yes, very good, here,” Ilya rearranges the towel, moving it to the edge of the bed, “here, sit on very practical sex towel gold medal winner Shane Hollander,” Shane does, and he cannot keep the smile off his face. Ilya retrieves a pillow, setting it at Shane’s feet and kneeling; apparently Ilya really did mean he wanted to suck Shane’s cock. Shane has no idea how much Ilya’s knee still bothers him, but he kneels with a soft grunt that Shane would never dare joke about.

Shane spreads his thighs on instinct, letting Ilya in, watching as Ilya settles his bulk comfortably on the cushion. Ilya’s hand reaches for him; jacks him slowly, bringing Shane all the way to fully hard.

Shane watches, Ilya’s face; his hand. Ilya’s eyes bouncing between Shane’s dick and his face and the medal just makes him so much more aware of the skin warmed weight of it hanging around his neck.

Ilya pulls Shane’s cock down, before bringing it up again, hand wrapped round it and still, pointing it straight up, “so Shane Hollander, how does it feel to bring home gold for your country, are you very proud?”

“I...what?” Shane asks, confused, watching as Ilya finally dips his head and suckles, just briefly, at the tip of Shane’s cock.

Shane exhales slowly, but Ilya pulls away, “answer question please.”

Ilya’s head dips back down, and he takes more of Shane into the tight wet heat of his mouth, “you want me to...talk?” Shane manages, breathless.

Ilya makes an affirmative humming noise around his mouthful, the vibrations, and then the harsh suck as Ilya pops off again making Shane reflexively grasp for Ilya’s shoulders, “talk or I stop.”

He slips back down, sucking Shane down, one hand moving to cup gently at Shane’s balls, Shane’s legs turning to jelly, “I-uhm,” his mind has gone blank. Completely blank. He cannot really think past the sensations engulfing his cock. Ilya stops, mouth open, hovering, sort of, around Shane’s cock. The heat with lack of pressure is kind of torturous.

“I...I yeah, of course I’m-” Shane’s voice turns strained as Ilya continues, “I mean I, I’m very proud. It was- it was- a dream. Uhm. Probably.” Ilya speeds up, the noises coming from between Shane’s legs wet and slurping. All Shane can do is screw his eyes shut and grasp desperately at Ilya’s shoulders, at his back, his hair. It’s an incredible effort to drag the words up, “I worked really hard for- for this. I wanted- oh fuck-!”

Ilya squeezes the base of Shane’s cock, popping off again, Shane can’t help the distressed sound that comes out of him, and when Shane blinks his eyes open, Ilya looks so fucking smug, “Mr Hollander, you cannot swear on television, this is live, think of the children. What was your training regimen like, on the lead up to the games?”

Ilya bobs his head again, suckling at the head of Shane’s dick, a tease. Shane’s vision is filled with perfect golden curls and Ilya’s massive hand spanning his thigh. He tries to shift, tries desperately to buck up, but Ilya doesn’t let him. He’s sweaty on the backs of his knees, stomach tensing, orgasm coiling him tight. “Ilya,” it’s whiny, kind of desperate; Shane really doesn’t care.

Ilya speaks, pursed lips rubbing over the head of Shane’s cock, soft and firm, spreading spit and wetness from the slit, “answer the question please.”

Shane makes a noise he isn’t proud of, petulant and irritable and purely selfish, trying to press on the back of Ilya’s head. Ilya doesn’t move, like he’s a brick fucking wall he doesn’t shift, and his laughter huffs warm air over the wet head of Shane’s cock.

He’s just so fucking close, it’s right there, vibrating under his skin.

“I-I,” Shane has to dig deep. He does interviews obviously, and there’s a well trodden script in there somewhere. He drags it forward through sheer force of will, “obviously nutrition is really important-” air explodes out of Shane’s lungs as Ilya bobs his head, sucking with earnest enthusiasm, “and working with- with my trainer to make sure-” he can’t, he can’t any more because he’s coming, and he’s fisting Ilya’s hair so tightly he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s pulled out a handful.

Ilya swallows it all, suckles him through it, mouth hot still on Shane’s throbbing cock as he comes, Ilya finally pulling off with a lick. Shane’s hands fall away as Ilya stands.

He’s shivery with orgasm, pliant even as he’s still panting for breath. Ilya’s jacking off four inches from Shane’s face, working his cock sloppy, the wet smacking sound of his flesh. Shane opens his mouth almost instinctively, but Ilya grabs him by the hair, tilting his head back and it’s another moment before Shane realizes what he’s doing.

“Not on the ribbon,” he manages to say, just as Ilya huffs a quiet noise and spatters Shane’s chest and medal with hot ropes of come.

The towel comes in handy after all.

Shane can’t help the little happy wiggle he does as he packs up his stuff after practice. They haven’t talked about it, but neither of them are seeing anyone else, and they spend more nights together than apart now.

Shane’s heading to Ilya’s place now; Ilya’s cooking them dinner. It’s the kind of domesticity Shane has always craved. He just didn’t realize he was going to find it with a stacked grumpy Russian.

They don’t talk about it, but the last load of laundry Shane did had two of Ilya’s hoodies in it. Even a coach tee shirt from hockey. Likewise Shane is sure he’s left stuff at Ilya’s; not that Ilya can steal Shane’s clothes and wear them.

Shane may or may not be swamped by one of Ilya’s hoodies as he makes his way out of the rink, and he doesn’t for a second feel bad about it.

He pulls his phone out, messaging Ilya, need me to pick anything up? Ilya answers no pretty quickly.

Even that, a silly little exchange that is normal and boring for people in relationships is enough to end a frisson of warmth through Shane’s gut. He’s excited to spend the evening sitting on Ilya’s couch, and then, hopefully, ride Ilya’s cock before bed.

Sounds perfect.

He’s not snooping. He’s not. He’s been in Ilya’s place enough times now that he kind of treats it like a second home; so checking out the medicine cupboard behind the mirror doesn’t even occur to him as being something he probably shouldn’t do. It was thoughtless, just a half hearted investigation, looking for Tylanol.

What he finds is not Tylanol. It’s a shitload of Hydrocodone. The bottles are old; Shane can see the dates on some of them, old enough that the labels are a little discolored around the edges. He picks up one bottle, giving it a shake. Not full, but not far off. Some are full, some just have a few pills in them.

There’s probably enough here till kill several elephants. A fucking whale, probably.

“Ilya!” It takes a minute, but he appears in the doorway, kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. The look on his face tells Shane that he knows, immediately, what Shane has found. There’s guilt there too, something undefinable that Ilya sort of tries to hide in the same moment as resigning himself to the conversation, “why do you have all these?”

“They are...old. From time of knee injury.”

“Yeah but why so many..?” Ilya doesn’t look away, exactly, but he’s looking somewhere over Shane’s head rather than meeting his eyes, “Oh. Oh Ilya,” and Shane doesn’t hesitate, he’s in Ilya’s arms before he can stop himself.

“I had lost Hockey. It was a hard time. But I never...I never tried. That.” Shane squeezes harder, goes on tip toes to bury his face in Ilya’s neck. Ilya hugs him back. Shane could cry. Imagining Ilya back then, what he must have gone through. That he was contemplating this, that there was even a possibility that Ilya wouldn’t be here with him today is heartbreaking. Shane’s eyes are wet, he can’t help it, “shush, it was a long time ago.”

“But you still have them,” Shane huffs wetly against Ilya’s neck.

He feels Ilya nod, “I...don’t know how to explain. It became like a stupid test, you know? My mother...that was how she died and...It was not that I was keeping the option there. It was more that I was...proving I wouldn’t take that way out. Seeing them there, it was like...a reminder.”

“But you don’t need that any more, right?”

“No, ledyanaya ptitsa, I don’t need them now.” They pull apart, Ilya taking a moment to wipe Shane’s tears and kiss his nose softly, he takes a bottle, popping the cap, “we tip them away, no?”

“No Ilya!” Shane puts his hand over the bottle, stopping him, “put them in the trash, or I’ll get rid of them, you can’t flush meds it like, gets into the water table, it’s bad for the environment and maybe...hurts animals and stuff.”

“Maybe animals have a bad knee, these are the good painkillers, it might help-”

“Ilya,” Shane huffs, not knowing if he should laugh or cry or what, “Ilya, these are years out of date, let me get rid of them. Properly.” Shane has no idea how to do that; he guesses he could probably hand them in at a pharmacy or something.

Ilya lets Shane take the bottles from his hands.

They snuggle on the couch, watching hockey. It’s basically the only thing Ilya is ever interested in watching. Well, maybe figure skating Shane thinks to himself, smugly.

“You guys get a break, over the summer right?”

“The team, yes,” Ilya answers quietly, distracted by the TV, but he still kisses the top of Shane’s head.

“I usually go up to my cottage for a few weeks in the summer,” Ilya just hums, listening, “I wondered if you wanted to come with me.”

“Like a holiday?” Ilya smooths his fingers through Shane’s hair again.

“I mean, maybe, you need a break too sometimes, right? But like...we could spend some quality time together, you know? Really get to know each other, it’s really private there, it would be just the two of us. It’d be...nice? And you could meet my parents, it’s not too far away from their place, so I spend time with them over the summer.”

Shane feels it when Ilya stills, and he looks up. Ilya’s eyes are still fixed on the hockey playing on the screen, “I think maybe...that’s not a good idea.”

Shane sits up, pulling away, confused, “why?”

“It is...too much no? Meeting parents? That is for- serious relationships?”

“This isn’t serious for you?” Shane asks, voice rising with panic and incredulity of what Ilya’s saying, “because it’s serious for me-”

“No,” Ilya finally looks, “no it isn’t Shane, you don’t know what you feel-”

“You asshole. You think I don’t know that I love you? You think I don’t know what it feels like to love you?” And Shane knows, he knows he loves Ilya, because his heart is breaking. He’s struggling to keep up, to figure out how this went wrong so suddenly. His chest feels like it’s in a vice. He’s breathless with the speed that this is happening.

Ilya’s eyes go wide, and he sits up straight on the couch, “ledyanaya ptitsa-”

Anger flashes through Shane, “don’t fucking call me that. You care about me! I know you do-!” But Ilya just shakes his head, looking surprised. Hands out like he’s trying to handle a wild animal. Shane has nothing to say to Ilya, and he knows he’s crying, part anger part heartbreak, and with nothing else to do he climbs off the couch and leaves.

Ilya doesn’t even try to stop him.