#shayden

Shane is grabbing his shoulders. He’s yelling in Shane’s face. He grabs Shane by the cheeks and pulls him in for a theatrical kiss, resounding smack. Everyone laughs, even Jackie.

Later in the locker room, so much champagne everywhere. They’re chanting for Shane and his cheeks are flushed and he stands up in front of all of them eyes wet, says, “Seriously this is for all of us. We all earned this. Together.” And he’s looking at Hayden on that last word and Hayden has to swipe at his eyes.

And Shane drinks. Like he actually drinks. Not just ginger ale but real fucking alcohol. And he’s swaying and laughing and Hayden keeps a hand on him to make sure he’s good. And the way it feels when Shane’s breath hits his neck when he leans in to whisper. “We did it. Jesus Christ” like it’s hitting him all over again. Hayden knows he’s beaming. “Fuck yeah,” he says, jostling Shane’s backwards ball cap and then they’re all yelling, thumping each other on the back all over again, JJ loud enough to make his ear drums vibrate in pain. And Mitty jumping in the middle like he’s in a freaking mosh pit and they topple over, a freakish drunken pile of limbs laughing laughing.

He laughs all the way to Shane’s hotel room. He laughs all the way into it. He laughs when he leans in connecting their lips and he swears the wall was right behind them but there’s nothing, free fall, and they’re on the hotel room floor. Shane hits it first with a groan. “Ow,” he says, eyes closed, still smiling. Hayden army crawls back over, kisses his belly button, his waist line, his rib, rucking Shane’s shirt up, Shane’s fingers in his hair. He noses at a nipple, snuffs hard in Shane’s armpit.

“Fuck Las Vegas,” Shane mutters.

“We fucked ‘em dead,” Hayden agrees, his ear lined up to hear Shane’s beating heart.