Chapter Text
“Good view.”
From across the kitchen, Ilya’s eyes tracked up Shane’s back. He was doing dishes, way too focused to register the comment. Does not matter. It was almost better, getting to observe Shane like this. One-sided. He could really take his time to appreciate it all- the strong slope of Shane’s shoulders, the way his back muscles jumped under the thin cotton of his shirt as he scrubbed. God. His ass. His fucking thighs. Ilya wanted to sink his teeth into the meat of them, trap all that plush strength between his jaws.
Shane was beautiful, but he was also oblivious. And he probably really, really needed a distraction right now. In a few days, the inaugural summer of their hockey camp would kick off. Shane had, in his usual style, thought through every detail. Registrations were booked, itineraries were made. Shane had even spent hours fretting over the fucking jersey colors. He could stand to let off some of that anxious energy.
Ilya could help with that.
He sauntered up behind Shane, fixing his hands on either side of his boyfriend's hips. Immediately, Shane froze, soapy dish still held mid-air.
“Need something?” he asked. It was cute, the way he tried to keep his tone conversational.
“Just you,” Ilya murmured, bending forward to kiss at the special place where Shane’s neck met his shoulder. The muscle there twitched under his lips. He grinned, just so Shane could feel the light scrape of his teeth, and he was rewarded with a full-body shiver. Shane’s body was always so fucking sensitive. It was easily one of the sexiest things about him, which was significant, considering his freckles.
“Not finished with the dishes,” Shane mumbled. His protest was half-hearted, though. He’d started leaning back against Ilya the moment he felt hands at his waist. The kitchen was dead silent, except for the quiet little hitch of Shane’s breath as bared his neck.
Ilya used the opportunity to kiss a line up the column of Shane’s throat, all the way to the sharp junction of his jaw. The moment his lips landed there, Shane angled his hips back. He didn’t have to look far- Ilya was already hard.
“D-dishes,” Shane huffed. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was gripping the sink like it owed him money.
“I will do the dishes, Любимый. Okay?” He gave Shane a teasing stroke through his sweatpants. Fuck, he wasn’t even wearing anything underneath.
“ ‘Kay,” he sighed, melting deeper into Ilya’s chest. Ilya let him squirm there for a little longer before he stepped back.
With the contact broken, Shane stumbled off to the bedroom.
***
Like always, the sex was fucking awesome. Shane came hard, twice, and his body was still twitchy with aftershocks. He loved when Ilya left him feeling like this- warm and satisfied and fucking giddy, as though all the thoughts had been fucked right out of his skull.
It didn’t last.
Sometimes, he was pliant for hours, barely mumbling a word as Ilya happily snuggled with him. No such luck tonight. Tonight, he probably only rested in that blissful haze for ten minutes, max.
The waking wasn’t ideal, either. Instead of fading back into awareness, his mind returned to his body like a jolt of ice-cold water.
“Okay?” Ilya asked into the back of his neck. They were spooning, which would normally be great, except Shane kind of wanted to crawl out of his skin.
Instead of answering his boyfriend, he sat up and started to strip the bed. Ilya must have picked up on the tense set of his shoulders, because he didn’t tease like he normally would. He just started working alongside Shane, pulling the pillowcases off. They didn’t get anything on those, but still. He knew Shane liked to wash them as a complete set.
When the bed was all done, Shane decided it was a good time to re-read the camp policy document. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. What if a kid slipped and fell on the ice, and accidentally sliced their femoral artery? Shane didn’t know how to apply a tourniquet. He opened a new tab and did a quick google search: how to apply a tourniquet?
One hour later, he’d watched several tutorials and ordered two emergency ‘stop the bleed’ kits to be delivered to the rink. And also an AED machine. And a few EpiPens. And a burn kit. Ice rinks could still catch on fire. Probably.
“I can hear your overthinking,” Ilya accused. He’d been so still with his head laying on Shane’s thigh, Shane had almost forgotten he was there.
He ran a cursory hand through Ilya’s curls. “Just preparing.”
“For apocalypse? Is summer camp. Relax.”
Relax. Right. Ilya said it like it was easy. Maybe it was, for him. Shane flicked the outer shell of his ear.
“Ow.” Ilya deadpanned.
“We’ve gotta keep everyone safe.”
“We will.”
“Not if we don’t prepare!”
Finally, Ilya sat up. He stretched his arms over his head, looking leisurely and powerful. Shane got momentarily distracted by the bulge of his biceps, but then he remembered that slices to the brachial artery of an arm were almost as deadly as slices to the femoral artery. Maybe they should just have a paramedic on standby at all times. Everything at the rink was so fucking sharp.
Ilya reached out and thumbed his cheek. “What is going on with you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Shane-”
“I just want everyone to be safe.”
“Okay, yes. They will be safe. They have a wonderful, paranoid man looking out for them.”
Ilya’s tone was soothing as he rubbed circles on Shane’s back.
“Please tell me,” he said softly. He didn’t ask for things (that weren’t blow jobs) very often, so the request startled the truth right out of Shane before he could think better of it.
"I want them to feel safe, too,” he admitted.
Ilya gestured at the laptop screen. “You think this is best way to do that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to do this. I just want them all to feel safe. Physically. But also like they can come to camp and be who they are, you know? Like hockey is for them, even if someone has told them it isn’t.”
“Ah,” is all Ilya said.
“I don’t want any of them to hear the fucked up shit we hear in locker rooms. I wish I could protect them better than with some stupid fucking camp policy document.”
“Is not stupid.”
“You literally said it was stupid this morning.”
“That was when I thought it was just about peanut allergies.”
This again, Jesus. “Ilya… people actually have peanut allergies. It’s not fake.”
“Whatever. How can peanut dust in the air kill someone?”
Shane closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. There was an above-50-percent chance Ilya was trying to annoy him to get his mind off the heavy stuff. Or he just wanted to get Shane riled up enough to have sex again.
“I don’t want to fuck this up. I don’t want them to have to hide who they are. I don’t want any of them to end up…” Shane trailed off, because he didn’t need to say the rest out loud. If anyone else understood how twisted their situation was, it was Ilya. They’d gone through years of hiding. Years of going home every night to separate apartments in separate cities.
“We have Price coaching,” Ilya pointed out. “He could help if anyone needs to talk.”
“Yeah, he’d be good at that. But he’s not exactly vocal about… anything.”
“Mmm. Too bad we did not invite Hunter. He would never shut up,” Ilya joked.
Shane had thought about it, but it’s not like Scott was close with either of them. They weren’t even out to him. Wouldn’t it be weird to ask for help with this? He’d probably be way too busy, anyway. Shane saw on Instagram that he and Kip got married a few months back. It was amazing to see all the support he got. It still blew a hole right through Shane’s chest, though. So much time would pass before he could have a public relationship like that with Ilya, if it ever happened at all.
“And he would be boring,” Ilya continued. “We already have you. Cannot have two boring coaches, even if they are both hot and gay.”
“Shut up.”
“I would probably die of boredom, right on the ice. And then you would have to give me mouth to mouth in front of everybody.”
“I’m CPR certified now.”
“Yes, congratulations. You still killed your boyfriend.”
Finally, Shane cracked a smile. “You’re such an asshole.”
***
“Sorry. Gotta take this, might be work stuff.” Scott extracted himself from the bed, much to Kip’s disappointment. They’d just enjoyed a relaxing morning, but it was past time to get up anyway. Still, Kip couldn’t help but be a little sad as he watched Scott sling on a pair of old sweats and head out the bedroom door.
He heard muffled talking from down the hallway, but he wasn’t ready to move yet. Scott was probably chatting with some PR person, or sponsor, or important league personality. Even from this far away, Kip recognized the intonation of his husband’s professional voice. It was authoritative and confident, curated from years of being in the public eye.
For a while, Kip let himself drift in and out of sleep as he listened to the low rhythm of Scott’s conversation. It was a little too soothing- he really should get out of bed. But the blanket was so comfy, and all that awaited him today was a mountain of papers to read for his Ancient Mythology seminar.
Before he could get too caught up in the minutiae of his time management issues, Scott popped his head back through the doorway.
“You’ll never guess who that was.”
“Mmm. Jennifer Cooliage?”
Scott gave him a blank look. They were working on increasing his queer pop culture knowledge, but Kip was starting to think he was a lost cause.
“No. Shane Hollander.”
“Oh! How is he?” Kip had only met Shane once, but seemed like a nice guy. Quiet, but wholesome.
“Good, I guess. He asked me to come make a speech at orientation for the summer camp he’s running with Rozanov.”
“Where?”
“Ottowa.”
“Funnnnnnn.”
Scott shrugged. “Yeah, not sure if I’ll go. Kinda short notice- it starts next week.”
“Did they have another speaker that cancelled or something?”
“No, actually. He said he wanted me to talk to the kids about, like, being gay in sports? So they know the camp is inclusive.”
“That’s… weirdly progressive for a hockey player.”
Scott just sighed and plopped back onto the bed. “Yeah, well. I don’t want to let him down, but-.”
Kip interrupted him with a playful nudge. “I think you should do it.”
“Yeah? And what if I don’t want to leave you for that long?”
Sometimes, Kip even found himself disgusted by how cute they were. “It’d be like, two days. Plus I’ll be at that academic conference in DC. Won’t be around anyway.”
“I thought that was late July?”
“Next week is late July.”
“Huh. Well, fuck. Can’t I come with you?”
“I want to actually get work done, and you always distract me. Plus, wouldn’t it have been nice to have gotten this type of validation as a young athlete? You could do that for these kids.”
Scott visibly deflated. “I’ve never been the right person for this. I’m just the default.”
Kip’s chest tightened- he never knew how to get it through his husband’s thick skull that he actually was the right person for this because he was the one that fucking did it.
“Not true.”
Scott waved him off, like you’re biased and I can’t trust you. Which, okay, fair enough. But Scott was objectively incredible even when he couldn’t see it.
“I think it would be good,” Kip pressed.
From the edge of the bed, Scott looked up at him with the same over-indulgent fondness he’d come to expect. It was one of his favorite expressions, and it always meant the same thing- Scott was about to give him whatever he wanted.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. What’s one more speech?”
“Kids are scary,” Scott argued.
“Kids love you, idiot.”
“Really?”
Kip rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
Scott chuckled, a fraction of the tension in his shoulders easing. “Fine. I’ll do it. But only if you promise to take me to your next conference. I love seeing you all… scholarly. Professor.”
“I’m a student teacher, for the hundreth time.”
“Nope. You’re a professor, and you have, like, ten doctorates and you run your own museum. And I just stay at home with the kids and sometimes play hockey. But I keep in good shape because I don’t want you to leave me for some hot, young… museum… guy.”
“Museum guy?”
Scott nodded solemnly. “Yeah. You know, a guy that works at a museum.”
“Wow. Makes sense.”
***
Ilya tried to focus on setting out the napkins at the dining room table. He even folded them all fancy, like his mom taught him forever ago. Still, his attention kept drifting over to Shane. Who was currently fiddling with the adjustments on the speaker and scowling out the window as though the evening sunset had taken a piss on his lawn.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
“...really.”
“Yeah.”
“You do not seem-”
“Well, I am.”
Ilya flexed his jaw, trying his best to look angry instead of rejected. Shane had been like this all afternoon, why should tonight be any different? By all accounts, he should be in a good mood. The first day of camp went off without a hitch, and the kids had seemed to enjoy Scott’s welcome speech, even though it was fucking boring. Now, all the coaches and honorary guests were coming over to celebrate a successful launch. Maybe that was why Shane was so irritable? He got anxious when lots of people came to the cottage, moving things and making messes. He almost never took it out on anyone else, though, especially Ilya.
“Shane-”
“Can you check the fridge for relish? We might have to run out and get some.”
Fucking hell. What he actually going to do this? Keep acting like nothing was wrong?
“Your fucking Canadian relish sucks.”
“It’s good.”
“Too sweet. Disgusting.”
Shane glared daggers at him. “You don’t have to eat it, then.”
“Good. I do not want a fucking dessert pickle.”
“Fuck you.”
Ilya gave up on the napkin he was trying to fold, tossing it into a half-assed square. That earned him another withering look from Shane.
“What the fuck is going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
Ilya closed his eyes and took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. It was a technique the team psychologist had walked them all through, because Coach Wiebe cared about their ‘well-being and mental health’ or whatever. Sometimes, it was helpful. Not right now, though. Right now he kind of wanted to body-check Shane into the refrigerator.
His thoughts were cut short by a sharp knock on the door. The poor soul waiting on the other side had no idea what they were about to walk into.
Ilya resolved to table this discussion for later. He wasn’t going to let Shane’s attitude ruin a perfectly nice party, even if that party included the grossest condiment to ever exist. Shane must have come to the same conclusion, because he squared his shoulders and set off towards the door with a look of grim determination.
From beyond the kitchen, Ilya heard the low hum of Ryan Price’s voice as Shane greeted him. As soon as his hulking form rounded the corner, Ilya broke out into a smile. It wasn’t even a fake smile. He just really fucking loved Ryan- he was like a cute, skittish grizzly bear. He’d been great with the kids today, too, letting them pull on his beard and climb on his shoulders.
“Pricey,” he nodded in greeting.
“Hey, Roz. Hollander was just telling me you hate our relish.”
Immediately, Ilya’s joy flared into irritation. “Well. Hollander is asshole.”
Ryan looked uncomfortably between them. “Uh…”
“Do you want a drink?” Shane gestured to the fridge, “we have beer, sparkling water, soda, whatever.”
Ryan shuffled over to the fridge, avoiding eye contact with them both.
“So. Pricey,” Ilya started. He was still glaring at Shane. “What did you think of first day?"
“It was good, I guess.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed. It was good. Why couldn’t Shane see that?
The silence in the kitchen stretched on a little too long. Well, Ilya certainly wasn’t going to break it. Shane was the one who insisted on being a stubborn dick.
At some point, they were saved from the awkwardness by another knock on the door. Probably for the best, since Ryan looked like he was about to combust. Ilya heard the collection of voices outside, but he refused to move from his vantage point against the counter.
Shane just huffed in frustration before stalking off to greet their newest guests.
***
Shane could do this. He could go through the motions, greet people, and play at being a gracious host. He could pretend to be happy for a few hours, and then he could go to bed and curl up against Ilya and finally start to untangle the clusterfuck of feelings in his chest.
It wasn’t like today had gone badly. Quite the opposite, actually. No one had died, or even gotten injured. The kids all took to their groups nicely, and Shane’s confidence in his own coaching ability had stabilized by the afternoon. Ilya was a fucking incredible to watch, and the kids loved Ryan and Wyatt.
None of that was the issue. The issue was Scott fucking Hunter’s perfect fucking speech.
He’d been so goddamn earnest, and joyful, and unabashedly in love with his husband. Shane had always taken him for the stoic type, but every corner of his face came alive when he talked about the way Kip had given him the courage to come out. And how no one should do it until they’re ready, but that they should know that there’s an amazing community waiting for them on the other side.
Shane couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment his stomach had started twisting into knots. Maybe it was when Scott had said I was ready to die closeted, until I met him. Or when he said I didn’t even realize how unhappy I’d been.
It’s not that Shane was unhappy. Quite the opposite- he was probably the happiest he’d ever been in his life. But he also had this terrible fucking dread, every day, that their secret would get out. And Ilya would be taken away from him, somehow, or Shane wouldn’t be able to protect him from the judgments of the rest of the world. He didn’t usually sit with that dread long enough to actually feel it, but the weeks leading up to camp had been different. They were doing this monumental, very public thing together now, for everyone to see and scrutinize. Shane knew intellectually that he didn’t owe anyone anything, but days like today made him feel like a hypocrite.
So fuck Scott Hunter and his perfect fucking speech.
That was what his brain was stuck on as he watched the movements of Wyatt Hayes's mouth. They were making small talk, so Shane made sure to time his “yeah’s” and “that’s crazy’s” at the proper intervals. Still, every few minutes, his eyes would seek out the mop of blonde curls across the house, just to get a hit of reassurance. He couldn’t stare for long though, because what if someone saw a little too much in the way he looked at Ilya?
He was avoiding Scott, too, just for good measure. He’d said hi, of course, told him wow, great speech, man, and then showed him where the drinks were. Other than that, though, he wasn’t interested in being anywhere near that man. Maybe he was paranoid, but he thought Scott might recognize something in him, a common thread they shared. He was already feeling too exposed tonight.
“Earth to Hollander. Come in, over.”
“What?”
Wyatt laughed, good natured as ever. “You seem distracted. Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
Fuck. He’d meant to say I’m fine, just tired. It wasn’t even a lie, technically. God, he wanted to go to bed so bad. And spoon Ilya until the good-hair smell got rid of the terrible tightness sitting behind his ribs. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Okay,” was all Wyatt said. Damn, Wyatt was so fucking nice. What if Shane just… told him? Right here? What if he said Wyatt, just so you’re aware, I’m so fucking in love with Ilya Rosanov that my heart hurts every time I look at him.
“Sorry,” Shane mumbled.
“It’s okay,” Wyatt shrugged. “I know today was hectic. Stressed me out, and I wasn’t even the one in charge.”
Damn. Wyatt really was so fucking nice.
“Yeah. You think it went alright, though?”
“For sure, man.” Wyatt leaned a little closer. “Honestly, Rosanov surprised me. I was worried he would be hard on the kids.”
Shane bristled a little at that. Ilya was amazing with kids. Honestly, he was amazing with people in general, he was just also amazing at trash-talking. For some reason, most guys in the league seemed to only focus on the latter.
“Yeah. He’s not that bad,” was all Shane let himself say. It felt like a betrayal, and the understatement of the century. Ilya was good, right down to his core. Ilya was the best fucking thing that ever happened to him.
Right at that moment, his treacherous eyes snagged on the man in question. He was chatting with Ryan and laughing at something. He was wearing what Shane privately thought of as his full body smile. It showed all his teeth, made his eyes light up, and seemed to extend through his entire being. After all these years, Shane still couldn’t look at it without his whole chest glowing.
Wyatt must have walked away to talk to someone else, because when Shane re-focused his attention again, he was alone. Which was for the best, because the background drone of voices was starting to worm into his skull in a way that was, frankly, excruciating.
He needed fresh air. He needed sleep. He needed Ilya. Unfortunately, he could only have one of those at the moment. He took a quick scan around the room- everyone else was occupied, thank god. No one would notice if he stepped outside.
***
The second Shane left, Ilya felt his absence. Which was annoying, because he was still kind of angry. But that didn’t mean he wanted to see his boyfriend moping outside and looking over the lake with sad puppy-dog eyes.
His resolve cracked a little when he saw the way Shane’s shoulders tensed at the sound of the sliding glass door. He stood up straighter, like he was getting ready to put on the mask he wore around so many people. Ilya knew it exhausted him. He wanted to reach out, run his hands over Shane’s back, soothe him into softness. But they weren’t alone, and anyone inside might be watching.
Shane glanced over his shoulder and immediately relaxed.
“Oh. Hey. It’s you.”
“It is,” Ilya replied. Mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. Words were inadequate, and even two languages wasn’t enough. All he wanted was to hold the man he loved and kiss him until they were back on earth together.
“How do you like the party?”
Ilya scoffed. “Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend that you are fine, and you want to make small talk, and you give a shit about this fucking party.”
Shane smiled wryly. It was self-hating, and it hurt to look at. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been a dick to you lately.”
“Yes. Is okay, though.”
“You can’t forgive me! I haven’t even apologized yet.”
“I can forgive. Just did. Besides, I knew you were dick already, this is not news.”
“Fuck you.”
Ilya’s tummy did a happy little flip. “Hmm. Are you trying to be less of dick, or…?”
“Yeah, I am. Not doing a very good job of it, I guess. I’m sorry, Ilya. Seriously.”
He really had to remember where they were, because even the simple sound of his name on Shane’s lips was a drug. God, he loved this man a stupid amount. They were going to be alright.
“Is okay. I told you that already.”
“I’m so just so fucking sick of it, you know? Having to hide. Keeping the best part of my life a secret.”
Oh. “Shane-”
“I mean, fuck. They can all just- talk about their wives, girlfriends, kids, whatever. And we have to act like we don’t have anything that meaningful. Aren’t you fucking tired, Ilya? Look at Scott and Kip. Why can’t we have that?”
Ilya was about to tell him they could have that, even if it’s harder and more complicated. Shane could have anything he wanted- all he had to do is name it and Ilya would make sure it happened. Right as he opened his mouth, though, Shane’s eyes flicked up and over Ilya's shoulder.
Shane did that thing, again- he pulled on his mask, fixing his gaze over Ilya’s shoulder to address the person who’d just walked in on their conversation.
“Hey, Scott. How do you like the party?”
***
Scott was pretty sure there was something weird going on between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rosanov.
It was none of his business. Just.. it felt weird when he walked in on their conversation. Tense, but in a way that was unfiltered. The moment before Shane had seen Scott, he’d had this fierce look of resolve in his eyes. He was always so mild off the ice. But the way he’d been looking at Ilya was… intense.
In truth, Scott had always wondered about Shane. Quietly, of course. He hadn’t even voiced his suspicions to Kip- why speculate? Everyone was entitled to privacy, and it’s not like it mattered either way. Hollander was the best hockey player Scott had ever seen, full stop.
Still, he’d been a little surprised to receive an Instagram message right after winning the cup. Scott had just come out. He’d gotten a handful of messages from other guys in the league- mostly talking about being so brave, man- but Shane’s was different.
‘What you did means a lot.’
On the surface, he could’ve been talking about general political shifts in the sport or impacts on representation. Or it was something more personal.
Scott remembers the first time they met, back during Hollander’s rookie season. He usually made draft days when he could, but that year was busy. Even so, no one would shut up about the new star center, some kid from Ottawa with genius-level athletic intelligence and the stamina to match.
So when Scott finally met him in person, he didn’t expect him to be so… cute. All freckles and gorgeous brown eyes. He gave tight-lipped smiles at the right time, said humble thank you's to the right people, and shared just enough of his flesh to satisfy the vultures. Scott recognized all that, because he’d had years of practice doing the same. He certainly hadn’t been so practiced at eighteen, though.
When Scott got a moment alone for introductions, he recognized another similarity between them. Or maybe it was reflection. Regardless, he saw something in Shane’s expression that made his heart stick to his ribs. They’d shaken hands, and Shane had told Scott how much he’d admired him, and then he’d rattled off some career highlights. When Scott said he was looking forward to seeing Shane play, he fucking blushed, from the tips of his ears to the bridge of his nose. And Scott had thought what a pretty color on him. Then he’d promptly reeled it in, because Shane was too young and probably straight and it was all just a trick of the light.
Except now Scott was starting to question that assumption. Which was unhelpful, because he shouldn’t even be concerning himself with this. He should just finish this beer, say goodbye to everyone, and drive back to his hotel.
Still, his gaze kept sliding over to Shane and Ilya. Their conversation on the patio hadn’t let up, apparently. Scott had excused himself pretty much the moment he set foot out there- the tension between those two was thick enough to choke on.
Whatever went on between them was none of his business. He pulled out his phone, eager to be distracted.
Scott: hey. How’s the conference?
Kip <3: boring. Food is good though. They got the name-brand lofthouse cookies
Scott: gross 😐
Kip <3: you have no taste. How was the speech
Scott: good. The kids were really enthusiastic. i think they have a nice group here. Coaches too
Kip <3: yeah. technically all two of the out gay hockey players in north america are in one place rn
Scott: maybe some not-out ones, too.
Kip stopped typing. Maybe that was a sign to leave the subject alone. But fuck, he remembered how hard it was to be in the public eye and deep in the closet. And what if Shane had unrequited feelings for another player, someone like Ilya? Really, it was none of his business.
Scott: are you good at telling if someone is gay?
Kip <3: umm i clocked u remember
Scott: yeah. i was hitting on you tho
Kip <3: badly
Scott: it worked! U couldn’t resist 😉
Kip <3: 🙄
Kip <3: why do u ask
Scott: have you ever thought any of the other players might be queer?
Kip <3: like who?
Scott: just anyone you’ve met
Kip <3: like shane?
Scott: you’ve heard the rumors?
Kip <3: god how are u this offline
Scott: i thought it was just the hockey world that talked about it
Kip <3: nope. good news, if shane is gay he’ll have absolutely no trouble getting laid for the rest of his life
Scott: are you offering?
Kip <3: you’d love that. cuck 😘
Scott: jesus. you sit in the cuck chair once and your husband never lets u hear the end of it
Kip <3: so you wouldn’t like a repeat of that experience? good to know
Scott: i didn’t say that.
Kip <3: also good to know
Scott: alright. focus
Kip <3: fine. what’s going on with shane?
Scott: i feel like he might not have anyone to talk to. if i’m even right about this
Kip <3: he seems reserved. there’s a wall there. might not mean anything but could also be a way of avoiding suspicion/vulnerability to scrutiny
Scott: damn. my husband is so smart and hot. ok what do i do
Kip <3: try giving him an erotic massage and see how he reacts
Kip <3: jk but seriously he’s a fucking stud i wouldn’t blame u. maybe just try to get him alone and talk. U can open up a bit and maybe he will too. be relaxed tho he’s like a baby deer u dont wanna scare him
Scott: i’m always relaxed
Kip <3: 🤨
Scott: ok i’ll try. Love you
Kip <3: love you too. good luck
When Scott looked up from his lap again, Shane and Ilya were back inside. They both looked… wound up. They were on opposite ends of the house, but there was something humming between them. Guys like Ilya were everywhere. 'Straight' guys who would act like a boyfriend, get off with you, and then deny their feelings. Kip's friends knew lots of men like that, and maybe Shane was dealing with one too. Whatever it was, he didn't look in the mood to be pulled aside and given the it’s-okay-to-be-gay after school special.
Fine. Scott would give him some time to decompress. He’d just linger until the end of the party and hope for an opening. In the meantime, he’d do his best to pretend that Shane and Ilya’s eyes weren’t burning into each other from opposite sides of the room.