Chapter Text
August 2021 - Ottawa
“Were you thinking of also bringing clothes?” Shane asked, glancing into Ilya’s suitcase.
“Do you think we will need them?”
“I’m just saying you might want the option of going outside,” Shane said, dropping a kiss on Ilya’s shoulder and wandering into the closet.
Ilya was obviously going to pack clothing, he just had priorities. Like making sure their whole sex toy collection would fit into his suitcase, not to mention two of the biggest bottles of lube he’d been able to find.
“Take the batteries out of anything that vibrates,” Shane called. Ilya rolled his eyes. What was he, an amateur? “Do you think I should bring two pairs of walking shoes or is one enough?”
“How many walking tours are we going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know? What have you been doing for the past month?”
“Research! But I didn’t book anything yet in case we decide we want to just sit by the pool for ten days instead.”
“Or stay in the room.”
Shane emerged from the closet carrying a pile of clothes.
“I’m making it a rule that we have to leave the room at least once a day,” he said, dropping the pile neatly into a packing cube inside his suitcase. Of course Shane had perfectly-arranged packing cubes, each for a different category of clothing, and of course he was mostly done packing already. Ilya was still staring at the pile of sex toys in his suitcase.
“Is our honeymoon, Hollander,” he said. “Leaving the room is not the point.”
Shane just grinned and, unless Ilya was imagining things, blushed a little.
“Of course it’s the point,” he said. “If we wanted to stay in bed all day we could do that here. We’re going on a honeymoon so I can drink sangria and eat tapas with my husband.”
And oh, that word still got Ilya. It had been five weeks already but every time he heard it—every time Shane introduced him as his husband—he knew he had a giant, goofy grin on his face. Like he probably did now. Like Shane definitely did, freckles all scrunched as he walked around the bed to give Ilya a quick kiss.
“Pack clothes,” he said, and walked out of the bedroom.
“They are much more open-minded in Europe,” Ilya called, heading into the closet himself.
“I’m not,” Shane shouted back. Ilya could hear the sounds of him going through one of the moving boxes still in the upstairs hallway, left there amongst the chaos of moving in and getting married and Shane selling his place in Montreal and having hockey camps and… everything. It felt oddly old-fashioned that they’d barely lived together before they got married, but then again, he knew nothing about them really made sense. Not from the outside, anyway.
A few minutes later, Shane came back in with an armful of guidebooks and tossed something at Ilya, who caught it.
“Packing cubes,” he said. “At least for the sex toys, so you don’t find a cock ring in your pocket at dinner or something.”
There was an idea, except Shane would never go for something like that. Right? Even on vacation where no one knew who they were?
Ilya decided to come back to this thought later.
“Mmm. And that would be bad?”
“Whatever you’re thinking, quit it.”
“I am thinking nothing!”
“And don’t lie to me, either,” Shane said, but he was grinning.
Ilya packed in silence while Shane flipped through guidebooks, tossing a few into his suitcase and rejecting the rest.
They could’ve just paid someone else to arrange everything for their ten-day honeymoon, and if it had been up to Ilya, he probably would have. But Shane had wanted to plan their honeymoon themselves, and Ilya had to admit he had a point. He’d been ready for Shane to be stressed out about every last detail, but instead it had been… fun.
Ilya had taken over finding a hotel in Barcelona and a beach house in Ibiza, and he’d thrown himself into it. Made a curated list to go over with Shane, and they’d debated the merits of an in-suite hot tub versus a fireplace versus a private patio while sitting on their—their!—couch, Ilya’s head in Shane’s lap. He’d found an overnight cruise from Barcelona to Ibiza instead of another flight, and Shane had loved the idea.
Plus, he’d been too busy planning a vacation to be stressed about, well, everything else.
“Hey, did you find the adapters?” Shane called.
“Yes,” Ilya called back.
“Did you print the confirmation email from the beach house?”
“Yes!”
“How about the—"
“Hollander! Did you not see the checklist?”
“Did you?”
“Yes! I have been checking things off and everything!”
Ilya would never admit it to Shane, but his dumb checklist had been useful and had already saved Ilya from having to buy emergency socks when they got to Barcelona.
There was a long pause, then Shane came walking back into the bedroom carrying swim trunks and flip flops, then looked at Ilya’s phone over his shoulder.
“See? Checked off,” Ilya said, pointing.
“Oh,” said Shane with obvious surprise.
“You did not think I could use a checklist?”
“I didn’t think you would.”
Ilya huffed, but it was cut short by Shane grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a kiss.
“Is this because I used your list?” Ilya said, the words half-garbled by Shane’s mouth.
“Maybe,” Shane said, and kept kissing him.
------
Shane knew exactly what Ilya was going to say before he said it.
“So,” he started. The two of them were standing in the aisle of first class, waiting for someone else to load her carryon into the overhead compartment. “Have you ever joined the Mile High Club?”
Predictable.
“Only like five or six times,” he said. “Why?”
Ilya frowned.
“That is when you—”
“If you explain the Mile High Club to me I swear to God I’ll stuff you in an overhead bin,” Shane said. The sixty-something couple in front of them turned and gave Shane a look so he offered them a polite smile while Ilya snickered behind him.
“I would like to see you try,” he said, while Shane pretended he was invisible.
“Then keep being a dick on this airplane,” he said, and fuck, that got another look.
“You might fit in one,” Ilya went on, thoughtfully looking into the compartment. “Since you are pocket-sized.”
“We’re about to be on an airplane together for eight hours and this is how you kick things off?”
“You are stuck with me for much longer than that,” Ilya said, and gave Shane a kiss on the cheek.
Shane could feel people staring. They were flying out of Montreal, a decision Shane had deeply regretted for the past three hours, and he was pretty certain that not only did everyone else in the first-class cabin know who they were, they were angry about having to share an airplane.
So yes, he had to force himself not to move away or yell at Ilya for the public display, but he didn’t. Because this was his honeymoon and all these people could go fuck themselves if they didn’t like it.
“Don’t remind me,” Shane muttered. “You want the window or the aisle?”
Later, when they were taxiing down the runway, Shane laced his fingers through Ilya’s. Ilya looked away from the window with a small, secret smile, and it gave Shane the nerve to kiss the back of his hand.
And that got a real smile, one of the sweet, unguarded ones that felt like stepping into sunlight.
“You good?” Shane asked, because planes, and because Ilya had his other hand on the crucifix under his shirt.
“Fine,” Ilya said, the lights of the Montreal airport passing by through the window. The cabin was dark for takeoff, but Shane could still the tightness in Ilya’s jaw, the unblinking way he watched the window like he was personally responsible for the plane not crashing.
“Hey,” Shane said, and squeezed his hand, rubbing his thumb over Ilya’s knuckles. “I’m here.”
That got Ilya to take a deep breath and turn toward Shane, resting their foreheads together.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured as the plane lifted into the sky.
------
Rose: okay I know Shane hates these BUT this one was super cute, can I please send it
Shane just sighed and bumped against Ilya, who was frowning at signs in the Barcelona airport and looking tired.
“We want the baggage claim, yes? Is that your parents?
“It’s Rose, and yeah.”
Ilya dug his phone out of his pocket, read Rose’s text, and grinned.
Ilya: yes
Shane just shot him a look.
“If Rose says it is super cute, it is super cute,” Ilya said.
“She says that about every weird picture someone posts of us.”
“No, she says that about every picture she sends to you. She sends the bad ones only to me, because I have a sense of humor.”
“I have a sense of humor,” Shane grumbled, because he totally did. Just not about his relationship—his marriage!—being tabloid fodder.
Ilya just snickered and kissed the top of his head, and then Rose sent the picture: it was clearly zoomed in from a weird angle, but Shane was asleep against Ilya’s shoulder and Ilya was asleep against Shane’s head. It was disgustingly cute. It also made Shane’s skin crawl, so he scowled as he saved it to his phone.
“Why do you hate these?” Ilya teased. “Is adorable.”
“It’s not adorable that someone took a picture of us on an airplane while we were asleep and then put it on the internet! How did it even get posted so fast?”
Ilya: Shane is mad. I think is cute
Rose: You’re right, it IS cute
Shane: It’s weird!
Rose: It’s also weird
Shane: Are you just agreeing with both of us?
Rose: Well, you’re both right. It’s cute and weird
Rose: Can I just point out that I’m only sending you the cute pic and not the Twitter thread speculating about your impending divorce because of the epic meltdown you two had last week over where you’d parked
“What the fuck,” Shane muttered, but Ilya just snorted.
“That one was good. According to body language experts you regret choosing me over Rose.”
“I don’t even remember getting into a fight about that,” Shane said, not at all nervous that people were talking about whether they’d get divorced.
“We didn’t. Was stupid and I did not tell you because it was stupid and makes you all anxious.”
Shane didn’t love being Hockey Famous, but he was more or less used to it.
He hated, hated, hated being Actually Famous. Rose had assured him it would die down before much longer, and he couldn’t wait.
“How does she even know about all this?” Shane asked as he read a sign and pointed at an escalator. “Does she have google alerts set up or something?”
“Probably.”
Shane: Are you stalking us?
Rose: Technically, no
Rose: But I might have some alerts
Shane: WHY
Ilya snickered as they got on the escalator.
Rose: Because being the third corner in an epic love triangle that’s been THE gossip news all summer is the greatest dramatic role of my life?
Shane: It’s not, stop it
Ilya: Still cannot believe Shane was at the center of this triangle
Rose: But that’s why it’s so good! NO ONE SUSPECTED
Rose: Ilya, if you send me some mean texts I’ll leak them and we can make some more headlines about how we’re in a DESPERATE BATTLE for Shane’s heart
“I’ll kill you both, I swear to God,” Shane muttered.
“What mean texts should I send?”
“None?”
Ilya started typing, and Shane gave up, wrapping an arm around the other man’s waist and leaning in, still on the world’s longest escalator.
After a moment, Ilya paused typing and glanced over.
“Homewrecker?” Shane suggested, and Ilya grinned.
Ilya: Stop texting my husband on our honeymoon, you homewrecker
Rose: Nice
Ilya: Shane came up with homewrecker
Rose: Shane! How could you?
“Oh, my God,” Shane said as they got off the escalator, but he was smiling.
“Will be over soon,” Ilya said as they looked around for more signs. “A few more weeks, maybe? Sooner if Taylor Swift starts dating someone famous.”
The Barcelona airport was modern, all steel and glass walls, the morning sunlight streaming in. Since Shane’s brain was pretty sure it was still night time, it was very disconcerting.
“Who?” Shane asked.
“Are you ser—” Ilya started, but then caught the grin on Shane’s face and just sighed. “For that I should leak the mean texts. I’ll tell Rose to call me a man-stealing hussy.”
“Hussy?”
For a split second, Ilya actually looked uncertain.
“Means like, sexy person who sleeps around, yes? Steals men?”
Shane was laughing too hard to respond.
* * *
Ilya wasn’t concerned about his visa. He was perfectly capable of following instructions and gathering paperwork, not to mention that both Shane and Yuna had double-checked that he had everything in order.
But being stuck in a very slow line in an airport sucked, and it also gave his tired, jet-lagged brain plenty of free time to come up with dire scenarios that all ended with him being shipped back to Russia. It didn’t help that Shane had breezed through the passport line for people from reasonable countries and disappeared with a wave, leaving Ilya in a fluorescent-lit hallway behind a woman who seemed to have a small goat in a dog carrier.
He was still contemplating the mystery animal when his phone buzzed.
Shane: I got you coffee and a croissant thing
Shane: It’s not a croissant but it’s like a croissant, but Spanish
Rose: Did you get me one?
Shane: Oops
Rose: Still the group text, dude
Rose: Why are you even texting?
Ilya: I am stuck in the line for people from dumb countries
He looked around for a moment, then pretended to be texting while he took a picture of the animal in front of him.
Ilya: Do you think this is a goat?
Rose: Does it smell like a goat?
Ilya: I don’t know, how do goats smell?
Rose: Goaty
Rose: How do you not know what goats smell like?
Ilya: Why do you know that?
Shane: I should just leak these texts, no one would ever speculate again
Rose: I’m just saying, there’s a distinctive odor
Ilya’s line moved. The animal in front of him made an inconclusive noise.
Shane: How many people are in front of you?
Ilya: I don’t know, like six?
Shane: Hurry UP
Ilya: Excited to get to the hotel?
Rose: STILL THE GROUP TEXT YOU GUYS
Shane: I’m excited to be literally anywhere besides the airport
When he finally got to the desk, the border agent glanced at Ilya, asked him where he was going, gave his papers a cursory look, and stamped his stupid passport. It felt pretty anti-climactic.
Shane was sprawled on a chair in the waiting area.
“Finally,” he said, holding out a coffee. Ilya rolled his eyes and took it.
“Is not my fault marrying for citizenship still takes forever.”
“You can go back to Canada if you’re gonna be like that,” Shane said, but he was smiling as he stood.
“And miss out on all your walking tours?”
“That’s what you’re looking forward to?” Shane asked.
Right there, in the middle of a busy airport, he stepped into Ilya’s space and put his hands on the other man’s waist. Every inch of Ilya’s skin hummed with the thrill.
“I heard they were very good walking tours,” he said, and kissed his husband.