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Summary
When the unsentimental financial imperative of the NHL sees Shane traded to the Boston Raiders, he and Ilya are thrown into closer extended proximity than ever before. As they adjust to life as teammates, they are forced to contend with the nature of their relationship -and must answer for themselves: is it even a relationship at all?
____Sliding down the wall, Shane hunched over his untied sneakers, shoved on hastily when Coach had called him in for a meeting after morning skate.
“Boston wanted you specifically. I’ve already spoken to their GM. You’re flying this evening or tomorrow morning: I’ll confirm once the paperwork clears.”
“Mom,” Shane managed.
“Oh sweetie. I know, okay. Those fuckers, how dare they do this! Two fucking cups! Now all of a sudden they decide they want a reset and you’re going to fund it.”
Shane put his head between his knees and tried to breathe. God, Boston. They hated him there; it was so far away; he was fucking their captain.
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The next morning, as he goes through his Facebook notifications, there’s a private message from Harry. It’s a picture of him from the day before, sleeping on Niall’s couch. It’s just a picture followed by a :), nothing else.
Is that your way to blackmail me, Louis replies.
Blackmail? No. I thought you looked cute, comes Harry’s reply almost immediately. Louis closes the tab before Lottie shows up out of nowhere again and asks him why he is smiling like an idiot in front of the computer.
or: the rise to fame of indie rock band The Rogue, and the love story between two of its members
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“What?” Harry asks, turning towards him with a sympathetic little pout on his face. “You think she’ll let you put your hands on her throat like me? Give it up like me? Ask you to call her dirty names like me?” Harry laughs at him again, saccharine sweet yet unequivocally deriding, all at once.
And fuck, there’s a fire that ignites inside Louis when Harry speaks to him like this, almost as though he’s talking down to him, bitchy and uncaring. Louis doesn’t know whether he’s feeling a need to regain control of the situation or a want to stoke the fire even more until it consumes him entirely.
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Set over the course of one night, at one fateful frat party. Louis and Harry find that there are not many things they will ever need more than each other.
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Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”
Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.
Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”
“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.
“Of course not!”
“A stripper?”
“No!”
Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”
“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.
There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”
A professional…what. “What?”
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Louis has never thought of himself as a damsel in distress but then again, he’s never accidentally summoned a firefighter who looks like harry.
After one burnt-toast incident, Louis can’t stop thinking about Harry nor can he stop finding new and increasingly ridiculous reasons to get him back to his flat.
Based on this prompt for the BLFF 2025
Prompt 117: Louis calls the fire station for a legitimate reason, but after seeing Harry, the hot firefighter, they start making excuses to call frequently.
Series
- Part 1 of Not a Real Emergency