Chapter Text
Shane had absolutely loved being on the Centaurs. They were an amazingly understanding team. He had thought the Metros were a good team, but now he sees how wrong he was. Most of all, he loved being on a team with his husband. He loved being on a team where he wasn’t the only LGBTQ+ player. He loved the success story of the Centaurs, how kindness took them from being the worst to one of the best. Every season was better than the last.
Now that he wasn’t so focused on being scared of his team, he felt like he had enough energy to make himself better. It started by getting diagnosed with autism, which quickly evolved into trying to find peace with that. But because he wasn’t focused on hiding every single breath he took from the world, Shane was able to find a healthier lifestyle. One that was better supporting him, his neurodivergency specifically. He was getting better at eating after realizing ARFID controlled his life too much.
These were the reasons he was where he was now. At a club (bar? What is the difference? He doesn’t care) in Ottawa, quite drunk. He had told Ilya before they left that he would like to get drunk tonight, for many reasons that didn’t exactly matter. Ilya, of course, was quick to agree. They were out with a few other Centaurs, some of the Centaurs' random friends, and whoever else mingled with them now that they were “celeberties.”
Ilya didn’t drink anymore. It took an embarrassingly long time for him to realize how much worse he felt when he drank while on his meds, and he wasn’t eager to put himself in that situation again. So he sat at a booth overlooking the small dance floor with a Coke. Normally, he would be with Shane, absolutely tearing up the dance floor, but he had taken a hard hit during a game yesterday, and his ankle was killing him. They had had these plans before. Ilya knew if he had told Shane he wasn’t feeling totally up for it, they wouldn’t have gone. But he also knew how much mental energy Shane had already put into planning the night and would be silently unnerved if they canceled at the last minute. So he sat at the booth, having a perfectly good time, people watching and chatting. He especially likes to watch Shane dance.
Shane wasn’t good at dancing, but it was obvious he was drunk enough not to care. It made Ilya smile. Shane danced in a sea of bodies, next to Troy, LaPointe, and some women LaPointe had brought that Ilya had already forgotten the names of. He swayed, quite offbeat, but smiled nevertheless. This had started when the team figured out Troy was weak to white girl club music. It only took two shots before Troy was yelling, “I LOVE THIS SONG!” and begging people to come and dance with him. Shane had gone with, and Ilya loved how their friendship had grown since Shane joined the Centaurs. Even if all their conversations seemed to revolve around some boring diet plan or exercise regimen, it was nice to see them being friends.
Ilya took a sip of his Coke and glanced around the room. He loved clubbing, even if he couldn’t dance; it was impossible to feel alone in a club. His eyes caught on Harris, who sat at the end of the curved booth. Ilya sat more towards the center of the booth since he hadn’t needed to get up much. Harris, on the other hand, got up constantly, jumping from conversation to conversation naturally.
Harris’ eyes were fixed on Shane and Troy. Their husbands were facing each other, doing a mixture of jumping and swaying. He could see Troy’s lips moving, but he was pretty sure he was just singing along to the music. Harris' gaze wasn’t fond, well, it was technically, but it was more fond in a way that looked like he wanted to eat the two of them. He was absent-mindedly fidgeting with his glass, never looking away from Troy and Shane.
Ilya chuckled. Fun, he thought. Slowly, he slid over to sit shoulder to shoulder with Harris, “Maybe embarrassing for you to get hard in this crowded bar while watching your husband with my husband.” Ilya said just loud enough for Harris to hear him over the music.
Harris’ gaze snapped to Ilya, his face heated embarrassingly. He took a sip of his drink before speaking, “I wasn’t-”
“You were,” Ilya cut off with a smirk, “It’s okay. They are hot together.” he watched Harris’ eyes scan him, obviously searching for anger, before Harris laughed breathily.
“Yeah, they are.” Harris allowed himself to look back at Troy and Shane. The two were doing absolutely nothing scandalous. They weren’t even touching, not even a friendly hand on a shoulder, nothing. It was just as it looked, two friends enjoying dancing together, “goddam their loyalty,” Harris mumbled.
Ilya didn’t hear the last part. “What are you imagining? Two of them making out on the dance floor?” the Russian mostly teased… mostly. He let himself imagine it for a second, and fuck yeah, that was hot.
Harris groaned and lay his head on the table in front of him. “I think I’ll dream about that,” he heard Ilya laugh loudly. His head shot up, and he stared at Ilya in horror. It hit him that he had just confessed to basically wanting to have a wet dream about Troy and Shane to Shane’s husband. Oh, he was so completely fired. He forced himself to laugh, “Okay, wow, I have had way too much to drink.” he pushed his glass away from himself.
“Well, you will have to keep me updated, Harris Drover, mh?” Ilya watched Harris; he grinned harder than he ever had. “I want to hear about this dream.”
“Please just forget I said anything. That was.. Inappropriate, and I am sorry.” Harris leaned back into the booth completely.
“No, no,” Ilya said. This night just kept getting better and better. “You often fantasise about Troy with other men?”
Harris groaned
“Come, don’t be. What is the English word… prude?” Ilya gently nudged Harris with his shoulder.
Harris scoffed, “I am not a prude; we have had enough conversations about sex, you should know this by now. Did you forget I recommended that vibrator that Shane likes so much, huh? What would you do without me?”
“Well then- share,” Ilya said simply. He watched Harris carefully, he watched as his eyes narrowed to the table in front of them. After a moment of silence, he decided to back track, “is joke, Harris. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You do not have to share if you do not want me to know.”
Harris rolled his eyes fondly, “God, you are sweet. No, I am not uncomfortable. Just- okay, yes, but not specifically with Shane, okay, so don’t like kill me. Just with guys, Troy has only been with one other guy, then me, while I have been with who knows how many. So yeah, I would love to watch Troy with another guy. And this isn’t some crazy confession, Ilya, so don’t get it twisted. Troy knows, okay.” he watched Ilya’s smile grow again.
Ilya hummed in understanding, “What does Troy think about that?” distantly, he thought maybe this was TMI between friends, but TMI doesn’t exist for him. He has seen Troy’s dick. He had seen Troy covered in hickeys and scratches, and they had had many conversations about those marks. So this was nothing.
“He is into it, I think, but you know Troy,” Harris shrugged and pulled his drink back to himself, “We have gotten off to the idea many times, but he just likes to please. We have talked about planning it, but every time we get to the- okay, who part. The plan falls apart.”
“So you imagine Troy fucking my husband to fill the void?” Ilya teased. He pulled Harris' drink away from him and pushed it to the other side of the table.
“No!”
Ilya tsked, “Don’t lie, Harris, I want to know.”
Harris stared at Ilya for a moment. He knew he was already in too deep to backpedal. Ilya’s face was warm and inviting; the club lights highlighted his features perfectly. There was nothing but absolute interest radiating off him, “Okay, fine, yes okay- tonight them dancing together like that? Yes.” his cheeked burned pink.
“How!”
“Screw you, I am not telling!” Harris shoved Ilya with a laugh.
Ilya faked an offended noise, “Come now, you will have amazing dreams tonight thanks to me! You owe me!”
“None of this is thanks to you!” Harris retorted quickly.
Ilya’s smirk turned evil. For a moment, he contemplated not saying what flashed in his mind. Was it too far? This whole thing was probably too far. He leaned closer to Harris and spoke into his ear, “Really? Cause will you will dream of Troy fucking Shane, sure. But dream bigger, Harris. What about me fucking Troy?” he leaned back to watch Harris’ expression, clearly happy with himself.
Harris sputtered, “What- You can't just-”
Ilya laughed. He looked in Harris’s eye, which told him he was already imagining this new possible scenario. Harris was redder than an apple.
“Screw you.” Harris shoved him again and stole Ilya’s Coke, “This is mine now.” Ilya didn’t protest
Ilya decided to take pity on Harris and stopped teasing him. The two didn’t talk for another few minutes before Harris spoke again, “Are you going to tell Shane?”
Ilya watched him. Harris drank the Coke, but he didn’t seem nervous, “Maybe. I do not know. I will not if you do not want me to.”
Harris huffed, “Tell him I don’t care.” he didn’t want to think about if he really didn’t want Ilya to share his fantasy… or if he really did want him to share it.
“Will you tell Troy?” Ilya asked curiously.
“Definitely,” Harris said simply.
Ilya was going to ask more, but they were joined at the table by Shane and Troy. The two of them began to talk quickly about something. Something about LaPointe was going to get pegged tonight or something. Ilya didn’t really care. The group hung around the bar for another half an hour before deciding to go home.
Ilya was delighted to deal with a drunk Shane all the way home. He was already most affectionate when he was drunk, even if they were in public, which Shane usually tried to avoid. His mind argued with itself about his conversation with Harris. One part was really into the idea of everything they talked about. Another part knew that Harris had been drinking that night so Ilya should just ignore the whole situation. That was the respectful choice, maybe even the logical choice, but it wasn’t the choice Ilya wanted to choose.