Chapter Text
“Hollander, I was promised hot dogs. And I never got any.”
Shane and Ilya were enjoying the pool in the simmering morning sun, wearing their nonverbally agreed upon new uniform from yesterday, tiny swim shorts. Shane had his back pressed against the pool wall, elbows resting on the concrete edge, while Ilya continued to swim. For a quarter of an hour, he had been switching between full freestyle laps and a lazy backstroke. Shane just watched him through his sunglasses the entire time.
Shane loved watching Ilya swim. Wet Ilya was always hot, but showers were no match to the incredible Olympic view of his body propelling himself back and forth through the silky, clear-blue water. His large hands and sculpted arms alternating in view competed for Shane’s attention with his firm traps the whole time. Shane found himself laughing at the thought of the gay and female hockey fans who would have topless images of him saved on their phones or on posters on their walls. But there was only one body part Shane started to focus on as Ilya began this new conversation about hot dogs during one of his lazier backstroke interludes.
“Huh?”
“Last night, we were going to defrost the hot dogs, but then your dad came.”
“Oh, right. Wow. I completely forgot about that.”
“Your dad saw us making out through the window.”
“That’s not the part I for- fuck you!” Shane sputtered, splashing a little water his way in emphasis.
“So, you drove us over to explain that we are lovers.” Shane rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, letting his boyfriend continue his little play. “And the pasta was great, better than yours, but I was ready for hot dogs.”
“You said you loved my pasta.”
“I do, I love all pasta. Don’t worry, your pasta will be just as good after twenty more years of practice, yes?”
Shane ignored this conversation trail. The thought of twenty years with Ilya made his pulse quicken and his stomach leap. “Well, we already agreed on chicken with my parents tonight, but we can have hot dogs for lunch. I’ll take them out of the freezer in a bit.”
“You can make the whole pack now. Because your parents know about us. Leftover food is a Hollander family experience again.”
Shane chuckled and shook his head. His boyfriend was such a shit. And he loved everything about him. Again steering the conversation towards practical matters, Shane asked, “How many do you want?”
“Depends how thick they are.”
“They’re normal size.”
“And long.”
“Stop it.”
“Do they shrink when you grill them?” Ilya grinned as he defied his partner’s request in their usual teasing style.
“Yeah, like you in the lake,” Shane chirped. Shane may not have the charm and wit that Ilya did, but as a professional hockey player, he had learned how to have a comeback. Admittedly, his comeback was usually “fuck off” or something less sophisticated, but he tried to dish it out when he could.
“But not now, huh?” Ilya glanced down at his shorts, where his cock bobbed in his shorts above his legs, attempting to float in the water.
“The pool is heated.”
“Yes, and we are both grateful for it.”
Shane couldn’t deny that. He still wanted to try some foreplay in their hot tub, but Ilya hadn’t been enthused when Shane had first suggested it. Maybe he could win him over like he did with the fire.
“Let’s get out of the pool, I’m starting to prune anyway. And I need to take the hot dogs out, I guess.”
“Yes, let’s take them out.” Ilya removed his swim shorts right then, and threw them towards Shane’s mostly dry chest.
Shane wanted to retort in anger, but there was a decidedly more fun activity to attend to now that his boyfriend was naked.
“If I recall correctly, there was something else we didn’t have time to do before the hot dogs were forgotten about.”
“Oh, I did not think you would be able to joke about it so soon.”
“I mean, I still want to die when I think about my dad finding us like that, but I realized last night that if he had caught us just a couple minutes later, it could have been a very different type of mortification.”
“Mor-ti-fi-cation.”
“I’m not surprised that’s a new word for you. You never get embarrassed by anything.”
“Life is too short for this, Hollander. Now, let’s take out the normal-sized hot dogs and you can suck my above-average sized one while we wait for them to defrost.”
Shane rolled his eyes but immediately exited the pool, eager to follow his instructions and unembarrassed to show it.
~
Later, as Shane was grilling, Ilya came up behind him and stuck his hands in his back pockets. “It is still so fun to touch you outside.” Shane turned to give Ilya a brief kiss.
“The hot dogs are almost ready. Do you wanna bring the buns and stuff out here?”
“The buns are already here, da?” Ilya playfully pinched at Shane’s ass from inside his shorts pocket.
“Cut it out.”
Ilya ground his semi into the crease of Shane’s ass. “I know which buns I want for my wiener.”
“Ugh, that’s worse than ‘lovers,’ Ilya!” Shane had always hated the word ‘wiener.’ Like how half of the world decided to hate the word ‘moist.’
“I don’t understand this. Can you explain?” Ilya stepped to Shane’s side now and watched his face.
“It’s just a gross word.”
“Not wiener. Why is ‘lovers’ gross?”
Shane’s face scrunched up thinking about his reasoning, and he focused on taking the hot dogs off the grill before trying to answer. “It’s old-fashioned, maybe? Or too intimate?”
“So, is just gross for your parents or gross for you and me, too?”
“Um, I guess just for my parents..”
“Ah, khorosho.”
“That means okay?”
Ilya’s soft smile widened. “Okay, fine, good. Khorosho.”
“Kora-sho,” Shane attempted to repeat.
“Da, moy lyubovnik.”
“My love?” Shane asked vulnerably. He didn’t recognize this word, but it sounded similar.
Ilya purred and nipped at Shane’s ear as he grabbed the tray of cooked hot dogs, “My lover.” Ilya headed towards the kitchen with the food.
“You don’t want to eat out here?”
“Nyet. I have plans for this hot meat. Come on.”
“Jesus Christ.” But Shane was laughing on the inside, and already following Ilya into the kitchen wondering what this Russian menace he’d given the keys to his heart had in mind for the “hot meat.”