Chapter Text
Shane still isn’t sure how he got talked into this, whether it was Haas’ enthusiasm that had proven to be too infectious, or whether it was peer pressure from Bood volunteering his cottage as the venue of this year’s Halloween party when the matter had come up for discussion in the break room of 211 Huntmar during a hectic shift at work. The conversation had derailed so quickly, each suggestion more outlandish than the next, most of it going right over Shane’s head as he shovelled a prepped lunch box down his throat as quickly as possible so as to get back to the mountain of paperwork he had to finish after the day’s arrest. He only kept half an ear on the conversation, but was pulled right out of his head at the mention of his cottage.
“Huh?” Shane swallowed down a mouthful of rice that suddenly felt too dry. “What about it?”
“I was saying, that cottage of yours up in Muskoka would be the perfect place. We should all have Halloween off, so we could head up there and have us a real cabin in the woods-type weekend.”
“Yes!” Haas had exclaimed, grinning so wide Shane could see a piece of kale stuck between his teeth from the smoothie he was drinking. He swallowed another mouthful down with a big gulp before continuing, “I’ve seen the pictures you’ve posted of your cottage, it looks beautiful.”
Shane had sighed, knowing he could spend weeks twisting and turning this every which way in his mind, but that he ultimately couldn’t let their rookie down.
Which is why he now finds himself tinkering with a motion-activated animatronic witch, trying to set it up on the patio and get it working as intended. He thinks there might be a part missing, and is almost sure the damn thing is broken. When he waves a hand in front of the witch for the umpteenth time and she still refuses to move or cackle, he lets out a quiet “fuck”. Through the window, he can see Ilya hanging strands of gold tinsel, left over from his Christmas tree last year, from the light fixtures on the main floor, stretching to reach the dining room chandelier. The move rucks up the bottom of his shirt, revealing a strip of skin with the perfect, lush happy trail that Shane loves running his fingers down, and a deep, defined V under sculpted abs. Shane knows he’s staring, and tries to tear his gaze away, he’s sure he looks like a fool staring so brazenly when he’s supposed to be finishing things up outside. Ilya, of course, catches him in the act, and shoots him a wink and a wicked grin through the glass separating them. Shane averts his eyes and feels his cheeks heat, still not used to the warmth that blossoms as he feels Ilya’s gaze lingering. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Still, the grin is a welcome change from the worried-looking scowl Ilya's been wearing all day.
He knows he looks good, he works out and takes care of himself—has to, in order to do what he does—and his mother has even been trying to get him into modelling as a side gig. Despite his protests, she’s completely disregarded the fact that he has no spare time for side gigs, barely having time to eat, sleep, and work out between shifts as it is, not to mention trying to coordinate long weekends around Ilya’s schedule. Though, of course, his mother doesn’t know about Ilya or where Shane’s been disappearing off to on all his solo trips when he hasn’t been at the cottage.
Once, Yuna had even trampled right over all of Shane’s boundaries and booked him a casting. He, of course, didn’t go. He gets a little sweaty just from imagining what Ilya would think of any modelling attempt of Shane’s, and how awkward it would be having to pose in front of cameras with all the flashing lights.
He doesn’t know much about modelling, except for what he’s seen in relation to Ilya’s work. The models in the magazines Shane has been hoarding always look brooding and lethal, and Shane would feel like a kitten in comparison. Ilya, however, certainly fits that description perfectly, his face always set in a slightly mean-looking pout and eyes always so discerning and sharp. Well, almost always. The exception seems to be whenever his eyes alight on Shane, and his usually severe expression falls apart into a warm and inviting grin instead, momentarily knocking the wind out of Shane. Like right now, when Ilya’s so obviously putting on a show for him, trying to rile him up, utterly uncaring of the fact that their guests are supposed to arrive soon.
They’ve known each other for a little under a year and a half, first orbiting around each other’s spheres as near neighbours in Muskoka, then coming together into something that looks a lot like a relationship in Shane’s eyes, but that neither of them have had the courage to define. It started with them almost literally running into each other one morning, both having their heads down and heading in opposite directions on a run while going around a blind curve in the trail. Shane had startled so badly he’d nearly taken a tumble into the bushes, whereas Ilya had missed a step and landed weird on his ankle.
The cause for Shane’s blush that morning had truly just been the acute embarrassment at nearly sprinting headfirst into someone on a trail that was usually quiet in the mornings, before the droves of tourists appeared. It wasn’t until later, when Shane was lathering himself up in the shower, washing away the dried sweat after his run, that he allowed himself to consider the fact that the man had been handsome. The broad, shirtless torso covered in fine golden hair, perfectly toned physique and sweat-soaked locks played in Shane’s mind as he slid his palm lower, taking himself in hand.
After their first encounter, Shane didn’t see the man again for a week. He mourned this fact while strolling down the sandy path between tents at the farmer’s market in town, eyes constantly on the look-out for those icy blue eyes he’d gotten a taste of the week prior. He started wondering if the man had been just a summer guest, or perhaps a sweat-soaked mirage Shane’s sex-deprived brain had dreamed up. It’s not like he was completely celibate, there was the odd hook-up—though much less frequent after he moved back to his hometown of Ottawa—but no one Shane could see himself spending more than a night with. While absent-mindedly smelling a lavender-scented bug repellent, he pondered the sad prospect of having to redownload the dating app he kept downloading and deleting on repeat, if only to get his mother off his back.
Every time he tried downloading and setting up the app, he became worried that it would somehow get back to his coworkers. Not that he thought any of the guys in his own department would be outright homophobic, at least not to his face, but he didn’t want to make things awkward in the break room. He saw the way people behaved around Troy, perfectly polite to his face but leering behind his back, and observed the way the room would often go quiet the moment Troy walked in. Troy, to his credit, didn’t seem to let it faze him.
“I would not buy that if I were you,” someone stage-whispered into Shane’s ear, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on edge. Shane hadn’t heard anyone approach, too caught up in his own wallowing. The voice was low but warm, with an Eastern European accent. Was that Russian?
Shane turned and found himself face to face with the man from last week, the man he’d nearly collided with and stammered out a rushed apology to before sprinting off red-faced. A blush crept up his neck again at the sight of him, looking effortlessly put-together, this time in a black muscle tee and dark sunglasses, veins popping in his upper arms. Shane struggled to swallow, his mouth having gone suddenly dry. “Uh…” Clever, Hollander, he admonished himself. He was sure he was coming across as an idiot. “Why not? Is there something wrong with it?”
The man gave Shane a crooked smile and grabbed the bug spray out of his hand, placing it back on the table. Shane should have been offended by that. That was rude, right? So why was it also kind of hot? “Mm, it says it repels bugs, but I think it actually attracts them. Last week, when we nearly ran into each other—you remember? I was running so fast because I was running from a swarm of mosquitoes. I should have worn…” The man licked his teeth, turning words over in his mind, “a net? Against bugs.” He waved it off, deciding it wasn’t important. “Anyway, do not buy that unless you like bug bites.”
Shane nodded, scanning the man’s arms for any visible signs of having been feasted upon by mosquitoes. He found none, only unmarred golden skin stretched over bulging biceps. When his gaze drifted higher, he saw the man had quirked his eyebrow at him, clearly having caught Shane in the act. He cleared his throat, “Well, it looks like you got away. You were running pretty fast, and you’ve got great form.”
The smile curled ever wider, showing a row of perfect, white teeth. “Ah, you watched my form?”
“No,” Shane lied. “Well, a bit. I wanted to make sure you weren’t injured, it looked like you stumbled a bit.” Shane became conscious of a couple hovering nearby, looking like they wanted to peruse the wares but were too polite to say anything. He ducked out of the tent, signalling for Ilya to follow.
“Mm, of course I stumble when a handsome man almost runs into me.” The man winked, leaning against one of the tent poles.
Shane’s expression brightened. He recognised the man was throwing him a lifeline, and he resolved to at least attempt to catch it. He stuck out his hand, “I’m Shane.”
The man glanced down at his hand, considering for a moment, before grabbing Shane’s hand with a smirk and giving him a firm handshake. “Ilya. Was nice meeting you.” His hand was impossibly soft and supple. Shane didn’t want to let it go.
“Likewise. We should almost run into each other more often. Or…” Shane felt his heart kick up a notch and his breathing catch a little, hoping the line would land well, “we could run with each other instead? I could use a running buddy to keep pace.”
He was rewarded with another crook of Ilya’s mouth, “I think I would like that. You are here all summer?”
“I’m here for a couple weeks, yeah.”
Ilya hummed, sounding pleased, “I have to go back and forth, because of work. Give me your phone?”
There was a split second when Shane questioned Ilya’s motives, wondering if the man was trying to take off with his phone, but he dug it out of his back pocket nevertheless and held it out, unlocked. Ilya navigated into the contacts app and tapped around for a while, before handing the phone back for Shane to see. He’d sent a text to his own number, and created a contact for himself. Shane couldn’t help the exhale of surprise up at the sight of the name, “Ilya 🏃♂️💨”.
“Why the emojis?” He couldn’t make sense of the cloud.
“Because I will leave you in the dust.” He stared at Shane with an amused expression, as if waiting for Shane to snipe back.
“As if,” Shane couldn’t help smiling. “Text me when you’re next in town and we can arrange something?” He asked, hating how unsure he sounded.
“Sounds good.” Ilya slapped his shoulder, and the hand lingered there for a second longer than it needed to. “Now, my friend over there,” Ilya nodded his head at a dark-haired man towering over the rest of the crowd, “has apparently found the frozen fish he was looking for. We should get home before it melts.” Ilya looked apologetic, and Shane felt his heart soar while he simultaneously tried to tamp it down furiously, not daring to hope for anything. “I will let you know when I am back in town.”
“Later!” Shane called out to Ilya’s retreating form, not knowing what had come over him. Later?
Shane watched him leave. He wove through the crowd, people parting around him as he made his way to his friend, taking the shopping bags out of his hand without being asked. The friend looked a little annoyed, but allowed it, and it wasn’t until they started slowly making their way in the opposite direction that Shane noticed the dark-haired man was using a cane for balance. Shane stared until their broad frames disappeared from view, then blinked down at his phone, letting his mind catch up to the fact that that man, Ilya, had just given him his number. Holy shit.