It shouldn't feel like an eternity. It's two months. Before the Olympics, before Montreal, he'd gone longer between a text than two months, but now? Now he finds he can't--he hates it. He hates the space between them. The distance that's created simply by geography and grueling schedules and time changes and games and practice. And he hates it more when he's organizing his gear and finds the note slipped in a side pocket in a tidy hand he would recognize like his own. The quiet explanations of 'expected consequences' and 'increased training' and Shane's heart feels like maybe it's breaking into pieces he can't quite put back together.
It's not the first ember in the fire of his hatred for Larus' training team, but it is the brightest one yet.
Even if he wasn't already planning on spending time conditioning at the rink Larus mentioned, he'd find a way to get there. In fact, his training has been over for a day by the time he's standing outside a rink dreaming about kissing a boy that's he's currently watching wear himself away into nothing. The embers have caught and there's a warm lick of anger that's keeping him plenty warm.
It's a blaze by the time he sees Larus fall. He can tell what's going to happen almost before it does; years of watching skaters catch ice just wrong, years of bad hits, it's a shaky breath before the impact and then he sees that body crumple and Larus may black out, but so does Shane. He's moving before he even realizes it's happening. ]
Back the fuck off. [ It's his Captain voice. Not the polite, quiet, unassuming Canadian boy who gives interviews and talks at length to reporters at any request. Not the soft, warm voice that very few people get to hear. Not even the polished, slick voice he saves for commercials and media appearances. No; it's the Montreal Metros Captain voice - the one that rallies a team to a Stanley Cup victory. The one that doesn't leave room for argument or negotiation. The one that takes control on the ice and makes him seem like so much more than his twenty four years and all of it is trained on Larus' fucking coach. He doesn't yell, but he doesn't leave any room to shy away from the instruction.
Shane doesn't shove him, not yet, but he does slip between them on the ice, this man and Larus, his hands coming down to settle at Larus' shoulders, keeping him prone before they hover, nervously, over his legs, over that knee that's bleeding sluggishly under a torn legging, over his ankle. Fuck, he looks so fucking small Shane wants to scream with it.
There are bags under his eyes, and Shane swears every bone in his body is more prevalent than it was two months ago; and he doesn't know if it's from not eating enough or training to much but it makes his stomach twist and only adds fuel to the dark fire that's boiling up inside him. It's a feral thing and Shane is not as slowly being consumed by it ] Back off.
[ Like he has any authority here--except, well, maybe he does? ]
that's the first thought that filters into his brain when larus actually remembers he can open his eyes. the flare of discomfort aches through every part of him, but it's mostly centered on his knee, which had taken the brunt of his weight after turning his ankle. and he lays there on the ice, letting the cold soak through his thin clothes as he tries to do something. push up, keep going. don't give anyone an excuse to yell at him for screwing up a move he could do in his sleep. he doesn't move until the unconscious presence of someone hovering over him is there, and almost immediately, larus can tell it isn't sun.
is shane yelling? is sun —
"Who the fuck are you?", his coach asks. he can't tell what shane says in response.
that's when he squints through his own blurred vision to watch sun grab shane by the back of his shirt and try to drag him away. he watches them nearly get into an altercation, aware of the tension snapping across shane's shoulders, and larus bites down on his lip to quiet the pained noise that escapes him when he pushes himself up. ]
Stop. [ the word chokes out of him. ] Don't –
[ but neither of them are listening to him, drawing more attention towards them than necessary, and larus rolls over, putting weight on the less wrecked side of his body to attempt getting back on his feet. he wobbles, shaking with adrenaline and agony and exhaustion, the pressure of even attempting to skate stealing his breath enough to cause him to stumble forward. he grabs onto the nearest thing to him, searching for some kind of balance, and when he focuses again, he's holding onto shane's arm.
larus purposely avoids sun's gaze, squeezing as hard as he can manage in some attempt to reassure shane. stop him from doing something stupid. ]
Someone who actually gives a fuck about him! [ Shane snarls back, biting back the 'apparently the only one who does', but not by much. He's acting on pure adrenaline and worry and anger when he knocks the asshole's hand off his shirt, rising up to meet him, to put himself properly between Larus and his coach, eyes blazing. This man can touch Larus again over Shane's dead fucking body. Larus is--
--Larus is one of the best fucking people Shane knows; both inside and outside their still undefined relationship and watching this man punish him for nothing more than daring to have a life that's slightly outside of skating is the most sickening thing Shane's had to endure.
There's the dedication to your sport required of elite athletes and then there's fucking torture. He's seen enough to know where this falls. When the man moves again, trying to get around him, Shane's arm snaps out, grab him and pushing him back. He doesn't fight, not really, one notable exception aside, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to throw a punch and it certainly doesn't mean he's not two hundred pounds of solid muscle with knuckles that are currently itching to do more than just grapple a little.
--he's so keyed up, so zoned in to the threat that he doesn't even notice that Larus has climbed back to his skates until the man is suddenly stumbling into him, holding onto his arm, squeezing him, hands tight and Shane's heart leaps into his throat, pounding there as he does what he can to shield the man with his body, his other arm coming around to stabilize him at the waist ]
No. [ the word is rumbled but sharp despite it. This isn't up for negotiation ] You need a medic.
[ He can't think of a single fight more worth it than this one. His eyes flick to the coach again, but he doesn't let Larus go ] You getting the medic or should I?
[ there's that single moment between shane's words and that visceral, unspoken threat when sun looks at him. stares right at him. and he doesn't even have to say anything for larus to know that he knows.
he knows this is who larus disappeared to see. he knows that larus had been putting himself purposely through it training because of him. because of shane.
as much as he wants shane's touch to be comforting – and some of it is, helping to ease the stabbing ache in his chest – it also feels incredibly heavy, holding his breath as sun falls deathly silently and moves away to send for someone to look him over. it allows them a brief respite, his fingers curling into the fabric of shane's clothes and forcing himself to remain upright as he tests his injured leg and breathes through the pain. not broken, he thinks. luckily. ]
I have to sit, [ he tells him, urging them both into some kind of action that isn't leaning together like they're the only ones on the ice. ] Over there.
[ they're not far from the few benches that litter the outside of the rink, and despite how he feels, he has to allow shane more control on maneuvering them, so close to passing out again from the strain on his body that holding himself up is too much of a task. his breath of relief when he sinks down is a stutter, aware of the pain in his ribs, his lower limbs, and though they're not alone, larus doesn't let go of shane. if anything, he holds tighter to him so he's forced to sit next to him. ]
That was stupid. [ but he isn't chastising him about it. not really. ]
[ Sun stares at Larus and if Shane had hackles, they'd be fully raised. He very nearly bares his teeth in a challenge, daring the man to say something and give him an excuse, any excuse. It's not until he turns and walks away to presumably get a medic that Shane's shoulder lose a touch of their tension.
The rest of it still thrums through him, sparking along his nerves, but the immediate danger has passed. He fights the urge to completely lift Larus into his arms and carry him to the side of the rink--he's pretty sure he could do it, even with the slick surface under his feet, and the fact thay they're almost of the same height. Larus is built for grace and poetry, after all, and Shane is built to stop bodies. He will stop anyone who comes to hurt this man, that much he's sure of.
Shane settles down next to Larus, carefully, hands back to hovering over him, trying to check his wounds without adding any more pain his way ]
No it wasn't [ He argues back, because--okay, well, yes. Maybe it was a little stupid, and more than a little dramatic, now that the initial fear and reaction is wearing off, but. He doesn't regret it. His hands end up brushing over Larus' collarbone, fingers brushing over a cheek before he seems to remember they are in some version of public, even if it is more discreet. His eyes, when they meet the other man's, are wide with so much worry it seems to spill out of him ]
Has it been like that since you left Montreal? [ it's the only thing he risks asking because if he got answers to the others: 'how much weight have you lost?', 'have you slept at all?', 'is he always like that' he might actually commit murder right here on the ice and ruin both of their careers and lives in the process ]
[ with most of the weight off, he can almost breathe again. the pain is beginning to solidify now, trying to tell his brain exactly where it hurts, but all he can seem to think about is how close shane is, the lightest touch of his fingers before he realizes they're not alone. has it been so long that he's already forgotten what he feels like? would it be so bad if he turned his face and kissed him? it's difficult to resist wanting to press forward and do just that, but he does, only allowing himself the slightest bit of comfort by resting his head against shane's shoulder.
no one would question that. not after the fall he took. ]
It's always like that, [ he answers slowly, keeping his eyes open to resist the urge to sleep. ] It's nothing I can't handle.
[ usually, he fails to add. but there's not much time to actually explain more than that, not when one of the facility's medical team is fast approaching—his coach nowhere in sight. it almost makes it easier then, a routine he's been through before as professional hands skirt over him.
they clean his knee and wrap it snugly, manually moving the joint and testing the ankle. despite larus' silent hiss of pain, they confirm what he already suspects: nothing broken, most likely sprained. ice and rest. the story of his life. they take more care with his head, the penlight in his eyes bright and drawing his gaze with a finger before informing him there's the possibility of a mild concussion from the impact. instructions follow, more to shane than larus, and it's all over so quickly that he almost thinks he imagined it. but the solid weight of the man next to him reassures him that he did not; the splitting ache throbbing all the way through him screams that it's real.
he leans against him, dazed and cold, and it's another second or two before he's aware that his clothes are also wet from prolonged exposure to the ice. ]
Where are you staying? [ he asks after a moment, knowing they should talk but not willing to return to his room and never hear the end of his own mistakes. ] I want to be with you right now.
[ The words make Shane want to scream. They make him wish he'd actually thrown the punch he was itching to. They crawl into his brain and under his defenses and sit there, rotting, just behind his ribcage, pulsing with the beat of his heart. It's always like that. It's always like that. It's always like that.
Shane's had his share of bad coaches. Had his share of old school coaches, even. Coaches who thought bag skates until people were throwing up on the ice were a good way to atone for a loss or others who would cuss out players who missed a pass until they cried and then mocked them for breaking down. Theriault is tough on his team, sure, and would rather bench Shane than know he's gay--but even he wouldn't push someone to perform on an injury. Even he knows that breaking someone permanently isn't the way to make them better.
He wants to tell Larus that he shouldn't have to handle it. He wants to tell him how wrong it is, how fucked up and absurd it is that his coach, the person who's supposed to support him, look after him and make him better is the one who is trying to injure him. He wants to tell him that he'll never have to go through something like that again.
He doesn't say any of it, and instead just--stays. Hovering. Listening to the medical advice, holding him as they check over his wounds, wrap his knee, check his concussion. He keeps his mouth shut and tries to be a solid presence at Larus' side; stalwart, steady, resolute. He does, at least, resolve not to let Larus' coach anywhere near him for the time being.
Larus shivers and Shane reaches out a hand to wrap around him, tucking his freezing form against Shane's overheated one. From a distance, it likely just looks like one friend trying to keep the other warm against the cold air--Shane finds he doesn't actually care what other people see ]
I've got a hotel room [ It works, because he doesn't want Larus out of his sight. He stands, carefully, and offers a hand ] Let me help you? At least until we get to my rental car.
[ it's about loyalty, he wants to tell him—if he knew the kinds of thoughts shane had about his coach. but it's also about something more than that, something he can't even explain, and it's not as if larus doesn't know it's wrong. it's not conducive to longevity, to a good career that lasts until he decides it's enough. he knows he shouldn't let sun push him until he's sick or hurting or half-asleep on his feet.
it's just complicated.
reaching out for shane feels easier than that, bracing himself as he grips his hand and hauls himself up. vertigo immediately slams into him, gritting his teeth to stop himself from swaying. ] Locker room first? I want out of these skates. [ his voice is steady enough, at least. and walking isn't terribly difficult as long as he leans on shane for support, his breathing shockingly even as they move.
but his thoughts fade into a surreal fuzziness after that, the trip inside an almost automatic repetitiveness to the way he slips on the guards for his skates and begins to unlace them. the throb in his ankle sobers him enough to assist in shoving them into his designated locker – he could really care less about them after that – and dragging a bag out of it with some of his personal items in it. all of it is a routine he's clearly done before, acknowledging shane's presence even more heavily once his shoes are on, and whether or not they're alone, he can't tell.
it doesn't stop him from leaning into him, his forehead resting against his shoulder. now's not the time for the things he wants to say but — ]
I'm sorry. [ he hadn't wanted this to be the kind of reunion they'd have after months apart. ]
What are you apologizing for? [ He doesn't mean for his voice to be as sharp as it comes out, the edges of it still carrying the sharp cuts of worry, of fear. He swallows, pressing his cheek agains the top of Larus' head, before turning it slightly to press a kiss against the top of his hair.
His arms come up, emboldened by the empty locker room and wrap around Larus, one across his shoulders, one around his waist. Tucking him close. Safe. Where Shane can keep an eye on him. It'd been a quiet enough walk there, but the entire time his shoulders had been tense, senses trained for the unexpected; bracing for the reappearance of Sun, ready to re-engage if needed. But now it's just the two of them and the familiar smell of a room that they'd spent too much time in almost a decade ago.
It would be here, that they meet again.
He knows something about loyalty--knows something about chasing a dream that doesn't chase you back, about chasing a boy who you weren't sure you'd ever see again. ] None of this was your fault, Larus. You didn't do anything wrong.
[ he bites down on the useless words that try to bubble to the surface, dizzy and aching and wanting to the point it makes him nauseous. this is something he isn't sure he deserves, wonders how he'd earned the affections and care of someone as wonderful as shane. why the world had decided to be cruel and offer him a sliver of happiness before pulling it out from under him.
larus holds onto him for a long moment, unsure if his eyes hurt from the hit he took to the head or because he wants to cry. he's tired, and he doesn't have the strength to resist much of anything right now. ]
I don't know. [ because he doesn't. nothing makes sense anymore. ] I didn't want to spend my time with you like this. [ couldn't it just be as it had been in montreal? slow to draw back, he looks at him and tries to keep the frown off his face. ] It wasn't going to be enough, and I'm already wasting it.
You're not wasting it [ Shane argues back, meeting those bright blue eyes he loves so desperately to get lost in and reaching up to run a single finger softly across his bottom lip, across his cheek, down the bridge of his nose. His heart aches for this man, for the way he's hurting, how he holds his body so carefully to try and compensate for the ankle, for the ribs, for his head. It huts to see him look so lost, to see the way he holds on to him like he might actually vanish if he lets go. Shane wants to assure him, wants to promise that he's not going anywhere, not alone, and that he's going to stay as long as Larus wants him.
But they both know the time is finite and there will come a moment when Shane is called back--
--but the the moment isn't now. It isn't yet.
Shane wants a thousand things, standing in the locker room where he first shared space with this man. He wants to take his pain away, he wants to hold him, he wants to say so much it nearly slips out of him. His arms tuck Larus just a bit closer, and he leans forward to kiss him, just once, surprisingly chaste given their normal but perhaps incredibly bold given the unlocked door behind them ]
Come'n, mi-loup [ The french endearment slips out unbidden, and though it makes Shane's cheeks pink when he hears it, he doesn't retract it. ] Let's go to the hotel? We can lay down. Rest some?
[ as if he would have to drag larus anywhere after that. the tenderness threatens to unravel him, only managing the slightest of nods in response—the lightest press of his nose against the curve of shane's cheek to reciprocate the fleeting graze of his mouth to his.
they shouldn't be doing this where anyone could walk in on them. where his coach might find him and try to drag him away.
but luckily, their walk to shane's rental is unimpeded. slow but thankfully without drama. it's a testament to larus' own resolve that he doesn't immediately fall asleep once he's in the car, thoughts on anything but what's happened and gaze soaking up the shape of shane beside him behind the wheel. the expression on his face, the fall of his hair, how his fingers flex and then loosen with whatever he's thinking about. larus is slow to reach out to him, almost lost in a fog of fading adrenaline and pain, and his fingers lightly hook into his clothes.
just to touch. just to know he's there. ]
How long are you staying? [ he means to train but doesn't clarify. he's wondering how much time they actually have together. ]
[ it's a boring rental; sensible, good on the snow, and he makes sure to tuck Larus into the passenger seat before he slips into the driver's side and pulls out of the parking lot. His hand reaches out, sliding down to wrap over his touch, not pulling him away but tucking him closer in. It's all he'll allow himself as he drives, focusing on the road, but he wants to run his fingers through Larus' hair, over his shoulders, over every part of him.
He twists his head at the question, offering a tight smile before looking back at the road. Shane will not get them into an accident just because he doesn't want to look away.
It's a tricky question.
On the one hand, he should be flying back to Montreal tomorrow. He's got training for the rest of the week before they fly south for a series. On the other; he's not leaving Larus with nothing but his coach until he's at least sure the man doesn't have a concussion. That he's not going to be punished for needing to rest. If he stays, maybe he can convince Larus to sleep, to get something like real food in his body, to actually do some of the recovery that the rink's medical team recommended.
He makes a decision. Pivots things in his mind, starts realigning his life to the newly forming plan. ]
Tuesday, unless I can move some things around. [ forty-eight hours, give or take. He can at least earn them that ]
[ larus tries to piece together when tuesday is. how far from now it is. two days? three?
he's quiet for a while as he thinks, attention turned towards the road before settling on shane and not straying far. most of the time, shane is relatively easy to read. it's in his face, his eyes especially, and it translates to the rest of him without complication. a brief glance at his hands on the steering wheel, the line of his shoulders... he must be too tired to really see it, sagging back into the seat and finally closing his eyes. whatever he might be thinking, larus will drag it out of him eventually. ]
Don't do that if it makes things harder for you. [ he should be used to this by now. a fleeting handful of hours, enough time to blink and watch it disappear. ] Right now is enough if –
[ he looks at him again, expression clearing despite the dull throb crawling across the back of his head. ]
I'm not sleeping unless you're sleeping. [ he's stubborn. sorry, shane. ] I want to be with you while I'm awake. [ anything else doesn't matter as long as he can remember it. ]
[ Shane lets out a low 'hmm' of acknowledgment - he hears you, Larus, but he's not going to change his mind. Especially if you're not planning on sleeping if he isn't. His forehead pinches in a scowl, and he tosses the look toward the other man and immediately regrets it when he gets a full look at him again ]
You're going to rest. [ He argues back, and there is not a lot of room for argument there--not that he thinks it'll stop Larus, but at least he tries. His hand reaches out again, sliding down to squeeze, fondly, on the knee he didn't hit on the ice ] I'll sleep too, I promise. And it's not making things harder--
[ It is, but isn't that the whole reason he has a manager? To--make space for the things that he needs to make space for? ] --and even if it was, you're worth a little hardship.
[ He's worth a lot more than a little hardship, but Shane's not sure he's quite ready to show all of those cards just yet; though maybe it was pretty obvious when he all but carried Larus off the ice, or maybe even before when he screamed at his coach for letting him get hurt. Maybe that's the only benefit to the concussion--Larus might not remember quite as much of Shane making an idiot of himself. Except, of course, that he'd do it all again, exactly the same way, if the situation presented itself. Maybe not the same way; he probably should have said something sooner, when he first noticed how tired the other man looked, the dark circles under his eyes as he pushed past exhaustion. Maybe if Shane had said something he wouldn't have gotten hurt--
--it doesn't matter. Shane has him now, and he's not getting hurt any more tonight.
Soon enough they're pulling into the small hotel parking lot and Shane puts the car into park, looking Larus' way ] Two days, okay? It's not long enough for you to heal all the way, but at least you can get some rest?
[ and if they're lucky, the hotel is anonymous enough Larus' coach won't be able to find them before time runs out ]
[ what's the point of arguing right now? his thoughts are scattered, bleeding in and out between the scenery of the drive and shane's voice—not quite the sharp edge it had taken with sun but still there. still present. if larus pressed the issue or resisted, it would turn into a fight, and he's not in any position to defend his fucked up sense of loyalty. especially not to this person who obviously cares so much about him. and so, he tries to let it go. he tries to think of anything else that isn't the way he'd hit the ice, how sun had already been so close to screaming at him to get up and go. push, push, push. the threatening cut of shane's words in the middle of it all. but the only thing he can seem to focus on is the man sitting next to him, intent on taking care of him and rearranging his life to do it.
it's hard to give up that kind of control when he isn't used to it.
with the car in park, larus shifts a bit more upright in his seat and reaches out to take shane's hand. their fingers slot together so easily, the contact comforting, and the look he gives him is a mix of dazed gratitude and soft defiance. ]
Two days. [ quiet agreement, squeezing him gently like it'll help settle the unspoken tension between them. ] I'm done anyway. I can't skate like this. [ as much as he loves his own dedication to the sport, he's aware of his limitations, and pushing it on such an injury would only risk a longer recovery period. that, and he isn't going to listen to his coach berate him for the next month because he can't keep up with the schedule. ] I only wanted to be here because I knew you were.
[ which means he'd voluntarily elected to add even more training on top of what he's already been doing. but small details. ]
But I'll have to stay with you. Otherwise, my coach might kill us both. [ the tease doesn't quite land despite larus' careful smile, believing it might actually be true. ]
[ 'I only wanted to be here because I knew you were'. The words punch at Shane's gut and he winces. Fuck. Does it make it better that the reverse is true too? That he's only here because he heard Larus would be? That he's stayed past his training camp time for a chance at stolen moments? Does it absolve him of some of the guilt of being the reason Larus was in the place where he got injured?
He doesn't know, exactly. And because he doesn't know, he goes for the easiest of the answers, the one that's fallen flat between them but the one that doesn't have the edge of tension wrapped around it.
It's not that he avoids a fight, not usually, it's just that he doesn't want to fight Larus. Not now, not when they're like this.]
Of course you're staying with me [ He agrees, and he tries to bite back the comment about his coach, but doesn't quite manage, letting out a quiet: ] I'd like to see him try.
[ His lips thin as he says it, jaw tight, looking out the front windshield of his car, fingers wrapping tight around the steering wheel. His shoulders hitch up, just slightly, and he has to drag in a breath, slow and steady, to have them tick back down again ] Sorry.
[ He puffs it out, pushing open the door and slipping out of the car. He's not sorry about the statement. That's true. He does dare Sun to try because he will throw the punch he didn't at the rink, but he's sorry for tugging that out here, now, in the space between them when Larus is injured. He makes his way around the front, opening Larus' door and offering him a hand to get out ]
[ it seems so blatantly obvious from that reaction that shane doesn't like his coach. he'd known, in some way, that it might have been a problem. occasionally, shane would tell him about his team, some of the players specifically, his own coach, but larus would never volunteer information about sun or the rest of his training team. sometimes, if he felt particularly chatty, he'd gossip about some of the other skaters, but it always ended there. and that probably should have spoken to his relationship with the man, to his ideals about skating, but larus had never considered it in those terms.
now, watching shane, he feels... strange. unbalanced. terrified.
larus digs his fingernails into his palm to keep from reaching for him.
instead, he forces himself to focus on the things he can control: his pain, the way he breathes, the slight smile he gives shane when he gets to the other side of the car. larus reaches for his bag and shane's hand at the same time, swallowing the discomfort and using him as leverage to get out and onto his feet. the sooner they get to his room, the sooner he can properly wrap himself around him. ]
Lead the way. [ spoken like he's brave enough to admit countless other things swimming around in his head. the cool air, at least, helps. ] You know...
[ larus does what he can to walk on his own all the way inside and into the elevator, though he still leans heavily against shane. it's a cute place, small enough to be intimate but still offering what larger chains might, and it probably isn't good that whatever he'd wanted to say slips away into the fog of his brain as soon as they're on shane's floor. ]
You're not sharing a room with anyone this time? [ is what he manages instead, trying to tease him. to lighten the heaviness of the mood that continues to build between them. ]
[ If it helps, it's not actually Larus' coach that Shane doesn't like, it's the way he treats him. Maybe he's a very nice man when someone gets past the whole vaguely-torturing-the-skater-in-his-care part of his personality, it's just that that skater happens to be the most important person in Shane's life right now and he doesn't take kindly to the idea that Larus has been pushed so far in his training that he's injuring himself.
He just--
--Larus is the best figure skater Shane has ever seen. He wants Larus to know that. He wants him to understand that he doesn't have to kill himself to reach some unattainable goal because he's already reached it. He's already breathtaking. He's already done more for his coach and his team and his country than most people manage to do in a lifetime. He brought home a goddamn medal.
But if he spends too long focusing on that he knows the anger is going to read wrong, like it's directed at Larus and not at the person who doesn't seem to appreciate him, so he bites it back, shoves it down, so that by the time he's holding most of Larus' weight and trying to steal his bag--who do you think he is? someone who's going to let you carry that?--he's got it tucked away for now.
He lets out a huff of something that might be close to a laugh if someone is keeping track, and leans forward in the quiet privacy of an empty hallway to press a kiss to the side of Larus' forehead. One, brief, a brush of lips more than anything else, but there. ]
Well, I decided to share with this figure skater I know [ he leans into the tease, trying to break down that tension with his bare hands ] Maybe you've met him? He's gorgeous, bright eyes, lips to die for. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen on skates--not much of a hockey player though, unfortunately.
[ They make it the half a hallway and Shane pauses in front of his door, fishing out his keycard and swiping it open before tugging the other man in ] I'll have to ask him if he's okay with us having company.
Edited (playuer? wtf this isn't france) 2026-03-11 01:15 (UTC)
[ the kiss itself is not enough. it isn't a tease, soothing the complicated twist of thoughts trying to choke him, but the comfort it offers is fleeting, pulling at larus' expression in a strange way. maybe it would be too hard to explain. maybe he wishes some things were different, that he could see shane more than their sporadic affairs spread out over the past year.
because how can he tell him he misses him when he's standing right there within arm's reach?
all he does is hum quietly in response, his smile a little warmer. ] Have you asked him if he plays hockey? Or are you just assuming he can't?
[ it's ridiculous, really. the efforts they go to so there's a softly constructed peace between them, but larus likes it too much to complain, automatically latching the lock behind him as soon as they're both inside the room. it's like any other borrowed space, generically decorated with bits and pieces of shane in random places. larus only focuses on the man still holding onto him, moving in closer and pushing the bag he'd taken from him to the ground so he can finally, finally slip his arms around him and hold him close.
he's warm and solid. so solid. and that's almost enough to make him forget the pain, the uncomfortable blur that's trying to settle behind his eyes—even when he closes them. ]
I think he's fine with it, [ he continues, resting his forehead against shane's shoulder. ] As long as you promise not to go anywhere.
[ which might or might not be the mild concussion talking now, convinced that shane could just as easily disappear if he let him go. it's why he tangles his hands in his shirt, clutching hard at the material rather than shane himself, and he almost forgets how much his leg is killing him before he puts more weight on it to press closer and hisses under his breath. his ankle throbs in tandem, and it's like his entire body is out to get him. ]
Shower? [ the question is soft, reality bleeding back in. ] I should probably ice my knee.
[ Despite everything, the question pulls him up short and he can't help but look down at Larus even as he holds him close, arms tucked tight around the other man to prove he's not planning on going anywhere at all. ] Have you been holding out on me?
[ He teases, voice so achingly fond it almost makes his own teeth hurt, but he finds he can't speak to this man in any other way ] Are you secretly actually really good at hockey and the figure skating's been a front all these years?
[ Shane's hand comes up and cards through his hair so fucking gently, and he presses another kiss, this one lingering, against the crown of his head. Fuck but he wants to scoop Larus into his arms and hold him there until he heals completely, tucked tight against his chest where no one can harm him again. It's irrational, it's probably discarding the strong, capable person Larus is, but Shane just--
--he hates that he's hurting. He wants to take it away. But then Larus mentions the ache and fuck, fuck, yeah. They need to get him prone and tucked into bed ]
I actually--think this place has a pretty nice tub. Bath?
[ It'll keep Larus from having to stand on his knee and ankle, and give Shane a chance to get ice and make the phone calls he needs to for his schedule change ]
[ it's illogical how easily he could get lost in this, swept up in shane's words and the weight of his embrace, forget the outside world for the rest of his life, and larus can't even blame his concussion for it.
unable to resist, he laughs and jars something in his chest and up along his neck. falling had really done a number on him. ]
Maybe if I thought your type was other hockey players. [ larus mumbles it as shane pushes his fingers into his hair, the warmth of his mouth reassuring where it lands. without missing a beat, he tips his face against his and kisses him. a connection of lips and the deepest craving, parting from it with only the slightest nod. ] I can handle a bath.
[ it sounds divine, actually, but it's second place to the way larus leans back into shane's personal space and continues hugging him. the pain is starting to settle now, less sharp and more a continuous, dull ache, and mixed with the rush of the past hour, he can't figure out how to process any of it. what's worse is the pressure building behind his eyes, like he's suddenly going to cry; biting it down, he simply holds onto shane even tighter.
how is this any better than ignoring each other? it's almost worse now that he needs this to breathe. to function. ]
I missed you, [ he whispers under his breath, like a prayer. ] It was so hard to see you and not go to you.
I missed you too [ He whispers back, tilting his head down and kissing Larus again because he can't hear those things and not kiss him. ] I wanted to kiss you right there on the ice in front of everyone. Watching you skate, before you fell--you know how gorgeous you are, right?
[ He doesn't think he's kept it a secret, but since the first moment he saw Larus land a jump at that stupid training center all those years ago, he's been fucking mesmerized by him and the way he interacts with the ice. It's so different from what Shane does, a dance rather than a battle, a poetry between the two of them instead of a war. It never ceases to take his breath away.
But this won't do. Shane is still standing which means that Larus is still standing and he needs to get off his feet. He tilts his head, thinks about the situation and then does it, without much preamble. His arm comes down under Larus' good knee and around his shoulders and he lifts, pulling the man up bridal-style before walking him toward the bathroom ]
Counter or toilet? Which one do you think would hurt less while I fill up the tub?
[ the tension trying to pull him apart eases with those words, gripping him tighter and gently shaking his head against him as if to say only you would think that. because he would, wouldn't he? no one's ever used those exact words to describe the way he skates. skillful, artistic, textbook precision—those are the things people have said about him. not beautiful or gorgeous or kissable.
and he's in the middle of debating whether or not to kiss shane again when they're moving, when he's being lifted. for a moment, the abruptness of it makes him dizzy. then, the protest follows. ]
I can walk. [ but it's hardly an argument, a little dazed by how easily shane had just hefted him into his arms. which has absolutely nothing to do with his head injury and everything to do with the fact he's strong. larus might be leaner, but he isn't light by any means. and then, an echo of an answer, ] Counter. It'll be easier to get down from that.
[ rather than push up, put strain on his thigh when he inevitably has to stand again. it'll be good to put more weight on it too, though only after the heat of the bath and the ice—routine, repetition. these are things he's had to do before, and it isn't unfamiliar to him. what's new is shane being there, hovering and helping, and before he can pull away to begin filling the tub, larus tugs at his shirt from his perch on the counter. draws him back in. ]
Just a little longer, [ he breathes it into his chest, desperate for the contact. to fill that space with all the things he doesn't have words for. ] Please.
Mmmhmm [ Shane agrees with a hum as he keeps Larus tucked against his chest. Because yes, obviously, he walked this far--though if Shane thought he could have sustained carrying him for as long as it took to get them to the room and if he thought it wouldn't draw every single cell phone in the entire hotel from every guest they passed, he might have carried him then as well--but he can do this, now. Larus isn't light--they're about the same height and both of them built on corded muscle, but he is leaner than Shane, and that difference helps, just a bit.
He is impossibly careful as he settles the man against the counter, slipping between his legs once he's got him settled, hands running over him as if double checking for new injuries. As if the fifteen feet he was lifted might have wounded him anew. None found, Shane's mind starts flitting through the steps of the plan: bath, ice, elevation, getting Larus prone again, rest. He has every intent of beginning when--
That tug on his shirt--the quiet one, insistent and heartbreaking--stops him cold. He nods, leaning forward, wrapping wide arms around Larus' shoulder, tucking him close and burying his face against his hair. His hands spread wide, one along the line of his neck, the other against his lower back, trying to cover as much of him as he can in the moment ]
Hey. It's okay-- [ the words are quiet, spilling out in hushed assurance against Larus' hair, against his skin, whispered between them ] I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you, Sweetheart.
[ endearments don't come naturally to him, and he expects it to feel unwieldy in his mouth, but it slips out soft and gentle like the rest of it, at home in this quiet place ] I promise.
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It shouldn't feel like an eternity. It's two months. Before the Olympics, before Montreal, he'd gone longer between a text than two months, but now? Now he finds he can't--he hates it. He hates the space between them. The distance that's created simply by geography and grueling schedules and time changes and games and practice. And he hates it more when he's organizing his gear and finds the note slipped in a side pocket in a tidy hand he would recognize like his own. The quiet explanations of 'expected consequences' and 'increased training' and Shane's heart feels like maybe it's breaking into pieces he can't quite put back together.
It's not the first ember in the fire of his hatred for Larus' training team, but it is the brightest one yet.
Even if he wasn't already planning on spending time conditioning at the rink Larus mentioned, he'd find a way to get there. In fact, his training has been over for a day by the time he's standing outside a rink dreaming about kissing a boy that's he's currently watching wear himself away into nothing. The embers have caught and there's a warm lick of anger that's keeping him plenty warm.
It's a blaze by the time he sees Larus fall. He can tell what's going to happen almost before it does; years of watching skaters catch ice just wrong, years of bad hits, it's a shaky breath before the impact and then he sees that body crumple and Larus may black out, but so does Shane. He's moving before he even realizes it's happening. ]
Back the fuck off. [ It's his Captain voice. Not the polite, quiet, unassuming Canadian boy who gives interviews and talks at length to reporters at any request. Not the soft, warm voice that very few people get to hear. Not even the polished, slick voice he saves for commercials and media appearances. No; it's the Montreal Metros Captain voice - the one that rallies a team to a Stanley Cup victory. The one that doesn't leave room for argument or negotiation. The one that takes control on the ice and makes him seem like so much more than his twenty four years and all of it is trained on Larus' fucking coach. He doesn't yell, but he doesn't leave any room to shy away from the instruction.
Shane doesn't shove him, not yet, but he does slip between them on the ice, this man and Larus, his hands coming down to settle at Larus' shoulders, keeping him prone before they hover, nervously, over his legs, over that knee that's bleeding sluggishly under a torn legging, over his ankle. Fuck, he looks so fucking small Shane wants to scream with it.
There are bags under his eyes, and Shane swears every bone in his body is more prevalent than it was two months ago; and he doesn't know if it's from not eating enough or training to much but it makes his stomach twist and only adds fuel to the dark fire that's boiling up inside him. It's a feral thing and Shane is not as slowly being consumed by it ] Back off.
[ Like he has any authority here--except, well, maybe he does? ]
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that's the first thought that filters into his brain when larus actually remembers he can open his eyes. the flare of discomfort aches through every part of him, but it's mostly centered on his knee, which had taken the brunt of his weight after turning his ankle. and he lays there on the ice, letting the cold soak through his thin clothes as he tries to do something. push up, keep going. don't give anyone an excuse to yell at him for screwing up a move he could do in his sleep. he doesn't move until the unconscious presence of someone hovering over him is there, and almost immediately, larus can tell it isn't sun.
is shane yelling? is sun —
"Who the fuck are you?", his coach asks. he can't tell what shane says in response.
that's when he squints through his own blurred vision to watch sun grab shane by the back of his shirt and try to drag him away. he watches them nearly get into an altercation, aware of the tension snapping across shane's shoulders, and larus bites down on his lip to quiet the pained noise that escapes him when he pushes himself up. ]
Stop. [ the word chokes out of him. ] Don't –
[ but neither of them are listening to him, drawing more attention towards them than necessary, and larus rolls over, putting weight on the less wrecked side of his body to attempt getting back on his feet. he wobbles, shaking with adrenaline and agony and exhaustion, the pressure of even attempting to skate stealing his breath enough to cause him to stumble forward. he grabs onto the nearest thing to him, searching for some kind of balance, and when he focuses again, he's holding onto shane's arm.
larus purposely avoids sun's gaze, squeezing as hard as he can manage in some attempt to reassure shane. stop him from doing something stupid. ]
Just stop, Shane. Let it go.
[ this isn't worth the fight. ]
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--Larus is one of the best fucking people Shane knows; both inside and outside their still undefined relationship and watching this man punish him for nothing more than daring to have a life that's slightly outside of skating is the most sickening thing Shane's had to endure.
There's the dedication to your sport required of elite athletes and then there's fucking torture. He's seen enough to know where this falls. When the man moves again, trying to get around him, Shane's arm snaps out, grab him and pushing him back. He doesn't fight, not really, one notable exception aside, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to throw a punch and it certainly doesn't mean he's not two hundred pounds of solid muscle with knuckles that are currently itching to do more than just grapple a little.
--he's so keyed up, so zoned in to the threat that he doesn't even notice that Larus has climbed back to his skates until the man is suddenly stumbling into him, holding onto his arm, squeezing him, hands tight and Shane's heart leaps into his throat, pounding there as he does what he can to shield the man with his body, his other arm coming around to stabilize him at the waist ]
No. [ the word is rumbled but sharp despite it. This isn't up for negotiation ] You need a medic.
[ He can't think of a single fight more worth it than this one. His eyes flick to the coach again, but he doesn't let Larus go ] You getting the medic or should I?
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he knows this is who larus disappeared to see. he knows that larus had been putting himself purposely through it training because of him. because of shane.
as much as he wants shane's touch to be comforting – and some of it is, helping to ease the stabbing ache in his chest – it also feels incredibly heavy, holding his breath as sun falls deathly silently and moves away to send for someone to look him over. it allows them a brief respite, his fingers curling into the fabric of shane's clothes and forcing himself to remain upright as he tests his injured leg and breathes through the pain. not broken, he thinks. luckily. ]
I have to sit, [ he tells him, urging them both into some kind of action that isn't leaning together like they're the only ones on the ice. ] Over there.
[ they're not far from the few benches that litter the outside of the rink, and despite how he feels, he has to allow shane more control on maneuvering them, so close to passing out again from the strain on his body that holding himself up is too much of a task. his breath of relief when he sinks down is a stutter, aware of the pain in his ribs, his lower limbs, and though they're not alone, larus doesn't let go of shane. if anything, he holds tighter to him so he's forced to sit next to him. ]
That was stupid. [ but he isn't chastising him about it. not really. ]
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The rest of it still thrums through him, sparking along his nerves, but the immediate danger has passed. He fights the urge to completely lift Larus into his arms and carry him to the side of the rink--he's pretty sure he could do it, even with the slick surface under his feet, and the fact thay they're almost of the same height. Larus is built for grace and poetry, after all, and Shane is built to stop bodies. He will stop anyone who comes to hurt this man, that much he's sure of.
Shane settles down next to Larus, carefully, hands back to hovering over him, trying to check his wounds without adding any more pain his way ]
No it wasn't [ He argues back, because--okay, well, yes. Maybe it was a little stupid, and more than a little dramatic, now that the initial fear and reaction is wearing off, but. He doesn't regret it. His hands end up brushing over Larus' collarbone, fingers brushing over a cheek before he seems to remember they are in some version of public, even if it is more discreet. His eyes, when they meet the other man's, are wide with so much worry it seems to spill out of him ]
Has it been like that since you left Montreal? [ it's the only thing he risks asking because if he got answers to the others: 'how much weight have you lost?', 'have you slept at all?', 'is he always like that' he might actually commit murder right here on the ice and ruin both of their careers and lives in the process ]
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no one would question that. not after the fall he took. ]
It's always like that, [ he answers slowly, keeping his eyes open to resist the urge to sleep. ] It's nothing I can't handle.
[ usually, he fails to add. but there's not much time to actually explain more than that, not when one of the facility's medical team is fast approaching—his coach nowhere in sight. it almost makes it easier then, a routine he's been through before as professional hands skirt over him.
they clean his knee and wrap it snugly, manually moving the joint and testing the ankle. despite larus' silent hiss of pain, they confirm what he already suspects: nothing broken, most likely sprained. ice and rest. the story of his life. they take more care with his head, the penlight in his eyes bright and drawing his gaze with a finger before informing him there's the possibility of a mild concussion from the impact. instructions follow, more to shane than larus, and it's all over so quickly that he almost thinks he imagined it. but the solid weight of the man next to him reassures him that he did not; the splitting ache throbbing all the way through him screams that it's real.
he leans against him, dazed and cold, and it's another second or two before he's aware that his clothes are also wet from prolonged exposure to the ice. ]
Where are you staying? [ he asks after a moment, knowing they should talk but not willing to return to his room and never hear the end of his own mistakes. ] I want to be with you right now.
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Shane's had his share of bad coaches. Had his share of old school coaches, even. Coaches who thought bag skates until people were throwing up on the ice were a good way to atone for a loss or others who would cuss out players who missed a pass until they cried and then mocked them for breaking down. Theriault is tough on his team, sure, and would rather bench Shane than know he's gay--but even he wouldn't push someone to perform on an injury. Even he knows that breaking someone permanently isn't the way to make them better.
He wants to tell Larus that he shouldn't have to handle it. He wants to tell him how wrong it is, how fucked up and absurd it is that his coach, the person who's supposed to support him, look after him and make him better is the one who is trying to injure him. He wants to tell him that he'll never have to go through something like that again.
He doesn't say any of it, and instead just--stays. Hovering. Listening to the medical advice, holding him as they check over his wounds, wrap his knee, check his concussion. He keeps his mouth shut and tries to be a solid presence at Larus' side; stalwart, steady, resolute. He does, at least, resolve not to let Larus' coach anywhere near him for the time being.
Larus shivers and Shane reaches out a hand to wrap around him, tucking his freezing form against Shane's overheated one. From a distance, it likely just looks like one friend trying to keep the other warm against the cold air--Shane finds he doesn't actually care what other people see ]
I've got a hotel room [ It works, because he doesn't want Larus out of his sight. He stands, carefully, and offers a hand ] Let me help you? At least until we get to my rental car.
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it's just complicated.
reaching out for shane feels easier than that, bracing himself as he grips his hand and hauls himself up. vertigo immediately slams into him, gritting his teeth to stop himself from swaying. ] Locker room first? I want out of these skates. [ his voice is steady enough, at least. and walking isn't terribly difficult as long as he leans on shane for support, his breathing shockingly even as they move.
but his thoughts fade into a surreal fuzziness after that, the trip inside an almost automatic repetitiveness to the way he slips on the guards for his skates and begins to unlace them. the throb in his ankle sobers him enough to assist in shoving them into his designated locker – he could really care less about them after that – and dragging a bag out of it with some of his personal items in it. all of it is a routine he's clearly done before, acknowledging shane's presence even more heavily once his shoes are on, and whether or not they're alone, he can't tell.
it doesn't stop him from leaning into him, his forehead resting against his shoulder. now's not the time for the things he wants to say but — ]
I'm sorry. [ he hadn't wanted this to be the kind of reunion they'd have after months apart. ]
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His arms come up, emboldened by the empty locker room and wrap around Larus, one across his shoulders, one around his waist. Tucking him close. Safe. Where Shane can keep an eye on him. It'd been a quiet enough walk there, but the entire time his shoulders had been tense, senses trained for the unexpected; bracing for the reappearance of Sun, ready to re-engage if needed. But now it's just the two of them and the familiar smell of a room that they'd spent too much time in almost a decade ago.
It would be here, that they meet again.
He knows something about loyalty--knows something about chasing a dream that doesn't chase you back, about chasing a boy who you weren't sure you'd ever see again. ] None of this was your fault, Larus. You didn't do anything wrong.
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[ he bites down on the useless words that try to bubble to the surface, dizzy and aching and wanting to the point it makes him nauseous. this is something he isn't sure he deserves, wonders how he'd earned the affections and care of someone as wonderful as shane. why the world had decided to be cruel and offer him a sliver of happiness before pulling it out from under him.
larus holds onto him for a long moment, unsure if his eyes hurt from the hit he took to the head or because he wants to cry. he's tired, and he doesn't have the strength to resist much of anything right now. ]
I don't know. [ because he doesn't. nothing makes sense anymore. ] I didn't want to spend my time with you like this. [ couldn't it just be as it had been in montreal? slow to draw back, he looks at him and tries to keep the frown off his face. ] It wasn't going to be enough, and I'm already wasting it.
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But they both know the time is finite and there will come a moment when Shane is called back--
--but the the moment isn't now. It isn't yet.
Shane wants a thousand things, standing in the locker room where he first shared space with this man. He wants to take his pain away, he wants to hold him, he wants to say so much it nearly slips out of him. His arms tuck Larus just a bit closer, and he leans forward to kiss him, just once, surprisingly chaste given their normal but perhaps incredibly bold given the unlocked door behind them ]
Come'n, mi-loup [ The french endearment slips out unbidden, and though it makes Shane's cheeks pink when he hears it, he doesn't retract it. ] Let's go to the hotel? We can lay down. Rest some?
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they shouldn't be doing this where anyone could walk in on them. where his coach might find him and try to drag him away.
but luckily, their walk to shane's rental is unimpeded. slow but thankfully without drama. it's a testament to larus' own resolve that he doesn't immediately fall asleep once he's in the car, thoughts on anything but what's happened and gaze soaking up the shape of shane beside him behind the wheel. the expression on his face, the fall of his hair, how his fingers flex and then loosen with whatever he's thinking about. larus is slow to reach out to him, almost lost in a fog of fading adrenaline and pain, and his fingers lightly hook into his clothes.
just to touch. just to know he's there. ]
How long are you staying? [ he means to train but doesn't clarify. he's wondering how much time they actually have together. ]
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He twists his head at the question, offering a tight smile before looking back at the road. Shane will not get them into an accident just because he doesn't want to look away.
It's a tricky question.
On the one hand, he should be flying back to Montreal tomorrow. He's got training for the rest of the week before they fly south for a series. On the other; he's not leaving Larus with nothing but his coach until he's at least sure the man doesn't have a concussion. That he's not going to be punished for needing to rest. If he stays, maybe he can convince Larus to sleep, to get something like real food in his body, to actually do some of the recovery that the rink's medical team recommended.
He makes a decision. Pivots things in his mind, starts realigning his life to the newly forming plan. ]
Tuesday, unless I can move some things around. [ forty-eight hours, give or take. He can at least earn them that ]
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he's quiet for a while as he thinks, attention turned towards the road before settling on shane and not straying far. most of the time, shane is relatively easy to read. it's in his face, his eyes especially, and it translates to the rest of him without complication. a brief glance at his hands on the steering wheel, the line of his shoulders... he must be too tired to really see it, sagging back into the seat and finally closing his eyes. whatever he might be thinking, larus will drag it out of him eventually. ]
Don't do that if it makes things harder for you. [ he should be used to this by now. a fleeting handful of hours, enough time to blink and watch it disappear. ] Right now is enough if –
[ he looks at him again, expression clearing despite the dull throb crawling across the back of his head. ]
I'm not sleeping unless you're sleeping. [ he's stubborn. sorry, shane. ] I want to be with you while I'm awake. [ anything else doesn't matter as long as he can remember it. ]
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You're going to rest. [ He argues back, and there is not a lot of room for argument there--not that he thinks it'll stop Larus, but at least he tries. His hand reaches out again, sliding down to squeeze, fondly, on the knee he didn't hit on the ice ] I'll sleep too, I promise. And it's not making things harder--
[ It is, but isn't that the whole reason he has a manager? To--make space for the things that he needs to make space for? ] --and even if it was, you're worth a little hardship.
[ He's worth a lot more than a little hardship, but Shane's not sure he's quite ready to show all of those cards just yet; though maybe it was pretty obvious when he all but carried Larus off the ice, or maybe even before when he screamed at his coach for letting him get hurt. Maybe that's the only benefit to the concussion--Larus might not remember quite as much of Shane making an idiot of himself. Except, of course, that he'd do it all again, exactly the same way, if the situation presented itself. Maybe not the same way; he probably should have said something sooner, when he first noticed how tired the other man looked, the dark circles under his eyes as he pushed past exhaustion. Maybe if Shane had said something he wouldn't have gotten hurt--
--it doesn't matter. Shane has him now, and he's not getting hurt any more tonight.
Soon enough they're pulling into the small hotel parking lot and Shane puts the car into park, looking Larus' way ] Two days, okay? It's not long enough for you to heal all the way, but at least you can get some rest?
[ and if they're lucky, the hotel is anonymous enough Larus' coach won't be able to find them before time runs out ]
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it's hard to give up that kind of control when he isn't used to it.
with the car in park, larus shifts a bit more upright in his seat and reaches out to take shane's hand. their fingers slot together so easily, the contact comforting, and the look he gives him is a mix of dazed gratitude and soft defiance. ]
Two days. [ quiet agreement, squeezing him gently like it'll help settle the unspoken tension between them. ] I'm done anyway. I can't skate like this. [ as much as he loves his own dedication to the sport, he's aware of his limitations, and pushing it on such an injury would only risk a longer recovery period. that, and he isn't going to listen to his coach berate him for the next month because he can't keep up with the schedule. ] I only wanted to be here because I knew you were.
[ which means he'd voluntarily elected to add even more training on top of what he's already been doing. but small details. ]
But I'll have to stay with you. Otherwise, my coach might kill us both. [ the tease doesn't quite land despite larus' careful smile, believing it might actually be true. ]
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He doesn't know, exactly. And because he doesn't know, he goes for the easiest of the answers, the one that's fallen flat between them but the one that doesn't have the edge of tension wrapped around it.
It's not that he avoids a fight, not usually, it's just that he doesn't want to fight Larus. Not now, not when they're like this.]
Of course you're staying with me [ He agrees, and he tries to bite back the comment about his coach, but doesn't quite manage, letting out a quiet: ] I'd like to see him try.
[ His lips thin as he says it, jaw tight, looking out the front windshield of his car, fingers wrapping tight around the steering wheel. His shoulders hitch up, just slightly, and he has to drag in a breath, slow and steady, to have them tick back down again ] Sorry.
[ He puffs it out, pushing open the door and slipping out of the car. He's not sorry about the statement. That's true. He does dare Sun to try because he will throw the punch he didn't at the rink, but he's sorry for tugging that out here, now, in the space between them when Larus is injured. He makes his way around the front, opening Larus' door and offering him a hand to get out ]
Let me help?
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now, watching shane, he feels... strange. unbalanced. terrified.
larus digs his fingernails into his palm to keep from reaching for him.
instead, he forces himself to focus on the things he can control: his pain, the way he breathes, the slight smile he gives shane when he gets to the other side of the car. larus reaches for his bag and shane's hand at the same time, swallowing the discomfort and using him as leverage to get out and onto his feet. the sooner they get to his room, the sooner he can properly wrap himself around him. ]
Lead the way. [ spoken like he's brave enough to admit countless other things swimming around in his head. the cool air, at least, helps. ] You know...
[ larus does what he can to walk on his own all the way inside and into the elevator, though he still leans heavily against shane. it's a cute place, small enough to be intimate but still offering what larger chains might, and it probably isn't good that whatever he'd wanted to say slips away into the fog of his brain as soon as they're on shane's floor. ]
You're not sharing a room with anyone this time? [ is what he manages instead, trying to tease him. to lighten the heaviness of the mood that continues to build between them. ]
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He just--
--Larus is the best figure skater Shane has ever seen. He wants Larus to know that. He wants him to understand that he doesn't have to kill himself to reach some unattainable goal because he's already reached it. He's already breathtaking. He's already done more for his coach and his team and his country than most people manage to do in a lifetime. He brought home a goddamn medal.
But if he spends too long focusing on that he knows the anger is going to read wrong, like it's directed at Larus and not at the person who doesn't seem to appreciate him, so he bites it back, shoves it down, so that by the time he's holding most of Larus' weight and trying to steal his bag--who do you think he is? someone who's going to let you carry that?--he's got it tucked away for now.
He lets out a huff of something that might be close to a laugh if someone is keeping track, and leans forward in the quiet privacy of an empty hallway to press a kiss to the side of Larus' forehead. One, brief, a brush of lips more than anything else, but there. ]
Well, I decided to share with this figure skater I know [ he leans into the tease, trying to break down that tension with his bare hands ] Maybe you've met him? He's gorgeous, bright eyes, lips to die for. He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen on skates--not much of a hockey player though, unfortunately.
[ They make it the half a hallway and Shane pauses in front of his door, fishing out his keycard and swiping it open before tugging the other man in ] I'll have to ask him if he's okay with us having company.
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because how can he tell him he misses him when he's standing right there within arm's reach?
all he does is hum quietly in response, his smile a little warmer. ] Have you asked him if he plays hockey? Or are you just assuming he can't?
[ it's ridiculous, really. the efforts they go to so there's a softly constructed peace between them, but larus likes it too much to complain, automatically latching the lock behind him as soon as they're both inside the room. it's like any other borrowed space, generically decorated with bits and pieces of shane in random places. larus only focuses on the man still holding onto him, moving in closer and pushing the bag he'd taken from him to the ground so he can finally, finally slip his arms around him and hold him close.
he's warm and solid. so solid. and that's almost enough to make him forget the pain, the uncomfortable blur that's trying to settle behind his eyes—even when he closes them. ]
I think he's fine with it, [ he continues, resting his forehead against shane's shoulder. ] As long as you promise not to go anywhere.
[ which might or might not be the mild concussion talking now, convinced that shane could just as easily disappear if he let him go. it's why he tangles his hands in his shirt, clutching hard at the material rather than shane himself, and he almost forgets how much his leg is killing him before he puts more weight on it to press closer and hisses under his breath. his ankle throbs in tandem, and it's like his entire body is out to get him. ]
Shower? [ the question is soft, reality bleeding back in. ] I should probably ice my knee.
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[ He teases, voice so achingly fond it almost makes his own teeth hurt, but he finds he can't speak to this man in any other way ] Are you secretly actually really good at hockey and the figure skating's been a front all these years?
[ Shane's hand comes up and cards through his hair so fucking gently, and he presses another kiss, this one lingering, against the crown of his head. Fuck but he wants to scoop Larus into his arms and hold him there until he heals completely, tucked tight against his chest where no one can harm him again. It's irrational, it's probably discarding the strong, capable person Larus is, but Shane just--
--he hates that he's hurting. He wants to take it away. But then Larus mentions the ache and fuck, fuck, yeah. They need to get him prone and tucked into bed ]
I actually--think this place has a pretty nice tub. Bath?
[ It'll keep Larus from having to stand on his knee and ankle, and give Shane a chance to get ice and make the phone calls he needs to for his schedule change ]
I can get it started?
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unable to resist, he laughs and jars something in his chest and up along his neck. falling had really done a number on him. ]
Maybe if I thought your type was other hockey players. [ larus mumbles it as shane pushes his fingers into his hair, the warmth of his mouth reassuring where it lands. without missing a beat, he tips his face against his and kisses him. a connection of lips and the deepest craving, parting from it with only the slightest nod. ] I can handle a bath.
[ it sounds divine, actually, but it's second place to the way larus leans back into shane's personal space and continues hugging him. the pain is starting to settle now, less sharp and more a continuous, dull ache, and mixed with the rush of the past hour, he can't figure out how to process any of it. what's worse is the pressure building behind his eyes, like he's suddenly going to cry; biting it down, he simply holds onto shane even tighter.
how is this any better than ignoring each other? it's almost worse now that he needs this to breathe. to function. ]
I missed you, [ he whispers under his breath, like a prayer. ] It was so hard to see you and not go to you.
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[ He doesn't think he's kept it a secret, but since the first moment he saw Larus land a jump at that stupid training center all those years ago, he's been fucking mesmerized by him and the way he interacts with the ice. It's so different from what Shane does, a dance rather than a battle, a poetry between the two of them instead of a war. It never ceases to take his breath away.
But this won't do. Shane is still standing which means that Larus is still standing and he needs to get off his feet. He tilts his head, thinks about the situation and then does it, without much preamble. His arm comes down under Larus' good knee and around his shoulders and he lifts, pulling the man up bridal-style before walking him toward the bathroom ]
Counter or toilet? Which one do you think would hurt less while I fill up the tub?
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and he's in the middle of debating whether or not to kiss shane again when they're moving, when he's being lifted. for a moment, the abruptness of it makes him dizzy. then, the protest follows. ]
I can walk. [ but it's hardly an argument, a little dazed by how easily shane had just hefted him into his arms. which has absolutely nothing to do with his head injury and everything to do with the fact he's strong. larus might be leaner, but he isn't light by any means. and then, an echo of an answer, ] Counter. It'll be easier to get down from that.
[ rather than push up, put strain on his thigh when he inevitably has to stand again. it'll be good to put more weight on it too, though only after the heat of the bath and the ice—routine, repetition. these are things he's had to do before, and it isn't unfamiliar to him. what's new is shane being there, hovering and helping, and before he can pull away to begin filling the tub, larus tugs at his shirt from his perch on the counter. draws him back in. ]
Just a little longer, [ he breathes it into his chest, desperate for the contact. to fill that space with all the things he doesn't have words for. ] Please.
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He is impossibly careful as he settles the man against the counter, slipping between his legs once he's got him settled, hands running over him as if double checking for new injuries. As if the fifteen feet he was lifted might have wounded him anew. None found, Shane's mind starts flitting through the steps of the plan: bath, ice, elevation, getting Larus prone again, rest. He has every intent of beginning when--
That tug on his shirt--the quiet one, insistent and heartbreaking--stops him cold. He nods, leaning forward, wrapping wide arms around Larus' shoulder, tucking him close and burying his face against his hair. His hands spread wide, one along the line of his neck, the other against his lower back, trying to cover as much of him as he can in the moment ]
Hey. It's okay-- [ the words are quiet, spilling out in hushed assurance against Larus' hair, against his skin, whispered between them ] I've got you. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you, Sweetheart.
[ endearments don't come naturally to him, and he expects it to feel unwieldy in his mouth, but it slips out soft and gentle like the rest of it, at home in this quiet place ] I promise.
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