[ 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.
[ the strength it had taken to be so resistant to shane's affections melts beneath the solid warmth of him, anchoring larus so he doesn't float away in a sea of confusion and pain and unspoken promises. it breaks and crests, ringing in his ears as the sweetness of it cuts through the long days, weeks, months spent chasing after one another from afar, and larus doesn't know how he'd managed to stay so unaffected for so long.
and yes, some of it is probably the fact he'd nearly knocked himself out on the ice. and yes, some of it is shane's mere presence on all sides. but none of it cracks him open the way that single, solitary word does.
sweetheart.
i've got you. i promise.
the noise he makes in the back of his throat is unprompted and uncontrolled, a rush of air like he's been punched, and though he tries to swallow around it, tries to stop whatever's careening wildly inside of him, he can't. his arms tighten around him, sliding forward on the counter to press as close to shane as he can manage without climbing inside him, and he hooks his good leg around him. pulling, squeezing, clinging as tightly as he can manage while he breathes him in.
those days they'd had in montreal feel so surreal now, like a hazy dream in the face of reality. that this – the timed hours, the sporadic moments, the casual inconsistencies – is all they will ever have until it kills him. if it's not killing him already. ]
Sorry, [ he whispers after a lengthy stretch of silence filled with his own hitched breathing, muffled somewhere against shane's chest. and he isn't going to cry. he isn't, but it'll be a close thing, his head hurting with how hard he squeezes his eyes shut. ] I'm sorry this is all we have.
[ like they both hadn't made this choice. like it's the only thing they'll ever be able to hold onto. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
and yes, some of it is probably the fact he'd nearly knocked himself out on the ice. and yes, some of it is shane's mere presence on all sides. but none of it cracks him open the way that single, solitary word does.
sweetheart.
i've got you. i promise.
the noise he makes in the back of his throat is unprompted and uncontrolled, a rush of air like he's been punched, and though he tries to swallow around it, tries to stop whatever's careening wildly inside of him, he can't. his arms tighten around him, sliding forward on the counter to press as close to shane as he can manage without climbing inside him, and he hooks his good leg around him. pulling, squeezing, clinging as tightly as he can manage while he breathes him in.
those days they'd had in montreal feel so surreal now, like a hazy dream in the face of reality. that this – the timed hours, the sporadic moments, the casual inconsistencies – is all they will ever have until it kills him. if it's not killing him already. ]
Sorry, [ he whispers after a lengthy stretch of silence filled with his own hitched breathing, muffled somewhere against shane's chest. and he isn't going to cry. he isn't, but it'll be a close thing, his head hurting with how hard he squeezes his eyes shut. ] I'm sorry this is all we have.
[ like they both hadn't made this choice. like it's the only thing they'll ever be able to hold onto. ]