Work Text:
The camping trip was Shane’s idea. His parents had dug up some old photos of a time they had gone camping when Shane was around eight years old, photos of him kayaking or roasting a marshmallow or hiking deep within the forest. Ilya could think of a few dozen better things to do during their limited time off, but he had no choice but to say yes, trapped between current-Shane’s pleading eyes and past-Shane’s chubby cheeks and smile that took over his entire face.
Ilya had been raised in Moscow—his idea of camping was staying at a friend’s house in the suburbs. The truth was, Ilya had never actually been camping, per se. Shane didn’t need to know that, though. He could find out after Ilya had crushed the tent setup, or caught a fish, or sat around and stared at the trees very intensely, or whatever people did on camping trips.
Ilya had wanted to drive his orange Audi Spyder to the campsite, but according to Shane that was “not appropriate for a camping trip” and “unsafe on the country roads.” And so, that was how Ilya found himself pulling into a parking lot in Shane’s (very sensible) Jeep. Well, Ilya didn’t know if parking lot was the right word for it—it was more of a patch of dirt big enough for around five cars, or six if you shared Ilya’s penchant for fast and perfectly safe, thank you, sports cars.
Ilya parked and they got out of the car. Shane began loading the equipment out of the trunk, every so often handing Ilya an item to carry.
“So. Where is campsite?” said Ilya.
“You’re looking at it,” said Shane, gesturing toward the trees around him, the corners of his lips turning up. “Come on. Follow me.”
Shane took a winding path. It seemed to Ilya like he was just walking around randomly, stopping at a spot, inspecting it for a second, then turning away abruptly and walking in a new direction. Ilya followed, his eyebrows drawing closer and closer together in confusion as time went on. He checked his phone briefly, and his confusion deepened further when he realized he had no service.
“Shane. I have no service.”
“Yes. We’re far enough away from any cell towers that you’re lucky to get a bar here,” replied Shane, not even looking at Ilya as he continued staring down the ground like it owed him money.
“But what if we have an emergency? I cannot call Yuna or David with no cell service,”
“You can call 911 even with no cell towers nearby. It uses satellite to connect. No problem,”
If anything, the explanation had left Ilya even more confused, but Shane had started following another invisible path like a bloodhound, so he let it go.
“Here,” Shane said finally, throwing his pack and various items he was carrying on the ground.
“Here?” Ilya repeated, looking around. The spot didn’t seem to have anything special, at least not anything the previous spots didn’t have. The view was breathtaking, he could admit. They were on top of a hill, with a blanket of trees spread out before them. A river wound around the curve of the hill, flowing until it disappeared off into the distance. Trees rose up around them, creating a shade that blocked the emerging summer heat.
“Alright Ilya, you can start setting up the tent while I go set up the kitchen area.” Inexplicably, Shane began to walk away, and continued to do so until he almost disappeared, hidden behind the foliage. Instead of wasting time on wondering where he was going, Ilya decided to tackle the tent so he could have it set up before Shane got back.
He began sorting through the bags until he found one that he was reasonably confident contained the tent, and dumped it out onto the ground. A mess of fabric and metal poles spilled out, and Ilya realized that all of the puzzles he had completed with David would not be helping with this.
He searched for an instruction manual within the pile, but there didn’t seem to be one. But he was a professional hockey player. The best in the league, besides Shane. He had faced an abusive father and a bloodsucking brother. He could set up a stupid tent.
***
When Shane came back 20 minutes later, the tent was no more set up, but Ilya was decidedly more frazzled, with wild eyes and his hair sticking up in new and innovative ways that would’ve looked more in place at an avant-garde fashion show than in the middle of the woods. He was covered in spindly metal poles, and looked like he had been to war and was firmly on the losing side.
“Ilya,” Shane said slowly, as if Ilya were a stray dog Shane was trying very hard not to scare off.
“Yes,” he whispered, looking off into the trees, but not really seeing them.
“Is everything okay?”
“No,” Ilya whispered, turning toward him with a look of broken desperation on his face. “Shane, why do they make tents with no instruction manuals? Why are there a million different pieces? Why do they do this? It is like they are trying to punish me.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” said Shane in that same soothing voice. “First, we’re going to put down a tarp. That helps in case it rains, keeps the wet ground away from us.” He walked over to the mess of bags and plucked a bright blue tarp out of one, spreading it onto the ground before moving on to the mess of plastic rods and metal bits that Ilya had dumped out.
“Okay, so you’re going to connect these here first,” said Shane. He picked one up and connected each joint, creating a neat, straight pole that looked much more usable than whatever Ilya had come up with. He handed Ilya one to figure out as he quickly connected the others. By Shane was done with his, Ilya had finished the one Shane had given him.
“Hold this end,” Shane said, handing him one of the poles. Ilya stood there as Shane expertly threaded the pole through holes in the tent that Ilya hadn’t even known existed, prompting Ilya to hold different parts, and in no time they had a fully formed tent.
“See, we did it. Thank you for helping.” Ilya wasn’t sure “helping” was the right word for what he had done. In fact, Ilya was almost sure that Shane could have had the tent set up in two minutes flat without finding little jobs for Ilya to do as he worked, but Shane stepped toward Ilya and leaned in and pressed a kiss onto his lips and Ilya found that he didn’t actually care all that much about his level of involvement in the tent setup. Ilya deepened the kiss, bringing his hand up to cradle the side of Shane’s face. Okay, maybe he could get used to camping.
***
This time, it was Ilya’s idea. He had wanted to get into the spirit of things, so he asked Shane if they could go on a hike. Truthfully, the views were spectacular, but Ilya didn’t see very much of them, seeing as how Shane was walking ahead of him, wearing small athletic shorts that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
Shane, though, was enthralled. He kept pausing to take pictures and admire the views, staring with a look of unabashed delight. Really, this was what Ilya loved: the innocent wonder in his face as he marvelled at the landscapes and the slight smile that adorned his face as he walked, looking around at the trees.
Not that Ilya wasn’t having fun too. Shane had developed a slight flush and more than a couple bruises on his neck from when he and Ilya had taken rests throughout their hike. Ilya was actually shocked that Shane wasn’t lecturing him about optimal break timing and length and how them pausing to make out was definitely throwing the balance off, but the nature seemed to bring out a calm in Shane that felt very opposite Ilya’s panic when faced with more than a light walk on a paved trail.
They were walking together in silence when Ilya caught a movement in the distance out of the corner of his eye. Something big, black, and much more bear-shaped than he would’ve liked.
“Shane. Bear. That is a Bear,” said Ilya, catching Shane’s shoulder. Ilya’s instincts were screaming at him to run, so he did the only thing that seemed possible in the moment: he turned and started speedwalking the hell out of there, grabbing Shane’s hand to pull him along too.
That was when he was yanked back toward Shane, with a firm hand grabbing onto Ilya’s waist and Shane’s finger pressed to his own lips in a gesture for silence. Shane stood still for a moment, gauging if the bear had seen them, or if it was just walking around, same as them. He started backing away slowly, still facing the bear, guiding Ilya back with him.
Wow, Ilya was actually going to get mauled by a bear in the stupid woods with his beautiful husband. What would happen to Anya? She would have no one to take her to her doggy spa, and nobody would know that she hated crunchy treats and would only eat the soft ones. He imagined Anya with matted hair, surrounded by hard treats, neglected and unhappy without Ilya to burst in and save her from this doggy-hell.
Just then, Ilya’s foot landed on a stick, snapping it with a sickening crunch that sent fear zipping down his spine. Great, now he actually was going to die. He squeezed his hand harder around Shane’s and closed his eyes. If this was the end, at least he had Shane in his hands and countless memories of their love held under his skin.
When, after a few seconds, he felt decidedly un-mauled, he cracked one eye open and saw the black shape bounding away. All the tension in his body was released, tension that had wound up so fast Ilya hadn’t noticed it until after it was gone. He turned toward Shane and wrapped him in a tight hug. When he finally pulled away, Shane brought a thumb up to Ilya’s eye and brushed a tear away. Ilya hadn’t even realized he had been crying.
“Are you okay?” Shane asked, worry evident in his eyes.
“Yes, I am now. Why are you so calm?” Ilya questioned.
Shane shrugged, as if almost getting his face eaten off by a bear was just a regular Tuesday. “It’s not the first time I’ve had a bear encounter. They’re rare, but if you go camping often enough, you’re bound to run into one. That’s why I have this,” Shane said, pulling a cylindrical can from his backpack. “Bear spray. Always good to have if you’re in bear country.”
“Shane,” Ilya said, seriously. “Why are we hiking in a bear country? Is this a country for bears? Do they have their own government, designed to terrify Russians that are too attractive to die this young and their boring husbands with beautiful freckles?”
“It’s just a term for anywhere there are bears, Ilya,” Shane said with a smile. Ilya still didn’t know how he could smile after they had almost gotten devoured by a bear, but whatever.
“We just weren’t making enough noise, I think. He ran off as soon as he heard us,” Shane continued.
“Oh, so bear is pervert? He wants us to be louder?”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Shane, rolling his eyes. “There’s a rhyme to remember what you’re supposed to do when encountering different types of bears. If it’s black, fight back—that means to make a lot of noise and make yourself bigger, which is what I would’ve done if it had started pursuing us. What you’re not supposed to do, ever, is turn around, or run,” he said.
“Yes, yes, maybe running from the bear was not the greatest idea I have ever had, I admit,” said Ilya.
“If it’s brown, lie down,” Shane continued. “There aren’t really grizzly bears in this part of Canada, but it’s good to know anyway—those are the ones where you want to play dead. And if it’s white…” Shane trailed off.
“You’re fucked,” Ilya offered helpfully.
“Well, traditionally the rhyme goes ‘goodnight,’ but that works too,” said Shane, threading his hand into Ilya’s and turning back.
“You know what this means, right?” Shane said, suddenly with a gravity that felt out of place from his earlier levity.
“No, what?” Ilya said as his stomach dropped.
Shane grinned slyly. “Well, we have to be loud…” he said, trailing his finger up Ilya’s arm. Now, Ilya could get behind this method.
“It’s time to sing camp songs!” Shane said gleefully, slapping Ilya’s shoulder and starting on an awful rendition of some camp song about a wagon, expecting Ilya to join in. And of course, he did.
***
When they returned to camp, Ilya looked down and saw his arms covered in small, red dots. As soon as he noticed them, an itch crawled across his skin, begging him to scratch it. Soon enough, Ilya was scratching his entire arm, hoping that he could somehow get under his skin. It was unbearable.
Shane noticed his frantic scratching and walked over. He immediately grabbed Ilya’s wrist. “Ilya! Don’t scratch! It’ll make it worse.”
“I did not even see the mosquitoes. They steal my blood and they do not even have the decency to show themselves so I can try and fail to kill them,” said Ilya.
Shane inspected Ilya’s arm closer, and looked back up at him. “That’s because these are No-See-Um bites.”
After Shane’s unperturbed reaction to the bear they had seen earlier, Ilya wasn’t convinced that these things weren’t going to cause him to drop dead within the next five minutes.
“What is noseum? Is this some sort of super mosquito that will cause my face to fall off?”
“No, Ilya,” Shane said, laughing. “No-See-Ums,” he continued, emphasizing each syllable. “They’re called that because they’re so small that you can’t really see them that well. Completely harmless, just really annoying. Wait, did you not put any bug spray on? I handed it to you before we left for the hike.”
Ilya vaguely remembered Shane handing him some green bottle and Ilya immediately putting in the backpack Shane was going to wear.
“No. I have strong Russian blood. Mosquitoes fear me. These noseums have just not learned yet. I will give them one warning, but next time there is no mercy.”
“Whatever you say, Ilya,” said Shane, looking at his husband with equal parts fondness and exasperation.
That was when Ilya began to feel the first couple drops of rain land on his arms. He looked up, as if pleading with the sky to behave for once in its life. The sky answered with a large drop of rain that landed directly in Ilya’s eyes.
***
He and Shane had sheltered in their tent during the rain. They laid there, intertwined, not talking, just enjoying each other’s presence and the calming sound of the rain. At some point, Shane had dozed off, lulled by the constant pitter-patter of the drops on their tent. Ilya looked at Shane, who had a small, contented smile on his face, even as he slept. His smooth skin reminded Ilya of a lake at night, his freckles the stars reflected on its calm surface.
Every time Ilya had messed up, or freaked out, or didn’t know what to do, that surface had stayed calm. Shane had supported him and stayed a monolith even as Ilya felt like a wave crashing against it, broken up and spread out through the air, then falling without rhyme or reason. He was supposed to be that rock. Shane dealt with so much, on his team, from the MLH, within himself. If Ilya couldn’t be the one to keep everything steady, who was he?
He buried his face in Shane’s side, trying to get lost in the warmth and calm radiating off of Shane’s body. Just then, Shane’s eyes fluttered open softly.
“Hi, Ilya,” he said softly, drowsiness and contentment in his voice. “Ilya?” he asked, when Ilya didn’t respond, instead burying his face deeper. He wished he could crawl into Shane’s skin and make it all go away. Shane put the hand that was not currently tracing circles on Ilya’s back onto Ilya’s head, pushing gently in an attempt to get him to show his face. Ilya turned his head up and looked at Shane, tears shining in his eyes that he tried to blink away.
“What’s wrong?” Shane asked, his hand sliding into Ilya’s hair.
Everything was wrong. Shane wasn’t supposed to be the one asking that. He wasn’t supposed to be the one taking care of Ilya, checking on him and touching him so gently. In response, Ilya simply shook his head and tried to hide his face again. If he started talking, he would start crying. And if he started crying, he wouldn’t stop.
“Hey,” Shane said, flipping onto his side so he was directly facing Ilya. He cradled Ilya’s face in his hands and said, “It’s okay. You can tell me. Whatever is wrong. It’s okay.”
“I…this is wrong,” was all Ilya could say before the tears in his eyes threatened to spill.
“What’s this?”
“This,” Ilya said, placing his hand on one of Shane’s that was holding his face. Shane tried to pull away, and started to say, “If you don’t want me to, I can…” when he got cut off by Ilya clamping his hand back down and saying, “No.”
Ilya took a deep breath and tried to continue. “No. This. You…comforting me. I am not…that is not for me.” Ilya cursed English in that moment. It was already hard enough to express what he was feeling in his mother tongue, much less a language like English that felt like molasses on Ilya’s tongue and gummed up his words.
He took another deep breath and decided to try a different tactic. “Shane. I have something to tell you.” He paused, looking at Shane’s anxious face. “I have never been camping.”
He watched as Shane’s anxiety melted into confusion, and then, inexplicably, the corners of Shane’s mouth began to quirk up. He tried to tamp it down, school his face into a serious expression, but then he actually started laughing—no, not laughing. Giggling. At Ilya.
The hurt must have shown on Ilya’s face, because Shane’s mirth melted away in a second into a more serious expression, still with soft eyes. “Yes, Ilya. I know.”
“But I never told you that!” Ilya protested.
“Ilya. You don’t know what to do in a bear encounter. You don’t put on bug spray. You can’t pitch a tent. I know.” said Shane.
Ilya pouted for a moment, then his eyes grew sadder and his lip pinched in the corner like it always did when he was upset. “I wanted you to see…that I could do this. That I could be a part of your world. That I could be good for you.”
“Ilya,” said Shane, his hands moving from Ilya’s face into his hair. “You don’t have to be able to pitch a tent or scare a bear to be good for me. You already are good for me. I want you. Not whatever version of yourself that you think I want.”
That was the final straw as tears streamed down Ilya’s face. It felt like some invisible burden had been lifted off of him, one he hadn’t even known he had been carrying until he felt so much lighter without it.
All of his life, people expected things of him. His father wanted him to be perfect, the best, and Ilya had felt like if he just tried hard enough he could finally live up to his father’s expectations. Later, his brother saw him as a bank, asking and asking and asking and Ilya always gave. But it was never enough. He was never enough. And he still blamed himself for not being there for his father. He couldn’t have. But he still did.
The only person that hadn’t expected anything was his mother. But she left, and the iron chains that bound Ilya only got heavier. Then Shane entered his life. With him, Ilya could finally be enough—he gave him everything he wanted and more, anything, anything if Shane would ask. But here in Shane’s territory, he felt like he was trying to fill a cup that got bigger every time he poured more in.
“I feel like, sometimes, like I am not enough for you,” croaked Ilya.
Shane nodded, and looked down at Ilya’s chest. He looked back up at Ilya’s eyes. “Can I tell you why I wanted to take you camping?”
Ilya nodded.
“Because seeing you here reminds me of when I first started camping. Those days in the woods that seemed to stretch on for weeks, where I explored and made up games and always came back to the campfire at the end of the day, no matter where we had gone or what we had done. I wanted you to experience a little of that magic, I guess. I never expected you to know how to do anything, or to be automatically used to being in the woods. I’m just grateful that you’re here. I’m sorry that I didn’t make that clear. I think I was scared of saying it, like if the words were put out into the world that magic would crumble, and it could never be real again.”
“Thank you,” Ilya managed. Shane pulled him closer into a bone-crushing hug and tried to communicate with his body whatever he couldn’t with his words. They stayed like that for a while, and Ilya felt like he wasn’t in freefall anymore. He was safe.
“It looks like it’s stopped raining,” said Shane, glancing around. A small smile caught on his face as he looked back at Ilya. “Can I teach you how to build a fire?”
“Sure,” said Ilya, and this time, he didn’t expect it to be perfect. He didn’t even expect it to be anything at all. He would be content even if he and Shane sat there for hours rubbing sticks together and hoping for smoke.
***
In the end, they did eventually make a fire—even if Ilya’s contribution was mainly getting the firewood they had brought from home and the kindling Shane had put in a waterproof bag in preparation for the rain. They roasted hot dogs and marshmallows, and when they were sufficiently satiated and sticky they sat, staring into the flames. Shane had “accidentally” only brought one camp chair, so he sat curled in Ilya’s lap, his eyes fluttering closed and his fingers slowly dropping from where they were threaded through Ilya’s hair.
“Let’s go to bed,” said Shane, his words slurring with sleep.
“Don’t we have to wait for the fire to go out?” Asked Ilya, his brows furrowed in concern.
“No. Shhhhh, don’t tell anyone, top secret technique. Don’t let them find out I told you,” said Shane, extricating himself from Ilya’s arms. He trudged over to the water bucket, dragged it over to the fire, and slowly dumped the entire bucket onto it.
“Have to go slow,” said Shane. “Splashback. Steam burns.” Even half-asleep, he was still teaching fire safety.
Shane sluggishly mixed the wet embers around with a shovel a couple of times before he was fully satisfied that the fire was out.
“Tent,” said Shane simply as he all but dragged Ilya into the tent, falling asleep within seconds of throwing himself under the sleeping bag. Ilya crept under with him, and Shane threw an arm around Ilya’s body, then a leg, and soon Ilya was completely trapped by one very sleepy (and very strong) Shane Hollander.
***
Ilya awoke in the middle of the night at the sound of snorting and shuffling outside of the tent. What the fuck? What makes that kind of noise? It grew closer and closer to the tent—Ilya swore that he could even hear whatever it was shuffle up against the tent. Oh, shit. Maybe it was another black bear. Unfortunately, Ilya’s body chose this exact moment to freeze in fear, doing what, as he had learned earlier, you should absolutely not do in a black bear encounter.
In the next moment, however, the snorting moved away from the tent, growing more and more distant until Ilya could barely hear it. Ilya prayed to whatever gods he could think of, and he slowly drifted off into a fitful sleep.
That was until a wolf’s cry pierced through the night and woke Ilya up in a moment, his heart pounding. No, not a wolf. A loon. He once again cursed whoever decided that loons should sound exactly like wolves, and took deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself as they continued their cacophony.
Then an owl began to join in. Of course. Clearly there was some sort of bird party that Ilya had crashed by choosing the unfortunate location of right in the middle of nowhere. Ilya laid there, pulled between fear and the acceptance that came with an experience that really couldn’t get any worse.
This almost-peace was shattered as the snorting joined back in. In the fledgling morning light, Ilya could see the silhouette of the creature, and he let out a not-insubstantial breath to see that it was most certainly not a black bear. Not that he knew what the fuck it was, of course. Little victories.
Ilya idly wondered what he had done to deserve this personal hell of hooting, howling, and snorting. Every dirty play and bad check was coming back to him now, and, staring at the tent ceiling, he wondered which one was the one that did him in.
***
Shane woke up as the sun rose. He always slept deeply while camping—It was something about the silence of being so far away from the city, the stars that he could never see in Ottawa during the year spreading themselves across the sky in abundance. He felt at peace with the tall trees surrounding him, especially so curled up next to his husband.
Speaking of his husband, Shane looked up and saw that Ilya was awake and…wow. He looked like shit. There were dark circles under his eyes, his face was pale, he was clammy, and his body was as stiff as a board—Shane would be surprised if he had even slept at all.
Shane propped himself up on one elbow and touched Ilya’s forehead, checking for a fever. “Ilya?” He continued, checking Ilya’s pulse—high, but lowering as Shane continued touching him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, threading a hand through Ilya’s sleep-mussed curls.
“Shane. Promise me we will never, ever go camping again.”