Chapter Text
Whoever said that April was the cruelest month had clearly never been to London in June. In between sweaty tube cars so humid you could almost trace your name on the condensation left on the handrails, a lack of air conditioning in stuffy old building, endless soccer camps that all blurred together into a cycle of potential and disappointment and potential, hookups that leave nothing but cum stains on bedsheets and sorry, no hard feelings, and the dreaded summer transfer window, June was a bore and a slog and a month of Pride and Potential.
Well, Leo was proud. He had his own sports car (no more sweaty tube) and his own flat in Hampstead (no more lack of air conditioning), and his hookups may still be a disappointment but at least he has a cleaning service to take care of the bedsheets, and he could just find someone else if they were too disappointing.
(Like his current hookup who, for some unknown reason at an unbelievably early 10 AM, thought it worthwhile to text him about brunch? with a winky face, as if they both don’t know how Leo would have the almost-nameless man sinking to his knees before they even left the front door.)
And Leo was pretty sure his contract with Arsenal would be renewed, so how’s that for Potential?
Yeah. June may be a slog but Leo’s got it figured out. Totally.
His phone buzzed with another message from his hookup, and Leo seriously considered how much would a new iPhone cost if he were to throw his current one out the window. Leo knew he was spending too much time with this current man, but it was easy, and he really didn’t want to waste time finding a new hookup during Arsenal’s title run. (Leo was a professional like that.) Now that the season’s over, though, Leo could reconsider. Dump the current guy, go to a club, flirt and dance and smile and talk about the locker room in Arsenal, get his pick of men. Maybe he’s go for someone taller this time, someone like -
Side by side, arms brushing, chests rising and falling in sync. Accented-twinged English, a deep voice claiming not even a little, eyes that said he didn’t care that in front of him stood Leo Moreau with eyes dark and smoldering and open, how he barely felt the strong hands flexing against a shirt, how he could ignore the puffs of warmth from each other’s breaths as nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Almost as if it were a challenge. “I’m married.”
Rozanov said he was married, but Leo doubted it. Not the married part - even he had read about the Rozanov-Hollander wedding on what passes for online news reporting nowadays - but the other part, the implication behind the words. His mind once again flashed an image of Ilya smirking and saying “then stay in your lane” during the photoshoot, and how Leo could feel the way the hockey player’s body heat emanated from that massive body. God. Leo could feel the way Rozanov’s chest rumbled as he spoke, the charisma oozing from that stare. Leo hated being the side chick, but for Rozanov? He would. And that was the crux of it all - who else would forfeit the chance of being with Ilya Rozanov? Rozanov could have his pick of anyone, has had his pick of anyone, if the tabloids were to go by. His pick of women, and sports cars, and Stanley Cups. Even if you didn’t really know hockey, you knew of Ilya Rozanov and his curls and his personality, and who would ignore that? Why wouldn’t you take advantage of the fact that you’re Ilya Rozanov? And Shane Hollander was - well. Hollander’s name never really came up in the news (if you ignore the being gay thing), so clearly he was boring. Handsome, yes, Leo could admit that, but there were plenty of beautiful people out there in the world. Leo was handsome, and so was the multitude of other men that walk down the streets of London every day, let alone the world. And yet Rozanov was willing to give that all up for - for someone who looked like they’d panic if they forgot to say “thank you” to the bus driver? Not a chance. He was Ilya Rozanov, famous hockey player, king on the ice. The tension he felt on that photoshoot was real - there was no way Rozanov didn’t feel it either - and at some point, it would have broken. It had to. Why wouldn’t it? It was telling a kid to not touch the burning stove with cookies in it. Of course the kid would open the oven.
(Ilya Rozanov looked settled, completely opposite to the photoshoot, the kind of settled that Leo had never once let himself imagine, the kind that wasn’t for people like him - )
It was among these thoughts (and an iced latte Leo was making for breakfast - so he can be a walking stereotype occasionally, sue him) - when he got a phone call. The name of his manager flashed on the screen, demanding to be answered. Annoying, to be sure, but at least it wasn’t the hookup, and besides Leo was obliged to respond, lest he didn’t want to receive a very annoying email later that day.
“Good morning Robert, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call this morning?”
“I see that you’re awake. That’s good to hear. So, about the viral post from other day -”
Leo groaned in frustration. “Is this about the photoshoot? Hasn’t it been a couple of days? It’s bound to have blown over by now.”
“Look, Leo, I know you don’t really care about the press but -“
“Moreau, how do think your relationship with your teammates changed after you - ”
“You know, Leo, it’s incredible what you have accomplished in your career, but I think it’s even more inspirational that -“
“I’m sure someone will prove the texts are real. 20 thousand and I’ll delete them.”
“-but it’s still not ideal to have Leo Moreau is Over be one of the top search results. I know we had that PR campaign with Nike, and the public reception to your don’t drink and drive Pride campaign is better than I thought, but you can’t just keep making your life harder -
“Chin up, grand-mere’s just across the pond, and your mother and I will come visit whenever we can.”
“- like this. We don’t want Arsenal -“
“You have done all that I could never do. I’m proud that my sacrifices weren’t in vain. Don’t waste it.”
“ - to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
Leo blinked in irritation.
“What, as if me being gay suddenly nullifies my 24 starts and 4 assists for the season?”
Leo heard Robert sigh deeply into the receiver. “What? Don’t be daft. That has nothing to do with this.” A pause. “Unless there is something the Team” - the slightly staccato way Robert pushed out the T indicated he referred to the small handful of PR staff and rotational army of interns Leo’s management company kept on a daily basis - “needs to be made aware of?”
Leo hummed noncommittally.
“Leo. Tell me, please, before we have another Incident.” (Robert said Incident like he said Team: like a powder keg ready to blow higher than Owen near some stripper’s tits and some fresh powder.) He continued after taking Leo’s silence as assent. “In any case, I have some good news for you. The Italian motorbike manufacturer Ducati reached out to see if we were interested in doing a collaboration with one of their drivers and potentially Ilya Rozanov.”
Leo sat up straighter in his head. “Rozanov will be there?”
“Potentially, yes. That is still to be worked out - Ducati says they’re currently in negotiations. For them, this is mainly a promotion with Ducati and their motorcycle rider. I’m getting ahead of myself here. I’m sure you’re aware of what MotoGP is?” Robert quickly elaborated on the partnership. “Ducati and MotoGP have been interested in expanding to the United Kingdom, and are looking at new segments of the population into which they can make inroads. They seemed to be inspired by the popularity of Red Bull's short-form content and wanted to replicate its virtual successes that can hopefully turn into more motorcycle sales and a greater number of fans. The collaboration with Ducati would be a series of video promotions, showing the different athletes taking turns “trying out” each other’s sport. A three-video trial, with a potential for more collaborations depending on its success. And our willingness, I assume.”
“And it would be with Rozanov and…?”
“Emilio Laveroni.”
“Is that someone I should know?”
“He’s a big name in MotoGP and a rider for Ducati, which is all you really need to know on why he’s there. Look, I think you should consider it. I know MotoGP isn’t that popular in the UK, and there is probably more to gain on Ducati’s side than ours, but it truly is a great opportunity to boost your profile in the North American market with Rozanov, and if the videos are done well, we can turn the recent media attention into a positive stream of engagement and endorsements.”
Leo nodded. “Fair play on Rozanov, but what about the other person?”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about him, my assistant says he’s quiet and won’t cause much issue. His participation is mostly to ensure Ducati and MotoGP are represented when the videos are published. I’m worried about Rozanov, to be honest, especially after the most recent photoshoot, but that cannot be helped at this point in time. In any case, think it over for a couple of days, and get back to me. We should respond quickly if we’ll take the deal, since I think they want to release the material before the season starts.”
Golden curls and sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes filled with love and contentment. Golden curls and sharp eyes staring down in anger, breathing sharply through his nose. Stay in your lane.
Damn him, but the door wasn’t shut all the way - not just yet.
Leo shrugged, mind made up. “It’s during the summer, I don’t have any games and I’m mostly in training sessions anyway. I’ll do it. It’s free publicity. Did they mention what the compensation was?”
“Good to hear. I’ll send you the details later - you’ll go to Italy to film, maybe do a factory tour, and some promotional pictures with some Ducati motorcycles. You’ll do some trick shots, then ride around on a Ducati, and go to an ice rink nearby. There aren't many details to go over, so please look over the materials I send you. Remember what we’re trying to accomplish here, and at the very least make sure to at least remember the name of the rider before you film.”
“Will do. I’ll look it over tonight.”
Leo ended the call with some pleasantries and stared at his ceiling. Blinking suddenly, he opened up WhatsApp and clicked on Nathan’s profile.
Mate I think Rozanov might have a thing for me
The reply came almost instantly.
WHAT
WHAT DID U DO MOREAU
nothing. But it might be something 👀👀
MOREAU ARE YOU INSANE
Look mate I know you don’t have the best pitch awareness but I’m not sure having the entire country of Canada fighting you is optimal
Haha
It’s Roz I’m sure everyone expects it
And I have perfect pitch awareness, thank you very much
Leo what are you planning
Leo?????
PopCrew @PopCrew: LEO MOREAU (@therealleomoreau) STUNS in new instagram story.
(Alt text: A picture of Leo Moreau, in a red tank top; he is at the gym, and his left art is curled to reveal defined bicep muscles. At the bottom of the page, there is red text that reads: “You can only succeed if you’re not afraid to break out of your lane #comingsoon”)