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December 2017
Cliff Marleau had been captain of the “get shit back to normal before Cap explodes” squad for nearly six weeks and he was exhausted. It didn’t help that they were 4 games into a 5 game roadie and he’d spent all four of them blocking countless clearly targeted hits on his captain from all directions. He was tired and bruised and needed the world to stop moving at a million miles an hour for literally five minutes.
So he found himself lounging in Ilya Rozanov’s hotel room watching Jackass Number Two for the thousandth time sharing a large pepperoni pizza, a bag of hot Cheetos and a six pack of beer. It had been a while since they had shared this old roomie tradition, and the pizza didn’t sit as easy in his gut as it used to. Man, he was getting old.
Roz hadn’t been himself since the video. Cliff had been trying his best. It took a minute for some of the boys to get on board, but Cliff had been running a tight ship in that locker room. Yeah it was a bit of an adjustment that his best friend and famous womaniser Ilya Rozanov was apparently in love with the Captain of the fucking Metros but Cliff wanted a second cup and none of these fucking assholes were going to get in the way of that.
When Roz had skipped practice for an emergency press conference, Cliff had whipped the boys into shape. “First off, good fucking game yesterday. Second, if any of you have a problem with Roz and where he gets his dick wet keep it out of my locker room or you’ll need fucking experimental orthodontics.” It had done the trick. Mostly.
They’d given Roz a decently warm welcome back when he finally made it home. He’d looked fucking tired then too. But Cliff could see the relief behind those carefully stoic eyes. He was clearly grateful to not be fucking thrown to the wolves which hit Cliff like a suckerpunch to the gut. Roz had a whole speech ready about how he’s sorry he lied, and it was not because of them but because of Russia (that was a second suckerpunch), and how he is the same player he has always been and on the ice wants the same as the rest of them: to win another fucking cup.
Cliff couldn’t take another moment of his best friend looking at him with pleading eyes so he cut him off. “Roz – Captain – we’re glad to have you back. And bagging Hollander? I always said you were a fucking beautician.” He crushed him into a bear hug in the middle of the locker room and it wasn’t long before their teammates joined in, hooting and clapping him on the back. Cliff could feel the tension melting from his friend’s shoulders and tried to not take it personally.
Roz had said they could talk to him if they had any questions about the whole thing. Cliff thought that was a good idea – didn’t want the team walking on eggshells around their captain. And that locker room had already heard far too many details about what half the team got up to with their wives so it was only fair the Captain got a turn.
And then things got back to normal. Almost. The schedule was relentless, and it was easy to fall back into routine. But Cliff could see something in Roz was not quite the same. He didn’t seem to want to go out with the boys anymore. He was looking at his phone even more than last season. And he looked tired.
So Cliff fell back to his old tricks: Jackass, pizza, hot Cheetos and beer. It had worked on the rookie who could barely speak a word of English.
Cliff took another slice as he watched grown men purposefully jump on rakes on the hotel TV. He stole a glance at Roz who was looking at his phone sadly. It wasn’t the first time he had caught him doing that this roadie.
“You missing your man?” Cliff tried.
“What?” Roz stared at him blankly.
“Must be difficult with all the travel right?”
“What? Me? Missing my beautiful amazing boyfriend because I have to go make sure we beat him to the cup?”
“I guess yeah,” Marley pushed gently.
“Obviously. Ruin my entire life to have relationship with hottest man in MLH and I barely even get to see him.” Roz laughed darkly. “Ugh I sound like all the boys complaining in locker room. ‘Wawawa I have not seen my wife’s tits in 6 days I think I might die.’ Boring.”
“Yeah roadies are a lot easier when you’re just fucking your way through North America.”
“Yes. But now we are old and boring and stay in to watch movies and be lonely instead of going out and having fun with beautiful women,” Ilya sighed dramatically.
“I’m happy for you man. You found a wife whose tits you could miss.”
“Fuck you Marley!” Roz threw a hot Cheeto which bounced off Cliff’s forehead.
“Nah I'm serious man. Not about the wife's tits bit, but you know. Schedule must suck balls and you guys have to deal with so much bullshit but I'm glad you've found someone who's worth it for you.”
“Yes. He is very much worth all of it. Is effort for both of us. But is okay. I will see him soon and we will have crazy hot sex and he will tell me how I am best player in league and we will forget that we missed each other at all.”
Marley laughed and threw a hot Cheeto back at Roz’s face, who dodged at the last second. They sat in silence for a while until Roz caught Cliff’s sad sideways glance.
“Why are you looking at me like this? I am not a sick puppy. What is wrong?”
“Nah it’s nothing,” Cliff tried to brush it off as casually as he could.
“It is not nothing. Tell me,” Roz demanded.
“No dude it's fine. It's - it's like personal, it's none of my business.”
“Marley you have seen my whole dick and balls nearly every day for 7 years. Spit it out.”
Well. He got him there. Fine. “Does it ever make you sad? That you can't see his face when you – you know – when you do it?”
“When we do what? What you mean?”
“You know like… I like doggy as much as the next guy but sometimes it's nice to look their face, especially when you haven't seen each other in a while.”
“Yes I agree.” Roz was looking at him puzzled.
“So it makes you sad? That you can't? With Hollander I mean. Dude's got a nice face,” Cliff tried.
“Marley. Wait. You think I cannot look at him when we fuck? You think we cannot do missionary? This is what you are worried about?”
“Well like… yeah?”
“Oh my god. I think you need to go get checked for concussion. You cannot play tomorrow with severe head injury.”
“Wait you can?”
“Yes Marley I will not be doing doggy for the rest of my life. I can look at my boyfriend's face when we fuck. Shane Hollander does fucking yoga fucking fuck.”
“Oh. Good for you man.”
“Wait you were actually sad I couldn't look at his pretty face?” A shark-like grin was pulling at the edges of Roz’s lips.
“Fuck off Roz.”
“This is very sweet you are good friend. But very stupid.”
“Get fucked,” Cliff tried, throwing another hot Cheeto at his now grinning friend.
Roz sighs wistfully to himself. “You should see how pretty he is when he is bouncing on -”
“Roz I swear to god if you don't shut the fuck up right now I'll break his other collarbone.”
“Marley! I will fucking kill you. Do not dare.”
February 2018
The Raiders huddled into a booth at their usual post-game sports bar, tentatively celebrating an overtime win against Florida that should have been wrapped up in the second period. Marleau and Roz returned from the bar carrying as many glasses and pitchers as they could manage, carefully setting them on the table before dropping into their usual positions at the end of the booth.
“Good game everyone,” Ilya began his traditional unofficial bonus post-game review, far from the eyes of their coaching staff, “except you Carmy. I don’t know what the fuck that pass was in the third period. I will tell coach to send you for an eye test.” Carmy, who was sat to his left as usual, elbowed him in the ribs. “Marleau agrees you have earned today’s Bog Shot.” The rest of the team cheered and drummed on the table as Ilya passed Carmy a gross-looking green shot of… something? No one was entirely sure what was in it but it smelled strongly of medicine and garlic and looked... chunky?? Carmy rolled his eyes and got to his feet, egging them all on before shooting it back and cringing with his entire body. Ilya handed him a glass of beer to wash it down as his team fell apart laughing. Never gets old. “Okay let’s get drunk!” Ilya raised his glass to his team and clinked it against Marleau’s. So much had changed in the past few months, and yet so much remained exactly the same.
After a few beers, conversation had drifted from roasting each other’s shit plays to anything and everything aside from hockey. St-Simon was trying to explain to Hammersmith why American bread should be classed as cake and Carmy and the rookie he had adopted were getting very heated over a game of darts. Ilya was pretty sure one of their goaltenders was having a nap.
Connors sat next to Ilya in the booth and topped up both their beers. “Cap?”
“Yes Connors?”
“You said we could ask questions right? About you and Hollander?”
Ah. That was bound to happen at some point. Ilya was honestly surprised it had taken them this long. He braced himself for whatever sex education crash course was about to be requested of him. “Yes?”
“So. Okay. This is dumb.” Connors shifted in his seat, trying to arrange his question in his mind. “But like, what do you guys even do together?”
“What?” Ilya was taken off guard by that one.
“Connors do you not know about gay sex?” Marleau chipped in, as if he was now an expert on the topic.
“No – fuck – no I don’t mean that. Like I guess you must bang or whatever. But I mean like, when you’re not banging,” Connors explained, as if that made any more sense.
“You want to know what me and Hollander do when we are not having hot gay sex?”
“Fuck. I mean, yeah I guess? I just don’t know how it works when you’re both the boyfriend you know?”
“I actually can’t picture Hollander doing anything except hockey,” admitted Marleau, “I think I just assumed he comes off the rink and goes into stasis or something.”
“My beautiful amazing boyfriend does many things,” Ilya snapped. “He makes boring smoothies, he makes big long lists, he goes to the gym, he does hot sexy yoga, he loses to me at Chel, he reads boring old hockey books, he goes on long sweaty run, he loses to me at FIFA…”
“So you guys just like hang out?” Connors asked, somehow still confused.
“Yes, we hang out. This is normal yes?” These were not the kind of questions Ilya was expecting, “Why do you say this like it is strange thing to do?”
“I just – I just can’t get my head around – like because there’s no woman, right?”
“Yes we are both men Connors, you have just realised this? Do I have to come out again?” Marleau was shaking with laughter to Ilya’s right.
Connors, now bright red, somehow managed to push on, “it’s just pretty crazy to me that you guys can just hang out doing dude shit and then bang. Like you play Chel and then suck each others dicks or what?”
Ilya put his head in his hands. “Oh my God.”
“I thought you said you weren’t asking about the banging part?” Marleau teased between fits of laughter.
“This is what is confusing for you?” Ilya managed. “Two sexiest and best hockey players in the whole league come out as gay for each other and you think, ‘hmm, but do they play Chel before they fuck?’”
Connors looked like he wanted to disappear. “I did say it's dumb,” he said.
Ilya smacked him on the shoulder. “Connors, it is good you are good at hockey. And yes, me and Shane Hollander play Chel and I win every time and then we have hot gay sex. This okay with you?”
“Honestly?”
“Connors I swear to God,” Marleau was glaring across Ilya, like a guard dog at the ready.
“It sounds kind of awesome,” Connors finished.
“Hell yeah,” Marleau agreed.
March 2018
Ilya was taping his stick, the same as every game day. His routine may not be quite as regimented as his boyfriend’s, but there was still a certain order to things, especially when they weren’t playing at home. He was doing his breathwork, visualising the plays they had been working on to challenge the Admirals’ powerplay when he was rudely interrupted.
“Roz, can I ask you a gay question?” Carmy approached and sat on the bench next to him.
“What? No, I will not suck your dick.” Ilya glared before restarting with the tape.
“Not what I was gonna ask.”
“Then ask.”
“Just, I know you were careful with the girls. Before, I mean. Like you said you always wrapped it.”
“How is this gay question?”
“Well just… does that mean like always? Like you never tried without?”
“Yes I am not grubby manwhore, I use condoms. Does this make me gay now? You do know I have a boyfriend yes?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Yeah obviously it’s not gay to use a condom.”
“Good. Don’t want to have lots of little Carmys running around.”
“Fuck you dude I’m married.”
“Get to the point Carmy, I am busy.” Ilya finished wrapping his stick and stood to start strapping on his pads.
“Does that mean you never will? Do it raw I mean?”
“What?” Ilya had given up trying to guess where these conversations would go a while ago but this was a left turn even for Carmy.
“Like, do you feel like you missed your chance at all?”
“Carmy. Why would I have missed my chance?”
“Well, because Hollander’s a dude you know. So you can’t just – I don’t know – you can’t just stick your dick in there.”
“Carmy.” Ilya stared at him blankly. Carmy seemed completely earnest. “You think men cannot have unprotected sex.”
“Well like yeah you don't want to get like poop on your dick you know.”
“What the fuck? Carmy you can wash your ass! Please tell me you know this? Please tell me you wash your ass.”
“Fuck you I wash my ass,” Carmy retorted, “but there’s still poop up there right? Wouldn’t it get on your dick? Or are you guys like… into that?”
“Oh my god. You know we have a game today right? Why do you think now is a good time to ask your very busy amazing captain about how to not be shit at anal sex?”
“Fuck, sorry man. I just – I thought you said we could ask!” Carmy stood to leave him alone but Ilya caught his shoulder.
“You have asked now, so is too late. You can wash your ass. You should wash the outside but you also can wash the inside if you want. Also, and I really hope you already know this, you can wash your dick too.”
“What the fuck kind of conversation have I just walked into?” Marleau asked, grabbing his stick from his locker. “Carmy doesn’t wash his dick?”
“Fuck you, I wash my dick and my ass!” Carmy shot back.
“Carmy was just asking whether I fuck my boyfriend raw, because apparently this is what he thinks about before facing off against Scott Hunter.”
“What the fuck Carmy?”
“Fuck you Roz, that’s not what I said!”
“Anyway Carmy, you really think it’s dirty, you should be less worried about my dick and more worried about my tongue,” Ilya wagged his tongue at Carmy suggestively.
“Eww gross dude, no way you put your tongue up there.”
“I’m staying out of this one,” Marleau muttered, trying really hard to focus on his tape.
“What? You do not go down on lady Carmy? You think it is gross to eat out your wife?” Ilya teased.
“Fuck you dude of course I do that,” Carmy shot back. “But like, isn’t it dirty?”
“I always said you had a filthy mouth on you Roz,” Marleau said, smacking his ass with his stick.
“Is clean enough to kiss your mother,” Roz retorted.
“I honestly regret asking,” Carmy muttered, heading back to his cubby.
March 2018
Marleau, Carmy and Carmy’s adopted rookie, Miller, were loosely strewn across the couch in Ilya’s penthouse. It had been a wild night. Ilya couldn’t even remember what that last club was called. He settled down next to them with a bottle of Russian vodka David had insisted he take home last time he visited. He set about pouring four glasses.
“Roz are you trying to poison the kid?” Marleau asked, taking a glass.
“I’m 21 in three weeks,” Miller muttered.
“Marley you hurt me,” Ilya cried dramatically. “Is very nice Russian vodka and you say is poison.”
“Za nas,” Marleau clinked his glass to Ilya’s and threw back the shot.
“Za nas,” Ilya joined him.
“Carmy?” Miller said, prodding Carmy’s shoulder.
“Has he gone again?” Marleau asked, “he normally does this by 2am, I’m shocked he’s made it this far.”
“Not a problem. I have his too.” Ilya raised a second glass, this time to Miller, and they drank the contents in sync, Miller fighting the wince that spread across his face. Ilya immediately refilled three glasses.
“Give the kid a second Roz,” Marleau grinned at his friend and stood to grab Miller a glass of water.
Miller was now losing a battle with a cough, that came out in a fit of rough spluttering. The cough would have been much more dignified. Carmy stirred. “What did I miss? What’s wrong with the kid?”
“I’m – nearly – twenty – one,” Miller managed between his horrid hacking noises.
“You drinking the good stuff without me?” Carmy was trying to sound indignant, but it came out mostly groggy. Ilya passed him a glass and they drank together.
Marleau returned with four glasses of water, handing one to Miller, and eventually the coughing died down. They sat for a while, listening to the Russian rap Ilya had put on when they arrived.
Carmy broke the silence. “Cap, I’ve got a question.”
That couldn’t be good. “Yes? You want to share it?” Ilya asked.
“How do you decide who has to be the girl?”
“What the fuck Carmy?” Marleau snorted, swapping back to vodka.
“What do you mean?” Ilya asked.
“Like with you and Hollander. In bed I mean.”
“Oh my god,” Ilya muttered, refilling their glasses before knocking his back. “You know we are both men yes?”
“You know what I mean,” Carmy insisted.
“I am somehow not drunk enough for this conversation,” said Marleau, downing another shot.
“You want to be able to picture it better hmm?” Ilya teased, “for your little private fun time?”
“Fuck off Roz. I just don’t get how you choose who gets to – you know – get off,” Carmy tried, as if that cleared it all up.
“Wait. Carmy. You think men cannot enjoy taking it up the ass?” Ilya broke out into a wide grin. “No sorry, this is funny, you are very stupid.” Carmy looked like he was in physical pain as he continued. “We do not “take turns” on who gets to enjoy sex. Seriously you think this? I am glad I am not your wife.” Marleau was almost falling off the couch with laughter and Miller was looking between the three of them, clearly unsure how to react.
“I just mean – fuck – no way taking it can be as good as fucking though right?”
“Oh my god,” Miller muttered. He took another shot, managing to get it down safely this time.
“Maybe you should try it, find out for yourself,” Ilya suggested, refilling the empty glasses.
“Bro I'm not gay,” Carmy replied.
“You know you can do this with women too yes? Is not only a gay thing,” Ilya explained gently.
“Kelsey doesn't like it, she said it just feels like pooping in reverse,” Carmy responded.
“Wait so if you like it does that mean you like pooping?” Miller asked. So this was why Carmy chose to adopt the rookie. Like father, like son.
“Gospodi!” Ilya cried, “I am surrounded by morons.”
“What? You said we could ask questions,” Carmy defended, reaching for his drink.
“Doesn't mean the questions are not stupid,” Ilya explained.
“So you're not into pooping?” Carmy asked.
“No I am not into pooping!” Ilya threw his arms up in exasperation, setting Marleau off again. “And yes, some people like it, some people don't. Would not be terrible to find out which one you are no? In my experience men like it more than women do anyway.”
“Bro if the WAG group chat hears about pegging it's over for all of us,” Marleau sputtered.
“Oh god,” said Carmy, looking white as a sheet.
It was Ilya’s turn to grin. “Look at all your faces. You are scared little virgins terrified of prostate. It will not kill you to be fucked.”
“So… Hollander fucks you then?” Carmy asked.
“Carmy. It is none of your business what me and my pretty boyfriend do when your prying eyes are not present. We have very hot sex, better than any of you fuckers will ever have in your life because you haven’t even heard of prostate. You do not need to be concerned. Now shut up and drink my very nice vodka.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Marleau snickered, raising his glass whilst wiping tears from his eyes with his free hand.
April 2018
Ilya finished washing off the day’s practice and wrapped his towel around his waist before stepping back into the locker room. It had been a good practice. The team had clicked well this season and things were looking good for the playoffs this year. And tomorrow they would go to Ottawa and he would see Shane for the first time in 3 weeks. God he couldn’t wait.
“Hey Roz, are men better at sucking dicks?” Connors asked.
Ilya came crashing back to earth. A sweaty locker room-shaped earth. He was surrounded by idiots. Surprisingly supportive idiots but idiots nonetheless. “Men, women, does not matter. Just like in hockey I am the best and Shane Hollander is close second.”
“Gross man!”
“What? you are talking about sucking dicks in locker room and now I am the gross one because I am talented and sexy?”
“Just ‘cause, well me and Carmy were saying men are probably better at it but Marley said that's dumb,” Connors explained.
“Yeah like I reckon I'd be better at eating out a girl if I could try being the girl. Like just to know what it feels like,” Carmy added.
“Bro we all saw your limp wrist slapshots today. You are a girl,” Hammersmith shot back.
“Fuck off!”
“No Carmy is being very brave,” Ilya teased. “Coming out to us as being terrible at head and disappointing his wife in bed. Congratulations.”
“Fuck you that's not what I said!” Carmy tried to hit him with his compression shirt but Ilya dodged.
“Dude don't tell me if you woke up as a girl one day you wouldn't immediately jerk off,” Connors tried.
“Of course Connors I am not prude,” Ilya agreed.
“Exactly!” Carmy was acting like this completely proved his point. “I'm just saying, like if you know what it all feels like, surely it helps.”
“I'm with Carmy I bet gay dudes have all the best tricks,” a brave rookie, Daniels, chipped in.
Ilya was weirdly comforted by his stupid team. He decided to have fun with it. “No you are all wrong. I already tell you this, I am not gay and I am the best. Number one hockey player and number one dick sucker.”
Marley snorted, “you should sell shirts.”
“You know what does make you better at sucking dick though?” Ilya continued.
“What?” Carmy asked.
“Oh you are after tips?” Ilya teased.
“Fuck off Roz,” he threw back, half-hearted.
“No Carmy, do not worry I will tell you. Give you all my secret gay tips. Better write them down.” Ilya turned to face the locker room and made a show of clearing his throat as if he was about to make an announcement, even though everyone was already listening. “Best dick suckers... are hockey players.”
“Oh fuck you Roz,” Carmy rolled his eyes. He didn’t seem pleased with his masterclass.
“Sometimes I swear you're somehow the most homophobic player in the league,” Marleau muttered to his left.
“No is true!” Ilya popped his veneers off his top teeth and grinned. “Less teeth.” He ran his tongue over his gappy grin to raucous laughter and groans.
“I am literally gonna hurl,” said Connors.
“You're a fucking animal Roz,” added Marleau.
“I do not want to picture you and Hollander giving each other gummy blowjobs.” Carmy was so ungrateful for his generous tips.
“Then do not picture. Is not accurate anyway,” Ilya continued. “Shane is good boy, he still has all his own teeth. Why do you think I am number one and he is number two? Is not for lack of enthusiasm.” Ilya winked to a room full of horrified-looking hockey players. Sometimes they liked to pretend they didn’t enjoy hearing about all the juicy details.
“You want me to knock some out for you?” Connors offered.
“Connors if you fuck my boyfriends face I will murder you.”
“Bro chill you were the one who was gonna do the fucking,” Connors tried to defend himself.
“You will be dead and in a ditch. And we will skip your funeral to have lots of hot gay sex.” Fucking Connors. He dares to talk about Shane Hollander’s beautiful face like it does not belong in a museum? Like it should not be worshipped like some kind of freckled deity? Ilya started to plan a suitable punishment for tomorrow’s drills.
“Yeah dude don't fuck up his man,” Marleau agreed.
“Oh Marley you are trying something new? You will try not to break my boyfriend this season?”
“Only if you stop talking about your gummy blowjobs in the locker room,” Marleau replied, elbowing him in the ribs.
“Wow so kind, such a supportive friend you are.” Ilya loved his stupid team. He was going to win them another cup if it killed him.
June 2018
Marleau normally hosted the annual Raiders pool party and barbecue the week after the cup final, but given as most of the team were sticking around Boston until Pride this year, he had delayed it a few days to line up with the weather. The entire team, most of their WAGs and some of their children were dispersed between his house and his backyard under an elusive Boston blue sky.
It was a big day for Shane. Ilya had managed to convince him that this was a great opportunity to meet his teammates – they would all be distracted by their wives in little bikinis and the season was over so he wasn’t “the enemy”. Somehow he had fallen for Ilya’s charm so now here he was in Boston, outside the house of a man he had barely met, mingling with a team who he was pretty sure – at least until recently – hated him, wearing his swim-shorts. Ilya had gone to help referee a water balloon battle on the lawn, leaving Shane perched on the side of a sun lounger with nothing but a beer and three layers of sun cream between him and his boyfriend’s strange Boston world.
One of the Raiders’ forwards, Carmichael, wandered over with another player Shane couldn’t match a name to in tow.
“Hollander,” Carmichael clinked his beer against Shane’s.
“Just Shane is fine,” Shane replied, taking a sip to hide behind his bottle for a second.
“This is Miller, one of our new wingers. He’s been fangirling since you showed up,” Carmichael teased.
The kid scowled at his teammate but held out his hand to Shane. “Hey,” he started as he shook Shane’s hand, “I wasn’t fangirling, I just – I’m a big fan.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Shane still hadn’t quite figured out how to handle these interactions. He’d get there one day. Hopefully. “Although I think I’m technically here as a WAG not a player.”
Carmichael chuckled. “Shane Hollander as a WAG, that’s crazy. If you’re with Roz, doesn’t that make you head WAG?”
“I don’t think I have time to keep up with all that,” Shane reasoned, picturing all the bachelorettes, baby showers and birthdays Jackie had to keep track of.
“Don’t let the other WAGs hear you shirking your duties, you’ll get crucified. There’s my wife, Kelsey. She’s the one in green there.”
Shane nodded, not quite sure how to respond.
“I’m gonna grab another beer, you want?” Miller asked. Shane nodded. “Carmy?” He nodded too and Miller headed into the house.
Carmichael – Carmy – sat next to Shane on the lounger and they watched the water balloon fight develop into something more akin to water balloon trench warfare. If they were hoping a referee would help to de-escalate, Ilya was clearly the wrong man for the job.
“So… Shane?”
Uh oh. Ilya had warned him that his team had quite a developed sense of curiosity. “Yeah?”
“Are you really not into chicks?”
Shane felt his soul leave his body. “Uhh no not really. I’ve got a boyfriend anyway so…” He really hoped that would end that line of questioning but he somehow doubted it.
“That’s crazy dude. I mean, good for you, you know. You like what you like. But even when they’re all in swimsuits man? I mean I guess if Rose Landry can’t make the cut our WAGs don’t stand a chance.”
Shane felt his face heating up under his shades and he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the sun. He wasn’t sure if it was better to respond or let him keep talking. He opted for trying to beam his desperation telepathically into Ilya’s head so he would come and rescue him. It did look like the water balloon war was coming to a very soggy close; the kids were starting to run out of balloons with which to enact their war crimes.
“Please don’t tell my wife I said that.”
Shane let out a nervous chuckle. “Don’t stress, I won’t.” He took a sip of his beer and tried to remind himself that Ilya said these guys were supportive. Weird, but supportive.
“I think it’s just – Roz isn’t so… selective you know? Like I get that he likes dudes but that’s like on top of liking chicks. So I’d not really considered it could be instead of chicks.” After Shane failed to come up with a response again, Carmy obliviously carried on, “I should probably try and figure that out before Saturday right?” He chuckled to himself. “Are you coming to Pride with us?”
As much as this was a bit of a sticky subject too, Shane jumped at the chance to escape. “Yeah, um, maybe.”
“You should dude, it’ll be fun! Or I think it will. It’s not like we’ve been before either.” Carmy admitted. “Apparently it’s like one of the biggest ones in the world. There’ll be so many gays there.”
“Yeah um – Ilya said I should come, but I’m um – I’m not sure if I can make it,” Shane lied, trying to focus harder on his telepathy.
“So… How did you know you’re into dudes?”
Shane felt his whole body cringe. This was like his own personal hell. Maybe he’d drowned in the pool and the Christians had been right about the gays after all.
“Um, I guess, uhh – how did you know you were into Kelsey?” Shane tried. He really was not equipped for this conversation.
“Huh. I didn’t really think about it like that.”
Like what? Shane wondered, taking a sip of his beer to avoid coming up with a response.
“But like – I don’t know – like I can look at a dude and think ‘yeah he’s hot’ but I don’t want to bang him.”
Shane choked on his beer.
Miller, the rookie, had reappeared behind them. “Oh yeah Carmy? Who do you think is hot?” he teased. “Hey Roz! Carmy’s into dudes too, you’re not special anymore.”
Over by the pool, Roz turned, looking offended. “Carmy! Is my special day on Saturday and you have to steal my thunder? Get away from my Shane. Clearly he is too pretty for you, you cannot keep it in your pants.” Ilya had abandoned the fizzling end of the balloon war and was finally making his way over to rescue his boyfriend.
“Fuck you Roz! I didn’t even say that!” Carmy shouted back. Clearly these were not unusual hijinks as the rest of the party continued around them as if nothing strange was happening at all.
“He said he thinks dudes are hot,” Miller explained to the approaching Ilya.
“No I fucking didn’t you shit,” Carmy shoved Miller and wrestled a beer from him.
Shane decided maybe he could try to join in the fun. “He said he can look at a dude and think he’s hot but he doesn’t want to bang him.” Carmy stared at him with betrayal in his eyes.
“Oh yes? Who do you think is hot?” Ilya teased, clearly posing to enlarge his biceps. Shane rolled his eyes but couldn’t help his grin.
“Bro I say you’re hot all the time! You’re hot shit Roz!” Carmy said.
“Yes this is true, I am very hot and sexy.” Ilya agreed, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend. Shane reluctantly permitted this PDA; clearly the beers were getting to him.
“And I’m pretty sure you bagged the hottest dude in the league,” Carmy continued.
Shane blushed, and Ilya jumped back. “Get your eyeballs off my husband!” He shouted, pointing at Carmy.
“We’re not married,” Shane reminded him.
“I do not care, he is my husband get your own,” Ilya continued. Maybe Ilya had more in common with his “stupid” teammates than he would like to admit.
“I’m not gay, Roz,” Carmy retorted.
“No, you just apparently rank all the players in the league by hotness,” Miller pointed out.
“Fuck off, not the whole league!” Carmy tried.
“Oh only the hot ones yes?” Ilya teased, “I have hot sex with sexy man I think maybe that is less gay than whatever this is.” Ilya gestured wildly at Carmy.
“Ilya!” Shane kicked him in the shin, grinning.
“Suck my dick Roz!” Carmy shot back.
“You have to be at least in top fifty first.” Ilya smirked.
Maybe Ilya was right about this team, Shane thought.