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Shane hated it when Rozanov kissed his forehead.
Well, no. It felt really good every time. His stomach tickled and his face felt hot.
But he still hated it. Shane knew where the line was with Rozanov, and he didn’t appreciate Rozanov toeing it.
After all, Rozanov was the one who said they were nothing.
—
It was a terrible idea, Ilya knew.
And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Whenever he was especially tired of his life he would draw it in his head. Sleeping in the same bed, finding out whether Hollander snored or kicked. Waking up in the morning, maybe Hollander would refuse to kiss him until they brushed their teeth. Maybe Ilya could convince him anyway.
He could make eggs for breakfast. Ilya knew Hollander had a specific diet, but every athlete ate eggs, right?
His bedsheets had a threadcount even Hollander would approve of. He ordered enough Canada Dry to fill a fridge shelf. Tuna melt was his best sandwich, but he still practiced it a dozen times.
He still wasn’t sure if he should do this. But if he did decide to go through with it he was going to make sure it worked.
—
Why the fuck did Rozanov have ginger ale in his fridge?
Maybe it was for cocktails, Shane theorized. He was sure that he heard of a cocktail that used vodka and ginger ale. Even though Rozanov seemed like the kind of guy who only ever drank straight vodka, it’s not like Shane ever went drinking with Rozanov.
He felt wrong-footed since Rozanov suggested he stay. But going for another round was tempting. And Rozanov’s bed had so many pillows. He couldn’t believe Rozanov had teased Shane about his pillows when Rozanov had at least half a dozen in his own bed.
Shane hadn’t had a tuna melt since… actually he couldn’t remember, but it was before he was drafted. It tasted amazing. What the hell did Rozanov put in it?
—
Fucking Alexei.
Ilya didn’t want to leave Hollander alone in his living room. Hollander might have second thoughts about staying. But he couldn't make the call next to Hollander either. Ilya knew his voice was angry and dangerous when he spoke to Alexei, even though Hollander wouldn’t understand what was being said. Ilya didn’t want Hollander to hear when he was like that.
Fuck, did Hollander understand Russian? No it was just a word. Just a word was okay. Even though it was the word Ilya hated most.
Ilya needed to salvage this. Hockey talk always made Hollander relax. And he had excellent takes on defense.
—
Why the fuck was Rozanov bragging about his many women right now?
Shane knew Rozanov was probably only teasing about how terrible Shane was with women.
But it felt like Rozanov was emphasizing, again, how Shane was only one of the names in a long list. A notch on the bedpost, so to say. Maybe Rozanov was having second thoughts about inviting Shane to stay the night, and wanted to make sure Shane didn’t get the wrong idea about what they were.
Rozanov didn’t have to worry. Shane would never imagine he and Rozanov were anything more than fuckbuddies. Two men bound together by insane sexual chemistry and mutually assured destruction if anyone found out.
Shane shifted his hand to Rozanov’s crotch. He didn’t want to hear about this Svetlana anymore. Rozanov may have the courtesy not to talk about other people when Shane’s hands were on his dick. Or at least he might be too distracted to talk at all.
—
“Shane”
“Ilya”
—
Ilya didn’t mean to say it.
It was on the tip of his tongue all day, but he swallowed it down every time.
He just lost control for just a moment.
It was an accident.
He called after Hollander. Making sure not to use his first name this time.
The damage was done.
Hollander took his most comfortable black shirt too.
Ilya should have kept his mouth shut.
Nothing good came of talking.
—
What the fuck was Rozanov playing at?
Whatever it was, Shane was done playing along.
If Rozanov thought he could cross the line when he wanted, but would shut down Shane when he tried, then Shane was going to salvage whatever was left of his pride.
Rozanov would be fine. It’s not like he lacked options.
Shane would be fine too. Eventually.